#we will not let you take away what we so painstakingly carved out for ourselves

[sunnybearvampire]

i am not normal about the calypso episode i will never be normal about the calypso episode. something something queer joy and love and found family and you can't ruin that or take it away. finding yourself and expressing yourself fully for the first time and finding a group of people that will not mock you but encourage you with every last breath left in their lungs. seeing all of those unique and amazing people gathered to see you perform. fully for perhaps the first time realising that there was never something wrong with you, something was wrong with the world for not accepting you as you are, worthy and deserving of love. you are the unicorn. i am mentally unwell i shall never recover.

[out-of-jams]

Space Trash || teaser || jhs

↠ Space Trash ↞ “I mean, we escaped from prison, accidentally stole this super important data drive, and now we’re about to try and take on one of the biggest, baddest douche bags in the entire universe. We gotta at least come up with a name to call ourselves so they have something to put on our tombstones.” Hoseok glanced around at each and every one of your faces slowly, smile beaming in an attempt to rally the troops.

“How about ‘The Guardians of the Galaxy’,” Jimin offered with his bright, lavender hued eyes trained to the metal ceiling of the Milano in thought. “It has a nice ring to it.”

“That’s a little too ostentatious for this circus of clowns. We’re more like space trash than galaxy guardians,” you scoffed. A moment of brief silence passed where all that could be heard was the gentle, constant thrumming of the ship as it drifted in space. “Oh, no.”

“I kinda like it,” Jungkook voiced and scratched his tattooed neck, accompanied by the agreeing murmurs of everyone else and an ‘I am V!’ from V.

Hoseok beamed. “Space Trash, it is!” 

“No!”

pairing: Hoseok x Reader

word count: TBD. possibly 20-30k holy space balls this will take me forever omfg

release date: TBD

warnings/genre: guardians of the galaxy!au. S2E2EL2L. violence. comedy. i swear this isn’t pure crack. angst. space au. they’re all criminals. pilot/thief/why am i here/don’t make me stab you!Reader. (HIIC) head idiot in charge!Hoseok. i eat nails for breakfast but can’t tie my own shoes!Jungkook. pink skinned sassy weapons master techie genius beautiful superior to all others (”who is letting that narcissistic asshole write his own descriptions?”)!Jimin. is that a fucking talking tree!Taehyung. explicit language. one shot. rated M for badassMotherfuckers.

He was staring and you were starting to get more annoyed than you usually were on any day that ended in a ‘y.’  

It was obvious, seeing as how he refused to even blink. You’d think that someone would know better than to do it so conspicuously. Especially in a place such as the Kyln, otherwise known as the dreaded bowels of the galaxy’s most inescapable prison. Only criminals of the highest degree were ever dragged there by the galaxy’s military police: The Nova Corps. Murderers, intergalactic thieves, underground warlords, whoever ran up enough of a bounty that a Headhunter would want to cash them in for credits, you name it.

You fell into two of those categories, though, you supposed, rather three. A repercussion of too many stolen ships from when you’d jump from planet to planet in search of something besides the next place you’d put your sticky fingers. A kleptomaniac, your parents had called you. But you’d needed something to keep yourself busy and out of the house when their fighting had gotten to be too much.

Until that led you to packing your bags in the dead of night and stealing your retired dad’s old, busted down, single passenger ship that you’d oh-so-painstakingly repaired over the years. One jump through The Universal Neural Teleportation Network (UNTN) later and you were finally free. Of the yelling, of the constant comparison to your dead brother who’d done more with his life than you could ever hope to accomplish.

(But no matter how far you ran, the stench of cigarettes and booze and the metallic haze of blood from a busted nose or swollen lip or blackened eye would never wash out of your system.)

Fast forward to three months ago when you’d stolen a ship from a guy who was angry enough and rich enough to hire a whole squad of Headhunters to bring you down. It wasn’t your fault that you hadn’t known he was apart of the Government Counsel on the frosty planet of Contraxia, seeing as how it was mostly inhabited by sexbots, and the man had been a pink skinned Krylorian.

Though, sending ten men after one woman was a bit of an overkill, if you had any say about it. But no one asked your opinion on the Kyln unless they wanted to know which way you preferred to have your insides carved up. You kept to yourself mostly. Not that you weren’t personable, you just had no interest making friends with serial killers. Or murderers. Or serial killers who killed murderers. Or murderers who killed serial killers who killed murderers, because there were about five of them wandering around somewhere.

Which was exactly why you were two seconds away from slamming your metal lunch tray so hard into that leering douche bag’s face that he woke up in another galaxy. He was sitting across the mess hall, with its jumbled chaos of shouting yellow skinned, hairless Aakons, and Courgs stuffing their muzzled, dog like faces with the slop they called food, and the rest of the gaggle of fear-mongering A-holes spilling out of their cells.

He was easy to spot solely for the fact that he was sitting at the bottom half of a table by himself like the seats around him were vacated because he had bad body odor. The piss yellow, tank-top-like shirt and matching pants combo weren’t well worn enough to signify that he’d been stuck in that hellhole for a while. If the blatant staring didn’t give him away as a newbie, that certainly would have. You couldn’t see the color of the stripes on his pants from where you sat, so the classification of whatever crime he’d committed to get in there was a mystery.

The sudden squinting of his — what looked to be from the distance you sat at — muddy brown eyes had a glare sparking to life on your face. He looked human with his obnoxiously sharp jawline and tanned skin and heart shaped lips, but there were a lot of species out there who only appeared to be so.

Whatever the reason for his gawking, he must have found what he was looking for because he stood up away from his full tray of food and picked his way across the room towards you. A fight wasn’t on your itinerary for the day, but you’d gladly shove your metal spork through his eyehole if he tried anything funny.

Or if the thing about him having B.O. rang true. The last thing you wanted to deal with was a prick who smelled like a box of musty socks that mated with a sewer grate and popped out a sharp-nosed baby.

Your fingers tightened around your spork as he approached like he had all the time in the world, and a pair of Courg’s hadn’t descended on his untouched food tray four steps behind him like they hadn’t eaten in days. Even though they had just licked their own clean. Your eyes flickered down to the green stitching threaded through the left upper thigh of his pants.

Treason, your mind supplied. Crimes against more than one governing agency on more than one planet. Possibly in more than one galaxy. 

The definition of treason ranged far and wide, from assassinating a planet’s leader, to selling trade secrets, to figureheading a revolution. Or something else just as equally detrimental.

The moment he made it to your once peaceful corner, he immediately sat down on the stool soldered into the table without asking for an invitation. At least he didn’t smell. 

“Hey there, beautiful. Come here often?”

You were about to say to hell with it and stab him anyway. “What,” was spat out through gritted teeth.

“You.” His voice was low, pitched with a grating vocal fry like he’d just woken up and the first things he’d chosen to spew from his pink hued mouth was that. Leaning forward, he braced his folded hands on the cold, metal table and two tiny, twin dimples peaked out from the corners of his lips when he grinned. “Come here. Often? Beautiful.” 

“Oh, is that what got you landed in here?”

Your response must have caught him off guard since his eyebrows pinched together in confusion and it took him a moment to formulate words. “Pardon?”

“Idiocy,” you supplied him with an answer. “You. In here. Because dumb?”

All works here are purely fiction. Everything I write is my intellectual property and therefore belongs to me. ©out-of-jams. Do not copy or repost without permission. That is illegal and you are stealing no matter if you give credit or not.

[docholligay]

CCC

This is OLD OLD stuff. I’m.....not entirely sure why I stopped cracking at it, it’s a little weak, but it has good bones. I can see where I’m going with it. Ah well, it’s about 2,300 warning taht I literally stop mid sentence

Censhi Combat Camp had always been Mina’s domain, stupid spelling and all. A week in the woods, away from it all, whether anyone else liked it or not. War games, one on one combat work, sparring, all that and some s’mores too. And it made a certain amount of logical sense—she was leader, and certainly if anyone knew how to polish her troops like chrome, it would be her.

But while she was willing to give Mina a certain amount of leeway in her methods, Rei was certain that, in some slight twist of destiny, she could have been leader. Number one, instead of number two. And, perhaps (not even truly perhaps, in her mind, but certainly) she would have been better at it than Mina.

Mina laughed when she asked to run CCC that year, but she’d agreed with a wave of her hand, and an insincere wish of good luck.

And now they were gathered in the woods.

“As the second in command,” Rei boomed, somehow making the word ‘second’ feel smaller than the rest of the sentence, “I’ve come up with an activity for us all to improve ourselves. I told all of you to bring a notebook and a pen.” she looked hard out at her audience, until Usagi clicked her donut pen on to assure Rei that she had, in fact, brought it, and that seemed enough a salute to her genius to allow Rei to continue. “Good. I want you to write—“

“Is it a poem about our feelings?” Mina called from her seat next to the fire pit.

Rei shook her head, her jet black hair casting decisive lines. “No, it’s—“

“There once was a girl named Michiru.” She grinned and tucked her hands behind her head.

“Mina.” Rei stared at her as if she could open up the floor beneath her.

“Whose butch swore her loyalty was true.”

“Mina.”

“But she laughed, ‘How absurd, I don’t know what you heard, I joined not for the war but to fuc—‘“

“MINA!!” She took her notebook, elegantly leatherbound, with her name in gold leaf on the cover and painstakingly chosen for the occasion, and, before she could think, threw it as hard as she could at Mina’s head. It was doubly disappointing when Mina caught it right in front of her face.

“Nice toss, but I think that’s a walk in any country.”

Rei ignored her and tossed her hair behind her head, ignoring the snickering coming up from the girls. She closed her eyes, and took a deep breath, her fists slowly unclenching.

“What we’re going to do,” she spoke slowly but firmly, “Is list our weaknesses,” she opened her eyes, refreshed, at looked out at the other girls, “your faults, your frailties, your failings, reasons you’re not a very good senshi, or a person even! There’s so much for us to improve.”

Mina sighed and buried her head in her palms. “Sheesh, Reinaldo.”

Rei ignored her and continued on. “I want you to think REALLY hard about what makes you a personal liability to the group. We’ll make our lists in our notebook, and then we’ll go over them together.” She put her hands on her hips proudly. “This will make us all stronger!”

The girls all looked back at her with a mild look of horror, save for Mina, who was walking to the cooler, and Michiru, who was studiously filing her nails.

“Okay, good!” she beamed in her obvious success. “Now everyone take your notebooks, and go sit for some quiet reflection.”

They grumbled, a bit, but they obeyed, and Rei grinned proudly as she walked around the campsite, her own notebook in hand. Mako sat cross-legged on top of the picnic table, Ami tucked inside the tent, Haruka sat out in the field of wildflowers, and Michiru sat neatly at the edge of a rock. It appeared she was using a watercolor palette. Oh well, she could write in watercolor, probably.

*****

She held up an elegant cream notebook. “Michiru, this is a painting of Haruka bent over her notebook in the wildflowers.” She looked seriously at Michiru, who shrugged.

Mina called from her space by the fire pit. “And somehow I feel like that’s a valid answer for her!”  

Rei looked back at the tenderly rendered picture, and back out at Michiru, “I mean that’s not really—how are you supposed to—“she looked back at the notebook, every strand of Haruka’s hair delicately detailed. “I mean, THAT’S NOT WHAT I MEANT.”

Michiru shook her head softly. “My apologies, Lieutenant Commander Mars, I must have misunderstood the instruction.”

Rei put her hands on her hips, still clutching Michiru’s notebook. “Oh, you did not. Fine.” She tossed the notebook over her shoulder and picked up the next one, a glittering bright orange. “Ass is very distracting to Sailor Mars in batt—MINA.” She glowed a hot red, and even she was not sure if it was from anger or embarrassment.

“I feel like my ass is a real liability to the team! How can you possibly shoot straight—not that you do anything straight, mind—but I mean really, how, when you’re staring at this magnificent finely-carved marble?”

“Next.” Rei remarked flatly, picking up a notebook covered in donuts. “Sometimes, I,” she looked back out at the girls, “Oh look, SOMEONE took improving themselves seriously,” she cleared her throat and continued, “Sometimes, I take too much time to think over a situation, and lose the opportunity of a moment.” She looked at Usagi and shook the notebook at her. “You copied off Ami? Did you REALLY THINK I WOULD FALL FOR THIS, USAGI?”

Usagi grabbed the notebook from Rei’s hands and scrawled hurriedly. Cries when Rei is mean.

“Usagi!”

Usagi grabbed the red leatherbound notebook and wrote inside. Is mean.

There was a chuckle from the fire pit, and the sound of a beer cracking open. Mina was kicked back in her chair, one toe touching the ground.

Rei marched over to her. “And what are YOU doing?”

Mina took a drink. “Enjoying an ASTOUNDING amount of job security.”

Rei kicked over her chair and swiped the beer out of her hand grumpily. “Nobody is taking this seriously! I am just trying to improve all of you!”

Mina dusted herself off. “Who votes to keep ‘is mean’ on Rei’s list?”

Rei was astounded to see that the Senshi could all agree on one thing after all. See, her activities were getting somewhere. She picked up another notebook.

“I don’t think before I go sometimes.” She looked out at Haruka, who kicked at the ground with her foot. “Is that the only thing on your list? Really Haruka? I mean, it’s true, you don’t think, but there are so many more things I can think of that—“

“Rei.” Michiru spoke for the first time, and locked eyes with her, and the girls held their breath as neither of them moved or spoke.

Rei was strong, but not stronger than Michiru’s protection, and she acquiesced. “Anyway, at least you put down a real answer.”

Haruka stood up and kicked the chair behind her, throwing it a few feet to the dirt and very narrowly missing Mina, who did not so much as flinch. “This is fucking stupid anyway.” She pulled on her sweater despite the sun of the day, and pulled a beer out of the cooler as she walked away into the woods.

Michiru rose quietly. “Agreed.” She slipped off into the woods without another word.

Rei clapped her hands together. “Okay, so who’s ready to make ideas for improvement!?”

The girls sat silently, a tapestry of different looks on their faces: Boredom, sadness, frustration, and Mina, grinning in the back.

“Think you’ve lost ‘em, fireball.”

***

It was quiet at the campsite, after the hubbub of today. Mako was cooking something that smelled of cinnamon and citrus in the big cast iron pot, after a rich dinner. Michiru, Rei, and Pluto were off doing something…scrying, it might have been, something particular to their gifts, and for once, Mina approved of Rei’s tactic. The Seers each only had a piece of the puzzle, and they had to work together to build a picture. They had to. Lives depended on it.

She poked through the field, not thinking about much in the evening light, when a dash of white caught her eye. She picked it up, a crumpled piece of paper with cartoon teddy bears on the border, a list covering it, the writing harder and darker as it went down the list.

·               Doesn’t hear very good

                 Runs into stuff without thinking

·               Says shit I don’t mean

·               Eats too much sugar

·               Smokes (sometimes)

·               Too loud

·               Too skinny

·               Doesn’t pay attention

·               Stubborn

·               Stupid

·               Failure ·               Murderer

“Ah, bud,” she sighed heavily, “Rei I sure as shit hope you put ‘needs to cultivate people skills’ on your list.” She had noted Haruka’s absence at dinner, but that hardly mattered—Michiru had a campsite for the two of them off a ways, well-stocked with a canvas tent and a real bed, gourmet food and wine. It was about as rough as Michiru could bear to get, and it was nicer than some people’s apartments.

Mina tucked the note into her shorts and ambled over toward Haruka and Michiru’s campsite. It had been an almost certain fact that Haruka would take this thing too personally. Her and Ami both.

“I mean, technically you’re only an attempted murderer.”

“Do you think I’m a total fuck-up, Mina?”

“I mean, no more than the rest of us.”

Haruka snorted, and Mina patted her leg. “No, I’m serious! We’re all a little fucked, but you’re not a bad person, Haruka, I know bad people. Bad people do not sit by the creek and feed minnows and cry.”

“I wasn’t crying.”

“Bad people do not sit by the creek and feed minnows and have an extreme allergic reaction or whatever we’re calling this.” She popped a marshmallow into her mouth. “More importantly, bad people don’t make lists of why they’re bad and get upset about it. And you’re not stupid. And you’re not a failure, and you gotta stop telling yourself that.” Haruka turned away toward the creek, and Mina grabbed her face and turned it to hers. “Listen. Whatever lie you were told when you were a kid, it’s not true. It’s not true at all.”

Haruka swallowed hard, and Mina hugged her tightly, until Haruka let herself relax

“We gotta find a better outlet for your frustrations, you damn near nailed me with that chair.”

“Sorry.”

“You know, if you ever decided to share your feelings with the class…none of the girls would make fun of you, or anything.”

Haruka shrugged. “What’s the point, they already hate me. Everyone does, except Michiru.”  She looked off. “I can’t be their friend, so I may as well be someone who can protect them.”

“What am I, a pile of pig assholes?”

Haruka laughed. “Okay, everyone else.”

Mina put her hand on Haruka’s shoulder. “After this many years, have you considered that you don’t have to be some big unbreakable rock of a human being? It doesn’t look good on you.” Haruka shrugged again. “Ruka, you think it’s what people want from you, but it’s not.

She shrugged again, and threw another marshmallow to the minnows

***

“Rei, you gotta remember this is a people job.”

“Everyone is just being DIFFICULT, on PURPOSE, while I am TRYING TO HELP.” Rei was incensed. No one paid attention to her plans, the ones she’d worked so hard to make, and everyone was making a mockery of it, and not being serious, and now Mina was lecturing her about what she needed to change, which was never meant to be a serious part of the exercise.

“Okay, but,” Mina shrugged dramatically, “Did you really learn anything new today? Did you need a list to know that Haruka jumps in too fast and Ami jumps in too slow? That Usagi doesn’t even know what she’s doing wrong? That Michiru doesn’t care? You should have known all this!”

“I just thought—“ Rei mounted her own defense, wondering when playful Mina had gone and serious, intense Mina had entered without her noticing.

But Mina was on a tear now. “I mean, so let’s look at Mako, she wrote down ‘sometimes forgets to pull her punch when she’s sparring with Haruka.’ Mako doesn’t forget shit, what this really says is, ‘I hold a grudge in a way that prevents teamwork.’ Which I knew. Which I’ve been working on by trying to build rapport between her and the lesbians. Rei, you can’t just tell people, ‘this is what’s wrong with you, fix it.’ People are more complicated than that.”

“God,” Rei crossed her arms and her brow furrowed, “Sorry I hurt Haruka’s feelings, Mina, I know she’s your friend, but—“

“Not even remotely about that! But let’s take Haruka. This is the EXACT wrong activity for her. She’s sensitive, and it hurts her feelings, and when she gets her feelings hurt, or she’s scared, she turns into an asshole. It’s also the wrong activity for Michiru, because, Rei, Michiru, does not give a fuck. Not one. If you ever figure out how to motivate her outside of dangling Haruka over a tank of man-eating sharks, let me know.” She clapped her hands together in front of Rei’s face to punctuate each word. “You have. To pay. Attention.”

Rei was whirling now, defensive and angry. “So EVERYTHING I do is wrong, and EVERYTHING you do is right.”

“I’m not saying that, goddamn Rei, I’m trying to teach you how to be leader!”

“Why? What about your precious job security?”

“BECAUSE I MIGHT DIE, REI.” Her voiced echoed through the trees, and then the forest became very still, holding its breath in respect to the cruel reality of the shadow that hung over top of them. “I might die. And then you’re it. And you have to know how to deal with them, or they’ll scatter, and fall, and we’ll all die, and Usagi too.” She took a deep breath and continued. “Ami doesn’t like to be yelled at. Haruka responds to praise. Mako and that’s where I stopped writing this.

[evilsapphyre]

Sapphy’s Spoilerific Review

Season 7 Episode 4

In case the title isn’t specific enough, this will be a very spoiler-filled review for Game of Thrones.

You have been warned!

Okay, so I'm a bit behind.

I mean, I watched the episode when it came out a week and a half ago, but for inexcusable reasons, I failed to write my updates. My bad, my lovely people.

So, traveling back in time, in a world where we haven't seen Episode 5, we will begin!

First, we find ourselves at Highgarden. Our intrepid Ser Jaime, who seems like he may be actual Jaime and not Pod-Jaime, inspects the gold that has been taken from the now defunct House Tyrell. (RIP, Olenna, once more.) He takes a sizeable chunk to hand off to our favorite sellsword, Bronn of the Blackwater. Bronn calls Jaime out on his funky attitude, but Jaime fails to comment on it. (I highly doubt it’s because he’s mourning what Olenna did to his psycho-son Joff.) Bronn gets a good sting in about the peaceful nature of Jaime’s dear sister’s reign. Hmm, maybe that’s the real sticking point in Jaime’s craw? Anyways, we cut back to King’s Landing where Cersei is still wooing the skeevy guy from the Iron Bank. It’s all – money, money, money. He again lavishes Cersei with praise about how she is truly Tywin’s heir. You can smell the false flattery from the other side of the television. After all, he’s trying to butter her up to borrow more money, so they can collect more interest. Oh, and she brings up the Golden Company with him. Because nothing but the best hired swords to help defeat your enemies. (Again, I doubt that the significance of the Golden Company from the books will translate to the show, on account of the fact that they don’t really go into any of the Blackfyre conspiracies.) Up in Winterfell, Meera comes to say goodbye to Bran, who continues his newfound laconic nature to upset his would-be girlfriend. She accuses him of not caring about anything, and confirms that by admitting that he’s dead inside. Littlefinger interrupts their break-up, and Meera runs off back to her family in The Neck. Littlefinger tries to bribe Bran with a shiny dagger that once upon a time was used to try and kill him. Bran then unnerves Littlefinger, maybe, by quoting his words that he said to Varys years ago “Chaos is a ladder”. Meanwhile, also in Winterfell, Arya returns home, only for none of the new guards to believe her when she says who she is. It doesn’t help that she’s not really in the know of the who’s who of Winterfell these days, except that her brother Jon is supposed to be King. When she learns Sansa is in charge while Jon is away, she is able to use that information to get at least into the Courtyard, but Tweedle Dee and Dum guarding her don’t pay very good attention to her, and she slips away. The guards report this to Sansa, and she is able to deduce from Arya’s outdated knowledge that it is likely her sister, and knows where to find her. And of course, Arya is exactly there, in the crypts, staring at a statue of their father. The sisters bicker in jest before embracing. Both evade details of what they have gone through, but Arya does confess to having some kind of murder bucket list. Sansa doesn’t believe her, but when they go to visit Bran under the Weirwood tree, Bran confirms that it’s actually real. (Sorry, Sansa, your siblings did get a bit weird in their abroad studies.) Bran also bestows the dagger on Arya before all three return back to the castle proper. Brienne and Podrick watch them from across the courtyard, and Pod tells Brienne, “Job well done!” Of course, Brienne is all humble, and truthful in admitting that she didn’t really do much for two-thirds of the Stark Bunch, but at least this time, she doesn’t dispute being called a Lady. Over in Dragonstone, Dany and Missandei are having some much-needed girltalk. I guess? I don’t know. I’m not really one to share those kinds of personal details with my boss, or even my friends. It’s called TMI for a reason. Anyways, Jon thankfully interrupts them and takes Dany to the Cave of Wonder… I mean, Dragonglass. After she gets over the shock of seeing all the shiny black rock, Jon points out all the painstakingly drawn carvings amongst them. Since Jon isn’t covered in white chalk, or rock dust, I’m guessing that he didn’t draw them. Which is a shame. That would have been pretty damn funny. Anyways, Dany stares at awe in the drawings, especially the very good rendition of the White Walkers, and she almost seems convinced. Almost. She even stares at Jon with moon eyes as she tells him that she’ll defend the North. Once he bends the knee. It’s back to the same old song and dance, even if she tries to appeal to Jon by saying don’t let his pride kill a bunch of people. It resonates with him since he once said the same thing to another would-be King, but it’s also kind of a pot meet kettle moment. They leave the cave to find out the bad news from Casterly Rock and the Reach. Dany’s no longer feeling so moon-eyed, but she wants Jon to give her some advice, and he does. Whether she’s going to listen to him… Well, who knows?

Circling back to Winterfell, we’re treated to more Brienne. And without Tormund leering at her! She’s continuing to school Pod on the art of swordsmanship when Arya decides that she wants to have some training lessons too. After all, she wants to learn from the woman who beat the Hound. Brienne obliges her, but first tells her that Needle is too small. Arya’s bravado from Bravos comes roaring out when she promises to not cut Brienne. It’s easy to tell that Brienne is holding back at first, but when Arya starts showing off and annoying her with her water dancing skills, Brienne kicks Arya square in the chest and off her feet. It’s on like Donkey Kong then, and Arya’s ferocity comes out for all to see, including her sister Sansa and Littlefinger who have stopped along the battlements to watch. The sparring comes to a draw, and can I point out that Arya pulled out the Valyrian steel dagger on Brienne? Brienne wasn’t using Oathkeeper, clearly. It’s just a bit odd that she’d draw a blade like that on Brienne, even if she did turn it away. Despite my tiny bit of ire there, the sparring scene is fun to watch, even if Sansa didn’t agree. I’m not sure if she’s worried about her sister, or worried that her sworn knight may be serving her sister as well. Littlefinger seems to be enjoying the possible division though.

We cut back to Dragonstone where Davos and Jon are talking about Dany’s many obvious qualities. They ask Missandei some questions about Dany, and she paints a pretty picture of the life Dany has secured for at least Missandei. Their conversation is interrupted by Theon, who gets the same treatment as every other male (save Tyrion) who has come in contact with his sister Sansa lately. I wish that he would have actually brought up Theon’s awful betrayal of Robb. You know, Robb. The brother that died at the Red Wedding. (I miss you, Robb!) Theon wants to talk to Dany about rescuing his sister, but apparently Dany’s not home….

Speaking of home, Jaime’s almost back to his second home, King’s Landing. Lord Sternly Tarly lets Jaime know that all the gold has made it into the city, and oh yeah, can he flog the stragglers? Jaime tells him, no, best not without warning, and Sternly rides off muttering to himself about having no fun. Bronn makes fun of Dickon’s name, just like a twelve year old, but the rest of the conversation is cut short by the sound of encroaching thunder. Wait, that’s not thunder, it’s a Dothraki Horde!

And here come Dany on Drogon!

I must say, that I was gripped by this battle. My firm adoration of Jaime (thanks to his book character) had me still rooting for his side as the dragon-poser-wyvern roasted his troops and supplies. Except, I love dragons, and even though Drogon is a poser, this was the kind of dragon versus an army scene that I’ve yearned to see. I was right there with Jaime and Bronn, and I was there with Dany as she swooped around on her child. I was even worried for Drogon when he took the bolt to his shoulder.

But then all bets were off when Jaime charged at Dany after she was grounded. What the hell are you doing, Jaime?!?!?! You can’t do this! It’s suicide! THINK OF BRIENNE FOR GOD’S SAKE!!

At the last second, Bronn knocks Jaime away before Drogon can roast him alive, knocking him into the river… And Jaime starts to sink to his presumable death.

I’ll admit, even though I feel Jaime has so much more story to give, that I’m fearful for him. What if they felt that this was a fitting end? What if there is no more Jaime? What if Brienne ends up with Tormund?!

I just… I’m distraught just thinking about it.

Sunday better rush it’s ass here!

[shadows-of-almsivi]

Snapshots: Old age, reflections.

The netch-leather straps were always most difficult in the mornings. They each had to be tightened just so, the arm beneath wrapped in suede and fur to spare the harnessing rubbing it raw. This morning, the polished brass clasps were being very particular about how they caught their respective notches, the prongs sliding away repeatedly to poke at his bicep.

“Hssst–! N’chow… Get in there, you bastard–”

It was easiest to start with the chest strap. Leather held taut in his teeth, the familiar faint acid of netch-leather tingling against his tongue, his clumsier left hand fumbled the buckle into place. One down, at least. He heaved a sigh; this would be so much easier with an assistant. Curse his damnable pride.

(Curse, too, this inconstant left hand, inclined to the most enraging tremors these past few years. He could hardly ignore that the medicines were not lasting so long as they once did.)

He turned the matter over as he started on the other straps, working down his arm one by torturous one. Had it been a good idea to send Lo’Droj to market so quickly? Really rather sweet, that one, always willing to help. And the dogs even liked him, certainly a first. Perhaps something might come of it, something a touch further than the occasional warm bed and some help with the housework, if he’d just ask Lo’Droj to stay a little longer in the mornings. Would that be so bad?

He gnawed one strap a little as he considered the matter, the leather’s tamed venom numbing the tip of his tongue. Lo’Droj was a lovely young thing, and Moraelyn really did like him. Perhaps it was that self-same affection that made him keep Lo’Droj somewhat at arms’ length; Moraelyn felt too much of a bitter old foreigner in private, too inclined to brooding and quiet rages at unpredictable moments. It seemed a shame to inflict his darker, more honest self on such a sweet boy. (So far, he had managed to avoid the issue entirely, explaining away his odd habits and eternally-present gloves as some mysterious, ancient Dunmeri eccentricity. Lo’Droj, fewer than thirty summers’ old and utterly devoid of worldly travel, innocently accepted every one of his blatant lies; yet another reason he was growing rather fond of him.)

However, he admitted to himself as he wrestled with the last strap, if he wanted Lo’Droj to help him with these blasted things every morning, it stood to reason that he would first have to explain them. To remove his long gloves and show the boy how the leather twined about his arm and torso felt like an insurmountably difficult task. If he were honest with himself, Moraelyn supposed he was making a terror of his own vanity, but in truth that was only part of it.  

The tail of the last strap slid more-or-less meekly into its buckle. Stroking his fingers over the gleaming obsidian, tracing along the gilded letters engraved into the bones, he gave a thin smile. He hadn’t entirely deceived dear, naïve Lo’Droj, not this time. This was, in a very real sense, an object sacred to his Dunmeri sensibilities. He could hardly allow anyone else to touch something so precious as this.

The hand was, truly, a work of art. Painstakingly crafted by talented artisan-mages, it had been paid for with the blood of several dead men and the calling-in of various favours (those little connections he’d once made by the Sea of Ghosts had proven rather profitable). In a certain angle and a certain light, the ebony reflected like a black mirror, the kind witches were usually fond of. There was something insectile about the glassy, void-dark obsidian, how it shielded the precious bone with muscle-inspired shapes like a carapace, fitting for Redoran ebony. The bone itself was polished and inlaid with golden Daedric, down each finger and down each bone at the back of the hand, the letters turned to be readable to Moraelyn always. The bones weren’t carved to shape; these bones had known the shape of hands before.

“Good morning, Drerrin,” he murmured. He traced over the gleaming words along what were once his eldest brother’s fingers, lingering over each letter with aching tenderness:

WE GIVEOURSELVESTO MAKEYOU WHOLE

The lettering faintly glowed for a moment. He continued down, lovingly stroking the long bones of his second brother’s metacarpals. “Wake up, Ralias.”

WE SWEAROUR LOVEYOUR LIFEOUR BLOOD

The letters brightened, Redoran ebony and Indoril bone heating from within. The old ache of his missing forearm blossomed into a brief but searing pain, a beat of agony extending from his ruined limb as though the arm were not only whole, but in flames; his jaw tightened until the muscles shivered, fierce in his silence. Shuddering of its own accord, the arm’s volcanic glass chimed and rattled against the dressing table, fingers curling in clawed spasm. Golden light spilled from the engravings like mist, wreathing the arm in dawn-glow. In a breath of petrichoric chill, so foreign for the dry heat of Elsweyr, the shapes of two mer suggested themselves from shadow and glow, gathering substance from dust and cobweb until they seemed almost whole.

Moraelyn sighed a nervous breath he always held, washed anew in the daily sense of homecoming, a relieved warmth within the chest. To him, his brothers appeared just as they had when he was a child; youthful and hale, smiling faintly in welcome. He wondered what spectral horrors an unrelated onlooker like Lo’Droj would see; what ragged flesh and howling jaws would chill them, what yawning, accusing eye sockets would stare back?

Ralias’ kiss at his cheek tingled with static as always, raising the hair along his spine. “Another day, brother-sister?”

“Another day.” Moraelyn ran living, ever-trembling fingers over ghostly forearms in greeting, feather-light, barely stirring the air. The numbness that soaked into his fingertips felt warm and welcome, the confirmation his eyes hungered for. “How is Mother?”

“Well, quite well. She stalks Attribution’s Share for the season. Exploring the mazes, I believe.”

Ghostly and gleaming ebony hands rose in matching, languid motions of nereid grace, a flowing dance to test movement and response. With his brothers mirroring his every gesture, the substitute hand moved as though it were Moraelyn’s own living flesh. He tested each joint, the ebony and the gold-bound bone sliding over each other as smoothly and silently as bleeding. “Safe, I hope?”

“Safe and joyous,” Drerrin smirked. “Visiting her warriors. She’s found so many of her old friends there. Boethiah must have known her by name, I think.”

Moraelyn nodded knowingly, delicate lines deepening at the tails of his eyes, contented apostrophes quoting his smile. “And Father? He’s been quiet of late.”

His brothers were tactful, gentle: they made no mention of Moraelyn’s own decades of silence. “Boethiah’s realm suits him ill. He rests in the great city,” Ralias murmured, speaking of Necrom, that great metropolis of Dunmeri dead. “I believe he is still reading, actually. He’s found a lovely library, by the prayer-halls on Derata and Vrenmisu.”

Moraelyn always relished these tiny details, the streetnames meaningless but for the knowledge that his father was happy there. “Genealogy?”

“Novels,” Drerrin chuckled. “Romance and adventure. Says he’s had enough of his own, now he has time to hear someone else’s.”

With arms of grey skin and shining artistry, he held out his hands for his brother’s shades to hold and dwell within. It was no sacrifice at all, to yield up a little sensation and body heat for a time. “Will you take my love to them?”

Drerrin’s lopsided smile was soft, his forehead touching Moraelyn’s left temple, Ralias’ at his right. “They know,” he said. “But we will.”

“Thank you,” Moraelyn whispered; there were so many things to give thanks for that he could not possibly explain them all, though he had tried over many mornings. His brothers kissed his temples, let him move the writing hand they had helped return to him. 

The arm moved easily now, borrowed and shared sensation letting Moraelyn feel traces of air currents, the muted texture of the table’s wood through hard fingertips, as if touching everything with the back of his fingernails.  Every movement precise and unmarred, not a shiver to impede his will, only now could he feel complete.

The hand remained a conduit between Moraelyn and his brothers, a bound intimacy he clung to gladly. They would share the hand’s every touch and shift for a time, until the soft light faded from the golden letters at least; he dedicated his mornings to their whims, a changeable ritual of tasks as likely to involve prayer as it was to involve frying eggs. It seemed more than fair, in exchange for such a gift. “What shall we do today?” Moraelyn asked, love held beneath the tongue as it always was, the daily offering of experience for their mortal nostalgia.

“I want to light the candles,” Ralias admitted after a long, thoughtful silence, dutiful and pious as ever. “I miss the routine.” Moraelyn nodded, kissing the mist of his cheek.

Drerrin’s closed-lipped grin flourished bright and wide, eyes sparkling with excitement. “Pet the dogs. All of them. I want to touch every single dog you have.”

Moraelyn laughed, a tired shadow of his childhood giggle but no less delighted. “All right.”

He closed his eyes when he felt the air pressure drop and fill. Faint scents lingered for a moment, the scents of his brothers; golden kanet flowers and sandalwood, ozone and ash and bad shein. An errant draught, and the dry desert air filled his lungs again.

“All right,” he murmured again to an empty room.

He took up the tibrol-wood cane by his bed, tucked the long gloves into his waistsash. He would have perhaps an hour before Lo’Droj returned from the market. He would have to hurry.

He could hardly allow anyone else to touch something so precious as this.

[tales-of-abysia]

Mind of a Madman - Home plus One

Azure sat at the head of the table, resting on a large, stained black, wooden chair with “Sorrow” painstakingly carved into the wood in a text resembling barbed wire. His hands were crossed, his head rested upon then as his eyes, a deep blue with a bright golden ring, narrowed in discomfort. “Honestly, it’s the useless lingering that gets at me more than anything else.

Engine sat in his chair upside down, his legs hanging over the back as he doodled in his notebook. “I think it’s due to loneliness. He doesn’t have anyone left to bond with now that his parents are dead. He only has aunts and siblings who are distant. If not in a relationship then your friends become family, and based on his visiting habits prior to moving in he doesn’t have any of either left who look at him like a real person.”

“Hm. Well he has more than enough to distract himself from the intense self-dejection of the lonely lifestyle. I fail to see why he feels the need to intrude into my matters, but his carefree butt-in attitude is only one such issue that makes me annoyed with the situation. He is also messy. His things end up all over the table and continue to amass there until they spill over. I brought my own table down for that very reason.”

Mari was sat across from Engine, her legs crossed and atop the table as she stared into a small gaming screen. “We also have spilling over items.”

“Which I clear away on a bi-daily basis. I bring them upstairs, clear lingering cups and wash them, wipe surfaces, clear the coins and paper debris, and any other tasks that erase clutter. I don’t like my thinking space to be over-full and it always is since he doesn’t actually seem to have a place to put things. He didn’t bring any productive furniture besides a mattress and a shelf, which he has empty. Like, unpack some shit and put it in your closet or something. I wanna go and get more furniture eventually and he isn’t gonna have the space once the time comes.”

Mari nodded. “What I dislike is that we have lost the alone time. Even when we would usually have quiet time between us and Her, the roommate doesn’t understand that we don’t have the social batteries to converse constantly. A good pair of headphones will be quite useful in that setting.” She winced as her avatar died and she refreshed the level.

Engine flipped around in his seat and sat as a normal person would. “I wanna get the office area set up.”

Lexi yelled from beneath the table, “Project time! I wanna fix the desk!” She then continued coloring a large illustration she had drawn on the underside of the table.

Damien Bane approached from a stairway with a single bound book open in his hands. “My opinion is to create additional tasks and duties to keep everyone more productive during the downtime. If he can’t clean the bedroom because we are resting nearby, then he could be downstairs tidying the common areas. Also, for this office we will require an additional shelving unit for all of the small items we use on a daily basis. Without a top-deck on it or a low-hanging shelf then we find ourselves with merely a single desk, a single chair, three long corkboards and a plethora of boxes.” Damien sat, flipping a page.

Azure nodded. “I intended for the shelf in the living room to be used in the craft room. It will need to be cleared for use now that the holiday is over and our tree is packed up. I think I’m gonna trash it anyways since it no longer functions. What are you reading?”

Lexi could be hear beneath the table whispering “I miss the lights…”

Damien rose a brow at the underside of the table and then replied, “This is Duske Luna's old book. I am reading through it to understand him better. It occurs to me that despite my time studying the armor and assisting with his constitution and dipping process, I know remarkably little about the way he thinks and feels or his time alive with his sister.”

Mari looked up from her game in confusion. “Dude, Duske is right here.”

They both looked to each other, then to Duske who sat in his small seat and large armor. He glanced to Mari, to Bane, and then nodded. “I understand. I do not speak often.” His voice and movements were robotic.

Damien closed the book and looked to Azure. “My problem here is the reliability. Eventually he will start missing bills or slacking on duties.”

“He already failed to clean the bathroom”

“My point exactly. He fails at preparing food and cleaning after himself, can’t trust himself with his own money, and often counts on the two of you two take care of him so in my mind he is basically an old child. I myself am not very fatherly so I will be refraining from scolding him.”

Azure sighed. “Don’t remind me. With Bastion watching the Bulkhead right now I don’t have someone who is willing to go out and be so callo-“

“I can.” Mari closed her gaming device and it set itself to sleep mode. “I’ll say whatever I gotta to the kid to make sure shit gets done. I am already tired of things left around and things left unsaid so I am done. I’ll be the bitch. We are not friends and I don’t need his acceptance to happily live there. In fact, I would prefer to have a place where he doesn’t go or can’t fit to spend the majority of my time in anyways. If he dislikes me and gives me space I'll survive without a problem. I don’t need people in my life who hold me back or hold me down, and WE certainly don’t need more stress or problems.”

Azure and Damien stared at each other for a moment, speaking purely in facial expressions ranging from confusion, to concern, and ending on agreement. Azure said, “Okay. That sounds fine. My opinion is right now he gets off easy anyways, but I get the notion from him that he is saying what we want to hear and then only doing the bare minimum he needs to not get scolded. Textbook procrastination.”

Mari scoffed as she slipped her game into her hoodie pocket, dropping her legs down to the floor. “The only Textbook we will have after I am done is the one I have Engine write me that has all of our rules and regulations in it. I don’t want him going places or doing things that he shouldn’t and I will respectfully do the same. Right now the only place I don’t go is his room, unless his male cat is hounding our Bella or he leaves crap all around and refuses to deal with it. In those cases I walk in, drop the cat/crap and leave. He is quickly going to understand the separation between friends and roommates. We will get along but we will not be besties. I’m not looking for new pals who fill every moment of my life with the same repetitive stories. I got enough of that growing up with Gramma, except her stories always had a lesson instead of an attention grab.”

Engine looked up from his notebook. “You have a lot to say today. Have you had this on your mind? I didn't know I was writing a textbook.”

“Guess so. Either way I’m done with it.” She reached a hand under the table. “Lexia, honey, let’s get you prepared for the Desk project. Gonna have you roll something relaxing first and then you can start in on your tasks.”

Lexi rolled out from the table with a smile, slipping a small pencil box into her satchel on the chair. She grabbed Mari's hand and the two walked out of the room. The heavy door slowly creaked shut.

Duske looked to Damien. “Does it sound like I have a life?”

Damien raised both brows and looked down at the cover of the dark book with a crescent moon on it. “Uhh…” He blew out some air and patted the top of the binding. “Heh. Whew. No, not really. You’re a hard read.”

Duske tapped on his hard armor. “It’s my character, I suppose.”

[threeorphanpilgrimage]

Chapter 81 - Man Plans

The last twenty-four hours had been excruciating for Clementine. Her body had been racked with pain, even after the painkillers Sarah had given her, and all she could do is lie in bed and think. Think about everything they had lost. Think about Patty and Jet's fate. Think about Sin's death. Think about her own possible death every minute of every hour she lay helpless in bed.

The only other thing Clem could do was listen. Listen to Sarah's frantic footsteps, Omid's occasional cries for food or attention, and maybe the occasional muffled word or two from Devlin or Anthony. Clem kept hoping if she listened long enough she'd hear a vehicle approaching followed by familiar voices calling her name as footsteps raced forward to meet her.

She'd have gone over the image of Jet and Patty fleeing in her mind hundreds of times. Patty's entire right arm was covered in blood, but she was still moving and Jet wasn't hurt at all. There had been plenty of time for them to get out through a window and get to Sunseeker while Sin and then Clem were shooting at their attackers. They weren't even willing to shoot Jet when he dove on top of Patty, and he didn't have a gun like Clem did. She kept expecting them to pull up any minute now; they never came.

As the sunlight began to fade, Clem was forced to consider the possibility that their attackers were still looking for them. Things couldn't have gone more wrong and any hesitation they had for killing them was surely gone by now; the bullet that had pierced Clem's side had made that all too clear. With the sun setting, Clem was terrified these people would return, come in the middle of the night, and just shoot them in their sleep, just as Fan had threatened.

Sarah eventually came into the bedroom and reluctantly told Clem she would have to tie her wrist to the dresser, just in case she didn't survive the night. Just hearing those words made Clem nervous, and feeling her hand be bound, even somewhat loosely, made her sick. But she didn't say a work while Sarah did it because even now she was far more afraid of what would happen if she did die in the night and came back as a walker.

The fear ate at Clem as she laid there in the pitch darkness. She was dead-tired and desperately wanted to rest for a while, but couldn't. Every little ache and pain she felt as she awkwardly squirmed in place terrified her and made her wonder if she was dying. It was so bad Clem eventually started weeping into her pillow. She tried to swallow as much as of her sadness as she could, making only pained little cries in hopes of not waking up Sarah in the other room; she had.

Sarah checking in on her had been one of the few comforts for Clem across this incredibly long day. Sarah had brought Clem meals and even fed her, then always stopped to ask how Clem was feeling and if there was anything she needed. Even now, only half-awake, Sarah was nothing but concerned for Clem, and after hearing how she couldn't sleep, fetched one of the pills Patty had given her after the tornado. Clem doubted it would help, but took it anyway.

Sarah then untied Clem then promised to stay with her until she fell asleep. They talked for a time, Clem asking Sarah how Omid was doing as she had rarely gotten to see him today. She said he's mostly doing good, being blissfully unaware of the implications of what happened. However, he could tell Clementine was hurt, and the few times Clem had seen Omid today, she could tell he was worrying about her.

Sarah went on to talk about how she had time to make a grave marker for Sin. She had taken a few boards from an old fence and painstakingly carved out 'Here lies Sin' onto it while she was waiting for the others. She lamented she couldn't remember his full name from when he introduced himself, and felt those three words weren't nearly enough. She carved another board to read 'Grandfather', then another to say 'Father', then 'Friend', and finally nailed a board that read 'Hero' at the base of the tree he was buried under.

As Sarah spoke, Clem felt her already weak muscles become completely limp as her eyelids grew heavy. The drug was taking its course now and Clem felt her racing mind finally began to quiet. But a single terrifying thought reentered her head as she shut her eyes; this could be her last night alive. Clem felt panic crawling through her veins as she thought about calling out for Sarah, but ultimately succumbed to her fatigue as everything went dark.

Clem didn't dream, everything was just black, and in truth, she probably preferred that. It was more peaceful that way than having to think anymore, just drifting in the soothing darkness of a deep and dreamless sleep. Eventually, she opened her eyes and saw it was a new morning now, and then immediately closed them, not wanting to look at the light again so soon. Clem didn't know how long she lay there, but once she finally tried to move she realized her wrist had been shackled to the dresser.

Clem sighed as she moved to untie herself, her side aching horribly as she did so. Clem could reach the knot but her fingers couldn't pinch it tightly enough to undo it. It frustrated her to no end and the harder she tried to untie herself the more it hurt her side. A twist too hard caused a shooting pain to run up her side, causing Clem to yell out loud.

"Clem!" Sarah rushed into the room almost at the same time Clem had yelled. "Just hold still, I'll get you loose." Clem leaned back in defeat as Sarah hurriedly untied her.

"How did you know I was up?" asked Clem, thinking she didn't make that much noise.

"I heard you yell on the baby monitor."

"Baby monitor?" Clem looked over and spotted Omid's baby monitor sitting on the same dresser she was tied to, and was surprised she hadn't noticed it sooner.

"If you ever need anything just say so," said Sarah.

"That'll be all the time then," mumbled Clem in a weak voice. "I can't do anything anymore,"

"You're hurt. You just need to rest. Just stay there and I'll get you some breakfast."

"Wait."

"What?"

"I…" Clem felt her cheeks blush. "I need to pee really bad."

"Oh." Sarah seemed surprised by that, but only briefly. Without warning, Sarah scooped Clem into her arms. Clem grimaced as she felt her side ache again, then grabbed onto Sarah for stability. Being carried out the door, Clem saw Omid's old crib parked next to the unfolded couch; he and Sarah's new lodgings apparently. Clem couldn't help noticing Omid barely fit in his old crib anymore. Before Clem could get a better look, she was carried into the bathroom.

"All right, I'll be right outside the door," said Sarah as she gently sat Clem on the toilet. "If you need me for anything, just yell."

"Okay, thanks Sarah."

Sarah hurried outside and closed the door behind her, leaving Clem alone to do her business. She tried to pull her underwear down but the mere act of reaching caused her great pain in her side. Clem struggled again and again to undress herself, but couldn't manage to over the agonizing pain it caused. She was afraid she was about to pee herself while sitting on a toilet, then opened her mouth to speak.

"Sarah!" she called. "I… I need help."

Sarah burst into the bathroom and immediately placed herself beside Clem. "What's wrong?"

"I… It hurts when I…" Clem stopped short of saying anything and just kind of looked downward.

"Oh…" Sarah looked awkwardly at Clem for a moment. "All right, just hold still." Clem couldn't help feeling humiliated as Sarah undressed her. Looking at her friend's face, Clem did take some small comfort in Sarah averting her eyes. "Okay. I'll just wait outside and—"

"Can… can you stay?" begged Clem. "I… I just feel better, when you're close."

"Sure." Sarah sat down next to the toilet and looked away. Clem limply stretched out to take Sarah's hand, but couldn't reach her. She was about to pull her arm back when Sarah suddenly took her hand without looking, as if she had just sensed Clem's desire. Feeling Sarah's hand on her own, her fingers gently caressing her skin, finally helped Clem to relax ever so slightly, which helped her to do something else.

"This… this is so embarrassing," mumbled Clem.

"You just had to pee," insisted Sarah as she continued to stroke Clem's hand. "There's nothing to be embarrassed about."

"It's not that it's… I'm helpless now," cried Clem.

"You're hurt. You'll get better."

"I'm going to die."

"You're not going to die!"

"I am," sobbed Clem. "Just like Sin."

"No!" Clem was startled as Sarah darted in front of her. "I won't let that happen, okay?"

"You can't promise that."

"I'm gonna try!" Tears started rolling down Sarah's cheeks as Clem felt even worse than she already did. She stretched out her hand and started rubbing Sarah's back.

"I'm sorry. I—"

"It's okay," said Sarah as she wiped her eyes before holding Clem's hand again. "You're the one who's hurting."

"I just thought I'd feel better today, at least a little, but I feel even worse."

"You lost a lot of blood," reminded Sarah. "You probably need more time to get well."

"I hope so," said Clem as she turned to flush.

"Don't." Sarah grasped Clem's hand suddenly.

"Why?"

"I… I need to see if there's blood… in your pee."

"What?" asked a confused Clem. "Why?"

"If there is… it's bad."

Clem was too afraid to ask why it would be bad. Instead, she leaned to the side and let Sarah investigate, too frightened to look herself.

"Well?" asked a nervous Clem.

"It's fine." Clem felt relieved as Sarah flushed the toilet.

"So I'm okay?"

"For now."

Clem's relief was cut short upon hearing that. Sarah dressed her and picked her up again. Carrying her outside, Clem spotted Devlin and Anthony at the front of the Brave, arguing.

"You said it yourself, they could already be in Tulsa," insisted Anthony. "We should just head there ourselves."

"I also said they could still be at the farm," reminded Devlin. "We might be their only hope."

"Or they could be dead already." That was the last thing Clem heard as Sarah carried her back into the bedroom.

"Okay, I'll get you another painkiller and—"

"What are they talking about?" asked Clem as Sarah pulled a blanket over her. "Are they going back to the farm?"

"Devlin wants to at least scout the area nearby, see if he can find any signs of Jet or Patty… or the people who attacked us," said Sarah with a sigh. "He also said—"

"That we could use some of that stuff from the farm." Clem looked up to see Devlin standing in the door. He entered the room and looked over at Sarah. "How she's doing?"

"She's really weak," reported Sarah.

"And it really hurts," added Clem.

"Painkiller," said Sarah as she stood up suddenly. "I'll get it."

Sarah rushed out of the room while Devlin knelt down to look at Clem directly. Peering into the man's dark eyes, she could tell the sight of her in bed unsettled Devlin.

"I just wanted to check in on you, see how you were holding up," confessed Devlin, sounding uncharacteristically shaken. "With everything that's happened, I realized I didn't even stop to see if you were okay yesterday."

"I'm not," blurted out Clem. "It hurts, and I'm scared."

"I bet."

Sarah hurried back into the room. "Here you go." Sarah offered Clem a pill. She put it in her mouth and then Sarah held a bottle up to her lips so she could drink. "I'll just leave these on the dresser. If it really starts to hurt just take one, okay?"

"How many do we have left?"

"Um, probably at least a few dozen," said Sarah as she looked into the bottle. "Devlin, could you watch her a second? Omid just woke up and—"

"I got it."

Sarah set the water and pills on the dresser and then hurried out of the room while Devlin looked at Clem. At first she thought he was pitying her, but after studying his face she realized he may have actually been scared.

"Are you really going back to the farm?" asked Clem.

"Maybe," mumbled Devlin, sounding unsure. "Like I keep telling Anthony, we're gonna be careful and not rush into anything. Figure we'll start just by driving around the surrounding area, look for signs of the people who attacked us. Maybe spot the vehicles they came in or at least some tire tracks, figure out at least what direction they came from."

"You should take our guns," insisted Clem. "They'll—"

"Sarah already got them for us. I got the machine gun and Anthony's got her rifle, and we both got a pistol each." Clem suddenly noticed the pouch for spare magazines on Devlin's belt that Patty had taken from Titusville. "Those people took us by surprise before, but not this time."

"You're gonna try to fight them?"

"Not if we can avoid it, I don't want to risk leaving you and Sarah and Omid all alone, but we need to be ready for the worst this time, especially if we go back to the farm."

"How are you going to do that?"

"I figure we can walk in through the forest from the north, climb up one of the trees and scout things out from a distance. They'd never see us coming."

"You sure of that?" asked a nervous Clem.

"How often were you watching the woods?"

"Never… maybe we should have… maybe they are now."

"Even if they are those trees give Anthony and me a lot of cover. Hell, that's probably how they came in. Just walked in through the woods and right up to our front doors. Hopefully they'll be gone now and we can look for clues to what happened to Jet and Patty."

"And if those people are still there?" asked Clem.

"We'll turn around and head right back," promised Devlin. "I doubt they're not gonna come back to claim the farm, but if they had to leave for the duration, like to get the rest of their group as reinforcements, that gives me and Anthony a window to get back our semi-trailer full of food. There's a lot left in Tulsa but it's not infinite, we could really use that trailer."

"What if you get there and you see those people are there, but so are Patty and Jet?"

Devlin sighed. "I don't know how to answer that."

"You're gonna just leave them."

"I didn't say that," retorted Devlin. "I just can't tell you what I'd do in that situation…"

"I'm sorry."

"I want to save them too," assured Devlin in a quiet voice. "I feel bad enough that letting Pedro go is what caused all this."

"I can't believe he just died anyway. Everything we talked about, and it didn't even matter."

"Yeah, it's like momma always said; man plans and God laughs."

"God laughs?"

"It just means, no matter how carefully we plan something out, it could go wrong anyways. Although we could have probably stood to do more planning. We should have run drills after we let Pedro go, remind ourselves of our backup plan. Anthony nearly forgot to meet us here and it's possible Jet and Patty just went straight to Tulsa."

"What if they didn't? Do… do you really think we'll ever see them again?"

"You never know." Clem turned away from Devlin, feeling no hope of ever seeing her other friends again. "Once, me and one other, named Williams, were scouting downriver just outside the city limits when we ran into a whole pack of infected people.

"This was not long after we had settled in Tulsa and were still getting a handle on things, so we started hurrying back to the boat. Along the way we hopped a fence, and Williams landed her jump wrong and twisted her ankle. I started carrying her, but it was a long way back to the boat, and those damn infected never get tired."

"What did you do?" asked Clem as she looked up at Devlin.

"I kept stopping so she could shoot them as they got close. It worked for a while but eventually we realized there were more of them than we had bullets. I wasn't halfway back to the boat when I stumbled, nearly dropping Williams on her head in the process. It was clear I wasn't going to be able to carry her back and keep ahead of the infected too."

"Did you leave her?"

"No, at least not at first. I figured if we couldn't outrun them then I'd just have to kill them all. I had my knife and my nightstick, and by now we knew you had to aim for the head. I figured I could outlast them."

"But you couldn't?"

"They just kept coming. In retrospect, I think we had accidentally ran into a shelter or something where people gathered because our trip had been pretty uneventful until we cracked open the wrong door. The ones we had been killing must have been the fastest because after fighting them off for a while, I saw a whole god damn crowd marching up to meet us."

"So you did leave her, because you had to," concluded a dismayed Clem.

"She told me to, saying she could handle herself, and I still wouldn't leave her. So Williams pointed her gun at me and said she'd kill me if I didn't go… I hated myself for running, and I could hear her screaming as I ran back to the boat."

"I'm sorry Devlin."

"We came back the next day armed and ready. We cut down plenty of infected, but we couldn't find Williams, not alive or amongst the infected we killed. We looked everywhere and kept calling her name, both over the radio and out loud. Nothing."

"Did you ever see her again?"

"Nope…" Clem felt herself growing even more miserable upon hearing that. "Until she came walking back into Tulsa nearly a month later."

"What? How?"

"Yeah, I think that was my exact words when I saw her," said Devlin with a smile. "And I still remember Gina looking at me and smiling before saying 'I told you I could handle myself."

"Wait, Gina? That old lady who stayed with you in Tulsa?" Devlin nodded. "You said this was someone named Williams."

"Yeah, Gina Williams," said Devlin with a smirk. "Thought I'd keep you in suspense for a little while."

"I don't like suspense," said Clem.

"I know, I don't either," assured Devlin as he gently patted Clem's hand. "I just wanted you to know that sometimes people do beat the odds. I still like to think even now, I'll find her and the others again someday. Maybe I'll even think of something clever to say by then."

"Wait, you said you heard her screaming," said Clem. "And how come you didn't find her when you went back for her? And why didn't she call you on the radio? And—"

"It's a bit of long story, one Gina was happy to tell us. If you're still interested I can tell you when you get back."

"You're gonna be careful right?" asked a nervous Clem as she was forced to think about what could be waiting out there for them. "I want you to find Patty and Jet, but—"

"I'll be careful, believe me," assured Devlin in a stern voice. "All that time alone in Tulsa and working on the farm dulled my senses a little, but yesterday woke them right back up. In those early months of trying to keep order in Tulsa we had to be on our guard non-stop. Probably the only reason Gina survived was she was already figuring what to do before she told me to leave."

Clem watched as Devlin stood up, his posture noticeably changing as he did. "I'll be keeping my eyes and ears wide open for the worst and I'll remind Anthony to do the same. We'll be keeping Sarah up to date over the radio. You just rest now, that's what Gina had to do to get well enough to get back to us."

"She didn't get shot." Clem grew anxious upon hearing that out loud. "Do… do you know anyone who got better from that?"

"Not personally." Clem suddenly found it a little harder to breathe. "But... I'd be hard-pressed to name many adults tougher than you are."

"I don't feel tough right now," admitted a trembling Clem.

"I know you don't," spoke a sympathetic Devlin. "Neither did Gina in those weeks she spent sleeping in strangers' beds because she could barely walk. When we asked her why it took her month to make it back, she looked away and said it was because she couldn't wait a month, and messed up her ankle even worse trying to get back sooner.

"Nobody's strong all the time, so just focus on resting now, let us worry about everything else, okay?"

"I… I'll try," said Clem as Sarah and Omid came into the room.

"Anthony is waiting for you," informed Sarah in a meek voice.

"I'm going," said Devlin. "Lock the door and keep watch from the windows. If you see anything other than us coming, just go."

"What if it's the Sunseeker?" asked Sarah.

"You go," repeated Devlin. "For all you know, the people who attacked us took it and went out looking for the rest of us in it. If it's Patty and Jet, they'll know to head towards Tulsa, if not, best not wait around to find out who's in there."

"Oh… okay," conceded Sarah.

"If we come back and you're not here, we'll head onto Tulsa ourselves. After that we'll figure out our next move."

"Good luck," said Clem as Devlin left the room.

"You too." Hearing Devlin step out of the Brave, Clem slowly stood up on the bed, grimacing as she did so.

"Clem, don't." Clem ignored Sarah and went to the window. She watched as Devlin met with Anthony. He had Sarah's rifle and Devlin had the machine gun like he said. They said something to each other, then climbed into Anthony's truck. Clem watched as they drove off down the road, then just kept watching, unsure of what she was waiting for.

"Clem, lie down," urged Sarah. "You're gonna make it worse."

Clem noticed the small hole in the plastic covering the window, then felt a terrible pain in her stomach. Clem lay down on the bed, feeling even more tired then she did a minute ago.

"I think I need another painkiller," said Clem as she turned towards the dresser.

"What? No, not this soon."

"But my stomach hurts."

"Just wait a little longer for the one you took to start working," said Sarah. "Taking too many painkillers is dangerous."

"How dangerous?"

"Like, they could kill you if you took a whole bunch."

Clem felt herself shaking upon hearing that. "Maybe… maybe I shouldn't take them at all then."

"No, it's safe if you take one every now and then, but taking more than one could make you sick, and taking a bunch could kill you. So only take one when the pain is really bothering you, okay?"

"Okay."

"Hum-bee." Clem looked over to see Omid holding a spoon out towards her.

"You're hungry?" asked Clem.

"Actually, I think he's worried that you are," said Sarah as she climbed onto the bed, an open can in her hands. "He kept saying your name and hungry over and over again."

"Kem-men hum-bee." Clem watched as Omid stuck the spoon into the can and clumsily fished out some corn.

"I'm sorry your stomach hurts, but you really need to eat something. You won't get better if you don't." With Sarah's help, Omid guided the spoon forward. Looking down at the corn, Clem wasn't really hungry, but opened her mouth anyway. Omid giggled in delight as Clem chewed her food, the hurried back to the can.

"Thank you," said Clem in a weak voice.

"Are you okay?" asked Sarah. "Is there anything bothering you other than your stomach?"

"No... well…"

"Just tell me, it's okay," assured Sarah.

"I was just thinking… this corn is nowhere near as good as the corn we grew."

"I know," sighed Sarah as Omid delivered another spoonful into Clem's mouth. "Canned stuff just doesn't taste that good anymore. It's… just not the same."

Chewing on the wet morsels, Clem couldn't help noticing they were devoid of any flavor beyond salty. She already wasn't hungry, but the longer she chewed on those bits of corn the harder it became to swallow them.

"I talked with Devlin for a while, about maybe just going back to the farm if those people are gone, but he said it'd be too dangerous to stay there anymore, and Anthony didn't want to go at all… I don't blame him."

"It's so not fair," mumbled Clem before looking over to see Omid holding out more corn. She really didn't want to eat it anymore, but leaned forward and took it anyway.

"Devlin said if we get the food trailer back, maybe we could also pick everything that had grown in the field so far and get my plants from the greenhouse so we can at least have some seeds for next year. But it's way too risky to live there anymore."

Clem hadn't even finished chewing her last spoonful of corn before Omid was offering her another one.

"Devlin also said we probably shouldn't stay in Tulsa that long," continued Sarah. "It's not that far from the farm and the people who attacked might go there looking for us at some point. We'll probably have to find somewhere further to move to, somewhere we can start a new farm next year. That means we'll have to find another place close to water and hidden from sight, and we'll have to build everything all over again, if we even can. Without Sin, I don't know if we can—"

Clem started crying into her hands, inadvertently knocking the spoon out of Omid's grip and spilling bits of corn across the bed. "I'm sorry," said Sarah as she hurriedly wrapped an arm around Clem. "I'll shut up, please don't cry."

"Kem-men." Omid's distressed cry made Clem pause, she looked up to find the boy staring at her with sad eyes. He waddled over to her and wrapped his arms as much around her as much as she could. "Lub yoo," he said, sounding like he was going to cry himself.

"I know," said Clem as she wrapped an arm around Omid and Sarah each. "I love you too."

"You know what, hang on a second." Sarah hurried out of the room and returned carrying a glass jar with a dark red substance in it.

"Is that the jam you made?" asked Clem as Sarah unscrewed the lid. "We should save it for—"

"For what? A party?" asked Sarah with a shrug as she picked up the spoon. "I think you could use a treat more now than ever." Just smelling the jam was enough to quiet Clem's objection. Sarah leaned forward to fed Clem, and Clem just snatched the spoon out of her hand. That sweet and sticky concoction was intoxicating, and Clem swirled it about her mouth with her tongue for as long as she could before swallowing it. Tasting something she wanted more of again, Clem lurched forward and quickly took another spoonful of jam from the jar.

"You just eat as much you want," said Sarah in a warm voice as she gently stroked Clem's hair. "And if you need anything else you just tell me."

"Ah-wah-bree," demanded Omid as inched towards the jar. Clem smirked at him, then happily fed the boy some jam. Sitting there, Clem found herself enjoying just listening to the sound of Omid happily smacking his lips together.

"Sarah, you there?" Clem's blood ran cold as she heard Devlin's voice over the radio.

"Was is it?" answered a nervous Sarah.

"We've finished making a wide-sweep. Nothing to report yet," said Devlin as Sarah stood up and walked out of the room. "We found an out of sight place to park. Now—" Was the last thing Clem could hear Devlin say as Sarah carried the radio out of earshot.

"More." Clem looked down to see Omid reaching for the jam jar and quickly took it before he could get it. "Mah!"

"No Omid, we should save some for later," said Clem as she screwed the lid back on. "And save some for Devlin and Anthony… and Patty and Jet." Clem looked up as Sarah returned, a weary look on her face.

"You done?" she asked as she noticed the closed jar.

"Yeah," said Clem.

"No!" protested Omid as Sarah took the jar back. "More!"

"You already had breakfast." There was apprehension in Sarah's voice that bothered Clem as she pocked the jam.

"Is… is everything okay?" asked Clem, nervous to the answer. "What did Devlin say?"

"He said we should maintain radio silence for a while. I'm pretty sure they're going to check out the farm, and didn't want to say so in case anyone was listening in on us with their own radio." The possibility of someone spying on them over the radio terrified Clem.

"Is… is that painkiller working?" asked Sarah as she scooped up a pouting Omid.

"I think so. My side doesn't hurt so much right now and my stomach feels a little better."

"Good." Sarah took a breath as she adjusted her grip on Omid. "I… I need to change your bandages."

"Okay."

"And… I'll probably have to give you stitches."

"Oh…"

"Ree-ree," demanded Omid.

"I'll go put on some music and give him some toys to keep him distracted, and then I'll come back and take care of you."

"Oh... okay."

Clem briefly meet eyes with Sarah, seeing a look of reluctance behind her glasses before turning away and heading out of the bedroom. Clem waited nervously as she heard familiar music sound from the next room. The last time she had stitches was after a dog had bitten her. Turning and looking at the scar on her arm made her cringe, and waiting for Sarah to come back was nerve-wracking.

When Sarah did return, she stopped block the door behind her with a chair, then laid out bandages, alcohol, and a box of scary needles on the dresser. Clementine closed her eyes as she rolled onto her uninjured side, and flinched as she felt Sarah slowly peeling off the bandages from her wound. Sarah cautioned her to just hold still, and Clem did, fearful of what would happen if she moved.

The painkiller worked but only dulled the pain, not kill it. Clem felt every horrible stab made into her side, usually followed by hasty apologizes from Sarah as the sensation of metal and thread being yanked through her tender flesh sent chills up her spine. The pain wasn't the worst part, that was listening to Sarah's nervous mumbling. She wouldn't say it out loud, but Clem could tell Sarah wasn't sure confident in what she was doing.

Thinking back, Clem couldn't stop herself from remembering Sarah saying she had never sewn up a wound before Patty's leg. Patty was okay after that, but this was a lot worse than a single gash. Or at least Clem assumed it was; she was too afraid to open her eyes and look at the wound. Biting her lip and trying to stifle the cries of pain, Clem suddenly heard a voice at the door.

"Sah-rah!" yelled Omid. "Kem-men!"

"You… you should go check on him. He—"

"I can't stop with the wound half open," asserted Sarah, her voice trembling as she spoke. "I'll have to finish then get him."

Omid's cries just got louder as Sarah worked, with the painful stabs coming more quickly now. Over and over again Omid yelled their names, a little louder and more desperate each time. Eventually, Clem could heard a soft pounding on the door. It didn't make much noise, but those tiny fists knocking against the wood was deafening to Clem. Finally, the pounding stopped and Clem could hear a louder crying instead, which just broke her heart as she was forced to lay there helplessly and listen to Omid suffer.

"Okay, done!" Clem opened her eyes and watched as Sarah rushed over and threw open the door. "It's okay, we're right here," she said as she picked up the squealing toddler. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." As Sarah tried to calm Omid, Clem turned her head just enough to catch sight of her own wound. She got a glimpse of a couple of ugly stitches running over a section of mangled red and purple skin. Clem hastily turned away and forced her eyes closed until Sarah returned.

"I think he's okay," said Sarah as she sat down on the bed. "He just got upset when he couldn't get to us."

"I'm sorry," said Clem as she felt Sarah bandaging her side.

"Don't apologize, it's not your fault you're hurt."

"I'm just sorry you have to do all this," professed Clem. "I wish I could help."

"It's okay Clem." Sarah helped Clem sit up and Clem opened her eyes. The first thing she saw was the overwhelming concern in Sarah's eyes. The second thing she saw was the tidy bandage that was now covering Clem's wound. "How do you feel?" asked Sarah as she gently stroked Clem's cheek.

"A little better," admitted Clem as she found herself tendering grasping Sarah's hand.

"Kem-men," cried Omid as he climbed onto the bed.

"I'm right here," insisted Clem. "I'm okay." Clem turned to Sarah suddenly. "I… I am, right?"

"I think so. It didn't look any worse today, and now that it's sewed up it should start healing. It'll just take a while."

"Which means you'll have to keep taking of me." Clem looked over at Omid. "And him, at the same time."

"I don't mind, and it's not like I won't have any help. Anthony and…" The sound of a loud engine rapidly approaching caused Sarah to freeze mid-sentence. She went racing out of the bedroom while Clem clamored back over to the nearest window as tires squealed just outside. Clem watched as Anthony's truck came skidding to a stop next to the Brave. The first thing her eyes were drawn too was the long line of bullet holes running across the length of the truck; she didn't remember those being there yesterday.

"What happened?" Clem could hear Sarah ask as she ran over to Anthony as he stepped out of the truck.

"It was a god damn ambush, they were ready for us!" Clem felt a ball of dread growing in the pit of sore stomach as she noticed a bloody piece of cloth wrapped around Anthony's left arm. "I was just about to call you when they started shooting. I dropped the damn radio and started running and just barely got back to the truck before—"

"Where's Devlin?"

Clem felt her chest tighten as she watched Anthony look down at his feet. "Devlin's dead; they shot him right in front of me."

"No…" Clem felt whatever little strength she had drain right out of her body. She collapsed onto to the bed and started crying onto the sheets. Those two words; Devlin's dead, kept echoing in her mind no matter how loud she cried. How could he be gone just like that? Why was this happening? When was it going to end?

"Clementine!" Clem looked up to see a trembling Sarah standing over her. "Anthony—"

"I heard," sobbed Clem. "Devlin's dead."

"Yeah…" Clem watched as Sarah wiped her eyes before swallowing hard. "We're going back to Tulsa. Anthony says they might have followed him so we have to leave right now. Maybe… maybe Jet and Patty are already there. I asked if Anthony saw anything, like the Sunseeker at the farm but it sounds like they didn't even get close so… maybe they're waiting for us there."

"Maybe…" repeated a dismayed Clem. She started to cry again when she heard Omid sniveling right next to her. "I'm sorry," said Clem as she hugged him. "It's okay," she lied. "It's all right."

"Sarah!" Clem heard Anthony call.

"I'm coming." Sarah turned to Clem. "Just stay here, I'll drive us back to Tulsa."

Before Clem could answer, Sarah was already out the door. Omid was still whimpering as the loud roar of the Brave's engine started. Clem cradled him in her arms, feeling as helpless as he probably did right now. "Do… do you still want me to read you a story? Ree-ree?" Omid perked upon hearing that. He stopped crying and looked at Clem expectedly. "I'll go get your favorite book and read it for you. Ree-ree?"

"Ree-ree!" cheered an excited Omid.

Clem groaned as she stood up and went to the cabinet above the bed where they kept Omid's books, or at least they used to. As Clem dug through the various items stuffed in the cabinet, she suddenly remembered they moved all of Omid's books into the farmhouse, which they had now abandoned. She dug through the other cupboards and the dresser drawers, finding other things she didn't need and some of Patty's clothes.

"Ree-ree?" asked Omid, sounding upset.

"I'm… I'm sorry but…" Clem spotted a blue book covered in golden stars and planets surrounding a decorative sun etched into the middle of the cover lying on the far dresser. "I… I'll read you… the story of your parents," said Clem as she flipped through the pages of Sarah's diary. "Your parents were some of the bravest smartest, nicest, funniest people I ever met." Clem just turned to a blank page and pretended to read.

"This happened when you were even littler, so little you were tiny, and living in your mommy's tummy." Clem poked Omid's belly, producing a giggle from the boy. "I first met your parents on the worst… one of the worst… I met your mommy and daddy on a very, very bad day, and they made it a lot better."

Clem regaled Omid with the tale of his parents as best as she could, talking as much about them as she could while trying to avoid mentioning anything too frightening, forcing herself to say his daddy had to go away but still loved him. She was pretty sure Omid didn't understand most of the words she was saying, but she made sure to keep using the words mommy and daddy, hoping Omid would remember them. She had just about reached the end of the story, finding it hard to recall Christa's final painful moments as Omid stared at her expectedly.

"Your mommy…" Clem swallowed hard. "She gave us this RV, and as much advice as she could, and… she gave us you." Omid seemed to be confused as Clem pointed at him. Clem looked down at the blank pages of the diary and set it aside. Instead, she headed over the dresser and picked up their photo album. There was a thin layer of dust on the cover that Clem brushed away before opening it.

"This was your mommy." Clem opened the album to Sarah's pencil sketch of Christa and set it in front of Omid. Omid crawled over to the open album and looked at the drawing. "That's mommy. Can you say mommy? Mom-me."

"Mommy," said Omid as he placed his hand on the drawing.

"And this is your daddy," said Clem as she gestured to her crude crayon drawing of Omid Sr. "Say daddy. Dad—"

"Daddy."

Clem smiled upon hearing that. "Good," she said before looking down at the drawings. "Your mommy loved you very much. Both her and your daddy did, even though you were in your mommy's tummy then. They can't be here with you, but they did everything they could so you could live a good life and—"

Clem tensed up as she heard the squeak of the Brave's tires. She crawled back to the window and saw they were parked in abandoned Tulsa shopping center. Clem found herself instinctively scanning for threats. She didn't see anything of concern yet, but couldn't help feeling danger was just out sight with every old car and store window she studied. Turning her head, she found herself staring the Sam's Club and found the sight of it still standing to be oddly comforting.

"Clem," said Sarah as she headed into the bedroom.

"We're here," noted Clem. "Did you see the Sunseeker or—"

"No, it looks the same as when we left," said Sarah with a sigh. "Anthony and are I going to check in the Sam's Club, make sure it's still okay." Sarah set a familiar radio with peeling flower stickers on the bed. "I'll have the other one, the only other one now that Anthony has lost his. I changed channels on them both in case someone was listening in before."

"That's smart."

"It was Devlin's idea…" Sarah choked back a sob. "After nobody called yesterday, he said we should change them in case the people who attacked us found one of our radios and figured out what channel we use. Anthony told me just now we should change them again in case they already figured out which channel we switched to. If… if something happens—"

"Don't say that," begged a desperate Clem. "I… I can't—"

"Just keep it on, and lock the door if you can," suggested a hasty Sarah. "I'll be right back." Clem watched as Sarah removed a gun from her holster and marched out of the bedroom before Clem could object. She shuffled out after her, leaving the bedroom in time to see Sarah heading outside. Clem watched through the windshield as Sarah and Anthony, armor with guns and armored in raincoats marched right up to the Sam's Club main entrance and, after a brief peek past the door, disappeared inside.

Clem forced her tired legs to stumble forward and lock the door, then flopped onto the pulled out couch. Seemingly everything she did now was exhausting and made her next action harder than the last. As she lay on the couch, she felt herself growing even weaker than she felt a minute ago. And forced to lay there with her thoughts, the news of Devlin's death started floating to top of her head and she had to resist the urge to cry all over again.

"El-muh." Clem looked up to see a worn stuffed elephant staring her in the face. "Tah-bah el-muh Kem-men."

"Patty must have brought this with her when you stayed with her the other night." Clem smiled as she picked up the tiny tusked toy. "I still remember the day I got this for you," said Clem as she stroked Elma's chewed up ears. "There was just this big pile of stuffed animals stacked up in someone's house and I knew I wanted to get you one and just picked this. Later, I remembered your daddy once said he was going to get me an elephant, and maybe that's why I picked it."

Clem looked over at Omid and saw him smiling now. "You're such a good boy. You're only one year old and you're already trying to take care of me. Your mommy and daddy would be so proud of you. I… I'm so proud of you Omid. I—"

There was rumbling sound at the door. Clem watched as Sarah came marching in. She tossed her keys aside and the tossed away her raincoat in an equally frustrated fashion before collapsing into the driver's seat. Clem sat up and watched as Sarah wept into her hands.

"What's wrong?" Sarah looked up, then collapsed back into her hands. "Sarah, tell—"

"It's all gone…"

"What? What's all—"

"Everything!" Sarah's sudden outburst startled Clem and sent Omid crying as he wandered away towards the bedroom. "Everything, everything in the Sam's Club was gone. The food, water, even the radio and guides Jet left behind, it's completely empty now."

"What?" asked Clem in disbelief. "That… that's impossible. I was here just a couple of weeks ago with… with Devlin. Everything was—"

"I know, Anthony said the same exact thing… he couldn't believe it either." Sarah sniveled as she wiped her eyes. "Some… someone must have come and just... taken it all."

"Who?" asked Clem in dread.

"I… I don't know, but, they picked the store clean." Those words sent a chill down Clem's spine. "We didn't look for long because we were afraid they could still be around, but even the tires by the front door were gone. It… it was like all those empty buildings we found after we left Shaffer's. It—"

There was a bang at a door and Anthony came charging in. "Sarah, what are you're waiting for, we gotta get outta here!"

"I know, just give me a minute!" snapped Sarah.

"We're leaving?" asked Clem. "But, wait, what about Patty and Jet? They could still be here somewhere and—"

"And we could run into whoever stole what was left in there if wait around much longer," reminded Anthony, his every word racked with panic. "We already agreed we couldn't stay here long lest those fuckers who attacked the farm figure out we were going to the biggest city in the state. Hell, they could be the ones who took everything. Maybe—"

"I know all that!" barked Sarah. "But we can't just leave without looking for Patty and Jet and—"

"The only reason we came back here was because it has food, which it doesn't now," stated Anthony. "If Jet and Patty came here, they would have left too when they saw there was nothing left but the chance of running into whoever stole our food. You heard that woman, she mentioned someone, what was his name—Octavius? That's not a name you pick if you want to make friends; that's a name for someone who wants others to know they're not to be fucked with. Does that sound someone you want to risk running into?"

"Of course not, but… what if we beat Patty and Jet here," said Sarah. "We gotta leave them a message or—"

"The code," stated Clem as she forced herself to sit up. "If they come here, they'll definitely check the Sam's Club. We'll leave the word Ceres on the main door and underline the second E, that's where the N is in Owens. They'll see it and know we went north."

"Right, to Interstate Eighty," realized Sarah. "That's where we talked about going if we ever had to move again. We can leave messages behind on the road signs too so they can find us."

"That's not a good idea," stated Anthony. "If the people following us figure out the code then—"

"How could they possibly figure it out?" asked an annoyed Clem.

"Who knows, they may have taken Jet prisoner, asked him all about the rest of us and he told them the code."

"Jet wouldn't do that," dictated Clem.

"You don't know what he would do. For all we know, they threatened to kill Patty right in front of him if he didn't talk. When they killed Devlin, I swear, they knew we were coming, like someone told them what we'd probably do… they could be on their way here right now. We gotta leave."

"You're right," said Sarah. "But we should still leave the code, in case Patty and Jet are out there."

"Sarah, we—"

"If you don't I—"

"I'll take care of it," insisted Anthony. "Ceres and underline the second E, right?" Clem nodded at him. "All right, I'll leave that on the door, then we're getting out of here." Anthony headed outside while Sarah approached Clem.

"Do you need help going back to the bedroom?" asked Sarah.

"I… yeah." Sarah carefully picked up Clem and carried her back to the bed, where Omid was crying softly. She then picked him up and placed him next to Clem, who proceeded to stroke his back until he settled down.

"What… what are we going to now?" pondered Clem out loud.

"Well, we still got plenty of food stored up, so we should be okay for a while," spoke Sarah, as if she was trying to convince herself. "We'll starting head north to Interstate Eighty like we planned and find a good place to wait. If Patty and Jet are alive, they'll be heading that way to… if they remember the plan. God I hope they're okay."

"Me too," said Clem in a whisper as she gently stroked Omid's hair. "What then?"

"Huh?"

"After we're done waiting, or Patty and Jet find us, what do we do then?"

"Then… I don't know."

Previous Chapter - Next Chapter - First Chapter

[collymore]

Personal dreams however exciting are simply the landmarks to the permanency of reality! (Poem)

By Stanley Collymore

 Didn’t I once hear you openly, rather insistently and quite

categorically say that from your own personal point of

view that realistically there was no conceivable way

you’d ever allow yourself to emotionally fall in

love and, furthermore, that being the proud,

independent and strong-minded woman

which you obviously are would you

ever assent, and these were your

identical words: “Physically subvert myself or my

integral being to any living man and in so doing,

and for the rest of my allotted life, become

nothing more than a highly suitable and,

in reality, a typically handy conveyor

belt deliverer of his much desired

and naturally predictable biological offspring;

to whom I would, of course, immediately

and intuitively become the noticeably

appreciative, constantly doting and

ever buoyant mother, while at the

same time and long-sufferingly,

but with no allowed practised

career of my own, regularly

administering at home as his every ready job’s

disaster or career concerns attentive ear, and

all this associated with my painstakingly

choreographed and earnestly socially

encouraged public role as the lace

curtain and fashionable woman

cum loving and dutiful wife.

 For as I vividly and somewhat amusingly recall when you

voluntarily of your own accord made that emphatic and

uncompromising statement of yours that seemingly,

essentially and securely, permanently closed the

door and all other options in relation to your

development of any essential or emotional

relationship with anyone of the opposite

gender, even though it was absolutely

clear to anyone possessed of a perceptive brain and

firmly equipped with a competent awareness of

such things that you were not by any stretch

of the most creative of imaginations either

disposed towards becoming or far worst

and in such complex circumstances,

were actually a practising lesbian.

 All the same were distinctly a woman who was very much

in your prime, twenty-eight years old at the time, long

out of your distinctly personality-establishing and

teenaged rebellious years, and furthermore at

that age appropriately, as one would quite

unsurprisingly expect, a matured lady

in every respect, who was wise and independently

carving out a career for herself that was wholly

of her own preferring, and whose amazing

progress, exceptional development and

truly magnificent achievement had

nothing whatever to do with the

direct influence or, for come

to that the personal control

of any one-person, other

than of course yourself.

 So why then, and out of understandable curiosity

on my part I must confess, did you renege on

essentially everything you formerly and

solemnly said and even persuasively

signposted that you determinedly

believed? And, instead, now

seem to be gratuitously and contradictorily

embracing the identical things that you

once considered were so extremely

antipathetic to the very concept

of the lifestyle you formerly,

distinctly and positively

confirmed to persons

like myself was the

solitary one that

you wanted to

always live.

 Your right, of course as it is everyone else’s

on whatever matter that infiltrates their

thoughts, to change your mind, as

long as you make the effort to

remember that regardless

of how exciting personal dreams

seem to be, they’re none the

less purely the landmarks

to the permanency of

one’s own reality!

 © Stanley V. Collymore

18 October 2017.

  Author’s Remarks:

Whatever one might think of the biblical story relating to Adam and Eve the good Lord, from my Christian understanding of it, did not impose any divine prescription, which he evidently could have done had he wanted to, that these two individuals should necessarily pair up with each other and therefore rather shrewdly and pragmatically on His part allowed a free choice of a relationship between the two of them, which would basically be a matter entirely of their own. And that’s exactly what occurred, and therefore the consequences of their actions rested solely with themselves.

 And it’s the same situation with every one of us. For we’re all of us endowed with a personal brain and the capacity from birth to be able to think for ourselves. Granted that this is clearly a developmental process that can be influenced by others. But ostensibly as one gets older and presumably wiser the choice is still there pertaining to whether as an individual you choose to actually think for yourself and objectively, as a result, make your own informed decisions in relation to all aspects of your personal and professional lives or instead prefer, for whatever reasons, to allow others to do that for you.

 But even so, while we all have dreams of one sort or another and are perfectly entitled to live and explore them irresponsibly allowing them to dictate every aspect of one’s everyday life is not only a grave mistake, it’s also the height of folly. And getting emotionally and physically involved with another person for all the mistaken reasons is just as stupid really as assuming that one can cut oneself permanently off from reality and then call that living a normal life.

 But a word of caution. Whether you get involved with someone or choose to stay single and unattached that decision, if it’s to really make any sense, should be yours alone. And if you select to become part of a couple that doesn’t necessarily mean or should it in any way make you cease to be the individual that you actually are. Unless, of course, you purposely decide that you want to become another person’s personal doormat!

 So do remember, and constantly so, that in everything you personally do individual choice and basic common sense should be your faithful watchword and guiding principle. After all it’s your life! So why let someone, or others, supposedly or arguably, even with the best of intentions, arbitrarily live it for you? Your decision. And the best of luck in making it.

 Throughout all this and taking full cognizance of the realization that the intuitive or conscious decision by you not to trust or get personally or emotionally implicated with anyone might in actuality stem from the direct influence of the traumatic experiences you’ve undergone at the hands of sexual predators and/or abusers, whether they’re serial or otherwise, ongoing still or are incidences of the past, while not an abuser myself nor could I ever imagine myself being one far less so permit anybody to ever have taken such a diabolical liberty with me and then because of the power and influence they wield or buttressed by whatever sick reasoning that their likeminded verminous supporters or encouragers can come up with to justify or absolve their vile actions and then have the gall to ludicrously and insultingly posit these as “plausible excuses” and therefore on my part can’t honestly profess, nor would I ever attempt to do so, that I truthfully know how you feel or what it is that you’re personally going through as a result of this onerous travesty of brazen injustice gratuitously inflicted on you, the answer I do know is not to shut yourself permanently away from the consequences of reality that you suffered and in all likelihood still endure.

 For in doing so you merely hand victory to your abusers and unwittingly through this de facto process grant them carte blanche to carry on controlling the terms and conditions of your life. And quite honestly after all that they’ve malevolently done is that seriously what you want to happen?

[collymore]

Personal dreams however exciting are simply the landmarks to the permanency of reality! (Article)

By Stanley Collymore

 Didn’t I once hear you openly, emphatically and quite categorically say that from your own personal point of view there was realistically no conceivable way that you would ever allow yourself to emotionally fall in love and, furthermore, that being the proud, independent and strong-minded woman which you most evidently are would you ever consent, and these were your identical words: “Physically subvert myself or my integral being to any living man and in so doing, and for the rest of my allotted life, become nothing more than a highly suitable and, in essence, a characteristically convenient conveyor-belt  deliverer of his much desired and naturally predictable biological offspring; to whom I would, of course, immediately and intuitively become the noticeably grateful, constantly doting and ever buoyant mother, while simultaneously and rather uncomplainingly, but with no permitted professional career of my own, always serving at home as his every ready job’s woes or career concerns attentive ear, and all this attendant with my painstakingly choreographed and earnestly socially promoted  public role as the lace curtain and sophisticated woman and, obviously, the ever loving and dutiful wife.

 As I vividly and somewhat amusingly recall when you voluntarily of your own accord made that emphatic and uncompromising statement of yours that seemingly, effectively and firmly, permanently closed the door and all other options as regards you cultivating any serious or emotional relationship with anyone of the opposite gender even though it was perfectly clear to anyone possessed of an astute brain and securely equipped with a competent awareness of such things that you weren’t by any stretch of the most fertile of imaginations either disposed towards becoming or, far worst in such circumstances, were actually a practising lesbian.

 All the same you were a woman in your prime, twenty-eight years old at the time, long out of your distinctly personality-establishing and teenaged rebellious years, and furthermore at that age, appropriately, as one would quite unsurprisingly expect, a matured lady in every respect who was very sensibly and independently carving out a career for herself, which was entirely of her own choosing, and whose amazing progress, remarkable development and spectacular achievement had nothing whatsoever to do with the direct involvement or personal direction of any one person other than yourself.

 So why then, and out of understandable curiosity on my part I must confess, did you renege on practically everything you previously and earnestly said and even convincingly specified that you determinedly believed? And instead now appear to be wantonly and contradictorily embracing the identical things that you once considered were so infinitely antipathetic to the very concept of the lifestyle which you previously, famously and quite assuredly confirmed to persons like me was the sole one that you unstintingly and unchangeably wanted to live. Your right, of course as it is everyone else’s on whatever matter that infiltrates their thoughts, to change your mind, as long as you make the conscious effort to remember that regardless of how exciting personal dreams are they’re nevertheless only the landmarks to the permanency of reality!

 Whatever one might think of the biblical story relating to Adam and Eve the good Lord, from my Christian understanding of it, did not impose any divine prescription, which he evidently could have done had he wanted to, that these two individuals should necessarily pair up with each other and therefore rather shrewdly and pragmatically on His part allowed a free choice of a relationship between the two of them, which would basically be a matter entirely of their own. And that’s exactly what occurred, and therefore the consequences of their actions rested solely with themselves.

 And it’s the same situation with every one of us. For we’re all of us endowed with a personal brain and the capacity from birth to be able to think for ourselves. Granted that this is clearly a developmental process that can be influenced by others. But ostensibly as one gets older and presumably wiser the choice is still there pertaining to whether as an individual you choose to actually think for yourself and objectively, as a result, make your own informed decisions in relation to all aspects of your personal and professional lives or instead prefer, for whatever reasons, to allow others to do that for you.

 But even so, while we all have dreams of one sort or another and are perfectly entitled to live and explore them irresponsibly allowing them to dictate every aspect of one’s everyday life is not only a grave mistake, it’s also the height of folly. And getting emotionally and physically involved with another person for all the mistaken reasons is just as stupid really as assuming that one can cut oneself permanently off from reality and then call that living a normal life.

 But a word of caution. Whether you get involved with someone or choose to stay single and unattached that decision, if it’s to really make any sense, should be yours alone. And if you select to become part of a couple that doesn’t necessarily mean or should it in any way make you cease to be the individual that you actually are. Unless, of course, you purposely decide that you want to become another person’s personal doormat!

 So do remember, and constantly so, that in everything you personally do individual choice and basic common sense should be your faithful watchword and guiding principle. After all it’s your life! So why let someone, or others, supposedly or arguably, even with the best of intentions, arbitrarily live it for you? Your decision. And the best of luck in making it.

 Throughout all this and taking full cognizance of the realization that the intuitive or conscious decision by you not to trust or get personally or emotionally implicated with anyone might in actuality stem from the direct influence of the traumatic experiences you’ve undergone at the hands of sexual predators and/or abusers, whether they’re serial or otherwise, ongoing still or are incidences of the past, while not an abuser myself nor could I ever imagine myself being one far less so permit anybody to ever have taken such a diabolical liberty with me and then because of the power and influence they wield or buttressed by whatever sick reasoning that their likeminded verminous supporters or encouragers can come up with to justify or absolve their vile actions and then have the gall to ludicrously and insultingly posit these as “plausible excuses” and therefore on my part can’t honestly profess, nor would I ever attempt to do so, that I truthfully know how you feel or what it is that you’re personally going through as a result of this onerous travesty of brazen injustice gratuitously inflicted on you, the answer I do know is not to shut yourself permanently away from the consequences of reality that you suffered and in all likelihood still endure.

 For in doing so you merely hand victory to your abusers and unwittingly through this de facto process grant them carte blanche to carry on controlling the terms and conditions of your life. And quite honestly after all that they’ve malevolently done is that seriously what you want to happen?