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the-headbop-wraith · 4 years ago

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3_45 _ The Past is Gone

Nothing of Kingsman Mechanic’s appeared out of place. A few lights poured clarity across the work floor, but the other rooms and the storage chamber remained inactive. On the main floor, the white and black hound scurried this and that way, struggling to untangle the erratic path.

Arthur raised his legs as Mystery padded by. The dog took a sharp left and continued, first checking the flatbed the intruder skipped over, and then roving toward vehicles parked in stations. Mystery came upon a large and swollen duffle bag, laying beside a supply cart. He pawed at the clunky thing, nipping at the zipper on the side.

Lewis prodded at the sack, shifting it one way then the other cautiously. It was hard and chunky, likely some sort of equipment. The question though, did he bring this in or was he taking it?

A bark form Mystery assured that there was nothing hazardous. Lewis tugged the zipper and tilted his skull.

“You should’ve barbequed the guy,” Vivi grumbled. She moved in beside Lewis and peered over his shoulder. “Skinned and then barbequed.”

“A bit excessive.” Lewis angled his skull up and peered across the room, to Arthur. “Turned him inside out, and then barbequed.”

“Now you’re talking.” She leaned down and touched his hand. “It’ll be okay. Uncle cares a lot about you, but he needs some time to adjust.”

Lewis rasped. “He needs time to adjust.” He didn’t bother to zip up the bag, and stood. “First thing he does is put a hole right through me. Who does that?”

“A protective parent?” Vivi posed. She leaned around Lewis’ side, staring up at him. “Arthur’ll be fine, he’s sore but it’s all aches. He told me nothing in his shoulder was torn or cracked, which is a marvel.” She pushed him by the lower back, coaxing the tall spirit on his way.

Two hours following the intruder’s retreat, Uncle Lance was on his second pot of coffee. In that time, Vivi did her best to reconstruct the events of what transpired all that time in the past, wherein an ‘accident’ occurred. There remained crevices that she could not put description into, due to Lance’s inexperience to the actuals of the Mystery Skulls paranormal investigation. And also, that Lewis’ did not merely loose his footing on some slippery rocks. It wasn’t a good time to bring in the influencing force, or place the ideal that it’s compulsion was strong, if not impossible to fight away. Despite the skewed memory, Vivi was the only candidate to elaborate the details. Lewis was adamant about that.

For the most part, Lance seemed to take it all in as well as anticipated. He did need some time alone to think, and really grapple with what he was seeing. Beyond the revelation that Lewis wasn’t gone – not entirely there, either – the shock that supernatural creatures existed out there, entities that occurred not far from his home base.

As for the intruder in the mask, the trail led outside and down the road. Mystery lost it on the sidewalk, prompting Vivi’s speculation that he got into a vehicle and departed. She returned to Kingsman and checked on Arthur, while Lewis accompanied Mystery in the next search. The motivation and intent of the assault. The bag offered some insight.

“Good news, we figured out what the guy was here for,” Vivi proclaimed, in a strong dramatic whisper.

“And there. I didn’t drop you off someplace. High.” Lewis set the bag down at Arthur’s feet. A look of ‘what the fu—' crossed Vivi’s face when she directed her eyes to Lewis. “You… don’t seem as appreciative as you should be.”

“Lew!”

Arthur fixed the soggy bag of water against his neck. “Sorry. Not surprised, is all. This is the furthest anyone’s got with getting away. At least, that I know of.”

Vivi was aghast. “This has happened before?”

“Not like this.” He flecked his hand upward. “If someone breaks in, they jack shit that’s easy to access. Grab’n go. We store special components upstairs, things that get legs real easy. Whatever’s pricey and small, easy to miss, gets locked up. Only one other guys has the keys, aside from Uncle and me.” He sighed. “Not that this would do anyone any good.” With his hand, he rifled through the duffle. Some folders were crammed in, among the shell and arm shapes.

Lewis shifted and looked away, his thumb stroked the underside of his cheek bone. “Then, could it have been someone working here? One of the grease monkeys?”

Mystery yapped and gave his head a shake, ears flopping.

“Not… likely,” Arthur drawled out. “These models are shells, nothing useful has been incorporated into them. It’s possible the guy grabbed and jammed, if he was in a hurry. But you didn’t run into him upstairs, not in that tiny corridor. So, he was already on his way out.”

The four hung quiet a moment, debating on the assessment. Lewis broke the silence, “So, what does that mean?”

Arthur shrugged. “I’ll go upstairs and check, make sure nothing else is missing. You lost the trail?”

Mystery borked and spun in circles. Got in a car and zoomed.

“And what sort of car?”

Mystery tapped his front paws, raising one and flattening his ears down. “Mhh….”

Lewis and Vivi exchanged a look. Vivi said, “Hangs around a car garage?”

“Can’t distinguish between the different models?” Lewis finished.

Mystery snorted and left them, ears twisted back and muzzled crinkled. All this oil smells the same.

Lewis gestured to Vivi. “There’s not a lot to work with.”

“No.” She turned to Arthur. “Let’s get you upstairs so you can lie down.” Vivi leaned down and took Arthur’s upper arm. Lewis took the bag up and moved aside, while Vivi hefted Arthur off the box. “We can ask Uncle Lance about the cameras later.”

“I’m fine,” Arthur insisted, though he let Vivi aid him in getting upright. Lewis stood by, hand open as if he wanted to assist but wouldn’t move towards Arthur. “Think I was mostly stunned. Good thing these boxes were empty. Anyway, the cameras wouldn’t be much help. Aside from proving the guy was a jerk.”

“Always the optimist,” Lewis crackled. “I doubt they’ll come back around.”

“You sound real proud of yourself,” Vivi quipped, through a grin.

“I really wish you’d seen them. It was like they saw a ghost.” Lewis’ skull swiveled on his collar, and he wound his shoulders around to face the stout figure approaching them.

Lance gave his face a firm rub, before searching the group over. “Don’t mean tu break up teh powwow. Your gunna be okay, Art?”

Arthur grimaced and pulled on the edge of his vest. “I’ve been worse.”

A steely expression crossed Lance’s face, but he didn’t respond on that. “Yuh. Sure. Um, I want to head on over to my place, sleep this off. Might take the rest of the day off.” He pointed to Arthur. “And you’re not comin’ in either.”

“I already had the day off….”

“The whole week, then.”

“Uncle,” he groaned, stretching awkwardly around Vivi to facepalm.

“No. M’words final. You. Ghost Pepper.”

Lewis eye sockets surged with those fuchsia flames. “It’s Lewis, Uncle Lance. Lew-Is.”

Lance swept his arm. “C’mere. I want a word with you.”

A low rattle burned through Lewis. “Juro si este va a ser un tema recurrente….”

Lance led the way through the work floor, and into the dim corridor entrance. The shorter man stood with his arms crossed, glaring at Lewis and trying to look as imposing as he could muster without standing on his toes. Lewis met the stance, crossing his arms tightly over his chest.

“Vivi talked with you.”

“She talked with me,” Lance acknowledged, with a nod. “N’it was a good conversation. A lot tu take in. There’s a lot tu… tangle mah thoughts ‘round.” He glanced a little beyond Lewis’ shoulder. “I try not tu pry into your kids… Arthur and Viv-vi’s going on’s. I trusted… ‘em, despite whut happened to m’boy. Tu yu.”

Lewis creaked back and looked away.

Lance went on, “I thought stayin’ busy an’ doin’ their thing was right. But now, I dunno if that was what bein’ best for ‘em. She told me what ya’ll been preoccupied with, but there bein’ more she ain’t willing tu give over. All this time, I thought yu were out on the road, unmasking kooky loonies playin’ pretend. Fakes doin’ shenanigans for publicity, tryin’ to shirk a profit.”

For a minute the two stood, quiet and contemplative on the crossroads. It was not total silence, a steady thrum persisted from Lewis. Like a heartbeat, Lance was not eager to address.

“And what’s this about Arthur comin’ home, with his arm all beat tu heck?” Lance snarled. “First, he loses it. Now it’s cursed, and he can’t – he can’t furbish a replacement to make use. Keep it functional for more than… a couple months! Yu’re adults, and ya’ll got yur business tu work through, but do yu lot got yur priorities squared?”

Lewis frowned. “You’d have to take that up with the boss lady.”

Lance pressed his hands to his face and took a deep breath. “Yu and I are talkin’ it now.” He pried his hands from his face and held his palms together, against his nose.

For the first time, Lewis realized Lance’s hands were quaking. It was subtle, maybe he didn’t realize it. The stillness hung between them, while Lance struggled to get his bearings.

“Somethin’ happened between you an’ Art, I’ve seen enough tu conclude that.” Lance sighed. “Yu won’t e-Lab-or-ate on it, an’ that’s all right. It’s your business. But yu should know I am downright upset I wasn’t told about this.”

Lewis tilted his skull. “About… what?”

“About what?” he exploded. “About… everything! All of this! I deserved tu know something, any small scrap that wasn’t a lie! A bit of the truth, that’s all I ask. I can’t be there for Arthur,if he’s hidin’ away!” Lance threw his arms up gesturing nothing in particular, his breath came labored and his brow beaded with droplets. “About yu! I should’ve in the least, been told yu’d… resurfaced, or sumthin’! Whatever y’all call it. Do your parents kn—?”

“NO!” For the first time Lewis’ features snapped from gnawing fury, to wide eyed horror. “No-no! They can’t! And you can’t tell them!”

Perplexed and alarmed, Lance eased back. “Okay. I got it.” The light of the corridor fluttered, the embers in Lewis’ skull flashed.

“They can’t know about me, about what I— About what happened. Please, Uncle Lance,” Lewis rasped, the remnants of his speech drew on a rustling surge. The spirit clasped his hands together. “There’s only one thing I will ever-ever ask of you, and it’s that you never speak about what you saw here with anyone, save for Vii and Artie. Please! Don’t do that! I’m begging!”

There was something else that Lewis wasn’t saying, he could scarcely make it out in those gleaming eyes. But the utter desperation and remorse reverberating in that ‘voice’, he couldn’t bear to ask and witness the rush of agony. Lance didn’t understand, but the topic pained Lewis in some undefined way. Or, it could’ve been a trick of the light.

Lance took another step back, hitting the wall behind him. “I hear ya, they won’t… Yu have mah word.” The skull retained its defensive countenance, and he struggled to overlay what a living Lewis might’ve looked like right now.

“They uh… they’re likely waiting on yu. Art and Vii,,” Lance took a work rag from his belt and swept it across his face.. “Lewis, listen. I want to— You’ve always been a good kid.” How did he say this? “I worry abou’ ‘em, and I’m worrin’ more now thinking about… all this. You can’t, I mean – I know I can’t— I don’t want what happen….” There wasn’t a good way to deliver the request, so he gave up in a long-winded sigh.

“I’m headed off now.” Lance moved down the corridor, but only got three steps before he about-faced and marched back. “I did’t park out front.” He inched by Lewis and made it another five steps, then swung back. “It was good seein’ yu again. Yu gunna be around an’—�� Before he finished, a flash of flames engulfed the figure and in the curling ash remained nothing but a faint outline. In short time, as Lance’s eyes readjusted, the murky impression faded.

“I’ll take that as a no….”

In the time that Lance took Lewis aside for a short exchange, Arthur had relocated upstairs to his work room where he currently perused through his personal gear and spare parts. When Vivi made certain Arthur would take it easy and not stress, she left to pick up some food for the evening. Given everything that went down, neither was inspired to head back to her apartment and try getting back on track. Work, even casual work stuff, could wait.

“None of the work gear got mucked with,” Arthur mentioned offhand, when Lewis materialized in a plume of heat in the doorway. He lay reclined on the sofa, his head resting on Mystery’s back while his legs sat propped by the arm rest. “Dunno how long the guy was working, since closing. Arms are easy to build, for the most part. But that paranormal stuff is kinda pricey.”

He leaned his head up to see Lewis better, when the spirit glided over behind the couch. The skull and death suit, any number of reasons why. Could’ve forgotten in all the chaos, or didn’t care. “How you holdin’ up?”

“Fantastic,” Lewis wheezed. “I have one fear now.”

That didn’t sound good. Arthur pondered if he should tease the subject further, but given the vibrant tension smoldering around Lewis he decided any other day might work better. He adjusted the new ice bag on his forehead and shut his eyes.

“Why didn’t you just, y’know, disappear? You’re good at that.” He opened his eyes and winced. Lewis was leaning on the couch, glaring down at him.

“Wasn’t really keen on leaving you in the care of your Uncle, regardless of good intentions.” Lewis lifted one arm from the couch and touched the locket thudding on his chest. “Did not expect him to go full Ash Williams with handling threats. Where’s Vivi?”

Mystery woofed.

“You should get some rest while you can,” Lewis offered. “It’d be safe now.”

Something in Lewis’ tone made Arthur leery. “You gunna keep an eye on me?”

“I won’t go anywhere without telling you.”

Mystery twisted his body around enough to nuzzle Arthur’s hair.

“I have a sneaky suspicion I should keep an eye on you.” The glare subsided, but Lewis still seemed peeved. Arthur edged a little away from the spirit, pulling his body more over onto the coffee table. “You’re not planning on going anywhere. Are you?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Damn it Lewis, I can’t tell if you think you’re being subtle or an ass. Knock it off.” Lewis expression shifted no miniscule way, aside from the faint waver of his burning eyes. Was it possible they looked much hotter than usual? “I’ll update security, put some better locks on the doors – not that it ever stopped thugs from breaking in before.” That’s why Lance had the shotgun. “We can’t go any further. We shouldn’t. And I’m ‘bout done with this.”

“How ‘bout I find this guy anyway?” Lewis stood away from the couch. “A little more inspiration, to assure they won’t even dream of setting foot here, ever again.”

Arthur got off the couch and went over to the boxes of gear, digging through the packing. “What is this fixation you have with revenge? What you’ll wind up doing is, draw too much attention to us. In our hometown no less. Get a grip!”

“My frien—” Lewis let his tone sputter out not too gracefully, and backtracked on the sentence. “You get creamed, I got shot up – I think I’m entitled to invoke a lil retribution.”

Arthur pulled out some equipment and set it carefully aside. Damn, it was tedious doing anything one handed. “You scared him off. That was enough!”

Mystery was glancing back and forth between the two. Where the hell was Vivi?

“It’s not enough,” Lewis hissed. “We’re in a fine fix on account of that-that… delincuente. And I will make certain he never comes back! What are you looking for?”

Arthur dumped one of the energy readers. “Where the heck is Vivi?”

Lewis crossed his arms. “She’d tots be on board with this scheme, and you know it.” Arthur deflated over the box.

“Shit, you’re right.” Lewis leaned over him.

“Tell me what you’re looking for, Arthur.”

Arthur cowered under the shadow. “I’ll tell you one thing, it has nothing to do with you.” Lewis’ eyes burned brighter.

“You’re lying to me, aren’t you?”

Arthur snapped his fingers. “Shoot! Damn. Can’t get one by you, can I?”

Mystery rolled his eyes and face palmed. He bled, for this?

It was not long later that Vivi was standing in the doorway with groceries, beholding as Lewis and Arthur went at each other. She had NO IDEA what was going on, it was the midpoint of some consecutive theme, bouncing around the argument that Arthur was being too passive. For Arthur’s credit, he looked like he was trying to haul Lewis up by the lapels of his death suit. It was quite the sight to walk in on. The scarce traces of embers bristled around the room, and Mystery was trying to keep them from alighting on anything flammable. Anything flammable seemed to be everything.

“—you let that thing into my home. Practically invited it!” Lewis screeched.

“What home?” Arthur snarled. “The mansion?”

“I don’t recall owning costal real estate!”

Vivi took a breath and raised her voice. “Hey, you guys gunna be okay?”

Lewis and Arthur simultaneous spat, “NO!”

She turned to Galahad, bundled in her scarf. “At least they agree on something.”

“You don’t own anything!” Arthur rebuked. “You just haunt some place and—” Lewis pointed down at Arthur.

“Don’t you dare go there, Kingsman.”

In a mad dash, Vivi left Galahad to Mystery and shoved herself between the two, breaking Arthur’s grip on Lewis. “Enough! The both of you can just take two big boy steps away.” Lewis reversed a step due to her full body shoving, but he held his glower on Arthur. “All right, listen! We all had an arguably fucked up evening, but we are not doing this tonight! Both of you! That’ll be enough!” She gave Lewis a harder shove, to dislodge him fully.

“You never had a temper like this!” Arthur snapped back, while Mystery tugged him away by the back of his vest. “The littlest things piss you off. How am I supposed to work around you when you got all these… these barriers, everywhere!” He stamped his foot.

“I’ve been somewhat overheated since my ultimately demise,” Lewis grated, “but I have been trying very-very hard to be very-very-VERRRY patient. All the same, you make that so difficult.”

At least he wasn’t resisting her asserted relocation. “And we are so proud of you,” Vivi snapped. “You’ve been working so hard, hasn’t he Arthur?” She glanced back

Arthur blinked. “Are YOU kidding me!”

“Oh my lor— Hasn’t! He! ARR! THUR!”

Arthur slapped his face. “FINE! The bare minimal, what’s the bare minimal? You didn’t roast Uncle, like you almost roasted me and Vii! I’m so ecstatic! Ya get a Gold Star!”

Lewis shifted against her palms, but seemed to calm down and eased out of leaning. The embers still lingering around the room snuffed out, leaving only the kindling scent. “Yeaah,” Lewis hummed.

There was no way to oppose that. He wouldn’t admit Arthur was right, but he did have a point. It was a lot to deal with, and not a lot of time allocated to process. Though, it wasn’t just getting shot a dozen times and dealing with Uncle Lance all in the same hour; then, the expectation of carrying on, like nothing happened – all of it scorched him. He was a little more than irritated, and he was… afraid. Afraid, when he didn’t reach Arthur in time, and frustrated he didn’t have the foresight to restrain the intruder; more than that, fretful and unsatisfied by what was left. None of this he could convey practically, yet he… he couldn’t hide it either. There was a lot he couldn’t really conceal, ignore, or repress. He could do better, but it was... hard. They didn’t know how hard this was.

The other three went quiet, as well. Arthur hadn’t dropped his hyper-lazer scowl, as if expecting some form of reckless objection – though Lewis was fresh out of those. One of Vivi’s arms remained braced across his chest, though her full-bodied leaning had regressed by multitudes. In the beats preluding his lockets dull thrum, the tension began to ebb.

At last, Lewis broke the silence, “That… would’ve been excessive, yes? He meant well, after all.” The fluorescent light flickered, like the flutter of a heartbeat. “Though not gonna lie,” he hissed, “I was on the fence about socking him.”

Vivi smacked her head against his chest and gave a muffled scream. You could have not said anything!

“It was getting a strong debate. I mean, he shot me like four times.”

“It was fifteen— Wait, I missed that.” Mystery released Arthur’s shirt, and he nearly toppled forward. “Okay. I’m…. I wanna understand, Lew. You and me, and Vivi, we have to talk about this. I don’t want you to do this.”

Vivi brought her gaze up to Lewis. “What? Wait… what is he talking about?” It dawned on her the next second, who could possibly be deserving of a nasty visit. “Artie,” she groaned, “C’mon….”

“Not helping,” he growled.

“Fine,” Lewis grated, ember eyes flashing. “Have it your way.”

Arthur glared, unconvinced. “Lew.”

“Give me the benefit of the doubt,” Lewis beseeched. Without jeopardizing his gaze, he brought a hand up and touched the locket. “I didn’t really believe further involvement on my part was necessary. I’m just… I need some time to think. To… get a grip.”

“Like literally,” Arthur huffed. He cleared his throat and tottered back, when Vivi delivered a scathing glare of her own. “Fine! Done. I’ll sleep better knowing I didn’t have a hand in someone else’s ultimately demise.” He gave Lewis a sharp look, before spinning away.

Lewis stood to the side, gazing off as if he didn’t know what to do now or where to relocate. Vivi pointed a finger, directly into his bleached skull face – warning. His glower did deepen, as she left him to collect the bags left at the threshold.

“Vivi,” his voice was distorted, echoey. “I’m heading back down to look around. When you get the chance, would you come meet me?”

A note of shock crossed Arthur’s features, but upon the direct request the alarm faded. Vivi handed over the bags.

“Sure,” she replied. She plucked Galahad up and set him on the couch, beside Arthur. To Arthur, she whispered, “I’ll keep an eye on him.”

“You both are making me so nervous.”

“I won’t be gone long.” She kissed Arthur on the forehead, and set another bag of drinks beside him. “Try and relax, please?”

Arthur took a breath and sighed. “I’ll give you three, before I start losin’ my mind.” He snared Galahad, before he could begin chewing at the supplies.

Before leaving, she charged Mystery with looking after Arthur. She wasn’t confident Arthur was fully out of the woods yet, despite Lewis’ assurance.

The workspace of the garage seemed infinitely more barren and silent, once all the excitement had aired out completely. Uncle Lance would’ve under normal circumstance shut down the lights through the entire building, save for the upper floor. As she crossed the floor, she was almost afraid the place was utterly abandoned. Not that this would matter to her, but Arthur’s distress was cause for concern. The argument between he and Lewis was nearly lost on her, but given the day it didn’t take much to deduce her living friends hesitation.

When she rounded the sportscar, Vivi uttered a squeak of relief. “I thought maybe you’d already taken off.”

Lewis actually maintained his solidity and rotated his skull, then his shoulders, but only a margin. “No. I was thinking.” He was examining the space beside the toolcart, where they located the bag of Arthur’s crafts. A number of orbs bobbed around Lewis, while he contemplated.

“Personally, I would prefer you go after this guy,” she admitted. She stepped up alongside Lewis, and gave the area a brief but mortal search. “But what would that solve?” Vivi wasn’t certain if he was aware the living guise was not restored yet, or if his focus was out of whack.

“Not a lot, I suppose,” he uttered, voice rustling. “I might head over to your apartment, and rest there for a bit.”

She meant to say, ‘You don’t have to, unless you want’. But what came out was, “I don’t think you should.”

“I’ll be well enough. So will Art,” Lewis replied. His skull adjusted, lifting a little higher than anticipated above his crisp white collar. “He and I… well, you saw.” There was something else indistinct to that tone, but it was choppy and a trial to translate. “I’ve never seen him so mad before. Not even on a botched assignment.”

Arthur had many fears, both grand or miniscule threats to his personal being. There were methods to supersede the private terrors which confronted him.

“You gunna be all right?” she posed, while reaching out to his hand. But stopped herself.

“The concern is appreciated, though I don’t think… well, I wouldn’t be in any peril.” Lewis turned fully to Vivi and set his hands on either of her shoulders, he leaned down and set the upper edge of his jaw against her bangs. An endearing skeleton kiss.

Vivi couldn’t help but giggle. “We’ll come by and check on you in the morning.” As Lewis backed away, his shape and color drained out beneath the blazing illumination of the lamps above.

“By then, we should have cooled down.” With a surge of embers, Lewis vanished entirely. His words continued to ring out, however, “No dejes Arthur to worry. He can do with taking better care of himself, for a change.”

Uncertain if Lewis was still present or not, Vivi went ahead and left the area. She called, “I’ll remind him, like usual. It’s a task easier said than done.” The atmosphere was completely palpable, when Lewis abandoned the area completely. Likely due to the anticipation, the sensation of being observed from afar evaporated. She had her suspicions, but she wanted to take Lewis’ word on the matter.

The lights too emptied out of the open airspace of the work floor, when she snapped the switches off. Her course from the entry corridor and to the ascending steps was very lonely, her perception becoming constrained with each set of lamps clicked off. A penetrating silence moved through her, while an overbearing draft kneaded her muscles. Her hand traced the wall with her ascent, each step calculated, cautious should Galahad have made his way down the steps on the behest of his most favorite person.

When she reached the private workroom, she found Arthur already fast asleep. That was good, she reckoned. Both for his bruised body, and the emotional expulsion. Arthur was entirely out cold, his good arm curled beneath his cheek and the muscles in his face relaxed – she could scarcely make out his breathing, until she closed in further. Nestled against his neck, a small ball of puff and metal.

Across Arthur’s folded legs lay Mystery, his bright eyes observed Vivi as she approached. On the ground beside the couch, rested a few crumpled wrappers of junk food and an open can of coffee drink; the caffeine no match to physical or mental exhaustion.

“Tomorrow might not be better than today,” Vivi hummed. She took a rumpled blanket from the couches back and lay it around her friends. “But it’ll deliver us further away. The only constant is that days are relentless, whether we want them or not. Take us on a journey, and though we never can return to once ways.”

She climbed onto the couch, close beside Mystery so she could lean over and scratch his neck. “There’s a place awaiting us, ready to receive the person we became. Indifferent to the changes, next year only wants to see us arrive. Scars aside, hurt and disappointment, blessings all the same. When we arrive, there will be no resentment. Celebrate who we are, and mourn the loss of who we once were. There is no turning back, and no regret, if our steps are steadfast. Survival is an artform, and I’m a masterful composer. The colors I use on my canvas will never dull. No matter how far we travel down the road, at my core I am complete.

Mystery arched his head up and licked at her hand.

“If I wasn’t, my world would crumble. Without you, the bridges fail. And the peril will never end, without you. Without you, there’s no place like home. No where to go. Without you I’d lose my way, caught up in the shadows of long-lost days.”

In the stillness of the small workroom, Vivi drifted off into a deep slumber. Perhaps assisted, perhaps not. One aspect was for certain, as it became a certainty that Vivi was well and asleep, the light of the room doused completely. The door creaked on its hinges, as an imposing silhouette eased back trailing a rose tinged vapor of light.

#mystery skulls #ghost #mystery skulls animated #msa #fanfic #fanfiction #mystery skulls fanfic #mystery skulls fanfiction #msa lewis #msa vivi #msa arthur #msa mystery #msa lance #ghost pepper

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preserving-ferretbrain · 6 years ago

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Shut. The. Fuck. Up. You. Smug. Bitch.

by Dan H

Thursday, 05 February 2009Dan deals with That Woman again~

A quick mea culpa, added 20.09.09: A random anonymous troll picked me up yesterday on the title of this article - okay they actually picked me up on "whining" so I suspect they were just an outraged fanboy, but they were actually quite right that reaching for gender-specific insults as a first recourse in an argument with a woman, even one you're not actually talking to, is not okay. I'm leaving the title as it is, because I don't think you should try to cover these things up, but I do actually regret the choice. It's a rather nasty silencing tactic, and it shouldn't have been my first instinct.

While Kyra was writing her review of the insestimably worthy On The Jellicoe Road, a genuinely moving book about love and pain and hope, I was reading The Tales of Beedle the Bard, a genuinely infuriating book about what a great writer JK Rowling is.

The Tales of Beedle the Bard is a mercifully short collection of “stories” the sole function of which is to provide JK Rowling with a vehicle to have Albus Dumbledore suck her children's book cock.

Want to hear more? Here's a quick summary of the stories:

The Wizard and the Hopping Pot

Summary: Good Wizard helps Muggles with magic. When he dies, his bad son decides not to help the Muggles, the good Wizard's magic pot starts jumping up and down and annoying the crap out of him, so he eventually gives in and helps the Muggles.

Cheap point scoring: Notice that while the hero of this story is the Good Wizard who helps Muggles with magic, and that the villain is his selfish son who refuses to help Muggles with magic, that in fact the Wizards in the world of Harry Potter never so much as think about using their magic to help anybody with anything (often including themselves – see “but why didn't they cast ...” moments passim ad nauseam).

Favourite Lines: “'Begone,' cried the son. 'What care I for your brat's warts!'”

Dumbledore Apologia: Rowling uses the first set of Dumbledore's notes to introduce us to two straw men who will remain with us throughout the book. The first is Brutus Malfoy who (along with many other “Muggle Haters” tried to suppress the story of the Wizard and the Hopping Pot because it was “Pro Muggle”. Because these books are about

tolerance

get it? The second figure that Rowling invents to make herself look good is Beatrix Bloxom who “believed that

The Tales of Beedle the Bard

were damaging to children because of ... their unhealthy preoccupation with ... death, bloodshed, wicked magic ... and eruptions of the most disgusting kind”.

Do you see? Because JK Rowling writes really dark, books where dark things happen in dark ways, and some people just can't

take

that.

The Fountain of Fair Fortune

Summary: Three witches and a Muggle knight travel to the Fountain of Fair Fortune, which can reverse all your misfortunes. One of the witches is terminally ill, the other is extremely poor, the last is heartbroken. The Knight is just a Great Big Loser. They face perilous quests, get to the top of the hill, and discover that It Was The Journey That Was Important. It turns out that The Fountain Isn't Magic After All. The knight marries the heartbroken witch.

Cheap Points Scoring: What the fuck? One of those chicks was suffering from an

incurable fucking illness

. You don't just make that sort of thing go away with positive thinking.

Favourite Lines: “The sky was rent with the first ray of the sun.” “The crowd surged forwards, each of them shrieking their claim for the Fountain's benison.”

Dumbledore Apologia: The Muggle-Haters tried to have it banned again! (Lucius Malfoy this time, because a witch marries a Muggle at the end). But Dumbledore was like, no way man, because people should totally be allowed to marry Muggles if they want to. I'm so glad that JK Rowling is presenting these thoughtful, incisive comments on the nature of racism to the British youth.

The Warlock's Hairy Heart

Summary: Actually this one's alright, because it's essentially ripped off from other, better fairytales and doesn't have anything to do with the Harry Potter mythos. Warlock cuts out his heart, tries to marry a hot chick for prestige, she asks him to put his heart back in, he does but it's gone TOTALLY EVIL and he kills her, then himself.

Cheap Point Scoring: Not from the text of the story, but Rowling takes pains to note in her introduction that the maiden in this story is the one exception to the rule that “Beedle's witches are much more active in seeking their fortunes than our fairy-tale heroines”. Becaues JKR is a FEMINIST. You can tell by the huge numbers of well realised, empowered female characters who get things done on their own behalf in the Potter books.

Favourite Lines: “Though many a maiden was intrigued by his haughty mein, and employed her most subtle arts to please him, none succeeded in touching his heart. The warlock gloried in his indifference and the sagacity that had produced it.”

Dumbledore Apologia: Dumbledore first of all tells us that the whole “removing your heart” thing isn't possible in the Harry Potter world. We had already worked this out because it was kinda cool, and Harry Potter magic sucks donkey balls. Then of course he goes on to tell us that this story is all about love love love love love love love. Because I don't know if you caught it, but the power of love was what the Harry Potter series was all about. That and tolerance. And death. Gosh they were a profoundly complex series of books.

I should also add that Dumbledore's explanation of this story is particularly heavy handed: “And sure enough in seeking to become superhuman this foolhardy young man renders himself inhuman. The heart he has locked away slowly shrivels and grows hair, symbolising his own descent into beasthood. He is finally reduced to a violent animal who takes what he wants by force, and he dies in a futile attempt to regain what is now forever beyond his reach – a human heart.”

Okay I know I was keeping these summaries short but what the

fuck

. I mean, I know JKR was always keen to have people interpret her work correctly, but even I never thought she'd be this blatant. I mean she is literally, literally having Albus Dumbledore tell you how to interpret the story. Literally. Fuck.

Babbitty Rabbity and her Cackling Stump

Summary: Stupid king wants to learn magic. Hires a conman to teach him. Conman gets Babbitty Rabbity to do magic so that the King thinks it's him doing it. This all goes wrong when the King tries to use magic to bring back a dead dog, because death is srs bzns in Harry Potter, oh yes. So Babbitty Rabbity runs away, and then threatens the King with a curse which makes everything better. Oh by the way, witches are being persecuted in this story because it is teh burnining tiemz!

Cheap point scoring: Babbitty Rabbity and her Cackling Stump is mentioned in Deathly Hallows. Were I feeling cheap, I'd suggest that Rowling wrote this completely fucking nonsensical story because having stuck herself with the title, she couldn't think of a remotely sensible way to make it work. I mean really “Babbitty Rabbity”.

Favourite Lines: “Seeking a vent for his fear and anger, the charlatan approached the window of Babbitty the washerwoman.”

Dumbledore Apologia: Dumbledore, of course, insists that this pile of nonsense involving stupid kings, fraudulent magicians and the like is all about

the tragic and irreversible nature of death

. This set of Dumbledore Apologia is particularly hilarious because it's basically a venue for JK Rowling to say “death is totally irreversible in my books, even though you can talk to dead people, and they can come back as ghosts, and portraits of them possess all the features which they had in real life, and are capable of experiencing all the feelings and emotions that person would in real life, death is still

totally overpoweringly important

in this world”.

I'm going to digress again, but the more JK tries to explain the whole death thing, the more stupid it sounds. No magic can bring somebody back from the dead. Okay, the mirror of Erised can show you your dead parents, but that's not bringing them back. Okay, your dead parents can appear out of a wand, and talk to you and give you messages from the other side, but that's still not bringing them back. And okay the dead literally watch over you in this world. And okay, magical artefacts exist which allow you to literally see the dead people who are literally watching over you. And okay, there are ghosts. And okay, if a portrait is made of a dead person you can talk to that person exactly as if they were still alive, and they'll have all the thoughts, feelings, and memories of the dead person, and you can talk to them every day, and they can express pride in your triumphs and console you in your failures, and they can make independent decisions, but that doesn't mean you can bring people back from the dead, oh no. Death is

final

in this world. So final that once you're dead you certainly can't show up and have long conversations with people in imaginary train stations. Oh wait.

Basically the prohibition against bringing back the dead in the Potterverse is like that business with the British Sausage in that episode of Yes Minister. You can have your dead relatives about talking to you and walking around all you like as long as you don't say they're back from the dead, it's okay. The moment the “B from the D” label gets put on somebody, they become a hideous twisted abomination created by a man's foolish desire to cheat nature.

The Tale of the Three Brothers

Summary: See

here

Cheap point scoring: See

here

Favourite Lines: “It was only when he had attained a great age that the youngest brother finally took off the Cloak of Invisibility and gave it to his son.”

Dumbledore Apologia: See

here

and

here

Conclusion

In short,

The Tales of Beedle the Bard

sucks whatever unfortunate item or items you might care to present to it. It's written in this faux-Brothers Grimm style which sounds like a nine year old's first attempt at creative writing. Of its hundred and eight pages only fifty-six are taken up with the actual stories (including illustrations) the rest being Rowling's self-serving introduction and “Dumbledore's notes”.

Like everything JK Rowling wrote after

Prisoner of Azkaban

The Tales of Beedle the Bard

fails on pretty much every level. It's not a book of children's stories. Fairytales and folklore can't

deliberately created, not even by the world's best-selling novelist. No child is actually going to grow up listening to the story of the Fountain of Fair Fortune.

Ultimately, TToBtB is not about the tales themselves, it's about Dumbledore's notes. It's about providing with yet another way to tell her readership, directly, what they are supposed to think about love, death, the relationship between Wizards and Muggles, and of course about Albus Dumbledore and the Harry Potter books.

I rather suspect that her next published work will simply be a single note saying “having read this, you feel that you better understand the nature of love, sacrifice, and mortality.”Themes:

J.K. Rowling

Sci-fi / Fantasy

Young Adult / Children

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~Comments (

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Wardog

at 18:17 on 2009-02-05Quite frankly anyone who uses the word "benison" in cold blood deserves everything they get.

Seeking a vent for his fear and anger, the charlatan approached the window of Babbitty the washerwoman

Hello there, I'm seeking a vent for my fear and anger...

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Arthur B

at 19:45 on 2009-02-05Happy Christmas!!!!!!!

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http://rudecyrus.livejournal.com/

at 22:26 on 2009-02-06Man, Rowling really loves alliteration and rhyming words.

Can Dumbledore just go away already? We've spent more than enough time with the old coot.

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Wardog

at 10:53 on 2009-02-09Y'know, I think it says something about the nature/quality of your Xmas present to your good friend, Dan, that you had to also give him a

fighting fantasy book

make up for it

. =P

By the way, Rudecyrus, I've noticed a couple of comments from you scattered around the place - welcome :) I think an over-reliance on alliteration and rhyming words are yet more evidence of a mediocre author struggling to replicate a fairytale style in most superficial way way possible. Sigh.

Isabel, I'm so sad about President Roslin -

spoiler spoiler spoiler

When I thought she was dying of cancer, I was actually really into her - in that context, her semi-saintly and infalliable moral compass actually worked really well for me. For the first season and a half of BSG she was actually one of my favourite female characters on TV, like, ever - I loved the fact she was strong and vulnerable, compassionate and ruthless, and generally just a strong women in a position of power and responsibility. But then she kind of didn't die and from that moment on I completely lost faith in BSG as a whole, and the character alongside it. BSG still really upsets actually because until that exact episode (Epiphany - it is branded on my memory) I thought it was one of the best shows I had ever seen. There were problems associated with it than just Roslin, of course, but the conclusion of that arc was indictative to me.

Generally I start to hate characters when they stop being characters and start being mouth pieces for the author - like Dumbledore and, I have to say, Sam Vines and Vetinari by the latter Discworld books...

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Arthur B

at 10:59 on 2009-02-09The FF book was for Dan. Beedle the Bard was really for FB. :D

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Sister Magpie

at 17:03 on 2009-02-11

The Muggle-Haters tried to have it banned again! (Lucius Malfoy this time, because a witch marries a Muggle at the end). But Dumbledore was like, no way man, because people should totally be allowed to marry Muggles if they want to.

Oh man, really? For some reason of all the notes this is the most egregious. Too bad it wasn't a Wizard who married a Muggle man. That would get left out for not having anything to do with the story.

Isn't there also a thing that says these were supposed to have been translated from the ancient runes by Hermione? Which makes me think Hermione's a really poor translator, but also wonder why fairy tales were ever supposed to be written in ancient runes. But I only heard that second hand, so maybe I'm wrong there.

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Arthur B

at 18:35 on 2009-02-11

Given that she did the translation (if I remember right) in the middle of

Deathly Hallows

, this would imply that Dumbledore either:

a) Wrote his annotations in ancient runes for shits and giggles, rather than producing a proper translation himself - which you'd think he'd do, given that he seems to think it's important that these stories are told.

b) Dictated his commentary from beyond the grave.

c) Secretly survived the series and rode to the Moon on Hagrid's motorbike waving a middle finger at the audience and yelling

Fuuuuuuuck yoooooooou suckeeeeeeeeeeeeeers

, leaving behind reams of commentary on the writings of the Great Rowling.

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Dan H

at 11:35 on 2009-02-12

Isn't there also a thing that says these were supposed to have been translated from the ancient runes by Hermione?

Yes, they were. A poster on Death to Capslock did point out that this actually makes the really awful style make more sense (because if *anybody* would use the word "benison" in cold blood, it'd be Hermione). And of course since "Hermione" is really JKR's self-insert, it sort of fits anyway.

As for the runes: surely you know that *everything* was written in Runes in Olden Times.

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Rami

at 16:38 on 2009-02-13Correct me if I'm wrong, but I thought the entire point of runes was that they were easy to carve into solid surfaces like stone or metal? So were these tales supposedly engraved into stone slabs, like the Ten Commandments Of Worshipping The Great Rowling?

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http://miss-morland.livejournal.com/

at 23:16 on 2009-02-19At this point, I'm mostly interested in the HP books as source material for fanfiction. Alas, BtB doesn't seem to have much potential in that respect...

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Wardog

at 12:37 on 2009-02-20Well, not unless you want to ship Albus Dumbledore / JK Rowling

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http://miss-morland.livejournal.com/

at 13:24 on 2009-02-21Hee. I wonder if anyone has ever written that...

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Arthur B

at 00:19 on 2009-04-07

JK Rowling reads Beedle the Bard at the spouses of world leaders.

What I want to know is what terrible ransom the G20 paid Rowling to get her to let the hostages go. Are we looking at the world's first fantasy author with a nuclear arsenal?

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https://me.yahoo.com/a/tjLTVHEducFb4rKDHU5DukBHtQcCbTVMEEq55v0CxV4-#5e156

at 12:54 on 2009-08-09Hm I don't think guys who are ruthless enough to become leaders care for their spouses wellbeing that much.

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Viorica

at 01:57 on 2009-11-23Having stumbled upon this article by the miracle of the random generator, I do have to defend Rowling on one point. The crazy woman who thinks that these stories are unsuitable for kids due to their darkity dark darkness is probably a parody of Laura Mallory and her ilk as much as it is an advertisement for JKR's infinite wisdom.

I actually read a series of (fanfic) stories about Hermione telling Ron about Muggle fairytales, and Ron trying to puzzle out their logic. Unfortunately, I've lost the link . . .

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Rami

at 06:09 on 2009-11-23

probably a parody of Laura Mallory and her ilk

Er, Laura Mallory? Who's that?

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Dan H

at 11:01 on 2009-11-23

The crazy woman who thinks that these stories are unsuitable for kids due to their darkity dark darkness is probably a parody of Laura Mallory and her ilk as much as it is an advertisement for JKR's infinite wisdom.

Like Rami I've never heard of Laura Mallory, but yeah, I do get that the HP books have come under attack from people who insist that The Children Must Be Protected.

The problem is that Rowling *also* likes to deny (implicitly rather than explicitly) the existence of other works of children's literature which are *far* darker, *far* more mature and *far* more disturbing than her own. There's a kind of recieved wisdom grown up in the last few years that JKR is some kind of benchmark for the handling of serious themes in Childrens' books.

I actually read a series of (fanfic) stories about Hermione telling Ron about Muggle fairytales, and Ron trying to puzzle out their logic. Unfortunately, I've lost the link . . .

Oh come on, how OOC is that. Since when has Hermione *ever* shown an interest in her Muggle heritage...

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Arthur B

at 13:56 on 2009-11-23Google tells me that Laura Mallory is the person who claimed that the culture fostered by

Harry Potter

books pressures people into joining Wicca and causes school shootings. Best sources I can find for her views are a

carefully-written Daily Mail article

of the "we're giving this person coverage because she's crazy, but we're not going to call her crazy to her face" variety, and an

Encyclopedia Dramatica

writeup (watch out, potentially NSFW banner ads).

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Rami

at 16:35 on 2009-11-23

Oh come on, how OOC is that

Just want to confirm -- I'm guessing OOC == Out Of Canon?

Best sources I can find for her views are a carefully-written Daily Mail article

Hehehe, carefully written Daily Mail article.

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Arthur B

at 16:38 on 2009-11-23

Just want to confirm -- I'm guessing OOC == Out Of Canon?

I'm guessing either that or Out of Character...

Hehehe, carefully written Daily Mail article.

Well, written with sufficient care to make sure she doesn't notice they're making fun of her. Not written with sufficient care to make the reader not feel talked down to. ;)

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Rami

at 16:55 on 2009-11-23

I'm guessing either that or Out of Character...

Seriously, people, the TLA namespace is crowded enough already ;-)

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https://me.yahoo.com/a/gNLVidA.xeLuPiOU_2B_USM.HYNFjA--#b0b6b

at 15:13 on 2010-08-26Hi there, hope you don't mind a late and admittedly ranty comment. I only just got around to reading Beedle, and by god you're right: it is so smug and sanctimonious and badly-written and just plain

infuriating

I actually detested The Warlock's Hairy Heart a bit more than the others. In all her gushing and spewing about how wonderful and almighty Love is, through this story (maybe not so much in the actual HP series) JK seems bent on specifically endorsing the heterosexual, happy-ever-after 2.3 kids and a white picket fence kind.

It seems so because, at the outset, this baddie does nothing remarkably bad beyond deciding that the life and duties of a husband and father are not for him. But by the story's logic, this points him towards the Dark Arts and *

wham

* - he has become a SERIOUSLY EVIL WIZARD.

Later in the story when the Warlock reinstalls his heart and cosies up with the witch, his feelings are described in unmistakably sexual terms - like his being suddenly aware of the witch's smooth, silky skin and all that. This is what the reader is expected to recognise as Love.

But of course there's no change possible for Dark Wizards: he goes and kills the girl, because

of course

he was just repressing himself all these years, and everyone knows that abstinence turns people into the most horrible sexual deviants.

While Dumbledore's commentary on this story is as unenlightening as usual (his powers of literary analysis do not impress me, and neither does his deep familiarity with a single quote by Alexander Pope), it does perhaps become a bit interesting when you consider it against Dumbledore's own non-heteronormativity and brush with the Dark Side. As you've pointed out elsewhere, it seems quite clear that the two go hand in hand in Rowlingland. It also becomes apparent that Dumbledore is a flaming hypocrite.

We might make concessions for Beedle himself, who was writing in a different era, and for all we know maybe wizards traditionally had no role for celibates in their culture. But for Dumbledore to esteem Beedle's late-Medieval values as some sacred, universal truth frankly boggles the mind. Jodel on the Red Hen website writes viciously about the gaping lack of a sense of history in the Potterverse, and to me it shows here very starkly indeed.

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Dan H

at 15:26 on 2010-08-27I was okay with the Warlock's Hairy Heart as a fantasy archetype (although you're right that in the context of Rowling's wider worldview it's annoying).

What're Jodel's articles? There's a whole lot of stuff on the Red Hen and I thought I'd take a look, but can't find the article you mention here.

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https://me.yahoo.com/a/gNLVidA.xeLuPiOU_2B_USM.HYNFjA--#b0b6b

at 07:58 on 2010-08-28Yeah, I see what you mean. I guess what gets to me is that the whole hairy heart thing ought to be recognisable as a fairy tale archetype, but instead it comes across as Family Values being hammered over the reader's head.

The article I'm referring to is

The History of Magic

. Rather long, but very interesting stuff.

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http://ipslore.livejournal.com/

at 00:54 on 2011-06-03'Fairytales and folklore can't be deliberately created, not even by the world's best-selling novelist.'

'Oh,' says Neil Gaiman. 'A challenge.'

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Arthur B

at 08:29 on 2011-06-03Neil Gaiman,

creating

folklore? I think you need to look again. ;)

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Michal

at 00:42 on 2011-10-13

Fairytales and folklore can't be deliberately created, not even by the world's best-selling novelist.

Ahem,

Ruth B. Bottingheimer disagrees.

So does Suzanne Magnanini.

(On whether fairy tales can be deliberately created, that is. I don't think either would give much merit to J.K. Rowling). Both books were assigned for my Fairy Tale & Folklore class back in uni.

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Shim

at 07:24 on 2011-10-13I'd be interested to know what fairy tales are actually discussed (the only one I saw mention of was "Puss in Boots", which I'm not sure I quite consider a fairy tale for some reason.

Anyway, without reading the books I'm not sure if they do actually disagree, but if they did I would disagree back. I mean sure, many traditional stories, including many fairy tales were deliberately invented out of whole cloth, rather than developing from fragments through many different storytellers. But when those authors were writing them, were they actually deliberately creating fairy tales, in the sense we think of them, or just writing stories? I mean a fairy tale to us is quite a specific thing and a bit hard to define; they're fantastical but not just fantasy, they have certain types of characters and roles... lots of things written around that time are probably not considered fairy tales (bet there's loads of stuff in Grimm's nobody cares about). And I'm not convinced the category of "Fairy Tales" existed in the same way at in the 16th century. I would expect that they were really just writing stories, and somehow some of those stories came to be what we now call Fairy Tales. It's a case of evolution over centuries. Whereas someone sitting down now, in a completely different literary environment, where authorship is known and protected, and you can't easily reuse someone else's material and change it about, and it hasn't had a few hundred years to get filtered and adapted... surely they're just writing a story. It's like the old "mythology as fantasy" "Beowulf as fantasy" thing.

It just strikes me as being like trying to invent a national pastime or traditional song. You might invent something popular, but the way things achieve those particular statuses is arbitrary, mysterious and impossible to control. Also it takes a long time.

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Orion

at 07:59 on 2011-10-13But the flaw with the "Beowulf as Fantasy" meme isn't just that Beowulf is old; it's that it's largely uninterested in the things fantasy books are interested in and not addressed to the same audience. You can point to a great many differences in function between a quasi-oral poetic epic and a strictly literary prose fantasy.

I'm not confident a similar gap exists between "stories about fairies written for print by individual Europeans from a few centuries ago" and "stories about fairies written for print by individual Europeans today"

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Arthur B

at 08:59 on 2011-10-13But fairy stories created by authors for print are an exception, the likes of Andersen and Morris arising as a response to collections like Grimm's which collected together stories originally recounted as an oral tradition. And only a very few fairy stories cooked up from whole cloth for print - most of them Andersen's - ended up feeding back into the oral tradition. (Chances are you didn't read Andersen's original text when you were little, you listened to someone paraphrasing them.)

And the point that I think Dan was trying to make in the article is that you can't artificially design something specifically to make that jump from being a story printed in a book to a part of an oral tradition retold and paraphrased and adapted by storytellers for generation after generation. The fact that Andersen's stories managed it was in many ways an incredible fluke; the prospect of Rowling's stories doing it is remote, not least because there's very little reason to be interested in them unless you've already got hooked on Potter.

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Michal

at 18:31 on 2011-10-13Shimmin, I hate to say "now that you put it that way", but...now that you put it that way, I'm not sure those books disagree, either. The audience for Straparola and Basile was not the same as the perceived audience for fairy tales in the 19th century, though you could argue that they were at least attempts at imitating oral traditions (namely, the

1001 Nights

). I think we can blame hyperbolic book-jacket blurbs for this one, since both books contest the original source of what would become fairy tales read to children; neither claims that this was what the authors deliberately set out to write.

(In regards to authorship,

Wikipedia

surprisingly has a good list of what made it from Straparola's

Facetious Nights

into

Grimm's Fairy Tales

. For anyone who cares,

the entirety of Facetious Nights is available online.

And if you want to see what fairy tales are discussed in

Fairy Godfather

and

Fairy-Tale Science

, Google books has a partial preview you can take a look at.)

The point about fairy tales today is also a good one, since the term

pretty ill-defined. I hauled out my

Spells of Enchantment

collection (edited by Jack Zypes, who's the big name in fairy tale scholarship and all) and its got stuff from Aurelius to Straparola to Voltaire to George Macdonald to Lord Dunsany (and even Jane Yolen!), which seems maybe a

bit

too large a net.

I hae no desire to read

Beedle

, since I didn't even like

Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone

back when I was 11 and I don't submit myself to books I know I'll hate. Maybe someone could fill me in: what does J.K. Rowling claim? Is it just a background book going "here's the folklore traditions of a world I created", or is she actually deliberately saying "this is a book you should read to children, with helpful notes in case your kid misinterprets what I wrote?"

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Michal

at 18:34 on 2011-10-13Side note: despite the title of her book, Magnanini seems to prefer the term "wonder tale"for what she's talking about.

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Dan H

at 18:57 on 2011-10-13

Maybe someone could fill me in: what does J.K. Rowling claim? Is it just a background book going "here's the folklore traditions of a world I created", or is she actually deliberately saying "this is a book you should read to children, with helpful notes in case your kid misinterprets what I wrote?"

I'm not sure she claims anything, which I think is sort of the problem.

When I said "Fairy-tales and folklore can't be deliberately created" (which was, I freely admit, a poor choice of words - as a couple of pointed out Hans Christian Andersen managed to do exactly that, and a lot of fairy stories do in fact have a specific author) I think what I meant (and it was a long time ago now) was that you can't sit down in the present day and write an original story which will be read by a modern audience in the same way that they would read a story passed down to them as traditional, unless you deceive your audience about the story's origins (what I actually said implies something stronger - that no consciously authored story can become traditional, and that clearly isn't true).

Beedle the Bard doesn't work as children's stories, because the stories only make sense in the context of the Harry Potter books, and the Dumbledore's Notes sections are as much part of the text as the actual stories (this also raises questions about how the book is supposed to be read - a book of fairy tales can be read in any order, whereas ToBtB seems designed to be read straight through).

The book is probably best viewed as a simple tie-in. It's not supposed to be enjoyed for itself, it's supposed to be enjoyed as a companion to the series, the pleasure of reading it comes almost entirely from recognition of familiar concepts from the Potter books. It's like Quiddich Through the Ages and Magical Beasts and where to find them, it's all about the novelty of somebody producing a "real" version of an in-world text.

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http://gx1080.livejournal.com/

at 21:59 on 2011-10-13That "History of Magic" article seems like a very long way of saying:

"The protagonists do the exact same shit that the bad guys do and they are never are called on their hypocrisy"

Which sounds like yet another fall of hack writing.

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Sunnyskywalker

at 22:41 on 2011-10-13There is certainly a lot of that in the Potter books and the Red Hen article. That, and "the wild guesses the protagonists make about some people a thousand years ago based on a few scraps of hearsay should be considered factually correct and not missing any essential details." Mixing up what the characters could reasonably be expected to know and understand accurately with what the author knows about the backstory, and expecting readers not to notice the difference: also hack writing.

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Andy G

at 23:51 on 2011-10-13Anyone else noticed how angry the RSS feed looks with this title repeated over and over again on it? ;)

There was a big thing in Romanticism of artistically re-creating nature and hiding your own artistry, and I guess the same thinking was behind fashioning fairy tales that were more Volks-y and authentic than the real thing.

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Janne Kirjasniemi

at 20:10 on 2011-10-15

Anyone else noticed how angry the RSS feed looks with this title repeated over and over again on it? ;)

Yes. Now I have a feeling that I shouldn't comment on anything and also a slight sadness over my unintended smugness and the hate it has inspired in the RSS feed.

On subject, like said, a traditional story or fairy tale or the very wide strata of literature discussed here is considered a part of story-telling heritage because several generations have upheld that tradition. So, for a modern author to write stories which in form or other qualities resembles this, it is not in any ways a bad thing and if they are succesful enough, well, they will beome traditional stories or whatnot in the future. But I suppose the problem is that J. K. Rowling did not just make up new tales as a new project, but rather made up some storytelling mythos for the Potterverse which feels like further milking of the success of Harry Potter in a rather cynical way. It seems like just a way to make parents and assorted other people to buy more of the same stuff, with the illusion that this is something new and special. Instead of writing new stories altogether perhaps?

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thegreatnyehehe · 7 years ago

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A Winter Veil Carol: Part 2

What an introduction that was, children! This “The Great Nyehehe” fellow sure is of an odd sort, eh? Speaking in third person, ‘Bah’-ing all the time, and hating Winter Veil! I do hope he gets his comeuppance! But haven’t I heard this story before...?

Anyways, on to the next chapter, then! I’m sure we’re past all the silliness now, and it’ll be a tried and true Winter Veil tale soon enough! Let’s see how he’s doing, then, shall we?

The Great Nyehehe awoke almost immediately after falling back to sleep, it seemed like he had only winked. Opening his eyes, he was prepared only to see the serenity of darkness. He highly doubted the ghastly ghost of a goblin he had just seen was merely an illusion, a trick of the mind or some other mortal fool trying his lousy luck bothering an evil as ancient and powerful as The Great Nyehehe.

He lied there, stirring to get up, completely wrong. As his eyes adjusted to the bright, shining light before him and his joints ached to get himself off of the ground. Before him was a beautiful Sin’dorei with an ever-burning flit of fire hovering just above her head, dazzling blindingly in the cold December night.

“Do not be afraid. We believe the Trade Prince informed you of our visit. We are the Spirit of Winter Veil past.” gently whispered the spirit.

“Long past?” choked out The Great Nyehehe.

“Your past.”

“Why are you here, you fiery fool!?!” barked The Great Nyehehe, retaining his usual, rebellious attitude.

“Your redemption, our one.”

“The Great Nyehehe cannot be redeemed, you burning buffoon!! He is far too evil and villainous for such a goody-goody thing!! Bah!!”

“Your welfare, then. Come, hold our hand.”

“The Great Nyehehe thinks not, you burning buffoon!! Why should The Great Nyehehe do anything you say!?! Because of your lousy lights and smoke and mirrors!?! Because of your foolish mortal trickery!?!” barked Nyeh as he stepped back, despising physical contact with others.

“Because.” the spirit answered simply.

“Because what!?!”

“Why, because you shall.” whispered the spirit as she swiftly and forcefully took his hand in hers, to The Great Nyehehe’s surprise. In a moment, there was another bright flash, almost blindingly so, and The Great Nyehehe was whisked away. A swirling sensation overtook him, like he was being sucked down a shower drain, and the Great Nyehehe was elsewhere.

The Great Nyehehe stumbled back a foot or two, trying to gain his composure. He found himself hiding behind a Winter Veil tree, an unpleasant array of half-broken machines, a large table covered in stale Pandarian food, a single pie, and a checkered cloth, and two more goblins of pickled green skin.

The larger of the two was jabbering of something, with a rather tasty-looking cookie in one hand. “Happy Winter Veil, Jastor! Oh, I got you this cookie from the Sugarpack Bakery! I know we usually can’t afford more than one of these a year, but I sold almost two of my inventions this year! Why not splurge a little?”

“Oh, wow! I can’t believe it, Pops!” gasped the young Gallywix sincerely.

“I can’t either, son! Now, let me just hand this cookie to you and…”

The cookie was sent flinging through the home and out of the window due to the explosion’s far reach. Miraculously, no goblins were harmed in the making of this story. “Ach! The cookie! The Blastberry Pie must have malfunctioned! Not again!” cried the father, Luzik Gallywix.

“The Great Nyehehe, turning away from the whole spectacle to the spirit, inquired “What is this foolishness!?! He never even wanted to come here!! Or anywhere with you, you fiery fool!! The Great Nyehehe doesn’t even know these mortals!!”

“Oh, right. We forgot that you are not the one known as Jastor Gallywix. We had a whole presentation set up for it, our one. We suppose you won’t be seeing Nessa, then. Just a moment, please” The spirit took a moment to stare off into space, seemingly thinking or even searching, much to The Great Nyehehe’s dismay and grumbling remarks.

“Oh!” giggled the spirit suddenly, cutting the relative silence, “This is a good one.”

“Nyeh? What related to The Great Nyehehe could ever be ‘good’!?! Bah!!”

“Hmm? Oh, sure, our one. Come, take our hand.” remarked the spirit, who seemed to still be paying only a marginal amount of attention to Nyeh.

“Again!?! The Great Nyehehe shan’t go through that swirly sensation ever again!! Bah!!”

As the goblins mourned their loss of such a scrumptious baked good as a Sugarpack cookie, the spirit sighed, and swiftly forced her hand upon his. With a resistant “Bah!!” echoing through The Great Nyehehe’s mind as he again was subject to a bright flash and that funny, nauseating feeling once more of swirling down into something. He was, again, elsewhere somewhere slightly more familiar.

Perched on the rim of an Old Town roof, Nyeh fumbled about once again recuperating, nearly tipping off onto the street. “Nyeh? Where are we? Back in that stupendously stupid city of Stormwind?”

“You must mean ‘when are we’, our one, for though we have returned to the city, we aren’t in your time anymore. Neither were we when we in the child Gallywix’s humble abode. Nay, this was one year ago, during Winter Veil.”

“Drat. Now The Great Nyehehe has to experience Winter Veil twice in the same dratted year!! Bah!!”

Non-too-sneakily scampering across came The Great Nyehehe, donned in a Father Winter hat and an empty sack in his heinous hand. But The Great Nyehehe is right there, next to the spirit!

Similarly befuddled, The Great Nyehehe gazed, his mouth open agape, at his own self forcing his way down the chimney with a cacophonous cackle. “Is The Great Nyehehe...?”

The spirit giggled lightly, “Confused, our one? Why, yes, that really is you. You from an earlier time.”

“The Great Nyehehe knows that!! He’s had dealings with gnomish timewarpers before, he was merely about to ask if ‘The Great Nyehehe was truly that devilishly handsome?’!! The obvious answer is nyes, but oh!! What a devious delight it was for The Great Nyehehe to truly see himself, he’ll give you that, spirit.”

The spirit shook her head, allowing herself a soft sigh, and she took Nyeh’s hand once more. Another bright flash and another, slightly subdued, nauseating feeling later, and the two were down the chimney and inside the house, looking upon a scene of an elderly gnome repeatedly kicking a battered and bruised Nyeh’s shins and a fallen Winter Veil Tree.

“Oh, Bah!! The Great Nyehehe remembers this night!! How he hates that half-height old hag for thwarting The Great Nyehehe’s evil scheme of stealing Winter Veil to replace it with his own heinous, The Great Nyehehe-celebrating holiday!! And after all his plotting, sneaking, and knitting he had to do!! He even had to dress up as that foolish Father Winter Veil, and all for naught!! Curse her name, whatever it is!! Drat, drat, and double drat!!”

“You remember this night well, our one.”

“If only The Great Nyehehe could forget!! The Great Nyehehe had to waste a whole week on devising a scheme to break out of the Stockades after those gumptious guards came!!”

“Oh, we have not seen that memory before. What happened, our one?”

“The Great Nyehehe ended up walking right out the front door.”

“You were not seen? You were not halted, our one?”

“Of course The Great Nyehehe was seen!! He was even escorted out by two of those guards!! No one had the guts to confront The Great Nyehehe!! What an ingeniusly hatched escape plan it was!! Sure to be the finest prison break of all eternities!! Nyehehe!!” cackled the old fool maliciously.

“Ah, we see. Your sentence must have been up.”

“What do you mean, you hotheaded hooligan?”

“Oh, nevermind. We can see this memory can do you no good. Let us move on, our one.”

“The Great Nyehehe loathes to say it, but he agrees!! This shan’t do any good, nor will The Great Nyehehe ever do any good himself!! Nyehehe!!”

The spirit breathed heavily, her hand placed firmly on her face out of annoyance, in an effort to regain her patience. She took hands with her unwilling companion again, and as the elderly gnome continued her roaring and kicking and The Great Nyehehe’s double failed to cease his hollering in pain, there was another bright flash, another feeling.

The slight chill of an old crone’s lonely abode morphed into that of a warm hearth’s embrace, with the intoxicating smell of ale and the bold sound of the cheers and chuckles of Dwarves filling the air coming with it. It was the Ironstout Winter Veil party in the Cask ‘N Anvil! Dwarves and gnomes were having a dandy old time in their Ironforge inn, but The Great Nyehehe was only seen peering down disapprovingly from the top of the stairs, sulking.

“Oi, Nyeh!” shouted Modarin, the proprietor of the establishment, to the stand offish Nyeh up the stairs, “Come an’ git yerself a pint b‘fore the keg’s gone drier than Halflan’s sense ‘o humor! Har har!”

“The Great Nyehehe will drink your dratted dribble only once every darned dwarf in the whole of Khaz Modan is six-weeks sober and clean shaven!! Bah!!” snapped back the Nyeh on the stairs.

“Could’ve jus’ gave us a simple ‘nah,’ lad! No reason teh get so grumpeh ‘bout et, ‘s Winter Veil after all, lad!” shrugged Modarin as he turned back to his fellow celebrators. The Great Nyehehe muttered to himself as he slinked even farther away from the party.

“Oh, drat. That bunch of blasted, burrowing, bearded buffoons bellowing of beer and bourbon!! What are we doing here, spirit!?!” lamented the true Nyeh.

“You don’t care for alcohol, we had forgotten. Perhaps this memory of last year’s December Moot wasn’t the best of options for your welfare. Even still, perhaps you could have had a pleasant chat with one of them, then, our one? Met somebody?”

“The Great Nyehehe has already met all the individuals he ever wished to meet, and an incredible amount more. And ‘a pleasant chat’ with a bunch of these mountain-loving morons!?! Bah!! Impossible!!”

“You do think awful highly of yourself, don’t you?”

“Nyes, The Great Nyehehe does, and why shouldn’t he!?! He’s the most evil and powerful, not to mention fashionable, being in the universe!! Obviously!! All are beneath his vile villainousness!! ”

“Is that so, our one? Hmmm...” inquired the spirit stared off into space again, seemingly searching. “Ah, yes. That’s it.... Oh! That memory ought to be especially eye-opening!”

“Nyeh? What do you me-” started Nyeh, until he was interrupted by the spirit’s lofty giggle and her placing her hand on his. The dwarves continued cavorting and chugging their ales, but The Great Nyehehe and the spirit were again elsewhere, somewhere very, very hot.“Ah, now this memory should do nicely. This was about nine years ago, if our one recalls.” pointed out the spirit, proud of herself. The old fool gasped in shock, his eyes nearly popping out of their sockets, horrified of his surroundings. Spidery, insectoid limbs were stabbing the air, the shifting sands of Silithus blew into his face, a constant, droning buzzing from somewhere not-too-distant was always heard. He turned his head this way and that frantically, fretfully, until he noticed three hooded figures whacking away at a cluster of sickly teal ores ceaselessly.

“Me back hurts. Me wanna go home for Winter Veil.” moaned the Orcish peon sorrowfully, rubbing at his strained back.

“Shut your trap, Agtar!!” hoarsely whispered the younger-looking Nyeh adorned in cultist’s robes, “Farthing’ll hear you complaining, and we’ll all suffer for it!!”

“Get back to work, you miserable cretins! Lest you desire the grand honor of being sacrificed to our all-powerful masters!”

“Sorreh, sir!” “P-Please forgive us!!” “Zug zug!”

“Agtar, Dithna, that’s your third warning! There won’t be another!! And you, with the stache!! This is your second!”

“B-But I never even got my first warning, sir!”

“Talking back to a superior leader within the Twilight’s Hammer!?! That’s your third warning, stringbean!! Go ahead and I’ll have your head on a Qiraji’s silver platter!”

The Great Nyehehe turned away from the pathetic scene as his younger self cowered and whimpered, mortified, fumbling and tripping over himself to get as far away from the scene as possible. Muttering and wheezing, he was halted when the spirit had appeared right in front of him through another bright flash.

“Why do you run from progress, our one?”

“P-Progress!?! You fiery fool, what could you possibly think this is progressing other than your chances of The Great Nyehehe obliterating you a nyehehillion times over!?!” roared the madman in between bursts of wheezing harshly.

“Progress to your redemption, our one. You must see the errors of your ways, what has molded you into what you remain as now. It is crucial to your welfare, of course. Is seeing yourself as what you are and what you were not sparking any feelings for you, our one?” explained the spirit.

“At the moment? The Great Nyehehe feels only of a burning hatred for you for bringing him to this accursed place!! Bah!!”

“I see. Progress has been made, then.” giggled the spirit loftily, “Come, only one more memory, our one.”

“Nyet!! No more of these moronic memories!! The Great Nyehehe is going back to his Evil Lair, even if he has to walk all the way back!!”

The spirit grunted, and tried once more to touch Nyeh’s hand, but he was quicker, and recoiled just in time to pull himself far enough away from her. “Begone, you burning buffoon!! Begone!!” he shouted as he swiftly backed away from her. The spirit giggled once more, almost hauntingly, and levitated higher, then swooping down to clutch The Great Nyehehe’s comically large, pointy nose with both of her hands.

There was a final bright flash, and one last sickly sensation of swirling. Though The Great Nyehehe had just started almost getting used to the feeling, it felt far more nauseating than even the first time. He felt almost like puking, and what he saw when he regained his senses only enhanced its likelihood.

Two relaxed figures sat in sturdy wooden chairs, facing a flickering fire.

“Do you suppose Beatrice will read that book we got her, dear? Do you think she’ll like it?” spoke the bespectacled young man to his wife dreamily.

“The one on those magics, hon? Are you still expecting her to be conjuring charms and hexing the neighbours by Noblegarden?” chuckled the woman teasingly.

“I just know she’s got it in her! She’d make a great mage, don’t you know? I’m sure she could at least summon a spark of fire or something, dear, even if I never could." sighed the man.

“Oh, hon, you and your thing with magicks!” giggled the woman.

“Would you prefer her to hunt and trap for a living, like you and your brother?”

“Why not? Braun’s doing fine with those damned dogs of his, and the Crusade pays well. Speaking of that all, what about the Crusade?”

“What about it?”

“Well, I’m sure we can set something up for her to work as a Squire at the monastery, Har-”

“Oh, enough of that, dear!” he interrupted, “It’s Winter Veil, maybe not the best time to discuss someone else’s future. Let’s go and make some hot cocoa!”

“A lovely idea, hon!” cheered the woman as the two sat up to leave the room, jabbering and chuckling as he opened the rotting door.

Meanwhile, The Great Nyehehe had huddled himself in the corner farthest away from the two out of great distress. He slinked down, curling himself into a pathetic fetal position, covering his head. “The Great Nyehehe has had enough, spirit!! Blast it all!! Begone from The Great Nyehehe’s sight!! Begone from The Great Nyehehe’s presence!! Haunt The Great Nyehehe no longer!! Begone!!” he cried out to her, the spirit, shutting his eyes tight. He heard a soft sigh, and felt a hand on his own. There was no bright flash, no sickly sensation.

There was only the ringings of a bell, the strike of two in the morning.

#winter veil carol #winter veil #2/5 #holiday

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valkurious69 · 7 years ago

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My Sweet Sacrifice CH. 3

After getting all the deets frm the Moana aboot this guy Dysom an what she wants me to do w him, I decided it was time to take a well-dissolved brake. A gurl needs to unwhine and treat herself, ya no?

An what butter way 2 do so than by breaking a sweat?   “ung!!” I giggled, fist hitting the punching bag hard. I was at the training strudio @the Valkyrie Academey. Oh ya, I go to school there, pretty standard 4 all valkreese my age. We lern how to use are poweres, fly, proceedre for taking ppl to vallehhr, etc:. Pretty boring sometimez, but I haf a few frionds that make it worthwell. I am so clos to graduanton, I can taste it. Taking on this missen from the Morigann will def make it happn sonner rather than l8tr, so I can’t afford to be out of top fiting shape. Luckily, I am in one helluva sexxy shap already.

Rn I was doin cardi to keep it that way.

“Wow, lookin gud Tamzin....” said my frond Stacey. She was ulso working out doin kickboxxin close 2 me. Her blonmde hair was pulld into a high ponytale, swingin as he kickd. She was more of a prep than I wos, but that don’t mean I h8 her. I mean, at first I deed, butt then I found out she licked Taylor Momsun as much as I did, and we were kool evar cents. (AN: if u don think teh pretty recklace is the BEAST BAND EVR than go KEEL YORSELF!!!!1111!!!) (TPR ROXXXX!!!)

“k thnx,” I repied, nonchaletly. I didn’t want her to no that I was realy sweatn. So not sexy. “u doin good yorself 2.”

“ugh I don feel liek it tho,” sje moned, pausing. “i keep fuckn up on my from. I wish i culd b as perfect as u at it.”

Couldnt argue w that. But I coudln say that obvs, or else I wuld look like a douch. Sometimes I wish Odin hadn’t blessed me with this curse of perefect beauty.

“Aw nah, don say that!” I assured insteed. “Here, let me show u how to improv.” I walked over to her, cumin from behind. I positned myself around her w my arms follwing hers, fixing her form as I explaned. My breaff ghosted her nick. ”U gotta be more fluids... let ur body take ovr...”

I leard a smol moan escape her.

I walked her sensuallie thru the motions and rubbed aganst her booty and thigs when we kicked, holdin her waist and arms steady. She trebeled but followed my instructshuns, punchn und kicking like I do. Afterwards, she was a hot mess, but a much more component 1. I smirked gloatfully.

“An that’s how u do eat.”

“Ohhhh w-wow! Thx tamzin!” she panted, flushed. It was real hot and all, but I din’t want 2 b a crepe. I mean she’s my FRIEN and all, it would b werd. “Hey, I wanna try it on my own now! Spar w me!” “K” I conceited, taeking my stance. WE started to flight, matching each udder’s blows, but I was still doin mych better if im being honest. Kick punc, punch kic, we ketp going round-4-round this way for a long ass time. Then, suddnly, I lept up to spin in mid-air and whip around real fast on her, extending my leg for a kick, when i heard a SNOP.   I scremed loud and fell to the padded gym floor, holdin my knee.

Stacy was all like “OMF!!! sum1 get a doctor!!>” as I was passing out frm the shook. I was super happi she was concerned, but her shriek yelling was gettin om ny nevers. I mean i was in PANE for odin saks!!11!! She culd b a little moar genital. Footstep approched, some older valkyree teachers hearing her cry, and started to halp me up. But I was already fadin out of consceince, since the owie was too grate.

Next thing I new, I was woke up in a whole diff place.   --------------------------------- (AN: srry not sorry I took so long updoting, but I haf a LYFE u no!!11!! I cant always b wasting my thyme onlin lik SUM PPL!!!! also I won’t update again til I get at lest 5 NOTES onm this chapp ok!!?? I don do this 4 my heatlh, which isn’t too good rn bc of that fall I just took lolllll lamo roflll ::;D)

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roaringsora · 8 years ago

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Peko’s reveal!

"Uhhh..." Aoi was a bit speechless. Where is the Salandit she had accidentally caught earlier? In fact, why is Estelle trying to restraint the boy from... Attempting murder? Due to personal nature, Aoi told Acerola to give them time in the ER. The small girl nods and does what Aoi requests her to do. "Okie then! I'll give Joy a hour for you two to talk things! Make it quick!" said the Trial Captain, leaving the ER with only Aoi, her Pokemon and the stranger in this very medical room. Aoi looks both ways, seeing if no one is in sight. "Alice, turn the curtains down on the ER. We do not want Nurse Joy to notice we're talking." said the trainer. The Mimikyu nods its fake body's head. "Yes." she said, hoping around the room to roll down the curtains until the room is dim. After a moment of brief silence, Estelle begun to speak. "Finally... Now then... Its since a long time I have seen your face, Toa. What have you got yourself in trouble this time." "Toa...?" Aoi title her head in confusion. She tries to remember where that name come from. Then a image of Ilima came on her head, explaining the Nia story to her. "... W-Wait... D-Don't tell me... A-Aren't you Nia's twin brother?!" "Yep!" he replies with a smile. "T-Then w-what are you doing here at the ER?! Let alone where is my Salandit!" Alice got curious and decides to sniff on Toa, seeing if he was a Salandit thief or not. There was no trace of Pokemon, but in fact... "He smells like a Pokemon." the quiet Mimikyu replies. Estelle can see a huge loop hole in this, so she had no choice but to explain the entire story to her now. The Constraint Pokemon morphs into her human form for protection, and to keep Toa on her physical control. "Aoi. I think its time I had to explain what really happen with my trainer, and then Toa should explain his story." "Mhmm... Go on...?" Aoi replies. "Two years ago, my trainer Nia and her brother Toa were dispatched from a organization called Team Neo Plazma. The reasons are unknown, but my trainer... Is a bit far to obsessed with its previous leader and scientist." "Hey." Toa interrupts. "Don't tell the kid who that crazy man is. He irritates me for some reason." as he turns his head around in huff cheeks, looking a bit frustrated that his cat-curiosity got into that man too. "The worst part about my trainer Nia is that... She's not even human. As ti turns out, we were in ownership of a very powerful Genetic Pokemon called Mewtwo. She's... I think a third generation type. Toa here is a experiment reject, which while not as threatening, he has a different ability that can be as scary as the Mewtwo..." "Uhhh... Okay... I am starting to feel a bit creeped out... Are you saying there are actual humanoid Mewtwos existed?!" said Aoi, already feeling dumb from understanding what her Pokemon are saying! "Yea. Believe it or not." said Toa, finally filling his side of the story. "I was supposed to be Mewtwo, but some bits and numbers did not go to well, and I end up being a very special Ditto. So the Salandit you saw earlier..." Toa gave a moment of silence, looking at Aoi's face, which end up shifting into a surprised look! "That was me! Toa! And you caught Toa the Ditto!" said the boy, sprining out from his bed and begin to float! "Though I was supposed to be a Mew reject, but if the rumors are true, the Ditto you see do have a common color and feel for the Mews you saw in textbooks. Its just a shame I can't shape shift into a Ditto now ever since I mature myself on both Kalos region and now the Alola region." He crosses his arms and begin to float left and right like Peter Pan. "So now I am your Pokemon, but before you can go ahead and use me, I need to tell the rest of my story. As you can see, after we are dispatched, I quickly took a mentally unstable sister of mine to Olympia, who is also a Psychic human that somehow knows our futures, and her prediction on us was more than right! So for Nia, she had to take some... Some sort or religious practice to calm her psychic frustrations and forget about that man she is obsessed about! Heck I think "he" did not know how much his pupil was obsessed! He's far to busy taking down powerful Pokemon on this childish war... Thankfully I am sane enough, so I was released early. To be honest I do not "hate" Colress, but its my nature to hate "anyone" who is on a organization that starts with "Team" in its name. When I was first awaken from my sleeping tube, the first command I had was to destroy anyone with the name "Team" in it. And now since I am independent, I can go and do whatever I want, but the "order" I got is still resting in my brain. I AM a Pokemon after all, and it would be nice if I can get a proper vacation by giving a command that is NOT killing people! And it has to be from a trainer... So which means..." Aoi widen her eyes, giving the feeling that she has to give Toa a command that can end the burden on Toa! But... The backstory is not enough to her... "Umm.. O-Okay... But, can you tell me why are you here in Alola, and why are you here kicking Team Skulls' butts? And why are you a Salandit?" Toa changes poses, giving a thinking stance now while still floating. "Well... To be honest I was not safe on Kalos anymore. I herd some harsh rumors that Team Rocket is coming back, and knowing me, I hated them for nearly about to turn my sister into their weapon. So instead of doing a one-man war against them, I fled to a new Region I have never been there and well... That's where I start making a living there! I saw one of the Aether Foundation employees on break. Two identical females, and I decide to take on one of their forms and that's where I gave birth to Peko! She's like my OC, so I cherish her a lot! So I was suggested upon finding, to sign up for Aether Foundation as a janitor and occasionally care for Pokemon! Pretty simple stuff! But... Secretly I was frustrated. I herd so many rumors here and there, and... I do not want to get into details. But to me, this is why I was like "Let's punch some punk kid's ass at Po Town!" and I did. I think only Wilke, a Admin of Aether Foundation knows where I ran off to, and I still did it! I got what I need to calm my nerves! But being captured by you in a legal Pokeball is NOT what I have in mind! So now, YOU, Aoi Tategami had responsibility of NOT ONE, NOT TWO, BUT THREE scientifically modified Pokemon! You are cursed! Ahahaha!" Aoi was speechless. In her TL;DR thought: She pretty much caught IN a POKEBALL of a rare sibling Pokemon of a Mewtwo project and famous Performer plus Grand Courtier of Lumioise City, AND now a EMPLOYEE OF AETHER FOUNDATION?! "I-I-I...." as if Aoi had gotten WAY MORE information than she had anticipated! Estelle walks over to where Toa is at, begin to ask one more question. "So.. In terms of Aether Foundation, who is the current figure man president? Or the one that enhances this organization since their last president is MIA?" Toa poses and finally calms himself down after mocking Aoi for a minute. "Oh? Hmm... I'm not sure. But the last time I have easedrop a conversation as Peko, some said that their president is back. I was actually planning to quit and not to get myself involved, but now since I think even quitting will not change, I do plan to do more and sneak around as Peko. But with you three in my wing now, I... Kidn of need a family or guardian figure to fill in a backstory if I ever need you guys. Aether Foundation DOES NOT need to know I am Toa, or the fact I am a Pokemon in human disguise! They need to know me as Peko, and that is it! Okay? In exchange, I can help finish your trials for you, but only if I am free from my work schedule!" Aoi quickly replies. "O-Okay! Well, its to late to let you go since I am afraid of the side effects, and knowing what's going on, it seems that Aether Foundation had something "interesting" going on! Plus I have been meaning to go for a tour! With your help, I can grant VIP access! Oh yea... To end the burden Toa..." The girl moves her wheelchair close, then grabbing Toa's soft hand onto her own. She looks up at the floating youth with a smile. "My command is to not hurt anymore people! Not even the ones you hated the most. I want you to be at my side until I become the Champion of Alola! Got it? I want to meet this ex-friends of yours, and I don't care if you have a negative opinion on him or her... I want to talk to him when the time is right. I want to see if Aether Foundation is capable of making Pokemon happy, even those who don't feel fit for the world or hated humans with a passion! I want my world to be friendly an dideal! Got it? So no more roughhouse, Mister Toa!" Toa blinks a eye, feeling a sense of companionship between him as a Pokemon and Aoi as his trainer! For a wee little girl, he somehow has faith in her! The boy gave Aoi a hug, still floating like a ghost. "Hehe... Thanks Aoi! I will! Its your order after all! If you want to go to Aether Foundation and find out who is the head, I can try! It will be my first too, but I have a feeling that I will be hit by nostalgia. The only criteria is that I must stay in Peko form for most of teh Alola experience! The boy form you see is my strongest combat form! But because "Toa" is not relevant anymore, I am happy to be Peko!" Toa begin to giggle. Then following by Aoi and her Poekmon! They have settled a pact and a plan to see the whole progress in "Neo Aether Foundation"! But there is just one problem... "Uhhh... Toa... Since Nurse Joys knows that you're a humanoid Pokemon, we have to explain to them and try to make a pact to keep our identities sealed." she said. Toa and Estelle morphs back to their Pokemon forms and stat on top of Aoi's lap (who was still in her wheelchair). "Oh yes! We should! I have done so much to the point my idendity is revealed! Thankfully no Aether Foundation spies are around to see me as Peko fighting some Skull Grunts!" spoke from the blue Ditto. They finally went out of the ER room and met up with Acerola and Nurse Joy. Aoi had told the story in a nutshell and promises to keep this info confidential. "Okie then! Besides, its fun to find out about new things! I wish I can go with you on Pokemon fun, but I have a Trial Captain job to do! Oh yes! Since you have gone this far, here is the Ghostrium-Z Crystal! By now I hope both your Ditto and Meowstic will listen to you! You improved since your first day of being a trainer!" Aoi takes the crystal and places it on her badge case, which now should have two sections filled with Z-Crystals! "T-Thank you! I know the next one is Poni Island, and there are more lone Z-Crystals across Alola, is that correct?" "Yep! Plus I am pretty sure it will be fun to backtrack! If I'm correct, the Ditto you have may have also started in Melemele Island! You should go check out its home and see if you can salavage the goods! We do not want many Radiates eating the berries!" The Ditto just realize that and gave a alarming "Diddi!!!" sound! Aoi wanted to leave, but her foot is not recovered! "D-Dammit! We can't let that happen! Is there a way I can-" And then Estelle got a idea and whispers her ears. "Me and Toa will go back to Melemele Island together. You go rest up, and be there at the docks by 10 in the morning." The two Pokemon left Aoi's side quickly, departing their ways for now to save Toa's tent which had all of his important goods there! All Aoi can do now is rest and be ready to depart together to check on Aether Foundation. "Umm... Okay...?" "Tehehe..." Acerola giggles. "I like your Pokemon! They are like real Friends, don't you think? Ah! I know! If you have time, you can call me and tell me your tall tales so I can share it to the little children!" said Acerola as she quickly applies her phone number to Aoi's TabDex! "There! I might give you a few tips if you need it! The next time we meet, we will face off at the Pokemon League! Yay!!!" Aoi was excited like Acerola, but same time she was tired, and hopefully both Estelle and Toa will return at one peace on the docks by daylight... If not, then its up to her and Alice to find her two Pokemon... She and Alice retreat to their bed and her ankle with a bunch of heat packs to heal her foot for the night.

#Roaring Sora posts

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