#whats his sure name. tallman or something

[sirguyofdykesborn]

Bee and per ?

employing myself at 12 year old just so i could go on revenge quest for my employer's autism child

[daistea]

Could you do a suggestive mithrun x tallman reader fic where the reader somehow managed to become friends with mithrun and they ask if they can touch his ears out of curiosity (I just like the idea of elf ears being sensitive)

Ya! This one was fun 💕 thanks for the prompt!

1800 words

Mithrun x Tall-man Reader

no tws except for smoochin and a suggestive tone

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You had a measure of decorum. Not much, though. A teaspoon, maybe. A teaspoon of decorum. Yet, that still existing decorum nearly stopped you from doing what you currently wanted the most:

To touch an elf’s ear.

Pattadol said no. Fleki laughed at you and said ‘keep dreaming’ as if you’d just hit on her. Lycion became a bit flirty in a way that threatened you. Cithis also said no. Otta… also said no, out of loyalty to her current partner. Otta’s response made you wonder what the implications of ear touching were to elves. Was it intimate? Was it embarrassing for them? Was it considered rude if you didn’t know the person well, like how using a half-foot’s first name was considered rude for strangers? That teaspoon of decorum caused you to hesitate.

Mithrun, though, wouldn’t care. Mithrun hardly cared about anything. And you were friends, sort of. He didn’t outright call you his friend, but that was fine, you could live with that. He put up with you. That was fine. Fine.

You knocked on the door of the little apartment above the noodle shop. Mithrun’s monotone, though muffled, voice told you to come inside. You found Mithrun on the floor, on his knees and hunched over the baseboards. He wielded a toothbrush like a dagger as he scrubbed at the nonexistent dust, and only spared you a glance, but said no greeting.

It wasn’t the first time you’d seen Mithrun clean like that. It was yet another habit Milsiril had instilled in him during rehabilitation, though you had a theory that Milsiril only taught him to clean so ardently because she thought it would come in handy for hiding murder evidence.

Mithrun’s home was simple. It was near empty aside from the most basic furniture. Yourself, Kabru, and several of the Canaries had given him little decorations. The pillows on the couch with the badly embroidered cows on them were from Otta. The simple, thick white curtains were from Pattadol. The painting of Mithrun’s assist dog dressed in royal garb was from Lycion. And most of the utensils in the kitchen were from you, given to him after you saw him attempt to eat spaghetti with a spoon— he knew better, but couldn’t be bothered to buy proper utensils.

As you took a moment to watch Mithrun scrub, your mind began to wander. Was this truly worth it? You’d only recently read about how soft elf ears were, yet you hadn’t been able to get the thought out of your mind. And they were so cute, too, with how they drooped and perked up. You’d even seen Mithrun’s ears droop when he pulled his hair back. It wasn’t as pronounced as other elves’ but no less endearing.

“What do you need?” Mithrun’s voice yanked you from your mind. It was as if he’d grabbed your shirt and pulled you forward, making you stumble for words.

It would be easiest to just blurt it out. He wouldn’t be offended. He might give you the look, but it wouldn’t bother him, surely. Yet, it was as if you’d hit a mental wall. What seemed like such a simple request ended up stuck in your throat, refusing to climb.

Mithrun sat back on his haunches and raised his head to look at you. He rested his forearms on his knees, toothbrush dangling from his fingers. His hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and there were his ears.

You knew that look. He was expecting something. And he would stare in silence until you blurted it out.

“I want something,” you finally said.

“I already asked what you wanted,” Mithrun reminded, monotone.

“Technically, you asked what I needed, and this isn’t really a need. I mean, it feels like a need, but it’s really not. I can live without it. However, I would like it. It would please me.”

Mithrun didn’t miss a beat, “And you know how much I wish to please you.”

“Okay, smartass, tone it down,” you put up a hand, shooting him a glare, “I’m really nervous, so don’t make this harder for me.”

“I wasn’t kidding.”

“No, you were being sarcastic.”

“I wasn’t being sarcastic.”

“You’re just trying to make me squirm,” you accused, “you’ve become a sadist after regaining your desires, huh? You like watching me struggle?”

Mithrun only slightly raised a brow, “A bit. But use your ears, I wasn’t being sardonic.”

Your heart skipped a beat and you couldn’t help but pause. “...I’m going to think about the implications of that statement at a later date. For now, on the subject of ears, I have a request.”

He finally stood, brushing past you to deposit the cleaning brush into the sink and washing his hands in a water basin. After drying them, he went to pull the rubber band from his hair, but you made a panicked squeak at the sight, which gave him pause.

“Don’t,” you pleaded as he looked at you blankly, “keep your hair up.”

If Mithrun was confused by the request, he gave no hint. He kept his hair up, though, as he strode through the little apartment and sat on the couch, gesturing for you to join him. You’d done this a hundred times before, sitting next to him in comfortable silence as you both focused on your own things— Cithis called it ‘parallel play’ as if you were kids on a playdate. You’d spent hours on this couch, resting an arm over the back of it as you curled your feet up and talked. Mithrun would usually cross his arms and fold one leg over the other, staring at the wall as if he were ignoring you. He wasn’t, he never did— sometimes he did, but you forgave him.

You took a deep breath as you plopped down beside him gracelessly, your nerves taking over your joints and rendering you a clumsy mess. You weren’t sure why you were so nervous, though, it wasn’t as if this was a big request. It would only last a few seconds, and you’d have your curiosity sated. If Mithrun didn’t want you to touch his ears, he would simply tell you, and you’d both move on with your lives.

Yet, Otta’s earlier answer rang in your mind. She wouldn’t let you touch her ears ‘out of loyalty.’ What did that mean?

It was yet another statement that you’d have to consider at a later time. For the moment, you tried your best to get comfortable as the request rose in your chest. It was undeniable.

The words broke through the dam and flooded your mouth. “I would like to touch your ears, please.”

You watched as Mithrun stiffened. His good eye widened for half a second before he schooled his expression. He didn’t look at you, gaze glued to the wall, but the slight raise of his brows betrayed his surprise. Surprise. Why was he surprised? Was ear touching offensive in elven culture? Mithrun didn’t even acknowledge elven culture most of the time.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he looked at you. Your heart clenched and it felt as if someone had punched both your lungs, but you managed a smile. You knew you looked stupid, shoulders slumped and eyes wide and smile shaken. But he didn’t look at you like you were stupid, he looked at you like you’d just spoken gibberish.

“You want to feel my ears?” He asked.

You nodded, “Yeah, I like soft things, and they look pretty soft. I asked the other Canaries first and they all said no.”

Mithrun cracked a little smile. It was barely there, but you could feel the amusement coming off him in waves. “Of course they would all say no. They know better.”

You weren’t sure what that meant, but he’d yet to give you a straight answer. “Whatever. Can I please just feel them, at least a little? Then I’ll never ask you for anything again.” (That was a lie and you both knew it.)

Nonetheless, Mithrun’s gaze flickered around the room. It didn’t look like he was scanning anything in particular, but rather letting the thought absorb. Once he returned to you, he slowly nodded, “I doubt I have any nerve endings left, so it’s fine.”

Nerve endings? It didn’t matter, you were so close to your goal. Some called you single minded, you preferred the description of ‘determined.’

Slowly, you raised a hand. The moment felt monumental. The air was thick with anticipation that set you on edge, raising the little hairs on your arms. You let out an exhale as if to prepare yourself, then gently brushed your fingers on the soft skin of his cut ears.

You traced the jagged tip. Then the lobe. Then the back. Mithrun leaned into your touch and his eyes threatened to flutter shut, but he managed to send you a look, “Don’t look so excited.”

“Yes, sir,” you answered immediately as you tried to school your expression.

He let his guard down, his eyes shutting as he exhaled slowly. There was a hint of gravel in that exhale that sparked a fire in your lower abdomen.

You should probably stop.

“There are definitely nerve endings left,” he murmured.

You gently took his other ear and began rubbing the tip.

Mithrun lowered his head a little, brows furrowing and lips forming a frustrated frown. He leaned in. Only when you looked down did you notice how tightly he gripped his pants. His knuckles were turning white. The sight just made you want to press a little harder…

Wait.

If you’re getting hot, and if Mithrun is breathing that heavily, then—

Otta’s words made sense. Lycion’s flirting made sense. Elf ears are erogenous zones.

You’d asked every Canary if you could basically touch their privates.

More horrifyingly, you’d asked Mithrun if you could touch his—

It felt as if your face was on fire. You tensed, slowly pulling back, but Mithrun’s hands went to your cheeks before you could react. And his lips were on yours. Eager. Hungry. That spark in your abdomen flared and spread and suddenly you were a bonfire. He held your face a bit roughly, and the kiss was desperate. You should probably kiss back, you thought.

You let yourself melt into the feeling, but kept your fingers on his ears, gently massaging the soft skin. He let out a gasp between kisses before diving back in. His chest pressed against yours and you took the hint to lean back on the couch so he could slip between your legs and consume you entirely.

The mortification concerning the fact that you’d unknowingly sexually harassed all your friends was temporarily set aside. At the moment, all you knew was Mithrun, and this new power over him that your curiosity had bestowed upon you.

You will, most likely, use it for evil.

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

[dungeonbent]

loseyns / mulled wine

The whole dried spices in the mortar seem to you rather tauntingly staring. You hold the pestle tight in hand, uncomfortably reminded of the school days spent attempting to mix alchemical ingredients in the same way, and wonder how you ended up in this situation.

You've never so much as stepped foot in a kitchen. In much of the elven Court's cooking is a dreadful lack of spice which Porrim only ever attempted to rectify with secret vials of dubiously spicy liquids.

Your name is KANAYA MARYAM, and Sir Egbert has entrusted you with the creation of an ingredient known as 'powdered douce'. Still reeling from shame from your escapades the night before and not wanting to let the poor tallman know of your previous death, you wordlessly took up the task, and now you are regretting every decision that has led to your continued lifespan.

You know that there is a grain of paradise inside the mortar. There is dried ginger and nutmeg and cinnamon. There is even a bit of sugar, but not enough to make this a sweet dish, though the way that Sir Egbert dumps flour on the other side of the table may trick you otherwise. You are not sure if there is enough paradise in this world to make the atmosphere feel any less awkward than it is right now. To compensate, you add another little peppery grain of the stuff and begin to grind.

There is a heady scent from the cauldron on the fire as Sir Egbert quietly sets about his task, making a well in the flour with practiced hands. They are the calloused hands of a baker and a seafarer- the kind of hands used to hard work and backed with muscle.

With one hand, he slowly pours a bit of water in the well and mixes with the flour. You continue scraping the wooden sides of the mortar when he asks, "Did you have fun last night?"

You startle, nearly dropping the pestle. You instead grip it tighter and beg your mouth to move. The only thing that falls out is, "I suppose." and you want to brain yourself immediately. Clearing your throat, you add, "I, ah... became a little caught up in the festivities."

"That's easy to do," Sir Egbert says in a plain sort of voice, "There's a lot on offer, and plenty to drink with."

"Yes- the drinking was mostly what preoccupied me," As well as the death, but. That isn't something you can so easily bring up.

"My June was the same way," Sir Egbert says, and your stomach drops. You can't look at him. The past tense makes bile want to crawl up your throat, and you don't know how to deal with the vulnerability. You continue grinding powdered douce.

You ask in a measured voice, "Was she?"

"Mostly just during the festival- she tried to hide it most nights, but sometimes our house was the one to host her friends when no one else wanted to go home." You're afraid to see what sort of expression is on his face. You peek up to see his flour-caked fingers forming an amorphous white lump.

"I see." You say, for lack of anything better to say.

Sir Egbert says, "Sometimes, I even had to carry her to bed- just like when she was a child." You slowly look up to see Sir Egbert's face, and it's worse than what you feared. The sorrow is there, yes- the grief remains.

But the tallman smiles so gently as he kneads, working the tender memory into the dough. The resignation is what makes you want to flinch the most.

You work in silence for a while after that. You aren't good at figuring out what to say in situations like this; aren't good at comforting gestures, at putting thoughts into verbal assurance and lifting burdens that you cannot directly touch.

Over time, Sir Egbert miraculously turns his well of flour into a good dough, kneading with precise, practiced movements. The contents of your mortar are filled with a dull brown powder. You continue to grind and say, "I met a woman named Feferi, last night. And some of her friends."

"Ah, Feferi," Sir Egbert nods with approval, "She's a good kid."

"She said she... knew your daughter. And her party."

"Ah." is all Sir Egbert replies.

You try to formulate a thought beyond that, but it appears Sir Egbert has finished his dough. He places it in a well-oiled bowl, covers it, and consults a watch of dwarven make, presumably to set a time. By the time he goes over to the stove of the little kitchen to begin working on a large pot, you have forgotten what you want to say.

Eventually, Sir Egbert says, "They were a good party. Talented, well-organized- and they had been on longer trips by then."

There is a feeling of dread settling into your bones as you turn, not spotting the fellow's face. There is only the look of his back and the smoke puffing from the pipe he blows on while working on pouring a bottle of wine.

"In comparison, two months seemed like a sort of vacation. It was supposed to be the sort of trip that happened where you only fight if it's necessary. I knew she could take care of herself."

There is the smell of something citrusy as Sir Egbert swipes the blade of a knife over only the vibrant yellow rind of a lemon. You are afraid to interrupt, as this is the most candid the man has been since you arrived on the island.

"Even if she couldn't," Sir Egbert continues, "her party was dependable. They were all friends- thicker than thieves, even when they were younger." He pauses, "Or when Jade and June were younger- it's harder to gauge just how old the Lalonde siblings were when they arrived on the island. I don't have the best eye for the longer-lived races, you see,"

"Of course," You say, and crack a little smile at that. You feel the same about the shorter-lived ones- though a tallman like Sir Egbert looks to you to be about his mid 200s, you just know he would give some ridiculously low number as his true age.

Sir Egbert pours a dredge of sugar into the concoction he's brewing. "They were all strong in their own right. It should have been enough."

But it wasn't. And that sentiment hangs in the air as a dark cloud as Sir Egbert diligently cuts thin slices of orange into the pot.

You can't see Sir Egbert's face as he says, "I think something happened in the dungeon." You wonder if he also read Theras's work- if he also pored over those pages as intently as you, searching for any sign that the party she spoke of was the same that had suppered in his home.

"What makes you think that?"

But he makes no mention of it. Instead, he speaks, and what he says chills you to your core.

"I've been killed."

The silence that rings between you is so sharp that it makes the feeling of blood rushing to your ears hurt. You slowly set the pestle down in the mortar, the crack of wood on spiced-wood a lightning strike through the gloom. You remember your death. The freezing of your joints. The ghost.

"I-In the dungeon?" You ask, stupidly, because where else could Sir Egbert have been killed to be subsequently resurrected? If they'd killed him here above ground, there would be no magic to bring him back from the land of the dead.

"Every single time I've so much as stepped foot in it." Sir Egbert says. There is a puff of steam, or maybe smoke. He doesn't look at you.

But that doesn't make any sense. You read Theras's work- the upper floors aren't too terribly dangerous, if one knows what they're doing. You saw how Sir Egbert worked on the ship coming to Skaia; he does not seem to be incompetent. Perhaps his luck has seemingly dwindled, or his age has made it harder?

The frost, the ghost, the dungeon.

You don't know for sure whether Theras's party is really them. You've had your suspicions, yes, and many of the locals seem convinced that if the book is fiction, then it fictionalizes them- but it could still be a completely unrelated incident.

"Could you... tell me more about them?" You ask, faint. "The Egbert party."

And Sir Egbert does.

The details begin to slide into place as neatly as the thin noodles Sir Egbert makes of the rested dough. A party of four, made up of a tallman; her beastman cousin; a half-dwarf and a half-elf, calling themselves twins. June had been the leader of the outfit while Rose had been their battle mage and something of a researcher. Dave had been their brawler and archaeologist- Jade their scout, their cleric, another researcher.

They had wanted to reach the bottom of the dungeon, and now, it seemed, the dungeon refused to let them go.

"Dear lord- why...?" You want to ask why he's telling you all this, but that would be foolish. You asked. You shouldn't be so brazen when you ask for everything all by your pathetic little self. "If this is too much-"

"It's not." Sir Egbert says, damnably gentle. You wish he would take the sharpened edge of his tenderness and just run you through. It'd be kinder. "I just need you to know what you might be getting into."

You take a deep breath, and say, "I... had something of a sense of it." Especially now. Especially with the spectre's icy claw still lodged in your heart.

The wine has been left to stew in its own heat off to the side; the noodles left to become somewhat hard. Sir Egbert looks to you, silent. Then he bows his head and says, "Then I hope you know to prepare well for this mission of yours." And the only thing you can do is nod.

The chilled atmosphere remains somewhat even as Sir Egbert asks you to fetch a large jug of bone broth to set about the fire and bring to another boil. He cooks the newly made pasta and you both watch the squares bob up under the dark broth. Those noodles are then fished out and, strangely, the broth is not used again.

You watch with mild confusion as Sir Egbert lays the squares of cooked noodle along the bottom of two bowls. He grates a thick, soft cheese over top and asks for the powdered douce, which you provide. He sprinkles a fair amount and then repeats the process twice more, leaving both bowls with a heaping helping of melted cheese over chewy noodles and some spice.

Somewhat unsure, you ask, "What have we made, exactly...?"

Sir Egbert looks at you, bewildered. "It's elvish, though?"

"I should say not." You say flatly, too taken aback to figure out how else to emote.

"Really? It's called loseyns," Sir Egbert says. "Are you positive?"

"I should hope so, considering," You gesture to the length of your ears.

Sir Egbert scratches at his perfectly clean-shaven chin. "Strange. It's been all the rage in Lo'Oat these days..."

You are also served a mug of wine with some kind of spicy kick to it. It pairs surprisingly well with the noodles, which taste much like what they are- warm noodles slathered in cheese with some spice and a little sugar.

It's not bad, but it is warming. You ask why it's become so popular, though. You don't understand it. Then Sir Egbert says, "Well, a traveler coming from the western lands had said that during the Elf Queen's birthday banquet, this had been served and eaten with long sticks. If it was good enough for the Queen, then..."

"Hold on," You say, a noodle falling off the thin wooden skewer that he had handed you to eat this with for some reason, "are you talking about lasagna?"

"No- loseyns," Sir Egbert says, a serious, business-like look on his face. "That's what all the locals are calling it."

"No- it's- it's supposed to have meat," You say, struggling to explain, "but ground rather fine, with herbs. It's actually better than most food, and-"

"Ah! But look," Sir Egbert says, pointing at your plate, "it does have meat."

You're about to argue that blatant lie when you look down and what the fuck that's actually a lasagna now. Where did the loseyns you just spent the last hour making go?

Sir Egbert looks as unflappable as always, but you see him conspicuously hiding a tray of what can only be an actual lasagna on the counter behind the mulled wine. You have no idea what the point of this entire exchange was, but have the strange feeling that you have been duped for some unknown and arcane purpose.

By the end of the meal, you've learned that the two dishes really are interchangeable here in most peoples' eyes, and you're also both laughing and making polite merry. You think that tomorrow, when you enjoy the third day of the festival, things will start to look up.

This doesn't stop you from dreaming that night.

While night falls and the echo of revelry slips in, you cannot stop dreaming of frozen bodies locked within unforgiving walls of stone and brass, hands stretched toward a green sun.

( Click here for the loseyns recipe | Click here for the mulled wine )

[nonbinary-octopus]

I had a dream last night about Dungeon Mechi

I've never actually seen or read dungeon mechi before, so this was very constructed out of the various things I've seen on tumblr. I know it was meant to be Dungeon Mechi because 1, that's what my brain labeled the setting as, and 2, Senshi and Chilchuck were there.

Backing up to the beginning of the dream. We all went into the dungeon in the evening, and most of the party immediately started off down the path, leaving me and the leader, who then yelled after them to come back, because we're not exploring yet, we need to set up camp. So they came back, and we did various camp setting up stuff.

At some point during this, Chilchuck compared hand sizes with me. His were just barely smaller than mine, and he jokingly teased me about my tiny hands, because he's a half-foot and I was a very small tallman

a bit later, someone set up the sleeping spot, and it's this like. Weird frame of oddly shaped scoop things. Senshi explained them to me. They're called "sleep saddles", and they help conserve space. Inside dungeons, rather than sleep in normal beds or even bedrolls, everyone climbs into the sleep saddles and sleeps in a compact stack. The various saddles were in various sizes, and Senshi explained to me how each accommodated different body types. Honestly I'm not sure how it would work, since it mostly just supports your hips and lower back, especially if you're a tallman. It worked a little better for the smaller folks, but still not great. It's a very compact pile to sleep in.

A bit later, we were hashing out sleeping arrangements, which was done by each person picking which sleep saddle they wanted to sleep in. Chilchuck got to pick first, and then me. I couldn't decide, and mentioned that I had never slept in one before. Someone (I forget who) expressed some concern that I might not actually be ready for this kind of dungeoning, if I had no experience in it.

I retorted that I had used a sword before, just never slept in a sleep saddle. Someone (Chilchuck I think) asked why I use a sword when I'm a healer, and I responded with that "I'm a doctor, but-" meme. I also said that my old school had done day trips to a dungeon, we’d just slept in bunks outside rather than sleep saddles inside

this was when I realized some backstory to my character. I had attended a Rich Girls School, having grown up as a Rich Girl. I was using a different name and gender now, however, and was more or less keeping my backstory secret.

(I'm not quite sure what name I was going by. I know it started with S, reminded me of Silver, and had 'liz' in it somewhere, from my birth name of Elizabeth. Maybe Seliziver or something)

and then various other dungeon exploring stuff happened that I don't fully remember. My secret got out, I discovered I had interesting and unusual magical abilities, I uncovered a pair of murdery twins masquerading as innocent portal-openers... etc. I think the dream may have borrowed from the game Moonlighter for some of the dungeon mechanics.

[weerd1]

Star Trek DS9 Rewatch Log, Stardate 1908.18: Missions Reviewed, “The Muse,” “For the Cause,” and “To the Death.”

“The Muse” begins with Jake Sisko watching the people boarding the station and creating backgrounds for them as possible fodder for writing (ah, that’s where I learned that).  He sees a mysterious woman, who even seems to make eye contact with him, and later she finds him in the replimat. She says her name is Onaya, and she has always liked artists, even mentioning some recent greats whom she says she helped. 

She offers to help Jake if he comes by her quarters later.  Meanwhile Odo is faced with a pregnant Lwaxana Troi who is on the run from her Baby Daddy. Apparently that race practices strict gender separation for children, and though her husband told her he would not, because the baby is a boy he will take the child from Lwaxana at birth. She and Odo concoct a plan to marry to get rid of the guy, who sure enough shows up on the station. The plan works and he leaves mother and child alone. 

 Onaya and Jake meanwhile are hanging out in her groovy quarters, and she gets him to start working on his novel. As he writes, it becomes ever easier for him, but Onaya is feeding off his creative energies, draining him, and landing him in the infirmary.  Onaya appears there and sneaks him out, hiding Jake in a storeroom as he writes and she vampires him. Sisko finds them and phasers Onaya, who turns to energy and escapes. Meanwhile, Jake has completed the first draft of the novel “Anslem,” the book that the episode “The Visitor” told us would be his classic work.

This is an episode that doesn’t seem to have a whole lot to do for either of these stories so it can’t work out which is the A story and which is the B.  They seem to get even time, and neither of them are especially compelling.  Not for lack of trying however.  Odo does get some character development as he works out his feelings with Lwaxana, and the mention of “Anslem” does recall the best episode of the series. The guest stars are top notch with 80s SF icon Meg Foster appearing as Onaya, and Michael Ansara—formerly Kang the Klingon—as Lwaxana’s angry husband.  The episode never quite gets anywhere for me, though it certainly isn’t “bad.” One more quick aside: the nurse caring for Jake is played by Patricia Tallman, whom I have mentioned before. She was Nana Visitor’s stunt double, and of course the character of Lyta Alexander on that other space station, “Babylon 5.”

“For the Cause” has Odo and Eddington come to Sisko to tell him they think there’s a Maquis smuggler on board; they think it’s the Captain’s lady friend Kassidy Yates. This is in the midst of security tightening as the Federation is about to provide some industrial food replicators to Cardassia to help them with all the Klingon-caused shortages.

 Sisko is initially resistant to the idea Kassidy could be involved, but has the Defiant trail her next mission. Sure enough, her ship goes off course, and potentially meets with a Maquis vessel. Meanwhile, Garak keeps running into Tora Ziyal and is curious as to whether Gul Dukat’s daughter wants him dead. When Kira threatens Garak telling her to stay away from the girl, he takes that as a sign Ziyal is legitimately seeking company, and Kira would have no problem seeing Garak dead.

 Sisko becomes determined to stop Kassidy Yates personally and captains the Defiant in pursuit. Eddington doesn’t want to be in on arresting the Captain’s girlfriend and asks to stay behind.  Kassidy’s ship enters the Badlands like before, but this time seems to just keep circling in a holding pattern. After several hours Sisko has enough, decloaks and boards the Xhosha (Kassidy’s ship). She is caught red handed, but doesn’t know why her Maquis contact hasn’t shown up. Sisko realizes distracting him is the target. The return to DS9 leaving the Xhosha behind, to find that Eddington is in fact Maquis, and has stolen the replicators intended for Cardassia. He says he has joined the Maquis because the Federation has become as insidious as the Borg, now punishing planets for the one unforgivable sin: “wanting to leave paradise.” Kassidy returns to DS9 after dropping off her crew, and turns herself in, knowing she’s on her way to a Federation penal colony. She promises Ben she will be back, because she loves him.

A perfect example of the type of character work that makes DS9 great. The Kassidy Yates relationship has been building for a couple of years now, so when Odo and Eddington accuse her, we think “no way.” Well, “way” and what’s brilliant is her support of the Maquis doesn’t really make her a villain. She sympathizes with their plight, which is indeed a sympathetic cause.  She though is set up by the Maquis who IS a villain, and that’s our Commander Eddington, who has played both Kassidy and Sisko. Often just one of those “extra” Starfleet guys, he’s now made himself important, and that’s something that plays well here.  Later on he will really try to set himself up as Sisko’s nemesis, but he’s just a guy who betrayed his oath, and Sisko won’t let him forget that.  Well executed episode that moves along the Maquis storyline well and sets us up for some future tales.

“To the Death” starts with the Defiant returning to DS9 to find the station has suffered a devastating hit from the Jem’Hadar. 

Sisko tracks the ship back into the Gamma quadrant where they find a damaged Jen’Hadar ship that isn’t the one they seek. Beaming over survivors they get a squad of the Dominion’s soldiers and a Vorta named Weyoun. The Jem’Hadar who attacked DS9 have actually gone rogue, and this crew was hunting them down. Weyoun reveals to Sisko that the Company of soldiers they seek have broken off because they have found an Iconian Gateway- a portal that would allow them to transport to any planet in the Galaxy instantaneously, and they plan to use it to free themselves of the Dominion and conquer all they can.  Sisko grudgingly teams up with Weyoun and company, knowing they can’t be allowed to have access to the Gateways.

 When one of the Jem’Hadar stops following orders and perhaps begins to sympathize with the deserters, the Jem’Hadar “first” Omet’iklan kills him on the spot, and questions why Sisko doesn’t maintain order through lethal punishment. Weyoun wonders if Omet’iklan plans to rebel too. They attack the stronghold and manage to destroy the Gateway. There is a tense moment when it seems the allies will turn on one another when Omet’iklan kills Weyoun and decides to stay with his troops on the planet, hunting down the rest of the traitors. When asked why he killed the Vorta, it was for “questioning my loyalty.”

Some good call outs here back to the second season of TNG with the Iconians, and Worf mentions he was on the mission that found their homeworld (The TNG episode “Contagion”). We get a good look at the inner workings of the Jem’Hadar, finding out they are all test-tube babies, there are no females, and they are lethal within 3 days of birth.  Those who live past age 20 are considered “honored elders.” 

There is definitely a concerted effort NOT to make the Jem’Hadar sympathetic here. And of course, most importantly, we get Weyoun! Jeffrey Combs returns as the Smarmiest Vorta. According to the Memory Alpha website, Weyoun was intended to be a one-off, and Combs brought so much to it, the writers invented the idea of Vortas being clones just so they could bring him back.  Also of note, the Jem’Hadar killed for his insolence is played by Brian Thompson, himself a multi-guest star having played six different characters across several Trek series, including sharing another episode during “Enterprise” with Jeffrey Combs. In that outing Thompson is Romulan Admiral Valdore (for whom the Warbird in Star Trek: Nemesis is named) and Combs as the Andorian Shran, whom I still want to see have his own series.

NEXT VOYAGE: Julian Bashir gets another chance to play frontier doctor while visiting a planet suffering from “The Quickening.”

[heroinazer0]

Tales from Frederick Street: Smallman, Tallman

There was a story going around Port of Spain then. Drifting through the small alleys and back roads of Belmont, around Nelson Street, snaking its way through the garrison of houses piled one on the other, like gap-toothed lagahoos leering down from the Hill. The tweaked out vagrants on the sidewalks told it in their ragged, crack-raw voices, and the homeless insane, in their naked daydreams, clad only in their hallucinations, screamed the story in the early hours of the morning. By and by, the story came up from the gutters, into the ears of the pedestrian few. Those whose ears were open to such talk, at any rate. This was how the story went…

 “It have a man, somewhere in Port-ah-Spain, nobody know what he look like. De man does wear a long coat, and a big hat, and nobody never see he face. People down Sea Lots see him, an people on de Hill, and he does be rong de Savanna an’ all. Nobody know what he story is, but ah hear wherever yuh see him, people does disappear…If yuh see a man, tall, tall, tall so, wearin a long coat, and a hat big, big, big so, turn arong and walk away fast.”  

        Like this, it had passed into the halls of the school on Frederick Street. This was how the story of The Man in the Long Coat, came to the boy called Neil. Of course, though his given name was Neil, as was the custom at the school, he was called by his surname: Wallace. At the school, Wallace had heard the story at the urinals one lunch time. Amid the miasma of stale piss, and chlorine, an older boy, from the sixth form had leaned in a little too close for comfort, and whispered “Smallman, you does travel?” Neil, who was not exactly small, nodded. The Form Sixer continued, “Watch yuhself. It have a man goin’ rong. I hear he like boys—boys with nice eyes.” Neil stopped mid-stream. “What?”, The Form Sixer shrugged and shook himself off, “Watch yuhself Smallman.” and he sauntered out of the urinals. He didn’t even wash his hands.

      It seemed like a strange thing to hear from someone he had never met before. Afterall, he was a Form Two student now; surely he had some seniority and should have known the older boy somehow? But, he really had never encountered him before, and as it turned out, he would not see him a second time.

      Later, Neil related what had happened at the urinals to his friends, St. Bryce, Ramdial and Gomez. The other boys naturally, laughed. “Sounds like he find you have nice eyes, Wall-O” said Gomez, Ramdial agreed. St. Bryce maintained a grave face, and added, “That not funny allyuh. I really hear about it too. It have a man going rong town. I hear he does take people.” No one was quite sure where he took people, or what happened to them. There were enough stories of odd disappearances, kidnappings, abductions and reports of human trafficking showing up in the daily newspapers, but this story, of a man who took people, seemed to come from some sinister place, with a subtle darkness that ran deeper than just criminal activity. Though this was the feeling Neil had, he could not quite put it into words. “Where you feel he does take them?” asked Ramdial, smirking lazily. The boys sat in thoughtful silence for a moment. Outside, in the courtyard there was a pitched game of small-goal football going, even as the sun beat down with hellish intensity. At length St. Bryce spoke, “I feel…” the others listened intently, “I feel, he does rape men into oblivion.” They all burst out laughing.

      Later, as he walked up Pembroke Street, towards Memorial Park, Neil could not help but feel a slight shiver of fear. Something in the story of this man, who hunted ‘boys with nice eyes’ unsettled him. Then, as he crossed the Queen’s Park Savanna Road, heading to his home in Belmont, he caught a glimpse of a figure. Taller than the tallest man he had ever seen. It passed in the blink of an eye, almost as if the earth had opened up and swallowed it. It was a figure wearing a hat that seemed too big for life, clad in a dress or a coat of some kind. In the back of his mind it made him think of a moko jumbie. But moko jumbies didn’t just disappear into thin air.

[fardell24b]

Rise of Weirdness - Part 20

January 1, 1958

In Oxford, the Fog dissipates. However, the weirdness around St. Hilda's remains.

February 22, 1958:

Egyptian leader Hamal Abdel Nasser proclaims the United Arab Republic (UAR) in Cairo, demanding the withdrawal of Anglo-French Union troops,...

March 26, 1958 On the outskirts of Omaha, Nebraska, a second humming stone is discovered.

April 4, 1958:

Actress Lana Turner is killed by reputed mobster Johnny Stompanato in Los Angeles, California, triggering a debate on the issue of women's rights, sparking national controversy,....

April 27, 1958 There is a confrontation between an American and a Soviet submarine over a submerged artefact of suspected Atlantean origin.

May 3, 1958:

Marcel Roche, Venezuelan Association for the Advancement of Science, utilises inhumane radiation experiments against the Yanomami and Ye'Kwana Indians, in an effort to exploit the creation of Transformed into a military force in the Orinoco Basin, Venezuela, sparking international condemnation,.....

June 3rd, 1958 :

Beginning of the Dragon Hunt in Auvergne after the disparition of several children.

June 7, 1958:

Scientist Walter Tallman commits suicide in London after secretly being exposed as a "Transformed",...

June 9, 1958 :

Haitian Jacquerie; Haitian hougans unleash a zombie uprising in Port au-Prince, Haiti, threatening to overthrow the government in a coup d'etat,...

June 30th, 1958 :

The Dragon is finally located in the extinct volcan of the Puy de Dôme. The children are retrieved safe and unharmed.

July 6th, 1958 :

Establishment of the Initiative de Communication Inter-espèces after communications with the Dragon of the Puy fail miserably. While there is no doubt the Dragon of the Puy has at least human intelligence, it is physically incapable of communicating with the humans.

August 28, 1958:

Chinese forces launch a brutal military crackdown on Formosan nationalists in Taipei, shocking human rights observers,...

September 18th, 1958:

Winchester Tragedy. A young witch named Laura Neverton, after taunting by bullies, releases a massive burst of magical energy. The resulting explosion destroys half of Winchester High School (Winchester, Maryland), causing massive casualties (up to 100 dead). Laura herself survives, and flees the town in terror. The area around the school (up to four blocks away) is affected by the release of energy, creating strangeness that would be noted by nightfall.

It was early in the morning, but the Winchester Library of Magic was already busy, with more than a dozen people browsing the shelves. Theodore James was one of those customers. He had returned a copy of The Lord of the Rings – Words of Power Edition and was about to look for a copy of World Book Encyclopedia: Sumeria when she entered. Laura Neverton, the girl he had a crush on. She looked as she always did, with her long dark blonde hair obscuring the left side of her face and pale green eyes focused on the ground in front of her.

“Hi, Laura,” he said.

“Hi,” Laura said.

'Strange,' he thought. She usually said more than that. He would later regret not saying anything more, but he was too nervous.

Laura noticed Theodore saying 'Hi,' but she didn't respond as she usually would. She was preoccupied with what had happened the day before. They had been taunting her. Again. She just wanted to be left alone! She placed the book she was returning on the desk.

“Did you like it?” the Librarian asked.

Laura shrugged. “Yes,” she answered.

It must have sounded sad because the Librarian asked. “Are you OK?”

Laura wasn't sure how to answer. However, she was sure it wasn't the Librarians business. “Yes!” she lied. She was sure that if Theodore had asked, she would have told him everything, but he didn't.

The Librarian didn't press. “How can I help you?” she asked.

“Do we have Maskelyne's Analysis of the Sumerian Inscriptions?” Laura asked.

“I'll check,” the librarian said. She opened the filing cabinet. “Winchester Library: Do we have IMBIL Mask 1949-4012-A-O? Locate!”

The cabinet glowed and the index cards floated out and swirled around. Laura was sure the Librarian was showing off! Soon the index cards placed themselves back where they were.

“Sorry, we haven't got it.”

“Then how did you know the code?” Laura asked.

“I had read it some years ago, back in Philly.”

“Oh!” Laura said. “Nevermind.”

“Wait! I could get it for you. It would take until lunchtime via Spellspace.”

“I see,” Laura said. She was grateful for the fact that information could be shared over long distances by magic, but she wished that the bandwidth would be greater.

“So you want me to print off a copy?” the Librarian asked.

“Yes,” Laura answered.

However, events were going to conspire such that she wouldn't be able to be at the Library of Magic at lunch time...

Miriam Wells, Librarian of Magic, watched as Laura Neverton left the Library. She was sure there was something wrong there. But she couldn't help if she didn't want to share. Later, she would regret no pressing. As it was, she quickly dismissed the thought as a few more patrons came up to borrow books.

Winchester High School, a normal high school. Little did those attending know, that wasn't going to be true for much longer. Certainly, Laura didn't as she slunk towards the school from the Library of Magic, along various laneways and tree covered streets.

Nor did Theodore, as he walked to the school by a more direct route.

Nor did Helena Williams, one of those who would be later be called 'mean girls'. She met her friends, fellow cheerleaders Lucy Ballard and Erin O'Malley shortly before school. Together, they made up one of the most exclusive cliques in the school. To their face they were the 'Tops', but Helena knew that some of the other students called them 'The Posh Meanies'. She hated that nickname. “Hi, Luce,” she said to Lucy, in a commanding tone.

“Hi, Laya,” Lucy said. The two had been friends since before Kindergarten.

“I think I've found it,” Helena said.

“The Hidden Library for Winchester?” Erica asked. “Are you sure?”

Helena glared at Erica. She was sure. “I was in East Park shortly before sunset and I saw movement in some bushes. I went over and  saw some sort of distortion in the layout of the area. The Library is there alright. I even saw some kids emerge from the strange thicket with books.”

“Sounds right,” Lucy said.

“It could just be a secret hiding place,” Erica said with a shrug.

“What about the distortion?” Helena asked.

“Could be a coincidence,” Erica said.

“Nevertheless, this afternoon I will go back and see,” Helena said. Little did she know that her own actions would scupper her chances...

As Laura entered the school via a rear entryway she had a sudden sense of dread. It stopped her cold. She wondered if she should truant to avoid them. After a few more moments, she decided that it wouldn't be worth it to truant just because of a sense of dread. Little did she know that this moment would lead to the event later that morning that would be a defining moment in world history, and massive regret for the rest of her life. She calmed herself and plunged into the school...

Thomas Allen, history teacher, sighed as he arrived at his classroom ten minutes before the Homeroom bell. It was more difficult each year as the District wanted  more information on how each student was progressing in their studies. He took a sip from his coffee, hoping that the classes would be better than the previous day.

Theodore arrived at the school at the same time as this, and met his best friend, Benjamin Samuels. “Hi Theodore,” Benjamin said.

“Hi Benjamin.”

“What's wrong?” Benjamin asked.

“I ran into Laura on the way to school,” Theodore said, not mentioning the Library of Magic, as he was sure Benjamin didn't know about it.

“And you didn't say anything?”

“I said 'Hi, Laura,' but it's what she didn't say...”

“What didn't she say?”

“She didn't say my name,” Theodore said. “She usually says my name.”

“You're reading too much into that,” Benjamin said.

“She also seemed more... down.”

Benjamin was then silent. Theodore was shore he didn't know what to say to that. “It can't be too bad, right?”

“Still, something is wrong.”

“I still think you're reading too much into something.”

“Maybe.”

Laura paused as she approached the corridor with her locker. Bitter experience had taught her that location was the most likely place she would be ambushed. As she turned the corner, her heart was racing. Adrenaline was racing, she was ready to flee. (She didn't want to fight!) She saw... nothing. The coast was clear. She dashed over to the locker.

Laura had got her books from her locker. She closed it, and then heard a sound... Heart racing faster than earlier, she jumped 180 degrees dropping her books in the process. There were a few other students, but they weren't those she was afraid of. Two of them turned in her direction as they heard the books hit the floor. “Are you OK?” one of them asked.

“Yes!”