#which i think furthers my idea that candy is meant to represent most of the cast at their worst

[tunas-spriting]

well most importantly to me, the panel art of the latest upd8 was absolutely spectacular!!!!

[aenngelic]

I will protect her at all costs (chapter 2)

Disclaimer: please don’t hate me for it, if you don’t ship them please just don’t read it ok 🥲

contains: slow burn, Sniper falling in love with Kuon, Snipers view/thoughts, sexual fantasies, nudity, lemon stuff overall

It is a very long chapter I’m sorry

Note: please feel free to message me if you have certain romantic moments to include in the story! (Already running out of ideas oops)

It did not take long for us to find a bag of supplies. It was on a coffee table in some sort of lobby area. It seemed as if this building probably was meant to represent some kind of hotel, which I thought was a good thing, because that meant that there would be beds and showers to be found here as well. To our surprise, the bag contained mostly candy, which I wouldn't interpret as a balanced meal. However, the girl seemed to like this finding. It was only a matter of minutes before the chocolate residue stained the corners of my companion's mouth in a brown color. However, I preferred to smoke a cigarette at first and watch the girl devour her own body weight in the form of chocolate.

" This is fantastic! It feels like forever since I last ate chocolate! I faintly remember dieting before I entered this world too, so this must have been probably weeks since I held chocolate in my hand." Kuon said with delight. It was amusing to watch her enjoy sweets. Kuon's carelessness may be a burden at times, but her innocent character makes up for it.

" you partly remember your life prior to this, don't you?"

" Yes, not much to be honest. I'm sorry you can't," Kuon replied in a concerned voice.

"Tell me about it."

She gave me a visibly puzzled look before straightening her back so that she was sitting as straight as a candle on the sofa across from me, staring at her hands somewhat lost in thought. She seemed uncomfortable that I had now brought up this topic. Unfortunately, I could not take back my question. "Well," she began, "to be honest,the life I remember has not been the greatest, I guess." Kuon abruptly shook her head. " That's not true either. I was born into a rich family and had many privileges. My father owned a large company and had very high expectations of me from the very beginning. One day I was supposed to take it over. I was probably pretty lucky compared to other people. I was probably a big disappointment for him. My character was just not strong enough in his eyes. I also remember not really having any friends either, because I was privately educated. And anyway..." I could literally hear the lump in Kuon's throat as a tear began to stream down the girl's cheek.

" i'm sorry. You know, I didn't really mean to end up crying."

I felt my heart break once again, watching the girl grieve. I was surprised now, though, to find out that this yet seemingly uncomplicated high school student was actually carrying a lot of emotional baggage. I did not hesitate as I jumped up from my seat to calm the blue-haired girl. I really hated it like the plague when she cried. Trying to preserve my Coolness, however, I grumbled, "oh girl. What's wrong?"

I placed myself to her left, and pressed her against my shoulder while running my hand over her hair a few times. There was no way I could bring myself to face her, though. It would be too embarrassing and, after all, I was far from being the Prince Charming who would dry her tears with a silken tissue. Besides, I could not withstand the sight of her teary eyes. So there I sat, a weeping teenage girl wetting my blazer with salty drops of grief on my right, awkwardly staring off into the distance.

"It's, it's..." she stammered, not being able to form a word. "You're the first person I've been able to trust, and because of that, I'm kind of..."

She took a deep breath, "It makes me so unbelievably happy."

Almost for the second time that day, a cigarette nearly got stuck in my throat, but this time I was able to suppress my urge to cough. The girl seemed to really like me. But did I like her too? I would be lying if I said I did not care about her. And if she got killed, I could never forgive myself. It was astonishing how one could form such a strong bond with another person in such a short period of time. However, pouring out my entire feelings in front of her would not come close to the cool lifestyle I was pursuing.

" i'm also happy to have met you, Kuon.", i finally decided to answer after a moment of figuring out how to respond.

Kuon's face, which was still streaked with tears, started to smile again, which made me feel much relieved. However, it took her a while to completely stop her wailing . We remained in this position for a while, until at some point I realized that the girl had fallen asleep. Her head had lowered in the meantime even further toward the ground, so that after some time she was no longer leaning against my shoulder but much rather against my belly. When I noticed this after some time and looked down to the girl, a cute sight presented itself to me. Admittedly, on the one hand it felt nice to act as this girl's pillow. On the other hand, it triggered an immeasurable amount of embarrassment in me. But cool guys do like to take care of girls' comfort, don't they?

Therefore, I decided I'd rather not wake her up and hardly moved at all. I looked out the window to my right, watching the sunset and reflected on certain issues. I was thinking about Rika as well as the two girls we were trying to find and, of course, about Kuon and so many other things until my eyes started to close.

When I regained consciousness, the night must have settled in. Before I could even perceive my surroundings properly, I swiveled my head once to the left and once to the right and let my gaze wander through the room. Because the moon was particularly bright this night, everything around me had taken on a deep blue tone. It was so quiet around me that I could have heard a pin drop. In the next second I realized that I should not have fallen asleep in the first place. Somebody would have had to keep watch, after all! Crap! If an enemy would have come along the way, it certainly would not have been good for me and Kuon. I looked down to my thigh where the blue-haired girl was supposed to lie. I felt her place her head on my thigh at some point during the night, but when I looked down at my thigh, I could not find any girl. Where the hell was Kuon? A rational thinking person, as I was one, could of course assume that my companion did not necessarily have to be in danger, but could also have simply visited the toilet, for example. Nonetheless, my alarm bells started ringing immediately. Kuon was, after all, a young girl who, apart from the "rail gun", did not posses many possibilities for self-defense. So of course I was worried.

Without thinking much, I hopped up from the sofa, on which I had been napping a few moments before. In quick stride I wandered through the poorly lit hallway without really having a clue where I was heading. My head was foggy from the idea that the girl might be in serious danger. A few days ago, I probably would have accepted the fact that she was suddenly nowhere to be found and continued my journey. And now my stomach was already twisting at the thought of her getting in trouble.

Nevertheless, a short moment later, my heart pounding madly from the ever-repeating scenario in my head, I heard a noise at the end of the corridor. A soft, high-pitched humming was heard, drowned out by the pattering of many drops. Light emerged from the crack of a door on the left. Was she taking a shower? The feeling of relief spread through my chest, followed by some degree of annoyance. Why did the girl not wake me up? I took a few steps towards the door, but before I was about to reach for the door handle, I remembered that I should not do so. A gentleman never violates a lady's privacy. So I decided to wait.

I leaned against the local wall, one leg bent. Then I let my thoughts wander, while the pattering of the raindrops in the bathroom right next to me showed no indication of stopping anytime soon. A lady of high society must spend quite a bit of her life showering, I thought to myself. And before I knew it, the image of Kuon suddenly popped up in my head. In my imagination I pictured her body, wondering what it looked like completely naked. A bar of soap running over her plump breasts, leaving traces of foam on her soft, wet skin. A body swinging under the hot rainfall like a leaf in the wind, presenting its vivid buttocks. I wonder if she was shaved? Hardly had I been able to finish this dirty thought of mine and get mad at my filthy thinking when my ears picked up the sound of footsteps in the distance. And they were coming ominously closer.

Damn, I thought to myself and was about to reach for my rifle, only to realize that I forgot it next to the sofa where I had been sleeping. I had been so upset about her disappearance that I could seriously forget the most crucial item for our survival.What was I going to do? For a brief moment I was at a loss. Escape proved almost impossible at this point, since I was at a dead end and I could not force the approaching enemy down with any surrounding objects. Besides, if I escaped, it would only be a matter of time before the enemy would track down my helpless companion. In the next moment, almost instinctively, I reached for the door handle that led to the bathroom that Kuon had still claimed. Perhaps there were objects in the room that were suitable for fighting, or perhaps we could be lucky and not be found, I speculated in the heat of the moment. So I tore open the door and rushed into the bathroom, greeted by a hot haze that took over the entire area.

"Kuon!" I called out in a hushed tone.

Without hesitation, I pushed my way through the door that separated the shower from the rest of the bathroom as if I was walking through nothing. Until that moment, I had hardly given a thought to the circumstances of this situation. But at the latest, when finally the naked body of a schoolgirl jumped into my field of vision, I quickly realized this again. I was just about to violate Kuon's privacy. An obviously shocked girl looked towards me, that from 1 second to the other tried to cover herself desperately.

"Mr.Ma-", she was about to say, but I interrupted her raised voice by pressing my hand to her lips as quickly as possible.

While I was still in the act of stepping into the shower, I flicked the light switch in the same movement so that no sign of our presence could escape from the room. Maybe they would not find us here, I hoped at this point.

"There's someone out there," I whispered to the naked girl in front of me.

" if we are quiet, maybe we won't be found. If we are, then..."

Kuon replied to me with an unintelligible "Mmm" , which resembled the sound of a frightened gasp. My body had pressed so close to hers by now that I could feel the wetness of her skin soaking through my shirt. I had directed my face facing away from her so that I could sharpen my hearing for the footsteps I could hear. Furthermore , I did not want to add unnecessary tension to the whole situation. It was uncool enough to interfere with a naked girl taking a shower even if it was an emergency. My hand was still resting on her lips and even though I was wearing gloves and looking away, I could clearly feel the warmth building up in Kuon's cheeks. She was obviously blushing in this moment. But having her pressed against the bathroom wall while forcing my hand tightly onto her lips and not even keeping a distance of not 2 inches, I could not blame her.

For quite a while, we did not move at all. We listened closely to the footsteps, which came a little closer and finally slowly moved away from us again. Temporarily it was even so quiet in this bathroom that we could hear each other breathing. Kuon's breathing was fast and almost verged on hyperventilation in this situation. Because there was hardly any distance between our bodies, I could literally feel her chest rising and falling in short intervals. With each rise, her breasts brushed my upper body a slight bit. I tried, as always, to keep my composure and block out the fact that Kuon was completely naked. Only when several minutes had passed did my posture loosen and I breathed a sigh of relief.

"Okay, we should be safe for now," I stated and let go of the girl.

I flipped the light switch and had to swallow.

Kuon had been naked before too, but it was only now that the danger was gone that I could really comprehend this fact. She had tried to cover her breasts with her hands and had simultaneously crossed her legs, looking down with a shameful expression on her face. However, the concealment attempt seemed to be unsuccessful for her. Although I only caught a glimpse of her appearance before I turned away from her as quickly as possible, I saw her entire beauty for a moment.Her breasts were in relation to her otherwise so petite body, large and plump. She had a narrow waist and perfectly shaped legs, in combination with her smooth, fair skin. And so she shaved, I could still tell. What remained most imprinted on my mind, however, was the look on her face.I of course preferred to see her friendly smile a thousand times more than this face that expressed pure shame. But I could not help but adore the sight of her big sparkling dog eyes looking at the ground helplessly.

My breath stopped for a moment, but then I quickly cleared my throat, my gaze already averted from her, scanning the room for a towel. I tried to hide the fact that I actually wanted to slap myself for the thoughts I was having. Luckily, my embarrassment was not visible through the mask. I had to change the subject immediately before the situation became even more awkward:

"Sorry, Kuon." , I mumbled. I was surprised myself by my harsh tone. It took me a while to recollect the words.

"You should let me know next time you decide to go somewhere else."

"Oh yeah right. I didn't mean to cause any trouble.", Countered the girl who also seemed to be a bit embarrassed. So it wasn't just me who was feeling uncomfortable about this situation. Without giving my companion another look, I threw a towel right over my head at her. I had a precise aim.

" I'm going to get my rifle. I forgot it in all the hurry near the sofa."

Just as I was about to open the door to step out, the girl interrupted my process by grabbing my arm with unusual intensity.

" can you come back here afterwards? Please?"

"That's what I was planning on doing anyway. I'll be waiting right outside the door," I replied, a bit puzzled by this question.

" but I have -." she interrupted herself, shaking her head slightly before continuing.

Then her facial expression regained its former composure, whereupon she gave me her typical, beaming smile. I could tell, however, that she did not mean it honestly. How I could tell that, I had no idea myself though. But did she want me to stay here with her?

" no you're right. I'll hurry up and be done in a few minutes," she said. While she was talking, she wrapped the towel around her body in a quick movement, fastening it in front with the help of a knot.

I had meanwhile turned my gaze back to her. Although Kuon was now dressed, it was difficult for me not to inspect her from top to bottom. Her entire body was still drenched in a hint of wetness, so that her skin was reflectingthe bright bathroom light. It was also slightly red from the hot shower water. I wondered if the red tint to her cheeks was also caused by that, or if I was responsible for it.I could not help but notice the way the towel just managed to hide all the places it was supposed to cover and yet was far too tight. If she bent over, a special view would present itself to me. Immediately I dashed this disgusting thought from my head. If I continued to reduce myself only to her appearance this could end in negligence on my part and I would not be able to protect her properly.After all, that was the most important thing. I also discarded this thought. Had this strange girl really become so important to me? Nevertheless, there was no place for interpersonal relationships in this world.Before I could get any further into this train of thought, I turned away again and finally walked out of the room. I was in need of a cigarette.

[courtneystriker]

My Thoughts on the HG Prequel

I just finished reading The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes and I got to say, my feelings are mixed. Below I have an entire review  for the story which included how I felt, the expectations, the biases I had going into the new book, and how I felt after reading. Please note there will be spoilers. Also this review isn’t meant to hurt anyone and if you absolutely love the book so far...good! Enjoy it fully! As an aspiring writer myself and someone who studied in college/loves creative writing I’m well aware that people just have different takes on writing. Glad you are enjoying it :)

Anyways, here it goes…

The Expectations

As the Hunger Games series is one of my favorites of all time, I had a strong bias to like this book. Since it was first announced, without knowing any details, I was extremely excited and optimistic. I re-read the entire Hunger Games series twice beforehand in preparation; once with my fiancé and once on my own. The only thing I really wanted, knowing that it took place during the tenth hunger games, was that the arena reflected how new the hunger games were. Then, when we learned what the series was about, people started voicing some concerns or were disappointed by the plot, instead wanting it to be something like Finnick’s arena, Haymitch’s, Mags’, etc. etc. I was not among this group. However, I understand where they were coming from, because I always thought the idea of the first Quarter Quell (the one where the districts voted for the tributes) was an extremely interesting concept. 

Yet I think these things are best left explored in fanfiction as they add nothing to the series and Suzanne Collins did an excellent job just giving us enough information to get the idea. At that point it’d just be a book on details, which could fall short or be a gimmicky, cheap way to keep people reading the series and keep her name relevant. And wasn’t that part of the message in her series, the thing Katniss so heavily criticized that gave a great irony to the books? Who would watch children killing each other for entertainment? Meanwhile, we as the reader are reading these books as a form of entertainment. Plus, Suzanne Collins so skillfully painted the illusion of knowing but not fully knowing their stories that it’s haunting, and I think that is one of the many reasons (along with the battle royale trope being naturally compelling, liking the characters, etc.) that a lot of us are more drawn towards these stories rather than (at least for me)  a book on Snow. 

That being said, I was not against the idea of a book on Snow because I find villain characters, especially grey ones, to be very interesting to read about, and I was pretty certain Suzanne was going to handle this beautifully, especially since you could already feel this atmosphere coming off of Snow in the Hunger Games series. I know some were really concerned about a Snow redemption arc, but to me it felt very obvious that it couldn’t be and it would be more of him sliding into evil.

I did have other concerns when I read the description for the first time. I could not believe they went with the whole tribute from District Twelve thing again. I loved Katniss and District Twelve, but I did not want Katniss 2.0. I said right from the beginning to my fiancé that she’d have to make the tribute from District Twelve extremely different for me to get on board (though I was holding on faith that Collins would). It just felt cheap and gimmicky to rehash the District Twelve thing, it sort of made me feel the same way I would have if she had written about one of the games I mentioned above. Sure, it’d sell, but it wouldn’t add anything to the series. I was thinking she better not hunt, sing, or have any qualities resembling Katniss really.  

Another thing I worried about was the love story they hinted at in the description. It just didn’t make sense to me. Because how was Snow going to ever support the games if from an earlier age he fell in love with a tribute and vowed to protect her? Then later he’s all like pro-hunger games? Just this itself could weaken the entire series if done poorly, because it would weaken the main antagonist’s motives for not only the prequel but also the Hunger Games series as well. I kept thinking either the girl has to die in the arena betraying Snow somehow (which is what I was hoping for), Snow will have to betray her, or perhaps he would have been faking love for her for some sort of personal gain I couldn’t imagine. Either way, I thought it weakened the story's appeal to me. Yet overall I was still excited, desperately waiting for the book’s release. 

And now that I have read it, I have to say it felt forced at a lot of parts and lackluster overall…

*Spoilers start here*

My Review:

Suszanne Collins’ writing style is one I’ve always loved and has consistently appealed to me. Even though this book is written in 3rd person (which some may like less if you don’t particularly like third person) it holds up well against the original series. So I really had no complaints in this regard besides the excessive use of songs (felt like fanfiction a bit). I think if you liked the original series and don’t mind third person you’ll feel right at home with her style.

The concerns others had about Snow’s redemption are completely dismissed in this book. Like I had predicted, she writes about his fall into evil, and although it’s not black and white evil (as I don’t like anyways) you can very much tell he’s a bad guy and that the hardships he faced in life only further pushed him towards obtaining status and power. Overall, he feels true to the character when we end up seeing him in the Hunger Games series, and his journey to power fits the images Finnick painted in Mockingjay. He is very well characterized in the book and perfectly unlikable while maintaining an intriguing internal dialogue (although it does occasionally feel tedious, but not enough to bother me; others may feel differently).

 The way he is written is very much in line with Collin’s great characterization, one of the reasons I always loved The Hunger Games. All the characters felt like real people. They all had an extreme depth to them and I felt they all resembled people I had actually met in real life. There were little to no characters that relied solely on gimmicky personalities to get by. Even very minor characters that seemed depthless and swallow at first--like Katniss’s prep team--had more to them. So I thought going into this book I had nothing to worry about in that regard. I didn’t even really spare it a thought, but boy was I wrong. 

I think Snow and Lucy Grey were the only characters that had (at least partly) the depth that the original Hunger Games cast had. I’ll discuss Lucy Grey later but first let me talk about some side characters. Where to even begin really? There’s a LOT of characters in this book. Frankly, way too many, which I think contributes heavily to the lack of depth in the characters. Honestly there’s so many that the names of characters were hard to keep track of while listening to the audiobook (my hard copy of the book was still in the mail and I didn’t want to wait). Things got a bit clustered in my mind quickly. There were twenty-four tributes, twenty-four mentors,  Snow’s family, The Dean and Drs at the university, Snow’s Peacekeeper crew, and the Covey, and those are just the groups that I can cluster together. At least, the ones I remember having names and getting introduced, but I think that’s everyone really important. There was no real time to develop or get to know them really, which made the tributes’ deaths more meaningless as I could barely recall their names. It caused impactful scenes to weaken significantly overall and it made characters serve only to characterize and amplify Snow’s fall into evil. 

Here’s what I mean by that. The head Gamemaker, Dr. Gaul, really was the character I hated the most while reading this. She was just evil without reason (one of the weakest villain types with little to no personality besides being evil). She even made creepy rhymes as if she was in some sort of horror movie, and the entire point of her character was to contribute a lot to some of the forced plot points driving Snow’s moral decline. For example, there were all her tests, which seemed contrived and all directly connected to getting Snow to think the Hunger Games was a good idea. She was seemingly supposed to be a Dr. Mengele type character, as this book has a lot of Holocaust-esqe imagery. I’m fine with irredeemably evil villains, but instead of getting the depth that a Dr. Mengele character could offer (as some may know, many children that were part of his experiments actually said he was kind and gave them candy, and I find that deeply haunting to this day.) She is a flat, one-dimensional character whose entire personality could be described with one word: sociopath. Evil people are master manipulators, which is how they get away with evil things. I think at one of the funerals she puts on a good public face, and she seems to have power, money and influence. Yet the book doesn’t show this seemingly present quality nearly enough to make her a haunting character. Instead we get nursery rhythms and clearly driven lessons towards evil at are contrived. Like “Write about what you most liked about the war” or the assignment to improve the hunger games? Like what class is this? Why are they taking it? And why are the young kids of the influential deciding this instead of the influential people themselves?

Another character I feel was just there for Snow’s development and to represent an opposite viewpoint but lacked Collin’s usual depth is Sejanus Plinth. As a District 2 citizen whose family got rich off the war and moved to the Capitol, he is the main opposing viewpoint of the book, presenting Snow with a chance to do the right thing. I’ve seen people say he’s a Peeta-like character, but I completely reject that idea. He lacks in the charm Peeta has, relishes in self-pity (although he’s completely justified in his sadness and has a right to be upset), and while he has a heart like Peeta, he ultimately doesn’t know how to use it. Instead of working within his position to get influence like Peeta so masterfully does, he’s hot-headed and continuously makes poor decisions that ultimately don’t help anyone. It’s like he wants to help but doesn’t know how as he’s driven completely by emotion without reason. He too contributes to some forced scenes, particularly my least favorite in the book; when they sneak into the arena. Overall, he just falls flat for me. Again, I feel I don’t know anything about him beyond what he contributes to Snow’s story line and he doesn’t come across as realistic. It’s like Collins just wrote how someone would normally react to the hunger games, slapped a district number on him and went on her merry way. 

I just wasn’t prepared for these sort of characters when the Hunger Games series made even the smallest of characters stand out dramatically. I feel neutral to annoyed by most characters in this novel. I could expand this portion, and maybe if people inquire I’ll elaborate on some of the other characters as I have strong opinions on them, but this post is already getting long, so I’ll move on to Lucy Grey.

Lucy Grey is by far my favorite character even though she is bordering towards being a character from a fanfiction. Not quite a Mary Sue in my opinion but there is a certain connection to fanfiction I made with her. You may have guessed some issues I had with her by reading my expectations earlier in the post, but that has not displaced my love for her. Her personality is very different from Katniss’s, or even Peeta’s or Haymitch’s. She had a different type of charm than all of them, is a natural performer, and seemed more extroverted. Also, the whole idea of the Covey and her “not really” being district was intriguing. It really highlighted the displacement that war can cause and how people can just be in the wrong place at the wrong time. (Although I was confused on how much mobility between the districts there were….and did District Twelve have a fence or no?) It really emphasizes one of the main themes of the book, extreme prejudice against both Capitol and District. Her spot sort of in between really drives home the point that there's literally no difference except extreme poverty, and even then there was poverty in the Capitol, only better hidden. Her bright mood (and clothes), her poised attitude, and her optimism made her endearing. She was confident in her skin yet still held the fear of a sixteen year old going into the hunger games.

There were only two main things that bothered me about her, which was of course the direct connections made to Katniss (which I’ll elaborate on) and the forced “love” story between her and Snow. I suppose that has less to do with her and rather more to do with my dislike of that subplot. And I'm a sucker for some good romantic subplots, but yikes!

I think having one strong connection to Katniss was all that was really needed in this book. I really liked the idea of that connection being the Hanging Tree Song, as I can only imagine how it made Snow feel watching “The Mockingjay” sing it in the propo. Despite me not liking that fact that Lucy Grey is also an enchanting singer as that felt like directly stepping in Katniss’s territory, I did enjoy the little twist of Lucy Grey writing the song. Yet the connections between the two when the plot took us to District Twelve went too far. It felt like it took away all of Katniss’s special places and things. The lake, her katniss roots, her gift towards music, her fondness for the meadow, sneaking into the woods, etc. I think one solid connection would have solidified their bond beautifully. Having so many seemed like it was really trying to force the reader to make the connection when it was already painfully clear I guess? Plus, having Lucy stand out at her reaping ( the whole song part read like a bad, contrived fanfiction bit to me) and having people care about her in the Capitol while moral questions of the hunger games were still surfacing made me start to think...isn’t this how the rebellion for Katniss got started? At least partly. I get it’s a different time. Too close to the war. It just felt way too similar. I guess Collins was going for the idea of a lost rebellion that in a way Lucy Grey started that Katniss later revives. Yet it feels like that invalidates the specialness of what Katniss does in the original series as it’s already happened; it just got erased. I guess history repeats itself, but I really just didn’t like it. I could see the appeal to some extent, and it could be a beautiful connection, but it just wasn’t for me.

Now on to the plot, which is the last thing I’ll talk about as this post is getting ridiculously long. A lot of the plot felt very forced or contrived, which was another shocker coming from Collins because her pacing and plot was done really well in the original series. Of course, a lot of this was driven by Dr. Gaul and Sejanus Plinth as the entire plot hinged on the moral debate of the hunger games these two represent. Other plot points just hinged on what happened to establish the games. I mean the rebel bomb explosion seemingly only happened to change the terrain so Dr. Gaul can then bring up the idea of the different arena and how that made the tributes act differently, thus creating the crazy arenas we see later in the series. I do have some praise for how Collins established the disparities between the earlier hunger games and the ones we see in Katniss day. From the way they lock the tributes up, don’t feed them, the spotty coverage of the arena, etc. All of that was exceptionally well done. The only complaint I have was that so many tributes died before they even got to the arena (though not because I wanted to see them fight). I had been expecting one to escape or something to further establish that this was new territory and was waiting to see how they handled it in earlier times, but I wasn’t expecting that many to die before the arena got started. It just seemed like a huge Capitol failure that they advertised loudly. I really wasn’t expecting that level of incompetence, just an escaped tribute that threatened to embarrass or harm the fragile beginnings of post-war Panem. Instead, most of the pre-arena stuff felt disastrous. A lot of the mentors' deaths felt forced, and it was weird that the academy never really came under fire at all from all the rich and powerful parents whose children were getting killed because of the mentor experiment. Like it seemed there should have been some interaction there, but there wasn’t. Maybe some was passively mentioned but still, it could have been a whole subplot that further established the debate of the hunger games.

While the pre-arena up to the break-in to the arena felt like the most forced part of the book and certainly I felt it needed more workshopping plot wise, it also harbored some great and powerful scenes, like Arachne pulling the sandwich away from the tribute while she was starving and laughing about it. Basically, all those interactions of poverty and captivity meeting the citizens of the Capitol were done well, but nothing spectacular (unlike the scene of Katniss screaming at Buttercup at the end of Mockingjay which is heart wrenching.)

The last plot point I’ll talk about is the “love” story. I wasn’t a fan, but it was sort of what a lot of the plot hinged on and led to the great scene at the lake between Snow and Lucy Grey. How easy it was for him to betray his “love” for status. This led to some of the most interesting and evil internal monologue Snow had in the entire book. I honestly feel the ending scene, the interaction Snow had with the jabberjays and Mockingjays in District Twelve, and the lynching scenes were among the strongest and most memorable.

The love story again felt forced (sorry I’m using that word so much it’s just so accurate) into the story. This hindered the book from having a strong plot in the same way the weaker characters caused forced interactions and plot points to move things along. Yet at the same time the kind of abusive and lackluster nature of their relationship throughout the book fit perfectly with the ending. Unfortunately, it didn’t really make it very compelling for the reader. Luckily Lucy’s  personality kept my interested during these parts. I wouldn’t say their relationship was poorly written at all; in fact the way it was written makes perfect sense. I just think the plot relied too heavily on their “love”, which was gross because of the way Snow is, and the reader knew it had to inevitably end in some kind of betrayal or reveal that there was no love at all. This creates tension for the reader, but I kept wondering: if the love plot had been ditched could we have gotten a stronger plot altogether?

So overall, like I’ve said I’m really conflicted. I know I focused heavily on things I didn’t like, but honestly the book was well written in some regards, plot bouncing between really compelling and a little contrived, the two main characters being written well enough but other characters not so much. Some connections between Lucy Grey and Katniss made at the end were powerful, I loved the Covey, Collins still excelled at writing a lot of the social issues/scenes in the book, and honestly the idea of Lucy Grey being completely forgotten in the Districts that hurts my soul a little. Nothing compared to the feelings I got in any of the Hunger Games books but there’s still something there.

I really hope someone made it through this long ass post. The book was entertaining. I mean I listened to all 16 hours of the audiobook in like a day. I can’t wait until my hardcover comes so I can look through it. Maybe once I know what I’m getting into I can enjoy the book a little more than I did, because right now it’s sitting at very average for me. Maybe I went in with my expectations too high? I certainly like the Hunger Games a lot more and probably always will. Honestly, I love new content, but I’m also the type that likes firm, planned endings to stories (even though it hurts to let things end and the fandoms can suffer from lack of content). I think fans can oftentimes get caught up in what they want and pressure the writer into writing more, which ends up a disappointment since it wasn’t originally planned in the series from the beginning. While I don’t think this is by any means the case with Suzanna Collins or that Lionsgate even pressured her to write this book (I don’t like conspiracies of that sort of thing as a writer myself that plans to have a series in which a book comes out many years after the original part of the series is released), I do wonder if this is the end of the Hunger Games for good. I sure hope so, especially if she would be writing about the other victors. I love them too much and really don’t want to feel similarly about their books, and like I said at the beginning, it wouldn’t add to the series just to my guilty pleasure lol.

Hope you all have enjoyed your reading of the book more than I did :) Again sorry if I wrote anything to upset you! Please if you loved this book ENJOY IT! I’m actually kind of jealous if you did. Feels like missing out on something special.

[lightspeedrobin]

Found (Chapter 1) - Morisawa Chiaki/Reader

Summary: Chiaki can vaguely remember that time in kindergarten when he saved a girl during a school field trip but he knows that it was the first time he became someone’s hero. With only a dolphin plush and a worn-out handkerchief to remind him of that memory, he finally meets her again.

A/N: It’s Chiaki’s birthday and I want to write something for him uwuHappy birthday, Ryusei Red! Love ya~!

Chapter 1: Cafe Visit

-

The wind chimes give a gentle ring as another customer enters the shop. The man looks around before setting his eyes on an empty table near the window. The cafe didn’t have many customers at this time of day, given that it’s a weekday and most people should be at work or in school. 

Chiaki finds the place comfortable. With piano music playing in the background, windows tinted just enough to let some sunlight in but not too bright for the eyes, the waft of coffee in the air, and the occasional klink of mugs and glasses made by the barista from the counter, Chiaki is able to relax easily and forget all things related to work for a moment. He definitely needs to thank Kaoru for the recommendation.

Today is a special occasion for him. Ryuseitai has received a job involving everyone in the unit, and rather than meeting up at the ES building and discussing the particulars of the job, Chiaki suggested they’d eat out first before going into business mode. ‘It’s been a while since we’ve all joined up together. Why don’t we go and catch up first?,’ was what he insisted on in their group SNS. 

He was the first to arrive as usual and while he waits for the others, he takes the opportunity to look around the cafe. Smooth, birch flooring, tall glass windows, potted plants on every table and a couple by the door, and a small display case near the counter, where a single barista is busy brewing a fresh pot of coffee. 

Chiaki takes a better look at the display case. Apart from the rest of the cafe which gives off a sort of mature style, the display case and the even tables near it, he now notices, are made to look a little playful and childish. Colorful paper flowers replace the small succulents on the tables plus an addition of a small container of crayons and a stack of paper. The display case has several stuffed toys in it like a stuffed bear, a panda, a dog, and even a crocodile. Clearly the area was meant for children, but do kids even go to cafes?

One display catches Chiaki’s eye: a blue stuffed dolphin, clearly older than the other stuffed animals given its fading colors, at the topmost shelf. He feels a wave of nostalgia looking at it but before thinking any further, a glass of water is placed in front of him. Chiaki looks up from the glass and is greeted with a smile from a cafe staff.

“Sorry for the wait. We’re kind of understaffed today.” She says with an apologetic tone. “Are you ready to order?” 

“Ah no, it’s okay. I’m still waiting for some people,” Chiaki replies, and the woman nods in understanding. 

“Alrighty then.” she speaks in a casual tone, “ Thought you might’ve been confused on how to order since you’re new here.”

Chiaki blinks in surprise. She knows? “Ah yes, It’s my first time here. A friend recommended the place to me. I’m surprised you can tell.”

“Well we have a number of regulars who visit at this time of day so I can spot the newcomers. Plus, I see you looking around the place when you entered.” Oh, right. Chiaki chuckles at the comment, feeling slightly embarrassed for his earlier actions. He was staring too long at the ‘kids’ section, after all. 

“You have an interesting place here. Is that area meant for kids?” He points to the area near the display shelf, and she shifts her attention to it as well. 

“Ah yes, we get a lot of children here on the weekends. Our ice cream desserts are popular with them.” She explains as she picks one flyer from the stack of menus she’s been holding and shows it to Chiaki. Various desserts are featured on it from ice cream parfaits to frozen yogurts. They even have animal-themed cakes on the menu. 

Chiaki’s eyes sparkle at the desserts as well. “The children would definitely enjoy these!” They all look very appetizing and he can already imagine what they could taste like. He can also think of a number of people from Yumenosaki who would definitely like to try them. 

He flips the flyer to the other side and his eyes grew wider at their most featured dessert: a lineup of superhero-themed parfaits. All were in different flavors representing a color, with different toppings and syrups to match. Chiaki could name a few tokusatsu shows the desserts may have been based on but there are too many colors to pinpoint it to a specific one, which would mean whoever made these must’ve taken into consideration a lot of references. He gapes at the amount of details.

She notices Chiaki’s expression change and chimes in. “Ah, those parfaits were just launched a month ago and they quickly became a bestseller among the kids.”

“These look amazing!” Chiaki exclaims, extending his arms while holding the flyer. He looks up at her. “I can see that these were made with a lot of passion.”

The sudden cry surprises her but she meekly smiles at the praise. “Thank you very much!”

“I bet Sengoku would enjoy this yellow parfait. The stars look like those shuriken he carries around.” Chiaki then starts to ramble. “Kanata would like this blue one with the fish shaped biscuits, and these bear-shaped sugar candies would definitely be perfect for Takamine, and Nagumo– Ah what’s keeping them so long? I want to try this with everyone!” Unable to hold in his excitement, he takes out his phone and scans his messages for new updates. Sadly, the last message was from him, saying that he’s entering the cafe.

The woman clears her throat to catch Chiaki’s attention, her brows knitted together. “I’m really sorry, sir. But the parfaits from that flyer would only be available on weekends since that’s when most of the children visit and it takes some time to make them.” There was regret in her voice as she spoke. After their desserts were praised like that, she felt a little guilty that he wouldn’t be able to try it today.

“Oh is that so? No worries there! There’s always a next time.” Chiaki immediately replies with no hint of disappointment in his voice. “Maybe i’ll drop by again when they’re available. This red parfait really calls out to me!” He says, eyeing the red dessert before nodding with a satisfied hum. “Thanks for showing me this. Can I keep this flyer?”

He sees relief spreading on her face when he looks at her again, her expression lighting up as she replies. “Yup. We actually give these out to our customers for promotion so we have plenty.” She points to the counter where a stack of similar fliers were displayed. 

“Oh! Well then, I’ll hold on to this.” He waves the flyer before setting it down on the table. She nods in return.

The chimes ring again as a group enters the shop, and instinctively, Chiaki stands up and turns his head towards the door. Sure enough, it’s finally the rest of his unit approaching. 

“Chiaki, we’re here~” Kanata greets, with Midori, Tetora and Shinobu in tow. While Kanata looks refreshed as ever, the other three look out of breath.

“We’re sorry for being late. Tetora-dono and I were helping out Midori-dono with deliveries.” Sengoku bows his head low. Midori also mutters a quick apology. “I told them to go ahead but they’re so persistent on lending a hand.”

Nagumo chimes in. “If we hadn’t helped you you would’ve missed the meeting. We just rushed here as soon as we’re done with the last box.” 

“And I bumped into the children on the way here.” Kanata adds.

“No need to worry. I was just admiring these desserts they have while I wait.” Chiaki then holds up the flyer for everyone to see. “I was thinking we could all go and try them next time. Apparently these are only available on the weekends.”

“Ah! They’re like Ryueitai parfaits!” Tetora says with excitement. The rest steps closer to take a look at the other desserts in the flyer. Just as Chiaki thought, his unitmates would also be interested in them.

The cafe staff, who had scooted to the side when the new customers came in, steps forward. “Why don’t I get you all settled in? We don’t have the parfaits for today but we do have other items in the menu you might like.” She raises her arm with the menus as she speaks.

Chiaki realizes they must have been bothering the other customers by standing around and talking. “Ah, sorry. We’ll get seated then.” 

She hands out the menu, inserting the dessert flyer in them as well before heading back to the kitchen to get glasses water for the rest of the members. After browsing for a few minutes, the group decides to try out a variety of dishes from the menu at Chiaki’s suggestion.

They start to chat while they wait, and Chiaki is happy they all managed to get together like this again. It reminds him of their time in Yumenosaki, where he would bond with everyone before and after a job, took trips together, done lives with everyone, and many more fond memories. And today’s another memory he’ll be making with them.

The discussion for their new job goes on smoothly, with everyone already experienced enough to make valid suggestions on how they’d tackle the requests from the client. They are able to finish their meeting a few hours before sunset, which would give the group some free time to stroll around the rest of the district. A change of pace would also be nice. With that idea in place, Chiaki asks for the bill.

Before joining the others to the door, Chiaki walks up to her, who already has a tray in hand to clear up their table. “I’ll definitely be back on the weekend. Now I really can’t wait to try those superhero parfaits!”

“Then I’ll be looking forward to your next visit!” The woman smiles and gives him a curt nod before Chiaki waves and finally exits the cafe. As Chiaki approaches his unitmates, he notes that Kanata has been smiling at him since leaving the cafe. The brunette raises a brow in curiosity.

“You and the owner are already well acquainted, I see.” Kanata says, head tilting to the side to look at her inside. She’s telling something to the barista before the young man smiles and curtly bows his head before stepping out of the counter. A switch in shifts, probably? 

The sudden information, though, seems to process for a second for Chiaki, and his eyes widened at the realization.

“She’s what?”

-

heya! this fic is also up on my ao3, @lightspeedrobin 

Ch.2

[unnecessarywriting]

Heeeya love, can you please write about Luke in which Luke is your sugar baby? I couldn't find a imagine like that. If you do that, it would be really appraciated by me. Have a good day angel xx 💖

My Sweet Boy - Luke Hemmings

Sugar baby!Luke Hemmings x Reader

A/N: Hello. I kinda took this on in a different manner. I hope you all enjoy it, and I am willing to add on to this world more! Requests are still open!

As the CEO of a very successful company, you made quite a lot of money. You worked very hard to get to where you are today. The constant business meetings with people around the world just furthered that idea. The only problem...You’re a woman in a man’s world. If you weren’t being looked down on by all of the old white men, you were being hit on by them. It’s not your fault that you’re younger than them, beautiful, and insanely successful. Well, successful at work. The relationship department of your life was always lacking, especially with your long hours and rushing around the world to make sure deals didn’t fall through. 

One day, you decided to get your own coffee. Typically, your errand boy or personal assistant would do it for you, but you had time to kill, and it wouldn’t hurt to walk into the office 15 minutes late. What was going to happen? You firing yourself?

As you walked into the coffee shop, you stood in line behind a young man. He ordered his coffee, but as he went to pay, his card was declined. He was digging through his pockets trying to find any spare change. 

“It’s on me.” You say behind him. 

“That’s not necessary.” He turns to look at you. When your eyes reach his face, you can't help the small intake of breath. He is absolutely stunning. What a handsome man. Picking your jaw up from the floor, you begin to speak again.

“Listen, I’ll buy the coffee this time, but you can at least drink it with me.” The smirk he sends your way brings up an idea.

You walk over to a booth over by the windows. Both of you sit down before he starts to speak.

“I guess I should say thank you.”

“Well, I guess you should. I will say it is nice to have company in the morning, so I think I should also be thanking you-” you look at his cup, “Luke.” He smiles down at you and thus a small conversation about anything pops up. After about 20 minutes of mindless conversation, you get the nerve to strike up your proposition.

“Listen Luke, I think you are very attractive. You do, however, seem to be struggling in the financial department of your life.” He avoids eye contact with you, most likely out of embarrassment. 

“I would like to employ you.”

“Doing what exactly Y/N?” 

“I go to plenty of events, and the media is quite fond of my life these days. I am willing to provide you with whatever you may need, so long as you fulfill your duties to me.”

“And what exactly do I have to do?”

“Well, it would start by attending these events with me, but also going on public dates. I’m not saying that we have to really be dating, but you will be paid well for your time spent by my side. Anything else that happens behind closed doors, is up to what you are comfortable with, but I will say it again, I do find you very attractive.” You say the last part staring him deep in the eyes with a hint of seduction in your tone. 

He continued to gaze into your eyes before he nodded his head. 

“Okay. So, what should I call you? My sugar mama? Because that seems to be what you are.”

You laughed in his face at the thought. You exchanged numbers and told him that you would be seeing him soon. 

----

Clear your day and night. We’re going shopping and then to a gala. 

Come to my office now

Luke looked at your texts and couldn’t help but smile. He did really like you, but he somehow couldn't stop thinking about what you meant about things behind closed doors. Did you really see him more as just eye candy?

He got out of the Uber and walked up to your office. Your assistant led him in, where you were on the phone, angrily yelling at someone to get off of their ass. You slammed the phone down on the desk before looking up at the amused expression on Luke’s face.

“Is that the kind of treatment I’ll get if I do something wrong?” His words were lightened by his playful tone. You smile in response.

“C’mon. We have to get you a new suit for tonight.” You say grabbing your coat and ushering him out of your office. 

“So what exactly are we doing tonight?”

“Like I said in the text. We are going to a gala, so I need you looking extra sharp.”

----

A few hours later, he was on your arm as you entered the overly extravagant ballroom. 

“This is your world?”

“Sadly, it is.” You groan and find a waiter with some champagne. This night needs to be done as soon as possible. Luke catches your glance and frowns. Sure, he may just be seen as the attractive young man on your arm, but he can make these events as fun as possible for you. To be fair, you did pay for his suit, and a few other things while you two were shopping.

“Hey, you see that guy over there. He’s in the red suit.” You turn in the direction of his pointing finger.

“Yeah. What about him?” 

“Nothing, except I can’t seem to figure out if he has a mole on his face, or if he’s sharing his face with a rodent.” Luke watches your face as a smile begins to form.

The whole night continues like this. Whenever you’re talking to someone, he is whispering terrible jokes and observations about the rich assholes that seem to be a part of your life.

A while later, you two were outside of his apartment, sitting in your car. 

“Thank you for making my night fun. I typically go home afterward, grateful that I no longer have to be in that room.”

“Well, isn’t that my job? You give me anything I could ever want, which is wonderful, but I feel like I should do something more than just stand around and look pretty.”

“You’re right. Thank you again. Goodnight Luke. I’ll talk to you soon.”

He gets out of the car and walks up to his apartment. You drive home with a smile tattooed to your face. 

When Luke enters his apartment, he starts to undress. In his jacket pocket, he feels a card and note.

Spend what you want. There’s no limit. Have fun.

The credit card sat in his palm. This was his payment. He did his job, and nothing more. That was how you saw it. You could never have real feelings for someone like him. Of course, but he just needed to get that through his head.

----

A few months had passed since the first night you two had worked together. Things had been, well, different than you had initially hoped. You thought that with time, you two would spend time together, the money would act as a sort of aphrodisiac of sorts, and then you two would be together for real. That was not the case. This became ever apparent at this moment. 

You were in the middle of some friendly small talk in hopes of developing a relationship that could ensure that there would be business deals in the future. You had left Luke at the bar when a young tall blonde had made her way to him. You kept glancing over at their conversation. She was laughing and rubbing her hands all over his body. Now, you weren’t a jealous person, but this was unacceptable. He seemed to be enjoying her company.

Little did you know that Luke hated this. He was trying to not indulge her, but this girl just wouldn’t leave him alone. When he glanced over at you, you were deep in a conversation with another man, most likely about business. The girl next to him continued to speak, so he just started laughing, hoping that she would be fulfilled with that. Soon enough, you made your way over to him, saving him from his personal hell.

“Hey, honey. I think it’s time to go.” Your voice was too sweet. It was more fake than he thought you could ever muster. The other girl scowled and huffed as she walked away reluctantly. 

In the car, you were more silent than usual. Typically, there was music playing, and your voice showed through lightly as you hummed along. The silence was deafening to Luke. despite his trials of reminding himself that he was only your employee who was spoiled beyond belief, he couldn’t help but fall for you. Everything you did sparked some interest and by the end of the first month, he was in love. He was just oblivious to your passes.

You are inexperienced in real love, so you tried to buy it. Neither of you knew that you were so in love with each other. 

“What’s going on with you?” Luke looked over at you trying to figure you out.

“I buy you everything. I give you money, cars, a new apartment, all the clothing you could ask for, and yet I’m not enough for you. Yes, I am your sugar mama or whatever you call it, but all I want is to be someone you love. And God Dammit, I don’t know what else to do.” You pull up to the apartment you bought for him. “Just go. I have to go home and sleep. I haven’t slept in a few days, and I just need to be alone.” Luke got out of the car, stunned. Before he could process anything, you sped off. He could almost smell the tire burning at how fast you had left. You had feelings for him. There was no way, but he knew that he needed to show you how much he cared.

----

You woke up the next morning with mascara all over your face and pillow. You didn’t care to take off your makeup. You were too exhausted and your tears were represented by the makeup being pushed around everywhere. You knew that this was your fault, but it was time to put an end to whatever it was that you had with Luke. After a shower, you made some coffee and sent a text to him.

I’m sorry Luke, but I can’t do this anymore. 

You can keep the card. I feel terrible about leaving you behind like this, so spend all the money you want. 

Thank you for working for me. 

When Luke woke up, he checked his phone. You ended things with him. He didn’t even get a chance to tell you. He got up and walked around his apartment. Everything in there was paid for by you. You were everywhere, and he couldn’t help but feel terrible. He moved around his place getting ready to see you.

A couple of hours later, you were sitting in your house watching nonsense television hoping to take your mind off of Luke. There was a knock on your door, but you were too unmotivated to go and answer it.

“Y/n! I know you’re in there. Can you please open up?”

You rolled off of the couch and opened the door, but immediately you made your way back to the couch.

“Can we talk?” Silence.

“Fine. I’ll talk. You listen. I have fallen for you. I kept trying to tell myself that you could never feel that way about me, but then you confessed, and I don’t know. I was shocked that you could feel that way. I don’t need the money, but I’m not gonna lie, I do enjoy having it. I want to be with you, not just as your employee, but something more.”

“You love me?” he reached over the couch and took your face in his hand. He pulled your face to his and pressed his lips against your forehead. Then to your nose. And then his lips reached yours and you fell deeply into it. It was better than you could have ever imagined. It felt right.

“So, am I still your sugar mama?” He threw his head back and laughed. 

“Of course. You think I could afford to keep up with your lifestyle?”

You beamed up at him. His eyes looked past you and saw your gift to him.

“What..is that?” You turned your head and saw it.

“Well, before I confessed like an idiot, I bought this to thank you and hopefully make a more successful advance.” He got up and picked up the guitar you had specially made just for him. He returned to you and swallowed your body in his.

“I really do love you. Thank you for being the best sugar mama in the world.” You giggled.

“I love you too, my sweet boy.”

[docholligay]

The Intercession of St. Raphael 5: To Walk in The Way He Has Commanded

Patreon realease day! Up through Chapter nine on Patreon! 

“What the hell, dude!”

Seiya hissed into her ear, sitting next to her outside of Father Anthony’s office, the velvet of the chair coverings worn where a thousand girls before them had sat, waiting for judgment. Haruka did not react, just stared down at her hands, rubbing her thumb over the back of her palm. It was early, and Father Anthony was likely making them wait because he had no desire to be up himself--it was simply designed as a further punishment for the both of them.

Both Haruka and Seiya had taken their usual route of forcing femininity as hard as possible when brought for punishment. Seiya looked nearly demure in her lace-trimmed blouse, her hair pinned back with delicate gold clips, her legs crossed neatly under her pastel blue skirt, gently flared out at the knee. Haruka had little casual clothing anyhow, none of which she had devoted to being ladylike, and so she wore her uniform, pressed by Mako this morning, the peter pan blouse selected, accented by a pink ribbon in her hair from Usagi.

“I said,” Seiya stared hard at her. “What the hell, dude? I thought we agreed we don’t want to end up here, again, with Father fucking Anthony.”

Haruka sighed and flopped back in the chair, forgetting her urge to be ladylike, staring out the window and wishing she could fly away into the clouds. “I’m sorry.”

Seiya sat back, somehow more taken aback by Haruka’s genuine apology than the fact that Haruka had hit her in the first place.

It took her a moment to recover. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Haruka kept staring out the window, barely registering the quiet miracle of she and Seiya having a civil conversation, “I got into a fight with Mina last night.”

In the way of most stories people tell, this was not entirely true, nor entirely false.

Haruka would have told you she finally unleashed after years of small jokes that barbed at her, that even she could only take so much, that Mina had been cruel, and that Mina herself had offered no defense for her action, for the way she had manipulated Haruka’s feelings for a joke. She would have edited her choked-back tears, and the way she had stormed out of their shared room and slept on the floor of the small chapel where she had spoken with Michiru just a few weeks previously. She would never had said that the chapel had once seemed a cathedral to her, when Michiru touched her hand, incense woven into the woodwork and surrounding her, as if she’d been blessed, but that now it was just a small and dingy place where she buried herself into the tattered carpet, at least kind enough to absorb her errant tears.

Mina would have told you that Haruka exploded at her when she had touched her shoulder in concern, that she could not have said a word if she had wanted to, that Haruka made no sense and she had no idea what she was even talking about, that she thought Haruka must be drunk or on drugs on something to explain her erratic behavior. She would have edited out her hurt, that she had never seen Haruka so angry with her, that she was confused and scared and worried, that she had looked for Haruka for hours before going to bed, slipping a note under her pillow and hoping she’d come home, that it hurt more deeply than any argument she had with any lover.

Seiya gave an awkward shrug. “Sucks, fighting with your girl.”

“It’s not like that. I’ve known her since I was eight, Kou, she’s like my sister.”

“Yeah, I got one of those too.” Seiya recovered, finally, and waved her hands over at Haruka. “So why the fuck did you hit me?”

Haruka wanted to pour the sourness out of her soul, wanted to cleanse the rotted hurt from her heart, to lay it tenderly within the soft love of forgiveness, but all she could see is Mary looking down on her with shame, the backs of the saints turned to her, and she could not hear the reassuring whispers of love and gentleness, only the fierce anger of men who had used the words of the saints as a weapon.

And so she choked out, “Because I’m stupid.”

“I’m gonna be honest, I don’t know how to treat you when you’re like this. Maybe you should just hit me again. I can deal with that.”

Haruka buried her head in her hands, her legs spread, and groaned heavily.

“Ladies.” The voice was cold and commanding, and Haruka immediately remembered that she was supposed to be very demure, and sat up straight, crossing her ankles.

“Good morning, Father Anthony.” It was in perfect concert.

He beckoned them with his hand. “Into my office. Now.”

They half-scrambled, not wanting to be any more of Father Anthony’s personal annoyances than they already were--he has a hard man, and his distaste for children was only surpassed by his dislike of teenagers, to say nothing of ones who wore their hair too short, wore pants too often, and walked too heavy.

They sat down on the plush chairs in his office, the room smelling of tobacco and a light mist of flowers. The colors were dark and imposing, the entire place giving off the air of judgement that he doubtless craved.

“I hope you are pleased that this is how we all have to spend our weekend.” He sat down at his desk and glowered at the two of them.

Seiya and Haruka looked at each other out of the corners of their eyes, wondering if they were meant to respond.

The answer was, luckily, no, and so Father Anthony continued:

“From the report of several bystanders, I have it on good authority that you were the one to throw the first punch, Miss Tenoh, and I am very curious as to why you thought that a good idea.” His voice was dripping with condescension, and Haruka felt anger and shame in a glorious duet that burned hot on her skin.

Haruka did not know how to begin to explain, even to someone who held her in good faith, and certainly not to the man who held her in contempt. That she had been hurt, and sad, and all of it had built up in her, in the way things do, and she tried to stop herself when it happened, but she was just so angry, and her feelings so tender.

“Haruka, answer me.” He gazed over the desk at her, his eyes boring into her soul, looking for every crack and chip.

Haruka fidgeted uncomfortably, looking up at Father Anthony through her bangs, narrowly obscuring his gaze, a weak confessional panel between them.

“I saw her with...a boy...that I liked. I was jealous. I thought he might like me. It was stupid. I’m not the kind of girl any gi--guy might fall for.” She bowed her head, staring at the floor. “My friends told me he liked me because they thought it would be funny.”

Father Anthony seemed a strange mix of surprised and appeased. Seiya looked over at her, and even out of the corner of her eye, Haruka could see her rising compassion. It only made her feel more ashamed, that she was an object of pity in Seiya’s eyes, and she shrugged.

“Sorry I hit you.”

“Envy is among the ugliest sins, Haruka.” Father Anthony boomed over the desk.

“I know.”

He pushed himself out from the desk and drew his hands behind his back thoughtfully, strutting about the large oak-paneled office.

“And, in addition to that, to strike against your Sister in Christ over desires of the flesh.”

You don’t know the half of it, Father. You have no idea how much trouble I should be in.

“Haruka, your continued presence at this school is representative of Holy Mother Church's commitment to the poor and the unwanted,” she winced at the word, but Father Anthony was not so much as looking at her, “and it is a privilege for you. If we were forced to tell the state that you belong better in--”

“It was my fault, Father.” Both Haruka and Father Anthony’s heads snapped to look at her. “I knew Haruka liked...that boy, and I bragged about it in front of her. I caused my sister to stumble.”

He frowned deeply, and it was difficult to tell whether he was more disappointed that Seiya had done such a thing or that his speech threatening Haruka’s home of nearly ten years had been interrupted. The children who paid were not subject to nearly the same discussions, and the Kou family had enough put into the school that a light slap on the wrist was most of what he could manage.

“50 Hail Marys, Miss Kou, and my personal admonition that it would be wise not to stoke the anger in others. One day you may meet with someone whose bite outshines their bark.”

Seiya grinned. “Well, this shiner doesn’t feel great.”

He frowned heavily at her, and she sat back up straight and folded her hands in her lap.

“Miss Tenoh, it would do you well to reflect on the sort of company you keep, if your story is to be believed.”

“Trust me, Father, I am.” She spat the words, thinking of Mina, and how she and Rei must have giggled over Haruka’s hurt and pain.

“I cannot ignore that you were the one moved to violence, whatever Miss Kou might have said. 50 Hail Marys and a loss of your commissary privileges for one month.”

Haruka burst. She had worked so hard for the small amount of pocket change that she had, and she delighted in the times she picked up a candy bar, or some soda, or any of the small pleasures allotted to her. “Are you kidding me?! Father Anthony, that’s not fair, I--”

“You are fortunate, Miss Tenoh, that I do not remove you from the track team, for all it seems to fire up your blood.”

Haruka stopped immediately, her face grave, and bit her lip.

“Yes, I thought as much. Temper, Miss Tenoh. I am told it causes you grief, and you should reflect on your lack of control, don’t you agree?” He looked down his nose at her. “Hm?”

“Yes, Father Anthony.” She took a deep breath. “Thank you for advising me.”

He looked down at the paper on his desk and waved his hand. “You may go.”

Seiya and Haruka stood up as quickly as they could without seeming as if they were rushing out in an unladylike way, and went to gather their belongings, Seiya’s leather satchel sitting next to Haruka’s tattered green bag.

“Thank you.” The words were bitter in her mouth as she scooped to pick up her bag.

“Don’t mention it.”

“Why did you--”

“When I say, don’t mention it, I mean, tell no one, I’ll deny it, and never talk to me about it again.” Seiya picked up her bag and turned back toward Haruka. “Father Anthony’s a dick.”

Haruka nodded her assent, and they wordlessly walked down the hall to the back stairs.

“Let me give you some advice. Michiru’s hot, but she’s a Kaioh. She’s mean, and she’s crazy, and she could probably have you killed if she wanted to. Nobody likes her, the only friend she has is Rei, and probably only because Senator Hino needs to be up the Kaiohs’ ass for political reasons. There’s tons of girls in this school, Haruka.”

Haruka’s mouth was open to defend Michiru before she realized she had done it, but she stopped herself and closed it, remembering that Seiya had done her a great and unexpected favor, and she could, at least, sit for a moment and listen to what she had to say.

“I mean, do what you want,” Seiya waved her hand dismissively, “I’m not gonna cover your ass again, but I’ve gone to school with her since I started going to school, and trust me on this one. Her whole family’s creepy.”

Haruka nodded. “Okay.”

Seiya sighed at the non-committal nature of it all, turned on her heel, and headed back to the dorm hall.

Haruka looked out at the campus, the green beginning to grey under a quickly-darkening sky, the raindrops heavy in the bottom of the clouds, begging to burst forth. She walked toward the tree at the end of the field--the day after the St. Stephen’s dance was almost always quiet, and the coming rain had only stilled the normally busy hum of the girls’ school even further.

Which was fine with Haruka--she didn’t want to go back to her room, but she didn’t want to see anyone, either. What she really wished, most desperately, was that her suggestion of a punching bag in the gym center had been taken up, but Father Anthony had called it ‘completely inappropriate for young ladies.’

A punching bag was inappropriate, but that flower arranging was still a part of Home Ec was a vital skill.

She touched her chest for reassurance, and then remembered the lost medal. When it rained it poured, it supposed, though the slight misting drizzle of the day seemed to deny her even this. She looked back up at the clouds. They looked so heavy, she could tell there was a torrent inside of them just waiting to be free, to break out and rain down on the land, covering it. BUt it was restrained, held back to this sad drizzle.

She thought about walking the few miles up the road to St. Stephen’s, to ask about the medal, but though, considering her recent bent into lawlessness in the eyes of Father Anthony, this might not be the widest choice.

Instead, she shuffled slowly across the field, the wool coat provided for them just barely hitting her hip. She was as ill-fit and wrong for it as for everything else in this place. She sighed heavily and leaned against the tree at the other end, looked up at the pattern of grey between the fading green of the leaves.

She understood them, she thought, slowly dying as she tried to cling to something that didn’t want her anymore.

Glad to see you’re still being as dramatic as humanly possible, Heathcliff, she could hear Mina say.

Mina. The rage boiled in her again, how Mina could do something so cruel. That, in itself, she supposed, was not the greatest surprise--she had been known to strike back at people aggressively when they got in her way, or had done something she considered something a slight. No, the great surprise was that Mina could have done something like that to her.

It had been years since they both came to this place, stuffed together in the back of a station wagon, a social worker assuring them that this was a marvelous opportunity, that Mother Mary’s was a brilliant and exceptional learning institution, (and this Haruka would have happily concurred with, were she not so certain that such things were essentially wasted on her), that they should be happy and grateful. Mina, young as she was, had still seemed rather unaffected by the whole thing, as happy in one place as another so long as there was something to be fiddled with, a person to be teased, a rule to be exploited.

Haruka, on the other hand, had been crushed, feeling the dream of her having a family set aside. Her grandmother had died only a year prior, and her mother had seemed wholly disinterested in raising her. She had a vision of someone coming and telling her they wanted her to be their new daughter, and pictured birthdays and Christmases overflowing with the warm smells of home.

But she was not the sort of doll anyone selected from the shelf, she thought, gangly and boyish, never the honor student.

Mina had patted her shoulder. “Don’t worry,” she winked, “you’ll be okay.”

She could not possibly have known such a thing, but she played it off with such confidence that Haruka believed her instantly.

“Yeah?” She had furrowed her brow, trying to look tough, in a move that would become very familiar to her. “I’m not scared.”

“No one said you were.” Mina sassed back.

Haruka had crossed her arms and slumped down in the seat. “I never wanted a stupid family or anything anyway.”

“Good, ‘cause you’re not getting one.”

Haruka shot her a look, then, with all the insult her child’s face could offer.

She had shrugged. “Just being honest,” she extended her hand, “Call me Mina.”

“Haruka.” She shook her hand, feeling very adult in the moment.

Mina had been wrong, when she’d said that, Haruka reflected, sliding down the tree and sitting at its roots. It was true that no one had ever wanted to adopt them--Haruka had given up the idea later than most, but she eventually got it through hr thick skull--but they had become a family to each other, and as Usagi and Mako had come along, they had been worked into the fabric as well, making some sort of quilt of useless and throwaway patches.

It had always worked for Haruka, on some level, just having Mina to care about her, but she could not square Mina’s betrayal with the rest of their lives.

Mina had sat by her as she trembled and shook from the chicken pox last year, only teasing her later as the only human being capable of being in a boarding school and waiting til she was 15 to catch it. They’d discussed a dozen hurts and fears and Haruka had even seen Mina cry, which she considered no small sight. She didn’t like being mad at Mina. She hated it.

But she would never get over what Mina had done to her, not now, not ever. She balled her fists and bit her lip.

Temper, Miss Tenoh.

Had anyone ever had the idea that Joan had decided to leave France because she was simply so sad, and so hurt, by what was happening, that all she could was react with any army? Likely not--that wasn’t the way saints thought, God had told her to do it, not the burn in the belly of her soul, but Haruka longed to tell someone what it felt like. To know that someone understood what it was to have that aching hurt down inside, to want to lash out like a rattlesnake, but of course, Haruka only ever bit herself in the end.

“Haruka, I’ve been looking everywhere for you. Jesus Christ, I’ve been worried sick, you flipped the fuck out last night, and I didn’t see you at breakfast this morning, if this is some kind of lesbian dramatics that’s fine but for fuck’s sake, keep me in the loop.”

She didn’t need to look up to know who it was.

[roadtohell]

@mynamesdrstuff​ thank you ur brain is so big, i had like 10 moments of revelation while writing this

A Labour of Love- or, How to Write a Song That Makes Me Want to Lie Facedown On The Floor

Four decades separates the respective rises of singer-songwriters Hozier and Bruce Springsteen, nearly as large as the gap between the worlds in which their public images reside. According to popular myth, the former is the tall, near-ethereal Bog Man, half in this life and half in the next, who rose from a fae-inhabited woodland after 1000 years of slumber to find he was able only to mourn his lost love through song; the other is the Boss, a hardy yet compassionate working-class hero permanently streaked with the blood and sweat of a marathon shift, toiling endlessly alongside the heart-stopping, pants-dropping, hard-rocking, earth-quaking, booty-shaking, Viagra-taking*, love-making, legendary E Street Band. The domains of fen and factory may appear to be irreconcilable, but in reality the musicians have many things in common:

Broadly speaking, they both create wildly variable mixes of folk and rock, often with particularly strong Irish and African-American influences.

Their lyrics are poetic and commonly reflect on social issues with a progressive voice.

Songs about romantic relationships typically portray them as complex and difficult but remain respectful, sometimes near worshipful, of women.

Their characters yearn, long, pine and crave more often than not.

They both really like to use religious imagery.

They enjoy and return notable amounts of wlw love.

Representative of many of these are Hozier’s “Work Song” and Springsteen’s “Maria’s Bed”, two songs with close thematic parallels. Each is ostensibly told from the perspective of an exhausted labourer who dreams of returning to his lover. In a twist, however, “Work Song” is a melancholic love story, while the upbeat “Maria’s Bed” is a subtle tale of death; the opposing moods are complex reflections of these underlying narratives. These songs have Hozier and Springsteen skilfully intertwine the concepts of love, death, freedom and spirituality, creating two deeply moving portrayals of desire** that never fail to eviscerate the listener after 10pm.

Though the songs differ in overall lyrical structure, the similarities in narrative are evident from the first few lines:

Boys, workin' on empty / Is that the kinda way to face the burning heat? / I just think about my baby / I'm so full of love I could barely eat

Been on a barbed wire highway forty days and nights / I ain’t complaining, it’s my job and it suits me right / I got a sweet soul fever rushing round my head / I’m gonna sleep tonight in Maria’s bed

The audience can gather that each character works in a harsh environment where they are exposed to the elements. Their work is likely in manual labour, but the details are skimmed over because the narrators don’t particularly want to think about the details. Pushed to their limits, each instead copes by preoccupying himself with thoughts of his lover, though it makes him literally lovesick.

I’d never want once from the cherry tree / ‘Cause my baby’s sweet as can be / She gives me toothaches just from kissing me

She gives me candy-stick kisses ‘neath a wolf-dog moon / A sweet breath and she’ll take you, mister, to the upper room

The worker recalls his lover’s kisses as being vibrantly sweet, sweeter than nature. So, too, is her company- in contrast to the grim situation he is currently in, she is something to be savoured. Sugar cravings, an innate biological compulsion, come to mind; his hankering for her is likewise deep-seated and out of his control.

The reason for such devotion, the narrator reveals, is that she saved his life at a time when he had already resigned himself to death. He believes he was undeserving of such a deed; Hozier describes “three days on a drunken sin… she never asked me once about the wrong I did,” while Springsteen’s character recounts being “burned by angels, sold wings of lead / then I fell in the roses and sweet salvation of Maria’s bed”. In other words, his state of ruin was at least partially self-made, and her care seemed completely inexplicable. He eagerly returns her love, perhaps feeling that it’s the least he owes- but he still doesn’t quite understand where it came from.

True to both songwriters’ styles, these lines are direct allusions to the idea of redemption in Christianity: God sheltering a faithful person from the literally hellish consequences of their wrongdoing, through no merit of their own. However, the worker is notably dismissive of traditional doctrine:

My babe would never fret none / About what my hands and my body done / If the Lord don’t forgive me / I’d still have my baby and my babe would have me

I’ve been out in the desert, yeah, doing my time / Searching through the dust for fool’s gold, looking for a sign / Holy man says “hold on, brother, there’s a light up ahead” / Ain’t nothing like the light that shines on me in Maria’s bed

His faith rests not in God but on his lover; she is his religion now. Her act of grace already gave him a new, better life- he doesn’t need biblical promises when her love is tantamount to anything heaven might offer. This implication conveys a staggering depth of feeling, particularly to a religiously raised listener. Spirituality is, at its core, emotional; combined with the values and customs of religion, it is a force that can exert incredible influence over a person. The worker doesn’t reject spirituality itself- it’s an intrinsic part of him- but he has put all that power in the hands of the one he adores. It may make him vulnerable to her (that’s love!), but he is certain that she will give him the strength he needs.

Theological redemption also has close ties with death, as its benefits aren’t meant to be reaped on earth. Instead, the love, glory and freedom that are promised are relegated to the afterlife. Historically, the presumed ecstasy of achieving this gave death a sexual connotation; after all, if a lover could take the spiritual place of God, then perhaps sex could take the role of death as a gateway to paradise, far away from a life of pain. Work Song embraces this analogy, explicitly linking spiritual fulfilment to the pleasure of sexual intimacy:

When I was kissing on my baby / And she put her love down, soft and sweet / In the low lamplight, I was free / Heaven and hell were words to me

The equally suggestive Maria’s Bed allows the audience to draw similar conclusions, but it accomplishes this using a far less serious method: regular mentions of the titular bed, wink-wink-nudge-nudge. Yet this light-hearted sauciness is something of a misdirection. It’s easy to gloss over the song’s references to water, but they are strong hints that support an alternative reading: Maria is not a woman, but a river***. The story, from this perspective, then becomes much more sombre- the worker is a dying or suicidal man who wishes to have his body laid at the bottom of a river that provided for him in life, and whose real desire is for the peace he hopes to find there in death.

Got on my dead man’s suit and smiling skull ring / Lucky graveyard boots and a song to sing / I keep my heart in my work, my troubles in my head / And I keep my soul in Maria’s bed

This darker interpretation arguably makes more sense than the face-value love story, as it resolves some figures of speech that otherwise seem out of place. Even so, the more obvious reading is no less meaningful****; in fact, the coexistence of these narratives is what makes Maria’s Bed an almost perfect thematic inverse to Work Song.

When my time comes around / Lay me gently in the cold dark earth / No grave can hold my body down / I’ll crawl home to her

Hozier uses the finality of death to illustrate the strength of a man’s desire for love- his narrator embraces his own passing as he is certain not even the most permanent of barriers can keep him from his lover. Springsteen, through the personification of the river, uses the language of romance to demonstrate how fervently a man might desire death- his narrator embraces his demise because it offers a reprieve from life, just like a lover would.

All that said, no amount of lyrical analysis will reveal the clearest point of contrast the songs have: their music.

Work Song primarily draws from blues and folk music, both of which have roots in historical work songs used to coordinate physical tasks as well as boost morale. Reflecting this musical heritage, instrumentation is fairly simple, with the steady rhythm of claps and piano chords punctuating hard. It is slow and heartfelt, almost mournful; though there’s no mention of time frame, the audience has the sense that the worker still has a long way to go before he can return to his lover.  This notion comes largely from the song’s circular structure. By ending with the same music it opened with, its story is also implied to finish at its beginning: with the men hard at work in the “burning heat”, and no true relief in sight. This is furthered by having little development over the course of the song- though iterations of the chorus are more intense than the verses, the arrangements underlying both sections barely change. The worker, it seems, is never quite far enough from his reality of hard labour, and never close enough to home.

On the other hand, Maria’s Bed is relentlessly optimistic, driven by a strong forward momentum. Where most modern songs have their choruses as their most powerful feature, here the wordless refrain (“hey hey, la la la li li li li”) acts more like a transition between verses, keeping the story moving. The jaunty fiddles that fade out are quite different to the introductory guitar and organ, suggesting the worker’s situation has developed for the better. In addition, the orchestration builds continually, only briefly pulling back before the music culminates in an extended musical outro. Many of the instruments work in counterpoint, each additional layer contributing to an air of an unrestrained joy that is further spurred on by Springsteen’s high hums and whoops. The linear musical direction and overall impression of good cowboy fun results in the feeling that, unlike the singer of Work Song, the narrator is already on his way to his heart’s desire- though, in light of the lyrics, what this actually means is somewhat ambiguous. Are those final echoes him moving out of earshot… or his ghost ascending to the “upper room” of heaven?

We may not know for sure how either of these stories end, but we can feel the aching hope for something better. This longing is an emotional line that runs all the way through both Springsteen and Hozier’s work, though it never seems to get old. Combined with explorations of love, faith, life, death- that’s why we return to their music again and again; they are experts at playing on old motifs and universal themes in new and creative ways, their crafted melodies and narratives touching wild and industrial hearts alike.

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* I am legally obligated to include all these adjectives.

** Maria’s Bed seems to be sadly obscure even among fans; the one and only online forum discussion I have seen about the song refers to it as “not that deep”. Having written this whole essay- if Springsteen himself said that to me, I’d laugh in his face.

*** A random internet comment I can’t find anymore backs me up on this. It even specified that it was about the Santa Maria River in California, as quoted “from Bruce”. Obviously an infallible source 😊

**** It’s important that “[drinking] the cool clear waters” can totally be the description of oral sex you thought it was.

[homenum-revelio-hq]

Welcome to the Order of the Phoenix, Christie!

You have been accepted for the role of non-biography character DEDALUS DIGGLE with the faceclaim of Amadeus Serafini! We love reading about your Diggle! He was such a delight. We especially enjoyed the family section, which has been less-than-thrilled with his activism, along with the prejudice section that showed Dedalus not always taking the time to listen to those with less privilege. It shines a particularly real light, right now especially. So happy to have you apart of this roleplay!  

Please take a look at the new member checklist and send in your account within 24 hours! Thank you for joining the fight against Voldemort!

OUT OF CHARACTER:

NAME: Christie

AGE: 20

TIMEZONE: GMT+3

ACTIVITY LEVEL: I’m a uni student who’s almost done with her deadlines so very soon I’ll have a lot of free time and I’d love to dedicate it to further developing Dedalus in this group. This might be subject to change if I actually manage to get a job (fingers crossed) but I’m sure I’ll still have time to do replies and just interact with people in general at least a few times a week. Plus my weekends are free for the foreseeable future so there’s always that!

ANYTHING ELSE: Nope

CHARACTER DETAILS:

NAME: Dedalus Diggle

AGE: 26

GENDER, PRONOUNS, and SEXUALITY: Cis male, he/him. He uses no labels for his sexuality – purely because he’s not currently aware of one that accurately describes him – but is very openly interested in people of all genders. Bisexuality is the term he’d consider closest to accurately describing his orientation, though it’s not quite right either. In modern terms, I’d say he’s pansexual.

BLOOD STATUS: Pureblood

HOUSE ALUMNI: Ravenclaw

ANY CHANGES: –

CHARACTER BACKGROUND:

PERSONALITY:

Less is more has never been a philosophy that applies to Dedalus, not in any way, shape or form. He talks big, dreams even bigger, and the catch of it all is that nobody believes in what he says more than he himself does. Optimism or naivete, it’s hard to tell, but he has a great deal of both and somehow, for better or worse, the world hasn’t managed to run him down just yet. He’s open, and friendly, and so very excitable, and as much as that can be a strength, he’s also no stranger to taking things too far. He’s very familiar with social faux pas, whether as a result of not reading the room or simply of a miscalculated attempt to raise people’s spirits gone wrong.

It comes as no surprise that as a former Ravenclaw, his mind is his greatest weapon. Dedalus is very intelligent, though that might not be too obvious just from the way he behaves. Most people would probably perceive him as rather silly, really, if not downright bonkers since most of his ideas are very much outlandish. To say he struggles with expressing his ideas in a way they would make more sense would imply he actively tries to, which simply isn’t the case. He’s perfectly content in saying his piece and letting people dismiss him as somewhat of an oddball if they so wish.

Since his head is so often up in the clouds, however, it’s hard to keep track of what goes on on the ground. Dedalus is very much off in his own Dedalus-land most of the time, seeing and perceiving things purely the way he wants to, and in a sense, there’s definitely a disconnection between him and the rest of the world. He’s not necessarily aware of it either, but that doesn’t make it any less present.

BRIEF OVERVIEW OF FAMILY: 

The Diggle family currently consists of Delia, Samuel and Dedalus, not accounting for a variety of cousins whose names, quite frankly, Dedalus cannot remember for the life of him. Lots of D-names, he’d say at a guess; those always seem to be a hit within his family. And as far as his relationship with his parents goes, he tries not to think about it too much. It’s strained, without a doubt, though Dedalus doesn’t want to consider exactly how strained. They’ve always had their differences, ever since he’d been old enough to express an opinion, but for the past few years, he’s been slowly but surely distancing himself from them and they don’t seem to mind terribly much. They’re letting him live out his ‘rebellious phase’, they say and for Dedalus, that further solidifies the fact they don’t really know him at all. He’s always been somewhat of a disappointment, anyway; it’s no surprise they wouldn’t mind if people stopped associating him too much with the Diggle family.

Thinking back, they’d liked him much better before he’d started thinking for himself – back when he followed etiquette, when he spent time only with people who meant something in the Wizarding World, when he didn’t think too much about muggle-borns, and half-bloods, and all those little things he so likes to talk about these days. Delia and Samuel are much too dignified to publicly admit something as crude as the belief muggle-borns are less capable, less worthy, less, but, well, it’s true, isn’t it? They certainly wouldn’t bring up the topic in polite company, but facts are facts.

OCCUPATION: 

Owner of Dedalus Diggle’s Delights, a candy shop in Diagon Alley that he founded with his parents’ money back when he was twenty-one and they were becoming particularly unbearable with their admonishments and lectures on responsibility. It was simply a clever way to say ‘screw you’ at first – starting and running a proper business is hard work but Dedalus also takes immense pride in the fact that his parents could hardly say they’d expected this; after all, what said childish and irresponsible better than candy? In the past few years, however, Dedalus Diggle’s Delights has developed a bitter rivalry with Sugarplum’s Sweet Shop, though it is unclear whether Dedalus is the only one who really perceives it that way. Grudgingly, he will admit Sugarplum’s seems to be doing better at the moment but, he will also be quick to add, that is, of course, only because he hardly has the time to invest into his shop as he is just so very busy with his other job.

For the unenlightened, ‘other job’ refers to his little experiments, which isn’t really a proper job. Dedalus fancies himself a bit of a tinkerer, an innovator, and he spends most of his days crafting magical items with varying degrees of success. One you might be familiar with if you’ve spoken to him for longer than thirty seconds is his pocket watch. Quite the handy little thing, he won’t hesitate to let you know. Always knows your schedule and reminds you if you’re late for an appointment!

For the enlightened, however, ‘other job’ refers to his work for the Order – also not exactly a proper job, come to think of it. Dedalus is very dedicated to the cause and always eager to help even with the smallest of jobs. Newer members might appreciate the help at first, though conversations with Dedalus rarely end once the job is done so perhaps they’ve ought to know better by now than to accept his help unless they’ve got time to spare. His main job, the way he sees it, is to provide a different point of view, the more outlandish the better. No one can spark a conversation quite like Dedalus Diggle and he takes great pride in that.

ROLE WITHIN THE ORDER/THOUGHTS ABOUT THE ORDER: 

Stepping out of character for this one – because while Dedalus has a lot of thoughts on his role within the Order, he does tend to see things in his own Dedalus way – I’d say that outside of helping wherever he’s needed and filling out empty roles on missions, the biggest asset he brings to the Order is his mind. He’s very good at taking a step back and providing a different perspective – granted, it’s usually a fairly outlandish perspective, but once stripped of its more fantastical elements, other members will often find there’s a lot of value in his input. He’d be perfect for an advisor if he only he was less… extraordinary in his ideas which often err on the side of impractical if not impossible. He personally calls it ‘dreaming big’ but you can see how that line is so easily crossed.

And speaking of big dreams and idealism, Dedalus very much believes the Order will prevail. He finds it easier than most might to shake off the small losses and disadvantages because in his head it’s simply impossible that the Order would lose. He’s very much a good versus evil kind of guy and in his head, the Order represents good and thus will always prevail. It would be absolutely fascinating to explore how bigger losses (ex: the death of James) might change things as far as Dedalus’ belief, certainty and, to a degree, naivete go, and how those potential change might manifest.

While I imagine his dedication and input are enough to qualify him for the Inner circle, Dedalus, unfortunately, is also much too absentminded to be trusted with the most important of the Order’s secrets and decisions. He’s no stranger to slipping up and admitting things he’s not supposed to be sharing, and while it’s usually small things and he’s pretty good at playing up the ’I’m just a random weirdo, don’t mind what I’m saying’ card, I can’t imagine the Order would be willing to risk it. And so he is a mid-level member, but the higher-ups are probably still careful and quite possibly only ever tell him the bare minimum he needs to know.

SURVIVAL: 

As mentioned, Dedalus very much lives in his own world to a certain extent. He sees things the same everybody else does, but his interpretations are almost always positive and optimistic in favour of himself and the Order. This is more in terms of mentality, as far as survival goes, but I do feel that’s also something very important to consider. At the moment, I’d say he’s in a pretty good mental state in the sense that he’s mostly content and the horrors of war haven’t managed to quite make an impact. If he were to become disillusioned – which I personally think is really only a matter of time – that would certainly change things and survival might just become a whole lot harder.

Outside of his own head, he’s got it pretty easy when compared to most. His parents are wealthy and mostly happy to let him have his ‘rebellious phase’ for a while longer which as far as they’re aware consists purely of Dedalus foregoing all pureblood etiquette and expectations. Hardly anyone suspects his affiliation with the Order due to how absent-minded and irresponsible he comes across as, though he himself has had a few close calls with accidentally exposing himself; luckily, people are used to him talking nonsense and it’s not hard for him to cover up his near slip-ups as more mindless prattle.

RELATIONSHIPS: 

If Dedalus had his way, he’d spend days and days just chatting with people. They wouldn’t even need to say anything back – he has more than enough to say on a multitude of topics and he can absolutely hold an entire conversation, an argument even, all by himself. All the better if there’s someone to nod along.

That said, here are some ideas I had after browsing some bios/apps (that are of course just my interpretation and completely a subject to change after chatting with the other writers!):

Gideon Prewett: With how people seem to go to him for advice and how he brings stability to the Order, I think he could be someone to balance Dedalus out. Dedalus has good ideas and even better intentions, but in reality, his ideas are only worth executing after they’ve been sufficiently dialled down and their more outlandish elements have been worked out.

Amos Diggory: Just based off of their jovial, friendly personalities, I think Dedalus and Amos would get on like a house on fire. Dedalus would certainly enjoy his presence, be it for a quick chat or a smoke, and I think they have the potential to be great friends.

Emmeline Vance: Emmeline and Dedalus seem to share an interest in figuring out how things work and it would be so cool to explore their dynamic especially since I also love the contrast between her, who is so easy to overlook, and Dedalus, who doesn’t let people look anywhere but at him.

Hestia Jones: With how good Hestia is at thinking outside the box, I feel she and Dedalus are definitely kindred spirits in that sense. But while her ideas might get shot down, people listen to Dedalus and maybe that can cause some friction between them.

Ndulue Travers: I came across the “Do they have money? Flair? A sense of humour and an ability to hold their liquor? Let’s be friends!” part of their app and Dedalus definitely has all of the above, even if his ability to hold his liquor is a bit questionable. Oh, well. He’d argue it makes things more fun anyway.

Edgar Bones: Similar to Gideon, I feel like he’d be a good foil for Dedalus. Dedalus spends more time with his head in the clouds rather than his feet on the ground so he definitely needs someone who leans more towards the opposite to keep him grounded – or to clash with, though Dedalus rarely if ever looks for confrontation.

OOC EXPLORATION:

SHIPS/ANTI-SHIPS: Oh, man, I’d be open to exploring just about any ship with Dedalus. He’s very much a ‘try everything at least once’ type of guy so honestly, he himself is very open to all kinds of romantic and sexual relationships too.

WHAT PRIVILEGES AND BIASES DOES YOUR CHARACTER HAVE? 

Dedalus likes to think of himself as a very progressive wizard indeed; he almost makes it a point to always be the most open and accepting he can be. His intentions are good and his actions are genuine though I do imagine it might not come across this way to some – after all, if he’s trying that hard to show everybody how open-minded he is, surely he’s got something to hide or make up for, no? Then there’s also the other side of this double-edged knife – at what point does he become too progressive? For example, he might be pretty quick to forgive a person for calling a muggle-born a ‘mudblood’ if they show some remorse – even if it’s not his place, as a pureblood, to forgive such a thing. Dedalus would be the first to shake hands with a werewolf, the first to loudly point out and draw attention to the accomplishments of muggle-borns – but in a weird way, the last one to think to double-check with them if his ‘activism’ is even wanted.

But come on, does he really mean all that? At his core, Dedalus has very much grown up in a pureblood society, as much as he might’ve been a black sheep in a lot of ways. He’s trying very hard to unlearn those prejudiced ideas, but often they would still be very present in his initial reactions. In a way, his avid desire to always be almost excessively open-minded is indeed trying to make up for something i.e. his previous pureblood habits and values.

This is, naturally, also very connected to the privileges he already has. He is a white man from a pureblood family. Although his behaviour is a far cry from what would be expected of him, he, without a doubt, still retains a big part of those privileges, with his parents and I imagine fellow purebloods assuming the mentality that this is his ‘rebellious phase’ that he will soon grow out of. That said, I do think quite a few people might find his promiscuity quite distasteful – not only does he not hide his dalliances with wix and muggles alike but he almost seems to flaunt them.

WHAT ARE YOU MOST LOOKING FORWARD TO? I’ve had so many ideas about Dedalus Diggle for such a long time, but unfortunately, I’ve never really had the chance to properly explore and develop him as a character. I think this rp will be a great fit both for the sort of dynamics I would like to explore with Dedalus and for what he has to bring to the table too. I think he’s got very particular energy about him and I also think it would mesh well with the general vibe of this rp.

PLOT DROP IDEAS (OPTIONAL): Generally speaking, Dedalus is always down for a good party and it would be very much in-character for him to host one at some point.

ANYTHING ELSE? –

EXTRA FOR NON-BIO CHARACTERS:

PAST: 

Born as the sole heir to Delia and Samuel Diggle, Dedalus was no stranger to getting pampered while growing up. The newest, shiniest toys, the most expensive, highest quality clothes, pretty much everything he owned had some sort of a superlative attached to it. He revelled in it all, took to luxury like a fish to water, and was perfectly happy to play the role of the polite little heir as long as it got him what he wanted. “What a charming boy,” distant and not-so-distant cousins would exclaim and pinch his cheeks. “How well-behaved, how polite!”

Unfortunately, good manners lost all appeal by the time left for Hogwarts. It was just so boring, being nice and perfect all the time, and Dedalus began to push, trying to see how far he could go before his parents had enough. Apparently, quite far. It was incredible what Delia and Samuel – and, to an extent, their entire society – would excuse as ‘normal teenage boy affairs’.

With time, his clothes turned more extravagant though no less expensive. His circle of friends widened much beyond fellow purebloods and even included a muggle or two. His sexual and romantic experiments were practically public knowledge – his mother had nearly had a heart attack when one of her closest friends had once brought up his muggle-born boyfriend during brunch.

By the time he graduated, Dedalus had more or less solidified his status as the rebellious son of the Diggle family. So, he figured, might as well take it a step further. His beliefs had changed over the course of the past few years and Dedalus had no intention of hiding that. In fact, it was quite the opposite – he spoke up, often and loudly, about how muggle-borns weren’t treated fairly, about how werewolves were misunderstood, about how pureblood ideals were outdated and unfounded. It was easy to dismiss him, with his purple top hat and his fancy waistcoat, and his natural joie de vivre didn’t help his quest of being taken seriously either. But eventually, the right people took notice of him and the Order welcomed him.

PRESENT: 

Currently, Dedalus spends his days one of three ways. If he is needed at the Order or something of particular importance is happening, he dedicates all his time helping. He’s still very eager and enthusiastic about the cause and while some might believe every day brings them closer to victory, Dedalus thinks it’s quite the opposite. But of course, he’d reassure people, every revolution has its troubles and complications. You lose some and then you win some, that’s just how life goes.

And if his services aren’t needed with the Order, he tinkers. He’s always had a quiet passion for tinkering – just about the only thing quiet about him, really – and he’s been slowly but surely perfecting his craft through trial and error. He has grand plans for his creations, from helping the Order to mass-producing some of them one day, and he’s perfectly happy to let his hobby consume all his free time.

Lastly, he doesn’t do this often although he probably should, but Dedalus is known to pay some attention to Dedalus Diggle’s Delights every now and then. Mostly, he just lets other people handle the different parts of the business, but occasionally, he takes some interest in it himself. On these days, he’d be manning the counter and taking every chance to chat more to his customers and get some valuable feedback.

FC CHOICES: Amadeus Serafini, Jack Falahee, James Bay

[dokidokiliteraturegirls]

 Hello everyone! Yui here, with today’s special feature, DDLitG Behind the Scenes: What’s the deal with Ako?

In this special update we’ll talk about her character in general, design, her place in the story, and more! So get comfortable in your seat, get yourself some good snacks, and let’s delve into the background of DDLitG’s 1st-ish original character~

Who is Ako?

Ako, formerly known as “female student”, was originally one of the many NPCs used by the game’s engine to fill its world with nondescript background characters, so as to make it feel less empty. However, Sayori took a special interest in her, and decided to befriend her, following the steps of a young MC who befriended Sayori in a similar situation and ended up saving her life. This would in turn allow Ako to grow as a character beyond her 1 line of coding and get her own sprites, as well as being able to interact with the world. She would later go on to fall in love with Sayori and shenanigans ensue.

Ako was created with the purpose of telling the story of the Friendship arc.

Designing Ako.

Let me make one thing clear: I’m not a character designer. I don’t know jack about it besides the very basics. But I did try to make someone who looked mildly original and, most importantly, different from the other girls.

Originally, she was going to be the image of a shy, fragile girl who Sayori befriended out of pity, more than anything. Based on this initial idea, I made this beta Ako design on one of my copybooks when I should’ve been working:

As you can see, her very first sprite was the one where she’s shyly looking away to avoid eye contact (and to seem annoying, but more on that later). I was happy with the pose but not with her face, as it looked super unoriginal. She resembled Ochako Uraraka from My Hero Academia a bit too much, so I tried to change her hair to make her stand out more. Here is her second iteration:

This time, I felt like I cranked it up too much to the other side. Now she stood out TOO much. Her hair felt like it came more from a protagonist than someone who’s supposed to be a background character. I adopted a new philosophy after seeing this result: she had to look as bland as possible. She had to be the kind of character you see all the time in the background of an anime - those simple, unassuming designs you’d never look twice at because you’re too focused on the protagonists with candy-coloured hair. In DDLitG’s canon she’s a filler NPC brought to the forefront, and her design had to reflect that more than my desire to make her look “cool”.

With this in mind, we come to Ako v0.3

As you can see, this is much closer to her current design. But this was still a sketch (even the drawing above is very much unfinished). As you can see, I got closer to her 0.1 version with the hair, but changed the eyes to make them look more unique, giving her that more neutral, “nothing” expression. Having finally found some ground I was comfortable with, I redefined her design a little further, gave her some more details around the hair and clothes, adjusted the proportions of her body (because apparently I draw heads huge), and made her finalized design.

I was happy.

What’s with this sassy... monochrome child?

If there’s one constant to be found in the pictures above, is that she was always meant to be black and white. There are plenty of reasons, which I’ll list because, honestly, there are a lot.

1. I didn’t want to look her like the rest of the cast at fucking all. She is an OC introduced in a story with already established characters made by a much more talented writer. She’s an outsider, someone who doesn’t belong with this cast of colorful characters, and I wanted readers to be able to tell that at first glance. No, she’s not like the other girls. They don’t belong in the same place. She is not a member of the original DDLC cast, and it shows.

2. I know I can’t draw as well as Satchely, so trying to copy DDLC’s art style would just end up looking awkward and wrong. I had no choice but to do my own thing. And if I’m doing my own thing, why not take it all the way? I already gave myself artistic freedom, I might as well go crazy with it~

3. I just adore characters in a fictional universe that look different from the rest of the cast or have some strange design choice for literally no reason. Like Krillin from Dragonball, with his eyes that make him look like he belongs in an entirely different manga...

...or even Jotaro Kujo, whose hat merges with his hair because why not!

I live for dumb crap like that.

4. A huuuuuge inspiration for me while writing (besides my own uninteresting life) is music. Many times I listen to a specific track or imagine situations with specific background music to make them seem more real, and be able to better portray the feelings of a scene when writing [For example, I listened to My Chemical Romance’s Welcome to the Black Parade a lot while writing Monika’s Death].

Ako’s creation was no exception. Her appearance was partially based on the cover for not only one of my favorite Vocaloid albums of all time, but one of my favorite albums period: Wowaka’s glorious Unhappy Refrain.

I’ve been writing stuff based on this album alone for years because it’s just so damn striking to me. The picture of the faceless schoolgirl falling into the unseen abyss, the background uninterested characters that imply they are used to seeing fellow girls suffer, the distorted world they live in, the album’s way to explore teenage depression, the freaking name of the album, EVERYTHING! IT’S SUCH A GOOD EXPLORATION OF THE DIFFICULT LIFE TEENS FACE THAT OFTEN GOES UNNOTICED!! AAAAAAHHHH IT’S SO GOOD.

5. Ako was also based on a previous design I made for another character meant for an original visual novel I was writing and I’m probably never going to finish, who was also going to be monochromatic to reference this album (in that context it made more sense though cuz every character was a musical reference).

This character, in turn, was based on Monoko from Yume Nikki, which is more obvious because of her crying eye and extra arm.

So basically at this point it would’ve been weird if I hadn’t made her monochromatic.

Naming Ako

This was one of the most difficult parts, ngl.

As I mentioned, Ako was originally going to be a fragile, shy girl. Based on this, her original name during the design face was Moromi, which is one more letter than “Moroi”, which Google translate promises me means “Brittle” or “Fragile” in Japanese.

However, after the philosophy change that happened during her conceptual stage, “Fragility” was no longer at the core of her character, as it was now “Nothingness/Blandness”. Because of this, I changed her name to “Ako”.

Many people have submitted their interpretations of the name, ranging from its meaning “To teach/to learn”, and “To yearn for”, which all fit better than the original tbh.

The intended meaning is for “Ako” to be read as “A-Ko”, which is a way by which Japenese media often refers to filler characters, as it translates to “Girl A”.

Examples of this can be seen in Super Danganronpa 2, where a character in a videogame is called “A-Ko” to hide their identity...

...and in a movie called “Project A-ko”, which was a parody of the anime tropes from the time, so they gave the protagonist the most generic name ever. The antagonist and side character, by the way, are called “B-Ko” and “C-Ko” respectively. This movie is fucking awesome.

This name also made sense in the context of the story, because we already had a character named “Student A”, so this goes to show that the game just gave Ako the default name it had stored for female NPCs.

Blinded Ako, or How I Learned to Convey Emotion Through Ahegao

When I came up with Ako, she was meant to have most of her character revolving around her infatuation with Sayori. She was, after all, written in the story with the purpose of falling in love with her, and nothing else. Her character, personality, likes/dislikes, and hobbies came afterwards. As the story progressed, however, I decided that she should have a personality separate from just being in love with another character. So to separate the actions she committed under the influence of her passion, I did a little design change in the middle of the arc: Blinded Ako.

In this version, Ako has been literally blinded by love and stops being rational. This is represented by the hearts covering her eyes, and clouding her judgement. This was done not only with the purpose of representing she was past her breaking point, but also to differentiate the Ako that makes mistakes with the Ako that was introduced in the beginning of the arc. Almost so as to make them two different characters, so when she is reintroduced as a regular character after Friendship, readers could think “oh, she’s not going to do dumb stuff again, she’s not blinded by love anymore.”

Many people compared the above panel with “ahegao”, a trope in hentai manga where a character does a silly face to represent them breaking from enjoying themselves so much. This was done partially on purpose. The main idea was to represent Ako being blinded by her infatuation for Sayori, not to equate her sate of being with anything sexual. It DID end up looking more hentai-esque than I expected though, as, well, Ako is in black and white, and the heart eyes are also a trope in ahegao. And she’s sweating. And she’s saying that she’s about to break....

.....

....well at least I drove my point home.

Ako’s musical influences

Above I mentioned how music was a big part of my inspiration, and how I listened to Welcome to the Black Parade while writing Monika’s Death, so the question in no one’s mind is: what music did Yui use as inspiration for Ako’s character and the arc? 🤔

Well, hypothetical reader, the answer is that since Ako was meant to be bland and flavour-free, her original depiction is not based on a song or anything. Her desperation towards Sayori and Blinded Ako, though, are based on TRONICBOX’s 80′s style remix of Ariana Grande’s Into You. And yes, this 80′s remix in specific. Not the original song. I highly encourage you to give it a listen and pay attention to the lyrics if you want an insight into how Ako was feeling during her breaking point.

Also, as a side note, no one has asked me this, but I imagine Ako’s voice to sound like the vocals of Panty and Stocking’s ending, Fallen Angel. It’s a truly beautiful song, and once again, I highly encourage you to give it a listen and pay attention tot he lyrics if you want an insight in Ako’s current feelings towards Sayori.

Ako’s reception

This is more something personal than an explanation of the character, but it’s something I want to share nonetheless.

Remember when I said Ako was meant to be annoying? Yeah... xD

When I decided to add a new character I did so under the idea that everyone was going to hate her, because it’s a purposefully boring OC made by some insane person with the sole purpose of being added to an already interesting and loved cast of characters just to fuck everything up.

The first scene I ever wrote for Ako was the part where Monika asked if she had hurt Sayori, and she said “Not intentionally...” while looking away, which is why her first sprite ever was in that position. She was meant to make people feel frustrated over this girl just looking away from her problems and avoiding responsibility, while also telling Monika to her face that she had done something bad to Sayori. Readers were expected to hate her. That’s why in the beginning she says she doesn’t like literature, to assure you that she’s not joining the literature club. That’s why there’s a scene where she gets punched in the face. That’s why she looks so extremely out of place.

YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO DISLIKE HER!! omg I’m still surprised at how warm the reception was, you guys are just too nice for me~ ❤️

Because of the unexpected reception I had to change some parts of the arc, which were originally going to be much crueler towards her [I even questioned adding the punch at all, but it was an important part of Monika’s development so I felt it]. I also established her as a recurring character in spite of her dislike of literature, and did my best to make her less hate-able than she was originally going to be, even cutting some planned lines of dialogue that made her pretty irredeemable. Looking back, I am glad I did those changes, we ended up with a well-liked and pretty nice girl because of it~

Final thoughts

The introduction of Ako and writing Friendship in general was a very intense experience for me. It was very difficult to balance Ako as being both relevant to the story and moving the plot forward, but not make her the sole focus of everything and have her obscure everyone else, because OCs in established pieces of media tend to do that.

This arc also got a LOT of mixed reviews, some people liking it, some hating everything I did. This made me really question what I was doing and at many points even regret I was writing Friendship at all. At a certain point I lost almost 50 followers in a single update.

I also had trouble writing some parts because they were too sad. And that’s not my style! I like writing happy people being good friends, damn it, not everyone crying and hating each other.

But when all is said and done, I’m happy I wrote both Friendship and Ako into the story. I’ve received many wonderful, supportive messages telling me how much readers enjoyed it. Even some people saying they had been in a similar situation to the one depicted in the story, and were glad to see a story that showed a positive outcome.

Will I write more OCs into DDLitG?

Meh, who knows. I love writing more original stuff and expanding the world of DDLitG, but I also feel like if I introduce yet another OC, people will crucify me and hate me for flooding the story with too much stuff that’s irrelevant to the DDLC they’re used to. That being said, writing this blog is my first, and very possibly last chance to expose my stories to such a large audience. And seeing people like what you do not only because you’re riding the coattails of a recognizable brand, but because they like what you do with it, makes me pretty darn happy. Being completely honest, I’d like to add another character. But just one. And only if it’s something that will push both the story and the girls’ character arcs forward. Not just adding OCs for the sake of it.

Thanks for sticking until the end of this BTS, and I hope you found it an enjoyable read, or at the very least I made you a little bit less bored~ ❤️

Next time, in DDLitG Behind the scenes: What’s the deal with The Perfect Yuri?

[hoffkk]

On the sixth day of Ficmas, hoffkk gave to me...

Six Charms a Twinkling (An Andi Mack and Jonah Beck fic)

*******

Andi, Buffy, and Cyrus were celebrating their first day of Christmas break by eating lunch at their favorite diner, The Spoon.  The place was all decked out for the holidays with twinkly lights and garland inside and out. It was also decorated with snowflakes, lots of snowflakes, on the walls and tables and even hanging from the ceiling, making it look like some kind of snow globe wonderland.  Buffy and Cyrus were having a great time eating their taters, taking in the scenery, and talking holiday plans, but Buffy couldn't help notice that Andi seemed distracted.

"All right, Andi, we've been here for ten minutes, and you haven't even touched a baby tater yet. What gives?" Buffy asked as she dipped a tater-tot into her chocolate milkshake then popped it into her mouth.

"Yeah, I was gonna say something, but then I thought... eh, more for me!" Cyrus added, taking a bite of his own baby tater.

Andi hesitated a moment, not sure she wanted to reveal what was bothering her.  Then again, that's what friends were for right?  Listening to your problems and making you feel better about them.  So, she decided to do just that.

"Do you think it's weird that we haven't kissed yet?"  Andi blurted out.

"No."  Cyrus answered right away.  "After all, we are just friends, not to mention you're not really my type."

Buffy rolled her eyes and said knowingly, "I'm pretty sure she meant her and Jonah."

"Of course I meant me and Jonah."  Andi replied. "We are dating... granted it hasn't been all that long, but it hasn't been all that short either, which begs the question... should we be kissing?"

"Well... I... you see..." Cyrus tried but had no valuable insight to give her, so he simply noted, "I got nothing."

"Look, Andi," Buffy took over.  "I know that I don't exactly have a lot of experience in this department, but I don't think you and Jonah should be doing anything."

"What?" Andi queried.  "Why?"

"Just hear me out... "  Buffy began. "This whole idea of you and Jonah and what you 'should be doing' implies that there's some sort of schedule or set of rules you two are supposed to follow, but dating isn't like that."

"She's right." Cyrus agreed.  "Every couple is different and moves at their own pace. Iris and I were moving like a graceful gazelle until we broke up, and Buffy and Marty are obviously at more of a snail's pace."

"Marty and I are just friends, were not a couple." Buffy reminded him.  

"Eh," Cyrus waved off.  "tah-may-toh, tah-mah-to."

"Anyway," Buffy drew out forcefully, then changed the subject back to Andi.  "My point here is, the only thing that you and Jonah should be worrying about doing is what's right for you and Jonah.  So, if kissing feels right then do it.  If not, don't."  She finished, tossing another baby tater into her mouth.

"You're right." Andi nodded.  "But... what now?  Do I talk to him about what he wants?  Because I'm not sure I know how to start that conversation."

"I got it." Cyrus interjected.  "Just play it cool and throw him some subtle 'kiss me' hints.  Put the ball in his court."

"Or..."  Buffy stated vigorously.  "You could kiss him.  It is the 21st century after all.  Women can join the military, play on boys' basketball teams, and even make the first move in a relationship."

"Well, that definitely sounds good in theory, but in reality?  I don't know if I can be that brave."  Andi responded honestly.

"Just promise me you'll at least think about it."  Buffy requested for the feminist inside her.

"Deal." Andi answered with half a smile, finally beginning to feel better about the situation.  She was glad she had decided to confide in her friends.  It gave her a whole new perspective on things and made her feel somewhat lighter.

Just as she took a handful of tots for herself and began to watch Cyrus put on his daily "Tater Theatre," the jingle bells on the door chimed and Jonah walked in.  He headed straight for their table, smiling at Andi the whole way.

"Hey, guys." Jonah greeted in his usual chipper tone as he pulled out his chair and sat down.  He listened to their hellos as he shrugged out of his jacket, then, without saying another word, he pulled a present out of his pocket and set it in front of his girlfriend.

"What's this?" Andi wondered aloud, forgoing any pleasantries as she studied the small box that was placed next to her pile of baby taters.  It was square shaped and covered in candy cane wrapping paper with a shiny red bow on top.

"It's your Christmas present."  He smiled excitedly.  "Open it."

Andi grinned back, looking like, well... like a kid on Christmas.  She happily obliged him, carefully unwrapping the gift to save the paper and bow for later use.  They were something that definitely needed to be recycled into some kind of art so she could remember this moment.

Once the paper was removed, folded, and pushed aside, Andi focused on the crisp white box in front of her. Removing the lid, she found layers of red tissue paper.  Then, upon peeling back the first two layers, she laid her eyes on the most beautiful, golden bracelet she had ever seen.

Jonah's smile began to waver as he watched her stare quietly at her gift.  Feeling nervous, he blurted,  "I was going to make one by hand for you out of duct tape or strings and beads, but even with the explicit online tutorials, I messed them up... big time.  They just looked like something my dog chewed up.  So, I went with this instead.  I hope you like it."

Taking it out of the box, Andi held it up to get a better look.  She noticed it wasn't just a bracelet but a charm bracelet.  How sweet was he?  "I love it."  She told him sincerely as she slipped it on her wrist right then and there.

Jonah beamed with pride then moved closer and said, "I picked each charm special for you." He then began pointing to them one by one and explaining his choices. "There's a Frisbee because you love Frisbee, and that's how we officially met.  There's a spoon for your favorite hang out The Spoon.  The Chinese symbol for family represents your family heritage and how we celebrated the Chinese New Year together.  The scissors symbolize your love for crafting, and the smiley face is because you make everyone around you happy."

"And the letter J?"  She asked, noticing he left that one out.

He blushed as he glanced at the sixth and final charm then looked back to Andi and replied, "For me, Jonah... because you're my girlfriend, and you're important to me, and I want everyone to know."

Andi smiled wide at his words.  If she thought he was sweet before, now he was the sweetest thing since cotton candy. He put so much thought into this bracelet, it made her heart melt.  And the fact that he actually tried crafting for her? That was the icing on top of the gingerbread.  She wanted to tell him all of these thoughts and more but didn't know how.  Or did she?  Looking at her charms once more, twinkling in the cafe light, her grin grew impossibly bigger as an idea suddenly formed in her mind.  Deciding to act on it before she chickened out, Andi finally said, "Come with me."

"What?" Jonah questioned with a baffled look on his face as he watched Andi rise to her feet.  "Why?"

"It's my turn to give you something."  Andi retorted simply as she grabbed his hand and pulled him to the front of the diner about a foot away from the door.

He went willingly, but, as soon as they stopped, he probed further, "Is there a reason we had to come all of the way over here?"

She took a deep breath then responded, "Yes... because now we are standing under the mistletoe." Pausing a moment to point at said hanging object, all leafy green with gold and red ribbon and snowflakes streaming out in any and all directions, Andi then continued.  "Which gives me the courage I need to do this."

Glancing quickly from Andi to the mistletoe and back, Jonah was still slightly confused until Andi put her free hand on his shoulder, closed the distance between them, and placed her lips tenderly on his.  Jonah's eyes went wide with shock for a quick second then fluttered closed as his free hand instinctively went to her waist.  The kiss didn't last long, but it definitely made an impact on both of them.

Pulling back, Andi looked into her boyfriend's bright green eyes and said, "Merry Christmas, Jonah."

"Merry Christmas, Andi." He beamed.

Back at the table, Buffy and Cyrus, who had been uncharacteristically silent for the past couple minutes, watched the whole scene play out across the room.

As she watched her friends smile their dopey smiles at each other, Buffy couldn't help but smile herself and say, "That's my girl."

"No," Cyrus interjected without a hint of hesitation.  "That is docious magocious."

"I hate that phrase."  Buffy responded instantly.

"Yes, but that doesn't make it any less true." He noted.

Buffy shrugged then let the conversation come to a close as Andi and Jonah returned to the table. They all acted as if a huge thing didn't just happen and went right back to watching Cyrus's tater theatre. Today's story was about Spuddy the Elf and his search for family and love.  His search took him on a long, confusing journey, but he ended up having the most docious magocious Christmas ever.  A story Andi thought sounded very familiar.

[lifejustgotawkward]

365 Day Movie Challenge (2017) - #348: Blade Runner 2049 (2017) - dir. Denis Villeneuve

As the end credits rolled on Blade Runner 2049 last Sunday night at the Regal Union Square multiplex, I turned to my friend and asked her my usual question, “So, what did you think?” She groaned out, “that was really boring,” and the wave of relief I felt at her response was the perfect summation of my feelings.

How did Blade Runner 2049 disappoint me? Let me count the ways.

I watched Ridley Scott’s original Blade Runner (1982) back in September. I was impressed, though not bowled over, by the theatrical cut, but I still wanted to give the final cut a chance. When I got around to watching that “definitive” version, I found that I actually missed Harrison Ford’s gruff, noiresque narration from the earlier edit of the film, but overall my appreciation for Blade Runner had grown and the second viewing allowed me to focus less on the plot and to better appreciate both the acting and the technical aspects of the production.

My expectations for Blade Runner 2049 were fairly high. I was eager to see how Denis Villeneuve built on Scott’s (and, of course, writer Philip K. Dick’s) visions of dystopian Los Angeles by pushing the narrative thirty years further into the future from the first Blade Runner’s setting in 2019. Although I missed the chance to see this new installment in IMAX - hey, those tickets are expensive when you don’t have spare cash to throw around! - I knew I still had to take the time to watch the film on the big screen. No TV could possibly do justice to an epic sci-fi tale of the Blade Runner variety, at least not for an introductory experience.

Bear with me, now, when I say that Blade Runner 2049 was a massive letdown. Yes, Roger Deakins’ stunning cinematography is practically guaranteed to earn him an Oscar nomination. And yes, the art direction, production design and set decoration further supports Denis Villeneuve‘s strengths regarding compelling visuals. I would also be totally fine with Renée April getting an Oscar nomination for costume design since the coat that Officer K (Ryan Gosling) wears throughout the film is incredible. Unfortunately, for the third year in a row (after Sicario and Arrival) my hopes for Villeneuve’s work have been dashed. For three years running he has fallen short of his ambitious ideas, whether attempting to concentrate on an idealistic DEA agent (Emily Blunt in Sicario), a linguist simultaneously mourning the death of her daughter and trying to make contact with aliens (Amy Adams in Arrival) or a Replicant Blade Runner (Ryan Gosling in Blade Runner 2049) who unravels a mystery about a female Replicant who was able to bear a child. All of these protagonists should be worthy of my undivided attention. Instead, Gosling - like one of Nexus’s new edition of Replicants - is just another in a continuing line of failed leads.

Part of the issue is Ryan Gosling’s own fault. In interviews I find him absolutely delightful, a funny and self-deprecating guy with a nicely offbeat sense of humor; in movies he is unremittingly bland. Whether we’re talking about The Notebook or Crazy, Stupid, Love or The Big Short, he never seems to have any discernible personality on film. It makes sense, then, that he would be chosen to play an android in Blade Runner 2049. But what does it say that he didn’t even play Officer K well? Replicants can be portrayed with emotion, if you recall Rutger Hauer, Sean Young, Daryl Hannah, Brion James and Joanna Cassidy in the original Blade Runner. Each actor breathed life into their characters in unique styles. So why couldn’t Villeneuve and screenwriters Hampton Fancher and Michael Green find a way to inject some flavor into their film’s characters?

The posters for Blade Runner 2049 imply that Harrison Ford and Jared Leto play important roles in the film, but in actuality, Leto’s “antagonist,” Niander Wallace, barely has any screen time and Ford’s returning antihero, Rick Deckard, doesn’t show up until the last third of the film. I enjoyed every moment he was onscreen, spitting his dialogue out with the same jaded sarcasm he had in the first film, but I wish the character had had more time to develop in the film. Wallace bears an undistinguished aura of evil, but what was supposed to be so special about him? Given the spotlight often put on his sightless eyes during “creepy” closeups, was his blindness really intended to be read as part of what defined him as bad (in which case, uh, what is that saying about disabilities)?

Next we have to take a look at the women of Blade Runner 2049. There are six notable female characters: Joi (Ana de Armas), a hologram who is a product created by Niander Wallace and who functions solely as K’s live-in girlfriend; Luv (Sylvia Hoeks), a Replicant who acts as Niander Wallace’s right-hand woman; Lieutenant Joshi (Robin Wright), K’s supervisor on the police force; Mariette (Mackenzie Davis), a "pleasure model” Replicant; Dr. Ana Stelline (Carla Juri), who works for the Wallace corporation in a capacity that I shouldn’t spoil for those who have not seen the film; and Freysa (Hiam Abbass), who plays a role that I similarly should not divulge. Of these six, Joi and Ana Stelline are the most sympathetic characters, but regardless of how these women’s actions are meant to be interpreted, the designs of these ladies are problematic.

Joi is an immediately likeable character, but since she is a product (and one who does not initially have a corporeal form), she does not have autonomy. With the push of a button, K can turn her off any time he wants, which I’m sure is an option a lot of dudes wish they had available for their girlfriends. Joi exists only to serve K, telling him how wonderful he is when he gets home from a long work day and providing whatever eye candy he desires (she can shapeshift to alter her clothing, hair and makeup). Should I ignore the fact that Joi has zero character development and applaud Blade Runner 2049 anyway for highlighting the ickiness of a future society where Joi-models are prevalent (thus eliminating the need for actual human women)? Maybe, but the film doesn’t bother to make a statement about this element of social interaction, other than the fact that it exists.

K is finally able to experience physical contact with Joi when she “syncs” with Mariette, a prostitute, to combine their bodies for a sexual encounter with K, resulting in my favorite shot in the film: an unsettling image of Joi and Mariette’s four blurry hands wrapping around the back of K’s head and caressing his hair. While this interlude incorporates an interesting degree of romantic intrigue - to what extent do K, Joi and Mariette understand what love is? - there is something a little too weird in the film’s dependence on the Madonna and Whore tropes, suggesting an either/or dichotomy where the only time a woman can possess both attributes is when she finds another person (technically a Replicant) who can temporarily provide the missing skills.

Luv is probably the best-developed female character, although since she is Niander Wallace’s servant, it is impossible to say where her allegiance to him ends and her own taste for violent retribution begins. Luv seems to genuinely savor hurting people, but I suppose that attitude was programmed into her by Wallace, which somewhat minimizes the cool factor in her badass fight scenes. It’s kind of odd, though, that she manages to outshine the film’s other resident tough gal, Lt. Joshi (I didn’t think anyone could outdo Robin Wright in this department, especially after Wonder Woman). Villeneuve and his writers couldn’t settle on how best to represent Joshi, so the character fluctuates between a generically butch stereotype and a leering boss who drinks too much and flirts with K. Again, not that women have to be only one thing, but I like consistency in characters rather than mixed messages. I wonder how much of Blade Runner 2049′s muddled and archaic depictions of women are thanks to Hampton Fancher, who also co-wrote the original Blade Runner’s screenplay, which was full of troublesome approaches to womanhood, sexuality and sexual consent.

In the end, the difference between Blade Runner and Blade Runner 2049 is like the distinction between a human being and a Replicant. 2049 tries to live up to the originality of that which inspired it, but it lacks the soul of its predecessor. It really says something that the most heartfelt moments in Blade Runner 2049 are two references to Ridley Scott’s film: a pivotal scene in Wallace’s lair that conjures up the memory of Rachael (Sean Young) from the film, and a moment in the penultimate scene that reuses a key piece of music from Vangelis’s original Blade Runner score. I recognize that many viewers see Blade Runner 2049 as a masterpiece, and I have tried many times in the past week to understand why, but I’m hard-pressed to comprehend why I should have spent close to three hours sitting through such an unsatisfying project, other than being able to say I bravely weathered this particular storm.

P.S. (because I couldn’t figure out where else to write this): I don’t know how many viewers will know where I’m coming from, but for the cult classic freaks out there, let me propose this theory: Blade Runner 2049 is trying to be like Paul Morrissey’s notoriously wild horror-satire Flesh for Frankenstein (1973). Check it out: a really bizarre and wealthy man (Udo Kier/Jared Leto) and his devoted assistant (Arno Juerging/Sylvia Hoeks) endeavor to construct a set of superhumans (FfF) or humanoid robots (B42049), entities that will give birth to a new generation of superbeings that will take the place of their inferior progenitors and obediently do their master’s (Kier/Leto) bidding. In fact, there are two specific scenes that reminded me of Flesh for Frankenstein while watching Blade Runner 2049: when Niander Wallace kills the naked, infertile Replicant woman (ugh, what a terrible scene), it mirrors a moment in Flesh when Arno Juerging, the loyal assistant, tries to commence sex with Baron Frankenstein’s female zombie-monster by punching her in the stomach and fatally damaging her internal organs, resulting in a grotesque display of violence similar to what we see in Blade Runner 2049.

Secondly, when Luv battles K at the sea wall and she kisses him, she is mimicking an action that Niander Wallace carried out when he killed the Replicant woman; this is also reminiscent of Flesh for Frankenstein since the Arno Juerging character often does horrible, perverse things - like conflating his lust for the female zombie with a disturbingly compulsion for violence - because he is following his master’s patterns. Take all that analysis for what it’s worth, Blade Runner fans!

P.P.S. I am also convinced that Blade Runner 2049′s Las Vegas wasteland scene was either an homage to or a ripoff of Nastassja Kinski’s desert dream sequence from another of 1982′s finest cult offerings, Cat People. Even in the slightly faded YouTube upload of the clip, the orangeness cannot be overlooked.

[syzygyzip]

The Myth and Meaning of MissingNo

A few notes about this essay: first, I have removed the period from the name “MissingNo.” for ease of transcription. I also refer to MissingNo’s sibling as Bar ‘M Bar or [][][][] ‘M [][][][] because its real name is irreproducible in Unicode:

Also, for the purposes of this essay it is helpful to think of Pokémon less as animals and more as a gamut of spectral entities: yokai, devas, fairies, sprites, genies, elemental intelligences, ghosts, servitors, unincorporated astral matter, etc. All those strange and elusive beings who populate world mythology and the collective imagination. In contrast to our world, however, people in Kanto are universally aware of these entities and their relation to ourselves. Much more can be said on this subject, but allow the basic premise to inform your reading when it feels appropriate. The subject before us is liminal by its nature.

Myths, Stories, and Suspicions

When we encounter a glitch in a game the temptation is to say that it broke our immersion. Maybe it’s because children are more easily entranced, but as a child my experience with MissingNo did not feel particularly incongruous with the narrative. The encounter, though strange, didn’t contradict the world of the game -- it expanded it in a psychedelic direction. When I met MissingNo, the battle played out more or less as normal. It was only the image of the creature, the arcane initiation, and the haunting after-effects that were atypical.

As soon as Pokémon Red & Blue came out, one fact of life became very clear: Kids love to spread tall tales about Pokémon. It was quite common to hear about Mew hiding under a truck or Togepi skulking around in the inaccessible wilderness behind Bill’s house. But the purported apparition of something called “MissingNo” or “Bar ‘M Bar” held an especially uncanny sway, because everyone believed it to be true. The basic story was that you talk to an old man, and then fly to an island where you meet bizarre and game-glitching Pokémon – but the many accounts which peppered the playground and Internet each held idiosyncratic details. Some said Mewtwo would turn up on the island, others said they found Pokémon native to the Safari Zone, or rogue trainers, or that you could multiply your items by 100. When I finally initiated what came to be known as the “Old Man Glitch”, I performed it in the prescribed manner:

Talk to the Old Man in the North of Viridian City. He will show you how to catch a Weedle.

As soon as the Old Man is finished, fly to Cinnabar Island.

On the island, walk over to the eastern edge and use Surf.

Surf the very edge of the water, moving up and down.

And sure enough, there appeared a fuzzy Tetris-looking rando named [][][][] ‘M [][][][]. Armed with a little background research, I succeeded in slaying this entity, and came away with 128 rare candies, a glitched out Hall of Fame record, and a whole lot of questions. The experience was so simple and tidy, and the performance of the glitch was just dreamlike enough that my young mind felt the thin silver light of meaning shining dimly from behind the supposedly arbitrary method of contact.

MissingNo and its glitch siblings became well known in the Pokémon community as reliable and functional game exploits, and stuck in the imagination for the peculiarity of their presentation. The programming quirks behind MissingNo’s operations are well understood, and the character has wormed its way into a sizable number of fan theories and creepypastas. Something about this strange little block of static resonates with players, and it seems to have surrounded itself with cryptic clues as to its true nature.

The Method of Contact

The first step to understanding a mysterious aberration in a game is to consider the events that lead up to it. What must the player do in order to find MissingNo? The trip begins by talking to an old man in Viridian City who shows the player how to catch Pokémon by snagging a wild Weedle in a brief scripted encounter. This is an interesting motif right off the bat, because we are meeting a teacher figure who shows us how to catch the worm. In dreams and in myth, the worm is often a symbolic representation of the Kundalini serpent, the principal driving force of life itself which coils at the base of the spine. The Old Man is found near the beginning of the game, and he will show you this tutorial as many times as you like. After all, he is teaching an essential lesson: catch the Pokémon around you to expand your team; or more abstractly: integrate the aspects of nature which complete you.

Viridian city itself is a special place, in that we begin and end our Pokémon journey there. It is the first town we come to after leaving home, and it is also host to the final gym and provides a road to the Pokémon League – the culmination of a trainer’s journey. The next step to MissingNo is to fly to volcanic Cinnabar Island, which is incidentally the last town a trainer discovers. So we have leapt from the site of our first lesson to the final city. Here on Cinnabar we walk straight east to the beach, and use surf to ride a Pokemon up and down the edge of the water. If we venture further out to sea, the ritual is forfeit and we must restart. So we glide up and down and up. Here along the crashing waves, apparitions greet us according to our name. The letters in the player’s name are the values that determine which Pokémon appear – and what form MissingNo takes. With this, contact is made. So let’s take a look at this setting. The island is a classic symbol of self-conception: a crystallization of identity emergent from the undifferentiated ocean. There happens to be a volcano on this island, which is also a timeless symbol: that of the eruption of unconscious content; hidden energy and power which has formerly lain dormant and unknown. We encounter MissingNo in a rather narrow area: a single column of tiles representing the edge of an island. We move up and down this coast attempting to trigger the event, swimming/surfing/pacing along the seashore. This is an incredibly profound detail, because the shore of the ocean signifies the mediation between the mundane terrestrial (the land) and the vast realm of the unconscious (the ocean).  The fact that it is the Eastern coast is a bonus, as that is the place where the sun rises in its most prolonged glow, and gives birth to the new day. The island itself is named Cinnabar, home to a research facility that serves a major role in the game’s plot. As we discover through research notes littered about, Cinnabar Mansion was the site of a series of experiments to re-create Mew, which is thought to be a primordial Pokémon. Famously, this resulted in the creation of Mewtwo, an anthropomorphic “clone” of Mew who lacks the originator’s genetic purity (Mewtwo cannot learn any TM, as Mew can), but appears to have gained a humanlike awareness, a trait lengthily elaborated in the first Pokémon movie. Mew as Prima Materia

So what does Mew symbolize? It is known to resemble an embryo, and believed to be the ancestor of all other Pokémon. It is a light pink, which is interesting given that the alchemical prima materia – the formless substance that composes the primeval material of the universe – is said to be dually white and red. In the original games it is only attainable through the metatextual experience of an IRL promotional event, and was allegedly inserted into the game secretly. Mew is clearly meant to be a transcendent being, notoriously elusive and often depicted in space.

Mew is the only pokemon that learns Transform, except of course for Ditto. This has spawned a highly popular fan theory that Dittos are failed clones of Mew. There are some supporting reasons for this idea: they share the same coloration (in both common and shiny iterations), the same weight, the same stats, and Ditto is present at locations relevant to Mew’s story (notably the Pokémon Mansion and the Cerulean Cave, where Mewtwo is found). Unlike Mew, which cannot breed in game, Ditto can successfully mate with any non-Legendary Pokémon. But Mew, critically, is a psychic type. Ditto is “normal.” It is as though the scientists succeeded in recreating the prima materia, but only in a purely physicalist sense. Ditto contains the genetic potential of all current life, but it does not generate new forms. It does not even learn new moves by itself, it must be taught. Science has apparently replicated the form and fertility of immemorial cosmic life, but not its potentiating vitality, its breath of life, its pneuma. I wonder where that pneuma went. Mewtwo, though not having begat novel lifeforms of its own, nevertheless expresses the pneuma in its thoughts and deeds. But maybe pneuma, as a formless concept, could only be expressed allegorically to the player as the enigmatic and varying being known as MissingNo. Revealingly, MissingNo is a Bird/Normal type Pokémon, birds being classical symbols of the spirit. Its cry upon encounter is the default “blank cry”: an unaffected cry of the male Nidoran (the only gendered Pokémon in the original release). But when MissingNo is viewed in the Pokédex, it makes the sound of a Rhydon, the first Pokémon ever designed; we could interpret this therefore as a reference to the voice of creative impulse. There is a caveat to discovering this: the player can only view the Pokedex entry if they have not seen a Cubone. This is another mythic peculiarity, as Cubone’s defining characteristic is its knowledge of loneliness, and its desire for reconciliation with its ancestors. If this sense of separation has never been known, only then can we “read” Missingno’s information, understand its primal utterance, and order it in our Pokédex-pantheon (as #000)

Curiously, Cubone is also host to a popular fan theory: that its missing mother is Kangaskhan. This is believed mainly because Cubone always pines for its perpetually absent mother, and Kangaskhans bear their young in their pouch, but the young are never seen independently. It is therefore supposed that when Kangaskhans die, their young don the skulls of their mothers and become Cubone. I have no strong opinion about this story, but MissingNo closes the circuit thematically. Just as MissingNo has ties to Cubone, its sibling Bar ‘M Bar mysteriously evolves into Kanghaskhan. Additionally, one of the appearances MissingNo can take is the “Ghost” sprite. In the main game, this sprite is only used for the ghost of Cubone’s mother in a unique encounter. Until a special item is used, this ghost isn’t affected by the player; with this guise MissingNo tells us it cannot be grasped.

4 Visions of MissingNo

In addition to the L-shaped white noise and the ghost, MissingNo can appear in two more ways. It can take the form of the fossils glimpsed in the Pewter Museum: a skeleton of Kabutops or a skeleton of Aerodactyl. These constellations of bones further suggest that MissingNo is an ancestral spirit. Kabutops is a water dwelling primordial life-form, whose development name meant “Atlantis,” and who symbolizes the origin of physical life from the first primal waters. Aerodactyl resembles a dragon or wyvern, an intermediary of heaven and earth. These two beasts, like the ghost, are no longer embodied. Though all 3 are potential symbols of the dead, they embody that sentiment differently. Kabutops comes from the water, Aerodactyl from the sky, and the ghost, as a veiled Marowak, would be terrestrial, but its image taken independently refers to the realm of the etheric.

To see these alternative forms, the player must have a certain letter in the 5th, 7th, or 9th slot of their character name: W for Kabutops, X for Aerodactyl, and Y for the ghost. The natural form of MissingNo gives us 4 forms, an apparently timeless property of visionary and mystic experience, from Ezekiel to mandala art and the platonic elements. In fact, there are over 150 such amplifications found in Carl Jung’s General Index, so it’s rather difficult to catch them all. Like many mythological quaternaries, 1 among the 4 is qualitatively exceptional. In this case, of course, that is the so-called “Normal” form, the fuzzy L-block which appears as a result of a much greater variety of player names. Though this natural form is less definite in criteria and appearance, it is actually more definite in its character. The other three forms take their base stats and moves from the last Pokémon in the party (a dittolike effect!); and their sprites, when viewed from the back, are taken from whichever Pokémon’s data was most recently accessed. So when these entities are in use by the player, they resemble something else entirely; they are phenomenologically reordered to resemble a known quantity. The natural form however, has a constant square-shaped sprite when viewed from the back. Though this form is exceptional among the 4, it is reductive to say that this is its “true” image: each of the 4 is a different capitulation of the same idea which itself is formless. Though there is one more peculiarity about the natural form! MissingNo. and Its Twin MissingNo’s natural form is identical with Bar ‘M Bar, as is its Pokédex number, leading many to believe that they were the same creature. However, there are many differences between them. Their height, weight, and stats are different, and they learn slightly different moves. Bar ‘M Bar does not cry like a male Nidoran, but instead sings a pitched-up version of the Zapdos call. This sound resembles birdsong with a background buzz indicating electricity. This pitch-shifted voice tells us that Bar M’ Bar resides even higher in the heavens than the sky-streaking legendary bird of thunder. Its “height” is also coincidentally tied in value with that of Rayquaza, a sacred serpent whose name means “firmament” and is the canonical lord of the skies. Another difference previously mentioned is Bar ‘M Bar’s unique ability to evolve into Kangaskhan. This happens at level 0, but if you glitch it to level 128, it can also evolve into Clefairy. Clefairy is a symbolically rich Pokémon as well; it was the main character of the original manga, and originally slated to be the main character of the anime. It is strongly indicated to be of extraterrestrial origin and is also plainly representative of the fairy kingdom, as indicated by its name and type. Additionally, it happens to be the Pokémon that Bill, a famous internet architect, accidentally transforms into as he is playing with time and space in order to construct a teleporter. We therefore can surmise that Clefairy relates to that which is alien: the alienation of the creature from the franchise, the alien origin of the species within the narrative, and the truly alien experience of inhabiting another body. This changing of bodies is perhaps what Bar ‘M Bar does when pushed past the realm of possibility, into level 128. There is of course a practical programming reason for the number 128, but it also happens to be double the number of possible codons in DNA. The “clef” in Clefairy means “musical key,” or in French simply “key.” Clefairy’s trademark move is metronome, which replicates most other Pokémon moves through the magic of synchronization. What would the world be like if this memetic sprite succeeded in its role as mascot of Pokémon? Would the world be all the more entranced?

When it comes to seeking an audience, Bar ‘M Bar is even wider in its accommodation than its sibling MissingNo. It can be encountered with any name at all – besides the preset options! Bar ‘M Bar’s own actual name, [][][][]M’[][][][] is certainly its most obvious difference. The bars on either side of the ‘M are determined by the actions of the player – Bulbapedia sums it up nicely:

It is most commonly known as 'M, since these are the only typographical characters in its name—its real name is impossible to produce with text, and some tiles in its name are not constant. It is also called 'M Block due to either the glitchy blocks next to its name or the Pokémon's boxy shape.

The first two tiles in [][][][] ‘M [][][][][]'s name depend on which sprite is occupying the spot where the player's Pokémon appears. In battle, the tiles on the left of its name will copy part of the sprite in the bottom-left corner of the screen (the player's Pokémon), while the block on the right will copy part of the sprite in the upper-right corner of the screen (the opponent's Pokémon). Out of battle, the blocks in its name will change depending on the player's location.

We know that MissingNo’s name is constant, and its form is undefined, a result of the player’s bestowed name. On the other hand, Bar ‘M Bar is a definite outcome for any bestowed name, but its own name is defined by the player! Yet it always retains the ‘M in the middle, which is tempting to interpret as the conjunction n’ (and). It looks as though Bar ‘M Bar’s name is something like “This n’ That.” And indeed, that’s what the sprites which comprise the bars draw from: the player’s Pokémon and the opponent’s Pokémon. The fact that these two glitchy blocks are separated by something close to “and” is a beautiful detail. It takes these two oppositional beings and phrases them both, but does so with the separation intact. If it lacked the ‘M between the two samples it would give a different impression. It is the difference between hendiadys (good and ready) and a modified adjective (well ready). It acknowledges that the two things are distinct and in concert, yet they are termed by Bar ‘M Bar in a single body. There is an endless mystery surrounding the mythological motif of 2-in-1, but it is often explored in alchemy and Jungian psychology through the image of the coniunctio, the holy marriage, the reconciliation of opposites.

Can we even say that Bar ‘M Bar is a single entity? It certainly has the strong dual aspect of its twin, MissingNo. Are these two glitch Pokémon the same or not? In the coding of the game, they are not. None of MissingNo’s forms share the constitution of Bar ‘M Bar. Yet they are defined in the Pokédex – the pantheon of the player’s understanding – in the same place, #000, and therein utter the same cry (Rhydon’s). They share an identical sprite and learn nearly identical moves. They cause the same glitch effects to occur in game. The strongest evidence for seeing them as representations of the same essence is in popular conception: Bar ‘M Bar is frequently referred to as MissingNo, and was the first of many other glitch Pokémon subsumed under the generic description of “MissingNo.” It is almost technical trivia to separate them. And most tellingly for the sake of this investigation, they complete each other’s symbolism. So, they are discrete entities AND they aren’t. The mystery of the coniunctio is thus further embodied in this dual being.   The Lingering Presence Now that we’ve outlined the taxonomy of MissingNo+, we can begin to look at the consequences. The two most well-known effects of meeting MissingNo are the Item Duplication Glitch and the Hall of Fame glitch. Item duplication occurs after any encounter with MissingNo or Bar ‘M Bar, regardless of whether the player has fled, caught the creature, or knocked it out. When examining the bag after the battle, the player will find that the 6th item in their inventory has been increased by 128 (although this does not occur if the value is already over 128). Given that a player can reorder their inventory at will, this was a famous exploit for getting hundreds of Rare Candies in order to quickly max out any Pokémon’s level, or generating 128 Master Balls ensuring the capture of any creature you meet from then on. Indeed, this is the most common reason for performing the old man glitch, and likely the critical factor in MissingNo’s renown. And what fuel for the legend: a bizarre seaside vision that grants a wish. Another popular exploit is duplicated fossils, normally given only once per game, so that you could resurrect 100 Kabuto, Omanyte, or Aerodactyl. But any item is fair game: you could effectively wish for infinite wealth, health, lives, moves, defense, speed, power, whatever. You hooked the magic fish, what you do with it is up to you.

The experience also corrupts your Hall of Fame data, replacing some of the images with blocks of static, and scrambling names and values of your champion Pokémon. This is a largely inconsequential effect, but it has symbolic weight. Each Pokémon that exists is a symbol of some kind, representing an attitude, or an attribute, and as you go along meeting them and incorporating them into yourself, they accumulate further personal meanings. So consciously or unconsciously, the Pokémon that accompany you to your final battle are in some sense a mirror of the player: they represent your priorities, values, and appreciations. These are the ones canonized by the game in the Hall of Fame. MissingNo then transforms this composite irreparably. This act can be seen a psychic realignment of the player-character.

Summary

Let’s imagine the story of meeting MissingNo as a fairly tale. The protagonist, Red, talks to an Old Man at the edge of town who shows him how to catch a worm. Next, Red flies through the skies to a volcanic island. There on the Eastern shore of the island, he swims the coast. Attracted by his name, some number of foreign beasts appear before him, culminating in the appearance of a totally unexpected entity which defies easy categorization (though there are partial physical descriptions in some versions of the story). He then defeats, captures, or flees from the apparition. Then looking in his bag, he finds some object or capacity of his has been magnified to a superhuman extent. Finally, we find that some of his major psychic precepts have been mysteriously and radically altered for evermore.

So what then what was the encounter? An alien? A deity or holy ghost? The pneuma which animates life? Is it an unconscious complex made manifest? A psychotic break? The disorienting eruption of the Real? Is it a highly coherent and synchronous glitch-experience, or a pareidoliac imprint in static? I don’t believe that any of these answers satisfy in themselves. Like the images of MissingNo, the interpretations are interdependent, forming points along the circumference of a subject whose middle cannot be approached by the intellect. What is easier to parse is the influence of MissingNo on the fanbase. MissingNo is so famous as a glitch that it has become the common shorthand for any glitch Pokémon throughout the series. MissingNo and Bar ‘M Bar have inspired not only countless tall tales, but tons of fiction, fanart, merch, and a featured article on Bulbapedia. Using our imagination, it is rather easy to place MissingNo into the narrative context of the game, conceptualizing it any of the above ways. As much as this being seems keen to disrupt our in-game immersion, it seems equally willing to stride across our imagination, as though it were walking a bridge leading into the world of Pokémon, or our own reality, or wherever its place of origin.

[lostsummerdayz]

Syrup and The Ultimate Sweet: A delicious sugary snack; Short, Sweet, and Satisfying

By Nay Holland

Right off the heels of their visual novel showcase, Ratalaika Games released one of their seven visual novels yesterday, Syrup and The Ultimate Sweet, developed by NomnomNami.

The original game was developed for YuriJam 2015, a two-month game jam that featured visual novels and dating sim based around, as the name would imply, Yuri or “girl love.” Five years later, it would see a widespread console release on all major handhelds and consoles. This is a review for the Nintendo Switch version, courtesy of Ratalaika Games themselves!

Perhaps the one thing that drew me in was the expressive art and vibrant colors, all of which helped define a specific character. Syrup’s aesthetic is green, so her hair, the lollipop she eats, and her speech is green. The candy golem is as pink and red as pink and red can be, so her speech reflects that as well. The story and art were both done by the talented NomnomNami herself, while the immersive music was done by Mock Off.

So. What is Syrup and The Ultimate Sweet?

The official description of the game is as follows.

In a magical town there lives a candy alchemist, Syrup, who one day discovers a candy golem in her basement. Where did she come from? Who could've made her? Go find out!

Featuring a memorable cast of colorful characters and 10 unique endings. Your choices affect the story! Will Syrup achieve her dream of making the Ultimate Sweet, or will she meet a much more tragic fate...?

It may sound like a simple premise and to some degree it is. However, there is a lot of underlying depth that took me by surprise. I’ve completed the game from cover to cover, viewed all ten endings, and was overall left impressed. It was short and sweet, sure, but it was a feel good story that left me with something to think about. The importance of being kind to others, treating others with respect, owning up to your own negative insecurities, and promoting self-growth. All of these themes and more showed themselves throughout the story.

This will round out the spoiler-free section of the review. In short, I recommend giving this game a try. Whether it’s on the official NomnomNami page or on the many different console choices available. Past this point, there will be complete breakdown and critique of the game itself based on my personal experience!

Now then. Let’s indulge in the sugary succulence!

Syrup is a skilled alchemist who uses her craft to create succulent treats for her candy shop. While traveling into the basement of her candy shop, she comes across a candy golem whose first request is to “eat her.”

Awkward pleasantries and introductions aside, Syrup’s assistant, Pastille sees the golem and encourages Syrup to befriend her. Naturally, upon seeing a sentient talking candy girl who requests Syrup to devour her, Syrup is reluctant to take her in. Eventually, she warms up to the idea and the candy girl becomes the shop assistant. Syrup eventually gives the candy golem the name, Gumdrop.

Syrup immediately has suspicions that a witch created the candy golem as it was the only logical reasoning for Gumdrop’s creation. Because of this, Syrup immediately suspects Butterscotch, a witch who lives on the other side of town, to be the one responsible for the creation. Upon arriving at her house, Butterscotch neither confirms nor denies that she created Gumdrop, but Syrup has pressing matters on hand.

See, there’s this treat called the “Ultimate Sweet,” which is such a delicacy that whoever eats it will sing praises of the gods and shout to the heavens above. However, no alchemist was able to successfully create the candy. It’s revealed that part of this reason is due to the final ingredient located on top of a cold frigid mountain that only those proficient in magic can hope to survive.

The only woman who Syrup knows that is proficient in magic is none other than Butterscotch herself. The very same woman who Syrup is the most disagreeable with. However, she’s able to put her differences aside if only to use Butterscotch’s ability to secure the final ingredient.

After run-ins with hostile wild wolves and a friendly anthropomorphic wolf by the name of Treat, the unlikely duo ends up finding the final ingredient. However, in doing so, they end up entrapped in an ice cave. It is here that Butterscotch reveals her secret. She has been keeping a false appearance in order to maintain her own self-worth and in keeping the false appearance, her magic has been subdued the entire time.

It is at this moment that Syrup’s ego, paranoia, and overall cold exterior begins to defrost. She realizes that part of the reason for Butterscotch’s insecurities are due to the fear of Syrup’s hatred for her. Once Syrup finally acknowledges this and sets to right the wrongs that she made, Butterscotch is able to calm down. Due to her calmness and assurance in life, she’s able to melt the ice wall away and return back to town.

As repayment for Syrup’s kindness, Butterscotch reveals that she has been spying on Syrup via a crystal ball and to inform her to watch the crystal ball in privacy to get the answers that she sought the entire time.

Upon viewing the crystal ball, she learns that it was Pastille who created Gumdrop. The intention was that Pastille wanted Syrup to make friends. Being that Syrup was cold to all of the residents, Gumdrop’s creation was made as a last ditch effort to help Syrup find a friend.

At this point, Gumdrop intrudes on Syrup and Gumdrop, who was told not to reveal who created her, admitted-without-admitting that Pastille did indeed create her. At this point, Syrup has an understanding that Gumdrop, despite the awkward introduction and Gumdrop wanting Syrup to eat her, “was created with Syrup in mind.”

Syrup and Gumdrop decide to take on adventures alone while building up their friendship together in the process. Pastille understands this, happy that his plan was a success, while Butterscotch is saddened that her former-rival-turned-friend is gone. However, she’s content to see Syrup in a much better state than how she started.

That concludes the Gumdrop route.

I mentioned that there were a total of ten different endings. To break this down further, there are five normal endings representing each of the characters featured in the main menu. As you complete their route, their appearance changes to reflect this. Gumdrop, for example, wears an overcoat.

The other five endings are the bad endings. These range from Pastille flat out leaving Syrup altogether, deeming her a lost cause to Butterscotch and her cat familiar, Toffee, taking over Syrup’s shop after she refuses to work with the latter due to their use of magic in their sweets.

These are the endings that you acquire when give into Syrup’s negative traits to the utmost extreme. Take an earlier scene where Syrup and Butterscotch are trapped in the ice cave. The ideal choice is Syrup forgiving Butterscotch for being who she is. You do have a choice to give in to Syrup’s frustrations by declaring that she hates Butterscotch for getting them into this mess.

In certain route paths, this choice leaves the two of them, frustrated with each other, to sit in silence as they inevitably freeze to death. In other routes, they are saved from an “outside source.” (later revealed to be Pastille using his magic to melt the ice)

If the latter happens, then Syrup has one last chance to make amends with Butterscotch, who approaches her while still feeling bad about all that has happened. The actual canon choice at this point is to forgive her.

If Syrup still holds onto the bitterness into her heart, she ends up dying due to implied pneumonia. This is the “worst end,” as she dies alone with coldness in her heart.

There’s one more “bad” ending and it’s so obvious that I ended up getting this ending first purely by accident. It’s an ending you can get within two, count ‘em, two choices. You decide to actually eat poor Gumdrop right in the beginning of the game. As you’re doing it, the text that follows is meant to fill the player with regret. 

You essentially just ate your friend’s creation who is sentient enough to know that she is being eaten. At the end of the day, all she wanted was to be friends with Syrup, but, well, that is one way to go about it. 

Right, so, now that all of the sad endings are out of the way. Back to the main endings.  I mentioned Gumdrop’s route first because I feel it may be the “canon” route, although each of the routes have their own merit. However, Gumdrop’s ending wasn’t the first ending I got.

After eating Gumdrop, I decided to play the game for real, answering how I feel Syrup would answer along the way. Early on in the story you have the choice to give Gumdrop to Butterscotch and Toffee. After a while Syrup realizes that it was probably cruel to do such a thing, so she goes to retrieve her only to find that Butterscotch was eating Gumdrop!

It’s almost as if this was mocking me for my blunder from earlier.

Syrup ends up saving Gumdrop and re-crafts her missing body parts, while deciding to keep her hair short.

The game continues on as normal, although the crystal ball scene plays a bit different. In this route, Syrup feels betrayed that Pastille would hide the fact that he’s a witch from her. Rather than succumbing to her earlier negative traits, she reflects on the budding relationship she has with Butterscotch and declares it’s best to make amends with her. After all, everything involving Butterscotch’s insecurities were a byproduct of Syrup’s cold attitude.

In the end, Syrup teaches Butterscotch how to make candies and she starts selling candy on the side. Syrup and Pastille reaches an understanding with each other, with the latter just happy that she was finally able to befriend her rival. Perhaps even form a budding romance if the text is anything to go by! Butterscotch ending achieved.

There’s also an ending where Syrup doesn’t look at the crystal ball. In some routes, it’s flat out told through Syrup that she has an idea on what the crystal ball would show her, meaning she had suspicions that Pastille was a witch the entire time. However, no matter the route, if Syrup doesn’t look at the crystal ball, she convinces some investors to invest in the shop. She then spends the rest of her life wealthy yet remains distant to everyone. This is Syrup’s ending.

I feel like this is neither a good nor a bad ending. Just as simple a “normal” ending if this game had one. Syrup may very well realize that Pastille wasn’t completely honest with her, but she doesn’t care. She just gets even by making profits instead. Money is a strong motivator after all, but is it the best one?

There’s a hidden Toffee ending which follows the exact same path as the Butterscotch ending, yet a bonus scene plays. Toffee wants Syrup to take them to Treat to thank her for taking care of their master, Butterscotch. These scenes are short, but it expands on Toffee’s characterization.

There’s a scene where Toffee asks Syrup a simple question. Is Toffee a boy or a girl in Syrup’s eyes.

At this point I never got to think about Toffee’s gender, so for this question to arrive, it took me off guard as much as it took Syrup. When Toffee revealed that they were agender, it made sense.

A funny touch is that if you go back to this scene later, you have the option to indeed choose “Neither,” in which Toffee will ask if you’re a time traveler. I want to think in my purest of hearts that this is a Life is Strange reference. If so, kudos to you Nami!

Toffee’s entire characterization, from deliberately foregoing cat puns when it’s time for serious conversation, to their gender reveal, offers a hidden layer of depth for a supporting character. A depth that one wouldn’t be aware of if they didn’t take the time to get to know them.

As I unlocked this Toffee ending, I realized that Syrup and the player are one in the same. Characters reveal themselves, such as Butterscotch’s insecurities, Pastille being a witch, and Toffee being Toffee, the more they feel they can trust Syrup.

In order for others to trust Syrup, Syrup has to trust herself. The only way to trust herself is to look at her negative traits, acknowledge them, learn from them, and grow as a person.

With this new knowledge of Syrup and how the player is meant to view her, I felt I was ready to take on the final ending. Pastille’s.

Syrup confronts Pastille for keeping this a secret from Syrup as Syrup considers Pastille family. Pastille was at a crossroads. He didn’t know how Syrup would react and didn’t mean any ill intention. He just wanted to see someone who he cared for as a sibling figure happy. Syrup acknowledges Pastille’s witch-hood and offers a partnership.

In the end, Pastille’s magical powers to seek out rare ingredients and Syrup’s alchemy in making delicious treats proved to be a powerful combination. Not only were they both renowned for their accomplishments, but the two of them couldn’t be any closer.

I feel, with Pastille’s ending being the final ending that I unlocked, it was the perfect way to close the book on this visual novel. It took me about an hour to reach all the endings, so it is a bit on the short side. However, while short, it is indeed sweet. I was able to learn about all five central characters within the contained space that the story gives.

No piece of information was lost on me. I felt it was due to this that I felt some of the dialogue choices sting more. In the end, if you look at it from the perspective of watching Syrup’s growth affecting her relationships with everyone around her, then it’s a feel-good story to compliment the colorful art and music.

[johnishere-blog]

Old Freight Depot

Somewhere in a far away land in the 1940’s….

“Rat-a-tat-tat” came the sound as a hand laid a rap on the screen door as it reverberated and rattled against its framing. Steps could be heard making their way for the door shortly afterwards. “Just a minute.” The unique knock could be that of only one but yet familiar person.

Of the stops on his route as a railroad messenger boy, this was one the few stops around town he enjoyed if not looked forward to. The Mister of this house was never one he had to chase down. Young Frank just out of school would often have to wade along riverbanks calling out the name of some brakeman trying his luck at the local fishing hole or stick his head in the doors of local stores, barbershops, car shops, pool halls or eateries to see if a conductor or engineer on his call list could be found. If an employee on this list couldn’t be found, it meant starting back over at square one with another exhaustive search for the next pulse holder. It could be a troublesome puzzle to put together but it was a matter of first come first serve with no predictability. “Why wasn’t I called?” The counter question was “Why couldn’t you be found?” Luck of the draw for better or worse.

Frank got along well with most of the flock under his steed. The job was an eye-opening experience for him. One minute he seemed shy and too immature for his job yet other moments he could out foul tongue many of the local tavern patrons and charge into places that they, let alone angels, would fear to tread.

Interrupting a family picnic could either be pleasantly cordial or could end with a volcano of cursing if not the occasional fist throwing by the recipient and dodging by the deliverer. He was just a mere delivery boy but because he was the first representation of the ball and chain they signed up for, he caught more than his share of flak. Though sympathetic, his face represented an intrusion. It was deciding whatever face he had to wear at any given moment that could be taxing more so than the long walks around town out on the hunt for another name but he was slowly adapting to the terrain in which he found himself deployed. He wasn’t bipolar. His job just had a bipolar atmosphere and outsiders were clueless. Maybe they had no idea just how lucky they were.

The worst for Frank, however, was the search for none other than one Walter Baum, a man who cared little for a rigid organized lifestyle of living by the clock. This was a man who lived by his own conceptions and if there were misconceptions in between then playing the victim was his preferred escape route no matter what side of the fence he was on at any given moment. He wreaked of stale cigarette smoke, flat beer and any other odorous trademark of the places where he called home in the concrete and neon jungles. To Walt paying rent meant spending money on bills which he saw as an encroachment into his frivolous lifestyle. He said fun was all that concerned him most. It appeared instead that he wanted to forget something.

The smell of repulsive body odor was just a small glimpse to his self-indulgence. Some of the local homeless would feel a bit better off than to be victims of the circumstances that this guy needlessly put himself through. The career he held was as unpredictable as he was. Walt was a well known drunk around town and to locate him for a call meant going to shady parts of town searching the local bars. If not in one of the local sipping troughs, his claim to fame as a ladies man could be waining. This then meant a trip to the obscure whore house in search of him nursing his self inflicted wounds at cost. The hollowed out walls Walt called home seemed to host the finest recent graduates of the nearby Pine Acres Correctional facility or at best their future clientele. One could be certain that many graduates would go back for further enlightenment.

Walt somehow intermingled with them and yet was never caught up in his cohorts lawless shenanigans and sent away to share bunks with them. Some claimed he was a mediator amongst them yet given his exploits many would beg to differ. Walt played the devils advocate for his own interest. He always seemed to have a ready supply of greenbacks or the name of some local eye candy on hand to dissuade a messenger boy of “having found his presence” so he could continue living it up.

Sometimes his drunken incoherence upon being encountered made putting him on duty a bad proposition. This could go on for several days on end. Walt wasn’t a particularly bad person but he had different ways than the other railroaders of coping with the effects of the job but his methods caused his reputation to extend beyond himself him a bit.

“Well hi there. Won’t you come in?”

“Mrs. Loretta, good afternoon to you. Smells like a nice dinner you have cooking. As much as I’d love to hang around until dinner is served I’m quite busy today.” Loretta glances down at Franks small satchel at his side bristling with envelopes awaiting delivery.

“Oh heavens, I would say so yes!”

Frank double checked the writing on the envelope that read…

“F. T. Strawbridge 217 Sycamore Street”

He handed it to Loretta saying “It’s the Beltmoore. He should be home in time for festival Sunday. Could you sign here please?”

Once a signature was received on the company crew call roster sheet, Franks job had been done. He couldn’t ring the doorbell and run leaving an envelope at a door step no matter how much he’d love to do so in most cases. Passing the buck to another blindly would have been better than Christmas or at best rivaling a sinners prayer. The employees signature was required as this showed they were alive, functioning and breathing enough to sign their name thus signifying their acceptance and acknowledgment that they would report for work. In the 27 years of the Strawbridge calls, there was never an issue. Loretta’s signature was as good as gold in place of her husbands.

“Thank you, Loretta. If you happen to have any leftovers I’d gladly accept them at the festival. Hope to see you and Felix and the family there.”

Mrs. Strawbridge waved a farewell to Frank who left for his scaling of the town for another name on the roster and closed the door behind herself. She ambled back up to the bedroom to find Felix sitting at the edge of the bed groggily rubbing his eyes and yawning as he said “Well let me see the prize winnings today. Only Frank has a knock that sounds like a fat kid tiptoeing through a field of crunchy dried out daisies. Loretta, I do believe if you could learn his knock you could awaken my dead carcass to attend church with you some mornings. By the second day of his knocking, I knew it couldn’t be anyone else aside from him. Any other knock would have bored me into a deeper sleep.”

“Well, they are putting in the new telephone wires just a few blocks away. The storms last week took a lot of the phone lines out. Hopefully, ours will be back in service next week. Seems weird seeing railroads using crew call boys again. I’m sure as they make more and more headway poor Frank will have to find a new line of work. Maybe he will enlist in the Navy. He said he had been thinking about it and their motto ‘Join The Navy And See The World’ had appealed to him.”

“Dear. Doing what he’s doing right now….he’s seeing things he wouldn’t see no matter how many times he sailed around the earth. Especially if he gets out looking for Walt.”

Felix reached for his glasses as Loretta handed him the envelope oblivious to the plight of the one who delivered it. He asks how her day has been as he opens the envelope and pulled out the paper. Atop it was the company logo of a 5 pointed star representing the 5 states served by his employer’s rails. He giggled softly as he wondered what a Jewish Star of David for a logo would look like being the “Starlight Route” recently bought a connecting shortline in an adjacent state bringing them up to 6. His great grandfather would approve.

“The 136….” Felix said to himself in puzzlement.

“Felix I believe he said the Beltmoore.”

Felix glanced up at the ceiling then to the floor as he struggled to put two and two together from his just awakened slumber. The railroad gave their trains numbers but the locals and railroaders gave them names to better understand their whereabouts and “where’a’to’s.” Rarely did the numbers mean anything to the outsiders so the namesakes helped things along.

“Well, that won’t be a bad nights worth of work. Just hope the rain holds off until the morning. Those crossties and roadbed were already beyond sponge stage from soaking up the previous week’s rain.”

A distant train whistle blew and from the sounds of it, it was not the one Felix would take the helm of. Another shouldn’t be heard for another few hours giving Felix no sense of urgency. A look at his orders on the paper confirmed his thoughts. Frank wouldn’t knock too soon and yet even though his on duty time was a few hours away the tempting thought of another hours rest would do little but result in useless tossing and turning.

“Well come on down and I’ll put some coffee on for you. Madeleine and the kids are here. Little John has been raving all afternoon how he wants to see his pa paw. He wants to hear some of your ‘tales from the rails’ “ Loretta says laughingly.

“Glad I didn’t want another nap,” Felix thought to himself in light of the circumstances but was glad of the news of company before work.

After a few moments, Felix came downstairs into the kitchen as his wife and daughter sat at the table with plates already in place. The grandfather passed a tall grandfather clock, an assortment of pictures of his honeymoon, vacations, family and of fellow Marine Corps buddies continuing past well-crafted hand made in America furniture from a shop just down the road a piece. His grandson and granddaughter giggled as they played with Felix’s cocker spaniel, Wendy. Felix poured a cup of coffee and sat at the head of the table as a light Indian summers breeze flowed through curtains in an opened window.

“Kids, come on, s….”

He hushed Madeline’s command bringing a puzzled look to her face. There was no need to rush right into the early dinner. Time was available for talk and catching up.

“Shhhhh, let ’em play a little longer.”

She smiled and rested her chin in the palm of her hand, fingers resting along her cheek while looking at her father as her black hair rested lazily on her shoulders.

“So, how’ve ya been dad?”

A glance over his glasses as he sipped down his coffee and crossed his eyes caused the two women to burst into laughter.

“Ahhh come on pa. Surely it hasn’t been that crazy!”

He placed the coffee cup down and let out a giggle.

“Nah, all is well. Just been busy lately. There’s always something to do around this place. Always something needing tending too. Just trying to do my part to keep your mother from being run ragged.”

Loretta smiled as she got up and walked to the stove and began bringing dinner to the table.

Felix glanced in his wife’s direction and back over to Madeleine. “So how’s life on your end?”

“Fine…fine…” said half-heartedly.

“Audrey and John have been doing well in school and the new job is going well. Mr. Wallace gave me a raise and says I can work all the hours I want if need be. With the holidays coming up there’ll be no shortage there. He and his wife have been most generous. They’ve been understanding and working around my night classes. I only have one more semester.”

Glancing over at the two youngest, Madeline continued. “They have seemed to accept it a little. While they were in school last week, I….”

Her soft red lips began to quiver as she began to fight back a sudden unexpected tear. She told Felix in a barely controlled sob, “I miss Donnie so much.”

Loretta eased to her daughter’s side to lightly console her and to shield the glances of the two littlest ones in the room away from their mother’s condition. Their laughter continued as Wendy ran back and forth across the living room unwittingly diverting their attention from their grief-stricken remaining parent caught in the snares of a seemingly empty questionable future. For the moment Wendy was welcomed comedy relief.

“I lay in the bed at night reaching for someone who isn’t there and stare at the ceiling or out the window into at the stars. It seems no matter how deep I bury my head into the pillow they still hear my sobs. They come in asking me what is wrong and I don’t know what to tell them. Its been almost a year now and no matter how much I pace the floors praying for an answer or seeking hope I just come up empty handed. Why the hell did…”

Madeleine drifted off into even deeper tears.

Felix extended his hand across the table to Madeleine, taking her grip in his, he softly kissed and softly squeezed her hand rubbing his thumb slowly back and forth over the top of it.

Regaining her composure yet looking into the table as if into an abyss she softly said “Mom…dad…your help the past year has meant so much to me. Thank you.” She was afraid to look up and make eye contact for fear of another rush of sudden emotions.

Felix leaned back and took another sip of coffee. “Maggie….that help will continue to be there as long as your mother and I have breath in our bodies. We can’t begin to imagine what it must be like with Donald gone. But rest assured our help for you will never cease.”

After a pause, Felix opted to Maggie, “If you need to there are two empty rooms right up those stairs there behind you. I seem to recall one once being yours and the other one belonging to that knuckleheaded brother of yours. If you need to, you, John and Audrey are welcome to stay with us. Your mother and I have already discussed this. If it’s to help shoulder the burden of your loss or if it just feels right….you can stay as long as you want or need to. With your brother gone, my erratic long hours and days away from home…and well…now with Donald being gone…I’m sure you could both use one another’s company…”

Madeleine slowly raised her head looking up at her mother and over to her father. “Thank you. Things are ok but we’ll see. Thank you for a safe harbor.”

Assured Madeleine was ok, Loretta went back to prepping the dinner table as Felix got up to let Wendy outside. The children filed to the table as Felix came back to have a seat. The time ticked on.

After dinner was finished little John walked over to his grandfather gathering all of his work gear. He said nothing but watched intensely as Felix slipped on his work shoes and grabbed his shiny leather satchel containing rule books, time tables, forms, pens, pencils, one days worth of clothes and several outdated but interesting copies of National Geographic. About that time Madeleine came to gather John. John looked up at his mom. “But pa paw was going to tell me a story.” Felix winked at his daughter and nodded.

“John, I tell you what little buddy, I have to get down to the station and be ready to take a train out. So sadly I won’t have the time to do that but…”

Felix dug into his satchel and pulled out a new cellophane wrapped copy of The Little Golden Books “The Little Engine That Could” and handed it to John who shrieked with joy jumping up and down. He had bought it some time ago and was keeping it ready for just such an occasion.

“When pa paw can’t be here to tell you any stories perhaps mom or grandma will see fit to read you a few pages from this. That sound like a pretty good deal little fella?”

Madeleine held her arm out as John ran to his mother’s side while Audrey was already on the other side. Felix wrapped them all in a hug as he excused himself to grab the last of his things. Loretta escorted them out as Felix fills his thermos with coffee. He glances out the window looking out at the ensemble of his family huddled together at Madeleine’s car. Looking on as his family went about their business while work kept him frustratingly away at arm’s length was nothing new. This was a scene he had repeated time and time again in his career. Yet Felix had just as well learned long ago to accept it. Luckily the family did too. Others weren’t as fortunate or conscientious. He turns his focus to gathering lunch from the suppers leftovers. Madeleine looks into the window seeing her fathers silhouette. She kisses her mother’s cheek and drives away.

“My word! You ate enough to sink a battleship earlier.” exclaimed Loretta as she closed the door looking on at Felix placing one piece of fried chicken after another in his lunchbox.

“What has gotten into you lately? Have you gotten a tapeworm?”

“Dear I would think at 49 my tapeworm days are quite well behind me.”

The couple looks at one another across the length of the kitchen and laugh as they walk towards one another. Loretta takes her man in her arms in a deep embrace.

“Do you think you’ll be back in time for the festival this weekend?

“Oh, I should be. If all goes well I should be back home tomorrow night around 10 or 11. When does that thing start again? I can’t remember.”

“10 Sunday morning.”

“Ok. I should be able to.”

After a deep sigh and kiss on his wife’s cheek Felix puts on his hat and grabs his thermos, lunchbox, and satchel then heads out the door in an exchange of I love you’s.

Felix starts down the sidewalk with this work and personal belongings for other means along with extra baggage in his hands as he walks to the depot a couple of miles away in town.

DuPlois is home to about 17,500 and its largest employer outside of the railroad is the old Westinghouse lightbulb and fixture facility. Both run 365/24/7 except holidays and both equally kept the town afloat as they dueled in noise making through out the little towns concert and brick blocked walls. Most of DuPlois offerings lie along the stretch of Highway 25 called “Main Street” that runs east/west before swinging back north at the edge of town near the river. Either side of it more or less could be shoppers galore. Jewelry, clothing, home redecoration and sportsman stores and the like along with book, musical instrument and record stores held things down a bit. The pleasant stream is rippled a bit by the mortgage and loan offices. Even after most of the businesses have closed for the day potential prospectors can be found window shopping. Felix would usually allow himself an extra few minutes time in his walk to work to gaze into the displays in the shop windows and loved doing so after many had closed as to not have to deal with a pushy salesman or eager loan officers preying upon ones hardships only to bury them further. Commission has to be made somewhere somehow. Sometimes he deliberately contemplated using a fly swatter to keep the pushy at bay. The parking meter maid plying the sidewalks felt the same vibe only glancing at his reflection in the shop widows to break his monotony to see if his foot bouncing kept things slim and trim. While most of the goings on around town could be heard at local bait shops, the bus stop, the depot, some hair salon or any given church steps, this was the financial epicenter. To Felix it felt like a cesspool.

The bell to the courthouse clock makes its announcement that it is 1:00 pm. Felix stops and pulls out his railroad issued pocket watch seeing its 12:57 pm.

He grumbles to himself “Next week it will be off by 4 minutes. Maybe by this time next year, it will be 24 hours off and I can claim an unearned payday or send a replica of myself in.” Tucking his watch in his pocket he walks into the local diner across the street.

“Bob lemme have two sandwiches. One ham and one turkey. Both all the way.”

Tommy Dorsey’s “I’m Getting Sentimental Over You“ plays on the radio as Bob ask “Felix how are things down there on the R and R?”

Felix giggles at Bob’s sarcastic monicker. “Anything but rest and relaxation that’s for sure. Since we acquired the Noxapater & Northern back last fall it’s been hectic. Hopefully, things will even out soon. And they are starting to. Not complaining much. The extra money has been nice indeed. Just glad we aren’t stretched as thin as we were.”

“Yes indeed…” Bob slowly says as he finishes wrapping the last sandwich in wax paper putting it in a brown bag.

“That’ll be 3 and 2 5 there Feely.”

—————————————————————

Felix slides a chair up to the large round gray wooden table located in the break area after placing all his belongings off to the side. If you were joked about and laughed about while being able to take the heat, you were in and welcomed to the table. If you weren’t you were either an unknown, an isolationist or a woeful man who had been excommunicated from their circle. Getting kicked out was easy. Getting back in was almost impossible. At the round table there was no score keeping for the card games but in stature and loyalty which earned you a seat there.

Having a loose tongue, having assed up on the job over and over, not heeding and utilizing the advice of old hand railroaders, showing less than stellar work ethics, betraying a fellow rail brother, trampling over others to become a company man without earning approval and respect beforehand…these were grounds for expulsion. It sometimes took years to get a seat at the table but a moment of stupidity could result in your seat being little more than a mere season ticket. To sit there was a privilege not lightly given. You better be a trustworthy soul that could be counted upon in ethics, ability and mentality. Passing the company pre hire exams was one thing but this was another beast entirely. Proving yourself in the field was harder. A seat would be waiting for you if you got it right. A satanic caricature of Mickey Mouse laid painted in the center of the table. Mickey held a pitch fork in one hand and an unfurled reversed facing scroll in the other that said “Before you sits the highest order of the lowest of the low.” Impaled on his forked tail was of a smug man who could have well been a company official. Maybe it helped keep them honest.

The air was thick with smoke from Lucky Strikes and Chesterfields, the pungent smell of King Edward cigars and Prince Edward pipe tobacco. The sound of click and clacks not of the rails but of balls on the two pool tables just behind them could be heard along with opening and closing Zippo’s. Never mind the playing of dominoes and dice rattling in between. Any gaps in sound were filled in with the shuffling and dealing of cards. The clacking of cue balls were usually made by the outsiders with no place to go. Their table was the pool table. This area was located next to the wash and locker rooms, the constant sounds of shuffling feet from those coming and going from them rounded things out even further.

One could have been forgiven if they mistook the scene for a shady dance hall or watering hole. However this was inside the regional railroad’s main depot that rested on a central division point of several rail lines converging upon it. A sign with the company logo had a statement that said all was fine and well with the arrangements so long as money never changed hands in the act of gambling or affected company operations. On the bottom edge of the sign were some rather tactful statements written countering other corporate points of view. The masses would have revolted if management had tampered in kind with dear old Mickey.

“You gonna draw sometime today? By the time you get around to it, I’ll be drawing my retirement.”

George shrugged off the comment and continued looking around the table at others conquest deciding methodically what move to make next.

“George…honestly…why don’t you go over there to Herb The Turd and take him up on a game of chess. That may be more up to par with your slow speed taking all day to get something done.”

“Bill, do you mean just here at the card table or at the switch as well?”

The table erupted into laughter but that quickly ended when George laid out a straight flush.

George smiled widely with a toothpick on one side of his mouth and a cigarette hanging out of the other. George could be a bit aggravating to work with because he seemed to assess everything about the job. But when it all fell together he could build up or break down a train rather well.

“Well, guys that’s it for me.”

Around the table sat railroaders of various crafts and capacities. It wasn’t uncommon for a few retirees to drift in and hang around as if the depot were a VFW post. This evening was no exception. As George walked out looking to see if his train had arrived the eyes around the table gazed over to one of retired hanger on’s.

“Ellis you sure spend a lot of time around here for someone who said they wanted no part of this mess when they started drawing their pennies.”

“Pennies are right!” Ellis challenged in a gruff bark.

“You pay in a dollar and by the time you retire it may as well be a few pennies that you get back.”

“Awww hush Ellis! No one at home wanna hear you bitching anymore? You’ll run off the new hires. If you haven’t heard we’re short-handed as it stands. If you run them away I’m gonna make your retired ass mark back up on the board!”

“Yeah, Elly. Why aren’t you at home anyway?”

“What for? All I’ve got is that naggy baggy wife of mine and 6 kids….well it was 6 when I last counted.”

“And you wonder how she got that way?!”

“Ok boys. Here here. I know just the thing for him. We need to take up some money for poor old down in his luck Elly. What Elly needs is a television. He needs some entertainment. By gosh, if you put a TV in that house maybe poor ‘ol Margret could get a break from childbearing.”

The room exploded with yet another round of laughter. Felix took off his glasses to wipe away the tears from the result of a hysterical direct hit to his senses. Even Ellis couldn’t help but chuckle at the proposition.

Dale who launched into the comical tirade looked over at Felix exclaiming “Man down!”

The atmosphere around the depot and roundhouse could have an almost prison feel to it. Not in the sense of being locked up. But in the sense of the large concrete and cinder block walls, easy on the eyes green paint though dimly lit, the heavy smell of oil and warm electrical cabinets humming providing power to the adjacent mechanical building.

There were however the foremen, yard masters, train masters, division and district superintendents who may as well been wardens. Understandably a screw up from someone underneath their wings would result in stress. They couldn’t be an everyone everywhere at once person. They had to have faith in their troops in the field. But the troops in the field had to have faith in them. So long as things were an equal measure there was no argument. Gilding the lily.

But it seemed some among the upper echelons were either power hungry and loved to smear their positions in the faces of the ones they guided or tried to brow beat them to their benefit losing touch with reality along the way. A fantasy land pedestal. The higher up you were the more weight your voice had. A broken olive branch meant little. There were plenty among the ‘foremanintendents’ who were all too happy to convey their sentences upon others. Some were fair, some seemed to have been spawned from Satan himself. Others amongst their rank claimed God was showing off when he created them. Resentment and hatred ran rampant on both sides of the wielding swords.

“Anyone here want to clue me in as to what that means?”

Oliver Pope took a draw off his pipe then pointed it to the door leading to the yard office. Felix glanced over and looked above the door to see written in blue chalk..

“ARBEIT MACHT FREI!”

“Well Mr. Pope, I have to say I’m at a loss on this diatribe.”

Pope walked closer and pulled out a note pad and jotted the phrase down.

“You guys can write all the sinister comical messages you want. Have your laughs. But when I find out what this says in Latin you had better hope for the sake of the pen weasel that this isn’t an anti-company statement.”

“I’m sorry you can’t pat Dale on top of the head like a loyal follower but he gyrates a bit when playing that tune.”

Yet another round of laughter filled the entire room united in opinion as the door closed behind a fuming Pope. Their disdain ejected him. His persona was shot down again.

“You’d think being that’s in the same vein seemingly of his managements role model. Surely he ought to know what it is.”

Dale ends playing “Ride Of The Valkyries” on his harmonica as Pope removes his presence. Felix shakes his head cutting his eyes away from Dale.

Felix and Dale get up from the table and walk over to the bulletin and train order boards. Above it is the company clock with the official railroad time displayed which is in use across the railroads of the nation and beyond.

Felix looks down at his pocket watch and over at Dale as he checks his wristwatch then up to the company clock.

“Yep. The county courthouse is off a bit.”

“You too eh?” prods Dale.

“I noticed that earlier on the way in..”

Dale nods in agreement as they both turn for the yard office. They hang around waiting on the clerk to return. Frank is back for a short break in his evening searches. He assures the duo that the other 3 who’ll make up his train crew were notified. Of them, one’s pending presence is still questionable.

“Hey guys, what can I do for ya?”

“Yeah just here to grab the work and train orders for 136. Any idea where she’s at at the moment?”

The clerk walks over asking the dispatcher the last logged position. “Yessir at Cogswell.”

They turn and head back for the roundhouse and walk outside

Two of 136’s new crew, Desmond and Stan walk up to Dale and Felix as they get out of Stan’s car.

“Anyone around here seen Walt? 136 is about 10 miles out.”

Felix pokes his head in the break area as Stan gives Walt’s last known whereabouts.

“When we passed the Red Rooster he was standing outside with some fellas. Looked like he was having quite the time too. He seemed in no hurry but heck you can’t ever tell with that guy if he’s gonna show or not. How in the world ol’ scumbag gets away with what he does is beyond me!”

Desmond offers his take. “He had to done seen some executive or boss doing something they ain’t sposed to be doin’. Good lawd, maybe quite a few of skeletons in the closet he be done seen. I notice though each time he be act up, they like they be scared of him or something. Ain’t no way anyone else would gedda way with that sort’o stuff. Ain’t no way. There ain’t no way.”

Just as Desmond brings his insight to a halt, Walt’s distinctive laugh and cackling could be heard behind them as he came up joking wildly and loudly with a couple of the baggage handlers.

The three men turn to look as Walt carries on with his cajoling with the guy trying to get the bags in the baggage car but being hindered.

Almost having risen from the ground at the trio’s feet, Pope seemed to turn every shade of red possible. He looks Walt up and down who’s far from dressed for duty holding up others going about their work. It seemed as if Pope would self incinerate into ashes and blow away at any second.

“Walt! Get the hell over here boy and leave those men alone. Stop holding up my trains. You’re holding up those men and your scraggly butt is far from ready for work!”

Walt snaps his head around with a confused look on his face.

“Mornin’ the Pappy Pope. Do you see a kid out here? I don’t. Who ya think ya yellin’ at like that?”

“You got a problem with authority? You looking for work?”

“Well…I got a problem with those with a silver spoon up their butt. I have a problem with brown nosed, backstabbing cutthroats who played others like a fiddle to get where they are. Authority. No. No problem with authority here. Authority figures? Anything is plausible.”

Felix shouted as he sprinted up “Walt! Knock it off!”

“Pope if you wanna chop things, why don’t ya take your butt over in those woods there. I’m sure there’s an axe ‘round here somewhere. See if you can figure out what wood to chop out there instead of here! You might even make some friends with the local wildlife. I’m sure some of your forked tongued relatives are slithering around in there.! You sorry m…” The words only ceased so Walt could land a plop of tobacco browned spit at Popes feet.

Felix slid between the two just at the first millisecond of the pause.

“Walt! I said enough!”

Pope folded his arms together angrily glaring back and forth into Felix and Walt’s eyes looking as if a bloodthirsty wolf, the very semblance of what Pope was.

“Lemme tell ya what stank ass. I’m tired of your flippant ass attitude and flippant ass work ethic! You delay another one of my trains so help me you’ll be kicked to unemployment hell. No train was delayed on my part back when my feet were on the ground. From the looks of things hell monkeys could do the job.”

Walt sent a splatter of Beech Nut at Pope’s feet. “Did y’all get whole, sliced or peeled bananas back in your day?”

The whistle of 136 blowing for the crossing just north of the depot calmly quieted the dispute.

Felix grabbed Walt by the arm leading him away to the depot’s platform.

The others watch as Pope walks away fuming. Desmond with his slow heavy Mississippi drawl testifies to the others, “See there. Say I ain’t toldja. Ain’t no way. Ain’t no way.”

As they and others look on in shock and disbelief, others adored the episode that exploded before them. For whatever it was Walt could get away with and why was of no concern to them. They relished that Pope was getting his position made fun of, was being called out to light and more so not behind his back but directly to his face. Pope was known for throwing a fist to assert his alpha status and getting away with it but compared to Walt, it was no contest. The Pope’s best would have been nursery rhyme compared to anything Walt would have done just for mere starters. Walt wasn’t going to be shamed like some kid who had to explain to his parents why he chose shit himself to avoid the gym class he disdained.

Most of the train service crews equally despised both of them but to choose sides meant leaning towards Walt who was the wildest amongst them who’s tirades were true and honest. Pope unleashed his upon the undeserving or to weed out the ones who cared little to placate his inflated persona. This event didn’t need the judge, bailiff, and jury. Both were labeled as being lower than whale shit the deepest depth of the ocean. Seeing the Pope hunkered down was better than a cold beer on a hot summers evening to the on lookers.

Dale walks over to the duo to get things underway as the thunder subsided. Playing cards with apathy had to be done by someone. Differences aside there was a job to be done.

“Walt, go on and get ready and we’ll go over the 136 while you do that.”

As Walt heads inside Dale cuts his eyes to Felix and mutters quietly himself, “Take a bath while you’re at it.”

“If his mouth doesn’t get him thrown outta here then his hygiene certainly could.”

Dale slowly takes a draw from his pipe as he looks over the paperwork and train orders as Stan and Desmond and the previous conductor of 136 stride over. They go over what work is left and what the evenings trip will lay out before them. Felix talks to Harold the fellow departing engineer and head end crew. Walt should be present but as so typical he’s busy with other matters.

After a few moments their huddle breaks as one group heads for the train and the other heads inside for home. As soon Harold opens the door leading into the break area there’s the sound of loud upset voices and the like.

“What in the….?”

“Harold, what is it?”

“Feely, you ain’t gonna believe this.”

Felix sticks his head around the door and looking across the break area into the washroom stands a butt naked Walt scrubbing himself with a bar of soap from a waist high sink with wet soapy hair and no proper way to rinse. Felix drops his head and sighs deeply.

It begins to dawn upon Walt that he’s the center of attention.

“Walt! What in the Sam Hill are you doing?”

“Dale said for me to take a bath or I could lose my job. All the showers in here are full. Just doing my part.”

Walt looks around at the passerby’s.

“Any you got any lizard green? Lustereen?”

“Listerine Walt!”

“Yeah. That stuff. Uncle Dale said my mouth was a problem too.”

——————————————————————————— Once all were aboard Felix knocked off the brakes after the signal to proceed was given.

From both sides of the locomotive cab, Walt and Felix in unison call “Green board” after having gazed at the tricolored lights for several minutes anticipating their next move.

The sound of hissing air fills the cab only for its last remnants of protest to be drowned out by the sudden guttural roar as the engine digs in to move its burden. Felix doesn’t rush things on as a patient hand beats an eager hand any time. Even if it holds together it will scarcely move any meaningful inch. The engine bucks and slips momentarily. Felix is as careful and understanding with the throttle as he is with his own Loretta. Finessing is key. Overdoing things will just break the train apart causing delay and extra work.

A steady stream of smoke and sparks quickly exit the exhaust stacks as things get more vocal yet still slowly responsive. Walt leans out the window looking backwards for any signs of trouble. The two locomotives give their all as they dig in and claw forward. The gut hitting throb sang deeply as the organized chaos began to put on its show. The slack between cars tightened as wheel after wheel began to move. The snap of draft gear, couplers snapping together, clacks of wheels hitting joints and hollow booms from empty cars in the train began to fill the air. The parade had begun. The metal snake is coming to life.

Felix kept an eye on the ammeter only adding further fuel to the caged beast as the needle dropped comfortably away from the red. The snake was writhing.

Stan’s voice comes over the radio, “Rolling on the tail end” as Desmond can be heard mumbling in the background. The ace in the hole had been found. Old Sure Hand had done it again. In all of his years of getting a train out and over the road, Felix never busted a train in half no matter the territory, standing still or with an ill handling train. No one train was the same but Felix knew better than to be over eager or just plain stupid with his hand at the throttle. He never felt he had an image to upkeep nor did he ever dabble in competition with others among his rank. He was just that good at what he did.

With knowledge in hand that his train is in one piece Felix notches out the throttle a little more. His eyes dart from ammeter, the track ahead and speedometer while slapping the bell ringer in and blowing for the crossing just south of the roundhouse. He tips his hat at a few lookers on standing in a trackside parking lot. Any kids who weren’t watching were aspiring of other careers. To the kids who looking on in awe, these guys were their heroes. All the comic book heroes other kids emulated were nothing compared the rulers of the steel beast. They were their masters of the universe. Somewhere inside they couldn’t wait to grow up and shine the rails themselves.

As the train reaches 10 miles per hour Felix notches back on the throttle and holds at 10 as they waddle out of the yard, engine swaying side to side along with the occupants of its seats.

Felix notices a stick of blue chalk.

“Who’s is that?” as he glares at it rolling around on the floor.

“Beats me!”

He looks over at Walt frantically feeling around outside of his pockets to see if his blue saber was still there.

“Walt? You got some kind of an itch or something? I told you about picking those bad apples hanging around Eden.”

“Feely….just put your hands back on the steering wheel and drive.”

“Pope said you’re handy work was written in Latin. We didn’t tell him any different.”

They both smirk as the train rolls out of the yard.

\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\

Once the tail end of 136 clears the confines of the yard at DuPlois, Stan’s voice comes over the radio giving confirmation. Once that staticky crackle goes silent Felix leans into the throttle gaining momentum for an eventual climb down the rails. Despite pulling only a 51 car train, any momentum would help as Felix would have to battle an ascending S curve a few miles out of DuPlois which began a gradual dive at the other end tapering off into a long straight flat run for most of the way.

Behind the 136 is the pride of the company, their passenger train The Bluebird but known as the “BB” for short to many. More than one celebrity and a handful of Presidents had ridden the BB as the train was renowned for its class, luxury and service and none of the companies other passenger trains held the prestige of this torch bearer.

Any other time the lowly 136 would have waited for the BB to depart DuPlois and slither out behind it. However a delay a few towns back had it running far enough behind that the 136 was told to make Elmstadt siding and hold there some 40 miles away as the BB should be catching up by that point. It was all up to Felix.

Felix pulls one more notch into the growling beast as his train enters into first leg of the S curve. As the snake threads itself through the steel ribbons Walt again leans out the window looking back to the rolling wheels behind him for any signs of trouble. Just as the train curves into the other direction he tells Felix all was well. Felix begins toying with the air and throttle, manipulation of both as needed as his train starts it’s decent downgrade.

Felix looks back at his train anxious to see the caboose come out onto the straight away onto the flat straight away. When he turns back around there will be more throttle and no air brakes for the rest of the way until Elmstadt siding.

“Stan? Y’all hunkered down back there?”

“Yessiree we are.”

Felix throws the throttle wide open. With the BB breathing down their back this is the stretch that will give the 136 the rare opportunity to run at speeds reserved purely for company varnish.

Before their target siding lies the town of Elmstadt proper. As a coincidence 136 just happens to be polishing the rails at the exact same time the tardy Bluebird otherwise would be.

Before the station lies a curve with where a highway crossing runs interference.

Being a Friday evening the station platform is jammed with eager passengers ready to leave# the confines of small town life and head for the concrete and neon jungles or just to go elsewhere to simply get away or even further to put something behind them hoping to find another something somewhere beyond. The Bluebird was their savior for better or worse.

Almost on cue the grade crossing lights at the highway began to flash their message as the bell began to testify its warning. The passengers rushed to the edge of the platform to ready to board their savior.

Instead of the BB that would be slowing as it rounded the corner they were greeted with a speeding freight.

Felix laid into the horn blaring against the onrushing wind as the train roared around the curve drawing a bead on the station and platform. Before anyone had any scant chance of rushing back, the 136 descended upon them as if a beast sprung loose from the depths of hell. So much for their savior.

Walt looked back as they sped past in concern for the masses safety but laughed hysterically.

“Walt? What’s so funny?!”

Struggling to regain his composure he replied to Felix’s inquiry…

“In a swirl of newspapers and hats blown off heads I do believe I saw every shade of underskirts there could be from all those dresses flying up! It looked like the paper boy exploded in a clothing store!”

////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

After having allowed the Blue Bird to stampede past them, the 136 ambles on into the low evening light as it arrives at Phoenix Creek to make pick up and set outs for a nearby industry. Stan and Desmond climb down from their perches into the thick oppressive humid summer evening to begin their first part of work as fireflies dance aimlessly casting their lights into the nearing darkness. After a few minutes a man, woman and their daughter come out from a tent in the woods and up to the tracks looking up to the cab of the locomotive.

Walt steps down from the engine and turns looking up as Felix hands down a bag full of food taken from home by himself and others among the crew. As Felix follows Walt, the small family walks closer. Walt passes off the bag and a $20 bill from his own pocket.

“Guys we really appreciate it. How we’d made it without you we don’t know. We hate to ask anymore of you considering all you’ve done.”

“Don’t worry about it. That’s what we do.”

Ben’s wife and daughter carried the care packages back to their tent as he and the others look on. Its a half lit area thick with trees and heavy kudzu and on days like today with heavy clouds, one could never know if it were just after sunrise or just before sunset unless they had a watch. For those among the woods here, telling time was set only by campfires set to cook the 3 daily meals and at best just once was a moment too few and far between. That was only when time meant the most to them. Smelling only fresh blooming honey suckles instead of sizzling bacon or boiling stew let the crew of 136 know that their offerings had arrived at a needed moment.

Ben had been a fellow rail brother who lost his job with the railroad. With 7 years of service on the rails, he was never late, performed his duties with excellence and without grumble. For two years in a row right up to his termination he was deemed best employee on his district. One day as he reported to work he was fired and no reason was given. The matter was a mystery to everyone. Having lost his job and fallen on hard times during an economic downturn, he was unable to find work of any meaningful kind and looking further abroad was impossible. One by one the dominos fell until he and his family became squatters roaming the land. Eventually they ended up living along the tracks with a few others in search of work.

During a late night switching move, Ben creeped up out of the darkness upon Desmond and Stan. Looking for food and seeking employment he was desperate but his approach scared the two workers so bad they stuck him down beating him until he questioned aloud with a voice familiar to them if this is how they treated all rail brothers. Realizing their mistake and shining their lanterns upon him, they stood him up and brushed him off amongst a flurry of apologies. Shoot first and ask questions later had became the law of the land in the area riddled with economic woes and shady dwellers. They knew of Ben from another local railroad but in the inky darkness he could just as well been another over eager panhandler ready to make off with their wallets.

From that night on the crew of that nights 136 made a vow to look after him and the others as best they could. They were a source to Felix’s sudden tapeworms and gained his unopened army tent stollen on a dare during his stint in the Marines for their homestead. Ben would help them with work secretly along their route in order to meet what he felt were their charitable contributions. They never asked or welcomed him to do so but his persistence prevailed. Worried some railroad officers would notice an extra man on the playing field, they had a reason for their reservations. Ben however knew when to become a phantom. That along with his skill built their trust.

“Ben, why don’t you come down to DuPlois and talk to Murray about a job?”

“I don’t feel like that life again.”

“Do what?! You do pretty good at it.”

“I’m only trying repay your kindness.”

“We’ve told you that you don’t have to. Kindness is doing something without expecting a pay back.”

“Well still…”

“Still what? You wanna keep living like this? Why don’t you go try.”

“Because of Pope! That’s good and damn well why. I couldn’t put up with what y’all do.”

“His time is coming. That’s for sure.”

“Oh bull crap! You know how long that’s been said? I’d rather count nails in a burlap sack for 50 years than to have a step on step off job on his railroad for one night. He’s a snake and has blood on his fangs. If you want to call them hands then I’ll leave that up to you. One day y’all are gonna see it”

“We can’t support you and the others forever.”

“I’m not asking you to. There’s just no way I’m coming out there. A man has got to know his limitations and I know mine. I’d be a boundary he wouldn’t want to reckon with.”

(Continuation & Editing Pause. This reading is posted here merely for the benefit of personal friends and family. For the interested more is to come as I work out the next scenarios and depictions as of 11/25/2019. If you enjoy it so far I’d love to hear your comments.)

Posted by ags_5152 on 2008-01-24 01:31:41

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[feywildatheart]

Nenîth,

My thoughts are in such a tumble I hardly know where to begin this next letter, or how to say everything that’s happened. But we’ve made it back to Mir whole and hale, so I suppose I have the time to sit and try to sort my thoughts out.

I met a deity, nenîth. I’m probably telling it all backwards to start with that, but— I met a deity. You know that much from my last letter, of course, but I’m still trying to wrap my mind around it all, so you’ll have to forgive me if my letter is as tumbled-up as my thoughts are.

I held my tongue before the deity, and let Elyn do most of the speaking, because she’s better at it than I am, and more willing than Pika. In turn, the deity introduced themselves as Aluarashi, That Which Deepest Is, which is a hell of a name, don’t you think? They said they’d been watching us, and had heard of us from the great elk I wrote you about a few weeks ago, and I was doubly glad for Loren’s ring that had helped that interaction go as smoothly as it had. I can’t imagine what Aluarashi would have thought of us, if I’d done poorly and the elk had made an unfavorable report, or how much worse the puzzles and fights might have gone.

Aluarashi wanted to know our purpose in coming, as well as what the settlers intended, and when we asked about the tides they seemed mostly amused, and said they are the tides, which knocked the air from me almost as much as their name did. Apparently the tides follow Aluarashi wherever they go on the planet, and since they were in that cave, that’s the reason the tides there were behaving so strangely, and not ebbing the way they ought to have.

We took that in, and reassured them that the settlers and scientists seemed well-meant and trustworthy folk, and that they’d come only to study and learn more about the planet, a pursuit which Aluarashi seemed to approve of. Pika fell all over herself with politeness and formality, which shocked me almost as much as everything else had, though I’m starting to think maybe it shouldn’t. Pika seems to talk freely with just about everyone but us. She offered Aluarashi an introduction to the scientists, should they want it, but Aluarashi declined and said they trusted our judgment, after having watched us solve their puzzles. I didn’t even tell Elyn I-told-you-so about that, after all her worries that we were treading somewhere we weren’t wanted, instead of passing tests laid out deliberately before us.

Aluarashi was very patient with us, and seemed willing to answer any questions we might have, though I was mostly tongue-tied through the experience, and any questions I managed to ask were awkward and fumbling. Once we’d asked everything we could think of to, or bring ourselves to, they produced a box of lovely, polished wood, and Pika stepped forward to accept it while I was still trying to pick my jaw up off the ground at the idea of being given a gift by a god.

And then they gobsmacked me further, and produced more gifts, a ring for Pika and a flute for Elyn as well as waterproofing for her gloves, and the loveliest pair of boots I ever saw for me, all blues and greens like the ocean and with shell patterns stitched onto leather that Elyn said later was made from the hide of a deep-sea creature, and if it was just that it would have been enough of a gift to make me want to cry. But there’s magic in them, which shouldn’t surprise me, when they were gifted from the hands of a god, but only surprises me in that it’s such a lovely and unexpected gift, and a greater boon than I’d have ever expected a deity to grace me with. I clutched them close to my chest and scarcely managed to stammer out more than a thank you.

Pika must have thought me terribly uncultured and uncouth, for she was all grace and bows and formalities again, backing away from Aluarashi once they’d bid us farewell, and backed all the way through our archway portal, which looked now like a cascade of water. Elyn and I exchanged a glance and followed after her, and we all found ourselves deposited outside that very first waterfall, in the little pool that Pika had found, and a short walk from the beach.

It seemed as nice a place as any to stop and rest, but Pika would have none of it, and insisted we continue until we’d reached the shore and the little campfire that Eheba had made there. I daresay he didn’t expect to see us, and we must have looked a sight, all salt-crusted and dishheveled, but he took it in stride, and we all settled down around the fire, and he offered us food as we told him what we could about what had transpired.

Once we finished with that, and had eaten enough to satisfy us, Elyn turned her attentions to our gifts. That was when she told me my boots were made of the hide of a deep-sea creature, and that they’d make me jump higher and climb faster and swim easier, and I just had to sit with them on my lap for a while, tracing my fingers over the stitching and trying to come to terms with the fact that a deity had gifted me something so lovely and so perfect.

Elyn looked at Pika’s ring next, and said that it will let her walk and run on water as though it’s solid ground, and I don’t think Pika could have been more delighted. We’re probably lucky she didn’t take off right there across the waves. And Elyn’s flute she saved for last, and said it’s made from the bones of a whale, and its music can worm its way into an enemies mind and whisper and distract them, maybe even hurt them. If I’d had any doubt, back in the cave, about the truth of whether Aluarashi had actually been watching us all through the puzzles, it would have evaporated then, because I think all three of us were rather overcome by how lovely and well-suited our gifts are.

And we still had the box left to open, which we did once we’d recovered ourselves, and found inside three gems, one rose quartz, one citrine, and one chrysoprase. Elyn suggested the chrysoprase for me, and I was relieved to be offered it, because it was easily the loveliest of the three, all greens and blues to match my new boots, and then Elyn offered the choice to Pika next but she wouldn’t. So Elyn took the citrine and Pika the rose quartz. Elyn says they’re not magic, just gemstones, but it’s nice to rub my thumb over the smooth surface and remember that we were given gifts by a deity, twice over.

We all slept there on the shore, and in the morning we climbed into the boat, and before we left, Pika wet some sand from the shore in the water and shaped a little person out of it with great ritual and solemnity. And Elyn, seeing that, dropped a flower into the waters as we left the bay, and I realized with a start that I probably ought to do the same. Pika said the sand represented herself, and the water Aluarashi. And we had water aplenty at that point, but it was too late to go pluck a leaf from a bush to be my own stand-in, so I had to settle for fishing one out of the water from the side of the boat, and then laying it back to float away in our surf. It seemed a silly and pointless offering, and my cheeks burned hot at my own insufficiency, but I suppose I can only hope that Aluarashi took it for how it was meant, and didn’t think it a laughable offering from someone untutored in the ways of ritual and religion.

We found our return to the compound much easier than our exit, and we went first to the scientists’ offices to make our report to Ohabi, since Lorraine was still on leave to settle in with her new family members. Once we’d done with that, and warned her that a deity may be dropping in on them unexpectedly, we went with Pika to find Alorvin, because Pika wanted to ask her to grow her a quarterstaff the way she had the buildings of the compound. She seemed happy enough to do so, and I checked in with Nalira while they hashed out the details of that, to see how she was settling in and whether she was happy — or as happy as she could be, considering — with her new arrangement. She said she is, and I’m glad of it.

I wanted to go stop in on Lorraine and say hello to her and the children next, but Elyn pointed out that we were all still filthy and bedraggled and that a bath might be in order, before we showed up on their doorstep looking like we’d just been washed up with the tide. It was nice to soak the salt out of my hair, to be sure, and to change into clothes that were clean and dry, and I’m sure I looked a far cry more presentable by the time I got downstairs and we all three rejoined one another.

We thought to bring some candy to the children, but didn’t suppose that there were likely to be many confectioners on Nosirion-1. We decided on sweet buns from the inn’s kitchen instead, and went off to see them.

It was Jesson who greeted us, Lorraine’s youngest, who I think must have been feeling the sudden appearance of siblings older than he, because he was all affected manners and formality, greeting us and welcoming us to the home with all the gravitas of a steward, and introducing himself to us. We all responded gravely in kind, though I’m sure I saw a twinkle of humor in Pika and Elyn’s eyes both, and they’d have certainly seen one in mine if they looked.

We found Lorraine and Loren further inside the house, and Loren ran straight to Squirt and threw her arms around him, before she peeled herself away to greet the rest of us. She turned to Pika next, and greeted her with a title I didn’t recognize, and then greeted us all with the same in turn. Elyn knew it and choked up, and later in the day explained to us that it’s a tiefling honorific that someone might use toward a guardian who’s claimed responsibility for them, and it’s a good thing I didn’t know that at Lorraine’s or I think I’d have snatched Loren up into a hug and never let her go. Elyn taught us the reverse honorific as well, to be from guardian to child, and it held me in good stead, later.

But I knew none of that then, only that Loren had made Elyn cry, and they both seemed happy about it, and so I was concerned but not alarmed. Once we’d all had our hugs, we asked Loren how she was, and Lorraine, and I think they’re about as well as could be expected. It must be a big adjustment, suddenly bringing two children into your home, or suddenly finding yourself enfolded into a new family, even when the circumstances are good ones. Loren tugged Pika away for a few moments and while Pika accompanied her, I asked after Devon, but he was out for a walk, and Elyn made better friends with Jesson. I think he’s adjusting too, as well as can be expected for someone in his position.

We lingered a while, hoping Devon would return and we could speak with him, too, and laughed as Elyn played tag with Loren and Jesson. Devon never returned, though, and there were shadows in Lorraine’s eyes, beneath her happiness, that made us hold our tongue in asking about his absence, and make our farewells before she felt compelled to invite us to stay for supper.

Elyn suggested we stretch our legs around the compound a bit, rather than returning straight to the inn, and it was on that walk that she taught us about the title Loren had given us, and how to honor her right back. And then Squirt, who seemed to want to stretch his legs as much as the rest of us, and roamed away from us and back and away again as we made our way around town, came back and pressed in tight against my side and whined at me, and seemed in such unexpected distress that I used my magic to be able to speak with him clearly, to make sure I knew what it was that had upset him and could fix it promptly.

It’s still strange to me, a little, to have magic I can cast, to be able to speak a few words and wave my hand through the air and change the world around me. It must still be strange to Squirt, too, because he seemed taken aback by the ability to speak to me in turn, and it took him a moment to answer me when I asked what was wrong. But he said that he’d sensed Devon nearby, and sensed that he was sad, and it took nearly everything in me not to just run right to him then and there, and squeeze him up tight until he had to be cheered.

But we’d spent a whole afternoon with Lorraine and Loren and Jesson, and spoken with them all about their struggles adjusting to their new family, even when they were happy to have it. And Devon has always seemed the quieter, between him and his sister, and the more thoughtful, and the one carrying a greater weight on his shoulders. So I held myself back, and asked Elyn and Pika to do the same, and wait, because if he was sad and hiding, I didn’t think that having the lot of us descend upon him unexpectedly would help things, and I was so afraid of scaring him off.

Neither Elyn nor Pika seemed terribly pleased by it, but they did as I asked all the same, and I followed Squirt as he led me up into an observation tower, and I found Devon there, looking as sad as Squirt had said he was. It took everything in me not to rush to him, but I held myself back, and made sure he saw me, and asked if he wanted to talk before I just ran in and crowded him with unwanted company.

He seemed reluctant, but didn’t send me away, so I sat next to him and let him speak in his own time, and I think this whole conversation is the hardest thing I’ve ever done. He wanted advice, and looked to me for it, and I had to move past the fact that I hardly feel qualified to advise even myself, most times, and come up with something for him, because he was hurting and I knew I couldn’t leave him like that.

He’s struggling more than the others with the adjustment, or taking it more to heart, I think. He wanted to know how to deal with being thrown into a new situation and not knowing what the rules governing things around him were, and making mistakes and not wanting to ask for help, and all at once I felt such a kinship with him it near made my heart burst, and I wanted to cry, or laugh, or both.

I don’t have any answers, really. I struggle with the same worries every day, and have since the day I left you both and the Feywild behind. But I told him that, told him about leaving the Feywild and everything I’d known and venturing out into the planets and systems where everyone around me seemed to follow unspoken rules that I was unaware of, and fumbling through one mistake after another, and I think it helped him just to know that someone had been through what he was going through, and someone understood the fears and doubts that plagued him.

I told him that in the end, what the three of us cared about most was that he and Loren were happy, and if it turned out they weren’t happy with Lorraine, we would make sure they got to a place where they were, and I told him that just because something was good didn’t mean it was easy, and that it was okay if things were hard for a while. I told him that leaving you both and my home behind was one of the hardest things I’d ever done, but that it had been good for me, too, and had lead me to such wonderful things. I think he took comfort from that, and it gladdened my heart to see it, but he still wanted to know how to handle it when he didn’t know how to act in a new and unfamiliar situation, and everyone around him seemed to assume that he would know, and so I told him that what I do when I find myself in those situations is that I just pretend not to know Common and ramble gibberish at them in Sylvan until they stop expecting so much of me. It’s probably terrible, as advice goes, but it made him laugh and brightened his spirit, and that’s all I could have asked for, really. It cheered and comforted him enough that he agreed to come down from the tower, and when we descended we found that Elyn and Pika had followed us to its base, though they’d stayed waiting outside like I’d asked them, at least.

Pika held her arms open to him and he let her hug him, and called her Asar, too — that’s the tiefling honorific Loren called all three of us — and maybe he knew that we’d learned what it meant because I’d called him Saram-Devon while we’d been talking up in the observation tower, or maybe he only said it because he felt it. But either way, Elyn called him Samar-Devon too, and then told him how he’d saved all us all with his driftglobe, and he was glad for that, and also distracted enough by it to cheer up and let the conversation turn to lighter things.

We told him about all of it, everything we’d been through, and he seemed to hang on our words (well, mostly Elyn’s words, but still), and eventually we’d diverted him enough that he said he ought to get home to Lorraine without our even having to suggest it. We told him to make sure they’d saved some sweet buns for him and reminded him that he could always reach out to us, if he ever wanted to for any reason, and then let him be on his way.

Once we’d seen him off, we went off to see how Niko was settling in, and found her near the inn engaged in conversation with Ren. She’s been working with Alorvin on some project of hers, cataloguing Nosirion-1’s plant life, and says her magic’s beginning to come back to her, which seems a promising sign. I still don’t know how one seeks out redemption, it’s not like something you can hunt and locate and hold like a lost trinket, but she seems content with the work for now, and the prospect of figuring it out in her own time.

Pika asked her about what her craft was, since she’s a devotee or Reorx and I guess one wouldn’t dedicate one’s self to a deity of crafting if one weren’t already inclined to make things, and Niko pulled off a scarf she was wearing and showed it to us, and we all exclaimed over it, because it’s as fine as spider silk and seemed nearly weightless in our hands, but woven with an intricate pattern. I doubt even the Queen of Air and Darkness herself could wear anything finer. And she said that back home, before she’d crashed into our plane, she’d helped improve weaving technology, so she’s an innovator in her own right. But she’d fled home with nothing but a backstrap loom, and certainly nothing like the sort of loom she must have used to weave something so delicate and so fine. I wish I knew the littlest bit about weaving, that I might help her, or even know what sorts of things she might need, if she were going to build herself a new loom. I don’t even know if we have the sorts of things she’d need here on our plane, but I hate the thought that she might find her hands tied by the limited tools available to her. Surely someone seeking redemption from their god might have an easier time of it if they could practice their craft? She seems so sad about it, and I just wish there were something I could do to help her.

I hope she doesn’t have to re-innovate all the changes she’d brought to her home plane, just to be able to weave again. But if she does, I’d have to think that must be something worthy of redemption. If it’s not, then I don’t think Reorx deserves her at all.

I didn’t have a chance to work myself up enough to ask, though, before Niko noticed that Ren seemed to want a word with the three of us, and so she excused herself and Ren came over to thank us for the work we’d been doing with the Silver Tree. They said if we hadn’t come to take on the job of retrieving Hallbjorn’s sensors, it would likely have fallen to Seb, as one of the few in the compound who stood a chance of making it out and back again alive. But as the only cleric in the compound — on the planet, really, unless Nosirion-1’s forests hide more crash-landed strangers of Niko’s ilk, though I’d be fair surprised if that turned out to be the case — it would have been dangerous for the rest of them to be without him for so long.

Ren seemed as reluctant to talk as they were eager to thank us, but I got the sense that they would have gone themselves, once, but weren’t able to any longer, and I think it would have hurt them something fierce to have even inadvertently been the cause of risk to the compound, by Seb having had to go in their place.

We all accepted his gratitude as well as we could, though I think I wasn’t the only one who found herself unsure of how to do so, in the face of all that. But we did our best, and Elyn carried it for the rest of us, as she usually does when it comes to speaking, and told them to contact us if they or the settlement ever needed us again. And then there was little left to do, in the end, but to return to the inn, with much to keep our thoughts busy.

We spent a few days, while the Seles Emsel’s travels to bring it back down to the surface of Nosirion-1, telling the scientists about what we’d seen and learned. We wavered for a while, unsure of how much we should tell and how much Aluarashi should be allowed to divulge on their own, but we finally settled on a middle ground and told them as much as we thought we should.

We had an uneventful trip back to Mir, once the Seles Emsel had come and finished its business and was ready to leave again, and it was nice to have a few days with nothing pressing demanding our attention and no need to run somewhere or do something. I gave Squirt a good brushing, which he was badly in need of, and played a few rounds of [sudoku] with Elyn, and was better able to teach her and Pika more about the game, now that we had the luxury of time and leisure, and weren’t scrambling to solve a deity’s puzzle.

It was good for us all, I think. We hadn’t had a nice, leisurely trip between Nosirion-1 and Mir yet — the once we went by teleportation circle, and that was half a moment’s disorientation and then a mad rush to find the children and help them, and the two actual, proper trips we’d made otherwise, we’d had mutiny to deal with the first time, and then the children newly in our custody and their welfare weighing heavily on our minds. And while it’s not as though we aren’t thinking about them now, it’s a weight off all our minds, I’m sure, knowing that they’re with someone who loves them, and adjusting, and at least on their way to something that could make them happy.

Once we docked on Mir, we made for The Crow, to purchase rooms and so Elyn and Pika could collect on the information that had been promised to them. For all my talk above about leisurely trips, I confess I spent much of it trying very hard (and mostly failing, if I’m honest) not to worry about this moment. I’ve known from the start that Elyn and Pika only joined the Silver Tree because Athan felt sorry for me, and made it the cost of this information they’re seeking. Once they had it, I couldn’t know what they’d want to do next, but I’ve never hoped that it might be to linger about here with me. They’re both so driven, so much more so than I am. They have things they want and purposes that drive them, and while I might be content to drift about, guided only by my wish to see new things, I’ve no doubt that neither of them would be.

Still, I can’t ask more of them than Athan already did on my behalf, and so when Athan asked them if they wanted a room all three of us could retire to while they learned their news, or if they wanted to hear it in private, I sat at the bar and ordered a drink and tried not to wince too badly, when Pika said she wanted to hear hers alone. I tried not to think about how much I was going to miss them, and not to wonder what I was going to do with myself when it was just me and Squirt again, so that it wouldn’t show on my face. But I must have done a terrible job at it, because after Pika gave her answer, Elyn asked for the same, but then looked at me and changed her tune straightaway, and said she’d hear it in front of the lot of us.

I don’t know how good of an accounting I can give to you of the information Athan had for her. What I understood of it was that the unregistered gnomish ship that had passed through Mir a while back, and that Elyn had come to Mir to learn more about, was some sort of nomadic family vessel, that had come from a bit of uncharted space near Nosirion-1, and that that might be a good place to look next, in the search for answers about Elyn’s family’s own unregistered ship.

I’d hoped, a little, that Elyn’s change of mind might sway Pika in the same direction, but no, she went off with Athan to hear her news alone, and Elyn and I took a table together while we waited, and I tried not to dwell too much on the thought that it might well be the last we saw of Pika, because it’s not as though she likes either of us terribly much. Honestly, she talks to everybody more than she does us. Animals. Children. Deities. I don’t know what we did to offend her so terribly, but I wish I knew how to tell her that I was sorry for it. I wish I knew how to make her want to stay.

When she came out from her conversation with Athan, there was a wild light in her eye, and she told us that we ought to stick around a few days (where she thought I might be off to, I have no idea!), because there were about to be fireworks.

It’s not as though I have anywhere pressing to be, in any case. i was a little surprised how readily Elyn agreed to do so, though, I think she’d be off chasing after her ship the moment she had a lead to follow, but she seemed as intrigued as I am about what it is that could put that sort of an expression on Pika’s face.

She won’t say anything more about what to expect, though, and so eventually we all parted ways to go claim our rooms and unpack our things, since it seems we’ll be here for at least a little while longer. Elyn made noises about writing to her brother, and so I’m doing the same, and writing to you.

I hope that my next letter to you will be a little more timely, now that we’re in a place with dependable LICD signal, and I’ll try to write just as soon as I’ve seen anything worth telling you about. Whatever these fireworks are that we’re awaiting, I’m sure you’ll know almost as soon as we do.

I love you, nenïth. Be safe, and be well. And I’ll try to do the same.

Love,

Maliah

[spotlightsaga]

Kevin Cage of Spotlight Saga presents... A Rewind Review of the final episode of Quarry on Cinemax whose cancellation was just announced yesterday. As you'll see in the language of this article, I personally hold the show in high regard, even including it the Top 5 #BestOf2016 series we ran. Cinemax, who is owned by HBO claims they are revamping the network that is just now gaining a good wave of steam and building a respectable library. The Knick was also a groundbreaking series that recently received the axe from the same network, yet Strike Back that last ran in 2015 is already getting a reboot. What say you, Cinemax? We are incredibly disappointed by your decision to cancel this incredibly thought provoking Crime Drama set in a very real to life 1972 Memphis. Michael D Fuller, executive producer and co-creator of the show (along with (Graham Gordy) is a huge inspiration for me and for 'Spotlight Saga', inspiring me to include a more honest approach to political standpoints, something at the time I was very afraid to use in my writing. The following article was written shorty after the end of Quarry's Legendary 8-Episode run. Going forward, as much as I am frustrated with Cinemax, I think it's important to focus on the positives here and follow & support both Fuller & Gordy in any future projects or endeavors they may have. Thank you, Fuller. Thank you, Gordy. You have earned more than a few lifetime fans. Kevin Cage of Spotlight Saga reviews... Quarry (S01E08) Nuoc Cha Da Mon Airdate: October 28, 2016 (Cinemax) Ratings: Premium Cable/Streaming - Nielsen is Guessing! Score: 10/10 (An Extremely Rare Perfect Score) **************SPOILERS BELOW*************** *Poltical Views do NOT represent Spotlight Saga* Well, I asked for it... Basically begged for it, I even considered taking a day off work to just sit at home and watch it. Now, I've finally watched it, and I feel...changed. 'The Vietnam Scene' let's us peak into the PTSD origins and Mac's time at war, as well as providing a provocative theory on just what we might have been doing over there in the first place... Losing lives on both sides, our veterans returning home to a chorus of boos, met with thick walls of human disdain, and stop signs in every direction they turned. Single Camera, long take shots can be risky. Just look at Daredevil, a show that successfully used them in S1, then overused the same hallmark shots in S2. They simply cannot be your whole show, because one continuous 'sequence shot', particularly those that surround an upsetting action or disturbing sequence linger with the viewer, like the shots themselves linger on the situation at hand. In this case, a raid in Vietnam 🇻🇳 on a village with mainly fisherman, women, and children... Innocent lives lost in a war that in the end meant nothing but death, heartache, and terror. Of course that asshole of a captain commended Mac (Logan Marshall Green) and praised him to The Broker (Peter Mullan) at the end, 'He's a good soldier.' Yup, cuz he does what he's told without hesitation... Like firing the first shot without thinking, snowballing a cascade of death and chaos, topping off the whole experience by throwing a grenade into a covered pit that contained a toddler... A toddler who we are shown blown right out of the pit into fucking pieces. That's one thing that Quarry never does, shies away from violence, from the money shot... And it never feels exploitative, it just feels like that's the reality, a reality that the viewers should not be protected from. And so it goes... The Broker is no vigilante, tho he does give the people that he employs the benefit of small 'in-between' jobs that make them feel like they are doing good in the world. It's a game of chess, and he is Bobby Fischer in his prime, and a patriarch of the 70's... A king of a dirty unferbelly ruled by the almighty dollar and poppy fields as far as the eye can see. The day I wanted to take off work, just so happened to have three or four people at the bar discussing Vietnam. Of course, right? I immediately throw Quarry in the mix and of course, none of them had heard of it... Unsurprising, considering how hard it is just to obtain Cinemax, thank god for Amazon Video now! We discussed the length at which protesters treated the returning war veterans; Picketing, spitting, throwing objects, screaming and shoving homemade signs in their face... As if the soldiers ever had a choice in the matter. You enlist, You're drafted, you're trapped, you're owned, and just like Mac... If you are a good soldier you do what you're told like a goddamn robot, a machine without empathy, and then when you return home you have nothing. PTSD? In '72? Here's a pamphlet. 'Be glad the man has his legs and his arms,' the man at the VA tells Joni (#JodiBalfour) when she desperately seeks help for a man she cannot save herself. So there you have the people in control of our government, sending our brothers, sisters, fathers, and mothers over to fight a pointless war. Then you have the rich men, the patriarchs, who are able to come through and buy a slice of the action... A poppy field... A goldmine just waiting to make the rich man richer. And then you have protesters, mainly uninformed Regular Joes who only see the picture that's painted before them, like the SJW's today that picket and march through our major cities furthering the divide they claim they are trying to stop. Oh yes, that's the truth of the matter, a truth that blind rage and ignorance stop people from seeing. There is something inherently terrifying about the parallels of Vietnam 🇻🇳 to the wars and thousands deployed in countries like Iraq 🇮🇶 Iran 🇮🇷 Afghanistan 🇦🇫 Pakistan 🇵🇰 Kuwait 🇰🇼 Bahrain 🇧🇭 Saudi Arabia 🇸🇦 Syria 🇸🇾 Yemen 🇾🇪 And I could go on and on and on, places we have no business being, places that our country backwardly depends on for oil, or countries that have militias and terrorist organizations just sitting on oil fields holding them captive to prevent the chaos countries like ours and others have caused attempting to police the world and secure access to natural resources, while they themselves use the guns we have directly armed them with to oppress their people and then line the pockets of people like Hillary Clinton's with hundreds of thousands of dollars. No, I am no sympathizer, both sides make me sick. The whole thing makes me sick. Mostly, the human race makes me sick. A long time ago while living in San Francisco, I realized that the most beautiful and pure people are mostly at the bottom sleeping in the street or struggling at a minimum wage job, while the ugliest and ruthless people are at the top inviting a lucky few up to share in a night of debauchery, caressing their insecurities with thoughts of becoming their protégés or possible arm candy while their young and their beauty is still intact. Just last week, less than a month to go in his final term, Obama abolished the 'Wet Foot, Dry Foot' policy, a policy that helped save thousands of Cuban 🇨🇺 lives and helped build the great city of Miami that I call home... This done in the spirit to 'normalize relations with our one-time foe.' While abolishing this policy *COULD* indeed do just that, hidden behind that very controversial and well known policy; Another policy, The Cuban Medical Professional Parole Program, was also nixed. That lesser known policy allowed the opportunity for Cuban Medical Professionals to come to the US through other countries to earn residency, citizenship, and jobs. A sneaky move, one disguised as a way to strengthen the relations between The USA 🇺🇸 & Cuba 🇨🇺. Just one of many examples that not everything in the painting is portrayed as it should be or relaid to the public highlighting the big picture as a whole. This is a man who promised us CHANGE, but the majority of these promises of change were broken. Under the Obama Administration more Whistleblowers were jailed under the Espionage Act of 1917, imprisoned, or forced to seek asylum, like Snowden in Russia 🇷🇺 and of course famous Wikileaks founder, Julian Assange, who is literally living in an Ecuadorian 🇪🇨 Embassy in London 🇬🇧. Then today Obama grants clemency to Transgender Whistleblower Chelsea Manning, shortening her 35 year sentence to end 3 decades early in May of this year, 2017. Why, Obama? A PR move to distract from other last minute changes and to surge an approval rating on the way out? Something to think about, especially when he was so adamant about putting those that expose our government's truths, lies, and nasty cover-ups behind bars or strand them in foreign countries that don't exactly provide the same freedoms. Meanwhile last year was the first year that I was forced to pay taxes, and not just because I'm penalized for seeking affordable medical treatment for cash, and not pumping money into the Insurance Industry, the failure of Obamacare. All of this happening, and a rich white New York female actress named Lena Dunham tells the world that she's never had an abortion, but she wishes she had. WHY?! Meryl Streep uses an acceptance speech to rile up SJW's. And to add insult to injury, she says an art form and sport older than her 50x over, MMA and Combat Arts are not really arts. WHY?! God bless some of Meryl Streep's performances, they are truly cinematic gold, but that doesn't automatically make her the High Queen of all Art, deciding what earns that prestigious label and what does not. I try and promise myself that I will not get political in my reviews, but honestly when I write emotional parallels I seem to get the most responses. And because of great television series like 'Quarry' that most definitely gets my stamp for my list of #BestOf2016 TV Series), they inspire me to put my ideas out there, my life stories, my origins, my secrets, my heartaches, my tales of happiness and tragedy... Because of series like 'Quarry' I am more honest with you than I am with anyone else in my life. It's scary to put these very personal, private, and passionate views and experiences out there. Like I said, the one rule I try to set for myself is try to keep politics (or at least pick and choose my crusades and battles) out of it, and to treat those with opposing opinions with respect and class... But here we have a moving, haunting portrait of political injustice, and it's inspiring. It's hard to stay quiet when there is so much injustice surrounding us, so much ignorance. I have literally seen people I love with all my heart throw away meaningful, lifelong friendships over this sham of an election on both sides. I am not a conservative. I am not a liberal. I am a man who is happy with very little... I have a slice of paradise in a city where I am very much the minority. I'm happy living life one day at a time, living a quiet life and practicing different forms of artistic expression, over the years learning that my gift is worth a bit of money, but still getting the hang of making it the center of my universe. I'm no hired hitman, but I've abused this body with serving, bartending, and even go-go dancing... At one point I was literally working day shifts serving tables in Miami, getting off at 4 or 5pm, then driving to Ft Lauderdale, dancing without my clothes at night until the early morning, trying to catch a few low-paying DJ gigs in between. Like Mac, we all have our demons, demons that many of us will never quite shake. We can defeat them, learn to live as harmoniously as possible with them, or let them destroy us slowly. Quarry is a vivid and honest tale of political injustice, racial divides, struggling human beings just trying to survive in a world where the odds are stacked up against them, a tale of broken men and women, the moments that make us feel alive, the moments that haunt us, a tale of a human being struggling with their sexual identity in a brutally violent and unaccepting world, one that is engraved and hardwired into them, broken egos, and a tale of how people can easily be turned into puppets with the almighty dollar and a simple plant growing from God's green earth. I found it very fitting that before the last sequence of scenes Mac goes to cast his presidential vote. Unfortunately it always comes down to the lesser of two evils... Republicans or Democrats, but both are evil and wicked in their own individual ways. To #VoteLibertarian or Green is unheard of (though this idea is changing and becoming more of a reality now, thank god) and for many years I considered the act 'throwing away' my vote, but with the candidates becoming increasingly hard to differentiate the pros and cons... Maybe it's time that everyone starts voting Libertarian, Green, some sort of other growing Independent Party... Or like Mac, just write in the late, great Otis Redding. My Step-Father has taken to the practice, and he's right... If you can't beat em', don't join 'em, vote for somebody else, ANYONE. Ive been told this is a problem in all countries, so on a worldwide scale I'm not sure if even Hillary Clinton vs Donald Trump was even the hardest decision a voter has had to face... We had it easy, The Philippines 🇵🇭 had to settle for Rodrigo Duterte, a MADMAN who encouraged the people of his country to hunt down and murder people suffering from the disease of addiction. Somethings gotta give, the division I see in our world today frightens me, but most of all it saddens me. For now, here in the US, what's done is done. We must allow things to play out as if the world 🌎 was our television series. Stop the division. Stop the hate, on BOTH sides... And let's take things as I have learned to live, one day at a time. Being unified if things go wrong will be a lot better than being a nation torn apart. Maybe the future will surprise you, maybe it won't... Just hold on to your empathy and everything will be alright. It's the only thing we have left. We have to do better.