#wondering how they baked these cakes aboard ship

[clove-pinks]

The Yankee Tar, 1850 print.

Virginian Alfred M. Lorrain, on regional differences between American sailors circa 1810:

Having spent several years in acquiring a knowledge of seamanship, under promising circumstances I went out second mate of a brig owned in Boston. The captain and the crew, with the exception of myself, were all New England men. I soon saw a great difference between them and Southern sailors. The sailors employed in the South are generally citizens of the world, with few local attachments — their home, if they have any, upon the sea. The Yankee crew is often an association of neighbors, having abiding habitations on the land, and sympathies clinging around institutions on shore; and their voyages are more like speculative enterprises than an unconditional lifetime business. They will talk about deacons and sextons, and never forget thanksgiving day, but distinguish it by large batches of sweetcake, and plenty of codfish. Each man must have a suit of long clothes to go ashore in. The Southern sailor glories in his sea-rigging. There is more familiarity between the officers and men on board our Northern ships than would be tolerated South.

— from Lorrain's autobiography, The Helm, the Sword, and the Cross.

[thebadgerclan]

The Dragon and The Fox: Chapter 3

Chapter Summary: Receptions and honeymoons...

@autumnbabylon

Last chapter, thank you for reading!

The reception was being held in the ballroom just across the hall from the one in which the ceremony was held.  All the guests had made their way into the reception, leaving Nikolai and Zoya alone for the first time all day.  He looked at his wife, Saints, he thought, my wife!, taking in her radiant, unearthly beauty. Zoya’s face was dusted with a faint pink blush, her lips turned up in a smile.  Her wedding ring, which she and Nikolai had exchanged privately after the ceremony, was silver, a dragon and a fox engraved in the metal, a matching one on her husband’s left hand.

“I love you,” she said, making Nikolai smile.  “I’ve never been happier than I am right now.”  Nikolai pulled his wife into his arms, kissing her deeply, chest flush with hers.  “As I love you, my darling.  I love you more than any words could possibly hope to convey.”  Zoya giggled, taking Nikolai’s offered arm, walking with him across the hall into the reception.  Guards stationed outside the door bowed to the royal couple before opening the double doors, which now bore a golden dragon rather than the Lantsov double-eagle.

“Her Royal Highness, Queen Zoya Nazyalensky!” an attendant announced as they entered.  “And His Royal Highness, Prince Nikolai Lantsov!”  Their guests rose and applauded as they entered, Zoya waving and smiling, Nikolai doing the same.  The newlyweds made their way to the table at the head of the ballroom, which was intimately set for two.  Nikolai pulled Zoya’s chair out for her before taking his own seat, taking his wife’s hand in his, pressing a kiss to it.

Servants swarmed the room, serving a meal of roasted quail, vegetables with herbs, freshly baked bread, and Kerch wine.  Nikolai held Zoya’s hand through the meal, his gaze more on her than on his plate.  He pressed kisses to her cheek every few minutes, whispered in her ear, making her smile and laugh into her glass.  Anyone with eyes could see how in love their monarchs were, how deep their devotion to one another ran.  When most of their guests had finished their meals, Nikolai rose, and the room fell silent.

“I want to begin by thanking you all for being here today,” he said, smiling.  “Zoya and I are so happy you all could be here, your presence means the world to us.”  Nikolai turned, looking at his wife, whose cheeks pinked yet again.  “Zoya Nazyalensky: my general, my queen, and now, my wife.  If I would have told you three years ago that I would be your husband, you would have laughed in my face, and probably slapped me.  And yet, here we are, and I have never been happier, never been more in love than I am in this moment.

“You saw me at my worst, at my weakest, and yet, you never shied away.  You stayed by my side and helped me when I needed you most.  Zoya, milaya, you are my strength, my comfort, my other half.  I love you so much, my darling, and I will love you for the rest of my life.”  The guests let out a collective “aww”, and Nikolai offered Zoya his hand.  “Might I offer you a dance, my bride?”  Gracefully, Zoya rose to her feet, taking her husband’s hand.  She went up on her tiptoes and kissed him, making him flush.  “I’d be offended if you didn’t.”

Nikolai led his bride to the dance floor, bowing to her.  Zoya laughed, curtseying in return.  “You, my love,” he said, taking her hand in his, his other arm winding around her middle, resting on the small of her back.  “Are the only woman I will ever bow to.”  “And you are the only man I will ever curtsey to.”  Zoya took his hand, her other hand on his shoulder, looking at Nikolai with all the love in the world.  The small orchestra began to play, and Nikolai and Zoya began to dance.

Swaying in time with the music, gazing into each other’s eyes, the rest of the world faded away, leaving only Zoya, Nikolai, and the love and adoration they had for each other.  Zoya released Nikolai’s hand, wrapping her arms around his neck, and he put his arms around her middle, pulling her closer to him.  “Your necklace,” he said, noticing the wire ship for the first time.  “Is that…?”  “Your ship.  Yes, it is.”  Nikolai’s heart squeezed.  His wife, his perfect, beautiful wife had taken an absentminded creation and made it into something beautiful.  She always did.

The song ended, and Nikolai tipped Zoya’s chin up and kissed her, long and sweet.  For once, she didn’t care that her affection was on display for all to see.  It was her wedding day, and if she wanted to kiss her husband, then that’s what she’d do.  Nikolai led her back to their table, offering her a flute of champagne, which Zoya took with a smile.  Cocktails were being made and handed around now, the guests thoroughly enjoying themselves.  When the musicians struck up a traditional Ravkan folk dance, Zoya beamed, practically dragging Nikolai back onto the dance floor.

Other couples had reacted similarly, pulling their partners onto the floor, laughing and smiling.  Zoya had learned this dance when she first came to the Little Palace, and Nikolai had learned it while at the front.  The steps were fast paced, involving spins, twirls, and jumps, but both the bride and groom were smiling ear to ear as they danced.  It was a sight to see: the queen spinning around the dance floor with her people, her white skirts fluttering along with the rainbow of silks of her guests.

The dance came to a close, and Nikolai decided to put his own twist on it, pulling Zoya into his arms before dipping her, making her squeal in shock.  When he righted her, he kissed her, smiling against her lips.  “That was fun,” he said, and Zoya nodded, kissing him again.  The orchestra continued to play, a mixture of slow and fast songs, but the queen and her prince retreated back to their table, where various nobles and dignitaries came to greet them, all offering congratulations.  Dessert came and went, a luscious chocolate cake with raspberry filling, and when the orchestra began playing a final slow song, Nikolai pressed a kiss to Zoya’s forehead.

“One last dance, liymibaya?”  Zoya smiled and stood, following Nikolai back onto the dance floor.  This dance, while slow and romantic, was different from their first dance: Zoya’s head rested on Nikolai’s shoulder, his arms tight around his waist, Nikolai’s chin rested atop his wife’s head, hand rubbing up and down her back, the other resting on her hip.  This was more intimate, the couple hardly moving as they gently swayed back and forth.  In her husband’s embrace, everything in Zoya’s world felt right.  She was happy, she was unreally in love, and she knew Nikolai felt the same.

Guests were filtering out, back to their suites or coaches, but Zoya and Nikolai remained in each other’s arms, the queen’s eyes shut contentedly.  Nikolai pressed a lingering kiss to her forehead, heart feeling like it could burst.  When the orchestra finished the song, Zoya lifted her head, eyes meeting her husband’s.  “I love you, sobachka,” she said, pulling him down into a kiss.  “You’re everything I’ve ever wanted.”  Those five words brought tears to Nikolai’s eyes, and he bent to kiss his wife yet again.

“Zoya, I am yours, and I will be for the rest of my life.  I love you, I love you so much.  My Zoya, how I adore you.”  She pressed herself into Nikolai’s chest, and he held her close, kissing the crown of her head.  Genya appeared at their side, clearing her throat softly to get their attention.  “I hate to interrupt, but the coach is ready.”  The newlyweds smiled, and Zoya stepped back from Nikolai.  “I’ll be back,” she said, pecking his cheek once more before leaving the ballroom with Genya.  Nikolai smiled, making his way back to the guest suite he’d stayed in last night to change.

His dress uniform was neatly hung in the wardrobe, replaced by comfortable yet formal travelling clothes.  Once he was changed, Nikolai went to wait for his bride in the entrance hall to the Grand Palace.  Zoya appeared moments later, her extravagant gown swapped for a simple silver dress, her blue kefta overtop.  Her tiara was gone, and her hair fell in loose curls down her back, but the ship necklace remained.  Soft leather boots adorned her feet, and when she was near enough, Zoya pulled Nikolai down for a kiss.

“Are you ready?”  “I am,” the queen replied, taking Nikolai’s hand and exiting the palace.  The royal coach was ready and waiting, a team of 6 white mares whinnying where they stood.  Genya embraced her friend, a wide smile on her face.  “Have a good time,” she said.  “Be safe.”  “We will,” Zoya promised, Nikolai coming to her side.  “Don’t ruin my country while I’m gone.”  Genya laughed.  “I’ll do my best.”  Nikolai helped his wife into the coach, sliding in next to her, shutting the door and rapping the roof twice.  They were off, Zoya resting her head on Nikolai’s shoulder, heart light in her chest and a smile on her face.

Three days later, the queen stood on the coast of the True Sea, her husband at her side.  The Volkvolny sat waiting in the harbor, its flags fluttering proudly in the breeze.  The Lantsov double eagle still flew, but alongside it was Zoya’s dragon, and she felt her heart leap.  “Captain,” his lieutenant greeted.  “My queen, a pleasure to see you.”  Zoya smiled, shaking the offered hand.  Nikolai shrugged the familiar teal coat on, a wide grin forming.  “She’s all set for the journey, sir.  Have a wonderful honeymoon.”  

Nikolai beamed, shaking his lieutenant’s hand.  “We will, thank you.”  “Your majesty,” he said in parting, leaving Nikolai and Zoya alone.  He looked at his wife, the sea breeze playing with her hair.  They were headed to the Wandering Isle for two weeks, letting themselves forget their royal duties and simply enjoy themselves.  “Shall we?” the prince offered, and Zoya smiled, nodding.  “Let’s go.”

He swept her into his arms, carrying her bridal style onto the ship.  “Nikolai!” she cried, eyes shut as she laughed, kicking her legs as she was carried aboard.  “Yes, my darling?”  “Put me down!”  He did, setting her on the deck, at the bow of the ship.  “As you wish, dearest.”  Zoya spun around, pulling her husband into a deep, passionate kiss.  “You are a menace,” she teased, and Nikolai smiled.  “Yet you married me.”

“I did, and I love you.”  Nikolai kissed her, arms around her neck, hers around his waist.  “And I love you, my dragon.”  “Sir!” came the shout of one of the crew.  “Are we ready to depart?”  “At your queen’s command!” he called back, and Zoya laughed.  She turned to face the body of the ship, the crew waiting on her orders.  “Ready for departure!”  They scattered, raising the sails and lifting the anchor, the Volkvolny gliding from the harbor.  Zoya turned to face the sea, Nikolai behind her, his arms around her middle, chin on her head.  “I love you,” he said, kissing her temple.  “I love you too, sobachka,” the queen replied, her eyes on the horizon.  The rest of their lives was ahead of them, much like the open sea.  The dragon queen and the too-clever fox, hearts and souls bound as one, forevermore.

[aiweirdness]

Rhyming is hard

Although many people have generated AI poetry and lyrics, you’ll notice that they generally don’t rhyme. That’s because generating a decent rhyme is super hard.

You can get an inkling of this if you prompt the neural net GPT-2 with rhymes to complete. It will fail almost every time.

In part, this is because English spelling is so nonuniform. How would a model trained on just written English know that it can rhyme throw with dough but not with brow? Not to mention stress patterns and syllable counts.

A few people have attempted to get neural nets to rhyme, and one of them is a new online demo by Prof. Mark Riedl of Georgia Tech. Give it example lyrics to a song - for example, the first two verses to the Gilligan’s Island theme - and it’ll try to fit the number of syllables and rhyming scheme, as well as take inspiration from a short phrase you supply.

Prompt: “If I knew you were coming, I’d have baked a cake” Tune: Gilligan’s Island theme

Ok, but this is terrible. It’s TERRIBLE. One of the problems is a complete disregard for emphasis, making this inhumanly awkward to sing. It also does a rather cheap shortcut of rhyming words with themselves.

Prompt: “The mighty pudding god will devour you.” Tune: Gaston’s Waltz from Beauty and the Beast

Here we are not only off-topic and awkward but absolutely bonkers. It has made the rather daring move of incorporating a reference to Alusuisse, which wikipedia informs me is a defunct Swiss chemical company. In fact, looking back over the program’s output, it made this decision when looking for a rhyme for “this”, and it skipped past “bliss”, “dismiss”, and “Chris” in favor of the former aluminum manufacturer. When choosing rhymes it scores potential words according to their similarity to the prompt, and there must have been something about Alusuisse that screamed “vengeful pudding god”.

Its syllable counting also breaks in weird ways.

Prompt: “Destroy all humans” Tune: “Baa baa black sheep”

Looking back over the logs, it did correctly count 11 syllables for “baa baa black sheep have you any wool.” But this AI is built of lots of carefully-coordinated sub-programs, each of which only does a small piece of the puzzle, and apparently the sub-program that was supposed to suggest 11-syllable lines shrugged and went “on…. august? that’s all i got”.

Prompt: I am a turnip Tune: The wonderful thing about tiggers

This makes the world’s worst karaoke, and yes, Riedl has built a karaoke-making function for this. If you want to weird someone out, just casually sing a song with the AI lyrics instead of the real ones.

Botnik Studios also recently built a karaoke-generating algorithm (“The Weird Algorithm��) that instead of generating lines from scratch, picks them from some other source file, trying to match meter and rhyme. (for example, rewriting The Rainbow Connection with lines from X-files scripts). Here’s Jamie Brew demonstrating the system, including singing the lyrics as they pop up onscreen - if you tried to sing any of the lyrics above, you’ll know how darn impressive his singing is. Each line is independent, though, so if the song makes sense as a whole, it’s by accident.

So today’s AI can only sort of generate rhyming poetry. “Sigh. Natural language is hard,” Riedl tweeted, when he saw the Turnip hoowelp welp results. AI won’t be beating humans at rap battles anytime soon.

You can generate your own inadvisable karaoke using Riedl’s app.

Subscribers get bonus content: I generated more terrible AI lyrics than would fit in this blog post.

My book on AI is out, and, you can now get it any of these several ways! Amazon - Barnes & Noble - Indiebound - Tattered Cover - Powell’s - Boulder Bookstore

[johannstutt413]

(Our Third and Final Installment For Now)

Lunch unfortunately ended, as the passage of time demanded, and we went about our day once again. The second pass was about the same as the first, minus the need to stay for very long and with a few faces changed, but the energy remained concerned and confused by my insistence of keeping Blue by my side; by the third pass, the news had spread far enough that it was expected, and our fourth and final pass was like it would be with any other Operator as my assistant. Except, of course, other Operators delaying us to talk to Blue…

As I locked the door on the office, Blue went off ahead to the kitchen to make sure no one else needed it, leaving me by myself after a whole day with her. I don’t- obviously, I don’t have any memory of what I was like before the whole “forgetting everything about the world around me, including my place in it” thing, but I imagine that if I actually went to through the logs like Kal'tsit suggested for me, that me wouldn’t be so easily swayed to strong attachments. And yet here I was, turning the key and thinking to myself, “My hand really is cold now.” Two days ago I didn’t know her from Skullshatterer, and now I want her with me every moment of the day...this couldn’t be a toxin thing, could it?

Because if it was, I wanted some more, straight from the source.

I followed the signs to the kitchen - never visited it by myself before that day - and found Blue dumping flour into a mixing bowl. “Doctor, did you want to watch me bake?”

“I really just wanted to be in the same space as you,” I admitted, “but if you’re okay with it, I would like to watch.”

“Sure.” She seemed a little nervous about the added scrutiny, but with her permission, I took a seat at the bar which looked over the counter space.

It didn’t take long to see that Blue knew exactly what she was doing; not that I would have, mind you, but it was like watching a professional dancer in motion. Honestly, I wondered if she was showing off a bit for me - and hoped a little that she was - but the smile on her face as she hummed to herself and spun around the kitchen effortlessly was entrancing.

When the cake batter was in its pan and safely in the oven, Blue took a seat next to me, still smiling. “And now we wait.”

“And now we wait.” I smirked. “Hey, you got a little batter on your cheek.”

“Really? I didn’t notice.” Her eyes, those beautifully blue eyes, watched me intensely...was she waiting for something?

I unhooked my mask and set it on the bar, licked my thumb, slid it over the droplet on her cheek, and ran it against my upper lip to clean it off. Gummy hadn’t been kidding - if even the batter was this delicious, the final product was restaurant quality for sure...but that thought rolled through my head quick, fast, and in a hurry. “I can’t tell if it’s the batter or you that’s sweeter.”

“You’ll have to wait and see, Doctor.” She took my hand with both of hers and set it against her cheek, tilting her head and closing her eyes ever-so-slightly. “I’d hate to spoil your appetite.”

“As you wish.”

We sat there until the timer went off, at which point she hopped from her stool, slid a pair of oven mitts over her hands mid-step towards the oven, and set the cake pan on the counter to cool. While waiting for that, Blue grabbed a piping bag of chocolate frosting from the fridge and melted some chocolate in a glass bowl over boiling water; she’d taken my request for chocolate very seriously. Without checking, as if all the necessary timers were in her mind, she removed the cake from its pan, sawed it in half horizontally, glued them back together with melted chocolate, frosted the reconstructed cake, and drizzled the extra chocolate on top. It wasn’t the most beautiful thing in the world - she sacrificed visual appeal a bit for speed - but I had enough eye candy right now. The cake had another purpose.

Once it was formed, Blue went about gathering the utensils and drinks to accompany her masterpiece. She poured two cups of milk, set everything on a tray, and carried it delicately to the bar, joining me once it was safely level. “Here we are: dessert for two.”

“We each get half of this?” I licked my lips. “I’m going to need to visit the training room once this settles to work off the calories.”

“I’ll join you if you go,” she grinned.

“To exercise?”

She shrugged. “Either that, or to watch. Whichever.”

I cut the cake roughly evenly and handed her a plate and fork, and for a few minutes, time dissolved into chocolatey goodness. Finding actual sweets aboard Rhodes Island’s flagship is usually pretty simple, but good chocolate can be difficult to find when enough of our Operators are seriously affected by it. Blue had managed to find the best of everything, or had turned imperfect ingredients into something nearing perfection, and frankly, it didn’t matter which, because the end result was a rich paradise of warm melt-in-my-mouth baked chocolate. It took two full cups of milk to properly wash it down.

“How did you like dessert, Doctor?” She smiled victoriously. “Enough chocolate, I hope?”

“You are an angel in the kitchen, Blue; I couldn’t survive eating this every day, but it’d be a worthwhile death nonetheless,” I swore.

She took the empty dishes on the tray to the dishwasher. “I’m flattered you think I would poison you so slowly.”

“Oh, I know you could make it faster,” I shrugged, “but what would the point in that be? We’d both rather live to enjoy the other’s company, right?”

“All too true.”

I stepped down from my stool as she returned and offered my hand. “If you don’t mind, before I repay you for your labor here, I want to show you something.”

“If you like.” Blue returned her hand to its rightful place, and as we walked through the often-labyrinthine airship we live in, curiosity overtook her. “Doctor, if you don’t mind, where are we-”

“You’ll see!” No ruining the surprise. I led her steadily upward, past the dorms, past the observation posts, past the network towers, all the way to the top of the ship, where I’d found, during one of my many self-guided tours, a large glass window with a pair of fluffy armchairs.

And we’d made it just in time to watch the sun fall gently beneath the layer of ash and fog we flew above. I sat her down in the more comfortable chair, slid over the other to hold her hand, and simply enjoyed the view. When some of the older Operators talk about the paradise we’d lost with the Calamities, the view from this balcony has to be part of what they think is gone from the world.

As the last rays of light fell beneath the sky’s floor, Blue slid out of her chair and onto the armrest-bridge between them; I barely moved my hand out of the way before she sat down and set her face against my shoulder and her arms around me. “That was wonderful, Doctor. Thank you.”

“Of course.” At this point, I knew where she was headed with this, but had no idea how to join in the journey. “Um...”

“You’re nervous, aren’t you? It’s okay; I am, too.”

I turned to face her, which puts my lips almost directly against her forehead. “If I’ve ever done this before, I’ve completely forgotten how.”

“No one has let me be this close to them before,” Blue admitted, “so we’ll be clueless together.”

“Sounds like a dream to me.”

I...I’ll admit, I don’t know what I was expecting, but the memory is both blurred beyond recognition and ingrained into my mind. She lifted her head and tilted it slightly as she closed her eyes, I tilted mine the opposite direction and followed suite, and at some point our lips connected and stayed like that for awhile, but by then? By then, my heart was beating at supersonic speeds, my body was operating on auto-pilot, my brain had shut down entirely. All that was left was raw experience, the reality that I was here, with her, in this moment, and I loved everything about it.

It was waking up from a coma I hadn’t realized I was still in, because suddenly, I knew something important - whoever I might have been with before I forgot myself, it had been nothing like this, and it no longer mattered in the slightest.

Eventually, we broke it off, gasping a little; I might have forgotten to breathe at some point. Blue, her face a bright red, managed to regain her voice first. “That was...wow.”

“Yeah.” Once the blood started flowing to my neurons again, which took more than a few seconds, I continued, “I can tell you with absolute certainty that was my first kiss.”

“So can- did you remember something?” Blue’s eyes lit up at the thought.

I smiled. “It’s more like if I’d felt anything that incredible, amnesia wouldn’t have been enough to repress it.”

“You mean it,” she almost mouthed - a thought escaping unintentionally. “Doctor, does that mean- no, I couldn’t ask, even if the past two days have been so-”

“Blue, you’ve enjoyed today, right?”

She laughed, but covered her mouth immediately after. “Sorry, I- yes, I enjoyed today.”

“If we did something similar tomorrow,” I continued, “you’d like that, right?”

“I would, but if the other Operators realize we’re dating-”

I rose from my chair, walked in front of hers, and reached down to her with both hands. “Let them; if it really bothers them, they can fight the battle with HR that’ll result and lose.”

“Doctor…” Her eyes teared up with a heady cocktail of emotions as she took my hands. “Doctor, if this is really okay...how could I say no?”

“Fantastic.” The last whisper escaped my throat as I pulled her to her feet and bent down enough to catch her lips again. It was like lightning striking the same place twice.

We carried on like this for a few days, although the “dates” each day changed because, like I said, eating Blue’s cakes every day would seriously increase my calorie intake; one of us would cook something for us to share, we’d watch the sunset, and I’d walk her back to her dorm. Four days after I asked her about the rumors, I kissed her in public, and the chaos was wonderful - Amiya fainted, Kal'tsit sighed and shook her head as she took her away, Doberman had to be held back by Hoshiguma, and a lot of the other Operators admitted to themselves that, while they’d seen the signs a mile away, seeing the evidence so plainly stated was a real shock.

Missions are a little awkward now - I’ve been practicing with a handgun so I could fight next to Blue as a “Sniper,” but the others are so nonplussed by that suggestion I simply have to wait until after the battle ends to have my time with her. Why even let me practice with weapons if I can’t use them, guys? However, they have conceded to let me put Blue in my personal guard unit for when I do have to be in the field, which means no issues finding her when I start missing her too much.

It’s been over a month now since that first day, and we’ve been enjoying taking things slow. I even managed to set things up so she doesn’t have to do assistant work to stay in the office, so while myself and my assistant-of-the-week are doing office work, she can continue her toxicology stuff without any (unwanted) interruptions with a smile on her face. Man, having power in an organization is great!

Alright, that’s enough journaling; Blue’s coming up to my room in an hour or so to celebrate my birthday, and I need to do some cleaning up before she gets here. Maybe I’ll surprise her with a gift myself...

[tigermike]

On this day in 1897, a heroine is born. Grace “Tugboat Annie” Lally would serve as a nurse in both World Wars, but she is perhaps best known for her service during the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor.

Lally was then the Chief Nurse aboard USS Solace, the only hospital ship in port on that terrible day.

Solace was a state-of-the-art ship that was said to sit “like a swan in a covey of dull gray ducks” during her time at Pearl Harbor. Her nurses “extoll[ed] the luck which had sent them to the Pacific paradise that was the Hawaiian Islands.”

Naturally, that idyllic situation wouldn’t last. On December 7, 1941, Lally was getting ready for church when she heard “the sharp rattle of a machine gun” and the sound of planes. Running to a window, she saw a dive bomber attack USS Arizona.

Lally’s years of experience served her well. She spurred her 12 nurses into action and set up emergency wards. “I have never ceased being amazed at how quickly we reacted to the surprise attack on Pearl Harbor,” nurse Ann Danyo Willgrube wrote. “We never had disaster drills, yet when we realized that we were actually at war, every person on board that ship seemed to know instinctively what to do.”

All around Solace, ships were being bombed. Amazingly, Solace herself wasn’t hit, and Lally would later say that Solace’s survival amid so much chaos and destruction made the day seem even more surreal.

You can imagine the types of medical and surgical tasks that were needed that day, but you likely don’t know about the non-medical support that Lally and her fellow nurses provided in the weeks that followed.

Lally knew that hope and optimism were critical. A grim and dreary ship would undermine efforts to heal minds and bodies. Thus, she instructed her nurses to be cheerful. “The nurses smiled, joked, laughed at their own stories even when they weren’t funny,” one historian describes, “and carried on under the leadership of a Chief Nurse known for her sense of humor.”

During one alert, Lally noticed that cookies were cheering people up. After that, she ordered the cook to ensure that cookies were always available. Hot coffee worked similar wonders, so coffee and sandwiches were kept constantly on hand, too.

Importantly, Lally figured out how to celebrate Christmas, despite the terrible attack. “[W]e had managed to collect four scraggy cedars in Honolulu,” Lally wrote in 1945, “together with enough tinsel, holly, decorations, toys, and knick-knacks so that every man aboard the Solace would have a gift and a celebration.” She recruited a yeoman to dress up as Santa Claus. She had a Christmas tree hoisted on the mast of Solace, per Navy tradition.

The nurses went Christmas caroling among the wards.

Topping everything off, the nurses worked to make personal gifts for those in their care. An angel food cake was baked for one sailor who used to get one from his mother. A blind man was given something he could feel, and the nurses gave a machinist’s mate the kind of mechanical ballet dancer that he was accustomed to giving his daughter.

“We were right to give the ballet dancer to the machinist’s mate,” one nurse later recollected. “When I went back to say good night, there he was, fast asleep, a bit of smile on his face, and the toy clutched in his hand—just like a kid.”

We often hear of war heroes and their heroic actions in battle, but there’s a softer side to war heroism, too. Some war heroes simply ensure that our hard-working or wounded soldiers can go to sleep with smiles on their faces.

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[wetwellie]

Small Bit from my Star Trek AU

When Captain Hall ordered Jack to go down to their new navigator, Ensign Eric Bittle’s quarters, “to check up on him”, he hadn’t expected anything like this. He expected to deal with homesickness, drug abuse, a bad breakup that leads to an uncomfortable work environment, or an injury that hasn’t been reported to the medical wing because it was caused during one of those kegsters that the crew frequently holds. Y’know. Regular issues with the crew on the USS Samwell. Instead. He gets...well. Jack is having a hard time grasping what he’s looking at. 

“Did you bring five year’s worth of baking supplies onto this starship, ensign?” Jack asks, trying to keep his voice as level as possible as he looks over the shoulder of Bittle and into his room. It looks to be insulated with the bags of flour, sugar, shortening, and a plethora of canned and preserved goods that line the walls. How he managed to stow these on board, Jack didn’t know. But he’d talk with those officers soon enough. 

Bittle gulps audibly. “No, sir. I did not. I only brought enough to last me until my next shore leave”

Jack pulls out his datapad and starts typing and swiping away furiously.  “Your next shore leave isn’t for another 3 months”  “But it’s a lot less than 5 years ” 

“I can count 12 5kg bags of flour in that corner alone. How is that 3 months worth?”

Bitty looks down at his feet and mumbles something.  “Speak up, Bittle”

“It’s not for me, sir. Or, rather, it’s not just for me. I thought that it would be a good way to start on the right foot if I made something for everyone at least once a day. Or twice. Because sometimes there are people busy during the morning and they can’t get a slice,”  Bittle rambles helplessly. The guy looks like he’s about to cry. Jack briefly wonders how he got through the academy. They’ll just let anyone in, he figures. “But sir. I mean Zimmermann. Second officer. Mr. Jack? Lieutenant? Commander? Sorry. What rank are you?” “Lieutenant-commander” 

“Right. Two stripes, two words. Got it. Okay,” Bittle says “Lieutenant-commander, sir. I will be more than willing to limit my baking to only once a day.”

Jack purses his lips, counts to three in his head, and then says -- calmly, yet sternly-- “Ensign, you can’t bake at all. Having all of these ingredients, unregulated, travelling through deep space, on a vessel with crewmen and women who may have allergies--and that’s just thinking of the humans-- is a violation of several regulations.” “You think I didn’t take into consideration the potential of allergic reaction? I’ve tested all of my recipes? Sir, forgive the informality, but this isn’t my first rodeo in the xenoculinary studies. I’ve double checked each of my recipes to make sure that everything is safe to eat for every species serving aboard this ship. If that is the issue with my baking, then please don’t worr-” “Ensign, it’s not just the risk of allergies. Each member of the crew has been given a strict diet to follow, and eating these deserts has way too much value than needs to be consumed in a day”

“A piece of pie here and there isn’t going to destroy the crew’s fitness. Not when you have us each work out every day.” He explains. “The positives outweigh the negative, sir. I should be able to continue for the good of morale” Bittle is gaining more confidence with every defense. He’s standing up straighter, hands held behind his back in a parade rest. His eyes are staring back at Jack’s.This should be the norm. Instead, this determination feels like a challenge. He’s not going to back down.  “Regardless of all of those points, Ensign Bittle, there is still something deeply concerning about your behavior that endangers the whole crew” Jack starts “You can’t bake without using some form of heat. How are you able to bake without using a device that doesn’t threaten to explode?” Jack can see Bittle grin for a moment before returning to the same focus he had before. “I know that the idea of ovens are 200 years old, but you should know that they aren’t known to explode. Can they die on you? Yes. Can they cook food unevenly? Of course. That’s beside the point though. I don’t even have an oven on this ship. Could you imagine trying to lug one on?” Jack couldn’t imagine trying to lug 36 jars of jam on board, but that’s besides the point. 

“So how do you bake your stuff?” “I have a friend in engineering” Jack pauses “I don’t see how that has to do with anything” “Mr. Zimmermann, that has to do with everything.” Bitty says. “I’ll give you a moment to think about it” Jack paused to try to wrap his head around it, but failed to come up with anything.  “Do you need a hint?” Jack doesn’t say anything to that.  “Okay. I’ll give you one. It’s something that the engineers always complain about when maintenance comes around, because they say that the suits they have to wear feel like a cactus and sandpaper had a baby” 

It clicked. All Jack could say was “No way” Bitty nodded, seeming a bit proud of himself.  “You are not using the warp core’s coils for that”

“I’ve never gotten a more evenly baked pie. The temperature in there is almost always around 480K, so that means I can’t make the fluffiest of cakes. But I make do” 

“And who is the officer who aides you in placing your pies there?” “I took a couple classes in Warp Core repairs as a gen ed back in the academy, so I know what I’m doing if that’s what you’re worried about. I’m not going to get hurt.” “That wasn’t the question. Who gave you the codes and the suit to get it”

“Um” “We don’t have an officer named Um on board, to my knowledge. So it must be someone else” 

Then, like a deus ex machina coming to save the day, Jack hears a voice coming up from behind him. “Come on, man. Don’t make the new kid break our planet’s most ancient, and sacred no snitching policy.”  Jack doesn’t even need to turn around to know who was standing behind him. Turning around to address him in his relative state of undress was merely good manners. 

“Shitty. I mean, Lieutenant Knight. Please don’t interfere with me doing my job.”  “If your job means that you’re taking away the best damn pie I’ve ever eaten, then there’s gonna be a revolt” 

“This man is risking himself in order to make pie. I can’t have that” “And the recreational fighting tournaments that we have on Sundays isn’t risking ourselves? Let it slide” “I don’t see why I should” Shitty turns to look at Bittle and snapping his fingers at him. “Bits do you have any of last night’s pie left over in there?” He shakes his head.  “I think Ransom might have some in his mini fridge. Let me check.”  Shitty dashes down the hall to a couple doors over, leaving the two of them in a painfully awkward silence. Jack decides to listen as Shitty comms Ransom, who Jack knows is working in the labs at the moment.  “Hey man sorry to borrow you but I need you to let me into your quarters” Shitty says into the comm. There is a muffled response. “I need your pie. No no no! It’s not for me... It’s not for Lardo either... I know I said that last time but trust me it’s true...It’s not my fault that you wanted to save it for later! ... come on man. It’s a matter of emergency... No it’s not munchies. I could go to a replicator for that. Jack needs it...The needs of the many outweigh the needs of you, man. No. He can’t wait until tonight...Because if I do not give him your slice of pie, there won’t be a tonight...Oh shit. Rans. Breathe. You’ll get your pie tonight...I know you’re working very hard...lab work sucks ass. All that, uh, centrifugal shit...Thanks man. I owe you.” 

Shitty hangs up, the door wooshes open, and he dashes inside.  “Ransom. Dr. Oluransi, I mean, works too hard in that lab of his.” “He does his best” “He stretches himself too thin.” Bittle shakes his head “He hardly left the lab for the first two weeks I was on board. I had to deliver the pie to him. We all cheered the first time that he came to the mess hall to pick up his slice himself”

Shitty runs back with the pie, a piece of it already piled onto a plastic spork. “Jackie boy I’m gonna need you to open wide.”  Shitty doesn’t let Jack take the fork for himself. Instead, they share a conversation with just their eyes that ends in Shitty staring him down with an expression Jack took to translate as “If you don’t let me feed you, then our friendship is cancelled”

Reluctantly, Jack opens his mouth. In front of Bittle. Who he’s supposed to be superior to. This is why Jack hasn’t gotten his own ship. Because he’s weak. And gets fed pie.

Really good pie. 

Holy shit.

Jack may or may not have made a noise.  He turns to Bittle, who is looking a mix of confidence and nauseated. His skin turned a sickly green. Jack figures it must be the pressure. Jack claps him on the shoulder reassuringly. “Any objection I have is withdrawn. Just try to add some supplements to it like protein and we’ll be fine.” 

He removes his hand from Bittle’s shoulder and turns to take his leave.  After he turns the corner, he hears Shitty, faintly telling Bittle that he should go to the med bay because he’s looking a bit green. Jack tries not to feel guilty. If Bittle didn’t want a nerve wracking confrontation, he should have cleared it with command beforehand. 

He returns to the bridge and finds Captain Hall.  “I spoke with Bittle” “And?” “He’s a good guy. Looks out for the good of the crew” “So he agreed to bring me and Murray a slice?”

Jack sits down at his post and buries his hands in his face.  “I’ll make sure it’s arranged, sir”

[robinine-blog]

The Past is a Different Country

Part One can be found here: http://robinine-blog.tumblr.com/post/165123148588/the-past-is-a-different-country

Part Two is here: http://robinine-blog.tumblr.com/post/165160561770/the-past-is-a-different-country

Part Three is here: http://robinine-blog.tumblr.com/post/165268449865/the-past-is-a-different-country

Part Four is here: http://robinine-blog.tumblr.com/post/165373103435/the-past-is-a-different-country

Or if you prefer AO3; https://archiveofourown.org/works/12027279/chapters/27224769

Ok guys, prepare yourselves

Chapter Five - The Mom Question

The kids share an uncertain look.

Uncle Donald hasn't moved. Hasn't looked at them. Just. Stood there. Looking. At nothing.

"I think we broke him." Louie whispers.

---

"The Spear of Selene! Don!" A woman screamed dramatically,

"Ahh!" Dewey wakes with a scream, rolling out of the hammock and crashing into the cushions below.

"I know!" Donald yells, bouncing round in circles with Della.

Della giggles, "We found it, we found it!" She sings.

"You're a legend Del!" Donald grins, spinning her.

Dewey scrambled up, rubbing his eyes. "What?"

"Hey cuz!" Della pounced, picking him up and spinning him around. "You're awake!" She hugged him to her chest, then plonked him back down again.

Dewey inched back, only to bump into Donald.

Donald chuckled, and put a hand on his shoulder, bending down to whisper, "she hasn't slept much."

Dewey looks back at his Mom. She's his Mom. There's a lump in his throat.

She's dangling Huey upside down.

What!?

Dewey rushes over, she's going to drop him! But Huey is laughing as Della swings him right side up.

"Um… hi?" He waves, Della is giving him an amused look. Huey waves back.

"Want to hold him?" Della asked, and Dewey barely holds out his hands before his brother, his brother's a baby! is dropped in his arms.

"That one is…" Della paused. She glanced down into the crib. "Louie is in green... "

Dewey stared frozen at the bundle of fluff in his arms, barely daring to breath. Huey stares back. The smile is gone, and Huey is clearly trying to decide whether he likes this new situation.

"Huey Del. You dressed Huebert in red, blue for Dewford, green for Louis." Donald recited, he's grinning as he leans against the wall.

"Hi?" Dewey mouths, and Huey gives him a mournful look and pats him on the chest.

"Right!" Della spins back around, and Dewey takes a step back, cradling the tiny duckling to his chest. She points, "That's Huey. Huey, this is…"

"Dewey?" Dewey fills in when Della swirls her hand in a come on motion.

"Nope!" Della declares, "one Dewey limit! We already have a Dewey."

"Della." Donald raises an eyebrow at her.

Della glanced over to her brother, "Donald." She echoes in the same tone of voice, and gestured wildly "What are we meant to yell when he falls into the sea again? Can't yell Dewey or we'll be looking for a hatchling to rescue instead of a cousin."

Dewey laughed, and she grinned down at him. "So cuz, what are we calling you?"

Dewey shrugged, and rested his chin against the soft down feathers on Huey's head. "I've always been Dewey."

"With a name like yours, I'm not surprised." Donald commented.

Della put her hand under her chin and leaned forward. Dewey leaned back, bumping against the wall. 'Hmm' she vocalised loudly. "Main character trait?"

"I'm impulsive?" Dewey tried to inch sideways.

"Imp!" Della yelled, bouncing backwards and twirling. "Don, this is now Imp."

"Della." Donald rolled his eyes, "If you don't like it, she'll probably forget." He mock glares at Della, "When she gets some SLEEP!"

"Sleep? Sleep? What is that? I think I remember a vague period of rest… maybe Wednesday?" Della stares off into space, counting off her fingers, "Or was it Thursday?"

Dewey giggles. "I like it." He decides, his Mom gave him a nickname. Everything is soft and fluffy. Mom's like him. He's like Mom.

She's utterly terrifying, and amazing, and…

His chest hurts. He wants to cry.

Donald slips over to sit beside him, a warm arm slung around his shoulders and he's pulled into a hug.

"My mom…" he whispers, and he doesn't know if Donald hears him. He doesn't know if he cares.

Donald sighs, and runs his fingers through Dewey's feathers, straightening them as he goes. Huey gets lifted away, but the little duckling leans over to wipe at Dewey's tears.

"So, we're off to South America. Do you have your passport?" Donald asks.

Dewey shakes his head.

"I'm going to get my plane ready. Sorry Imp, maybe next time, we can't exactly sneak you across the border." Della declares, "It's not like there's a hidden nook perfectly sized to hold a kid or two." She winks, and swings herself out the boat

Dewey sneaks a look at Donald, more than a little confused.

"I think we should eat. How do you feel about a pasta bake?" Donald nudged him.

"Like I could eat it all?" Dewey offered.

Donald laughed, and hauled him up. "Let's put the fluff balls in the pen so they can watch, and we'll make supper."

--- Uncle Donald suddenly fell to his knees, digging his fingers into the carpet. It's sticky and slimy. He's sinking. He's drowning. "What. Happened." He still can't look at them. He can't see them. There's the heavy scent of rot, it's too humid out here.

The kids start talking all at once, and he can't understand, it's just noise. He can barely hear them over the rushing of the river. A rising cascade of sound.

Donald swiped his hand across, cutting them off. Della's gone. Imp's gone. He's all that's left.

No. He's not there. He's not. He has to be here. For them. The river dulls to a distant roar. There's carpet under his hands, not mud.

Dewey needs him.

"Huey. Explain. Now."

---

"So there we were, surrounded by Beagle boys, crammed between two shipping crates, Ma Beagle getting closer and closer, and you know what Scrooge says?"

Dewey leaned forward, balancing on the edge of his seat. "No?"

"I'm sorry lass, I should never have insulted your cooking!" Donald posed dramatically with the pepper shaker. "He pulls out one of Della's rock cakes, and threw it at Ma Beagle. Bang!" Donald slammed down the pepper shaker.

"Really?" Dewey said, standing on his chair and staring up at Donald, wide eyed and tail wagging.

"Down that old hag went, we come storming out…"

The door opened, "Sounds like you're having fun Don." Della said as she let herself in.

Donald blushed, and rubbed the back of his head, "Well..."

"Having fun Imp?" She asked, much calmer than before.

"You are both amazing!" Dewey said, welding the table cutlery in imitation of a sword fight.

Della laughed as she brushed past the baby pen, glancing down at the three young ducklings "I see Don has been telling you some tall tales."

"Not that tall." Donald said, "And I see someone took a nap."

"Yep. I'm all ready to fly when you are."

"After dinner please." Donald said, poking his fork at Dewey, "And remember Imp. There's a lose panel behind the wing. Leads straight to a crawl space."

Dewey blinked. Glancing between the two as they shared knowing looks.

Wait. No. Uncle Donald wouldn't...

--- "Get in the car." Uncle Donald ordered. He's shaking and Huey really doesn't think he should be driving.

"But uncle Donald." Huey started, he can't let his uncle do this. He's already lost one brother.

"In. The. Car." Huey flinched and looked to Louie.

Louie is wide eyed, and staring at Uncle Donald. Webby whimpered, and no Huey isn't going to let his uncle do something crazy.

"Donald. You are not driving." Mrs Beakley said, emerging from the shadows. Huey sighs in relief. Backup! They're saved!

"I'm going to kill him." Donald growled.

Huey can't stop the small noise of protest, any more than he can let go of Louie.

"Fine. After we get Master Dewey back."

Donald nodded sharply, and tossed the keys at Beakley.

Huey gulps.

---

Dewey was humming under his breathe, half dancing, half sneaking to the tune of his theme music.

Donald and Della had made some very obvious noises about getting the ducklings settled and strapped in before take off.

Time aplenty to sneak aboard.

"Behind the wing, behind the wing…" There was only one side easily accessible on the plane, right next to the dock between Donald's houseboat, and Della's seaplane. He tapped the panels, one by one. And was completely floored when one battered panel popped open.

Wait. Seriously? He glanced back at the loading ramp, where Donald was innocently whistling and rocking one of the ducklings, pacing back and forth while he waited for Della.

"My family is awesome!" He declared, and crawled inside the plane, shutting the panel behind him. There was enough light coming through the grate that he could see a catch and lock on the inside of the panel. "And they've done this before?"

He locked the panel in place, and wiggled along the crawl space, until he came to a ladder. Curious, because had they seriously planned this? Dewey climbed the ladder, and found a little cubby hole, softly padded and lined with blankets and pillows, just the right size for a mid sized adult.

Dewey tilted his head, "They have definitely done this before." As he crawled in and made himself comfortable. It was warm and cozy, smelling ever so familiar. He wondered who had used it last.

He was half asleep when he heard a knocking. "I hope everyone is strapped in." Donald's voice came through loud and clear.

"Oh. Right." Dewey muttered, feeling around for something like a seatbelt, and clicking it in place. "Aye aye captain!"

He heard Donald laugh, "All set Aviator!"

"It looks like clear skies ahead Sailor!" Della responded as she started the engine.

Dewey drifted off, warm and safe. He smiled, his family was so cool.

---

"Either Scrooge comes out here, or we go in." Donald growled, slamming his hands on the receptionist's desk.

"I'm sorry Mr Duck, but I can't…"

Scrooge stormed through the door. Donald had no right to start terrorising his employees.

"Donald?" He snapped, "I don't know what you think you're doing…"

"Dewey's gone." Donald snapped back.

No. No. He couldn't. He wouldn't.

Scrooge firmed his stance, automatically preparing to dodge a blow. "He ran away? What happened?"

Donald folded his arms, "It's your fault. If you hadn't left cursed treasures in your mansion…!"

No. No he checked everything. It was all under lock and key. His home was safe. He made it safe for them.

"Cursed? What did he touch!"

"The Amulet of Kronos, Mr McDuck." Webby said, sandwiched between Huey and Louie. The boys were both glaring at Scrooge.

It was Della all over again. Donald had that exact same look.

"There's no such… thing…" Scrooge trailed off. "Ugly stone tablet? Blue glowing eyes?"

"They were red." Huey said.

A memory flashed in front of his eyes. An impossible dream. An impossible future. But, maybe…?

"I thought it was used up…" Scrooge said, "I suppose… maybe it needed time to recharge?"

Donald came back to him, even after everything. Maybe it wasn't an impossible future.

"Where's Dewey?" Donald snapped his fingers in front of Scrooge's eyes. Scrooge flinched, refocusing on Donald.

"He's in the past. Somewhere. No. Somewhen."

Scrooge paused, letting his determination seize him. "And I know how to find him."

@donaldtheduckdad @miilkydayz Guys, rollercoaster, I just. I had to. My fingers slipped. I tried to warn you.

[worryinglyinnocent]

Fic: Family Fun Day

Summary: An anonymous prompt from my Chance Encounter ‘verse: “It's Belle's first time of the museum's annual event. People tell her that their director, Mr. Gold, is a scary, mysterious man but is definitely cool and genuine when he dresses up as Rumplestiltskin for this event.”

Chance Encounter was one of the fics I wrote for the Rumbelle Showdown earlier this year, and it can be read here.

Rated: G

=====

Family Fun Day

Belle had always had to hide a smile when her colleagues at the maritime museum would warn her about the terrifying director, Mr Gold. They told her all the horror stories of the interns that he’d made cry with a single scathing comment, of the many secretaries he’d given nervous breakdowns, of the way he could manipulate the museum board into satisfying his every demand. Truth be told, Belle just found the tales amusing, because her first and lasting impression of Rum Gold would always be a slightly scruffy stranger in a parka in a cave, telling her all about the legend of the great smuggler Rumpelstiltskin’s missing hoard of treasure, and although, in her position as chief archivist at the museum, she frequently crossed paths with the director, their interactions had been never been anything but civil.

And perhaps, Belle admitted to herself, a little bit flirtatious. They did, after all, share something of an inside joke. Well, it wasn’t really a joke per se, just a little thing that no-one else knew about. That morning in the hidden cave was their private little secret, and Belle was content to keep it that way.

So when Mr Gold asked her if she was willing to help out with the museum’s annual family fun day, she was more than happy to agree to the proposal. From all accounts of the staff who had been there for the previous events, it was always a highlight in the town’s calendar, with plenty of events for children of all ages, including an underwater themed bouncy castle and a puppet show starring the pirates and smugglers that the seaside town of Storybrooke was famous for. During her time at the museum, with access to its vast archives of materials on the smugglers, Belle had learned a lot about Storybrooke’s most famous son, and she was looking forward to sharing this knowledge with the younger generation and hopefully inspiring in them the same love of history and pride in their hometown that she had. The museum was designed to be child friendly, but it wasn’t all that interactive, and she knew that small children would easily get bored just looking at displays and artefacts. The family fun day was a great way to get them interested in the museum.

There was one other reason why she was eager to take part in the fun day activities, and that was the cryptic insinuations of one of her friends on the museum staff. Astrid worked on reception and had greeted her on the day of her interview, when Belle had had to double take at the sight of Mr Gold in his sharp suit having met him in the cave the day before, and whilst Astrid still held some fear of the man, it was not as pronounced as some of the other museum workers. Astrid had said that Belle would see an entirely new side to Mr Gold on the day, and no matter how much she asked, wheedled and downright bribed her friend, Belle could not get any more information on the matter out of her, simply being told to wait and see.

The morning of the fun day dawned bright and early, not a cloud in the sky, and Belle was at the museum well before opening time to supervise the unloading and inflating of the bouncy castle. Astrid brought out a mug of tea for her, and together they watched the semi-inflated castle. The shapes of the divers and dolphins looked rather painful and distorted, and even though they were just painted on plastic, Belle grimaced in sympathy as they inflated and started puffing out in unfortunate places.

“It’s probably a good thing that we get it all set up before the kiddies start arriving,” Astrid mused. “This looks fascinatingly obscene.”

The two ladies continued to watch the proceedings for a while until Belle caught sight of Mr Gold crossing towards them from the car park, and she had to raise an eyebrow because he was looking much the same as usual, still dressed in the same suit and tie with no concession to the warm weather. The only things that were slightly out of the ordinary were the garment bag he was carrying and the fact that he evidently hadn’t shaved that morning. He was looking a little more like the man in the parka that Belle knew was hidden beneath the suit.

“Good morning ladies.” He nodded respectfully and went into the museum, disappearing off into the director’s office. Once he was out of sight, Belle turned to Astrid.

“I’m not seeing an entirely new side to him.”

“Just wait,” Astrid said with a grin. “You will.”

The day continued to great success, the children enjoying all the activities that the staff were laying on - even if a few of them were a bit green after consuming too much cake from the Lifeboat Charity bake sale and then going straight on the bouncy castle - and Belle was having just as much fun as the families. When not supervising the bouncy castle, she was involved in some of the storytelling sessions taking place inside the museum throughout the day, telling tales of life on the high seas at various points during history, and some of Storybrooke’s most interesting and obscure run-ins with smugglers and pirates. According to Astrid, the main attraction of the day was the storytelling session in which the great Rumpelstiltskin himself would tell tales of his exploits on the seven seas. It was so popular that they commandeered the museum’s conference centre to accommodate all the people they were expecting to attend.

Knowing that Mr Gold had spent most of the day in the conference centre, Belle began to wonder. At first she had assumed that he was hiding from the vastly increased number of visitors to the museum - he was never the most social of creatures - but now she wasn’t so sure. As she entered the conference centre just before the appointed time and managed to slip into a seat at the back beside Astrid, she thought that her ponderings might have paid off. The usually sleek and professional presentation room, with its plush tiered seating, had been transformed into a shadowy seaside cave, complete with chests of chocolate coin ‘treasure’ and very realistic seeming pieces of ship’s driftwood. Across the front wall, above the projector screen (which was displaying a video of sailors dancing a hornpipe aboard a tall ship), was a replica of the Spindle Imp’s nameplate, just as she had seen wedged into the cracks in the rocks of the hidden cave on the shore. Yes, this session was definitely going to immerse the visitors right into the heart of Rumpelstiltskin’s legend. Once the conference centre was full to capacity, the lights dimmed, and a figure strode out from the wings towards the presenter’s podium. As he stepped into the light, Belle had to stifle a gasp. Well, she would have had to stifle a gasp had her gasp not been drowned out by the exclamations of delight from the visitors.

Mr Gold, the so-called terror of the museum, was dressed up as his ancestor, the famed smuggler Jonathan Gold, alias Rumpelstiltskin, terror of the high seas and bane of lawmakers, Storybrooke’s most popular dashing rogue. A hat with a feather in it, a long frock coat, knee high boots with very tight trousers tucked into them… Belle could not quite believe what she was seeing, but she definitely liked what she saw.

“Told you so,” Astrid whispered with a grin. “But it gets better, I promise.”

Astrid did not let her down.

“Good afternoon ladies, gentlemen, young deck swabbers and would-be members of the crew of the Spindle Imp,” Gold began, and immediately Belle was entranced. She knew how invested Gold was in the legends surrounding his ancestors and the Rumpelstiltskin horde that had even been found, but the passion that he was showing as he sprang around the room re-enacting some of the daring adventures and fights that the smuggler had seen in his days, much to the utter delight of the kids in the audience, was something else entirely. He truly became the character, and in the parts where he was not trying to be scary for the audience’s benefit to show what a fearsome smuggler Rumpelstiltskin had been, his genuine enthusiasm for the role and for the entertainment of the children in the audience was palpable. Several times he got some of the younger ones up to hold various props or illustrate a point or two, and they always went back to their seats giggling, having been warned that if they misbehaved during the rest of the fun day then he would have them swabbing decks till closing time.

“Now,” Gold said, his eyes scanning the audience as if he were looking out to sea over the horizon. “A lot of other sailors at this time thought that it was bad luck to take a woman on board a smuggling ship. But not me. Who here’s heard of Anne Bonny? The famous lady pirate?” A few hands were raised and Gold nodded. “Well, history shows that she was just as good a sailor as any of the men aboard Jack Rackham’s ship, and far more fearless than Calico Jack himself, who was a bit of a coward when it came down to it by all accounts. So I thought it might be a good idea to have a few women on my crew, since they’d definitely proved their mettle. Who here knows the name of my right-hand woman?”

“Isabella de Chevalier!” someone in the front row yelled out.

“Precisely. Now, since Madame de Chevalier sadly can’t be with us today, can I have a stand-in? Perhaps Miss French, if you’d be so kind?”

Belle felt herself blushing as she made her way down the tiers to the front, and accepted the long sword that Gold handed her.

“You’ll be fine,” he muttered in her ear as he adjusted her grip on it. “I just don’t trust members of the public with the finer items in the museum’s collection.” Then he turned back to the audience. “Miss French is holding the very blade that Madame de Chevalier uses on board the Spindle Imp. She’s a high-born lady married to a boorish French nobleman, and she longs for adventures of all kinds. Including in the company of smugglers and pirates. So she steals Beauty, her father’s blade, and runs off to join a ship. A ship that just so happens to be called the Spindle Imp. And since I, Rumpelstiltskin, am being known at the time as the Beast of Storybrooke, and Madame de Chevalier wielding the Beauty of Marchmonts, well, it’s hardly surprising that their story turned into a fairy tale.”

Belle swung the sword in as swashbuckling a manner as possible, but quickly put it down when it turned out to be rather heavier than she was expecting. She didn’t want to take Gold’s nose off by accident, however much realism it might have added to the presentation.

“Unfortunately, it’s a fairy tale whose ending remains unknown,” Gold said. “In 1720, Madame de Chevalier and I simply vanished, leaving just the sword and some diaries behind. People have been trying to find the Spindle Imp’s loot for centuries, but it remains lost to the seas. Which, I think, is just the way I would have liked it. That, ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, is the end of the tale. Thank you to all my volunteer deckhands, thank you to Miss French, please do help yourself to pieces of eight on your way out, there’s plenty to go around. Edible treasure is the best kind of treasure, of course.”

Belle hung around at the front of the centre with Gold as the audience began to file out, and Gold bowed to each of the people who thanked him for such a wonderful tale. Finally, it was just the two of them left, and Gold let out a long sigh, taking off his hat and running a hand through his damp hair where he’d worked up a hot sweat during his performance.

“So, what did you think, Madame de Chevalier?” he asked. Belle just gave a little round of applause.

“You were magnificent,” she said. “I refuse to believe that the great Rumpelstiltskin was anything other than how you portrayed him.”

“Well, I do have a slight advantage of family records,” Gold said. He gave her a grin, flashing the gold in his tooth that had always been there but that looked even better today with the rest of his outfit. “Maybe it’s in the genes.”

“How are you related to him?”

“We’re not entirely sure. The records of his family are patchy. According to my Aunt Elvira we can trace our heritage back to Douglas Gold, who was living around the time of Rumpelstiltskin’s disappearance, and he’s widely claimed to be Rumpelstiltskin’s nephew, his sister’s son. But the evidence of his sister’s existence is inconclusive and some people claim that Douglas was actually the son of Jonathan Gold and Madame de Chevalier. I guess it’s one of those things that we’ll never know.”

“It’s still fascinating, whatever the truth might be.”

Gold bowed. “I’m glad you think so.”

Together they set about clearing up the conference centre. It was sad to see it transform from its watery wonderland back into its usual professional appearance, but it was nice to work with Gold alone for a while. Once the place was clean and tidy once more, he looked down at his attire.

“I’d better get changed or else I’ll get mobbed once I go out into the museum again,” he said. “But all the same, I think it’s been a good day so far.”

Belle nodded. “It’s been brilliant. Will we have a repeat performance next year?”

“But of course. Rumpelstiltskin’s storytelling session has become quite the attraction.”

“I can certainly see why.”

Gold paused for a moment. “Thank you for all your help today, Belle,” he said. “Perhaps… Could I take you out for a drink tonight, once everything’s packed up? To say a proper thank you, and because after all the running around today I think you’ll need it. And… Well, because I’d really like to go out for a drink with you.”

Belle smiled. “Captain Gold, Madame de Chevalier would be delighted to go for a drink with you. Although I have to say that I don’t like rum.”

“Neither do I, for all I get called it. Would wine do as an alternative?”

“Wine will do nicely.”

“In that case, it’s a date.”

Belle smiled. “It most certainly is.”

The family fun day was definitely set to be one of the most successful in the museum’s history, and for Belle, it was only the beginning...