#and like most of the cast she functions on bare minimum sleep

[yuechicake]

they still haven't found someone who can beat li in a drinking contest🍹

(art comissioned from kimeyngo, and template edited by Kenna)

[kashi-prompts]

Rating: M

Pairing: None! Maybe Kakashi x Gai? As friends or lovers, you choose. 

Genre: Angst. Just angst. Maybe some fluff. 

WARNING: This work contains themes such as drug abuse and suicide. If you are uncomfortable with these topics, I would recommend skipping this prompt <3 

A/N: For the lovely @kakashiswilloffire​ <3 I hope its not too similar to my other one or just cringy or boring or something??

Prompt below the cut!

Most days, the insufferable, poignant metal smell of blood would wash away after the hot water hit his body. The gory memento of his last mission under his fingernails would be stripped away by scrubbing his scalp. The water would filter from clear to crimson as it sucked itself down the drain at his feet. 

Oftentimes, the metallic aroma of bloodshed would still visit him, taunting his thoughts as though he hadn't washed it away. It wasn't his blood that he was smelling. It was someone else's. Someone who was no longer living or breathing on this earth- someone who was now buried deep under a mound of soil thanks to him. Still, he would ignore the odor, hoping it was just the heightened sense of smell that was both a blessing and a curse to his five senses.

His feet brought him through the village as the sun began to set. Deep within him, he felt an empty, familiar feeling. Like a hole that he was never sure could be filled with anything except self-loathing and hatred for himself. He was angry - angry with his father for dying, angry with Minato for dying, angry with himself - for Rin, for Obito. He felt empty—the numbing feeling of bereavement and angst overpowering him. 

"Want one?" he heard, looking up. One muted grey eye sought out the voice, settling on a waistcloth marked "fire" at his eye level. Looking up, the Hokage's son offered him a cigarette while the silver-haired shinobi sat on the stone bench, deep in thought. 

"You look like you had a rough day," Asuma noted dismally, the long tobacco stick perched between his two yellowing fingers. 

"I'm fine," Kakashi responded pointedly, waving a dismissive hand and looking away. 

"Rough mission?" the Sarutobi asked, replacing the offered token to his pocket. He lit the cigarette that hung from his lips. 

Kakashi shrugged, leaning forward to place his elbows on his knees. He felt so much older than the man standing next to him. Asuma was experienced, but the type of experiences differed from black to white. To guard and protect was a prestigious claim on the title of shinobi - but the conquest to slaughter agitators of your village as your primary delegation was altogether something different. 

A wif of blood suddenly stroked the 19-year-olds masked nose. His eye widened, covertly searching for the source. His arm tingled, reminiscent of how it would feel after pumping it with chakra to forge a Chidori. Asuma stood beside him, deaf to the flash of trauma that flowed like a movie roll effortlessly through Kakashi's mind. 

Swallowing, he stood from the stone bench abruptly, a bead of sweat trickling down from his hairline to his spine. 

"You alright?" Asuma questioned, regarding his friend with curiosity and concern.

"Yeah, I have things to do," Kakashi told him, wiping his clammy hands on the fabric of his pants quickly. Panic rose in him, yet he couldn't pin why. Maybe it was the rush of adrenaline that suddenly pumped through his veins. The feeling of being in combat sending signals to his brain, yet the air around him stood peaceful and still. 

"You sure you don't want one?" Asuma prodded, offering the cigarette in his hand. Kakashi looked away, bothered by the question yet again. Yet, the smell of blood still lingered, and the source seemed unknown. Did he imagine it? 

Taking a step to walk past his friend, he caught a wif of the cloud of nicotine enveloping the dark-haired man beside him. Kakashi peaked up, observing the cigarette between Asuma's lips captivatingly. The smell vanished, whether in his own mind or not. Exhaling, his eyes met Asuma's. 

"Yeah, I'll take one." 

***** 

The pain crept up his leg again, unrelenting and all-consuming. The aftershocks of the injury seemed to shake him more than it had the moment his leg had shattered two months earlier on a mission. This time, the discomfort woke him from his sleep. 

"Shit," Kakashi sneered, clutching the top of his shin. The cast had been removed a week ago, yet the gnawing pain seemed to reappear every 6 hours. 

"It'll go away eventually," the med-nin had told him. Having been irritated by how long he was out of work, he didn't care about the discomfort at that time. He only wanted to return to missions. To have some self-worth pump into him at the satisfaction of completing a task successfully. But somehow, the pain seemed to be getting worse. 

Reaching towards his nightstand through the dark, he blindly grasped for the bottle of pills he kept near him. His finger touched it, knocking it to the ground and rolling underneath his bed. Curses filled the quiet bedroom as he yanked his sheets off and knelt on the hardwood floor. Dust and food wrappers cluttered the underside of his mattress. 

"What the fu-" he gritted his teeth, wildly searching for the bottle beneath the mattress frame. Finally, he grasped it and pulled it back to him. Looking down at the label, he read it carefully to himself again in the light of the streetlamp outside his window. 

"Take two pills three times a day as needed." 

Kakashi considered the instructions, reminding himself of the ache in his leg that didn't seem to go away as time went on. 

Perhaps doubling it would help. 

*****

The second refill was easy to obtain. But now, only four pills remained of it after only one week.  

"I need a refill," the silver-haired jounin leader requested. His expression remained blank as he set the bottle down in front of the med-nin. 

Carefully, the woman picked up the bottle, examining the man's name on the label. 

Hatake Kakashi

DOB: September 15

Acetaminophen + Oxycodone 500mg

"You refilled this prescription last week, Hatake-san," the woman explained carefully. 

"I know," Kakashi replied sharply, "that's why I'm here. I need a refill." 

"That's not how this works," she stressed to him gently, "You can only refill a prescription after a certain period of time has passed. You shouldn't have to refill this prescription for another two weeks." 

"Are you going to help me or not?" 

"I'm sorry I c-"

Long gloved fingers snatched the bottle from the woman's hand, glowering at the nurse. The four remaining pills shook against the bottle as he shoved it back in his pocket.  

"Fine," he said cooly, his demeanor changing suddenly. "Have a great day." 

It was at that moment that Kakashi knew he was still in control. Even if this mediocre woman behind the counter wouldn't provide him the bare minimum he needs to function without pain, then he would just have to obtain it himself. 

****

And he did. Scouting out the perimeter of the hospital was easy for such an elite shinobi. He sat in the trees, watching certain staff members come and go as the day grew to evening. He knew he had to report soon, but this was more important. The persistent ache in his leg only worsened as the 6-hour window crept closer. 

As dusk came upon him, he knew he had to make a move soon. The longer he sat and watched, the more time he wasted. As the sun hit the treeline, the ache in his leg crept up into his hip, a deep spasm that throbbed every nerve ending in his thigh. He could sense his irritability rooting deeper into his body, a tree of impatience and rage that had only freshly sprouted to life. 

It didn't take him very long to sweep his body through an open window, covertly walking through the halls as though he belonged there in his usual jounin attire. He was merely visiting someone, was the intention he hoped to emanate towards the occupied staff. Not even when he slid his shoulders through the medication room door did anyone notice. 

Too easy, he thought as he left through the hospital's front door that evening. The street lamps were on now, illuminating the sidewalk as his sandaled feet took him back home with a heavy relief over his body. He hadn't wasted any time popping the higher than recommended dose into his mouth, taking a sip of water from the hospital's drinking fountain, and swallowing them with a flick of his tongue. 

Although, as his bottle of newly filled pills rattled in his pocket and the effects of the pain reliever set in, he was beginning to feel groggy. He looked around, the world seeming like a strange, almost foreign place to him. Kakashi shook his head, irritated by the unwanted secondary effect of the drug. 

"Kakashi!" wind of a sigh left his lungs at the boisterous voice of Might Gai waving from the Dango building nearby. Kakashi looked up, his eyebrows already knitted close together in annoyance. 

"I haven't seen you all day!" his friend smiled, trailing the jounin leader as he continued past the shop. One grey eye had caught sight of Asuma and Kurenai sitting in the Dango shop behind Gai's excited gaze. That was more than enough of a deterrent for the silver-haired ANBU leader. 

"Where are you going?" Gai asked, tapping his shoulder. Kakashi swept his body back, slapping Gai's dark hand off his shoulder. His nose scrunched as he clenched his jaw. The sound of rattling tablets in a plastic container filled the air between them as it fell onto the concrete below. 

Gai's eyes settled on the bottle; his hand lifted right where he had left it to touch his friends shoulder. 

"What is that?" Gai asked quizzically, "Isn't your leg healed?" 

"Didn't I tell you to leave me alone?" Kakashi demanded, picking the bottle up and shoving it back in his pocket. 

"Kakashi," Asuma's voice rang between them, his thick body appearing behind Gai's shoulder, "how have you been?" 

"Fine," Kakashi answered sharply, thankful for the distraction away from the incident that just occurred. Yet, Gai's eyes remained on his friend's. 

"Why don't you join us for some treats?" Kurenai smiled at Asuma's arm. 

"I'm fine, thank you," Kakashi replied forcefully. "I have to go." 

Turning quickly, Kakashi continued away from his friends, cursing himself for not putting the pills in his back pouch rather than his flimsy pocket. The irritation caused his head to hurt, his jaw clenching and flexing near his ears. 

Reaching in, he took another pill dry. 

*****

3 Weeks Later 

Dragging himself back into his apartment, Kakashi's whole body ached. His mind spun in the delirium of the mission he had just finished. The grime and sweat that coated his body caused his skin to sting miserably as he stripped from his uniform. He kicked his pants off, the mingling scent of blood and dirt enveloping his studio flat.

The mission had not been successful. 

Nor had anything else in Kakashi's life over the last two months. 

The bottle of pain meds had dwindled quicker than the shinobi had anticipated. He had mapped out and predicted that he wouldn't need to loot the medical offices again for another few weeks. Yet, when he had upped the dosage again, the pain in his body overwhelming, he hadn't thought of his next move to obtain more pain killers. He had only wanted the ache, and now the intense sense of withdrawal, to stop. 

That had been last week. Now, his bottom drawer was filled with pain medications that should easily last him another month. And yet, as Kakashi slithered his body over to his nightstand, he couldn't help but 5, one extra than usual. 

The relief washed over him as the shower water flooded his body, washing away the painful reminder of a lost comrade from his 5-day extended mission as Captain. He had been responsible for those people, yet the way his mind had been functioning lately, it felt as though he was in a constant fog. Never as sharp as he had been before. But if he didn't take the medication, his body felt like it would die all on its own. Intense nausea, fatigue, and body aches were enough to keep him upping the dosages to keep the symptoms at bay. 

Placing his silver hair against the linoleum tile of his shower, he felt the hot water hitting his back, sliding down his spine in such a delicate matter that it felt trancing. In his mind, flashes of the mission consumed him. 

"Senpai, I think it would be best if I-" Yūgao leaned forward, her mask shielding her brown eyes that stared worriedly at the Captain. 

"I know what's best," Kakashi had warned harshly at the girl, looking over at her through his porcelain mask. 

It hadn't been long before his arrogance and untimely planning had caused Yūgao to perish. The blade that snuck through her chest at his hand was enough to rile his thoughts into more vivid flashbacks of Rin for days.

He hadn't meant to hurt her. She should have known to move away from his target. Yet his arrogance to finish things himself caught up with him, intervening with her battle. He thought she was in danger, but as they carried her body back to the village, his teammate had alluded that she could have handled it herself. He could have just let it be. The fog of his brain distorted reality once more. 

Surely, he would lose his rank as Captain in the morning. 

As the steam of the shower surrounded him now, he tried to think of another plan that could have changed the outcome, but his mind remained in a fog. He couldn't think straight, and the usual relief his body felt from the pain meds quick-acting behavior didn't seem to curb the ruthless thoughts in the swamp of his mind. 

A fist slammed against the tiles, sending water splashing back in his face. Kakashi gritted his teeth, tears mingling with the drips of water hitting his body from the showerhead. He thought of Rin, the way his hand had so easily penetrated her chest, like butter. To take someone's life meant nothing to him when they didn't mean anything to him. Yet, the thought of losing a comrade under his watch at his hand caused resentment and anger to rise in his throat. 

As he toweled himself off, his jaw clenched tight as he looked at himself in the mirror. Slipping a shirt and pants on, he noticed Yūgao's blood that hadn't washed off from a spot on his hair where he had missed. An illusion of more blood on his hands startled him. He swore loudly, his arm aggressively launching his toiletries off the counter and onto the floor as hate flooded him. The sound of glass breaking and items rolling off the tiled floor into the hardwood of his living space were deaf to him as he continued to sob angrily. 

"I can't," he managed to himself, "I can't anymore." 

He thought of his father. The way he had passed away. Kakashi had been there to find him. Who would be there to find Kakashi? Who would want to know where such a loathsome bastard was. Someone who had no emotions and killed his friends. Someone who relied so heavily on pain medications that he could no longer function. How could he stop now? How would he explain where he got the medicine from? He couldn't. 

Four more, he thought. Four more pills would do the trick. Nine pills all together. If it didn't kill him, at least it would let him sleep. Sleep enough where he is so heavily sedated that the memories of his life didn't roll through his mind like some terror film on replay. 

Dad.

Obito. 

Rin. 

Minato. 

Yūgao. 

Dad.

Obito.

Rin.

Minato.

Yūgao.

Dad...

Obito...

Rin...

The pain was unbearable. 

****

The shine of a bowl cut entered Kakashi's apartment building late that night. His footsteps echoed in the hallway as he jogged up the stairway to his friend's apartment. Something deep within Leaf's Blue Beast was disturbed that evening. 

The news of Yūgao's death had swept through the village like the bristles parachutes of a dandelion in the early spring. Everyone who had an interest already knew, and they also knew why. 

"Ah, Kakashi," one shinobi had said upon hearing the news, "that's why they call him 'friend-killer-Kakashi.'" 

Gai knew Kakashi wouldn't have hurt the girl on purpose, let alone a comrade. Yet, the way his friend had been acting recently, he wasn't sure what was going on. The increased irritability, hostility, avoidance, and deceptiveness in Kakashi's personality bothered the jounin to his core. 

He wasn't sure where his feet would take him, but he knew he had to talk to his silver-haired friend. Even if he didn't want to, which he was sure he wouldn't, he needed to know if his long-time pal was recuperating okay. 

Apartment 343. He hadn't been here in a while. At least for a few months now, if not longer. The dark-haired shinobi woefully thought of his friend's deteriorating demeanor. 

Cold-blooded Kakashi, Gai recollected lamentably. He knocked on the door, waiting for an answer. Time passed as he shoved his hands in his green uniform, rolling forward on the balls of his heels. He paused and knocked again. Nothing. 

"Kakashi?" Gai banged on the door, determined to get his friend's attention. He had had enough of the copy-ninja's behavior. Another bang and no one answered. 

Finally, Gai knelt, reaching for the doormat that protected Kakashi's apartment key. If it wasn't there, he was home. As Gai lifted the mat, only dust and dirt resided beneath. 

****

The incessant banging at his door sounded like a far-off drum beating- a sound that tuned in and out in the wavering radio channels of his mind. He couldn't move his body, and he had no desire to. Reality was distant, and his limbs were numb. There were no troubling thoughts that slithered through his mind like a garden snake in the grass. It was only peace. 

****

"Kakashi?" Gai called out, the door smashed open off its hinge behind him. His black eyes settled on his friend, laying placid on his bed. The copy-ninja's hair was still wet from his shower, plastered to his forehead with specks of dirt and blood that he had neglected to wash away. 

"Kakashi!" Gai rushed over, kneeling beside his bed and slapping the pale face of his friend. "Kakashi! Wake up!" 

His lips were blue, and his skin clammy. 

"Kakashi, what happened, my friend? Are you okay? Why didn't-" 

The bottle of pills beside Kakashi's bed laid strewed on the floor, catching his eye. Reaching down, Gai picked up the bottle and read the label. The dots connected, and his eyes widened, two fingers immediately landing on the pulse of his friend's neck. 

Nothing. 

****

In the waiting room, Gai, Kurenai, and Asuma huddled together. 

"They said he overdosed," Gai told the two, his demeanor was unlike any of them had seen previously. Clearly, he was shaken, if not entirely traumatized. 

"Overdosed?" Asuma questioned, "on what?"

"Painkillers," Gai responded, sitting in a chair in defeat. "I saw them. I saw them in his pocket a few weeks ago. I said something, but he didn't-I should have-"

"It's not your fault," Kurenai consoled, sitting down next to Gai. "Please take a deep breath, Gai. You look like you're about to faint." 

"I - he's not going to make it. He didn't have a pulse, and he's not going to make it," Gai uttered, his teeth clenched as he held back tears, "He's my best friend." 

Asuma set a hand down on Gai's shoulder, nodding his head, "I know. We all care about him..."

****

A turf of white hair could be seen in the hospital room convulsing under the electrical cardioversion machine being shoved onto his chest to restart his heartbeat. The electric shock waves burst into his system like a thousand Chidori. 

"Another," the doctor pointed to the nurse operating the equipment. Another push against his chest, and his whole torso moving with the bed beneath him. This continued for a while, the recharging of the electrical unit before the unnerving sound of a body jolting under the pressure of the electricity. 

Time ticked by at the clock in the room, the doctor glancing at it as if to wonder when to call his young shinobi's death. How could this be explained to the leaders? An overdose on pain medication that should have never been in his possession in the first place. 

Ba-dum, ba-dum, ... ba-dum ... 

"He's back," the nurse sighed. 

****

Blurred vision. One charcoal eye trembled open, the silver in his lashes catching the ray of sun cast into the hospital room. Wires surrounded him, pricked in the crevasse of his arm, stickied to his chest, and some unfamiliar machine on his index finger. Dazed by his surroundings, Kakashi carefully turned his head on the pillow, hearing the heart monitor behind him. 

Hiruzen Sarutobi sat beside him. 

"Hokage-sama!" Kakashi spluttered, taken aback by the presence of the Hokage in a hospital room he wasn't sure how he ended up in.

"Settle, Kakashi," Hiruzen commanded gently, his face composed and quiet. Kakashi looked straight ahead, his head spinning. 

"What-?" he began in a raspy voice. 

Hiruzen lifted his hand, the bottle of pills Gai must have provided to him in his palm. Kakashi looked over, his eyes settling on the drugs before putting his head back down on the pillow in defeat. The images came back to him. The desperation to get out of his situation, yet knowing that there was no way out. 

"I'm sorry," Kakashi managed quietly, looking away. "I understand if you-"

"That's enough," Hiruzen said calmly, "I do not need to reprimand you. You are aware that sneaking into the hospital facility to steal pain medications is wrong. Yes, I know - I just didn't expect it to be you."

Kakashi lifted his hand, placing it on his eyes as the stress of the Hokage's words weighed on him. 

"I know this is hard. Your body is reliant on these mediations now. It would be best if you stayed here for some time to detox your body and learn appropriate coping skills. I know - I know you don't want to. But I only wish to help. Which is why I feel it is necessary to pull you from the Black Ops team."

"Lord Third," Kakashi sat up, the wires around him tangling. "I-"

"I've already made up my mind. It is not suitable for you anymore. Actually, I don't think it ever really was. People with kind hearts do not belong in the ANBU," Hiruzen explained, placing the bottle on the nightstand beside him. "And I have a better assignment for you. One I think you may enjoy." 

Kakashi sighed heavily, laying back down. "I don't understand."

"You will," Hiruzen nodded, standing up, "In the meantime, I think there are some people who would like to see you. They care about you very much and were overwhelmed with relief when they heard you were okay. You gave them quite a scare." 

Kakashi scoffed quietly, looking down at the monitor on his hand. 

"It's true," Hiruzen stopped, "you are very well-loved." 

Kakashi looked up quickly at his words, watching as Lord Third sauntered towards the door and waved through the doorway at some unknown individuals to come towards him. A moment later, one eye settled on four individuals, beaming at him with gifts and smiles. 

Iruka. Kurenai. Asuma. 

And his best friend, Gai. 

[k7l4d4]

Owl House AU Ideas, ZA SECOND!!

Hello again. A second AU! That was quick. Admittedly, this had been on my back burner, so there’s that. Just to say it now, this isn’t as fleshed out as my first post.

Lackey!: We all know Boscha, right? Annoying, egotistical, bully, award winning jock, you all know the type, even if only through media. What would she be like if she lost it all, and it was all her own fault? 

(Trigger Warning: This AU deals with drug addiction, and is meant to represent how much of a slippery slope the use of drugs can be, especially when lacking an effective intervention or when people aren’t willing to push the issue and get the addict HELP. More than anything, this AU is a representation of how badly drugs can ruin a person’s life because they can’t be bothered to think that there might be consequences. It is not meant to blame people suffering from drug addiction, I am not a victim blamer, it is merely to represent how badly drugs can affect a person’s life, especially when they have a lot to lose and start taking them anyway. Drug addiction can come about due to a variety of sources, and those suffering from it need help above all else.)

This premise is based on a rather simple idea that quickly spiraled in my mind into an AU: what if Boscha had an addiction, and it set off a chain of events? Boscha basically has it all as far as she is concerned, she is popular, she is a top athlete, she has awesome friends (idk if she actually thinks this), and great social media presence; she's basically on top of the world, so why not see what all life has to offer her? She decides to make (and take) a stim (my version of a drug on the Boiling Isles, in the form of a potion; each stim gives you some kind of high, along with other wacky magical effects), and rapidly takes a liking to them. While under the influence of her stims, Boscha is more active, passionate, even friendlier, the only problem? Stims are hard to make, VERY HARD. Her solution? Buy them! As Boscha starts buying stims in bulk, she gradually starts needing more and more to get the same affect, draining her funds even further, and when not on her stims, she was far angrier and aggressive. As Boscha drained her funds to fuel her addiction, she quickly realize that she would need a fast, untraceable source of income to keep fueling it. And it just so happens that there is a rather infamous Wild Witch running a business right there in Bonesburough! After managing to track her down, Boscha basically demands, then threatens, then bargains, and then ultimately begging on hands and knees for Eda to give her a job. At first, Eda doesn't question it, labor is labor, and while she would prefer it to be free, it still means she can bring in higher profits. However, she quickly takes stock of the fact that, in spite of the money she gets from her parents and Eda herself, Boscha never seems to have any on hand which, in addition to her mood swings, tips her off to Boscha's little habit. And, in true closet bleeding heart fashion, Eda decides to have a sit down with Boscha over her habit. Despite the numerous reassurances from the bold triclops, as well as the promises to be careful, Eda realizes that she cannot help the girl until she is ready to admit she needs help, settling (for the moment) with merely keeping an eye on Boscha's behavior. As Boscha dives deeper and deeper into her addiction, she progressively becomes more and more erratic and aggressive in between her fixes, causing others to draw away from her, with even her parents noticing just how much her behavior has changed. This all culminates in a confrontation two weeks before Canon, in which Willow walks in on her about to take a stim. In the ensuing confrontation, Boscha snaps, brutally pummeling Willow into the ground, the one-sided fight, more an assault, spilling over into the halls, leading the whole school to see Boscha beating Willow in a raving, screaming frenzy. When she finally calms down, Boscha is shocked and horrified to see just how badly injured Willow is, with several students and teachers rapidly rushing to get her away from the downed girl and taking her to the Healers. The fight ends up exposing Boscha's stim addiction to the entire school, casting into doubt all of her Grudgby victories. The fallout is so widespread that Boscha is left completely ostracized; no one wants to associate the girl liable to beat you nearly to death at the drop of a hat and (allegedly) cheated her way to numerous victories after all. Her parents are so embarrassed by her behavior, they essentially disown her, only associating so far as to ensure she has enough money to keep going to Hexside and live in a crappy apartment with food and hygiene, and only at the bare minimum level. At first, Boscha attempts to act in her usual fashion, and tries to complain to Amity about it all. It, understandably, doesn't go well. Seeing Willow beaten so horribly leaves Amity furious, and while she manages to maintain her general demeanor, she delivers a brutal verbal smack-down to the now outcast witch. Something along these lines: "You, you really expect me to help you, don't you? That has to be the most laughable thing I have ever heard. Let's review the facts as to why that will NEVER happen: you've been taking drugs, damaging your body potentially irreparably in the long run and throwing all your so-called "Grudgby Greatness" in to question and embarrassing Hexside for who knows how many generations. You brutalized a fellow witch, never mind that it's "Half-A-Witch Willow," and in doing so alienated every potential ally you could've had in the long run here at Hexside. And most importantly, you embarrassed your family name; how do your parents feel, knowing they raised an out of control Giraffe-spawn? And yes, that's what people have been calling you lately, just in case you haven't figured it out. All that and you really think I'd be willing to help you!? (Breathes in deeply, and exhales) You are pathetic Boscha. You are arrogant, aggressive, and have singlehandedly destroyed all credibility your family has with the school, if not the entire town, because you couldn't control yourself. (Gives a bitter grin) At least now my parents will no longer see a reason to have me associate with someone as UTTERLY WORTHLESS as you." After all is said and done, Boscha falls into a bitter depression, starts cutting classes, and devotes more and more of her time into being Eda's Lackey. Eda, while justifiably furious for what Boscha has done, helps take care of her and putting her back together into a functional Witch, though the events at Hexside have driven a wedge between them.

After 'bout a week, Boscha manages to settle into a rut: help Eda's business, occasionally go to Hexside, go home, go to sleep, repeat as necessary. After Luz arrives, however, she is forced to switch out of her rut. Boscha originally finds Luz annoying, seeing her as a disruption to her daily life, gradually (and grudgingly) building a mild camaraderie with the excitable human. While the two aren't exactly good friends, Luz genuine nature and passion for magic manages to win over Boscha enough that they are comfortable around each other. The revelation of what she had done, however, drives a wedge between them. Luz is torn between disappointment that her new friend was a bully, and empathy over her struggle as a recovering addict.

As always, feel free to ask questions, comment, or use the idea how you see fit. For those out there struggling with addiction, or know someone who is, don’t be afraid to reach out and get help; your life and safety are more important than your pride, and there is nothing to be ashamed of in looking after your health and happiness.

[whispersafterdusk]

Lost in Time - ch 14

It'd been four days since their tussle with the spy; they hadn't heard or seen any hint of them, and so far the only injury that had turned up at Xu's clinic had been a woman who had fallen on a bit of wood.  Asher had gone into town long enough to get his broken tooth pulled (front right tooth on the top...he looked like a doofus when he smiled now) and had immediately returned to camp to hunker down and wait out the spy's next visit while the Civil Corps members had gone on a manhunt across the marsh and into the neighboring desert area.

So far, nothing.

They'd briefly discussed the suits again; Eli couldn't make up her mind on whether this Access suit thing was an original (less worrying) or if Duvos had figured out how to piece one together (really worrying).  Asher shared her worries -- the thought of Duvos mass producing those things for their soldiers, even if they weren't working like they did in Eli's time, would still pose a huge problem if the continent ever went to war again. ((Continued below cut))

He did know she'd given up on the trail cameras for now but she was still working on something out in the tent; it used a lot of the same pieces that she'd set aside for the cameras but also several new, different ones that she'd sent Petra and Selene after. The centerpiece of these new additions was a detached screen that she'd marked out dimensions on - she was either cutting it down to size and needed the middle-most section or she was dividing it into a rectangle and eight smaller squares that were all roughly the same size.  She hadn't done anything with the screen yet aside from measuring and marking out those squares but there were small piles of nigh identical looking chips, boards, and wires that were already assembled and sitting in a neat little line on the rubberized canvas under her cot that he assumed had to be put together first before the screens could be attached to them.  

It had been a fascinating sight to watch her work with such tiny components; he hadn't had a chance yet to ask her what those things were (interrupting her while she was working on them seemed like a poor idea since it looked so...fragile, in a way) but he was looking forward to seeing the finished product, learning what the gadgets were for, and why she needed so many of them.  It also piqued his curiosity about Old World tech in general; so much of it seemed purposely designed to work with pretty much anything else.  Maybe Old World technology didn't so much depend on the parts as it did the programs to run it...which in turn made him wonder, assuming they ever got to a point where they knew how to read and create new programs, if all the old relics could be made to work again like they did back then rather than being pieced together with spotty knowledge and prayers.  

Behind him Adam, Arlo, and Eli were all asleep inside the tent with the front flaps pulled closed to block out as much of the unusually plentiful sunlight as possible - there wasn't a cloud in the sky and it was considerably warmer today than it had been lately; he appreciated the warmth and imagined his sleeping companions probably did as well but found himself going back and forth on whether he was truly grateful for the "sunny" part of this sunny day.  On the one hand, that suit made the spy near-invisible but not intangible so they should still cast a shadow so if the spy was dumb enough to try sneaking in close in broad daylight Asher was hopeful he would spot that before they got close enough to be a danger.  On the other hand he doubted they would actually be that stupid. The constant prickle at the back of his neck - the feeling of being watched - wasn't a sensation Asher enjoyed, and it also wasn't something he was used to experiencing for such a prolonged period of time; he had no proof though that he WAS being watched, and that was probably bothering him more than the prickling was.

The grumpy sigh he huffed out whistled a bit as it exited through the gap his missing tooth had left behind; that annoyed him to no end too. Asher didn't consider himself an overly vain person but damn it he'd liked how he looked; it had taken a couple years to be at peace with the sunken in scar across his nose but at least that made him look...adventurous.  Dashing.  Daring.  A missing tooth made him look like a drunkard, and it would be a long trip to Seesai to get a replacement that wouldn't prematurely discolor.  Adam was right in that he could easily get a tooth closer to home but, again, discoloration was a problem -- whatever that woman in Seesai did to keep the false teeth from coloring was a closely guarded secret...no one knew what she did or what recipe she used, not even her family if they were to be believed.

He supposed it was a question of if he wanted to look stupid with his tooth gap or look stupid with a yellowed tooth in a few years. Neither thought was especially attractive and brought with it a sort of helpless frustration that, coupled with the prickling feeling of having eyes on him, made him want to get up and move around to burn off the pent up energy and emotion.  

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of rustling grass; before he could truly react to the sound Eli came into view and he relaxed slightly.

"You're up - uh, early.  Or however you want to consider it."

She shrugged as she sat down on one of the rocks ringing the firepit.  "Eh, it happens.  Sometimes you just don't sleep."

"Any new ideas?"

For a time she didn't respond; silently Asher surveyed their surroundings - everything still seemed to be as it ought to be.  He still felt twitchy though...he was ready for action, or for anything that wasn't sitting here keeping watch.  Maybe with Eli awake he could exercise or something.

"Not really," Eli finally responded.  "I can think of twelve different ways to disable that suit but they all require tech that doesn't exist anymore.  And it's not something I could put together from stuff that's left here."

Asher nodded, then glanced back toward the tent; when she'd come out she'd left the tent flaps open and he could barely detect movement inside -- Arlo shouldn't be up for awhile yet but it was looking like Adam was waking up.  "So what's all that stuff you've been working on then?"

"Hi-Defs."

"I've no idea what those are."

"They're wrist-mounted computers.  A lot of their functionality isn't going to work right in this day and age but back in mine they were onboard guidance systems with maps of all the regions, could make and receive calls, they kept track of addresses and your appointments and bank accounts and whatever else you wanted to track, they could project 3D images, take pictures... They could do a lot of things depending on the model you had."

He blinked at her; only half of that had sunk in as he'd gotten a bit hung up on the concept of a wrist-mounted computer.  "Really? Why those then?  If they're not going to work right, I mean.  What will they even be able to do?"

"I want them mostly for communication and maps of this region. I'd need signal transmitters in some strategic areas but once I get it all tethered to the facility they should work.  It's going to take a lot of footwork to get maps updated since it'll have to be manual scanning rather than satellite surveillance...or, hmm.  Maybe some satellites survived."  She paused for a moment, then shook her head.  "Nah, shouldn't rely on that.  Arlo mentioned there's a space station segment out in the wastes but even if there's enough left there to scavenge I doubt I could get a link going with anything that might be left up there, and even if I managed it I still wouldn't have a way to issue orders or anything like that." There was another pause and a sigh, and a wistful glance toward the sky before she returned her attention to him.  "Mine will be the sort of central control for them all outside of whatever computer station I decide to run them off of. My aim is to give them to anyone involved with the security of this facility."  

"Huh." Him with a high tech device...not something he'd considered before.  The idea was...kind of exciting, to be honest.  "So maps and talking to one another.  Is that all we can hope for?"

"Communication and map display is, bare minimum, what I'm aiming for, with maybe a basic calendar and clock function.  I'll have a look at what I can immediately do once I've server-flashed Pauline and get at least one transmitter up for testing."

"...and you've lost me.  What's a server-flash?"

She laughed quietly.  "-right.  It's hard to determine what terms survived the years and what didn't - with Petra and Merlin it's at least a 50% shot that I don't have to define something for them.  So!   Server-flashing.  I take the main operational files for an AI and do a sort of...quick copy of their foundation.  Pauline's an AI but not a living AI so I don't need to worry about her personality or anything, just the uh...the semi-intelligent framework she runs on."

"Yeah, going to need that taken down a few degrees still.  Pauline seems just as smart as Stewart but she doesn't have personality?"

"Nope.  She's just a regular assistant AI -- a sort of input-output response machine with just enough programmed intelligence to appear sentient but she can't learn or grow as a...uh...well, not as a "person" exactly but she  -- she won't ever change.  She just is what she is.   AIs like her you could make infinite copies of and they'll never, ever stop being identical copies unless something on the outside alters them.  Stewart on the other hand, if I were to make a copy of him, that copy would develop its own personality if given enough time to learn and live and the same would happen with a regular living AI."

That...sort of made sense.  At least, it was simple enough that he could grasp it without her needing to explain it more in-depth.  "And you're going to use her to run the Hi-Defs."

"After some minor reprogramming yes."

He nodded slowly; having a little, easily accessed map right on his wrist would be neat, even if it was just of Portia.  And if it worked well here maybe it could be expanded out into the other cities and nations too...and, oh man, would that make mapping the Peripheries way easier too if all they had to do was walk through it with the Hi-Def recording or whatever it did to create the maps -- suddenly he could think of all sorts of possibilities and perks to having one of the things.  "What would be the range on these things?  How would they figure out and store maps?"

"Range depends on what kind of signal strength I can get.  Hi-Defs have their own localized signals so they'll all be able to 'talk' to one another within a certain range, and also interface with the signals coming from the transmitters at a much wider range.  I'm pretty sure I'd only need sixteen or so at some key points to cover all of Portia and a bit of the outlying areas.  As for updating or creating maps it'll have to be manual scanning -- someone is going to have to start from an already mapped point and then let the Hi-Def scan the territory as you travel through it.  It'll take awhile but the program that runs a Hi-Def is robust enough to piece it all together without too much extra work needed.  And they have their own onboard storage to hold it all."

"Neat...and amazing."  As a more comfortable silence fell Asher tossed a few thick branches onto the fire and nudged them into place with a blackened, straight branch he'd purposely kept as a sort of log poker.  If Adam was stirring too then he should probably get the fire's heat evened out so he could start cooking. "Did you end up camping a lot as a ranger?"

"Yeah.  I went camping for fun too."

He carefully poked at the fire for a moment.  "...do you miss doing that?"

There was a long pause before she answered.  "I miss a lot of things."

Asher winced a bit.  "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have asked that."

She shook her head and flashed him a strained smile.  "Nah, don't be afraid to ask things.  The funny thing with pain is the more you experience it, the easier it is to tolerate."

"I don't think it works that way with this kind of...you know."

With a shrug she turned to pick up the cooking kit (which was in a large leather satchel that had seen better days) that was off to the side of the firepit.  "Works well enough for now.  I don't want you guys walking on eggshells around me, and I can't hide from it forever.   Hell, I can't hide from it even if I wanted to."

Asher was quiet as she handed the satchel over; he pulled the kettle out and stood to go fill it from the water barrel they'd installed just inside the tent flaps, then came back and sat it among the coals to start boiling.  A feeling of guilt had settled like a rock in his stomach -- that had been such a stupid thing to ask her.  "If you ever want to...talk, or something.  I'll listen."

The smile she gave him this time was less strained.  "I know.  It's appreciated."

As he bent to re-arrange a few half-burned logs she got up and walked out of his immediate line of sight; behind him somewhere he heard Adam's low voice and then the man's plodding footsteps as he came over and took Eli's place on the rock.  Asher just managed to catch the sight of Eli disappearing into the tent as he glanced back but she quickly came back into view a moment later.

"I'll be back in a bit - I need to grab a few things from town."  She had her pack slung over a shoulder but it hung limp and empty.  "Don't bother cooking for me."

"All right.  If you're sure," Asher replied.

"I am." With that she began to jog toward the path that, eventually, led back into Portia.

Asher watched her go and then sighed heavily, looking over to Adam.  "You ever feel like a massive idiot sometimes?"

"Sure," Adam grunted.  "Then I remember I'm not you and feel better."

Asher rolled his eyes and resisted the urge to whack the man with the fire poker stick; when he didn't rise to the man's banter Adam gave him a strange look.

"What did you do?"

"Nothing.  I think.  How do you want your eggs this time?"

------------------------------------------------------

Dr. Xu had acquired a wooden chair with a really comfortable cushion and a small wooden table for Harrison to work at; it sat in the corner near the front doors so it would be out of the way of everything else in the clinic but its position did mean that usually, when someone walked inside, Harrison was the first thing they saw.  Already several tourists looking for headache or muscle ache cures had approached him at the table to ask after the medications, even when Dr. Xu was clearly within view at his desk further in the room.

He kept telling himself to find humor in the situation but it was starting to get a little annoying - especially after someone actually moved a stack of books out of the way to "speak to him" with Xu staring on in surprised confusion.

It was enough to have him dreading the sound of the doors opening, and so today when they slid open he actually flinched and carefully peered over the top of the book he had propped up in front of him.

To his surprise it was that girl from days ago - the one who had fallen on the driftwood and gotten it through her arm.  She looked bright eyed and chipper, with no other obvious injuries, and he inwardly groaned as she looked around, spotted him, and came right over.

"Hey there!"

"Hello.  How's the arm healing up?"

She smiled and slipped her coat off, then pulled her sleeve up to show the bandage there.  "It's all fine and dandy - itchy, but doesn't seem infected or anything."

"Well, that's good." He went silent as she pulled her sleeve back down and got her coat back on, then cleared his throat awkwardly.   "So...what did you need then?"

"Ah, hello there -- how is the arm?"

Harrison sat up a bit straighter as Xu came over; the girl gave the doctor a smile.

"It's all good.  A bit itchy but seems to be healing."

Xu nodded.  "Excellent to hear.  Now, what brings you back to the clinic?"

The girl's smile faltered a bit and Harrison swore he saw a tinge of pink appear in her cheeks.  "Ah...well, uh, I came to um.  Talk to him, actually-"  

She pointed shyly to Harrison, and he blinked at her in confusion.  Talk to him?  Why?

Xu seemed just as confused as he was.  "Oh?"

"Yeah...um, private matter."

"Huh?" Harrison blurted out.

She turned her attention back to him and rubbed at her injured arm awkwardly.  "Um.  If you have the time, anyway."

"S-sure, I guess."  

He stood up and came out from behind the table; the girl took a few timid steps toward the door and when he followed along she headed outside into a much brighter day than Harrison had been expecting.

He raised a hand to shield his eyes and looked over to her.  "What did you need to talk to me about?  Did I do something wrong with your injury?"

She shook her head, hard; it was hard enough to dislodge a few wisps of hair from the messy bun on top of her head.  "No no nonono, nothing like that.  I was just um, wondering if you'd...like to go get coffee or lunch sometime?"

With that the woman stood there, lightly scraping the toe of her shoe into the mud; Harrison felt like someone had abruptly switched off all the lights inside his brain.  She wanted to go get coffee, with HIM?

"Uh..."

"It's ok if you don't want to," she went on in a rush.  "I don't mind.  You're probably busy.  I shouldn't have asked."

"N-no, no, it's-" Harrison interrupted.  "Ah - no one has ever asked that before.  I think my brain shut off." He offered her a weak, slightly sheepish smile, and to his surprise she returned it.   "But...why me?"

"I...dunno.  You're from Lucien, like me.  I don't meet a lot of Lucien natives when I travel around.  And, you're.  Um.  You know...cute, so I thought, why not?"

Now it felt like his ears were on fire.  "A-ah," was all he could say.

An awkward silence fell and it went on entirely too long for Harrison's liking; he was hoping she would say something...he wasn't sure WHAT, but he wanted to hear SOMETHING, anything, that would take the burden of this conversation off him until his brain caught up.

"So..."

"Ah, uh, yeah, um, sure," he said finally.  "I-I mean, if you're sure."

The girl's face brightened and she bounced on the balls of her feet for a moment.  "Hee!  Yay!  Ok, so when are you next free?"

"Later this evening?" he offered.

She nodded.  "All right then - later this evening.  Down at that restaurant in the square?  The knight one?"

Harrison nodded, feeling lightheaded; he completely missed what she said as she waved and then headed off down the hill.  Too late he returned the wave, and then leaned against the clinic doors behind him.

"What...just happened..." he muttered, rubbing at his forehead.

He, Harrison, had a date tonight.  

...wait, did she ever even give her name?

"Oh boy..."

---------------------------------------------------

"Haven't seen you in a bit," Django said as Eli walked through the door.

With all the afterimages swimming around (it was REALLY bright outside today) Eli could barely see him, and somewhat stumbled her way toward the counter.  "Been helping the Pigs out at the facility."

"Ah, that'd be it."

She managed to find a stool and sat down.  "I had to come back for some supplies and I'd like to take some treats out to the them as a surprise."

Django nodded.  "I see, hmm.  I just pulled an apple pie out of the oven, and I've got some Black Forest cake made just this morning.  Won't take long to whip anything else up either," he said as he flipped open a menu to the dessert section and slid it over to her.

"Thanks."  She picked it up and held it in front of her; with the afterimages it'd probably be another minute or two before she could clearly read it.  "Do you know if they've established any favorites?"

"I know Arlo doesn't really like sweets in general.  I haven't talked to Asher or Adam enough to know about those two."

Eli frowned; good thing she'd asked.  "All right, no sweets for Arlo then.  I know he likes spicy things at least.  How about...an order of vanilla pudding, some of that apple pie, and that spicy spaghetti stuff?"

"Sounds good."  

As Django headed off toward the kitchen Eli folded the menu properly and returned it to the pile, then leaned forward to brace her elbows on the counter and put her forehead in her hands.

Every idea she'd had so far to disable that suit all required things that weren't around anymore; the easiest would be a localized EMP to overload the projector circuits and force it into a reboot cycle where it wouldn't be able to disguise its user until it fully restarted itself.  A sliver shot would do similar in that it would disrupt the projectors by confusing its sensors with a quick burst of hard light mirror shards.  Or she could use a taser overload, or a bolt drainer, or a sys-dis (a system disabler - it would scramble all the circuit signals), or even a battery overcharger.  So many things she COULD do, if she was in her own time period...

But she wasn't, and simple ideas like trying to use water or some sort of paint or even dirt to try and short out or otherwise mark their target probably wouldn't work -- Access Suits had built in miniature shield generators evenly interspersed among the projector sensors that pulled double duty at repelling water as well as dirt, dust, or mud-like materials.  She couldn't safely rely on the hope that those generators were as damaged as the faulty projectors; if they were working correctly they might get two seconds, tops, of visual assistance if they were to try and douse the spy in something...two seconds could seem like forever in a fight but since there was no telling what else that spy might be armed with by now Eli was not about to risk anyone around her with so many unknown variables (it was as much for the spy's safety as well as their own that they be able to clearly see what they were doing the next time they clashed - she'd hated firing blindly at the spy and it'd be a really simple matter for someone to accidentally kill someone else).

"Something the matter?"

Eli jumped at the sound of Django's voice just over her shoulder.  "You walk really quietly when you want to."

Django chuckled as he moved back behind the counter; he had a few containers in hand that he neatly lined up on the counter in front of her.  "Old habits I guess, haha.  It'll be a few minutes on the spaghetti."  

She slid her pack off her back and pulled a cloth bag out of one of the front pockets, then sat it on the counter; before she could say anything Django picked it up and began to slide the containers inside.  

"It was an honest question though - something on your mind?"

Eli paused, then huffed out a sigh.  "Just trying to figure out how to hunt down a ghost, is all."

Django's eyebrows raised a bit.  "Wasn't aware we had a ghost problem outside of our haunted cave."

"Not a literal ghost," she replied, laughing quietly.  "More like someone pretending to be one."

"I see.  Not exactly your run of the mill problem to have."

With another sigh Eli rested her forehead on her hands again.  "I'm not exactly a run of the mill person."

Django nodded slowly, rubbing at his chin.  "...you know, how about we have a quick dart game while we wait on your spaghetti?"

There was something...odd, about his tone.  Eli eyed him but couldn't detect anything other than his usual smiling demeanor -- he sounded off but looked fine.

"...all right," she answered, standing up and aside as he shuffled out from behind the counter and led the way toward the back game room.

There were a few others in the restaurant; Eli found herself waving at folks as she went and narrowly dodging Toby who was waving a report card at her (she made a mental note that there were only two more months for Toby to prove he'd kept his grades up enough for training) and then she was in the game room with Django already retrieving the darts from a drawer in the prize counter.

He didn't say anything at first as he handed her the three green darts while he kept the red ones. "So.  Looking for a person pretending to be a ghost, you said?"  Django lined up a dart and then tossed it a breath later; it landed right on the border between a bullseye and the next ring out.

Eli huffed then laughed quietly.  "I feel like I'm about to lose.  Terribly."

Django tossed another one and it landed squarely inside the bullseye.  "I've had a lot of practice.  Where's this ghost person lurking?  Out at the facility?"

"...yeah," she answered after a pause.  "We have an uninvited visitor out there."

The third dart he threw, to Eli's surprise, flew well off to the left and embedded itself into the thick safety backboard that the dartboard was mounted on.  "When did this ghost show up?"

"Recently."

She watched silently as he went over and slowly took the darts down; when he was out of the way she took her first throw and it barely stayed within the board, embedding itself into a bottom right section that wasn't worth any points at all.

"Humor me.  Was it someone you think is on the smaller, lighter side?"

"I...guess.  Couldn't really get a good look at them, obviously."   Rather than taking her second throw she turned around to face him; he'd moved over to lean against the prize counter's front, arms crossed over his chest and a somewhat brooding look on his face -- seeing something other than his usual cheerful expression immediately made her forget all about the dart game. "All right, spill: what are you getting at?"

Django inhaled and exhaled slowly.  "Did Arlo tell you about that Rogue Knight we had, not too long ago?"

"Yeah, I've heard about it.  He said you were the one who was able to drive them off too.  You think this knight guy came back?"

He shook his head.  "No, I don't think your visitor is the same Rogue Knight I fought that day.  But you mentioning a ghost brought back some memories, from when I was younger.  Of a different, more dangerous knight, in her own way."

Eli walked over and dropped her remaining darts onto the counter.  "Are knights just a common thing now?"

"Not anymore.  In the older days - meaning, the older days of our current era, between the Calamity and when humanity was finally recovering - folks took up the title of knight as they fought to protect their homes and people from both man and monster alike.  Humanity didn't have much left back then...just a lot of old stories and memories of how things once were, but the legends that were even older than the Old World still managed to survive.  Such stories helped keep the survivors alive, and while it's a tradition that's been mostly overwritten by the Civil Corps and other law enforcement nowadays, there's still a fair few of us who stick to those old stories and the honor that comes with claiming the title of knight."

Eli watched him as he spoke; the brooding look had given away to something more resembling a thoughtfulness - a softer, more introspective look, and as he talked his chin was slowly dipping down so his gaze ended up on the floor just in front of his feet.

"So..." she said quietly into the pause that followed.  "Why did me mentioning a ghost make you think of another knight?"

Django finally lifted his gaze and flashed her a grim smile.  "I drove that Rogue Knight off with the belief that he wouldn't dare step foot here again.  I still believe that, in fact.  But I've been on my guard for any hints of other troublesome knights that might show up to try and finish the job he left undone.  It just so happens that I know of a woman who called herself the Ghost Knight -- I knew her when I was a younger man.  We even fought together a few times to clear out monster nests or drive off bandits."

Eli's eyes widened.  "You're kidding."

"I wish I were.  You mentioning you were looking for someone pretending to be a ghost brought her to mind."

"Who is she?  What's she look like?  Why would she be here?"

"I don't know.  I never learned her real name, and she never learned mine.  I never even saw her face - only the strange suit of armor she wore.  As for why she's here-"

"Is she a mercenary for hire?" Eli interrupted.  "What - how did - how do knights function?"  At his mildly surprised look she slumped her shoulders a bit.  "Sorry - didn't mean to interrupt you."

Django chuckled and pushed off from the counter, moving to line up to throw his darts again.  "Not a problem.  I can only guess at why she'd be here -- same reason the Rogue Knight was, I wager.  I wouldn't call her a mercenary...that's not what we did.  But, it's been over a decade since I last spoke with her, and people can change."

Eli shifted and leaned against the counter almost in the same spot he'd just vacated, putting him and the dartboard at her back as she stared a hole into the wood in front of her; if this person was this Ghost Knight that Django had known years ago then that meant it was a good chance that this spy's having an Access Suit was just...a one-off. One person who got their hands on something that actually still worked.  That was one fear off the list, at least.

"Django... How did this woman fight?  What did she do as the Ghost Knight?"

"Scouting," came his answer, quicker than she'd expected.  There was the sound of the dart thunking into the board before he continued.  "No one was better at it than her.  And in a battle she was the best flanking attacker you could hope to have on your side."

"Flanking...  Does that mean she didn't take people on in a direct manner?"

"She avoided that as much as possible but she was still capable of defending herself if she had to."  Another thunk of a dart.  "Can I ask you a favor?"

"Sure."

She turned around from the counter in time to see Django turning as well, flicking his wrist and sending the dart at the board without looking or aiming; the dart stuck into the bullseye.

"If you find this person, and manage to capture them, I would like to speak to her."

"I... I mean, I'M willing to let that happen, but I'm not a Civil Corps person.  That's not likely up to me."

Django nodded, slipping his hands into the pockets of his colorful coat.  "If you can make that happen, I'd be indebted to you...  Excuse me, I should go check the spaghetti.  It ought to be done by now."

"Yeah, sure thing.  I'll head back up to the counter."

He disappeared through a small door into the kitchen and, as she said, Eli walked out of the game room and back to the counter where the rest of her order was sitting packed neatly into the cloth sack.

She looked over a shoulder at the restaurant's patrons; there were considerably more people here now than had been when she'd first walked in, and Django had purposely wanted to talk to her about it away from others.  She really, really wanted to ask him more about how this Ghost Knight woman fought, or where she'd come from, or--

'I'll come back when it's not busy, or maybe I can catch him at home.'

That he'd admitted he'd been on the lookout for any other trouble-making knights worried her...maybe she should also split her history lesson time between Isaac and Django.  

------------------------------------------------

"Bye, see you tomorrow!"

Django gave Sonia a small wave and a smile as she headed out the front door; there were a few spots left to sweep and then he could put out the lights and head home himself.

Normally he enjoyed the absolute silence of the restaurant late at night - it gave him time to daydream, or plan for the next day's operations.  Tonight though... He couldn't help but think of that Ghost Knight.  Everything he could recall about her had come flooding back in a rush when Eli had mentioned someone pretending to be a ghost; any other time he would have dismissed it as silly old memories but now...

He bent and swept up dirt into the dustpan, and then moved to carry it over to the waste bin.

Ever since he'd driven that rogue knight off he'd been constantly vigilant for any hint, no matter how small, that someone else had arrived to plunge Portia into chaos.  He imagined most people would think he was being paranoid without reason and so had kept such worries to himself...maybe he shouldn't have done that.  Portia's residents had been panicked at first and demanding more protections from the Civil Corps folks after the knight incident but, as time wore on, they'd fallen back into their lives without fear of outside threats; would anything be different now if Django had shared his worries with Gale?

"Too late for that," he muttered to himself.

He swept up the last little dust pile and dumped it into the bin, then went to put the dustpan and broom away.

Once everything but a single lamp was powered down he dipped behind the front counter; for the most part he stored napkins, silverware, and small dessert plates behind here but after that Rogue Knight had left he'd started stashing a small box out of sight behind the formal cloth napkins that were only used during holidays.

The box was about the length of his hand from fingertips to the heel of his palm, and was just barely shy of being perfectly square.  Django popped the latch open and lifted the lid to reveal a delicate-looking pair of gloves made of silvery wires, each with a single wire that was much longer than the others that ended in a tiny plug; they were very hard to see among the loose cloth that padded the inside of the box, and he knew from experience that even when worn they were difficult to spot.

As he looked the gloves over he had his usual mixed feelings about them; hidden beneath his shirt and jacket were a pair of matching armbands hugging his biceps that had very small charge generators on it -- wearing the gloves with the lead wire plugged in allowed him to charge up and release a controlled shock that went off with a bang, a bright flash of light, and repelled anything he hit along with delivering a strong sting to his target.  

Much like the memories of the Ghost Knight now all his memories of having found these relics came rushing back; he'd once been a young, stupid man, with lofty ideals about what it meant to be a knight without truly understanding anything about knighthood.  He'd thought that finding these gloves had been the ultimate stroke of luck -- something to make him an unstoppable force of good in the world.  He'd been hilariously proven wrong, over and over, until he began to treat them as tools to compliment his own skill, rather than relying entirely on them.  

When he finally understood what the gloves true purpose ought to be he began to win more often and eventually they had earned him the title of Storm Knight; when he'd realized that his dependence on them had basically shaped his reputation he had almost thrown them away. The fear that someone else would make the same mistakes he did (or worse - that someone would use them to harm others) had made him keep them, and steadily he relied on them less and less over the years until he'd mothballed them five years before he retired. The Rogue Knight had been threat enough that Django had felt the need to take the gloves out of storage and thankfully with them - and with his reputation - that had been enough to scare the knight off.  

The problem with this Ghost Knight was Django knew reputation alone wouldn't drive her away.  She had fallen into the same pitfalls he had: thinking that Old World technology made her invincible, or at the very least better than everyone else.  Rather than learning and improving she had stagnated...and he'd watched it happen.

"You could have been one of the best..." he sighed, closing the box and tucking it under an arm.

She really could have been...maybe he should have fought her harder on her reliance on that suit.  Maybe she would have listened if he'd fully explained his own mistakes with the gloves.  Maybe he could have trained with her to show her there was a more honorable way of living. But then again, maybe there wasn't some magical combination of words that would have swayed her to his side and stopped her from getting mad and literally stabbing him in the back.

As he headed to the front door he reached his free hand around to rub at a spot on his lower back.  That old scar ached and itched when it was cold or wet outside but it was an old wound he'd learned to ignore; tonight it was a dull throbbing pain - probably exacerbated by the sweeping, or so he told himself before pausing to really examine that thought.

There used to be an old wives tale about how an injury caused by a mortal enemy would burn and ache when that enemy was nearby.  The Ghost Knight had been his companion once...he didn't think for a moment that they could be friends again but he could spare a bit of hope that the old tale was true and that he would know exactly when he was needed if it was truly her in the region.

[gaiatheorist]

Improvising, and unpaid labour.

Half past four in the morning, I’m working around how to make a pie and a curry at the same time, with my ‘limited capacity’. I’m also factoring in energy costs, the impact of processes on end-products, and how to maximise my use of the ‘dead’ time between stages. My disabilities have an impact on my available functional hours, the hyper-vigilance that comes with my PTSD perversely helps me to portion-out my productivity. (Thanks, Mother, you didn’t teach me how to cook, or clean, or budget, but some other things you didn’t do mean that I can.)

Oliver Burkeman in this morning’s Guardian, is using the term ‘shadow work’. Most of us have always acknowledged that we have to do our own cooking, household chores and such. The category on my PIP award that scored the highest number of ‘points’ was ‘preparing and cooking food’. In reality, I actually find some of the other descriptor-categories more difficult, dangerous, and draining, but I was able to list more adaptations to my food-processing practices. If you don’t eat, you die. (Yes, that’s dramatic, it would take weeks to starve to death. If I miss too many meals, the blood sugar dip impacts on my background fatigue. I forget to turn the heating on, or take painkillers on schedule, and there’s that foggy-fugue state, where I’ll just stare at the phone until it stops ringing. I also sleep too much, not to escape the hunger-pangs, I don’t feel those, but because my body realises I have no energy, and effectively CTRL/ALT/DEL shuts me down.) 

‘Shadow work’ takes on a different meaning when there’s a disability to factor in. It’s not just the “I’ve put it in the bag, you beepy bastard!” annoyance at the self-scan checkout, or remembering dozens of passwords for online utility billing and such, it’s varying degrees of everything. 

Necessity is the mother of invention. I had a short discussion with an acquaintance earlier this week, he’s damaged his ankle, and has a cast and crutches for a minimum of nine weeks. This is the first week, and he’s finding a huge number of basic tasks difficult. I’ve actually offered to go to his house and help out during this initial adjustment phase. By week four, he’ll be managing everything much more easily, and by week six, he’ll quite possibly be finding uses for the crutches that the NHS wouldn’t like endorsing. It’s what people do, we improvise and adapt. That particular chap ‘only’ has nine weeks of this, but it’s still a useful analogy. Cast-and-crutches, or one arm in a sling, or your car off the road, after the initial “Well, this is an absolute disaster.”, you start to work around things. 

I’m looking at the idea of ‘shadow work’ from multiple angles. Head-on, the increase in automation of some previously-human employment will flood the labour market with the people who used to do a job that a machine does now, that’s increased competition for jobs, which will be a concern for me when I’m fit-for-work. Historically, I objected to part of my previous job becoming automated, which was at odds with my principles, and odd in that I’d streamlined another part of my job, to need as little human-input as possible. The future is computers, though, and it’s none of my business how that all-singing-all-dancing software actually works in practice. 

Recently, I’ve been entangled in doing shadow work for DWP, ‘Sleeping with the enemy’ to provide information that they already have, for their fancy new system. (Pride goes before a fall, but I’m probably using it more effectively than the staff paid to use it, they could have cut a significant number of person-hours if they’d followed my initial straightforward suggestion, instead of their convoluted one. They’re making part of my payment manually while I chase the ex to change the tenancy agreement, instead of a 30-second check with HMRC. They’re also making me ill, boo-hoo, poor me.) I saw a quote, I can’t remember the source, someone within DWP stating that claimants weren’t allocated any payments during the first week of a claim, because “The claim process won’t give people time to write a CV.” Furious, me? (I’m always furious, frontal lobe brain injury.) 

Despite peripheral issues in an imminent brain-scan, and providing evidence to student finance, I managed to fill in the forms, and find the additional evidence that was behind the ‘beware of the tiger’ tab. (Wasted trip to the cash-point, thanks to Kenneth on the help-line, who’d told me to take an advice-slip issued on the day, when what the system actually asked for was two months of bank statements.) Luckily for all concerned, the new work coach barely glanced at the bank statements, I was fully expecting the Spanish Inquisition on the plethora of Amazon purchases after the PIP money went into my account. Mostly disability-aids for ‘normal’ household tasks, and repairing/replacing things I hadn’t been able to do while I was living on fresh air and food bank parcels as it goes, but I’d overheard enough “You don’t NEED Sky Sports, cancel it.” interviews to know there was the potential for them to pick through the statement. 

I’d filled in the forms, secured the requested evidence, and moved onto the next task on the ‘to-do’ menu, because it was there. “Oh, you already have a CV uploaded, that’s great!” and “Did you write these? They’re excellent.” I’d done my work coach’s job for her, and I’d done it very, very well. (Arya Stark “You want to watch that one.” and such. That’s not a threat, it’s a reference to the conversation my previous work coach probably thought I couldn’t hear, “She will already have done it.”) *Liam Neeson voice over* “I am a nightmare.” It’s the paranoia that keeps me three steps ahead, I know I’ll have days when I’m less functional, so I ‘bank’ tasks before they’re due, to avoid missing deadlines, I did that before the disability, to mitigate against working hours lost to migraines, and ensure I never left colleagues in the s*it if I was absent. Now, with ‘please log in today’ emails pinging to my phone all over the place, that anxiety is compounded, my work coach has confirmed that my claim won’t be ‘stopped’ if I don’t respond same-day, and noted a mitigation/reasonable adjustment that I’m less functional later in the day, but there’s still that anxiety about missing a computer-generated ‘task.’ and incurring a sanction. My phone battery is wearing down faster because I’m repeatedly logging into my email, in case one has come through while I’ve been in a signal dead-spot. Shadow-work, the coach probably ‘should’ have made me an appointment in a month to review my Claimant Commitment, and another a month after that to write a CV. It’s done, she doesn’t ‘need’ to see me again until January, except she will, because I’ll have to produce a copy of the tenancy agreement once the ex sorts it out. 

That’s not the only shadow-work I’ve done for DWP. There was the pointless ‘Work Capability Assessment’, and the horrendous PIP process as well. Almost half of women taken through the WCA process have attempted suicide. I know I contemplated it once or twice, and that’s a major admission coming from me. (I don’t know why that statistic only focused on women, unless it’s because men are more likely to complete suicide, due to choosing different methods, that’s a different scenario, ending-all as opposed to reaching that point, and still having to live through it.) 70% of PIP applications that are initially declined are accepted at Tribunal. It took me 17 months, from applying for PIP this time, to having my ‘award’ granted at Tribunal, and it wasn’t 17 months of sitting on my behind just waiting for it to happen. There are agencies and individuals who can assist with WCA and PIP processes, but they’re stretched too thin to cover everyone who needs help, and I’m a bugger for prioritising the needs of others over my own. (I’m also something of a control freak, I’m very difficult to work with when I perceive others working inefficiently, my “Oh, you’re making a right mess of that, give it here!” streak is strong.) During the UC/WCA/PIP process, I was over-stretching myself, and I became very frayed as a result. I was over-stretched in part because I should have asked for help sooner, and in part because when I did ask for help, it was too stretched and fragmented to be of any use. A social prescribing case-worker, a social worker, a welfare rights advocate, and two ladies from Citizens Advice. Little old brain damaged me, sitting in the middle of this fragile web of support, asking one party not to duplicate work being done by another, to save them work-load, and trying not to bang my head on the desk and say “It would be easier if you did it *this* way.”   

Shadow-work. Providing the same medical evidence to two different parts of DWP. “Rolling six benefits into one”, my arse, the ‘disability’ part is still separate from the ‘unemployment’ part, I have an award of PIP for three years, which is completely distinct from the one year notice of ‘limited capacity for work’. Both departments have exactly the same evidence on me, I know, because I photocopied the files myself. (At 10p a page, I’ll have you know.) 

The PIP process, and the WCA strand not only involved a hell of a load of shadow-work in terms of admin and coordination from me, they also cast light, and, paradoxically, shadow on my improvisations. Back to the crutches/cast analogy, you look at where you are, and where you need to be, and you figure out whether you can get there. You fall over a bit, and adjust your methods to avoid falling over again. Unless you can’t get up, and the police end up breaking in when the neighbours report the flies, and the smell. There are hundreds, or thousands of things I can’t do ‘normally’ any more, so I’ve had to make my own ‘reasonable adjustments’. (Some of them are bizarre, some are profoundly maladaptive, but they get me through most days without major incident.) Those improvisations, the additional shadow-load that’s on me every single day of my life, for functions that used to be so simple they required no conscious processing are a Very Bad Thing when it comes to PIP and WCA ‘assessors.’ “You said you had difficulties with x, I have decided that you can x.” over and over again. I didn’t say I “couldn’t”, I said I have difficulties, but some bloke in an office somewhere can ‘decide that I can.’, and that’s supposed to be case-closed. At that point, I was supposed to ‘just get on with it’, to limp around my various disabilities as best I could, because a decision had been made that I wasn’t disabled enough. Physically, I can’t do that, but, more importantly in my twisted little head, emotionally, intellectually, and socially I can’t do it, without my deficits placing myself or others at risk of significant harm. If I have a bad fall, or a cognitive lapse, not only is my life at risk, but I could place others at risk when they have to fish me out of whatever mess I’ve landed myself in. I won’t do that.   

Another layer of shadow-work for DWP, painfully describing my improvisations in more detail. That part alone is enough to deter some people, it’s demeaning to have to explain, yet again, how you get on and off the toilet without assistance from another person. (Also the PIP system keeps the descriptor activities the same, but alters the qualifying thresholds without telling anyone. “Can you walk 200m?” has somehow morphed into some ambivalence about being able to move that distance, regardless of how long it takes, how difficult or painful it is, or what aids or adaptations are needed. They haven’t so much ‘shifted the goalposts’ as changed the game altogether.) I knew from the outset that the ‘computer says no’ would be the outcome, that the ‘assessors’ wouldn’t see the additional adjustments I have to make every day, they’d just bounce back that I ‘can’ complete all of the descriptors. Not repeatedly, reliably, or within a reasonable time-frame, though, and only with a massive degree of improvisation, which is physically and mentally draining, compounding the fatigue-element of my condition. (Shuddering at the thought of ‘home help’ assisting me with washing, dressing, or toileting, but that’s the PTSD, and PIP claims only deal with your most-recent condition, not anything underlying that compounds it, bizarre system.) 

You’re damned if you do improvise, because DWP/PIP will tick the ‘can’ box, the ‘fit for work’ box. You’re damned if you don’t, because some faceless decision-maker will decide you’re just not trying hard enough. What about the people that can’t improvise? The ones who are already stretched to the limits of their functional capacity? Have they tried just not being disabled/depressed/dependent? 

“Making work pay.” is a cute tag-line, but underneath it is the reality that vulnerable and disabled people are being churned through a workhouse that doesn’t work. We’re inputting our own admin. I have some cognitive issues, but nowhere near as high a level as some people. I have some visual issues, and my left hand doesn’t work properly, reading and typing are time-intensive, and painful, but I ‘can’ do it for a narrow window, given plenty of screen-breaks, some people can’t. It’s not hyperbole at all to say that this government has blood on its hands, it does, and it will have more to come while these systems are in place. People will fall through the gaps in the system, which will suit statistics, because ‘unemployment figures are falling.’ People. People are falling, into a shadow-realm of not being counted as ‘anything’. Some people’s improvisations to deal with that will be brutal. Domestic violence will increase when the ‘dole money’ suddenly stops going into bank accounts. Street robberies and burglaries will increase when people run out of their own things to sell. Referrals to social care and food banks will continue to increase. Evictions will increase, placing additional strain on local authorities to provide emergency accommodation, and I seriously doubt that people in emergency accommodation will be able to satisfy the conditionality of checking their online account for ‘to-do’ actions. Two-for-one sanctions there, I wonder if there are bonuses for that? 

This isn’t working, I genuinely don’t believe it was ever meant to, I think that the intent all along was for it to be so complex and intensive that people would just opt-out. All well and good if that opt-out is into gainful employment, some of the opt-outs will be of a more permanent nature, and the government will still have to allocate resources to deal with the very long shadows this shadow-work will create.

[ooc-but-stylish]

The ending to XV is still a robbery until they change it to something more sensible. There’s insufficient proof that the world is actually alright after Noctis sacrifices himself, and they took time to show that Noctis had plans to unify the different empires for peacetime. He was taken away before putting those plans in action and proving himself as a leader. What we have now is a half-assed MMO in Comrades and some token cutscenes in the Retcon Edition, but that doesn’t change that the main game's ending only covers the bare minimum (the dawn comes back). It says nothing about people or politics or anything about the WORLD the game and its side material have supposedly been trying to build.

Comrades expects us to believe that the people formed some kind of competent defense system plus governing body to lead them through ten years, that they could just keep using after Noctis died, just because they put it there and it exists in some form “in canon” and told us that’s how things were going. 

That ignores the fact that it was only months/weeks before Chapter 13 that Insomnia was destroyed and upwards of thousands of people were displaced from their homes with no functional currency to use in the outside world. They were completely uprooted from their ‘advanced’ lifestyle-- a lifestyle which included their reliance on orphans of war and refugees from towns that Insomnia had abandoned in the first place (see: Galahd), a lifestyle that enabled the natives of the crown city to shamelessly treat those exact same refugees like second-class citizens while exploiting their labor-- the Kingsglaive were the ones giving their lives to defend Insomnia and they are mostly made of refugees that are all aware that Regis was using them for his own ends and they wouldn’t have betrayed him if they didn’t think that way. The natives were complicit, and those people needed to then adjust to a life multiple steps down from their usual standards, to live in areas where no one uses cellphones or has cellphone service to begin with, they have shitty cars that break down too often, and a nighttime stroll can kill them. 

Insomnians are fucking coddled and wouldn’t be magically cured of it by having their home blown up, is what I’m saying here. There would still realistically be tension between them and the residents of neighboring towns that a) live under the heel of Niflheim, b) resent Insomnia and Regis, or c) they don’t think Niflheim is doing anything wrong ( it takes until Comrades for an NPC to say they don’t trust the radio. ) And then, how well would anyone handle it if they tried to get settled into another place like Lestallum or Galdin or migrated to Altissia for asylum and Altissia got fucked by Leviathan, Lestallum had a daemon infestation incident in its very own power plant, and Galdin eventually became uninhabitable from daemons? There’s at least one (1) unlucky person that’s survived all that nonsense and seen every home they’ve tried to make destroyed or compromised. That’s got to be bad for health and identity.

Even then, whatever didn’t belong to Insomnia belonged to Niflheim, even if it gave the impression of independence. Regis and Iedolas are definitely dead. Did the Altissian lady survive the ten years? She could be useful. Other than her, who else is savvy enough to lead people? There was Noctis, yeah, but no one in the world mentions having waited for Noctis or believed in his return without having actually known him. Does the general public even know why the world went dark? Would anyone believe that Ardyn was responsible for it? The Chancellor of Niflheim? The guy no one knew? The guy that no one respected? Ardyn played himself off as a nobody with connections. No one would believe he's a Lucis Caelum, the history books say he’s Izunia ( his maiden name before being blessed by the gods, I suppose ) and that doesn't sound like it was something that was ever publicized during the ten years of darkness even though Ignis and Talcott somehow found out in unexplained records that were somehow as legible then as they were 2000 years ago because I dunno, linguistic drift doesn’t exist in their world or something.

So there’s the people and the politics, what’s up with their infrastructure? Like I said, Lestallum’s been harvesting power from the meteor shards and somehow for some reason in this city that’s meant to be safe from daemons, they get a daemon infestation anyway right inside the power plant and it took Holly by surprise meaning... maybe, just maybe, the meteor has the parasitic Starscourge in it. And they’re still using its power for all their stuff. Does anyone in their world understand that at all? That’s like if the Lifestream were directly causing Geostigma and ShinRa still kept using Mako energy post-Advent Children, or if they still kept experimenting on people with Jenova Cells. It’s incredibly dumb.

More so since there are no professional medics or even hospitals in this world. Noctis almost died against Leviathan and instead of being someplace where his vitals are monitored and nurses tend to him, he’s sleeping it off in a bedroom. Nearly drowning is something you can just sleep through, apparently. There’s no medical care to speak of outside of the Oracle, which is baffling, since everyone in-universe should know that “healing items” don’t work, and post-Chapter 13, magic barely exists outside of the MarySueGlaives in Comrades. 

What this means is the Starscourge would’ve fucked people over significantly. I can't imagine there's many children left after the ten years. They tend to be the most susceptible when epidemics happen. Them, the elderly, and refugees which there’d be a lot of. And I don’t think the Scourge would magically miss any important people like engineers and whatnot so a fair amount of them must have gone too. Just in general, anyone with connections put other people in danger by contact; it’s Starscourge that’s killing people, but the infected still have some amount of coherence left immediately after turning daemon ( see: Ravus, Iedolas, etc ), which would be ‘human enough’ to affect those that care for them. Sadly for them, only the Oracle can heal the Scourge, so they’re all as good as dead.  the Scourge is explicitly described as "Plasmodium malariae" and "insect-borne", so... mosquitoes. Mosquitoes are transmitting this disease ( if it's not the "miasma" the infected exude in their later stages ) and considering how easily it proliferated throughout Eos, no one invented repellent or breathing masks. Either that or people don't keep themselves clean.

And yeah. Healing items don’t work. "Items like potions and elixirs gain their healing power from Noctis's growing ability", otherwise potions are merely energy drinks. The flavor text for other items are the same way, so everyone is fucked if another meteor drops. Peep this:

Antidote: "A refreshing herbal drink that takes on curative properties by way of Noctis's powers." Phoenix Downs: "A talisman that takes on miraculous properties ..." Mega-Phoenix: "An elite energy drink transmuted into a miraculous plume..."/"A consecrated talisman that takes on miraculous properties..." Potion: "An energy drink that takes on healing properties..." Hi-Potion: "A high-end energy drink that takes on healing properties..." Elixir and Hi-Elixir: "A legendary energy drink that takes on superior restorative properties..." Megalixir: "The ultimate energy drink that takes on supreme restorative properties..."

So in other words, those items every shopkeeper sells are silly trinkets, luck charms, energy drinks, and no normal person who's ever bought those has had their life saved by one in their entire, presumably short thereafter, life. Yet they’re regularly sold everywhere. The only person whose "regular consumables" were known to actually help and have magical properties was Kimya, an elderly woman who... what was that... ah yes, got demonized by her sister Ezma/Izania for being a witch, and was cast out, even though Kimya's potions by her own admission were "very special", could "Repel the daemons, [strengthen] the Oracle’s blessing," and were used at havens. Izania exiled her sister to the forest, to practice her "witchcraft" alone, and made the forest off-limits. Not to mention the ten years of darkness after Luna and Ravus died meant there was no one to renew the spells on any campground havens around Eos. Lestallum is a WYSIWYG affair. Comrades tries to “make this better” by setting her up in Lestallum to imply she was no longer demonized and free to do her witch things, but that doesn’t take away from the fact that as far as the main game is concerned, she stopped existing past her sidequest. 

Dino wanted to become a jeweler and create accessories. Accessories have flavor text that suggest their properties are real and not magical/imbued by  Noctis. Dino is turned into a daemon by the end of the timeskip. That he shows up in Comrades doesn’t change that it’s his clothes in Galdin Quay around the area he used to sit around in.

Sania had knowledge of what the Scourge was and with that knowledge would come how best to prevent its spread. Sania died/became a daemon by the end of he timeskip and her research was abandoned in a diner.

Point is, the original game's ending is a more "fake happy" ending than Verse 2. Verse 2 at least looks like it leads into further development for the characters and the chance things will go the way Noctis wants, with the most helpful non-Oracle people being present to use their knowledge and expertise. Verse 1 is an ending that only looks good on paper and addresses just one (1) concern of the plot at the expense of everything else. Noctis is dead, Luna is dead, Ravus is dead, none of the Bros are happy, all ( if not most ) of the world leaders are gone, the lead researcher on the Scourge died, the “local witch” didn’t survive, the jeweler is gone and so is the reporter with lore about the world, there's no magic, and that’s not getting into the fact that there are specific Scourge-infested dungeons that only open at night ( which are also difficult to access and optional for Noctis to get rid of ) and just... in the end who the hell is gonna care about some boy that fishes and strikes JJBA poses? He was fucking around Eos on a road trip, planting carrots, catching frogs, and finding abandoned weaponry in caves while ( and after ) his country got invaded, Titan shook the earth, and the Imperials were shooting innocent people. But look, his posse took a photo in front of a Magitek dropship!

I mean, we could make the case that Prompto's photos help cement that Noctis was a real person and not a puppet that those in power could ideologically castrate post-mortem and put words in his mouth to support whatever agenda they would try to push using his imagery, but that requires, like, Noctis to even be important in the public eye and have had a more political presence than a bedside confession to Prompto and a speech to a handful of people in the Retcon Edition. It also helps if anyone aside from his four friends and a bunch of nobodies actually heard him speak to begin with. He's really easy to misquote and put words into when no one gave him a voice. It’d be even better if he were actually alive. People interpreting his wish for Eos with their own biases of who he was as a person and how best he’d want things done isn’t the same thing as him doing it himself and proving his character.

[derenyanai]

Araquu Journal Session #2- Cecily

Time: A day after Episode Ten

Characters: Cecily

Posts indented like this were typed by the GM.

Posts that were not indented were typed by the player.

In search of answers about her mother, Cecily has headed home...

The area outside of Araquu is dense, forestine, and generally difficult to navigate. With the barrier that Cecily now knows protects the town, it was a bit of a process getting out of the city in order to visit home. The building was in sight, though- becoming visible through the trees.

Have you brought anything or anyone along with you?

Cecily has brought a small travel bag with her for the brief trip. She texted the others that she’d be gone for this visit, but told them to not come with. For her it felt personal to see her family after recent revelations. Plus it may give her a bit of closure by going alone. That being said, once the building came within sight, she takes a deep breath and proceeds closer.

The building itself seems to be a combination of a traditional Chinese home and a dojo; both sides are equally accessible from your current position. The bolstered security around the house - in the form of both extended family and hired help - is different than what you're used to, and in fact as you approach you're stopped by a large man wearing a suit and sunglasses. 

"Name and business," he demands, lowering the sunglasses just enough that you can see his blue eyes gain a red tint.

“Cecily Quinn,” she says with utmost seriousness. “I wish to speak to my father about a recent event in Araquu. It’s urgent.”

The man nods and stands aside, allowing Cecily passage to the building. Where would you like to head for first?

Cecily heads over to where she remembers her father’s chambers to be. She does however look around to see what has changed on the inside.

The inside of the house is arranged mostly as you remember it, in that room placement is all the same. Furniture has been moved around, possibly to accommodate the increased amount of people in the building, and a few temporary beds are in places they can fit into. Overall, it's mostly the same, but slightly shuffled to accommodate more people.

The door to your fathers' quarters are currently closed; a sign that says 'DO NOT DISTURB' has been hastily taped to the door, perhaps as some sort of attempt to keep the various visitors out.

A troubled look is formed on Cecily‘ face. If logic served her correct, the news of Nolene’s absence must of became of notice. Hopefully she can get answers from her father of all people. That being said, she knocks on his door.

"I'm busy," comes the voice you know belongs to your father, although it sounds somewhat strained. He seems to be focusing intently on something; although it is worth noting that the door is unlocked. "If you promise to not make too much noise you can come in."

Cecily hesitates, but soon exhales her breath once opening the door and closing it behind her gently. She then looked around for where she assumed her father was positioned.

The room itself is big enough to sleep two people comfortably. It has all the essentials for living - a bed, a desk, a walk-in closet, various other items both decorative and functional, a hole in the wall that looks like it was cut open, the remains of a window, the bare minimum.

Your father- with his short black hair, dark blue robe-like garments, and glasses, bears more than a passing resemblance to Councilman Noah - but he's both taller and much older, and his eyes are focused on a cardboard box on the bed in front of him as he holds his hands over it; his hands glowing with magic as he obviously casts some kind of spell on the box.

He seems really focused with whatever he’s doing. It’s probably gonna be a bit of a surprise for her to be back so soon after leaving for the city, but it has to be addressed. “Hi Dad,” Cecily spoke out to him. 

"Hello, Cecily," he greets her, apparently too focused on his spell to properly acknowledge her presence. That is, until the spell fizzles in his hands and he jumps in surprise, spinning on his heel to look at you. "Cecily?!" he asks, mouth agape and eyes reading confusion as he stares at you.

Cecily only waves in a bit of nervousness, but smiles nonetheless. It was still good to see him, regardless of the circumstances. “I... thought I should pay you a visit. Sorry if it seems on short notice.”

"I- no worries, it's all right," he nods, looking at the box and then back at you, pushing it to the side. "I'm just glad you're okay. How has the city been? Everything going well?" He seems... distracted, and a bit awkward. You think you may have an inclination as to why he's acting like this, but you don't have any particular proof one way or the other yet.

“Well... I got a job,” she says, trying to ease a bit of tension before she proceeded. “Araquu Police Department. It’s a bit dangerous, but it’s doing real good for the people in my opinion.”

He nods in response, smiling at you, though it seems a bit distant and distracted. His general posture and atmosphere seems uneasy, and he seems nervous. "That's good. I'm glad you're enjoying yourself."

“I overall am...” Cecily nods, before frowning. “But, um... that’s kind of why I came to talk to you.”

"Did- something happen?" he asks, motioning for her to take a seat if she'd like to.

“....Dad,” Cecily says, facing him with a hurt expression. “...I saw Mom.”

He looks as if he's just been stabbed by this information, but then he lets out a long sigh and sits down on a nearby chair himself. "...so that's where she went," he says with a defeated expression on his face, glancing over at the hole in the wall as he does so. "Did she... say anything?" From the sound of it, he doesn't think she did, but he has to get any doubt out of the way.

“...no,” Cecily said, looking down. She was crossing her arms and shifting with the uncomfortable memory about what took place at that cafe. “She... didn’t say a single word at all. Almost as if she didn’t acknowledge who I even was. There was a mask on her face... dark magic all around...” Then a brief flashback to how Cecily’s sword was broken in two came to mind. The same sword her mother bestowed, Yamada. It was painful to look back on. “...Dad, what happened to her? How’d she get that mask on her face?”

He sighs, wordlessly motioning to the cardboard box. "About a week ago, this arrived in the mail. Addressed to her, no return address, nothing. I checked it over for magic and didn't sense anything, so she brought it in here to take a look at what it was. No sooner than I'd taken five steps out the door I felt a huge wave of dark magic, like something that had been keeping it down had just been taken off, so I ran back into the room just as she was putting on the mask..." He fidgets awkwardly. "The moment it was on her face it was like she was a totally different person, as if something were possessing her - based on what I felt, it was probably the mask. I tried to stop her, but with her sword being the way it is, I wasn't able to do much and got knocked out..." He turns to look at the hole in the wall. Upon closer inspection, it looks like the walls were sliced through. "I woke up to that hole in the wall, an empty box with the note that was inside, and your mother nowhere to be found."

Cecily walks over to the box and looks for the note to read. Maybe there could of been something on it to read.

The note itself isn't that hard to find, and it reads as follows:

"Mrs. Nolene Quinn, I have heard a great many thing about you and your capabilities, and I am a fan! I found this on a recent expedition in a faraway country and I thought it might compliment both your appearance and your capabilities. Perhaps sometime in the future the two of us could cross swords? It may be fun! I hope to meet you in person sooner rather than later. But until then, I wish you the best, and do try on the mask for me! My most excellent regards, Steven"

As you lower the letter, you notice on the inside of the box - on the opened flaps, so that they would be broken when the box was opened - are magic suppression runes, which would explain why your father was unable to sense what was inside until it was too late.

“...dammit,” Cecily said through her teeth. “Dammit, dAMMIT, DAMMIT!” Cecily said, hammering her hand at the bed post. This was orchestrated. Why? Why did it have to be her own mother? Hasn’t this family been troubled in the past enough? The young swordswoman wasn’t holding it together as well as she did in front of her co workers and friends.

You feel more than see your father move behind you, wrapping his arms around you in a hug in an attempt to comfort you. He's clearly been having trouble coping with this as well, but he's making an effort to be strong for your sake. "It's okay. We'll- we'll find a way through this. Masks can be removed, and magic can be nullified. There is no force in the universe that can't be stopped somehow."

Cecily only takes a moment to remove her eyepatch and lets her tears stream down without real blockage. There was a way to bring her mother back to them. She knew how, but what was required was rare to come across. Who knows how long it would take them. And who knows what her possessed mother was doing right now. It was stressing her mind with everything being thought about at once. And all she could ask is... why?

Her father holds her for as long as she is crying for, letting her get everything out of her system. Heavens above know that she needed this- and as her father, he needed to be there for her as best as he could be.

It takes a good five or more minutes for Cecily to let out all her pent up emotion. She wipes off the tears still clinging onto her face and sniffs, attempting some moment of composure. “...I really needed that,” Cecily said somberly.

He nods in understanding, releasing her and offers her a box of tissues that he used magic to levitate in from the connected bathroom. "Will you be all right?" he asks. "If you ever need to, you can always come back home."

“I... think I’ll stay, just for today,” Cecily nodded, turning her head away. Probably so she doesn’t accidentally petrify her father with her cursed eye. “Plus, I should tell you what we need to look into if we want to remove the mask.”

He lets out a sigh and frowns. "There is one thing that's bothering me. You said she was in the city, but... if she were wearing that mask, how did she get through customs?"

“I’m not sure,” Cecily admits. “She was after the city artifacts however. They’re suppose to defend the city from outside invasion. Maybe it’s weakened with some missing... it’s all unknown.” The only thing she can be certain is that whoever this Steven bastard was, he was manipulating her mother to do their dirty work.

He frowns. "It's worth investigating... I'll see if the magical community knows anything. In the meantime, your room is open if you want it."

“Thank you Dad,” she smiles, grabbing her eyepatch. “Also, I got a phone while I was out in the city so... I guess that’s a faster way to communicate when I go back out.”

"Yeah, that- that'll be helpful, if you wanna talk to us or if I learn anything," he nods. "I- I'm sorry, Cecily. If I'd been stronger, I would have sensed it, or been able to stop her..."

“We both tried Dad,” Cecily said. “And, we weren’t prepared for what we were faced with. But, now we’re prepared for the next time we see her. One way or another, we’ll get her back. And our family will be whole once more.”

[[END OF JOURNAL SESSION]]

[blujaydoodles]

@songbased​ and now Kiele :D

What is your character’s favorite type of food, or specific dishes that they love? Is there a reason behind their fondness?

She really likes fresh fruits! Also, it’s cliche but she does really like spicy food. They don’t have a lot of hot spices where she’s from, so it’s kind of a fun novelty for her, plus it’s a point of pride and a bit of a power move to eat something ungodly fucking hot and not be bothered by it, lol

Does your character favor a certain color? Are many of their clothes this color?

Everything she owns is red or gold. Gotta work that Aesthetic

What is your character’s favorite instrument? Can they play it, or do they just enjoy listening?

She’s really into drums! She loves to dance so she can’t resist a good beat.

What is your character’s favored weapon?

Whips. She dances with flaming whips for attention money, but they’re also fun for... other applications 

How does your character deal with having something on their mind? Do they show it, or get quiet? Do they talk about it? Are there any coping mechanisms they have that others may notice?

She doesn’t really know how to have or express feelings like a functional adult, so she tends to convert any and all negative emotion into Anger, if she can help it. If the thing on her mind isn’t something she can really get angry about, she’ll tend to get pissy and lash out in general.

If your character is angry or aggravated with another character / party member, how do they deal with it?

Say so, immediately. She’s not shy about confrontation, to say the least.

What are your character’s pet peeves?

‘Kaylee’ ‘Keelie’ ‘Kelly’ 

How long does it take for your character to confront or deal with something that is on their mind / a problem? If contingent on the type of problem, what are they more capable of handling?

She’ll usually confront problems head on and as soon as possible. She doesn’t like being weighed down with Issues and Baggage and prefers a direct approach to getting rid of problems. However, if the problem is something like ‘a loved one died and I’m having a hard time’ that can’t really be Fixed, she has a really hard time dealing with things like that.

Is your character affectionate? Whom does your character choose to share affection with?

This is interesting because on the one hand, she’s super affectionate with most people she meets, whether it’s platonic or flirty, but she’s also emotionally A Disaster so it’s hard to say how much of it comes from a place of genuine affection

If a fellow party member has a problem or concern, how (if at all) does your character deal with it? Do they try to help? Would it depend on the party member?

It would depend on the party member. If she didn’t care about them, she’d tend towards a ‘that sounds like a You Problem’ attitude. She’s cool with the current party right now, though, so if it was something she wanted to help with, her approach is, again, whatever is the most direct, confrontational, and/or active-- ‘How do I Fix This?’ ‘Who do I kill?’

What are some habits that your character has? Do they have a morning or night time ritual?

She’s not much of a habit-former, for the most part. She’d rather be flexible and unpredictable.

Does your character have any unusual sleeping habits? How much do they sleep, where are they most comfortable? Do they snore? When given the option, are they an early or late riser?

She’s somewhat of a heavy sleeper, and can get herself comfortable almost anywhere. If she’s sleeping with somebody else, she’s a pretty heavy-duty cuddler and tenacious big spoon. She only snores sometimes/ a little, she mostly sleeps pretty quiet. She tends toward late nights and early mornings, apparently a high enough energy person to recharge quickly without needing too much sleep.

How does your character behave when they are tired or exhausted?

Super grumpy, more inclined to accidentally set things on fire from not paying attention to what she’s doing

Does your character have any quirks that others might notice? Speech patterns, or things that they tend to do?

Her body heat tends to noticeably rise when she’s angry or otherwise excited. She doesn’t wear shoes, I dunno if that counts as a quirk? 

How does your character’s constitution translate to their every day life? Do they tend to be prone to sniffles or are they generally sturdy? How quickly do they come back from major injury?

She’s fairly sturdy. She doesn’t get sick often, and tends to bounce back from injuries pretty well-- partly out of decent Con but also, I’ll admit, largely out of sheer stubbornness and force of will. She refuses to be viewed as weak.

How does your character deal with being less than 100%?

Complain, a lot, unless it’s really serious in which case she’d play it off, again in a stubborn refusal to show any genuine weakness

How does your character deal with temperature? Do they run hot or cold?

I mean. Fire genasi. She runs hot. Also, I’ve rethought my thoughts on the, like, physics of this I guess-- I think in colder weather she’d be super uncomfortable, and would be bothered by the cold a lot faster than people who aren’t from volcanic tropical regions and also part literal fire person

Does your character have a preference between indoors or outdoors? Where do they seem more or less comfortable?

Outdoors. She likes to be under the sun, and to be able to see the stars. Also, people tend to frown on things indoors being on fire, which is a thing that... tends to happen when she’s around, so

Does your character have various outfits for different situations, or do they tend to wear just one? Do they have any interchangeable pieces, or any odd clothing habits/quirks?

She’s got a handful of outfits but they’re mostly really similar-- just for visual variety more than different situations. She does also have an extremely fancy red silk dress that she’s going to wear a lot just because if anyone can be overdressed and make it work it’s her. She wears a lot of jewelry, mostly gold and colorful glass. The more of her body she can get away with baring, the better.

How does your character feel about their belongings? What condition are their belongings in? Do they have more belongings, or the bare minimum? Are they possessive or protective of their things?

She’s not super materialistic. She’s had a violent, unpredictable temper since she was born, so even though she’s somewhat grown out of throwing/ kicking/ incinerating things in a fit of pique, she’s pretty much used to not getting too attached to Things.

What are your character’s hobbies? What do they do during their off-time? Do they have anything that aids them in these hobbies or skills?

Dancing and lampworking! Dancing is big in her culture and just something she grew up with, and she had a natural talent. By contrast, she was set up as an apprentice to a glassblower as a kid literally just to try to get her to focus her energy into something constructive for once, something that relied on delicacy and patience, and she hated it for a really long time. But now that she’s good at it it’s a source of pride, and she does try to use it as a relaxation method, although she still tends to smash things that don’t turn out perfect... She does lampworking A) because making beads and animal figures was less boring than like... bowls and vases, and B) because a smaller toolset and workspace is a lot more portable. Being able to create and control flames herself with a lot of precision is an A+ bonus to this hobby as well.

What does your character bring to the party? Are they a skilled fighter? Are they good with intelligent pursuits or charismatic encounters?

Damage output. Oh man does she set things on fire so so good. She’s also pretty good for charismatic endeavors, but usually the bard takes initiative in those situations so it’s not necessarily just her thing.

How do they help set up camp?

Build, light, and manage the fire; set up a sleeping area but only for herself

What are some other ways your party is obviously benefited by your character’s presence?

I don’t know if there have been any really obvious story benefits yet...? 

What is your character’s relationship with money? What are their spending habits? How would your party perceive their relationship with money / accepting pay from others?

Like I said, she’s not super materialistic, so she’s a little indifferent about money. It’s never been a problem for her to be able to get money when she needs it, either by performing or selling glassworks or just flirting her way into free dinner and drinks (and lodging, usually). That said, if she’s been promised gold, she’s gonna get it. She spends money mostly just on whatever she needs at the moment, but will also buy stuff on a whim because she decides in the moment she wants it

What is your character’s overall disposition when surrounded only by the party? Are they different around just one or two party members? If so, are these specific members, or rather that your character is more comfortable opening up around fewer people?

It’s way too early yet for her to have a different, separate comfort level within the party as opposed to with outside people tbh. She’s not one to Open Up about her Feelings so I guess we’ll see what the future holds in that regard

Does your character walk at a faster or slower pace? Does it depend on the setting or situation?

She saunters, but in general she’ll keep pace with whoever she’s walking with.

How does your character pass travel time?

Chit chat with whoever she’s with, usually. She tends to get bored traveling by herself and will try to find another traveler or caravan going the same direction to pair up with. 

Is there anything else that your party members might notice about your character?

She still gets pissy whenever Ametys comes up-- something about that encounter really pushed her buttons, it seems. When she’s casting a spell (or channeling Wild Magic), not only do her hands glow like embers-- so does the burn scar on her chest. She tends toward snap judgements and extremes-- she likes you or she hates you, immediately, and she doesn’t easily change her mind. By now she’s flirted with everyone in the party except for Silas and Whisper. 

[storiesfromsupernomad-blog]

At first glance

I’m biking through Vondelpark, tired, cause I barely slept last night. I’m nervous yes. It has been a while since I came out of my door to set course into uncharted water. Nevertheless, the park is gorgeous. Curved old trees, green grass, small lakes and ponds. Winding bike trails, and pot-smoking tourists chilling around. It all makes me proud and feel like a true Dutchy. We accomplished a lot in the Netherlands. We are as free as a society should be allowed to, we can choose our own thoughts and speak our honest minds, yet respecting the macro direction a society needs so painfully. We are not necessarily smart or wise people. That makes we wonder how we established such prosperity. Like the freedom to travel to many countries, proper healthcare, welfare for all who don’t want to, or can’t work, elderly care, state pensions and so on. Every time I come back home after travels I’m in awe with the cleanliness and efficiency this nation enjoys. I’ve contemplated a lot why it is like it is. It can’t be thanks to our intelligence, cause frankly; most of us are far from it. Neither do we have a lot of natural recourses, just some sophisticated agriculture, natural gas, trading and a big merchant fleet. Maybe I’m not fully educated on the subject but I think it has more to do with the systems we have in place. I mean, this country has very little corruption, high tax, and a big government to guarantee our needs. And talking about taxes, nobody really complains about it. We pay a minimum of 34 and maximum of 56 percent income tax, not to even start about the many others, all the way up to tax we pay for having dogs. That’s just the way it is, people think, but we all realize how much we get back for it. I personally don’t care if people would rather live on welfare than work; it’s their decision to be whom they want to be using the options provided by the state. In the end, they are still consumers, keeping our economic motor running smoothly. If there wouldn’t be welfare, some of these people will just be homeless non-working liabilities, and the small businessman would be off worse.

Anyway, I’m biking through the park, during a workweek evening. It’s a foggy, dark, but rather warm night. With a beam of illuminated mist underneath them, the streetlights shine jazzy. One after another, looking surreal and peaceful, marking the trail in which I drive my squeaking bike to someone new. My legs are propelling the paddles without much effort over the smooth surfaced road with a slight zooming of the wind in my ears. As I bike around a corner, where a massive pristine Dutch oak is chilling out, I see a manlike-silhouette standing on top of a quaint bridge. With two hands on the wheel of my grandma’s old retractor brake bike I approach this silhouette, not fully understanding what this is all about. He’s standing there, by himself, but why? What is he doing? What is the weirdness of tonight going to offer me now? I think sometimes we all feel a bit odd about the world don’t we? Like a mix between a feeling of weirdness and freakiness, and we wonder whether phenomena are evolving for us personally or because it’s just the way it is. So as I approach I see above him one of these jazzy lights spotlighting his body, making him stand out in the mist. It’s obvious he wants passing strangers to peek, he likes the attention, but for what? I hear no music, no instruments, just the sound of his shoes sliding over the deck. He’s wearing a fedora hat, black suit and lacquer shoes. Closing in I finally see - that’s it, he’s a Michael Jackson impersonator. Dancing on his own, in Amsterdam, where he obviously belongs. Performing all his heroes’ classic, tight poses, which are burned in every man’s soul. There he is, dancing the night away, being a delight for the unexpected eye. Man do I love this city, she never tells what to find behind the next corner, offering us daily surprises which can be weird, inspiring, or amusing.

Of course she is late. Very expectable to the realist, not to me, the dreamer. It’s not really helping me stay calm though. I’m nervous, like I said before. I tried getting some sleep after work, so at least I would be slightly more rested now, but of course it was just staring at the sealing. Finding irregularities in the paintwork for a while, an hour or so, while contemplating conversations and questions of which the answer I couldn’t care about. Okay, I have to be honest, I’m very nervous. My stomach is a bit upset and my conscious mind rather stays at home, where it comfortable. It nevertheless has been a long while since I last stepped out of the door, took a leap of faith and aimed for the unexplored. I have been turned into ice; numb with little color left. I’m in the middle of one of my darkest episodes.

My job sucks and everything else kind of as well, dramatic, yes. I’m doing one of these boring operational jobs in the shipping industry in a way too efficient office building. Rows of desks interrupted with hip hangout areas that would make the die-hard office guru go wild, but not me. It has numbed me down to a point of absolute futility. I feel stuck in my paychecks and financial obligations towards my landlord, the state and commercial pleasure. Barely making it through each month, I’ve entered a vicious circle that, as long as I do nothing, will keep on spinning till the end of my time. “What am I doing this for?” or “What's the point of living if all we’re doing is staying alive?” are questions I asked myself frequently. On a beautiful winter morning, with sunset just an hour away I would bike to the train station, where I, together with other depressed iPhone junkies, would be expecting the arrival of a train. Waiting for my deportation to Amsterdam airport. ‘Arbeit Macht Frei’, I just need to keep working hard enough so that one day I would be free from the misery. Waiting for the day on which my bank account will be overflowing with digits, but this off course never happens to a simple guy like me, and deep down I know. It's silent in the train; necks are curved downwards, thumbs swiping past hot trends, food hacks and tag-a-friend bullshit. As long as we don't have to look at each other, talk to each other, or even worse, smile, we'll be fine. I get out of the train; I'm at Schiphol airport now, a state of the art, super cool and immensely efficient human trafficking hub. I'm being sarcastic yes. Walking to my office, together with nicely suited loners, I wonder if anyone could be truly happy with a life like this. Their leather laptop bag bouncing off their skinny underfed butt, their dark brown Mickey Mouse socks peaking underneath their, just too short, pantaloons and their hair smooth like the 90s. I think by myself 'what am I doing here? It’s obvious I don’t fit in'. Their objective: Capitalizing low hanging fruit, utilizing assets, decreasing liability and being a full-time douchebag. My objective: Making it through the day, hoping my ticket out will soon cross path. Without having many friends at work, most underpaid employees are constantly expanding their network, keeping me of course, a nobody-gives-a-fuck executional Ship Operator out of their ambitions. People are not people at the office, they are anticipated business partners or even worse the handshake they need in between the person they truly want to meet. Anyway, to cut things short, on a beautiful sunny day I would travel to work and return home in darkness, reflecting the emotional state I’m in.

Nevertheless, I’m in Amsterdam city centre now. Which beauty cannot be suppressed by the negativity of a single man. And for a moment, for one night, I’m not there; I’m here, being remarkably alert of my surroundings and conscious of the peace and tranquility underlying the hustle and bustle in this epicentre of diversity. I would ask you to close your eyes as I describe what I see but I figure this is a bit hard with a written story. I gaze around the streets that are dominated with 18th century Dutch architecture. A time wherein the design of houses exceed their function as ‘just a place where humans live’. The houses were simply made pretty, just because it was possible. Tall, skinny, with high ceilings and massive flamboyantly shaped windows. The façade on most houses would be graced with a single stone piece revealing the profession or occupation of the owner. A marble staircase, safeguarded by a railing which reinforcing inside structure would be an artwork of steel, leads up to the entrance. A massive three-meter tall wooden door, spiced up with stained glass and a cast iron ring, would shine its authority in your face. ‘You better be damn important!’ the door would say, if it could, but doors can’t speak, so….. it wouldn’t say that. Anyway.

One house after another, some crooked due to the swampy river soil they’re build on, some narrow, some enormously wide. But all as tall as its neighbor. Dimmed ambient light lusters out of most windows giving me the opportunity to glance, and drool, at the paneled ceilings and shimmering chandeliers. God she’s pretty, the city, I mean, in totality. As I, strained, walk a bit up and down the street I see bikers pass by. They’re obviously all heading out for something that’s about to happen, with somebody or without. Taxis, the grinding of trams through their tracks, and the famous bell to warn oblivious tourist of their presence, are filling up the background noises.

It’s 19:30 now, and she’s officially 10 minutes late. Excruciating difficult for a Dutch guy in general, extra excruciating to the tense state I’m in already. We said 19:20, it’s a well calculated time cause the concert starts at 20:30. We want to get to know each other first before jumping into a crowd of fans. The bar I told her to come to is closed; of course, it would all have been too easy. Nevertheless I’m waiting here, at the location we’re suppose to meet, not really knowing who will show up and what the fuck I’m getting myself into. Minutes, which more feel like quarters of an hour, pass by. I feel present though, exceptionally present, as in something is being lined up for me. I think we’ve all felt like that, a moment in time in which we feel something coming, either good or bad. We know it and we feel it. The colors, boosted by streetlights are rarely intense, my body feels well oiled, and sounds are experienced inside, rather than out. As my thoughts start to wonder away in stories I won’t remember creaking brakes caught my attention, “I’m so sorry I’m late” I hear, in a high pitched, slightly annoying Northern American accent. So I turn around and there she is.

[estelaparas4580-blog]

These Famous People Are Actually Barely Recognizable In Their Childhood Years Photos

Security ( HealthDay)-- A sizable portion from parents who kids possess food items allergy symptoms have worries over the security of their kid at institution, baseding upon a research posted on the web May 12 in BMC Pediatric medicines.|Parents are frequently having a hard time restrictions on their youngsters's tablets, smart phones, personal computers, and also TVs. As well as last but not least, I strongly believe that the fully developed health professionals of youngsters under age two can sometimes experience starved for a bit from interaction with other miss. 2. Understand that the person could seem overlooking you, especially since eye connect with is actually commonly hard for individuals along with autism, yet they are possibly spending even more focus in comparison to you would certainly ever think.|When one is extremely young, researches reveal that the optimum grow older to know a foreign language is. If parents force their choice on their youngster, which violates the teacher's assistance or proficiency test leads, at that point that mistakes. If 60 per-cent of mentioned misuse cases are misleading, what do we must do as moms and dads to prevent this coming from happening to our little ones when they possess kids of their own?|This is actually the cleaver function of the recalls of Shawn's childhood at the beginning from a lot of incidents. If you are actually handling a STRANGE little one, satisfy find a minimum of one other individual who is actually also handling a STRANGE child or has lived through this. Support and understanding are really challenging ahead by. The principal cause is that STRANGE youngsters are masters from manipulation and also appeal.|Having a family pet is actually a large duty considering that you must make sure this has every thing that it needs to have, as well as you should likewise have opportunity to have fun with it. However, that's nothing at all compared with this male that deals with concerning 300 pet cats! Abandonment occurs when a mother literally, emotionally or even emotionally eliminates herself from her kids. The combined age degree classroom can be a benefit to both the older kids and also the much younger kids identical. B. To compute the EDD through Nagele's policy, add 7 times to the very first day of the last menstruation period as well as matter back 3 months, changing the year appropriately.|Children's primary teeth are an ever before transforming factor, occasionally being actually shed for no noticeable explanation. First of all, Cara wasn't pregnant as a youthful teenager, so to think about just what her moms and dad's next-door neighbors would certainly think is actually ridiculous to me. She was actually 25 years of ages as well as chose to be located concerning who the dad was so she can eliminate the little one.|Are you the parent from an infant that is concerned regarding the possible partnership between vaccinations as well as autism? Folks that have actually experienced misuse, neglect and various other adverse childhood years experiences (ACEs) such as dealing with residential violence throughout their childhood go to a lot greater threat from mental disease throughout life.|When a household experiences a collision that beverages the entire community, there are actually opportunities. He likewise pointed out that moms and dads like Laura, that feared about her boy's care, are actually commonly taken care of smoothly and compassionately by clinical personnel. I carry out possess my ups as well as downs, however nowadays, I skip my husband a lot more in comparison to any kids I could have possessed.|Being actually looked at an agent is not one thing to brag about. The writer of the post is a school advisor in OnlineSchoolAdmissions and also gives free of cost consultancy to moms and dads and also institutions for simple as well as prompt on-line college admissions. Eventually if she experiences that this corrected that she be come back to her birth parents, then the DeBoers were actually without a doubt incorrect to claim that this was in her benefit to stay with all of them.|As summer winds down, kids and parents are actually planning for the begin of the academic year, but also for children along with food allergies, going to university for the very first time can have considerable tension and anxiety. It still might be a teacher-student negative fit, yet your youngster might be either on the sluggish edge of typical or even experiencing a learning disability. Find Parent Assets Some of the most effective manner ins which innovation may assist your kid is through helping you learn more regarding knowing.|, if you are a parent or a guardian you need to know or even few moms and dad about the Child Protection Recognize and the traits regarding CPS kidDefense Often, a WOW's stepson of this age presents a contrary habits and comes to be possessive from the WOW. Relating character-assassinating tales to the little ones as well as others concerning the other parent. We right now know, for example, that nonreligious little ones of spiritual parents cast off their ideas for causes that possess little to carry out along with mental reasoning. Confidential, I'm in primarily the exact same boat, but, as my husband has been actually wed two times previously, I became a step-grandparent this exact same year that I'm also someplace between the negotiating as well as depression phases of sorrow and existential dilemma I have actually been handling, while also the stepmother from his three teenagers from his second relationship. However through age 5, many kids discover that talk possesses a give-and-take aspect, and that they must wait their turn to claim exactly what performs their thoughts. 4. Despite the rugged streets that the parents have possessed with the rebellious boy, very likely compared to not, they will still love their kid and be actually more heartbroken that there is no longer an opportunity making amends with him. You can easily either embrace professional invites welcoming the guests to go to the occasion from your little one's first Holy Communion, mentioning the day, venue and time. Remind the children to carry out their nurturing actions today. Harassing must not be put up with; little ones ought to feel risk-free as well as valued in any way times. Along with regular procedure as well as therapy, kids with high operating autism may even manage to live total, normal lives. A Purdue University youngster growth professional can easily discuss what moms and dads and caregivers must know when talking about the junior high capturing that is actually therefore close to house. At some phase in every child's life they will display bold, impulsive or perhaps disobedient behaviours. Robbie obtained authorized adult release types from both Cara and the little one's obvious father Scott. ( HealthDay)-- Bags can indicate backaches for schoolchildren, but an orthopedic cosmetic surgeon possesses insight for moms and dads and children concerning how you can always keep soreness away. That features kids which have autism. Because I've been actually working along with the exact same factor for a long time, I really feel for the other folks on right here. She needs to have been actually molested by parents or even loved one. Children may say to deceptions for any type of variety of main reasons, depending upon their age. Kid affection as well as pedophilia coincide: jakosiebiedbac.info Desire for our Children. Each moms and dads nurture their youngster in vital techniques which is popular to the development and also the well being of the kid. Teething additionally raises your kid's temperature; nonetheless, this is not responsible for fevers over ONE HUNDRED levels Fahrenheit. On schedule, he will launch visitors and little ones to the PRT workplaces, the armory, the instruction area and also the car park along with the parahuman containment vehicles, presenting them just what it required to deal with the nearby heroes. There are actually ways to mess up grandchildren without interfering in their parents attempts to educate all of them and create all of them. Particularly nowadays wherein the latest economic downturn has actually affected exactly how the young people watch their future, parents are expected to uplift the morale from the young creation. If your young child has trouble coming to sleep you could possibly try removing their day time snooze as well as making sure that they participate in some sort of physical play in the day (the recommended volume from exercise for children is a hr on a daily basis).