#windows azure solutions | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

viskarenvisla · 3 months ago

Text

Where the Shadows Lie: Chapter 1 - Incredible Weakness

The fox looked at me once again, narrowed its eyes and cocked its head. “[Carpe noctum, frater,]” it rumbled at me in a voice as deep as a sousaphone, before it stepped through the dresser doors. They slammed shut, catapulting the azure furniture back into the water.

Huh.

"So...you're not going to stick me in an institution, or tell the school I'm not fit for study, right?"

"No. I'm not going to do those things unless you tell me you're going to hurt someone or yourself...don't go getting any ideas."

"I'm not going to hurt anyone," I assured him.

The university psychologist wasn't exactly the kind of person I pictured when I made the appointment. I thought Shams al-Rashi would be a tweedly little fellow with a bushy moustache and a balding pate, scribing my madness on a notepad and reclining in a very specific kind of red armchair. I was right about the moustache, totally spot on actually - glorious, if I was being perfectly honest. Black, striped with white, it curled up at the ends under his hawk-beak nose. Doctor al-Rashi's face reminded me of a tall, blunt crystal struck from the earth and given form, as well as a perpetual glower. He was wearing a dark green blazer, piped with red...cheaply made, but his vermilion tie looked like hand-woven silk.

His head was on fire; just the top, a nimbus of orange and white, replacing his hair.

"Then Mister Razansky I can promise you the whole point of this venture is to find constructive solutions that work for you and protect your academic performance." Instead of a little moleskine notebook or a boring notepad, a wafer-thin tablet glowed on the table before him. He twirled a stylus between his fingers. Shams wasn't sitting either, but instead standing at a podium while I reclined. I think some people would find it imposing or intimidating, but it felt like he was taking me seriously...no chance for him to zone out listening to my bullshit.

I appreciated that sort of focus; if you’re gonna do a job, you damn well oughta do it right. "So..." he gestured to me with white-hot fingertips (how did he keep from burning everything?), "let's start basic. Have you ever seen a counselor before?"

"No. I never thought I'd need one, I never thought there'd be much of a point," I admitted cautiously. This was a big step for me, the notion of talking to someone who wasn’t Arryn was akin to joining a new religion. It was something you did with a quizzical heart, but a little apple-core of hope hidden away, all the same.

Movement outside the window was perpetually distracting for me; a few wild herons had landed outside at the edge of a green pond ringed with palm trees and ferns...glorious creatures. Beyond them, a trio of...women, I think, cavorted in the water; their skin was a mottled greenish color like a frog's, their hair like tendrils of swamp mandrake dangling down their spines. They looked to be quarreling over an eel.

Good lord…I still had no idea what they were. I glanced at Shams, at some girls on the basketball team passing by; were they seeing this shit?

The weirdness made my stomach twist. I remembered how one of those mandrake women had snatched a dog from its leash…just pulled it down under the water, turned it all bubbling and red with froth. Did they ever snatch people like that?

He dutifully recorded notes on his tablet, holding the pen from the end like a priest scribing a text. "Mmm. As men we are often told by other men to seek solace in our own strength, but only a strength they approve of; women often tell us to express, but in many cases they mean to express what they want to hear."

"The lady who raised me was pretty good letting me say my piece, but yeah she works for the Army...'strength comes from within', that kind of person." I never told Rachel about stuff like Doctor al-Rashi's partial state of immolation, or the frog-women bickering over the eel. Or about Tessa. "I guess this is different from what other people come in for."

"You'd be surprised at what I've heard," he assured me with cool sobriety. I could feel his eyes, like two little pinpoints of heat, tracing the shape of my eyes, the set of my facial muscles; reflexively oppositional, I tightened the screws on my poker face. I was a perfectly controlled feelings-machine; he’d see what I wanted him to see.

Speaking of: "How would you describe your emotional state right now, sitting on that couch?"

Exhausted. Skittish. Low-scale aroused, almost all the time…something’s wrong with me.

"It's a comfortable couch," I demurred, patting the dark red cushion with a nod of approval. "I'm happy with the couch. I'm feeling stressed and unsure about my future, and tired." I swallowed dryly, watching him watching me; it felt like we were sizing each other up for a duel (and with what weapons, I wondered? He looked like a saber-and-shield type of guy, I was more of a pistols at dawn fellow).

"And...?" he gestured for me to continue…experienced shrink like him knew I’d be holding back.

"And, I'm...kinda scared, I guess. I feel like I'm being watched and followed." That part wasn’t easy to admit; how do you tell a stranger you’re afraid of something?

Doctor al-Rashi paused his scrawling, an eyebrow cropping up dramatically - weren't shrinks supposed to mask their responses?

"Do you feel unsafe?" he queried, setting the stylus down.

"I'm not sure." The admission came with some reticence because it sounded dull. "I feel a little...transgressed." And I did. Ashland was the kind of place where people talked, and because people were all about themselves, that talk could come back and bite you real fast. Real city of jackals.

"Is that what's been weighing most on your mind, or is there something else?" When he moved it sort of reminded me of fire passing between torches; a gait that at-once flickered yet also seemed to float. He poured a pot of spicy smelling, earthy tea and offered it to me on a coaster...I took some and sipped it out of politeness; piping hot, enough to scald the roof of my mouth and make my eyes water. Good tea though.

"Nngh...well, I guess there's kind of a lot going on." I paused to take a fake sip...how much would I reveal? He assured me he wasn't going to recommend me for institutionalization or take action unless I was a threat to myself or others, but when would he make that judgment? We'd keep it mundane, for now. "So, if you follow the news, President Parker sent out that EO that the International Humanitarian Reconstruction Bureau is losing its funding."

"It sounds like his style of slash-and-burn, yes." Doctor al-Rashi's eyes tracked one of the custodial staff outside; Alvarez, I think was his name. He was pulling one of those mini-dumpsters on wheels, filled with broken-up pieces of wood and a shattered toilet. Did the Doctor see his tree-trunk arms, as I did? Literal columns of knotted wood, groaning as he worked?

"Yeah, so...I was on the IHRB Post-College Entry Program and just got confirmed to ship out to Khamrungsa next July." I hazarded another sip of this tea...perhaps the burning sensation heightened the bite of the spices. Physical pain and tribulation usually helped me ignore internal discord, part of my unhealthy exercise compulsion.

The school psychologist tugged gently on the tip of his moustache, nodding along for me to proceed. "I presume to withhold congratulations...?" Gosh what a character…he reminded me a bit of the guy who played Saladin in that Ridley Scott movie about the Crusade - all weathered and hawkish, no-nonsense as sandstone.

I liked his dry humor, it was soothing in a way. "Ssso yeah, International Humanitarian Response Bureau got all its funding wiped with that executive order, so..." Still…putting those words out there, even leaving them half formed, it was another slow thrust of the dagger-of-night into my chest. 99% of the country wouldn’t have even heard of the IHRB, just another department lost to the Parker Purges. For me it was like my life had ended before it’d even begun.

"Ah. So a great elephant has stepped in your path." I blinked up at him and saw his lip curl upward in a wry smile.

The two of us shared a low chuckle...I liked the symbolism, Parker won thanks to GOP voters here in sunny Louisiana. This state was a caricature of itself in so many ways; I grew up in Seattle, a polar opposite of the Bayou State with its cross-clutching piety mingling with neon-pink debauchery.

"Yep. Don't really see a way around it.” Award for understatement of the century goes to Ascher Razansky. I was fucked, to put it bluntly.

My gaze drifted from the doctor back out the window, watching a stormfront rolling in from the South...it seemed like it'd been storming constantly, like Dade County was constantly under hurricane watch. The haze of near-summer heat lingered around ninety degrees daily, humid as a harlot’s palm. It was only the sterile zephyr of modern HVAC and the anticipation of nightfall that kept us out-of-staters in-state, otherwise this swamp wouldn’t be liveable.

"Such are the wages of good will, Mister Razansky...but I'll spare you the philosophy unless you wish to get into it." Another jotting of notes; I watched a fruit fly jump from a bowl of ripe bananas and mangos to float near his hair. It went up in a tiny puff of orange light and smoke.

So the fire is real - how the hell isn’t he igniting everything around him?

"I dunno Doctor, I barely squeezed a B out of Zakin's intro class...so yeah, there's an elephant in my path. There's also..." I stopped and shifted uncomfortably, the armchair feeling oppressive quite suddenly. There it was, that survival instinct that knocked on my temple, reminding me: Don’t air your dirty laundry, Ascher.

"Okay, you've probably heard this one before. Five guys walk with me into a bar. We all see this really hot girl I like, and I ask them if she's single. They all answer 'yeah, she's Andrew's / Liam's / Jun's / Tara's / Vahn's girl'." I gazed at him flatly, expecting another wry chuckle but he instead gives me a look that hovers between patriarchal disapproval and avuncular pity.

"How does that affect your perception of yourself as a man, Ascher? Do you pine for her, or is she out of your reach?" he went straight for the throat on that one; yowch. I actually felt it, like a hot blade prodding against my jugular. Mean son of a bitch. I struggled for a moment to keep my cool at the directness of his questioning, reminding myself this was his job.

"It's not great,” I understated my sense of smallness. “I don't know. I think she sees me...I've caught her staring at me a couple of times, but she's always with someone else."

That was only half of it of course. This girl I was heart throbbing over, what would he say if I told him she had graceful, curling horns like a ram? What if I told him those long legs of hers, sleek as satin, ended in a goat’s cloven hooves? Would he walk back on his promise not to institutionalize me if I told him her eyes glowed heliotrope at night?

"Hmm. A Triple Alliance of Troubles," he notes, adjusting a pair of brass wire glasses on his bent nose...how did they not melt? "Pursuit by an unknown dread...uncertain future...complex desire."

"Oh my," I quipped. We both shared an understated chuckle at that.

"Let us return to this sensation you have of being watched or chased, Mister Razansky." He sipped from his own mug of scalding tea; I watched with fascination as steam rose from the place where his moustache made contact with the liquid, hissing like a subdued adder. "When do you feel like this? Is there a particular environment? Is it when you're alone, or..."

I usually consider what I say before I say it, and I know to some people that's given the impression that I can be a little slow...not true of course, I'm as sharp as the next mattock. Doctor al-Rashi appears patient on the outside, but he has a few tells that signal to me that he's chomping at the bit; that must be a challenge in this job. He plucks the edge of his teacup with a fingernail, worrying a small crack; his gaze continually flits out to the stormfront rolling in from the shoreline, like he's checking for something in the clouds; the halo of flame standing in for his hair flickers between orange and blue.

I know he didn’t mean it, but these questions reminded me of that uncomfortable time when I was eight years old. The doctor explained just why he was going to ask me to turn my head and cough; it took about two hours for me to do so, I was a pretty stubborn kid. “I guess like, when I’m…y’know. Having sex, or like, taking care of myself.” At least he didn’t make it any weirder by keeping his eyes on his tablet, clinical and detached as a bunsen burner.

"I got some friends who are like...y'know, they're into urban exploration and ghost wrangling - "

"Ghost wrangling," he repeats, glancing at me from above his frames like he wasn't sure I'd actually used those words...not the first time I've gotten that kind of response. I don’t blame him, even I think it’s rather silly.

Even if I do see some stuff that scars the backs of my eyes; I’m thankful my friends don’t notice.

"Yeah like, hunting for paranormal activity." I palm my Samsung and play a video I took from March. It shows Vicky and Karl (two of my fellow wranglers) walking ahead down an ugly, bare concrete maintenance tunnel. It’s barely lit by guttering bulbs hanging from the ceiling, puddles of dirty water disturbed by Vicky's converses.

The bushy braids on either side of her head sweep voluminously as she swivels her neck side to side, thrusting the EVP box in front of her like a holy talisman. She was dramatically interrogating the spirit of Jack Croix, who was supposedly lynched here back in the 1800s - are you angry at our intrusion? Give us a sign!

"I see...do you feel like you are being stalked when you are…wrangling ghosts with your friends?" Ahh there it is. Right, Mr. Shams you think I’m a crazy person. I’m not crazy. I’m not crazy.

I’m not crazy.

"Not just then...it depends on the neighborhood, and the building I think...like the old bomb factory on Krome, or the Sunset Mall." Were things like him aware of how they looked? Nobody else I’d met would have noticed the massive, avian shapes battling with thunder strikes in the approaching clouds. Did the doctor know he was on fire? Would he be like this tomorrow? Would he see the strange, yellowed doorways that slid up from the ground in the Mall, opening to cavernous spaces that couldn't exist in Dade County?

A smirk crosses his face as he takes his notes - no...just a lick of plasma playing over his facial hair. "Have you ever gotten a glimpse of your pursuer?"

The question prompts a shivering chill to run up my spine, as if one of those mandrake-women from the pond had slid their claws up the back of my neck…no. Well, not entirely ‘no’. "I think so," I volunteer, always cautious and deliberate in speech. "Usually I don't see anything, but like...a couple times I caught something at my periphery, but it just kinda slithered behind a wall and…" I make an effusive gesture with my fingers and mouth poof.

"Sometimes I feel like there's someone right behind me, like they could reach out and poke me between the ribs but when I turn around there's nothing there, just this smell."

He glances up from his notes, clearly waiting for me to proceed. His eyes are devoid of judgment. "When I was little there was this old Chinese guy I lived next to, and he'd use linseed oil to treat these big panes of dark silk...apparently it made it waterproof, don't ask me. He'd hang them up on lines and I could smell them whenever I passed, not a loud smell. Sometimes when I'm feeling watched I can smell tamarind, maybe like...something kinda musky, like the stuff Miss Vang wears in her hair."

"You do not seem overly concerned for your safety," he points out; the statement makes me bristle, because suddenly he’s starting to hit close to home again, like with that question about my view of my manhood or whatever.

"What makes you say that?" I ask diplomatically, reminding myself that, asshole or no, I came into this office willingly and he was doing his job like he saw fit.

"You have not expressed fear. Unease perhaps, but you seem more preoccupied by the object of your affections than your little voyeur." The way he stood there, tall and straight as a torch...his gaze rarely left me, and he rarely smiled; it brought back memories of Temple services with Rachel. Rabbi Krovil had watched me like that, and they almost looked alike but for the fact that Krovil's head wasn't perpetually aflame.

Krovil's lower body had been that of a snake, I recalled. Nobody ever commented.

I wonder why he called it a ‘little voyeur’.

"Ascher," his voice yanked me back from my musings. "Do you feel as if you understand your place in this world?"

Alright, now I was starting to really regret coming here, he was getting into personal questions that didn’t really have any bearing on the issue at hand - handling my stress, which we hadn’t even gotten to, and it had already been fifteen damn minutes of this pressure cooker interrogation. To make matters worse, for this to be of any purpose, I have to answer honestly:

“No," I admit. "Ever since my program got cut I feel like I don't know what I'm doing with myself, or if this major is even useful...it's not like anyone's putting up anything of use."

"There's always need for civil engineers," he pointed out, but it felt more like a test, like he was prodding me forward to see how I’d respond.

"Any guy with a CEM can put up wiring for new condos on Alton," I countered, unable to keep the irritation from our voice as we circled around the gaping void of purpose in my life, a basket in which I'd thrown all my eggs only to find the bottom sheared away. "Those will be bought up by people with too much money, they don't need me. Nobody needs me here, Shams."

"You put too little stock in the depth of your own character, Mister Razansky," the doctor stated sharply - it felt like a particularly loud crackle from a campfire. "There is more to you than whatever you saw yourself doing in Khamrungsa; a man is not a tool shaped for one purpose, but an evolving force that shapes itself and the world around it...and if you truly feel your destiny can only be found in the Kham Mountains, there's more than one way to scale a cliff. You are as a man standing at a gorge with only a rickety rope bridge to see you across." He drew my attention to a picture of…a tropical canyon, green with a rushing river, spanned by what could barely be called a bridge. “I crossed that thing everyday to go to school, boy. I know what it’s like. If there’s a way across you take it.”

I didn't bother to hide my skepticism. Khamdo was a tropical mountain basin, choked with jungles and impassable rock-faces. It had never been governed by a single entity until the disastrous 1st Republic, and there was almost no modern transit infrastructure. The few forms of entry were jealously protected by any number of militias and rebel groups...and my own character? Shams may have been a psychologist but he didn't know who I was.

He didn't know how useless I was without this direction in life.

"Let's circle back around," he tapped a few times on his tablet which made a curious -whirrup- sound, and pulled a stool up to sit before me, steepling his smoldering fingers. "I want to address these things first with the remaining time we have, and make sure we have somewhere to jump off from the next time you see me - I already scheduled you to meet with me Monday after Control Systems."

He what? But before I could press him on invading my schedule he bowled over me.

"Mister Razansky, you are being a leaf in the wind...a salmon swept out to sea." He took his glasses off, and his irises quite literally ignited, burning out of their sockets as he polished his lenses. "A mouse in a maze, one might even say."

I weathered the animal metaphors with stony quiet, trying my best not to bristle like a hedgehog - dammit, no I was doing it now. "...are you saying - "

"Yes. I am. You are being incredibly weak."

---

“Mother-FUCKER.” The rock skipped across the water, slashing the scummy surface three times before disappearing beneath the pond’s mucky depths. One of the Mandrake women glanced up from where she was busily braiding her sister’s hair and sniffed at me as if I’d disturbed her peace.

Would she even understand me if I talked to her, or was she just another dumb animal?

Childish outbursts like that were usually beneath me, but Doctor al-Rashi had given me the fourth degree - here I thought I was going to get some professional advice, not to get flayed like a heretic in a dungeon. What would Tessa think if she saw me get worked over like that?

I sat down heavily at the edge of the pond and huffed through my teeth, feeling the last rays of the sun’s vengeful stare disappearing behind tonight’s thunderstorm. In the midst of Shams’ excoriation of my character in the guise of counseling was one truth that was just…painfully dismaying. The fact that it pissed me off proved how accurately his critique struck.

I could have just got home to get ready for tonight - we were going to check out the Villa Romana in Boca Raton later, heard some chilling stuff about it - but I stayed for a bit…one thing I’d learned at age seventeen, people see anger from a tall man and feel a reflexive fear. I needed to work it out first, it wouldn’t be considerate to go dragging it through a crowd.

A fox emerged from a patch of cinnamon ferns walking on its hind-legs, its glossy red coat patched in places by what looked like thatch. It held a mason jar filled with glowing worms in its paws, clutching it without concern for anatomical possibility. It wore a lime-green chiffon around its throat, three rings pierced through its right ear.

What the fuck, came the initial reaction to the weirdness of it all; I’d been seeing things like this for over fourteen years and it never felt normal. There was always some grotesque, otherworldly pageantry to it, and I always asked myself: am I really seeing this shit?

“You know the worst part of it,” I began, looking directly at the fox and catching it off guard as it unscrewed the top of the mason jar, nearly dropping it from its scabbling paws, ��he’s right about everything, and even though that’s not what makes him an asshole, it’s his delivery that makes him an asshole.”

The little red canid gawped at me, like it couldn’t believe I was speaking to it. It quickly drew its eyes away from me, as if by ignoring me I’d somehow be unable to see it, but I wasn’t deterred from venting - what did it matter? Most people would just see an imposing dark haired man ranting to himself at the water’s edge and leave me be, and if the fox was a figment of my imagination then…what did it matter?

“So apparently I’m the coward because I’m not just turning and throwing my chest out at whatever’s creeping on me and saying ‘hey you, fuck off!’, cuz that’s what you do with a potential ax murderer, right?” I scoffed, watching the fox carefully fasten the glowing worm on a slender line and hook - it give a quiet ‘skreee!’ of pain. “And you know what he had the audacity to tell me? Here, and I quote: ‘you are an almost two meters tall man and a compulsive exerciser, surely you can stand before some scuttling shadow.’” I made sure to frame the last two words in air-quotes that the fox regarded with dry disbelief, as if to ask why on earth are you talking to me?

“‘My boy if you keep behaving like a ferret in flight you’ll eventually be prey for hawks.’ I’ve never heard so many animal metaphors in forty five minutes…sorry.” That was rude of me, I glanced apologetically at the fox who was watching me warily from the corner of its eyes. It wrinkled its nose at my gaze, like it didn’t want to be seen.

“Then, okay, here’s where he gets real audacious. Just bear with me here - get it?” I smirked wryly, leaning back on my palms and staring up at the rapidly darkening sky. “Bear? Cuz you’re a fox - ah…probably not…so, he said about Tessa, this guy clearly thinks he’s some sort of Cassanova who wrote the 1950s Punjab version of How to Not Die Alone. He was like, ‘a woman like that does not reveal herself to you, does not allow you to witness her heavy gaze without intent. That gaze hooks you, it gives her power over you - why do you let it? Why do you not seize the bull by the horns and take charge?’”

I sighed with the sort of weighty drama I reserved for Arryn. The fox had dropped the line in the water, waiting with fraying patience and weathering my venting admirably; it must have been a figment of my imagination in that case. “He asked if I really desired her, since I hadn’t yet made a move and the answer is god yes…”

I fell back onto the grass and let my thoughts wander to her. Tess Diyonis was the most enchanting woman I’d ever seen in my whole life, beyond what I could have imagined. Her hair was the same red as copper warmed by the sun, as the outer edges of a bonfire in whose light I basked. “She has these cheeks that get really round and rosy when she laughs, and when she laughs it’s like…the opening lines of a jazz show, all smoky and honey flavored.” It made my chest thrum, it made my loins ache. The fox scoffed, rolling its eyes as I waxed poetic; I didn’t give a damn.

“Her body…fffuck…sorry if this is TMI but I don’t think I have ever seen a nicer pair of breasts in my whole life, I kid you not my friend, they’re solid 10s. Furthermore,” I held a finger up, covering the last corona-edge of the sun, “she has gold rings through her nipples.” That fact alone…it made my eyes roll backward. So fucking hot. I’d never been with a girl that had those, and they were…tempting, to put it mildly.

I glanced at my vulpine companion, watching him haul backward, as if he’d hooked something, clenching his sharp little teeth and straining hard. “She also has horns. And goat legs. Let’s not forget that part, and you know that shouldn’t be sexy, it should be weird but it’s not. She’s actually in my Control Systems class so I have no choice but to check her out at all possible opportunities.” She was intensely distracting; I had to record the lectures since I zoned out watching her move through the lab, dancing between equipment like a whirlwind of self-contained, exultant chaos.

“That,” I punctuated the word dramatically by slapping my fist into my palm, “is why I can’t just waltz up to her and say…” a flippant gesture, watching the fox struggle with its catch, “hey babe, you wanna grab a drink? Who says that kind of thing and just makes it work?”

I knew she wasn’t just some dumb Panhandler who’d ended up at Ashland-U…Tessa was the kind of girl who’d end up going places. I didn’t really know much about her, I already felt kind of like…outclassed, like she was a girl far outside my league.

I watched the fox growl and struggle, digging its heels into the grassy banks of the pond and slide toward the water. Feeling only briefly foolish and hoping nobody was watching, I moved to grab the line as well, pulling the catch toward the surface…weird, it didn’t seem to struggle so much as simply weigh a great deal.

“He makes everything sound so easy, like ‘hey just get up and go do it’,” I continued to complain as the fox barked first in outrage as my intrusion, then gave a low chortle of appreciation as we made progress hauling something large and oblong to the surface…how deep was this pond? “So, I had a job lined up that got cancelled, basically screwed up my post-grad plans, and he’s all ‘Ascher, Khamrungsa sits upon a mountain range. It is not going anywhere because it is incapable of movement, it is simply waiting for you to scale it…you lost your easy way in is all, is that enough to unman you?”

Unman me. What. The. Hell. That word had slid between my ribs like a stiletto, twisting and tearing…brutal. Insulting.

I’d actually gotten up to storm from his office at that point, but he’d been brazen enough to put his hand on the doorknob, pinning me in the heat of his gaze again - and that close, I could definitely feel the heat. “He made one good point though…” I had to admit, watching with some curiosity as we dragged what appeared to be an antique, bright blue dresser from the water. It stood up on its own accord…strikingly blue. Hypnotically, potently sky blue, the blue of liberation.

Huh. It looked familiar; vertigo and deja vu danced at the edge of my senses, like they always did when I encountered the Otherworld, or whatever this was.

Why did that color blue hit so hard, like a message?

“If I don’t make my own purpose, someone is going to make it for me, and it’ll be for their benefit.” I watched the fox sidle past me and test the drawers and handles; it was sealed with a combination lock, one which the little canine with its ostentatious scarf was expertly spinning. “Don’t you think?”

-click-

The padlock fell away. I should have looked away, but as was so often the case with the Otherworld, it was like an exquisite catastrophe I couldn’t look away from.

The dresser’s doors sprung open with a violent clatter, revealing a vast, sylvan landscape beyond, filled with flowers of strange colors I couldn’t put words to. Mountains that looked as if they’d been melted up from the ground stabbed upward in the distance, clawing at a sky dotted with floating islands of mossy rock and crystal. A massive crater stood in the center of it all, smouldering with sinuous blue light.

Huh.

#writing #changeling the lost #faerie #changeling #chronicles of darkness #viskarenvisla #onyx path publishing #slow burn #polyamory #jealousy #a rose is as beautiful as its thorns are sharp #nobody knows #original characters

9 notes · View notes

syneilesis · 3 months ago

Text

This was supposed to be a draft to a -- I forgot if it's supposed to be serious and angsty -- Rafayel mermaid AU that I conceived post-beta version and pre-official release. I never got around to continuing it, and I'm cleaning my drafts, so I am releasing this into the wild like a pokemon trainer letting go of an extra caught pokemon.

--------

Artist's block sucks.

After working in an animated film project for ten months, you're drained, relieved that it's finally over, and there's no more last-minute executive decisions to change some design or other that would have made you scream and tear your hair out. Lucky that they also paid on time; you've been hearing other more unfortunate stories that would have rattled your heart and liver from the sheer audacity of some companies in refusing to compensate freelance artists. The life of someone pursuing art is tough—spiritually fulfilling, but tough in this economy. Thank heavens for your luck, truly.

The next project is lighter: for an otome game—designing side characters and painting some backgrounds. It may not be as taxing as your previous work, but it's still creatively challenging, as you have to adhere to the art style of the game.

For an otome game, this project is a little … quirky: the protagonist embarks on a cruise, and the ship sinks. The protagonist thinks she'll die, drowns, and wakes up on a beach. It turns out that she's currently on an island inhabited by gorgeous people. Then it is revealed that the inhabitants are members of a cult and this is actually an elaborate attempt to capture the protagonist and sacrifice her to a spaghetti-anatomied god. She then must conquer the heart of at least one love interest to help her escape the island.

You said yes to this project because it looks fun, the plot right up your alley. But when you sat down for a preliminary brainstorming, your brain came up blank. Sapped and burned out from the animated film, you could not produce any ideas at all.

Your roommate, who has seen your highs and lows in your career, takes one look at you and knows. Just knows. She marches up to you and slaps a brochure on your empty palm.

“What's this?” you ask.

“The solution to your problem,” she answers.

It's a resort by the beach. White sands and cerulean sky, the kind of place where blockbuster films shoot their summer montages. Definitely expensive, something that you can't afford.

“I won a vacation package,” your roommate adds, sensing your hesitation, “use it.”

“But wouldn't you want to use it?”

“You need it more than me. Besides, I'm more a mountain person than a beach person.”

It takes her an hour to persuade you. But once you're convinced of the pros, you're all in, and that night, you're packing your things for a weekend beach retreat.

If nothing else, the resort is a nice place to relax and forget your artist's block woes. The brochure seems to be accurate in what it advertises, and that's a rare thing to encounter. Golden light blanketing pristine-white sands and the azure sea. The service appears to be top-notch too.

In your lodging, the windows span an entire wall, overlooking the horizon. Blue and blue and blue, endless and dreamy, and you hope that this view inspires you to come up with at least a couple of great concepts for your project. Might as well use this place as a reference for the seaside backgrounds.

#archi posts #fic #my fic #unfinished synfic

2 notes · View notes

coldshrugs · 1 year ago

Text

longing's favorite season 🔹 part one

pairing: io laithe / estinien varlineau rating: general word count: 3.8k additional entries: prologue 🔹 part 2 🔹 stable scene 🔹

"Saulette, could I trouble you to draw the curtain?"

Io looks up from her book to the cold, clear ray of midday sun streaming through the glass window and directly onto her left hand. An unwelcome distraction, the way it catches the faceted stone there, sending tiny colorful, refractions across the page. She twists the band until the gem is inside her fist.

She squeezes until the metal begins to dig.

When the girl doesn't answer, she asks again. "Saulette?"

New to the staff at Fortemps Manor, Saulette became Edmont's solution to Io's frequent lack of company: a handmaid and potential friend in one convenient package, of course, but Io is not Emmanellain.

Saulette is nice enough, eager and amiable. As a blessing, she is much less intimidated by Io after her extended residence at the Alicorn. But she's very young and, at times, overly familiar. Io has had to ask her to refrain from hanging over the back of her chair as she reads, or not to cling to her arm during their afternoon walks. Luckily she has learned to knock and wait to be let in, instead of barging.

Now she is nowhere to be found.

Just as well. All the good reading materials were exhausted three moons ago anyway, so she closes the book with a mind to pillage the kitchens.

The east wing—a relatively small two-story annex comprised of a few private apartments—is empty. Once, it was a refuge for Io and her friends when they needed it most; now, the Lady Greystone de Fortemps quietly wiles away her days here until called upon for a social gathering. The warmth offered by these halls has all but seeped away, like the letters from her former Scion associates, save Y'shtola. Even Haurchefant's flame for her has burned inconsistently since she denounced life as an adventurer, just as Edmont predicted.

Her footfalls echo softly in the carpeted corridor until she reaches the parlor.

Murmurs creep through the door before she can open it, including Saulette's excited trill. Io doesn't bother trying to listen; she suspects they're on about the next high house luncheon or some other event she will be politely forced to endure as an envoy of Lord Edmont's great vision for opening Ishgard's borders. She hadn't planned for her exoticism to be his first import, but it seems her marriage to Haurchefant required it.

The voices hush as she enters, but the staff cannot hide their interest as they huddle around the long wooden credenza by the main hall's entrance. Io blinks curiously as they rustle a missive between them.

"Mistress Io!" Saulette rushes to her side, taking her hand and bowing awkwardly at the same time. "Have you heard the news? Ser Es—forgive me—the Azure Dragoon has returned to Ishgard. Just days ago!"

"Estinien is here?" Io musters her composure. She pulls her hand out of Saulette's and spins the ring once more.

Saulette nods vigorously, beaming at Io while the rest of the staff return to their chatter.

"I have some errands to run in the crozier, and may wander down to Foundation." Io places a hand on Saulette's shoulder when she tries to follow her toward the cloak rack. "I'm fine, really. I expect to be back in a bell or two. Take the afternoon to yourself."

Outside, the air is filled with wispy white flurries floating lazily toward the ground, one of the more pleasant types of snowfall in this place of endless winter. Not even the ever-present chill can temper the excitement flooding Io's chest at the thought of reuniting with someone so dear to her.

The friendship forged during their travels was shaky in the beginning, but she and Estinien grew into the sort of silent understanding she can't recall sharing with another since... maybe since she arrived on this continent. Their pasts, their journeys, and the titles they donned as armor were all congruencies that smoothed the initial frustrations of their forced proximity and made them walk in lockstep. When it was time for him to leave and make his amends, there was nothing painful in the departure—he needed time and space to grieve, and she would want the same for herself—so there could be nothing but happiness in his return.

And Io could use a touch of happiness. No one's been in her corner. Not like she needs.

Aymeric fusses over her wellbeing during this banquet and that gala, or calls on her when he has a moment to spare, but his new responsibilities leave little time for depth to accompany his fondness.

She rounds the corner of the manor to avoid too many eyes, then twists her aether in on itself, small enough to fling toward the pinprick of energy closest to her destination.

In an instant, Saint Valeroyant's Forum takes shape around her. Imposing charcoal stone and metal spires meet the snow-bright sky above, but on the ground, folks pick their way around crumbling rock and rickety boardwalks. Half of Valeroyant still reclines against the edge of the fountain. Io assumes this courtyard was once elegant to behold, but in its current state, she sees only a fitting metaphor in the fallen statue: how much the nation demands of her soldiers, and the kind of rest they might find in their futures.

The air is thicker in Foundation. Smoky, colder, and colored by the scents and sounds of the Forgotten Knight: brewing ale, smoked meats, and rowdy laughter. It is only midday and the tavern is already in full swing. She remembers staying in a dingy Cloud Nine room that was never quiet enough to rest soundly, but Gibrillont made sure she, Tataru, and Alphinaud were warm and fed. That was plenty, after what they'd fled.

Nostalgia's inviting whisper almost pulls Io into the tavern... but a soldier clinks past, reminding her why she's here. She bears straight ahead, into the Congregation of Our Knights Most Heavenly.

"Greetings, Laithe." Firmalbert's eyes crinkle beneath his helm in a smile. He does not correct his address.

She returns his smile and continues inside, where more than a dozen knights pour over various duties. More still wander up and down the stairs, going to the barracks and offices above, or leaving the premises toward their latest assignment. In the center is Ser Handeloup, third in command of the Temple Knights, bent over a table laden with documents, sorted linkpearls, and maps with scattered pins indicating troop positions.

Io's approach does not break his concentration. She waits across from his, her smile stretching with each passing second she goes unnoticed. Aymeric's choice of leadership may as well be his reflection. "Do you ever stop, Handeloup?"

"Io? You're a welcome sight." There is little surprise in his expression, a sign of his constant preparedness. He brightens easily, happy to shed a pressing responsibility or two in exchange for a chance to chat. "Apologies, I haven't had the opportunity to congratulate you personally. I hope you and Lord Haurchefant still bask in wedded bliss." He smiles, pausing graciously to let her answer.

Io's lips curve into the barest smile, but she offers only a nod.

Handeloup clears his throat. "My wife was delighted by the invitation. You see, families as middling as ours rarely have the pleasure of attending such events, and your wedding was an experience neither of us will soon forget. You have my gratitude."

There is a thick, faraway drumbeat in her ears. Her vision shifts focus, clear then blurry, seeing him but not. The false smile sticks in place. She sinks.

This dread was there in the beginning, but has only grown heavier over the last few months. Handeloup is happy for her. He wishes her well and only means to share in what should be a joyous time. Shouldn't she be happy too?

Why is it so difficult?

It's only half a second before she resurfaces.

"Careful, or I'll have to see you invited to the next soiree. You think you know exhaustion now..." With luck, she downplays her unease. Handeloup even offers her a polite chuckle. "But I'm afraid I didn't come with an invitation at the ready. The true reason for my visit is rather removed from the joys of high society. I've just heard Estinien has recently returned to the city. Is he here?"

At this, Handeloup's smile falters. His posture straightens. Io readies herself for some grave news of her friend's demise; was his return not a safe one? Or perhaps he's left again and she missed him by days, or merely hours.

"I am sorry, Lady Greystone, but Ser Varlineau is disposed. He and the Lord Commander are in a meeting just now and cannot be interrupted."

'Lady' Greystone, is it? Was she not simply 'Io' a moment ago?

At least her question has a direct answer.

Io straightens her own back, clasps her hands firmly. "Come now, Handeloup, you know the three of us are close friends. I am no stranger to their meetings. I'm sure Aymeric is currently making a generous proposal and Estinien is pretending to shoot it down with an in–"

"I am afraid the Lord Commander has asked for no disturbances." Handeloup looks to the stairs he has seen her climb time and time again to access Aymeric's office. "Glad as I am for the ways Ishgard is changing because of your deeds, there are some things that will ever be the same. As you are now the lady of a High House, I must ask you to stay here, until the Lord Commander has given his approval."

The disappointment is difficult to swallow, but she has already struggled too openly in this conversation. If it is a matter of approval, surely Aymeric will give his. She needs only to play the game as it is laid out before her.

Io inhales, then smiles. "May I leave a message with you?"

"Aye."

He passes her ink, quill, and paper. just She quickly scrawls her note and folds it in half once the ink has dried.

"For Ser Varlineau, with a post-script for the Lord Commander. I will not expect haste, but... it would be most appreciated." She places the scrap of paper into Handeloup's waiting hand.

"I will see it delivered," he says with a formal nod. There is a finality about it.

She could wait. But waiting might be considered an overreach, which could be perilous to the image Edmont has painstakingly crafted. Besides, they could be up there for half the day, and she told Saulette this would be back soon. Easier to leave without a fuss.

Midday gives way to early evening, and with it comes a heavier snowfall. The Jeweled Crozier doesn't flinch.

Ishgard's upper echelons (and those vying to join them) trawl the street in search of their next beloved frock, necklace, or hairpin. Treasures they will count as priceless for a single evening, deemed untouchable the following morning, for who could bear the shame of being seen in the same thing twice?

There is another form of commerce in the market, featuring treasures far more valuable, and intangible, than the goods on display in the shop windows. They are all watching, eager to glimpse who stops to chat with whom, who gets snubbed, which debutante praises the broaches at this artisan stall, what tailor the High House sons swear by this week. They trade stories of betrayal and betrothal, laugh at falls from grace in the same breath they lament the fallen. This is foreplay for them, the first sparkling sip of champagne lingering like lace on their tongues before venturing into heavier spirits, as vital as attendance at any charity gala or dinner party.

Io has no interest in being part of their performance, but her refusal to engage must come with a veneer of politeness. She keeps her smile soft, she keeps her head angled just so, away from the oncoming shoppers as she picks her way through the street. Few in this crowd want to speak to her, the anomaly, anyway—at least not here, where her past cannot be recounted as a series of amusing anecdotes over hors d'oeuvres.

She is only here to purchase an unremarkable trinket, some small proof this outing wasn't in vain before continuing back to Fortemps Manor.

An unpopular stall carrying wooden hairpins is her solution. The fashionable Ishgardian favors polished metal and gleaming jewels, neither of which appear on this display. Each pin is ornately carved and richly lacquered to accent the natural pattern of the wood. Io inspects a long, curved pin in the shape of a feather. The barbs are so delicately ridged... her muscles twitch, remembering days spent fletching arrows until her fingertips grew numb, the feel of smooth ash wood and sinew, cut feathers and twine. The work, its memory, moves under her skin.

"You will do," she says, passing her payment to the vendor.

With her task accomplished, she ascends the stairs that lead to the Pillars' residential areas.

"Warrior of Light," a gruff voice calls from behind.

She freezes, breath catching in her throat.

When was the last time she heard (his voice) that title? In hearing it, part of her feels restored. Hope, or something like it, flowers in the hollow of her chest. The shadows move.

With one hand on the balustrade, Io turns.

Estinien stands at the bottom of the stairs. At a glance, he is as gray and severe as the city that surrounds him, but Io has always considered him out of place here. This is no different. The icy breeze jerks at his untucked cotton shirt and loose silver hair, and he cares not what the onlookers at his back make of his appearance. One boot-clad foot is on the bottom step, the other hangs frozen in the air.

He looks... a bit stricken. Soft... His eyes widen, his mouth is open as his breath mists around him. A kind of surprise she's never seen him wear, as if he expected to find himself face-to-face with someone else entirely—he doesn't seem disappointed that he's found her instead.

His guard returns in the moment it takes him to bound up the steps. "Though I've just heard you've earned yet another title... I endure days of Aymeric's fondness for idle chatter, yet he failed to mention your developments." He looks her over in quick inspection, from head to toe, and shrugs. "Do not expect me to call you 'lady.'"

Io grins at him and nods toward the pillars, beckoning him to join her. In place of the hug she longs to give him, it is the best she can do. With Estinien at her side, the walk goes slower.

"If holding back the eighth calamity hinged on that alone, I believe you might let the world fall to ruin."

"Aye." He does not elaborate. "Should I congratulate you?"

His eyes are sharp and searching, the same shade as the darkening sky above, and they bore into her. She feels a question in them, one he doesn't ask. In truth, he doesn't need to.

It is simply: why?

"Gods, no. In six moons, I have had all the congratulations I can bear. You are too late, I'm afraid." Io clears her throat and steers their conversation toward a more interesting subject. "How were your travels?"

Estinien tears his attention from her face to the mountains that surround them. "Educational, as the last year has been," He pauses. Io waits.

They feel out this familiar rhythm, the rests and surges so common in their conversations. Generous spaces where thoughts collect in their own time, the places where meaning hides, waiting to be found. Always followed by something plain and true. It was the same on the road, once they found common ground enough to talk.

"I am not certain they've concluded, but if Ishgard has need of me, I will avail myself a final time."

"Ishgard?" she asks, ignoring the implication he may leave again. "Or Aymeric?"

He dips his head and smiles, a small thing she knows well by now. For a long time, it was the only part of his expression he would allow her—or anyone—to see. "Funny. I suppose I should try my hand at this 'commanding' business, what with being the Commander of the Knights Dragoon."

"Ah, I see that going smoothly." She does a poor job of hiding her amusement. Snow crunches softly underfoot, each step heavier than the last as the Alicorn's peak comes into view.

Estinien snorts as they enter the Last Vigil, "More smoothly than you as a housewife, surely."

She stops. Her pulse rises to her ears for the second time in so many hours. No. She finds the banister with an uncertain hand, propping her elbows on the snow-covered railing. Stay here, Io wills herself, don't go down there. She pushes back against the deafening rush of blood, slowing her inhales until each cold breath is comfortable. It helps to focus on the distant mountaintops haloed in gold from the setting sun, or the calm and cloudy sky above them, touched by the first traces of night.

Her pulse recedes, leaving the world strangely silent. The street lanterns flicker to life on either side of her. She cannot say how long it took to recover this time.

Long enough to leave her wondering if Estinien has left in the wake of her awkward retreat. If she turns around and finds herself alone–

"Io."

His hand falls on her shoulder, heavy. Steady. The last of the dread falls away.

He pries her away from the stone railing, and the unspoken question from earlier remains. But he smiles again, playfully jostling her shoulder until he coaxes one from her too. Io looks around the square; now that the crowd has thinned, she throws her arms around him and squeezes until he shakes with low, rumbling laughter.

"Oh, shut up." She rests her head on his shoulder, arms held tight around his neck. Warmth bleeds through his cold clothes, and he doesn't sway when she leans against him. His arms wrap around her, obscured by her cloak. He squeezes back.

The world threatens to fall away again. Her head buzzes with a new rush—a pleasant one. Instinctively, Io pulls out of it. She steadies herself with a deep breath and releases him.

Estinien drops his arms. There is a crease between his brows. "All right?"

They walk on. "I'm sorry. If you must know, I am a bit jealous of you. Your continued adventures. I haven't adjusted to standing still."

"Easily remedied, no?" Estinien shrugs casually. "We will make our own adventure. Unless you've been chained at the ankle, what keeps you from going where you please, at least for a day? If you want for decent company, well, I cannot claim decency. But we are friends, are we not?"

"Of course we are." Io bumps her shoulder against his. "Alas, the chain is metaphorical, and therefore heavier than you've imagined, and it has everything to do with the title you'd rather ignore."

He crosses his arms, steps slowing as they near Fortemps Manor. "You don't even mean to try?"

"I did not say that. I only meant–"

"Io, dearest! And is that Ser Estinien?" Haurchefant's high, clear voice cuts through her retort. She did not hear the door open, but she certainly hears it shut as he takes the opportunity to join them. "The steward said you were out on errands, but I never expected you to procure such a treasure as the nation's final Azure Dragoon. How are you, my friend?"

Haurchefant extends his hand to Estinien, who clasps his arm with practiced neutrality. Io doesn't miss the tight line of his lips signaling his annoyance at this interruption. For a blessing, this escapes Haurchefant, but there is comfort in knowing she is not the only one hanging to her charades by a thread.

"Fine," Estinien says. His gaze follows the arm he's just released settling around Io's waist. "And if we must go on about rank, 'Knight Commander' is the less abrasive option."

Haurchefant's expression brightens beyond possibility. "You are returning for good then?" In his excitement, his clutch on Io tightens. She breathes deeply.

It isn't always like this. His touch is one of the easier things to bear.

"For now."

"Then I pray we might catch up, though my post occupies the majority of my time. But Io is in residence, and I daresay the two of you would enjoy revisiting your treacherous expedition, or those most glorious of battles at journey's end. Would that my joining you were a certainty, but you need not delay on my account."

Estinien turns away from them, facing Haillenarte Manor and the path he would use to depart. A shoddy attempt to hide his growing grin. "A shame."

Haurchefant's face whips toward Io, and there is a look in his eyes she hasn't seen in moons: interest. Some reminder of her valorous past washes to shore and he desires her.

"Shall we go inside, my dear? I fear my visit here is not an extended one." He speaks only to Io now, in a voice he has barely lowered. Io has no doubt Estinien overhears. Perhaps the boasting is the point.

"Is it ever?" She swallows her sigh, feeling two things equally: grateful for a night of attention, and already eager for his return to Camp Dragonhead. Before he can answer, she sways out of his grasp and towards the manor door. "Goodnight, Estinien," she calls behind her without looking.

"Goodnight Io. Ser Haurchefant." She catches his reply as Haurchefant follows her inside, just before the door closes.

"Ser Varlineau (as I am expected to address you, apparently), Your arrival comes as the most delightful surprise. I expected you to stay away for far longer. Though you neglected to seek me out, I forgive you. And I think you will enjoy the fact I've made a fool of myself in looking for you. Please do come see me. It's been too long. Your friend, Io P.S. Aymeric, must your knights refuse to let me up the stairs?"

—A note found while cleaning the desk of Lord Commander of the Temple Knights.

"–saw him just days ago, in the Crozier of all places. He still cuts quite a brutish figure, but I make no pardons for saying it is a figure I would not mind viewing more thoroughly. A blessing directly from Halone, Herself... Oh, before I forget, are you planning to attend the Manseauguel affair? I simply cannot decide what to wear—"

—Lady Aileve, overheard at a formal Dzemael luncheon

#azia writes #longing's favorite season #misery au #io/estinien #ffxiv #i think i just could not continue to be THIS MEAN to haurche a;kjfdsl but THE JUICE

12 notes · View notes

technologysolutionsworldwide2 · 2 months ago

Text

Fast paced #technology needs fast paced #solutions . #Microsoft365Business offers #solutions for #MicrosoftEnterprise . #TechnologySolutionsWorldwide offers all #MicrosoftSubscriptions for 30-40% below #MSRP .

Call (800)998-2792 or Visit https://techsolworld.com/subscriptions

1 note · View note

govindhtech · 1 year ago

Text

CrowdStrike Outage: Customers Independent Cybersecurity Firm

Supporting customers during the CrowdStrike outage Independent cybersecurity firm. CrowdStrike launched a software upgrade that started affecting IT systems all across the world. They would like to provide an update on the efforts that were made with CrowdStrike and others to remedy and help consumers, even though this was not a Microsoft issue and it affects the entire ecosystem.

CrowdStrike outage

Everyone have been in constant contact with customers, CrowdStrike outage, and outside developers since the start of this incident in order to gather data and hasten resolutions. It are aware of the impact this issue has brought to many people’s everyday routines as well as companies. The primary objective is to help customers safely restore interrupted systems back online by offering technical advice and support. Among the actions made are:

Using CrowdStrike to automate their solution development process.

In addition to providing a workaround recommendation, CrowdStrike has made a public statement on this vulnerability.

The Windows Message Centre contained instructions on how to fix the issue on Windows endpoints.

Deploying hundreds of engineers and specialists from Microsoft to collaborate directly with clients in order to restore services.

In order to inform ongoing discussions with CrowdStrike and customers, us are working together with other cloud providers and stakeholders, such as Google Cloud Platform (GCP) and Amazon Web Services (AWS), to share awareness on the state of effect they are each witnessing throughout the sector.

publishing the scripts and documentation for manual cleanup as soon as possible.

Customers will be updated on the incident’s status via the Azure Status Dashboard, available here.

They are constantly updating and supporting customers while working around the clock.

CrowdStrike has also assisted us in creating a scalable solution that would speed up Microsoft’s Azure infrastructure’s correction of CrowdStrike’s flawed update.

They have also collaborated on the most efficient methods with AWS and GCP.

CrowdStrike update

Software changes might occasionally create disruptions, but major events like the CrowdStrike event don’t happen often. As of right now, researchers calculate that 8.5 million Windows devices less than 1% of all Windows computers were impacted by CrowdStrike’s update. Even though the percentage was low, the usage of CrowdStrike by businesses that manage numerous vital services has a significant influence on the economy and society.

This event highlights how intertwined the large ecosystem consisting of consumers, software platforms, security and other software vendors, and worldwide cloud providers is. It serves as a reminder of how critical it is that everyone in the tech ecosystem prioritizes disaster recovery utilising existing channels and safe deployment practices.

As the past two days have demonstrated, cooperation and teamwork are the keys to learning, healing, and forward motion. They value the cooperation and teamwork of everyone in this sector, and will continue to keep you informed about the results and future plans.

Overview

An CrowdStrike outage can be a difficult occurrence for any organisation in the ever-changing field cybersecurity . Their resilience and readiness were put to the test recently when a significant CrowdStrike outage affected customers. This post seeks to give a thorough explanation of how they supported the clients at this crucial time, making sure their cybersecurity requirements were satisfied with the highest effectiveness and consideration.

Comprehending the CrowdStrike Incident

One of the top cybersecurity companies’ services experienced problems due to the unanticipated CrowdStrike outage. Many organizations were affected by the outage, which made them susceptible to possible cyberattacks. The primary objective was to minimize the effects of this outage on customers while maintaining security services for them.

Quick Reaction to the Outage

Upon detecting the outage, the dedicated employees moved quickly to resolve it. They prioritized communicating with clients due to recognized the seriousness of the matter. Below is a thorough explanation of the prompt response:

Notification and Communication: Everyone immediately sent out a notification of the outage by email, phone calls, and through own support portal to all impacted clients. Having open and honest communication was essential to reassuring and informing those who hired us.

Activation of the Incident Response Team: They promptly activated the incident response team, which is made up of support engineers and cybersecurity specialists. To evaluate the effects of the outage and create a tactical reaction strategy, this team worked nonstop.

Providing Differential Approaches to Security

Ensuring customers have strong security was the initial focus during the downtime. To guarantee ongoing protection, having put in place a number of other security measures, including:

Temporary Security Solutions: In order to cover for the CrowdStrike outage, they implemented temporary security solutions. Advanced threat intelligence tools, more intrusion detection systems, and improved firewall setups were some of these answers.

Alerts and Manual Monitoring: They increased the manual monitoring efforts at its Security Operations Centre (SOC). In order to ensure prompt action in the event of an incident, having installed extra alarm mechanisms to identify any unusual activity that would point to possible cyber attacks.

Improving Customer Service

It strengthened the support infrastructure in order to reply to the worries and questions of the clients:

24/7 Support Availability: They have extended support service hours to offer assistance whenever you need it. Clients could get in touch with the support team whenever they needed assistance, so they could get it quickly.

Specialised Support Channels: Everyone set up special support channels for problems relating to outages. This made it possible for us to concentrate on helping the impacted clients and to expedite the support process.

Constant Observation and Updates

They continued to provide updates throughout the interruption due to the were committed to being open and satisfying those who trust us:

Regular Status Updates: Having kept you informed on the status of the issue resolution process on a regular basis. The actions being taken to resume regular services and the anticipated time frames for resolution were noted in these updates.

Integration of Customer comments: In order to better understand the client’s unique wants and concerns, and actively sought out their comments. This input was really helpful to us because it adjusted the way to replied and enhanced the assistance offerings.

Acquiring Knowledge and Developing from Experience

They carried out a comprehensive investigation following the CrowdStrike outage in order to pinpoint problem areas and guarantee enhanced readiness for upcoming incidents:

Root Cause Analysis: To identify the causes of the CrowdStrike outage, their team conducted a thorough root cause analysis. They were able to pinpoint areas that required improvement and weaknesses thanks to their investigation.

Process Improvements: Having carried out a number of process enhancements in light of the new information. These included modernizing the security architecture, strengthening communication tactics, and refining the incident response procedures.

Enhancing Their Collaboration with CrowdStrike

Nous collaborated closely with CrowdStrike outage to quickly resolve the issue due to recognized their crucial position in the cybersecurity ecosystem:

Cooperation and Support: In order to guarantee a prompt resolution, they worked in tandem with CrowdStrike’s engineering and technical support teams. They were able to efficiently utilize CrowdStrike’s resources and experience thanks to working together with them.

Post-Outage Review: To assess the CrowdStrike outage and its effects, they jointly reviewed with CrowdStrike once services had fully recovered. This review was crucial to strengthening cooperation and improving the capacity to respond as a team.

In summary

Although the CrowdStrike outage was a difficult occurrence, all proactive and customer-focused strategy made sure that customers got the assistance and security they required. It lies in the unwavering commitment to enhancing its infrastructure and services to deliver the best possible cybersecurity. The desire to remain a dependable and trustworthy partner for their clients, protecting their digital assets from any danger, has been reinforced by what happened during this CrowdStrike outage