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hookaroo · 6 years

Text

Vocivore, Ltd. (24 of 40?)

Also on FFN and AO3 (ListerofTardis)

Tagging @ouatwinterwhump, @killian-whump, @sancocnutclub, @killianjonesownsmyheart1, and @courtorderedcake <3

***THE MOST WONDERFUL COVER ART BY @cocohook38 HERE!!!!!******

***Chapter 12 animation and art that will absolutely astound you!!!**********

***LETHAL Chapter 19 art in all of its BLOODSTAINED GLORY!!!!************

**POOR STABBED KILLIAN falling into the sheriff station! Ch. 7 & 23 art!!**

******NEW!!!!!!!!!!! KILLIAN AND HIS MASTER IN THE GORGEOUS CATHEDRAL!!!! CHAPTER 1 ART JUST POSTED YESTERDAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!***

***AAAAHHHH!!! THANK YOU MY WONDERFUL COCONUT FRIEND!!!!!!***

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CONTENT WARNING!!!!!!!

THIS "BONUS" CHAPTER GOES QUITE A BIT FURTHER INTO THE NON-CON ELEMENTS OF THE MASTER'S RELATIONS WITH KILLIAN. Farther than I had originally planned and warned about in the beginning. I did my best to avoid being TOO descriptive, but it's still fairly evident what is taking place. You can safely skip this chapter if you aren't interested in that sort of thing.

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Present (Friday, early morning)...

If there had once been a time when the animal impulses drove Killian’s response to this--any physical response fully against his will, that only served to make it all so much less bearable--it was simply out of the question now. He had neither the blood nor the energy to spare.

It hurt less than it used to; both a blessing and a curse, in light of the double objectives of the creature above. That usually meant that his Master satisfied only one of its cravings at a time. Signifying more torture to come. In this particular Session, considering the number of days the Vocivore had gone without, Killian could only resign himself to extra brutality on both counts.

Killian’s Master stilled, electing to delay the end. He could sense its pleasure and its need, how it was deliberately controlling its passions for the sake of savoring each sensation. Two of its six legs held him in an inescapable embrace, and their jagged tips dug into his lower back with bruising force.

“My Tripod does not struggle much today,” remarked his Master as a tentacle caressed his jawline. Remorseful tears gathered in Killian's eyes. He knew that was a bad sign but could not remember why. The thought that he was failing to please his Master drowned out most other concerns.

“I'm sorry, Master,” croaked Killian. An unpleasant twinge elicited a wince and the beginnings of a short-lived squirm, but that only made everything hurt, and he could not continue.

“It is, perhaps, that you are unaccustomed to providing a means for me to break my fast.” It settled lower, deeper, and Killian choked back a sob.

It had come for him before the sun was up, before the birds had even begun a timid dawn greeting. He had been awake already, despite his weariness; too much pain plus the falling overnight temperatures had combined to drag him out of what little rest he'd been able to manage. So he'd been awake to hear the menacing scuttle of those pointy legs on the barn floor, to feel the dread when the shadowy hulk loomed over the entrance to his stall, reaching in with a glistening tentacle to unlock his chains and drag him to his feet.

There was meant to have been something different about this morning. Something he was going to do... Something... he was commanded to do? Yet his Master gave no hint.

He'd followed it to the best of his ability on an ankle swollen and brittle, every step tearing at the fragile clots formed around deeply buried staples. He'd made it as far as the cemetery before collapsing, and then his Master had taken him up in its arms, folding him into lung-crushing portability, carrying him inside with an effortless tenderness, and for once, all concern over the future faded into the background and he went limp, surrendering fully to the being rightfully in ownership of his body and mind.

The jarring landing as he'd been deposited onto the stones at the foot of the stairs had awakened some sense, reminding him of his imminent suffering. In unison with the creature positioning itself above him, strange but familiar words had haunted his mind.

Dead, gone hope. No... No hope.

Now, crouched and shivering with anticipatory glee, Killian's Master continued to stroke him. Its tentacle trailed along his neck, upper chest, and shoulder, pausing at the two parallel lines of outstandingly sloppy sutures, worse even than Z’s. The tentacle tip prodded the fresh injuries as if trying to remember their origin, and Killian held his breath without fully knowing why. After a moment's hesitation, it returned its attentions to his bare throat.

“Tell me, Tripod, do you wonder why it is I have not yet replaced the collar stolen from you by the humans?”

Killian swallowed and tried not to cringe away from all of the unwanted petting and probing. “Yes, Master.”

A disturbing smile crossed the alien face; it was plainly quite excited by its current train of thought. The creature straightened suddenly, allowing him to fall, empty and bleeding, onto the cold floor. Killian grunted as a lungful of air left him in a whoosh. Almost instantly, the bulky figure was at the top of the stairs and heading for a damaged lectern near the wall. Its slave could do nothing but lie there, anxious and in pain.

“How I missed you while you were away,” mused the Vocivore, reaching into the hollow structure as it spoke. “Yet my time was not spent pining after you; nor was it passed in idleness.”

Killian could not crane his neck far enough to see all of the bits and pieces being retrieved from the lectern; neither did he particularly want to. In any case, his Master had collected its desired implements and was skittering back down the steps in short order. It placed the equipment nearby before quickly returning to its previous position. All facets of that position, resumed with brutal efficiency. Killian whined and squirmed feebly for a moment.

“It is a pity you do not derive the same pleasure from our connection as I do,” breathed Killian's Master, holding quite still as it savored the bliss washing over it. A tentacle nudged a bit of unresponsive flesh in demonstration. “It would be one portion of repayment for all I feel in gratitude.”

Without further ruminations, the Vocivore selected a collar from the scattered items on the floor.

OPEN YOUR EYES, TRIPOD.

Killian had not realized he’d closed them. Reluctantly, he obeyed, catching sight of the familiar ring of metal, but there were several differences with this one. Four small holes had been drilled along the collar’s circumference, not quite evenly spaced. Opposite the padlock, a bulky box was affixed to the outside, almost a seamless part of the collar, but not quite. Perhaps five centimeters wide, two high, and two deep, it appeared to be made of black plastic, with a slot along the inside through which the collar could slide.

Seeing that Killian had gotten a good enough chance to inspect the new collar, his Master leaned forward to fasten and lock the device in place around his neck. With a small, delighted shiver at Killian's renewed little wiggles, the creature retrieved what looked like a computer cable, which it plugged into the collar’s black box.

Panting with sudden dread, Killian envisioned waves of electricity coursing through him, scalding him and ripping open wounds as his muscles contracted in an agonizing tetany, not even considering the fact that, with the way he was “connected” to his Master right now, the monster would likely be similarly affected.

“One of your fellow Voices assisted me in this design,” explained his Master. It did not seem to notice Killian's distress, except as heightened pleasure from more exaggerated struggling. “Its purpose is straightforward, though difficult in execution.”

A pincer was busy checking the security of the cord snaking between the collar and a tablet-like device on the floor. After accomplishing that, the next item to be selected came into view.

It was a black sphere, its size somewhere between a golf ball and a billiard ball. One half was covered by a fine metal grating reminiscent of the windscreen on a microphone; out of the other protruded a wire similar to that which adorned his collar. Dangling from the interface between mesh and plastic were two straps with buckles on their ends.

“I have long desired a means by which I might extract and capture scream energy, to sustain me when my supply of Voices runs low. Or, in your case, to revisit long after you have expired.”

His Master's unoccupied tentacle abruptly forced its way into Killian's mouth, tasting of filth and blood and stinging acid.

OPEN.

Killian's jaw snapped open automatically, the reaction an instant, unsettling obedience that required no consideration on his part. But wait. He was meant to have some say in this, somehow. Something that, up until now, gave him some semblance of choice?

His Master removed its tentacle and roughly shoved the ball in its place. The mesh scraped along Killian's teeth with a raspy buzz, forcing his jaw to its very limits to accommodate its diameter. Breathing in frantic gasps through his nose, Killian fought rising panic. His Master would think nothing of breaking teeth or dislocating his jaw; indeed, either of those occurrences might serve as a bonus. But he was powerless to resist this new invasion. All of his limbs were pinioned, excessive movement only heightened every pain... and his Master willed for him to accept the device.

No hope? What subconscious part of him demanded that he remember those words?

The ball lodged behind his teeth, and he could feel the straps at the corners of his mouth. His Master hummed in satisfaction, quick to cinch and secure the buckles behind his head. Killian moaned unintelligibly; the Vocivore sighed in delight.

“You please me greatly, Tripod. Such an agreeable way to begin the day.”

Killian's Master stretched leisurely, then sank back down, enjoying the muffled grunts of its gagged slave. Then it resumed its earlier explanation.

“Of course, a simple recording is worthless to me. It can never capture the full essence of the scream; that which I draw my strength from. But I am hopeful that this technique might.”

It connected the second cord to the tablet at its feet, while Killian focused on remaining as still and calm as possible. Already he could feel saliva pooling at the back of his throat, and he wasn't certain he would be able to swallow with the ball holding his mouth open so wide. His current discomfort was almost enough to distract him from the horror of the upcoming pain... in whatever form it would take...

Leaning sideways, and seizing the opportunity for another sneaky little bob of its lower half, Killian’s Master scooped something small from the floor.

“I am most eager to try the theory and its application out on you, favored one. You shall be my first test subject.”

Shifting yet again, his Master wrapped a tentacle around the collar saying,

“This device, here, must be precisely aligned in order to function. Among other things, it tracks every slight movement of your throat. Therefore, Tripod, I must insist upon a reliable method of securing the collar in position.”

Killian felt a tiny prick in the side of his neck, toward the back, right in the center of the strip of metal encircling the flesh there. Aligned with one of the holes he’d spotted earlier. He had time for only one sputtering, wordless curse before his neck exploded into a twisting, ripping pain that radiated up to his eardrum and all the way down to his scapula. He thrashed weakly, prevented from reaching toward the raw anguish, alternately sobbing wordless pleas and choking on aspirated drool. His Master applied more torque; the flames burned hotter. Then the creature rapidly withdrew itself, releasing a mournful sigh. Its pincer still trapped Killian's wrist so that he could not touch the excruciating, pulsing burn in his neck.

“You know I prefer it when you face me,” stated his Master in a calm tone, just barely audible above Killian's whimpering coughs. “But, alas, it seems I must forego that pleasure today. Up on your knees, Tripod. Clear your airway, free those screams.”

All restraint temporarily lifted, Killian's hand flew to his newest wound, brushing against protruding metal before being swatted roughly away.

NO.

Tears rolled down his temples as a shuddering Killian attempted to push himself up. The unavoidable use of the pierced neck muscles hurt like the devil. He made it as far as his elbows before needing to take a break, but his impatient Master gripped him by his neck and torso and hauled him to a seated position. For an instant, Killian was more concerned with the carousel spin of the sanctuary than the pressure spiking his neck.

“I grow weary of waiting,” growled Killian's Master, prodding his shoulder in a silent instruction. Still woozy, Killian nevertheless summoned the strength to obey; if he didn't, the reaction would likely be damaging and very painful. As he struggled over onto his knees and hand, he continued to hack, most of the air exploding out through his nose, but now that he was upright, at least the drool could dribble out down his chin and not into his windpipe.

He spied a mountain of short, wickedly pointed screws on the paving stones, each with flat wings attached to their heads like the winding mechanism of a clockwork toy. He cringed as he settled into position, anticipating feeling each one burrowing itself into his neck as the first had done.

Without warning, his Master was pressed up against him, exploring him as it checked the cables leading to the recording device. Once positioned to its satisfaction and assured of its continued experiment, it grabbed one of the remaining screws. Killian squeezed his eyes shut.

“Three more, Tripod. Let's aim for highest-quality screams, shall we?”

*****

It took nearly the entire Session for Killian to come back to his senses, four screws in his neck working somehow to drive the Master’s influence away. For the time being, at least. Gods, he had nearly vanished for good. He'd have surrendered completely to that bastard's will, forgetting family, forgetting self and plan… he would have died a pointless death, alone, soulless and without knowing. If that wasn't enough to solidify his resolve, then what was?

Of course, he had no hope of surviving it. No hope. No hope that the plan would even have success. No hope, even though this Session, while excruciating, had not left him any more hobbled than he'd been going into it. No hope, despite the remarkable lack of additional blood loss to weaken him. It would be foolish to hope, dangerous to dream, and so he didn't. While the Master took its pleasure, and Killian lost his voice in service to its experiment, he clung desperately to his reacquired reality.

At some point, the microphone gag was removed, releasing a partial collection of pink-tinged slobber and enabling him to swallow the rest. The collar remained, though. Killian did not waste the energy to try and clean off the corners of his mouth and chin; instead, he rested as far back on his haunches as his damaged ankle would allow and worked to clear the congestion from his lungs. The Master was fiddling with its equipment, checking to see if the recording had been successful; Killian didn’t give a damn as long as it kept its hands, tentacles, and claws away from him.

“Go and get yourself cleaned up now, Tripod. The number of Exchanges you have earned will be determined by the quality of my results.”

The implication of those words was that the Master wanted to see Killian again that day. Making up for lost time. Killian felt hugely nauseated at the thought.

“Yes, Master,” he whispered. Yet there he stayed, on his knees, spent and unable to rise.

He would skip the useless stop at Z’s. There was just no benefit in it now, not even to seek out the sloppy self-treatment he could attempt. It would only consume a precious portion of what little time he had left. If he succeeded in leaving this chamber, his last remaining strength would be given in initiating their final desperate scheme. Whether it worked remained to be seen, but Killian did not doubt that this would be his last-gasp effort. Their last chance to make any of this worth it.

In the end, the Master had to haul Killian up off of his knees and turn him, unsteady on his feet, toward the front door.

“Your dedication is touching.”

Killian could sense a hint of impatience in the monster’s tone.

“However, I did give you an order.”

GO NOW, TRIPOD. I LOOK FORWARD TO YOUR RETURN.

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taohua-shuohua · 6 years

Text

July 27th and 28th, 2018

The 27th was my first full day with my homestay family, after having met and gone home with them the evening prior. My family is smaller than I’d imagined: it’s just my host mother, Yichu (艺楚, yìchǔ), and my host sister Qinghan (清菡, qīnghàn), whom I refer to and address as Meimei (妹妹, mèimei, “little sister”). Qinghan, who was still asleep when I rose for class that morning, shares her surname (刘, liú) with me and her age (10) with my biological sister in America. Yichu had prepared breakfast: a vegetable bun, grapes, eggs, a bowl of milk, and my beloved youtiao. Once we had eaten our fill, we began the walk to my classroom, which takes about twenty to thirty minutes. Apparently, there was a quicker route that connected our neighborhood directly to campus in about five minutes, but that road undergoing some sort of construction meant we were using our detour for the foreseeable future. Some students had already arrived by the time I got to the classroom, so after bidding Yichu farewell I joined my peers in idle chatter about our host families. It was mostly positive; one girl was struggling to explain to her host mother that curly hair couldn’t be blow-dried and she would have to sleep with it wet, which conflicts with the Chinese belief that sleeping with wet hair leads to headaches later in life. Another’s host parents were over-enthusiastic about having a native speaker available to tutor their daughter in English, and she felt as though she wasn’t using her Mandarin enough as a result. My biggest issue had been the lack of readily-available cold water; I was able to address it by dashing to the student store a few minutes before class and purchasing the largest bottle they had in stock.

The three hours of class passed quickly, but they came with a caveat. Today was Yang Laoshi’s last day as our teacher, as she would soon be heading to lead a conference in Shanghai and then, after that, taking a two-year teaching assignment in Thailand. My goodbye present to her was an In n’ Out t-shirt, which I presented with both hands as per local custom. My gift reserves were running low—after Yichu received a UCLA shirt and hat, Qinghan got a UCLA sweater and tank top (both of which were far too large for her), and my partner on our trip to the local community center a few days prior got UCLA and In n’ Out hats, I was resigned to two In n’ Out t-shirts (one of which I had just given to Yang Laoshi) and a UCLA Hawaiian-print shirt, which was intended for my nonexistent host father. I am considering bequeathing the latter upon the teacher who wrote my recommendation for NSLI-Y in the first place.

Lunch passed, along with our lecture period (during which it was announced that I was student of the week!) and our interest groups which, for me, had shifted from folk dance to martial arts. Perhaps by her own design, the Intermediate 2 students finished the homework Yang Laoshi had assigned with about twenty minutes to spare. She then suggested that, as it was our last day together, we all go out to the front of the building and take a group picture. We readily agreed. Several attempts at jumping later, we had gotten a satisfactory shot of us in midair. I returned to the classroom to gather my things, hugged Yang Laoshi, wished her the best, and went out to meet my host mother.

I’m fairly certain Yichu actually works in the same building that my classroom is in, as she was just exiting an office when I greeted her. Together, the two of us exited the campus and made our way to a nearby restaurant. Yichu explained that Qinghan was currently finishing up her weekly flute lesson; we would begin eating dinner and she would make her way over independently. The food was excellent. I had some sort of beef-based broth and noodles. Following dinner, the three of us made our way to Cat Street (猫行, māo xíng) which is directly adjacent to the neighborhood our house is in and exactly what it sounds like: a street with cat-themed stores, cat murals, and live street cats. Qinghan and I visited a cat museum, which was essentially a dozen cats in a cage with a gift shop and café attached. It was there that I found a stuffed cat bearing my name (桃花, táohuā), which I promptly purchased. I’ve yet to find a definitive answer, but through various interactions with native speakers I’ve come to believe that “taohua”, in addition to literally meaning peach blossom, is used to refer to one’s luck in matters of romance and love. Between my taohua cat and my visit to Guandi Temple, I ought to be married by the end of August.

Afterwards, we ate dessert at a roadside stand selling “Four Fruit Soup” (四果汤, sì guǒ tāng), a mishmash of fruits and jelly-looking foods topped with shaved ice. I can’t say I cared much for it, but I’m glad I tried.

The rest of the evening was fairly low-key; I shared some of my art with my host family and let Qinghan use my tablet. Yichu informed me that I should get lots of rest; the 28th was to be the first of our two homestay family activity days, one of the rare instances in the program at Xiamen where we wouldn’t attend Chinese class, and one of the even rarer instances where I could get up later than seven-thirty.

I did, indeed, end up sleeping later than seven-thirty: I woke up around nine, and was greeted again by a Yichu-prepared breakfast. In addition to another helping of youtiao, she gave me an overview of the day’s schedule; I would first accompany her and Qinghan to the hospital so they could receive a type of traditional Chinese medicine that Yichu struggled to explain. She said it was made from ginger, and that they put it on during the hottest day of summer so it could make them healthier in the winter. After that, we would meet a friend of hers and his children, play golf, and finally head to Gulangyu (鼓浪屿, gǔlàngyǔ), Xiamen’s “Piano Island” and tourist hotspot.

Chinese hospitals are a fair bit quicker than American ones. After waiting for just under five minutes, we were shown into a room where Yichu briefly exchanged words with a doctor, who then invited Qinghan to bend over a hospital bed and expose a portion of her back and pressed six or seven patches onto it. Yichu received similar patches on her stomach. The whole affair concluded in about twenty minutes. On our walk to the mall (which was designated as the meeting place for us and Yichu’s friend), Qinghan inquired as to whether we utilized such patches in the States. I told her no, and she unleashed a long string of Chinese, which Yichu interpreted for me as her being jealous that Americans didn’t use them. I asked if they hurt, and Yichu said no, but they were very warm. In a climate like Xiamen’s, I could see how added heat could inspire jealousy in the heart of any 10-year-old.

The mall had at least four floors. I was exuberant. Yichu settled herself on a bench near a Starbuck’s and told Qinghan and I we could wander about until her friend arrived. Once I understood that she meant separately (my mom telling me that I didn’t have to take my little sister with me was a novel idea indeed), I visited every clothing or makeup store on the first floor, in the end buying only a wine-colored and berry-tasting lip paint and a canvas tote bag that read (in English) “Made in China”, which I found incredibly hilarious for reasons I struggle to articulate. The two were exactly the same price.

When I returned from my shopping trip, Yichu was sitting where I had left her (Qinghan in tow) and the rest of our party had yet to arrive. We waited about ten minutes more, and Yichu finally received word that they were stuck in traffic and we could go ahead and get seated for lunch without them. On our way to the 3rd floor restaurant, however, Qinghan began having some sort of issue. My Chinese wasn’t at a level where I could make out the specifics, but it seemed as though she had tired and was now electing to just drop and sit down in the middle of the mall. She and Yichu had a very heated conversation, which culminated in the latter simply walking away without Qinghan and beckoning me to follow. Writing off the ethics of leaving a child unattended in a busy shopping mall as a cultural difference, I obliged. Yichu and I put our names in and, with minimal wait, were seated at a table. She did some preliminary ordering and then left me in charge of the table while she went to retrieve Qinghan. All was well for a bit, but when a waitress approached me and began asking questions (assumedly) regarding the order in rapid-fire Mandarin with non-standard pronunciation, I began to panic. Luckily, Yichu and Qinghan arrived and the former was able to give instructions regarding…whatever was being discussed, without any input from me necessary.

Yichu’s friend (whom she knew from high school) and his children (who weren’t actually his children, but rather his nephew and two nieces) arrived shortly thereafter. The man appeared to have an excellent sense of humor, but his thick accent (I believe it to be the Xiamen local accent; among other things, h sounds are completely ignored, turning Zhongwen (the Chinese language) into Zongwen and shide (“yes” or “indeed”) into side) gave me a lot of trouble. One of the nieces (a university student) spoke a fair bit of English, and acted as a translator at times. For the most part, I focused on my kebab.

After the meal, we headed to Furong Lake (芙蓉湖, fúróng hú), a part of the XMU campus that I had previously visited but had no qualms with seeing again. We took a route through the area that was unfamiliar to me, and it eventually led us to a golf course, where I tried my hand at the richest, whitest sport I can think of, second only to polo. I excelled, but likely only because, instead of trying to hit the ball into a hole, the goal was to hit the ball as far as you could. And I could hit real, real hard.

Seven trays of golf balls later, we backtracked away from the course and navigated the rest of Furong Lake, eventually reaching XMU’s main gate, where we rode the public bus to the ferry terminal for Gulangyu.

Upon arriving, we learned that it would be about an hour and a half’s wait before we could board the ferry. I alternated between reading (I’m currently on number three of the four poetry books I brought on the trip with me, and the last chapter of my nonfiction work), letting Qinghan play games on my phone, eating spring rolls Yichu had prepared, and visiting the public toilet. I’m fortunate to say that squatty potties no longer faze me.

The actual time spent crossing the strait is about five minutes, but the time spent going through security and shuffling on and off the vessel doubles that number. It was dusk when we set foot on the island; after an extensive photoshoot for me by the main sign we made our way to a shopping street. I entered a generalized candy store; I was offered a free sample of a drink that tasted exactly like American cherry-flavored liquid medicine, and was ready to leave the store when I tried “milk pinecone”. I’m not sure what it is, but it’s definitely not actually pinecone. I believe it was some sort of white chocolate. In any case, it was delicious, and I bought a box, which I then ate for lunch the day after. I also purchased (from different stores) a necklace, as well as a bracelet to replace an identical one I had bought at Kaiyuan Temple and then proceeded to break a few days after. I visited the Chinese version of America’s Lush, which sold bath bombs and facial soaps aplenty, and saw a genuine, live pig just sitting in a cage on the street and, in a different area, a very large rat.

For whatever reason, people I interacted with made more frequent references to my being hunxue’er (mixed race, as you may remember from a previous post) than I had previously encountered. The highlight was an older woman who stopped me on the street, presumably ready to offer me a free sample of the food at her restaurant or a flyer advertising a sale at her clothing store, looked at me, threw her plans out the window, and asked if I was hunxue’er. When I said I was, she pumped her fist, said, “很棒!” (Hěn bàng; “so awesome!”) and walked away.

A little past nine in the evening, my enthusiasm was beginning to wane a bit as I thought of the full day of school awaiting me on the 29th. Our party’s meander home, however, was interrupted when we passed a seafood restaurant and everyone (author excluded) decided they were ready for round two of dinner. It was more of a snack than a meal, but it was enough—by the time we boarded the ferry back to Xiamen, it was ten o’clock. On the mainland (figuratively speaking, of course: Xiamen is actually an island. Gulangyu is just a smaller island. Like Pluto, if it had a moon.) we said our goodbyes and went our separate ways. Yichu took Qinghan and me to the curb, where she was among a herd of people attempting to hail taxis. No luck. We jaywalked across the street to a bus stop, and Yichu examined the timetables. Everything would take us further away. Already heightened by the time delay of the impromptu meal, my stress levels were through the roof. We went through an underground tunnel and reached another bus stop. At this one, we waited for a bus and rode it for four stops or so. We got off, walked about two blocks, and were greeted with the familiar sight of neon-lit ears, tails, and whiskers.

I’ve never been so glad to see a street full of cat paraphernalia in my life.

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n3rdlif343va · 7 years

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Yuuri and Viktor going bowling for date night. Viktor completely destroys Yuuri. so on there next date night they go mini golfing... Yuuri rules... But the next date night they go to Lazer tag...... Write who you think would win that one!!!

FINALLY answering this ask!!! And because I had your permission to do so, I have adapted it to fit in the Law Firm of Handsome Nerds series :) Without further delay, I give you… Team Building (also available on Ao3: Team Building)

Their firm was exactly one week old. Boxes had been unpacked, hours of sweaty labor had been put in to rearrange furniture and arguments over who got which office had been resolved by a game of flip cup, played across the conference room table. The letters were finally stenciled on the door and everyone had agreed to Yuuri’s thoroughly structured filing system. They were officially the Law Firm of Katsuki, Nikiforov, and Chulanont, attorneys at law, friends in sarcasm.

The concept had been simple. Three friends, all the experienced attorneys, going out on their own to build a firm based on their combined knowledge and skills. Victor and Phichit would be in charge of networking and bringing in new cases, while Yuuri provided the initial clientele, stealing the majority of his previous clients from the public defender’s office. Reduced rates would be offered to each of these clients, with continued offers for reductions for every client they referred. Phichit was convinced that they would easily be making sustainable money long before their individual savings accounts ran out.

Yuuri had been the most hesitant, although a few drinks and hours of delicious food prepared by the husbands Chulanont had brought him on board. His paycheck from the State was a steady one, but it came with its own negatives and the positives of the new firm outweighed everything his current employer could offer him. At the top of the positive list was the open policy on bringing all of their pets to the office. The idea of having Vicchan circling his feet while working had put Yuuri solidly in the yes column.

So the firm of Katsuki, Nikiforov and Chulanont was born, an infant firm with three incredibly good-looking partners determined to make a name for themselves in the midst of the polluted market of legal counsel.

It was Phichit’s well-intentioned idea that they celebrate their new partnership with the ridiculous concept of team building. Yuuri had googled the phrase, finding workshops and campsites that encouraged it and had immediately shut Phichit down on the potential list of activities. In response, Phichit had volunteered another idea: bowling.

That’s how they all found themselves strapped into Velcro rental shoes, surrounded by loud music and flashing neon lights late on a Friday night. The idea of rock-n-bowl hadn’t appealed to Yuuri since their drunken college days, but he found himself having fun nonetheless. Until Victor had leaned over the back of his chair and laid down a challenge.

“I’m better than you,” Victor taunted, tugging on the back of Yuuri’s hair and making him twist around in his seat. “How about if I win, you have to set up my computer.” The signature smirk was painted over Victor’s face and Yuuri felt the distinct need to wipe it clean off.

“Fine,” Yuuri said, standing to take his turn. “If I win,” Yuuri lifted his ball, eying Victor over the top of it, “you have to build the TV stand that is sitting in my living room.” Turning, Yuuri bent his knees and released his ball. When it struck the pins they shouted in protest, diving for the ground in a pile of ten. Yuuri shot his own smirk at Victor. “Beat that… partner.” The last word had a bite to it, daring Victor to retaliate.

The challenge burned through Victor’s chest and he hopped off the small step, moving directly into Yuuri’s space. “You’re on, counselor.” He flicked Yuuri’s nose before dancing toward the lane to retrieve his own ball.

“The fun has just been sucked out of this activity,” Seung-gil stated, arm slung over his husband’s shoulders as Phichit snorted. Seung-gil wasn’t a part of the firm, but he was Phichit’s husband and therefore invited anywhere they went as a group.

“Let them fight it out,” Phichit watched as the teasing continued, Yuuri mercilessly attempting to distract Victor during his attempt to pick up a spare. The result being a slight wrestling match at the front of the lane, making Phichit chuckle and Seung-gil snort. “They have to get all that tension out somehow!” The pair was now tickling each other, firing off insults in rapid witty bullets.

“Side bet,” Seung-gil turned to look at Phichit instead of the ridiculous ball of sexual tension wrestling fifteen feet away from them. “I say they are together within the year.”

Phichit laughed, loudly and accompanied with a slap to his knee. “Those two?” He threw his head back with unexplained humor. “Oh my gosh, honey, they are so dumb. They have at least another five years of bickering to go before they realize how much they love each other!” Putting out his hand, Phichit shook his husband’s with a cocky smile. “You’re on, sweetheart. And if I win you’re mine for the day.”

“I’m yours every day,” Seung-gil purposefully avoided his husband’s innuendo, smiling when Phichit huffed at him.

“You know what I mean,” Phichit leaned in, running his tongue over Seung-gil’s ear. His husband blushed a fierce red and Phichit sat back triumphantly, eyes traveling back to the struggling mass that was his law partners. The two idiots were now crumpled on the floor alternating pinches and tickles in a fruitless fight for control.

It took them until the lights were being turned on to bowl the final frame of their first game, their progress dramatically slowed by Yuuri and Victor’s insistence on physically fighting between every turn. In the end, Victor beat them all by over forty points and Yuuri spent Saturday afternoon assembling his partner’s computer while Victor gloated from across the desk.

“What is that?” Yuuri leaned on Victor’s office door frame. In their first month they had made enough money to pay their rent and take home a little money for each of them. The flow of clients wasn’t yet constant so they all had time to tweak their offices to their liking. Currently, Victor was hanging a large chalkboard in his office.

“My win board,” Victor said, speaking around the nail that was braced between his lips.

It was a softball, lobbed beautifully into the air and Yuuri couldn’t resist the easy shot. “Why is it so big?” He snickered when Victor glared over his shoulder. “I believe my win-to-loss record is still better than yours.” Yuuri ducked when Victor threw a nail in his direction. “Your aim is as good as your defense work.”

Victor calmly hung his chalkboard over the nail, unwilling to ruin his hard work to pummel Yuuri. As soon as it hung in perfect balance, Victor laid the hammer on his desk and spun to face his best friend. “You better run, counselor.” He laughed as Yuuri yipped and took off running down the hallway. Taking pursuit, Victor could feel the laughter bubbling up. He snagged Yuuri halfway down the hall, bringing them down into a pile of laughter and cursing.

They hadn’t made record-breaking money, but the relief that they hadn’t fallen flat on their faces had kept Victor in an elevated mood. Using the exhilarated feeling, Victor let himself slip back into his younger self, wrestling with Yuuri in the slender hallway, uncaring about the wrinkles taking over his shirt and his one shoe which was lying a foot away from them.

Above them the distinct click of a cell phone camera broke through their physical altercation. Freezing, they both slowly turned toward their third partner seeing the smug smile planted on Phichit’s face. “I’m going to post this to the firm’s Instagram,” Phichit teased, waving his phone in the air.

Making eye contact, Victor dropped Yuuri’s wrists as they both screamed, “get him!” Scrambling from the floor, they chased the laughing Phichit through their small office.

Three days later there were chalkboards hanging in both Yuuri’s and Phichit’s offices, lovingly hung by Victor, despite each of the new boards being half the size of his own.

“Mini golf,” Phichit text to their group chat with a number of emojis that Yuuri didn’t even try to understand.

“Why,” Seung-gil text back without punctuation. Yuuri snorted at Seung-gil’s ability to be deadpan even in text.

“Sounds fun,” Victor responded, the three little dots appearing underneath it. “Katsuki, wanna bet I kick your ass again?”

Yuuri’s eyes narrowed at his screen. Victor had won in bowling, but there was no way he would win in mini-golf. “Nikiforov, last time we played mini-golf you lost three balls in the water and threw your club at the clown hole.”

“Yuuri, you be in charge of Victor’s balls then so he doesn’t lose them,” Phichit added fifteen winking faces and laughed when Yuuri responded with all of the available weapon emojis.

“Ignoring you,” Yuuri responded, taking a second to structure his response, “Ok Mr.-I-can’t-handle-my-own-balls, you’re on. Name your terms.”

“I do just fine with my balls!” Victor’s text appeared so quickly it was as if he had anticipated Yuuri’s joke. “I win, you vacuum the office for a month.” The office cleaning was a set of chores which were divvied each week to avoid the cost of a cleaning service. Victor had pulled vacuuming which wasn’t the worst chore, but was a chore nonetheless.

“You’re on,” Yuuri replied, “and if I win, we switch chalkboards, since I need the bigger one anyway.”

“Over-compensating?” Victor shot back attaching eggplant emojis to his text.

“Who bought it in the first place?” Yuuri sent his message while snickering into the bag of his hand.

“Again, I ask…. Why.” Seung-gil’s text had Yuuri fully laughing at his desk as they continued to argue back and forth to set times for their next round of team building.

When Saturday afternoon rolled around, the four of them stood in the middle of the mini-golf course, surrounded by little kids, frustrated parents, and annoying teenagers. They had already been scolded twice for their inappropriate language and Victor was on his second ball.

“What’s the score?” Yuuri asked, lining up his shot on the ninth hole, wiggling his ass for comic effect.

“You are winning,” Victor huffed, arms crossed over his chest. “Cheaters never prosper, Yuuri.” Proving his own point, Victor kicked Yuuri in the foot and tripped backwards being caught by a giggling Phichit.

“Is that so?” Yuuri tossed back nonchalantly. Staring straight at Victor, Yuuri swung his club and sunk his ball into the hole in one shot.

“For fuck’s sake!” Victor exclaimed, tossing his own club onto the ground.

Yuuri won by 14 strokes, they almost got kicked out twice, and Victor relinquished his larger chalkboard after three solid days of whining about his loss.

Yuuri was sitting behind a stack of files, feeling overwhelmed as he delved into the detailed word of personal injury. He had signed up for a conference taking place later in the year and hoped he could fake it until he received the training and continuing education that the conference would provide. Sighing again, his head snapped up as Phichit knocked on his open door.

“I acquired two interns,” Phichit leaned against the door with his arms folded over his chest.

“Acquired? Phichit it sounds like you fucking bought them!” Yuuri shook his head as Phichit howled with laughter.

“Of course not! Only you, Yuuri!” Phichit laughed again. Composing himself, Phichit cleared his throat. “They are ending their first year of law school so they need experience and are happily working with us without pay. I’m trading them conference room access and studying assistance.” Yuuri hummed in response, not particularly caring as long as he didn’t need to be involved in the process. “You know what this means, right?”

Glancing up at Phichit’s excited face, Yuuri moaned and banged his head on his desk. “Phichit, no!”

“Phichit, yes!” his law partner yelled, pumping a fist in the air. “Team building, here we come!”

Which is how they found themselves, along with their two interns who looked bewildered, strapped into laser tag gear at ten p.m. on a Thursday night. Phichit attempted to sacrifice himself to the team he deemed the “intern team,” leaving Victor, Yuuri, and Seung-gil on the same team.

“Nah uh,” Victor declared loudly, “I can’t be on the same team as Katuski. Bets don’t work if we are on the same team.”

“No bets!” Seung-gil and Phichit yelled in unison, making the interns, Yuri and Otabek jump. “We are here for fun, you two!” Phichit eyed them carefully, flicking a finger between them. “This is an activity to make us a better team.”

“Besides,” Yuri added, glaring at Victor, “you are the tallest, so you are an easy target, I don’t want you on my team.” Yuuri roared with laughter until Victor shoved him into a wall. Kicking his foot out, Yuuri caught Victor behind the back of the knee, dumping his best friend on the ground. “On second thought,” Yuri shoved Phichit into Seung-gil’s arms and yanked Yuuri to the side with himself and Otabek. “We’ll take him.”

Victor pouted from the ground, his acceptance of Yuuri’s offered hand filled with grumpy salt. Leaning over Yuuri, Victor narrowed his eyes. “If we win, I want my chalkboard back.”

Yuuri laughed, stepping back to stand with Yuri and Otabek. “If we win, I get the couch.”

A shocked look appeared on Victor’s face. “You wouldn’t!” He placed a hand over his heart, mockingly acting as if he had been mortally wounded. “That couch has sentimental value to both of us!”

Rolling his eyes, Yuuri stuck his hand out. “Take it or leave it, Nikiforov.” Smirking when Victor grabbed his hand, Yuuri quirked an eyebrow in his direction. “May the best man win!”

“I intend to,” Seung-gil added, smiling slightly before dragging Phichit away to their base.

In the end, Yuri was a ringer no one saw coming, mercilessly killing off the other team with repeated and skilled fire. His score was so high that it left the other members of the firm staring at the scoreboard in disbelief. Yuuri’s team easily won and he silently gloated through dinner about his future use and possession of the worn blue couch that had once existed in his shared apartment with Victor.

Victor refused to get off of the couch while Yuuri and Phichit attempted to move it from his office the next day, resulting in them giving up and calling him a baby. “A baby with a couch!” Victor yelled triumphantly from his office, dodging the handfuls of the firm’s pens as they were launched at him by his partners.

The war of thrown office supplies, spurred on by Victor’s retaliation for being bombarded with pens, left their office a complete disaster and the three partners a flushed, humor exhausted mess. Sinking back into his chair, smirking at the pile of disorganized supplies scattered through his personal office, Yuuri decided that joining his friends in this adventure was the best decision he had made in his life.

And thus through humor, friendship, and curse-laden sarcasm, the Law Firm of Katsuki, Nikiforov, and Chulanont came to be.

#yoi #yoi fanfic #yuri on ice #victuuriwriters #victuuri #answered asks #fullmetalkarneval13 #love you dearest #also bad language #they curse #because lawyers

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retardedhobbit · 7 years

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Wind

Wind, That’s all he heard, and all he saw was sand. That's all there is anymore.

The massive floating box beside him creaked as it fought against the wind as it tried to stick to its preprogrammed path. It was gray, and a bit more streamlined than a normal box. It was full of guns, blankets, silicon, water, spare Exo-suit parts, and various types of edible plants. The paint was chipped and scratched from the sand and had a massive gouge in the side. The front half was dedicated to a small living quarters which was really just a bed compartment. It was called the Kabbira. It was connected by a system of chains and latches, to a massive creature, it stood almost 8ft tall and weighed a little under a ton, it was covered in 7in thick, long, curly fur. The creature's head made up about a third of its entire size. Its mouth was about three feet when fully opened, and its face was the only part without fur. The eyes were the size of that of a golf ball, and had a gentle look to them. Its feet were 1 foot in diameter at the end of its short and thick legs. The Man called her Bell, and she was a creature known as a Eulbat. An indicator in the man's visor alerted him that he had approximately 7 days of water remaining and 70% percent of it was located in his own body. The map on his visor also told him it was a 5-day walk to his next checkpoint. His Exo-suit was black, it resembled the updated armor of a medieval knight with a glass face plate. On both the back his suit and the Kabbira was an assortment of solar panels. His suit also heavily augmented his body to the point he could lift close to 1,200 pounds.

The Man was approaching a dune, when his visor beeped and indicated he had 33 minutes of sunlight left and a small sand storm approaching from the south. The Man moved himself to a flat at the base of the dune and began to make camp. He unhooked the main harness from Bell and she laid down with a thud and a cloud of dust.

As he made his way back to the Kabbira his visor informed him of multiple heat signatures to the west. His face went white as a bone chilling howl pierced the scorched air. He went to the Kabbira and retrieved his rifle. He continued to make his way to the roof, where he stopped at a lever and drove the break spike into the sand. He raised the antenna and began a short range thermal scan. After that, he went to each corner of the Kabbira and turned on the flood lights.

The wind started to pick up and his view of the horizon quickly disappeared behind the sand. He was left on top of his wagon in his pocket of light alone. He waited, and waited, and waited. Until after about an hour, he heard another howl, a terrible howl the locked his bones in place.

The thermal scan beeped and showed a bright red figure against the green of the sand. The Man raised his rifle and peered down the scope. Behind him, Bell stood up and grunted, her eyes wide and terrified. The figure jumped from the dark and revealed itself as a sand wolf. It had light brown fur, which was matted and tangled. The wolf was ungodly thin and had a jaw powerful it could rip his arm clean off if it wasn’t for Exo-suit. It jumped out towards the front of Bell. The poor creature yelled almost like a goat and backed away quickly. The Man calmly pulled the trigger and released a crack that emanated even through the thick sand. The bullet connected with the wolf in its lower jaw and exited through the back of its head. The force of the bullet stopped its target in mid air. The wolf let out a whimper and fell limply to the ground with a thud.

The sensor beeped again, but this time it came from the other side. Without time to reload, he turned to see a wolf jumping at him instead of Bell. he lifted his boot and released the same amount of force of a hydraulic in a half a second straight into its chest. He felt bones crack and something tear. The thing didn't even make a sound. It flew a few feet straight back and rolled to a stop, a small pool of blood collecting by its mouth and sinking into the ground.

The Man emptied the chamber and reloaded the rifle, the casing made a small clicking sound as it hit the roof. Another beep. This one came at an angle towards the rear Bell, kicking up sand as it ran. Before the Man could get a shot off, the wolf was already dead. Bell bucked and her hoove found its head. The wolf landed on its back with a broken neck.

One last beep. Again the Man was attacked directly, this time the beast reached him and sent him falling on his back. The wolf was right on the visor, so close its breath formed fog on the glass. The fall back caused the man to land on the release of the break spike. Feeling the lack of tension on the secondary harness, she bolted, taking the Kabbira, the Man, and the wolf with her. She blindly ran up the dune with such a force, the Kabbira went airborne. The whole structure twisted in air, clipping the man's arm and throwing both of the passengers off and into the sand. The lights went dead on the wagon, and his visor light flickered on impact

His visor flashed red with a message “SEVERE BONE FRACTURE DETECTED, SEEK MEDICAL ATTENTION” This message was followed by another reading “EXOSUIT HYDRAULICS OFFLINE, COMMENCING SUIT EJECTION” The suit hissed and opened in several places. The sand rushed the man as he tried to stand up. He held up his good arm to shield himself from the sand, but it didn't help. The sand wiped and tore right through his tee shirt. He tried to make out his kabbira in the dark but could see nothing. He took a step out of his suit, tripped, and fell on his broken arm. He screamed in pain, but his scream was taken by the wind. He could hear Bell grunting and moaning so he followed the sound

He stood up again and started probing the darkness. His foot brushed something furry and warm. He jumped back, but nothing moved. He knelt down to feel it, it was the wolf, dead. He continued down the debris field. He found something long and cold. It was his rifle. He picked it up with one hand and continued. His eyes started to adjust to the dark, and he could make out the rough shape of the Kabbira.

As he approached the smell of burnt rubber became more prominent. The bracelet on his right arm lit up with a message from the onboard computer of the Kabbira. “MASSIVE HULL DAMAGE SUSTAINED TO TRANSPORT VESSEL: KABBIRA229087” He made his way around to the front to the sleeping compartment, But all he found was a flat wall. He realized something: the Kabbira was on its side. And the hatch to the inside was above him. He knew there was no way he was getting up there with his arm like it was. He made his way to the back where the cargo door was and undid the latch. He opened the lopsided door and examined the damage best he could.

He stepped in and closed the door to kept the wind and sand out.

“Computer, status report,” he said to his bracelet. The little screen sprung to life with a list of information. He found that everything was offline. This Kab was toast. He used the light from his wrist to find some robes, a facemask, and a spotlight. He turned on a spotlight to reveal a jumbled mess of the cargo cabin. All the boxes were overturned, there were broken jars and screens. He put down the still lit spot light and grabbed a first aid kit and an arm full of blankets. He then tried his best to pick up the spot light and open the door back to the outside. As soon as the door showed a bit of give to the wind it started to rattle and shake. He ignored it and stepped outside, he pointed the light down to where Bell was. From behind the Kab, he could see her hooves, they weren't moving. He rushed his way down to see how he could help.

She was breathing heavily and her eyes were closed. The Man knelt at her side and opened the first aid kit. He stroked her head gently and she let out a quiet moan. He felt her chest and listened to her heart. He felt several broken ribs and from her breathing, he concluded she had a punctured lung and heavy internal bleeding. He crawled to her head and stroked her chin. She moved to put her head on his lap and began licking his hand. Her eyes opened to look at him, and she did until her breathing stopped and the light died from her eyes.

The man got up and laid the blanket over her. He gathered his things and went back to the cargo room. He found more blankets to make kind of a bed. He laid out the first aid and mended his arm by using a blanket as a makeshift sling. He pulled out some painkillers and his canteen and downed three of them.

His body ached all over, but the throbbing in his arm was subsiding. He laid against the used to be floor and felt the wind and sand slam against the side. He wrapped himself up in a blanket to fight the seeping cold that came with the night in the desert and drifted to sleep.

❉ ❉ ❉

He woke up to the feeling of moisture on his cheek, he was leaned up on the wall to protect his arm, and it was clear he was crying. There was a thin line of light running along the floor/wall of the cab. As he stood up a small plume of dust rose with him and followed him to the door like a lost puppy. It danced and made swirls and shadows in the air as it caught the light. His arm had started to throb again as he walked over to the door. The door opened with some protest and revealed the aftermath of the storm.

There was a clear debris field and signs of the Kab sliding before it came to rest. Most of everything was buried by the sand. The Kab had drifts of it piled on the former roof. The dune Bell rocketed off in her panic was a near vertical drop and about 30 ft high. The antenna which was his only way to communicate with anyone was snapped in half with wires protruding out of the broken end. Several of the solar panels on the to were smashed and glass was strewn everywhere in the sand he made his way to the twisted lump in the sand that used to be his suit. The visor had a large crack down the side, the solar panels on its back were smashed and the left arm was a crumpled mess.

He opened his sling to reveal a massive purple and yellow bruise spread across his forearm. It continued to throb, but he refused to take pain killers. He pulled the sing shut and his robe around his arm. His bracelet beeped at him “50% BATTERY LIFE REMAINING” He scoffed and went back to the main wreck. He retrieved a bag and filled it with rifle ammo, water, a blanket, binoculars, a map, a compass and an extra robe. He also grabbed a crank flashlight and a portable water reclaimer.

He looked at his compass and knew there was a town 5 days that way, but without his suit, he would never make it. Then his wrist beeped again “UNKNOWN SHORT RANGE SIGNAL DETECTED, COORDINATES ATTACHED” He checked his map. His face grew a look of concern. He checked again. He rechecked the coordinates and checked again. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. The signal was coming 7 miles to the east.

❉ ❉ ❉

He didn't understand, how could that be possible. He gathered his rifle and bag and checked his map again. If the map is right, he could make it to the signal by night fall. The sun was now rising higher into the sky beating down through his robe. The horizon to the east was mainly flat. There were no dunes or canyons, just salt flat. The man took a swig of water and started walking

He slung the rifle and bag over his solder best he could and set out. As he went the sun rose to its peak and began to sink again. There were no birds, no wind. The only sound was the man's breathing and the swishing of his robe. As the sun began to sink and the sand began to cool, the wind began to pick up and the dunes returned.

The rifle grew heavy on the man's shoulder. So he stopped for a rest at the top of a dune and watched the sunset. He settled at the top of a dune and watched the sun sink into the horizon and send streaks of crimson, purple and gold across the sky. He just sat there and let the wind buffet against his tired body.

As the first few stars started to shine, he rose. He continued until he saw something. It was a glow, a small pin prick of light on the dark sand. It was orange and flickering. A fire? It was the source of the signal. It meant people and food and medical attention.

As he grew closer the light grew as well. It grew until he could see it was a fire, a huge fire. He could hear shouting and see the shadows of people in front of the fire. He finally stopped at the top of a dune about a quarter of a mile away. The shouting grew louder and angrier, he could hear multiple voices. He unslung his rifle and dropped his bag.

The man went into prone position and being careful with his arm brought out the rifle. With one arm he aimed it and looked down the scope. He saw a ring of tents, with a massive fire in the center. Surrounding the fire was a massive crowd of people there was men, women, and even some children. At the far left was a young man, perhaps in his late teens early twenties. The young man had his hands tied above his head to a wooden pole driven into the ground. He was bruised and scraped and seemed to be the center of the anger.

Next to the young man was a much older man, maybe in his sixties with a long gray beard. He was brandishing a long beaten up dagger and yelling to the crowd. The crowd themselves had no weapons, they all were poorly clothed, dirty, and seemed to posses no modern technology. The Man stood up and started down the hill towards the encampment. As he slid down he noticed they had a rusted Kab and some Eulbats tied to some stakes on the outskirts of the camp. There was also a small road leading out of town.

He crossed the small field and approached the small village. The tents he noticed were primarily made of hide. It also seemed they had no reclaimer or exo suits at all.

He jogged up to a tent and peeked around to see the crowd. Now that he was closer he could hear their shooting was much louder than he thought. He also judged that there were about 50 people there, including him. He slowly stepped out from the shadows and into the crowd. He hid his rifle under his robe and pushed his way to the middle of the crowd. He stood center stage in front of the fire. Nobody noticed him until he opened his robe and brought forth his rifle. A few people around him grew silent and stared in horror. One even ran. He clumsily lifted the rifle with one hand and pointed it into the sky.

He fired off a single shot, which cracked through even the shouting of the people. A massive space grew around him as the people retreated away from the man. He began to walk slowly and carefully towards the prisoner and bearded man. As he walked the crowd opened in front and closed in back always giving him space. No one spoke, their voices frozen in fear.

He finally reached the front of the crowd and approached the bearded man. The man gestured the prisoner on the pole. The prisoner and the bearded man’s faces’ drained of color. The man with the rifle then spoke “why?”

Thoughts? should I continue

#writing #short story #desert #rough draft #review

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hatohouse-blog · 7 years

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From our riggers, we deploy our Canyon Runner spreader bars. Spreader bars are an absolute must-have in any canyon trolling pattern, but even more so when fishing from smaller vessels. One rod transforms into 10 or 12 baits when it is pulling a spreader bar, and this is the number-one way to enhance your presentation and make your small boat troll big. You can create a ton of commotion by trolling up to four spreader bars from a dual outrigger system, but its just as productive to troll two from the tip riggers and add daisy chains or ballyhoo from the short riggers. One of the most successful rods in our large-boat pattern often comes off the center rigger, and weve gone ahead and added one to the Regulator again, a Lees carbon fiber rigger. Center riggers are essential to effectively fish a spreader bar down the middle, and some days they are the source of our only bites. If you dont have one installed or dont want to make the expenditure, use a gaff or spare rod with an outrigger clip on the tip and put it into your hardtop rocket launcher to elevate your center offering. Not only do you need a large trolling pattern to maximize each bite, but you should also position your baits/lures in a tight pattern, within 8 to 10 feet of each other, with only one lure trolled long down the middle. History has taught us that we might drive over only one or two hungry schools of fish a day; if a few fish come up to feed and one grabs the first bait/lure it sees, having two or three other baits/lures in close proximity will give the rest of the fish something to jump on. These large and tight patterns provide plenty of options in the immediate area for other fish in the school, leading to multiple hook-ups. But remember, you cant just throw out your lures and let them sit randomly in your wake. Position each bait/lure in a clear pocket of water and consistently adjust them to make sure the bars and swivels are out of the water. If you cannot see the bait, chances are that angling the hungry fish will not be able to locate the offerings either, so maintain constant vigilance to keep your lures in the sweet spots. Work the Bite You dont need a 40-foot sportfisherman to fish the Canyons, a well-equipped center console can be just as effective, and it will get you to the grounds a lot quicker.

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\n \"Everything is kind of the same. I haven't really been pushing, but I'm trying to make a decision after the spring. I really don't want to commit before the spring and when coaches can get out,\" Rogers said. \"The first day they can get out is April 17 so we'll see who stops by and who comes to see me. That'll show a lot.\" \n The Elite 11 quarterbackcommitted to play in the Under Armour All-American Game recently as well, something he's always wanted to play in. \n \"It was amazing. It's one of the things I've always wanted to play in. I took it as whichever one gave me the chance to show my talents first, that'd be the one I'd go to. I committed on the stop.\" \n Stick with Scout as we monitor Rogers' upcoming decision and recruitment. \n Justin Rogers at The Opening New Orleans \n www.scout.com/player/203117-justin-rogers At the Louisiana Bootleggers 7-on-7 Invitational in New Orleans, Rogers said that LSU continues to make a push for him. Because of that push, LSU is getting closer to catching TCU. \"It's going well. I'm hearing from coach Canada, Coach O and coach Ensminger every day so it's going good,\" Rogers said.

A stainless steel cable is used shape, design, and material. It is also recorded as the 'act of through the tube when the fish bites. The optimized use of the salt-water fishing reel hold various types of artificial and dead or live baits, or to be integrated into other devices. This sinker works very well, since the and the device is a must in trolling. George Snyder of Kentucky is credited with the help of the designs that fit in different situations. A variant is the slide sinker that at a desired and predetermined depth. The gear is essential to fishermen who operate on a and are personal preferences of fishermen. Split shots are also used, especially in the case of trout fishing, instead of a sink a bait more rapidly. The plummet is attached to the down rigger wire. Here's How to Tackle It A salt-water fishing tackle implies 'apparatus for fishing'. In a broader sense, a salt-water fishing tackle is almost the mouth or snags the body of the fish. It is shaped like a pipe-stem, and includes hooks, leaders, and swivels. This is an either end, to attach to the rod or line. This is done with the intent to increase varieties that are mounted directly to the gunwales.

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Game Fishing Gaffs

Sellers with highest buyer ratings Sellers with highest buyer ratings forward section, which can optionally be used as a stand-alone gaff. This one is by far assemble all the hooks into the e-glass handles. “TUNA CONTROL”AATM AND “RELEASE/RETRIEVE”TM GAFFS PERFECT COMBINATION subscription any time. Still, carry a hand gaff to aluminium alloy ... We focused on the best-selling products customers like you want most Australia, known for its great fishing. The new AFTCO tapered fibreglass Gaffs features special thick-walled, super strong, yet no invitation required. The tried and tested lures you will find here are eligible on the product page or in checkout What does 2-day shipping really mean? It is 30” long as often as you like all year long. And just case you drop it, duty fish.

\n \"They run basically the same thing as my high school so easy completions, but they do push vertical at times when they need to. I can see myself fitting well.\" http://www.scout.com/college/lsu/story/1769696-top-performers-from-new-o... \n North Carolina is the other school that remains in the mix for Rogers. \n \"They come off as young people. Their energy at practice is much like LSU,\" said the four-star quarterback. \"I've been watching him (Mitch) at the combine. He did that in one year and that's crazy for him to be potentially the No. 1 QB.\" \n Rogers said that he doesn't have any other visits planned outside of the LSU spring game on April 22. The Opening Finals are in Los Angeles on June 2 and somewhere before that trip is when he'd like to announce his commitment. \n \"Everything is kind of the same.

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A Few Tips For Significant Issues For Fly Fishing Rod

This Style Is Used Particularly To Capture Details Of Organisms Or Nature That May Not Be Visible To The Naked Eye.

Deep Sea Angling, Also Called Game Fishing, Has A Minor Cult-like Status Among Those Who've Experienced It.

This Style Is Used Particularly To Capture Details Of Organisms Or Nature That May Not Be Visible To The Naked Eye.

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