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amemixfan · 6 years

Note

As agreed: Alain is rescued by Tired Millenial Too Done With This Bullshit

(Some spoilers) This takes place during Saerys’ route following the Witch Queen’s invasion of Chicago.

It is much too early for this shit.

The thought registers in my head as my phone begins to ding with incoming notifications. Police sirens and the wail of ambulances is deafening as I hurry through the streets of Chicago. My first thought this morning, when I saw the headlines playing across my phone, was that there was a mass shooting of some sort or an earthquake, yet I know now this is not the case. The explosions rocking the ground below is not an earthquake, the screaming and pushing people are not the result of a shooting, and the bright lights visible in the skyline are not man-made.

My phone buzzes in my hand with another news headline as I run. “CHICAGO ATTACKED, PRESIDENT TO DECLARE STATE OF EMERGENCY”. Accompanying the article is a shaky cellphone video captured by someone in the middle of the fray. Police officers run from place to place in the video and something resembling a storm of ice shards rains down from a nearby high-rise. The video cuts off when the camera person is shoved by a human stampede running away from the scene.

More articles follow in quick succession after that one until my phone grows hot in my hand and permanently buzzes with more notifications. I have no time to read them before I arrive in the middle of Downtown Chicago. The sounds of police sirens and bullets is deafening. My blood freezes in my veins.

There are police cars everywhere forming a defense around the street, SWAT vehicles unload squads into the streets, and emergency barricades are erected blocking bystanders from skyscrapers. Orders are shouted in every direction in quick succession and the entire scene resembles that of a low-rated action movie.

This entire scene resembles a Hollywood set up, a movie or college art project, yet the screaming and panic is very real. People push past each other to evade something from above. I see people in business attire run as fast as they can away from the scene. A particular high-rise is awash in blues and whites, lights and smoke pouring out of its top, and something swirls around the roof like a vortex of energy and power. The startled employees escape from it in droves and soldiers shove past them to charge into the fray.

My phone falls from my hand and the screen shatters on the sidewalk. Shock numbs my entire body and I feel like a deer caught in headlights.

This can’t be real, it all seems like special effects, yet I know it is. Chicago is under attack by something major and I have no idea what to do.

Police officers push people away from the area and shout orders. Behind them, the military is busy fighting something off. I can see our soldiers in uniforms firing off bullets and dodging blasts of something potent, but they seem to be losing a major battle. Men and women donning blue and white armor face them off with medieval weapons and swords.

If I couldn’t smell the smoke in the air, feel the fear charged in the atmosphere, and taste something acrid and bitter with every inhale, I would almost laugh. The entire thing seems larger than life or comical. I half expect a director to scream “Cut” and stop the mad scene playing out before me.

A blast hits the cement nearby and blue magic explodes in a shower of sparks. The ground trembles from the impact and I can taste something incredibly bitter in the air. The explosion knocks some sense back into me and I find I can move again. Adrenaline flares under my skin and I follow the frenzied crowd away.

I was caught outside this morning, on my way to work when the entire thing broke out, and now I am stuck in Chicago as the world plunges into chaos. Survival instincts kick into overdrive and I weave past the stampede around me. I haven’t run in years, my college track days are over, yet I can still make it far away. If I can at least get back to my apartment and away from all of this, I can go from there-

Another impact rocks the ground below and I have to steady my balance as the world shakes. Blue energy pours from the sky in the form of ice and rains down on the soldiers. Magic, something I was sure did not exist up until five minutes ago, swirls around the world and blocks the sun from view. Although it was barely 8 in the morning when I stepped out of my apartment and into the Chicago streets, now it seems like midnight. The entire city is under darkness and only the lights from nearby businesses illuminate the scene.

I glance at the chaos before me once more and catch sight of someone nearby. American soldiers and soldiers in blue armor clash everywhere, it is hard to keep up with them as they square off and fire bullets at each other or levy swords in different directions, yet I see someone slumped on the ground.

He is dressed in blue armor, an enemy soldier from the looks of it, yet his eyes are closed and blood pours from a head wound. His chest rises and falls slowly, too slowly, and he is in incredible danger of being trampled where he lies.

If he belongs to the tealed soldiers, he seems to have been abandoned. His army men jump over him in attempts to fight and no one bothers to check up on his injuries. Almost weakly, he moves in place and attempts to drag himself away from the chaos of the fight. Something about his form seems repentant, terrified, and I wonder if he truly intends to be here. He is wearing blue, like the attackers, yet something in me doubts he belongs to them.

Another burst of magic hits the pavement near him and the ground pulses. If he does not move, he will be hit by an ice shard or a black tendril. I wait for him to drag himself away or move, but he just lies on the ground. It seems like he has resigned himself to his fate, surrendered his life to whatever is happening around us, and something flares up under my skin.

Without even thinking about it, my body is moving in his direction. I have no time to dwell on what I am doing, no second to even consider the ramifications of my actions, as I dodge a barricade and rush at his side.

“What’s wrong with you?” I breathe it out quietly and reach him just as another magic spell hits the ground. It misses me by a few inches and the blast blows my head to the side. A cold rush of air hits and I shiver. If I am hit by one of those things, I am sure the impact will be deadly.

I grab the man’s arm and jostle his shoulder. He makes a noise under his breath and his eyes open briefly. A startling blue-gray gaze blinks back at me with disorientation before he fades from consciousness again. He is too weak to even remain awake.

I hiss a curse under my breath and glance at the scene around us. We are in the middle of a battlefield and people sidestep us in an attempt to fight. My heartbeat is a dull roar in my ears as I grab the man by the torso.

Why am I doing this? This is crazy and unlike me. Every instinct in me tells me to run, to flee from the scene and go to safety, that is the most logical and smart thing to do, yet my body refuses to comply. As if by some higher force, a stronger power, I am compelled forward. The universe seems intent on making me help.

Without even thinking, I brace myself and lift. The man is heavy, much taller than me, and I almost buckle under the weight of his armor. My teeth grit and I manage to push him up until he is almost standing. He sways as I wrap one of his arms over my shoulders and use my body to prop him up.

This is crazy, insane, probably the stupidest thing I’ve ever done, yet something in me tells me to do it. A voice inside my head orders me to obey, the universe seems intent on turning me into a puppet, and I am powerless to resist it.

“Hang on,” I hiss under my breath. I have no idea whether I am talking to myself or the stranger I am holding up.

He’s heavy and much larger than me, the scene we make must be comical. I am barely past 5 feet and he is a full foot taller, yet I manage to hold him steady. The back of my neck begins to sweat and I take a few painful steps away from the chaos.

Mercifully, the stranger begins to come to his senses. Blue eyes open again and he blinks wearily at the scene below. His body, on autopilot, begins to cooperate with me and he limps at my side.

Our eyes meet and he looks almost startled for a second. It seemed like he was intent on dying tonight, perhaps yearned for it, and is surprised he is being given the chance to live.

“Why?”

His voice is barely above a whisper and it is a miracle I can hear it with the wail of sirens and screaming all around me.

I grit my teeth and tug him along with me. He easily steps over the police line and finds his footing. His weight becomes less heavy as some of the strength returns to his body and he follows me without resistance.

I bite the inside of my cheek and feel irritation simmer under my skin. ‘Why’ is a good question.

“I don’t know why,” I snap, “Because the fucking universe compelled me.”

My words make no sense but the entire world is plunged into chaos. Sanity and order are nonexistent. I doubt I have to worry now about speaking clearly.

The stranger at my side says nothing. I glance at him and realize he is starting to lose consciousness again. I shake him lightly to keep him awake and huff under my breath as we make it away from the chaos and into a quieter back alley.

“Don’t pass out on me, you’re too heavy,” I warn.

Ignoring me, he loses consciousness and slumps against the ground. I manage to avoid being caught under him and slip from under his arm. He slides down the alley wall and is out like a light. I huff and glance at the array of streets I still have to drag him down to reach my apartment.

It is much too early for this shit.

—-

It feels like hours by the time I make it back to my apartment. Away from the Downtown area with the fight underway, everything seems quiet. I make it to my door and manage to shake the person awake once more.

I slam my apartment door behind me and bolt it for good measure. The stranger regains consciousness as I shove him on my couch. He makes a weak noise as his injuries begin to ache. I can see blood running down a side of his head, platinum hair turning red, and his armor looks like it has seen better days. I can’t imagine what possessed anyone to think that attacking America in renfare cosplay was a good idea.

There is a first aid kit under my sink, I pull it out and take a moment to catch my breath. I can see my reflection in the metal. My hair is a mess from running, my face is covered in cement dust from the explosions, and my cheeks are flushed with the strain of lugging a 6-foot-something guy behind me through Chicago.

This entire thing makes no sense, I feel like I plunged down the rabbit hole and entered a world distorted and out of order, yet I have no time to dwell on anything. My phone is lost somewhere in Chicago so I dive for the TV and turn it to a local news station as I make my way to the stranger.

“Are you alright?” I ask. I can’t keep some of the irritation and worry out of my voice.

He is awake, I realize, and he takes in my apartment with shock. He curls in on himself as far as his armor will allow and flinches away from my hand. He seems terrified, confused, and I bite the inside of my cheek.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” I raise the first-aid kit in my hand and show it to him, “Let me look at your injuries.”

“Who are you?”

His voice is quiet, raspy from misuse, and he presses a hand to his head injury disoriented. By the way he looks at me and the quick blinks he takes, I have a feeling he expects this to be some optical illusion. Perhaps he hit his head and believes this is some bizarre dream he will wake up from soon.

A part of me also wonders if this is all a dream. Perhaps I rolled out of bed in the middle of the night and hit my head on the nightstand. Maybe if I close my eyes real tight, I will wake up with a welt on my forehead the size of a golf ball and Chicago will be back to normal. None of this feels real and everything seems so dizzying and confusing.

The TV plays the ‘Breaking News’ sound effect and I turn at the same time the stranger does.

“CHAOS IN CHICAGO, CITY UNDER ATTACK” reads the headline. Cellphone video from the fight plays at a low volume and I see magical spells being lobbed back and forth. The army rolls into the city in tanks and the entire world trembles as the battle continues.

Streets away from downtown, far from the fight, I still feel the tremor of the earth as another blast rocks the city. This isn’t a dream, I realize, my imagination is not that impressive.

I remind myself to breathe and keep going. Something is happening out there, something that makes absolutely no sense, and I have to keep going forward. A shark that stops swimming sinks to the bottom and I have no desire to drown just yet.

“Let me look at you,” I repeat. My voice sounds a little harsh so I stop and make it sound softer. The stranger is already frightened of me and I do not want to give him a reason to be even more afraid. “You’re bleeding.”

I interned over the summer as a camp counselor for preschool aged kids, I know how to make myself seem soft and kind when I need to. I inch closer slowly as if the stranger were a frightened deer encountered on a trail, and I make sure he has a plain view of my hands. He eyes me wearily as I grow closer.

When he does not shrink away, I take that as my cue to gently move his head to the side. There is an ugly gash obscured by his hair and I almost wince sympathetically. It looks like someone roughed him up before leaving him to die on the floor. Blood continues to run down his wound and I tilt his head back further to get a good look at it.

He won’t need stitches, I realize with some relief, but he does need some bandages ASAP.

“What’s happening out there?” I ask. The TV is still blaring more cellphone video and reporters are talking rapidly into the camera. I half listen to it as I open the first-aid kit.

“-Army deployed to Chicago in what appears to be an attack. President declares State of Emergency. The city of Chicago is being placed under Martial Law until the threat is neutralized-”

The stranger winces as I press a bandage to his wound. He still seems a little out of it, so I make my voice seem even kinder. The last thing I need is him losing it in the middle of my apartment. If the city is under attack by the people in his armor, I need to be careful.

“What’s your name?” I inquire. I tell him my name first, just to break the ice, and wait for him to reply.

He inches back from my touch once I finish securing the bandage on the side of his head and brings his knees up to his chest. His entire body is quivering and I have no idea if it is from pain or fear. Perhaps both.

Whatever he has gone through, I have a feeling it is more than just the battle that is playing on his mind. His eyes are distant, red-rimmed, and I wonder what kind of demons are locked up in his gaze. Something awful must have happened to him if it reduced him into a shaking leaf jumping from every little noise. A feeling of pity settles over me and I press my lips thin.

“Alain,” he replies. He says it slowly, as if he needs a reminder of his own identity, and I clench my fingers into a fist.

What does a person go through to be reduced like this? The stranger, Alain, seems like an empty shell of something human. He jumps when the TV makes another noise and glances at the door as if he expects someone to break in and drag him away.

I block his view of the television and glance at his armor. There must be more injuries underneath it, I just need him to remove it.

Taking a deep breath in through my nose, I lower my voice. It is very, very insane that I have brought a complete stranger into my home, especially when he is dressed like the ones attacking Chicago, but something in me whispers that I am doing the right thing. The Universe or whatever compelled me to drag him away from a burning city and into a safe place now tells me that there is something larger than me at play here. Me helping this stranger seems almost fated somehow, destined, and I have no idea how to feel about it.

“Alain,” I test out his name slowly and he blinks almost as if he had forgotten I was still here. It seems, for a moment, he had receded into some dark abyss in his mind. His body shakes and some of the color further drains from his face. Whatever he had been remembering, it was awful.

I tap his armor and feel how cold it is. Ice crystals have collected over the front and there are markings as if someone had hit it repeatedly. Maybe I was right, maybe he was roughed up before being abandoned.

“Can I see your injuries? I need to treat them,” I raise my hands before me to show him again that I am not going to hurt him. He reminds me of a frightened animal and I know I have to be gentle. Whatever he went through to get here, whoever hurt him, he needs time to gather his bearings.

Without saying a word, he undoes the binds of his armor. His gaze is distant and I follow his eyes to the TV. Live footage from the fight is playing on the screen and a woman’s blurry image can be seen heaving spells left and right. The image of her makes Alain seem pale.

Abject horror spreads across his body and a weakened noise leaves his lips. His body curls in on itself and he squeezes his eyes shut as if the very picture of her is enough to reduce him to tears. The news station has no idea who she is, they alternate between calling her the mastermind of the plot or just another fighter, yet I feel a part of me turn to ice when I look at her. Even from a blurry cellphone video, I can make out the pure evil on her face. Whoever she is, she is something ungodly.

“Hey, you’re fine,” I flick the TV off so that he can no longer see her. Once she is gone, a part of him almost relaxes. He still looks frightened out of his mind, but he moves out of the fetal position at the very least.

Underneath his armor is a blue overcoat with more dark splotches. Blood.

I am grateful I decided to take that first-aid class in high school because he has so many injuries that need tending to. With the fight and everything occurring outside, I doubt the hospitals are in any place to treat the injured.

“What exactly is going on?” I voice out. Some of my earlier confusion and annoyance bleeds in through my voice and I see the stranger wince.

I busy myself tending to his injury. He has a gash on his side as if a knife had cut through. He winces when I examine it but I feel relieved when I see it is superficial. His wounds do not seem life threatening or serious. It seems that whoever hurt him did so in a way that would allow him to live.

A little shudder runs through my spine when I dwell on that. Did the person who hurt him want him alive so that he would continue to suffer? My heart begins to race again.

“She made it,” Alain murmurs under his voice, “She got what she wanted. I couldn’t stop her.”

His voice screams of self-loathing and guilt. His eyes take on another faraway tint and he looks away from me and out the window. My apartment looks over the Chicago skyline and I can see the swirling clouds obscuring the sun from view. Night seems to have fallen even though the clock on the microwave says it is just a little past 9 in the morning.

She. I wonder if the woman on the TV is who he refers to. His words make as much sense as the scene outside, yet I keep going. When the world goes to Hell, trying to make sense of it is useless.

“What country do you belong to? Is this a war? An invasion?”

My voice rises a pitch at the end and some of my earlier fear comes washing back. Without meaning to, I press too hard into his wound and he hisses in pain. He squeezes his eyes shut and some of the color bleeds out of his cheeks. When he next speaks, his voice is scarcely above a whisper.

“Neither. It’s a carnage. She wants it all.”

He does not elaborate and I think it best not to pursue the issue. After I am done patching him up, he begins to slump against the back of the sofa. It seems like staying awake took the last of his energy. Before I can get another word in, he fades out of consciousness.

—-

“-The United States has asked its allies for help but so far other countries are hesitant. No one seems to know what is happening and Chicago has been placed under a mandatory curfew. Do not leave your home if it is not vital. We are under Martial Law-”

I flick through the TV channels but they all repeat the same thing. Every major news outlet is puzzled as to what is happening and social media does nothing more to help. My computer pings every few minutes with a friend on HeadBook checking in safely in Chicago or a Tweeter notification. Everyone is panicked and no one knows what is happening.

I pinch the bridge of my nose and take stock of what I know.

One, Chicago is under attack.

This morning, when I woke up to the sound of my alarm clock, the world was normal. I got dressed, forgot to put on a pot of coffee, and was out the door before the clock struck 8. I was running late for work and my only concern was getting to my desk before my boss decided to fire me.

I didn’t know about the attack until I made it to Downtown and saw the chaos. Somewhere between my home and my work place, we were attacked. Something, someone, is barricaded in the skyscrapers and the lights and smoke can be seen from my window. The entire sky is pitch black despite the fact it can’t be more than 4pm.

Two, A stranger, Alain, is passed out on my couch.

For some bizarre reason, I thought it would be a good idea to help a man passed out on the ground in enemy clothing. He is slowly bleeding into my couch and I know all the vinegar in the world won’t get the stains out of my ottoman.

I have no idea what possessed me to help him, and I am mad at myself for it. Some strong force had compelled me to do it, the Universe had pulled me along like a marionette for its purpose, and now I am barricaded in my apartment streets away from a carnage outside with a man who can barely get a word in before passing out and is wearing medieval armor that matches the one the Chicago attackers wear.

None of this makes any sense and I keep closing my eyes and opening them expecting to wake up from this bizarre nightmare.

A sigh leaves my lips and I stand up. The Chicago skyline is still pulsing with magic and a dark blue, swirling vortex crowds around a skyscraper. A portal of some sort opens and closes deploying more blue and white armored soldiers. Our American Reserves are no match for them.

Every so often a military helicopter will fly overhead and the sound of gunfire will follow it, but it is gone in a crash almost as soon as it happens. All military branches have been deployed and no one has any plans to evacuate the city. Whatever happened today, it is something major.

Alain stirs in his sleep and begins to wake up. I help him sit up and hand him a bowl of something hot before he can ask what it is. It’s nothing major, just an old can of Spaghetti-O’s I found tucked away at the back of my pantry, yet he wolfs it down.

He must be starving, I realize, and I wonder once more what it is he went through.

Anticipation courses through me and I clench my hands at my sides. My teeth bite into my lower lip and I can’t help it anymore. I need some answers, something to make sense of everything going on, and I can barley hold in my questions as he sets the empty bowl down.

“Who are you? And I don’t mean your name,” I take a seat in the chair before him and press my hands to my knees. He still looks like a frightened animal and I don’t want him to feel threatened by my presence. I need him open if I want some answers.

Alain moves his arm and winces, his muscles are sore and bruised. He takes time answering, I can see him trying to decide how best to phrase things, and I latch on to his every word.

“I am her Knight General. It’s all my fault, I can never escape it.”

His voice is scarcely above a whisper yet I can hear the sheer self-loathing in his tone. Like Atlas, he seems to be carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. I frown to myself.

“Who is she? You keep mentioning a her and you reacted to that video on TV.”

At the mention of whoever ‘she’ is, Alain winces. His entire body tenses up and he clenches his hand into a tight fist. As if her memory has triggered something in him, he gets to his feet. He sways in place and makes it one step before he falls forward. His hand on the back of the couch is the only thing keeping him standing.

“I have to go, I have to stop her. It’s my fault, I failed.”

He makes a sound at the back of his throat as he hurts his injured side and the bandage slowly turns red. His face loses color and he falls back into the couch. I am out of my seat before I realize what I am doing and I narrow my eyes.

“Yeah, you aren’t in any shape to move,” I scoff. I jab my finger into his chest away from his injuries and he is forced back into the sofa. My arms cross before my chest. “You’ve passed out more times than I can count. You can hardly walk down the stairs much less go off fighting.”

Alain tries to argue, opens his mouth, but another movement of his arms sends a new wave of pain through him. He gives up and leans back against the couch cushions. Further self-loathing fills his features.

“Useless, always useless,” he closes his eyes. I can practically hear the gears in his head churning as he thinks. “They should be here soon, Saerys saw her open the portal. Have they arrived?”

He glances out the window where another array of sparks flies off the high-rises. Magic coils in the air and the ground gives another rumble. Somewhere above, an air force plane falls from the sky and is consumed in a massive fireball.

I force myself to look away and try to reel in my panic. The army will take care of it, I tell myself, they have to. Still, the image of the carnage from earlier and the disarrayed soldiers fills me with doubt. They’ve been fighting all day yet nothing has changed. Is the American military prepared to fight off magic?

A tension headache begins to form and I press my tongue to the roof of my mouth. I’m sure I’ve read somewhere that, that helps. It takes me a moment to think of something else to say.

“Alright, alright, let’s move on. Who hurt you?”

He’s covered in crudely fashioned bandages. At some point, my tiny little kit ran out and I had to use some fancy towels I bought on sale. They’re taped to his body and already look red despite the fact that I’ve changed them twice. It is a miracle he has not bled to death yet.

Someone hurt him badly, someone left him for dead in the middle of a battle. A large scar runs jagged across his front, years old, and I know pain is second nature to him. A tiny pinprick of sympathy fills me and I swallow painfully. How much pain does someone endure to come out a frightened shadow?

He doesn’t answer right away, mind miles away, and a shudder passes through his spine. For a moment, he looks like he is going to be sick and I wonder if I should dive for a trash bag, but then he regains his senses and exhales slowly.

“I tried to stop her, I tried to save her. I-All my life I have only ever wanted to stop her. She wasn’t like that, not always, I was so sure there was something left of her. I stayed by her side for so long, but I was never enough. I promised to protect her, and now I must save her from herself. I defected, I tried, but I couldn’t stop her.”

He closes his eyes for a long moment. When he opens them again, there is a world of pain there. Sorrow clouds his gaze and he looks haunted for a moment. In the dim apartment lights, I finally take notice of his face.

His face is pale, dark circles under his eyes, and his lips are white. He’s suffered more than just a few beatings, I realize, this is the face of a man who has seen the worst devils of humanity.

A shiver runs down my spine and I wrap my arms around my torso. Outside, another military helicopter crashes down. I watch the explosion burn bright and can scarcely comprehend that this is real. This is really happening, this isn’t just a Hollywood movie. The world as I knew it is gone and this is my new reality.

“You still haven’t answered who she is,” I comment. I glance at the muted TV and see some more breaking news updates. A live video footage is playing as a news helicopter circles around the tower where the most of the battle is happening. There are people on the roof fighting and lightning spells crackle from every which way. A woman dressed in blue with bloodless skin cackles and sends a blast of ice from her hands. It collides with the news helicopter and the video turns to snow. The anchors back at the studio press their fingers to their ear in an attempt to reconnect with their coworkers in the sky but they get no response. Moments later, another fireball blazes in the distance as the helicopter crashes and burns.

We should move from my apartment, I realize. The area here is quiet, most of the fighting contained to the downtown area, but it won’t be long before it bleeds here. It can’t be safe to stay so close.

“Do you work for her? You’re wearing armor,” I nod at the armor discarded to the side. It’s ruined by now, bent out of shape, and I try not to think about the sheer force that would be needed to dent metal armor. Whatever Alain went through, it was bad.

“Used to,” Alain comments, “But I defected. Once I realized that the path she walked down was dark, I left. Someone has to stop her before she further destroys herself.”

He pauses, swallows painfully, and stares out the window. Lightning bolts rain from the sky and they do not appear to be normal. They’re tinged with blue and they come down in droves. Car alarms blare when they meet their mark. Alain tears his gaze away as if the sight is too painful.

“Or perhaps it is much too late. Perhaps there is nothing more worth saving.”

None of his words make any sense, but I am getting better at deciphering crazy. I breathe in quietly through my nose and count to ten.

“Okay, start from the beginning,” I pinch the bridge of my nose, “For all our sakes.”

Alain bites his cheek and lowers his eyes. He presses a hand to his side and winces when his fingers brush past the bandage. He seems to be delaying having to speak.

I wait patiently for him even though my patience ran out long ago. The last thing I want is to startle him. If I snap at him, he will shut me out and I’ll be left even more confused.

After a long break, he meets my gaze. His eyes are dark with thousands of swirling thoughts and muddled emotions. There is pain there, guilt, heartbreak, self-loathing, and worry. I have to look away because the intensity in his eyes is too depressing. Whatever he’s been through, it’s something no human being should ever have to endure.

“You would never believe me. You are not from my world.”

He sounds resigned as he says it, heartbroken, and I feel annoyance creep into my voice. I glance out the window where a blue ball of magic erupts once more. The entire window is awash in blues and whites for a fraction of a second before the lights to my apartment go out. The air lingers with the bitter taste I’ve learned to associate with magic and the intensity of the energy makes the hairs at the back of my neck stand. My laptop, open to a live feed of Chicago, shows dark crosses of magic raining down around the city. It is a sheer miracle my apartment building escapes most of it.

I feel frustration bubbling up inside me and a humorless laugh leaves my lips. I rub my eyes with my hands.

“Try me.”

—-

Magic is real. There are portals that open into fantasy dimensions. An evil sorceress named the Witch Queen is attacking Chicago. Alain used to serve her.

I pace the length of my apartment after Alain is done with his story. My head is racing in millions of different directions and I wish my thoughts would just quiet down for half a second. I run my hand through my hair and shake my head.

“That missing girl ended up in your world then?”

I had seen the news report about a missing Chicago girl. Her photo had been spread around social media but the case had grown cold. She had disappeared after a lightning storm, and, if Alain is to be believed, she ended up in his world.

I brace myself against the back of a love seat and take a long breath. The world is already plunged into chaos, so I figure his story is not any more unbelievable than the magical battle playing out outside.

Alain stands slowly, sways on his feet, but remains upright. He straightens out his back and hisses in pain. When I move to help him, he shakes his head. He forces himself to keep going and makes it from the sofa to my love seat before grimacing and taking a seat. He still seems intent on trying to leave.

From what he explained, he thinks this is all his fault. He worked for her, the Witch Queen, and tried to stop her. Apparently whatever plan they had didn’t work. When the Chicago girl and the demon he had mentioned tried to restore their bond, the Witch Queen had opened a portal and decided to take her war into our world.

I close my eyes. Why does every fantasy story have to have a villain? Why can’t a story just be full of unicorns and fairies?

I clap my hands together and shove aside the last of my frustration. Night has fallen across Chicago and the sky seems even darker. The watch on my laptop reads 9pm and the battery icon notifies me that it is close to dying. I turn it off before looking out the window.

The battle has grown quiet now, yet the sky is still lit up in blues and whites. I can’t hear police sirens any more or army fighter jets. It seems like there is a standstill in the battle. For some reason, the quiet is worse than the loud noise. If it is so silent, does that mean it won’t be resolved quickly? Is the American military truly not a match for a female Voldemort?

I chase that thought away and let out a loud breath I wasn’t aware I was holding. Alain stares at me with concern, waiting for my reaction to his words, and I grind my teeth together. His story makes no sense, it sounds like a shitty movie I’d skip out on, but nothing has made sense all day. I believe him without even thinking twice about it.

A yawn leaves my lips and the sound is contagious. Alain echoes it and I notice how tired he is. He has been passed out all day, yet he needs more rest. He stopped bleeding a few hours ago, thankfully, and the ibuprofen I fed him seems to have helped him with his pain. He wraps a blanket around his shoulders and closes his eyes, exhaustion is evident in his posture.

I finally realize how tired I am too. I half-carried him, half-dragged him all the way from downtown to my apartment, my arms and back ache. I wish for nothing more than to curl up in my bed and pass out, but I force myself awake.

“Okay,” I sigh, “Okay, I believe you. Your story is crazy, but it’s too crazy to make up.”

I press my fingers to my temples where another tiny headache is forming. I need a long shower and an even longer nap.

“Here’s what we’re going to do…” I run through different ideas in my head until I settle on one that doesn’t sound too suicidal. “You are going to stay here and recover-don’t argue with me you can barely stand up, and we are going to find a way out of Chicago. This entire city is going to fall apart soon. If your friends from that other dimension show up, we’ll go from there, but, until then, we need to get out. I am not dying with you here.”

I close my eyes and think about my family. I want to see them more than anything, they must be worried sick. Without my cellphone to call them and let them know I am fine, I know they must be panicking. I need to get down to the first floor and use the landline-if the black out hasn’t knocked it out yet.

“You are letting me stay?” Alain murmurs. He sounds surprised. I wonder if maybe he expected me to kick him to the curb after everything.

And perhaps I should. Perhaps I should send him on his way with ibuprofen and bandages and tell him to leave me alone, I am under no obligation to help a stranger who claims he is responsible for the attack on my city, yet I can’t bring myself to do it. Something strange happened to me this morning, a higher power compelled me to help, and I feel like something has been kicked into motion now that I have. The Universe, or whatever drove me to help Alain, has plans for me. I may not know what they are, may not even understand what is happening, but I know Alain needs my help and I can’t bring myself to deny it.

I exhale slowly and move to the kitchen where the tea has long since cooled. I pour us both a cup and hand it over to him silently. He stares at it almost as if expecting it to be a trap. Every little thing that I offer him is met with suspicion. It is almost as if Alain believes he is not worth saving or helping. That is as sad as it is pathetic.

“You are staying,” I nod, “Because you will die if I kick you out and I do not want that on my conscience. We are going to stay here for as long as we can then we are leaving the city. Stay on the couch, let me know if you need anything else, and don’t try to leave. You won’t make it far.”

I give him a quizzical stare. Inviting a stranger into my home sounds suicidal, but I doubt Alain poses much of a threat. He has nothing to his name but bent armor and he almost passes out from just standing up. If it came down to it, I could out walk him.

“Are we agreed?” The question needs no answer. I spin around from him and start heading for my bedroom. I want nothing more than to just crawl under the covers and bury myself in my blankets. Maybe if I go to sleep, I will wake up tomorrow and this will all be over.

Alain interrupts me before I can get more than a few steps in. His voice is soft, hesitant, and I can all but hear the doubt and self-hatred in his heart.

“Why did you help me? You could have let me die.”

The way his voice grows quieter near the end, I have a feeling that’s what he wanted. He wanted to die this morning. He had laid down on the sidewalk expecting to be killed.

A lump forms in my throat and I swallow it down painfully. What does a person have to endure in order to see themselves as worthless? What drives a person to death? Alain truly did intent to die today and a part of him wonders if me saving him was a mistake. Perhaps, somewhere deep down, he thinks he does not deserve to live.

I pinch the bridge of my nose.

“Honestly?” I stare up at the ceiling and count the tiles as I try to think of something to say. After a long pause, I draw a huge blank and lower my head. “I don’t know. I don’t know why I saved you, it would have been easier for me to just leave you there, but I couldn’t.”

It is not the answer he needs nor wants, but he takes it in stride anyway. He looks away from me and eases himself back into the couch. He is too tall for the sofa and I wonder if he will spend a good night tonight. I almost offer to trade him my bed for my couch, and perhaps I should due to his injuries, but decide not to. His presence already screwed up my day, I won’t let him screw up my sleeping schedule too.

“Goodnight, Alain,” I turn away from him and hurry to my room. Softly, he says it back.

I close my bedroom door and lean against the wood. My breath leaves my lips in a very slow exhale and I blink up at the ceiling as if I could stare at whatever mysterious force compelled me to help him. I have a feeling there is a larger picture here, some type of fate controlling us, but I dislike being a puppet to something I know nothing about.

“I’m too tired for this shit,” I repeat for the hundredth time, frustration gnaws at me and I pinch the bridge of my nose, “Fuck the Universe.”

#request #alain richter #love and legends #lovestruck voltage #voltage amemix

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helshades · 6 years

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Hello, I've been reading you on Mélenchon these days and would be interested in your opinion on his treatment of the bonnets rouges movement. I find some appeal in his political views but am detered by his unequal interpretation of social movements. I credit it to his somewhat jacobin/nationalist upbringing, and would like to have your thoughts on what his legitimate or not to him. Thank you, have a good day.

Hi! Quite a good question, as I don’t think too many journalists have taken the time to scrutinise the similarities and differences between the ‘Red Caps’ of yesteryear and the current ‘Yellow Vests’, even after Prime Minister Édouard Philippe, during a ‘Questions to the Government’ panel at the Assembly, drew that parallel to promise that his government would not be intimidated by the protests—at that time, the movement was only three days old:

‘Let us remember the Red Caps. Confronted with social difficulty that collided directly with their engagements [during the presidential campaign], the previous government [P.M. Jean-Marc Ayrault’s] chose to step back. Our goal is entirely different: we would keep the line that we proposed during the presidential and legislative elections.’

—20 November 2018.

Here, I have to make a long-ish pause to explain to whomever is reading this outside of us both and doesn’t know who the ‘Red Caps’ were, well, who the ‘Red Caps’ were, precisely.

So, back to 2013, in the north-west of France, in the Brittany region. On 18th June, a collective of thirty local company leaders call Bretons and the French for action against a special tax that is scheduled to be applied to all heavy goods vehicles circulating on some state-financed and locally financed roads in the country starting from 1st October, colloquially known as ‘HVG eco-tax’.

The thirty company leaders, who are gathered at the Chamber of Commerce and Industry at Pontivy, are asking for the eco-tax to be suppressed, for (employers’) taxes in general to diminish, and for ‘administrative constraints’ (for employers) to be reduced. Amongst them are notably: Jakez Bernard, president of certification label ‘Produced in Britanny’, Alain Glon, former food-processing industry honcho, now president of a regionalist think-tank, Olivier Bordais, who manages a local supermarket, Jean-Pierre Le Mat, president of a big employers union (C.G.P.M.E., aimed at small & smallish business owners), Jacques Jaouen, president of the Brittany Chamber of Agriculture.

Soon they are joined by two big union federations: the National Federation of Farmers Unions, Finistère (one of Britanny’s départements) branch (the F.D.S.E.A. is pretty right-oriented) and the Force Ouvrière (‘Workers Force’, a big Trotskyist union) union branches for the big slaughterhouses Doux (chicken) and Gad (pork). This changes everything, as it allows for a massive, noisy joint demonstration on 2nd August—during which the protesters infamously destroy a drive-through unit meant to detect eco-tax-ready lorries installed in Guiclan.

It doesn’t change much. Months pass. And then, in early October, the Rennes Commercial Court declares that the Gad Inc. slaughterhouse in Lampaul, in Finistère, which works pork meat, must be shut down, whereas others in the same group may remain active; Gad employs 900 people in Lampaul, but their branch has been hit hard by European concurrence. As a matter of fact, while production is being transferred from Lampaul to Josselin, a hundred of interim employees arrive from Romania, paid less than 600€ per month; fixed-term contracts at Josselin are no longer being renewed as a new European directive is about to pass on posted workers. On 21st October, 350 ex-employees from Lampaul invades the Josselin abattoir: according to police reports, 400 Josselin employees exit the factory to fight them.

This all happens during a three-week movement organised by agricultural syndicates on 14th, 21st and 28th October, the protesters aiming at another eco-tax drive-through unit in Pont-de-Buis. They are farmer unionists and the ‘Committee for Convergence of Breton Interests’ (C.C.I.B.), which was created in Pontivy on 18th June as an interprofessional organisation uniting business representatives and academics, aiming to make propositions concerning economy and employment in the region.

On Saturday 28th October, several hundreds of protesters destroy the unit at the Pont-de-Buis motorway toll. The rather heated crowd wear red caps inspired by the 1675 ‘révolte des bonnets rouges’, which under Louis XIV’s reign protested an increase in taxes, and which took place in the west of France but was fiercest in Lower Brittany. That same day the Pont-de-Buis unit is destroyed, F.D.S.E.A. Finistère president Thierry Merret calls the protesters to gather at a regional meet-up on 2nd November in Quimper, capital of the Finistère département.

There were two big demonstrations in November: the one in Quimper, and the one that took place on 30th November in Carhaix-Plouguer (former county town of Breton Cornwall). The latter was organised by left-wing collective ‘Live, Decide & Work in Brittany’, created by Carhaix mayor Christian Troadec, Thierry Merret, worker & union representative for Force Ouvrière at Gad, and Corinne Nicole, union representative for the General Confederation of Labour at big chicken abattoir Tilly-Sabco in Guerlesquin (a family business which provided lot of work in town but got hit hard by international concurrence). In Quimper, the demonstration gathered up to 15,000–30,000; in Carhaix, around 17,000–40,000 (numbers vary because unions and the police have had trouble agreeing on them, traditionally). The collective comes up with a ‘charter’ for the good bonnet rouge, in reaction to the worrisome, extreme-right additions to the Quimper crowd.

The eco-tax was imagined in 2007 during a ‘Grenelle’ for environment, and unanimously voted in 2009, which had already ired many business owners in Brittany, over a thousand of whom had manifested on motorways; united in a ‘Collective of Breton Actors of Economy’, representatives for the National Federation of Agricultural Holders’ Union(F.N.S.E.A.), the National Federation of Road Transport (F.N.T.R.), the Chamber of Commerce and Industry… as well as ‘le Médef’, the largest employer federation in France, to which adheres the richest business leaders in the country, very powerful, and not very friendly to labour rights in general. The collective obtained a 50% tax allowance on the eco-tax from the government.

By taxing 800,000 heavy goods vehicles that circulate on the free portion of French motorways, the government aims to collect public transport and railway freight, amongst other things—since they won’t tax the rich. Except since 2012, too many businesses have gone bankrupt in Brittany. Liquidations follow ‘restructuring plans’ and hundreds are getting fired. The eco-tax would mean a drastic rise in the prices of goods.

By spring 2013, all has been made ready for the system to start on the first day of 2014: 200 units equipped with cameras have been installed, a lucrative contract has been concluded with Ecomouv’, a private company charged with the task to collect the tax, which it is already doing on Italian and Austrian motorways. The French government hopes to collect one billion euros per year with the eco-tax.

On 16th October, after two days of heated protests, Prime Minister Jean-Marc Ayrault launches meetings to ‘dialogue’ with the population for a ‘Pact on the Future of Brittany’, announces financial measures and a special aide for the food-processing business. All along November, the revolt is reaching the rest of the country, where dozens of road blocks are organised, speed cameras are destroyed, as well as a few other eco-tax drive-through frames. The Prime Minister arrives in Brittany on 13th December to sign his Pact for Brittany—two billion euros.

There still are 140 units left almost intact in French tolls, since, as the Minister for Transports remarked, once the electronic equipment removed, regular check-ups to make sure they won’t crumble cost much less than actually taking them to pieces. This is what is left of the ‘eco-tax’. As for the Red Caps, well, they evolved into a bunch of collectives, some of which still exist to this day to promote various operations, including demonstrations, that concern Brittany. They never forget the gwenn-ha-du, the ‘Black & White’, the flag of Brittany… Yes, Brittany has a flag. Brittany has a language. Brittany thinks it’s Wales, which is a little silly considering Breton is a Brittonic language like Cornish, not a Gaelic one, like Welsh. Anyhow, Breizh dreams of independence. One day, it will throw bombs at the government, when it has discovered how to make them from cow dung. (I actually, genuinely love Bretons. They’re utterly fruitcake, but they protest like nobody’s business.)

All of this to provide some cultural context to what I am about to translate. So, this is Jean-Luc Mélenchon fulminating back in 2013, before his current La France Insoumise movement was created, when he was co-president of its predecessor the Front de Gauche, a coalition of radical left parties: socialists, and communists who shared anti-capitalistic, anti-liberal, Euro-sceptic views. The FdG was created in 2009 as alliance between the French Communist Party and Parti de Gauche, which Jean-Luc Mélenchon co-founded with people who, like him, quit François Mitterrand’s Parti Socialiste which was veering more and more towards (neo-)liberalism. The alliance aimed to ‘constitute a left-wing front engaged for another Europe, social and democratic, against the ratification of the Lisbon Treaty and other current European treaties.’

Yes, it wasone tasteless farce, that bonnet rouge affair. For sure, the eco-tax reallywasn’t the panacea of any good ecological politics! It’s actually, mostly, alure, as it’s not really targeting the motives behind massive livestock transportationvia road transport. It will always be more profitable to transport 45,000 pigsa year on European roads in appalling conditions rather than kill them here,for as long as Europe will allow for dumping social to take place, which forinstance permits to take advantage of profit with German abattoirs. Thegovernment doesn’t give a damn about this. Anyhow, it doesn’t care for anythingthat can be planned ahead, because of ideology and of self-delusion both. See.The eco-tax was supposed to encourage road transport to convert to fluvialtransport and railway freight. Yes, except no plan for freight development wasset in motion to regulate the ever-increasing flow of lorries on the roads.Quite the opposite, I’d say. The government is at the disposal of the EuropeanCommission, very slavishly indeed, and the Commission was very demanding onthat point. In exchange for two years delay at best, so as to reach theobjectives of deficit reduction, the Commission demanded that the liberalisationof the network increase. The liberal reform, consequently, was presented duringthe Ministers’ Council on 16th October. As for fluvial transport,one of the very first measures of the Ayrault government was to abandon the Seine-Nordcanal project. In other words, it was half-assed, as always with thisgovernment.

This takesnothing from the fact that the government’s climb-down on this point is a giftto the bosses. Under the guise of defending employment, it is in fact the freedomto go on producing further and further away from wherever the goods are to beconsumed that is being protected. Bruno Gentil, president of federation FranceNature Environnement, said something very right about this: ‘This isdeplorable, there’s no political courage here. A measure that was voted by theleft as well as the right is called into question as soon as a bunch of peoplebreak some public equipment. Unfortunately, I don’t think this will solve breeders’problems… Environment has become the scapegoat for economic issues. We are gettingthe financing of the energy turnaround very wrong’.Indeed, afew hundreds of bosses and militants from the FNSEA farmers’ union manifestingsome violence were enough for the Ayrault government to back down. Those whoordinarily have no complacency for a worker’s teensiest egg throw weren’tremotely scandalised to see FNSEA and MEDEF throw stones at the CRS. We’restill awaiting the ground-shattering swagger of the immense Manuel Valls, kingof the braggarts! Sure, even when he’s from the right, a Breton boss is atougher customer than a Roma kid on a school bus! The anti-poor warfare isill-equipped to force those who are used to be obeyed to respect public order.

The wholeaffair was a farce through and through. All the while they’re firing workers indroves in Brittany, the bosses have found a dream opportunity to pose as defendersof employment. That might have impressed a couple answering machines inmainstream media. But over there, it’s a whole other story! Employees’ unions wereno dupes. CGT, Sud and FSU in Brittany released a joint statement to distance themselvesfrom the event. In it they denounce ‘the hijacking of the authentic discontentof a large part of the population to political ends, which questions theingenuousness and the independence of the employees who get enlisted in a fightthat isn’t theirs.’ For these unions, ‘the torturers are leading the manoeuvreand they are using their victims as shield and battering ram at once. They wouldemployees to forget that they have always supported the neoliberal politicsthat caused the current crisis, and that their ‘Breton agricultural model’today is an economic, social and environmental failure. The manipulations rundeep, as the old lords are now wearing the red cap against the people.’ It can’tbe said better.

The statementaims right. Particularly where the denunciation of productivism is concerned.It calls employees for refusing to participate in the demonstration organisedin Quimper on 2nd November around the bosses, productivist farmers and someBreton regionalists from the extreme right. The employees will demonstrate withtheir own demands!What arelief! That call to a separate protest sheds some light on a really confusesituation. The alliance of some farmers with the same large-scale foodretailing that chokes them continuously, for example, never ceases to surprise.Politically, it’s even worse. The right, which had proposed the eco-tax in thefirst place, is now demanding that it be suppressed. The PS, which also votedits implementation, now decides to suspend it… As for Le Pen, she’s calling todemonstrate with the red caps! Maybe she didn’t see the colour?

— 1st November 2013.

I don’t particularly want to be known on Tumblr as the Mélenchon defence committee but… well, he had a point. A couple, actually.

The chief particularity of the Yellow Vests movement is that even if it was started as a protest against a significant rise in gas prices and one could draw a parallel in theory between this and the anti-eco-tax movement, its basis was always popular, and focused not on production and profit, but standard living conditions for poor and impoverished people.

I don’t like the term ‘legitimate’ very much, me. Every protest is legitimate, inasmuch as demonstrating is (yet) a constitutional right. The legality of things is not what should concern us, and evidently, not what concerned Jean-Luc Mélenchon back in 2013. If there is one illegitimate element here, it would be the current government: elected with only 10% of the electorate, the most hated president in the history of the Fifth Republic is ending armed forces every week to mutilate tens of thousands who are still supported, according to the least favourable estimates, by over 60% of the population—and who still show up for the next protest, week after week.

Speaking of things I’m not too comfy with, there’s also the terms ‘jacobin’ and ‘nationalist’. I suspect you are Canadian, as you seem to conflate the two (?) and the nationalist-versus-federalist opposition is, I believe, uniquely Canadian. Over here, when talking about jacobin things, one is usually referring to a radical approach to politics, unless one would be referring to the historic opposition between the Jacobins, who ended up supporting deeper financial and political reforms, and the Girondins, mostly wealthy bourgeois, who were more moderate, and remained so throughout the revolutionary period—they won, in the end. The People didn’t—although both branches initially were a part of the Jacobin Club and in favour of constitutional monarchy.

Where nationalism goes… Well, Marine Le Pen is a nationalist. Us leftists are souverainistes, my dear. Quite frankly, I don’t get how you can support democracy without defending a nation’s right to govern itself. Only, if we can call this nationalism in the case of colonised countries aiming to free themselves from imperialism, and in the case of certain regions that promote autonomy within a given State, this is not what is at stake here. More often than not, ‘nationalism’ refers to an ideology, and it is synonymous to chauvinism, with considerably less amusing undertones. Again: it is not nationalist to favour, for instance, local employment, when displacing foreign populations leads to systematic exploitation of their work force. Environmentally, it is also much more responsible to prevent goods from being carried across great distances. And, last but not least… supranational institutions are designed to remove as much power as possible from the populations that could unite and reject locally what was decided globally. Getting democracy, literally, on a smaller scale is about gaining back control; it can’t be decided remotely. If we call this ‘nationalism’, not only do we lose our way to denounce actual xenophobia, but we lose sight of other types of opposition as well. Europe is not a country, and the way the European Union is designed, it is essentially a bank, and it aims to make entire countries its debtors… So, yes, yay for souverainism!

#pavé césar !#answers #nonnies #jean-luc mélenchon #bonnets rouges #gilets jaunes #france #french politics

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