#I changed Mountain's design a wee bit

[ghcstcd]

Not the first time, and certainly not the last.

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[madsworld15]

Heal Me, Hold Me, Make Me, Know Me Chapter 4 Part 1

This isn't nearly as long as the sections I usually post, but I stopped at the best stopping point for this section. This part of Chapter 4 is in Justin POV.

Please enjoy! Thanks always to my lovely pals @winderlylandchime @maryp50 and @lostcol

July

Justin’s hand control was getting better, day by day, but he still struggled to draw or paint for an extended period of time. It wasn’t anything super frustrating; it just prevented him from quickly getting anywhere with the ideas he had for art pieces. His mother had been insistent that he “keep up the work in OT,” while Emmett and Daphne would smile at him and say, “You’ve come so far!”

The only person in Justin’s life who didn’t insist that he be fine with the functionality of his hand was Brian. The older man wouldn’t praise him or begrudge him about it. In fact, more often than not, Justin found Brian was ambivalent about what was going on around him. Pride weekend had been a great example of how much Brian could do the “couple thing” when he wanted to. But, since then, their conversations had been more vague and distant. Brian still allowed Justin to live with him, but he was back to working all the time or going out to Babylon until the wee hours. 

Justin didn’t care as much, considering he was now back to working at the diner a couple of nights a week. It was slower at night, so Justin could ease himself into being around crowds again. Plus, when his hand got tired and started to shake, he had extended periods between customers where he could let it relax. 

“Can I ask you something?” Justin approached Emmett, who sat at the counter with a low-cut tank in bright green and pleather pants to match.

“Sure, baby.” Emmett put his fork down, rested his hands atop one another, and gave Justin his full attention, “What is it?”

“Do you think Brian is annoyed that he still has to keep an eye on me? I know it’s been months, and if I ask him, he ignores me and continues to let me stay.” Justin bit his lip nervously.

“Hmm.” Emmett paused, “Brian is really hard to read on a good day. But has he threatened to kick you out yet?”

“No.” Justin shrugged looking his best friend up and down.

“Well, then, you are still in good hands. If Brian is annoyed by you, he will not so politely ask you to leave. I’ve seen him do it to Michael once when he accidentally spilled beer on Brian’s new designer couch.” Emmett reached out and grabbed Justin’s hand.

“Besides, from what I hear. You don’t need much caretaking these days.” Emmett winked at him and motioned to the diner around them.

His message was loud and clear. Justin was simply making a mountain out of a molehill. He was back to working and doing art; however, the process was slow. There was no reason to worry that he was annoying Brian. 

So, then, why won’t he talk to me like we once did?

After helping out a customer on the other side of the diner, Justin came back over to where Emmett sat. The charming Southerner was done eating his meal, but he made no move to leave. Justin appreciated that he seemed to be hanging out for Justin.

“Okay. So he hasn’t kicked me out yet. Then explain why he doesn’t come by the diner while I’m working.” Justin gave Emmett a raised eyebrow look.

“Well, now that Brian is partner, he has to work longer, harder hours.” Emmett shrugged, but then he leaned over the counter to be closer to Justin for the next set of words out of his mouth.

“Add in that he’s extremely attracted to you physically, and he wants to respect your boundaries. So, he has to find alternatives.” Emmett’s eyes swam with joy and excitement at what that meant for his friend.

“What changed that he avoids me now? I mean, he’s been attracted to me physically since before I finally agreed to be with him.” Justin shrugged, still not convinced that Brian’s distance wasn’t a bad thing.

“You guys now live together, and you told me yourself that you share the same bed.” Emmett gave him a pointed look, “Do you know how often Brian shares his bed with someone without having sex?”

“I’d guess very rarely,” Justin whispered, wiping the counter off with his rag.

“I’ve known Brian upwards of a decade, and I would say I’ve only heard of it happening one other time. He was drunk, and Michael was there to comfort him after a nasty round with his dad.” Emmett shrugged.

Just then, Alex came into the diner yawning, his eyes only half-alert. He gave Justin a forced smile and stepped behind the counter to put on his apron.

“Hey, Justin. Slow night?” Alex looked around at the lack of patronage.

“Yeah. But Babylon is closing, so there are sure to be some stragglers coming in soon.” Justin handed over his order pad and took off the apron he was wearing. “Have a good night, Alex.”

Emmett walked with Justin all the way to Brian’s loft. It was 2 am, and Justin was exhausted, so the two friends barely uttered more than ten words between them. This was becoming a bit of a routine anytime Emmett happened to be at the diner during Justin’s shift. He would hang out until Justin got off, and then he would walk the young man home. Justin’s attackers had been arrested the Monday after Pride, but everyone was still on edge. Especially Brian, Justin, and Emmett. 

“So, Brian told me the trial is coming up soon.” Emmett tried to make conversation as they approached Brian’s building.

“Yeah. Debbie wants me to go, but my mom and Brian think it’s probably not a good idea since I’m still having nightmares and mini freakouts when strangers get too close.” Justin reached into his bag to get his keys out. His eyes darted all around him as a precaution.

“What do you want to do?” Emmett placed a protective hand on Justin’s shoulder and held it there while the younger man unlocked the front door.

“Honestly? I have no idea. Part of me wants to see the judge nail the bastards. But on the other hand, what if they get off? I don’t want to be in the room when that happens.” Justin shrugged as they both climbed into the freight elevator.

Arriving on the top floor, Justin could hear light music and voices coming from the loft. It was weird because Brian rarely had anyone come over now that Justin was staying with him. He looked at Emmett, who shrugged but didn’t look too concerned. Perhaps Michael had come over to drink with Brian like they sometimes did. 

Justin slid the door open and was immediately met with the visual of Brian fucking some guy over the back of the couch. He felt the air leave his lungs the minute his eyes landed on the brunette – his face scrunched up in a mixture of effort and ecstasy. Justin had always known that Brian slept with anything that moved. It was never a secret, even after they started considering themselves together. But, once Justin had agreed to move in with Brian, they had agreed that Brian wouldn’t fuck anyone in the loft. That was the only rule Justin ever put on Brian and their relationship.

“Oh, hey.” Brian smiled at Justin over the top of his latest trick. With one last groan and jab of his hip, Brian came into the man under him and then collapsed.

Justin could feel the sting of tears in his eyes, which he didn’t dare let Brian see. In fact, he didn’t want Brian to have the satisfaction of knowing he had gotten to him at all. Without a word to his boyfriend, Justin crossed over to the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of water. Emmett silently followed him. Once they were a bit away from Brian, Emmett addressed the situation.

“Do you want me to stay? Do you want to come home with me for tonight?” Emmett’s eyes were brimming with emotion like Justin had never seen before. And after he shook his head, he saw Emmett throw the dirtiest look over his shoulder at Brian.

While he knew he hadn’t known anyone in his newfound family for more than a year at this point, Justin had never seen Emmett be less than understanding toward Brian. He didn’t always approve, but he’d never before been blatantly disgusted by Brian’s behavior until now. Emmett leaned over and wrapped Justin in a hug while placing a kiss on his cheek.

“I’m just a call away, baby if you change your mind,” Emmett said loud enough for Brian to hear. 

Then, Emmett and the trick left with as much fanfare as they’d both probably arrived.

Brian pulled on some pants but didn’t fasten them. Instead, he sauntered over to where Justin was still standing in the kitchen and attempted to kiss the younger man. Justin ducked out of his touch and moved away from the man entirely.

“What’s got your dick in a twist?” Brian’s voice was on the verge of anger, and Justin knew this wouldn’t be a fun conversation, but he didn’t care. 

“I come home from work to find you on the couch…” Justin muttered, motioning toward the spot where Brian and his trick had just been. His frustration and anger seeped out more than he had intended.

“How is this anything new? You knew going into this that I fuck any guy I want and have no remorse about it.” Brian slammed the refrigerator door shut after grabbing his own bottle of water. “We’re not fucking married, Justin!”

“No! But we did have an agreement!” Justin stepped closer to Brian as his temper flared, “You promised you wouldn’t fuck anyone here at the loft.”

Brian didn’t respond. Instead, he just scoffed.

“This is my loft. I don’t have to fucking answer to you. You’re not my fucking wife!”

“You’re right. I’m not!” Justin started and then continued just as passionately, “If you wanted me to move out, you could have just used your words and told me to get the fuck out.” Justin’s chest heaved with all his pent-up anger.

“I’m well aware that you don’t share your personal space with anyone for longer than it takes for you to fuck them. So, why’d you let me stay here? Huh? Was it because you felt guilty? Because I’m not going to stick around and be at the mercy of someone’s pity!” Justin moved about the loft, gathering up some of his things and throwing them into his duffle. He wasn’t sure where he would end up, but he knew he had to get out of there.

He half expected Brian to say something, anything to get him to stay, but he didn’t. It was just as well. Brian didn’t want him around anymore anyway. Justin might as well move out now and find his own way. He could go back to living with Daphne now that things with his injuries had settled down. But, for tonight, he would go somewhere else to avoid waking Daphne up at 3 am.

With one final look back at Brian, who was standing in the kitchen still, trying to make sense of what was going on, his eyes still angry, Justin left.

Justin walked until he realized his feet had carried him all the way to Debbie’s house, just around the corner from the diner. He hadn’t ever been to her home unexpectedly before, but something in his gut told him that she would welcome him in with open arms. Sure enough, he’d barely just finished knocking when the door swung open to her smiling face.

“Sunshine! Imagine seeing you here. Where’s Brian?” She looked around behind him as if perhaps Brian was hiding in the shadows.

“We kind of had…” Justin couldn’t even bring himself to say fight because a fight would imply that Brian cared at all. Which his lack of a reaction when Justin left said otherwise. “Anyway, could I crash here tonight?”

Debbie grabbed him around his shoulder and ushered him into her front room as she said, “Of course, honey. My house is always open.”

“I promise I will be out of your hair tomorrow. I am going to ask Daphne if I can move back in with her. I’m doing much better now.” Justin paused long enough to lick his lips and look at Debbie’s face instead of the room at large, “It’s time.”

“So, Brian kicked you out huh?” Debbie scoffed. Her apparent disdain for Brian’s behavior dripping from her every word. “Wouldn’t say I’m surprised.”

“I am.” Vic said from where he now stood at the bottom of the stairs. “Things seemed different this time.”

“A leopard never changes his spots.” Debbie pointed at her brother, “Brian might try to do the right thing but in the end his selfishness wins out.”

Then without another word to Vic she turned back to Justin and motioned him to follow her. “C’mon hon. I can get Michael’s old room set up for you for the night.”

Vic gave his shoulder a squeeze as Justin walked past the older man. “Don’t make any quick decisions about him. Give him a chance.”

“A chance? Justin has given that man so many chances. Why should now be different?” Debbie screeched from the top of the stairs.

“Because, sis. He’s under alot of pressure right now. You know I saw him taking his mother to church yesterday. Brian Kinney, in a church.” Vic once again defended the brunette.

“Oh.” Debbie paused with a load of clean sheets and blankets in her hands. “Yeah. You should sleep on it sunshine. Give him some room.”

Justin wanted desperately to ask what it was about Brian’s mother that immediately changed Debbie’s tune about his behavior, but he could tell from the way Vic and Debbie were exchanging looks that he wouldn’t get anywhere. Instead, the blonde took the blankets from Debbie and went into the room he’d stayed at a few weeks prior when Brian had been out of town.

[the-pen-is-mighty-and-so-are-you]

Costa Contemplations - from wp blog, 26/10/2019

For today's venture I'm taking you to the countryside, so pack up your things and let's go. Grab your pumpkin spiced latte and let's hurry, otherwise we'll have to pelt it for the train. Yes, I remembered the Bourbon biscuits, so come on. If you don't follow, you don't have to, but you'll miss out on a thought-provoking journey. Coming?

Okay, great, I was worried you were going to sit back down back there and finish your drink instead. Well, now we're on the train you can settle down and relax, enjoy the window view. It's one of my favourite things, this, watching the transition from city to the Scottish wilderness. I love all the trees and hills, it fills me with thoughts. What was that? Oh yes, of course, have a biscuit, and then I'll tell you about my little adventure.

So, for the weekend I returned to my hometown, or rather, home-village. It's always refreshing to come back; normally I'm living in the thick of it all, in the city-centre, but here I'm given the space to think properly and breathe. And quite literally, too. Walking the dogs last night, I inhaled the smell of rain and pine trees and grass and cold air - the smell of Autumn. The sky was clear and I could see the stars. And it's so nice and quiet; not eerie and silent, just the right balance of peacefulness.

After a morning spent babysitting, I decided to enjoy our nearby town and caught the bus in. Even that small journey was pleasant, watching our perspective change on the landscape and all the little villages pass by. Everything looked so fresh in the dull rain, and the colours on the tree leaves were vivid. It was perfect weather to cosy up inside a certain café chain I had in mind.

Now, a disclaimer: I was disloyal in this particular visit. I'm afraid, my dear Costa, that before opening your door, I first set foot in our old pal Greggory. To buy a pastry, nothing more, I swear! No hot beverage unserved by you was consumed, and besides, you guys don't even have pastry, a fact that reduces your rating already by one mark. You have croissants, you say? Hm. I'm looking for cheap sincerity in a pastry partner, not a neither-sweet-nor-savoury pretending-to-be-fancy French thing. But I digress. I'm sorry if I hurt your feelings, Costa, but you'll find Greggory stocks no such pretence of pastry.

After my bite of infidelity, I crossed the street to the self-proclaimed coffee haven. I gladly walked into the warmth and ordered a gingerbread cream latte - which, excuse my French, is just a pumpkin spiced latte with a miniature gingerbread man stuck into the whipped cream. At least Greggory was honest.

I found quite a comfortable armchair to settle into. The place was relatively empty, so I didn't feel bad about the other two armchairs I automatically occupied by picking this table. I managed to get myself my own wee corner, by a lamp and plug socket, although it was a bit of an illusion created by a partition that went across a third of the room. I have to give it to the interior designers: they really planned out how best to make people feel socially comfortable - people can people watch without feeling like they're being watched themselves because of these partitions. The lights are not too bright, and the dark wallpaper adds to the cosy atmosphere. Although the furniture is pretty basic and obviously either directly from or inspired by Ikea, it combines with large images of coffee beans and abstract sayings to give you a real sense that you are In a Café™.

I felt a bit paranoid leaving my stuff to visit the bathroom, but I'll put that on the town itself and not you, my dear Cosy-toes. Anyway, when I came back, my mini gingerbread man was still standing in the tragically sunken mountain of whipped cream. I waited to turn on my laptop - yes, the very laptop this was written on - until I enjoyed him and then drank the drink. Already the drink was tepid, so I wonder how hot it had been in the first place.

I was feeling particularly tragic and inspired that afternoon so wrote a two-page poem that I will probably never show anyone. It may have partly been influenced by the woman I accidentally made far too much eye contact with whilst trying to read the closing times on the glass door, who then proceeded to exchange at least three tentatively warm smiles with me, and who even tried to start conversation as I passed her with my drink, making me seem very dismissive and cold in having brushed off someone who I obviously had either recognised or had interest in. Why else would I have been staring? Definitely not because the times on the door were written backwards, no.

I wish you all the best, woman who I almost talked to. I hope I didn't offend you. You were my muse, if that helps.

I sat around for maybe an hour; at the half hour mark a barista passed me and smiled pointedly. I naively returned the gesture and continued to remain with my beverage clearly having been consumed. Admittedly, part of the wait was for my phone to revive itself.

After I'd written the poem I loitered for another ten minutes or so, until I knew I wouldn't be waiting too long in the cold outside for the bus, and wondered if I stared long enough at the available wifi options a free one would appear. The only option was to pay £4 for an hour. "I'll just go home," I muttered under my breath. I also considered that that was perhaps why I had been the longest remaining customer, because people actually came here to socialise and enjoy a drink instead of hoping something remarkable would happen to add interest to their blog.

Alas, to no avail.

My friend, we're quickly arriving at your stop, so I'll wrap up this wandering ramble. How do I rate this particular Costa, you ask? Well, the low coffee table gave me bad posture but the toilets were unisex so, overall, I give good ol' Cosy-toes:

7/10 - in the words of my Grandad, "You're okay."

[rayonfrozenwings]

Feysand and Nyx headcanonswith IC as aunts and uncles also :3

Sooooo I got a little distracted........ and kind of went into Nyx headcanons with a little Feysand and a lot Innercircle. But mostly Nyx. <3 thanks Rina.

Feysand + Nyx Headcanons IC aunts and uncles.

Firstly we know Feysand are going to be protective as all hell, and that they are also going to be looking out for this little fella’s interests. I'll try to group this by Nyx’s ages and stages.

Newborn Nyx

Feysand start a strict routine of feed, sleep, play and if the IC turns up while Nyx isn't in designated play mode they have to wait. 

Feyre has figured out breast feeding and starts to hang out with other mums for advice - though it isn't actually that many in the whole of velaris due to fae not being that fertile - Feyre has found a total of 5 recent mothers. 

She asks Nesta when her and Cassian are planning to have a bubba so Nyx has someone his own age to play with. 

Nesta scowls and deflects every time she is asked but has taken note of the smile playing at Cassian’s lips as he overhears.

Nesta has once made the comment that in 20years it won’t matter how big the age gap is between the cousins as all illyrian males are babies.

Feyre then nagged Nesta about why she thought she would have a boy and it became a whole big thing with Cassian and Rhys leaving the townhouse with Nyx during his “play time”. 

Playtime for Nyx often includes peekaboo and stealing Amren’s shiny adornments.

Amren has nothing but praise for the wee man when Feyre returns her jewels the next day.

Amren will never admit it but she actually likes Nyx. Even his crying is a good cry - perfect for calling aid. 

Nyx while a smol bubba has an adjoining room to his mama and papa - this is to protect him but also to give Feysand some bedroom privacy. They love the little guy but they still love to do each other and don't want to wake the baby.

3-6mth Old Nyx

He’s starting to have more of a personality, and has a healthy set of lungs. 

He has grown out of most of the Newborn outfits Mor brought him - much to Rhysand’s delight because he has no idea what her fascination with ruffled shirts on a newborn with wings is. 

His wings have doubled in size from when he was born and now are able to support themselves. This makes rolling over very difficult as he has yet to learn how to tuck them in or push them out when he wants.

His frustrated screams can be heard all over their Sidra Mansion. 

Azriel loves helping with tummy time and floor games with Nyx. Nyx will reach for a toy and Azriel will move a shadow to distract him, the shadows are more tempting that the toys. 

The shadows do not scare Nyx and are more playful, bringing out Azriels rare smiles. 

Feysand are the type of parents who want to give everything to Nyx - even if he’s not quite at the stage where he can use it. His bedroom is already being set up for when he leaves the adjoining nursery. Toys, a small wooden castle to climb, rocking horse, books - so many books and a little writing desk. 

Nesta told Feyre that it was useless spending that money on a 5mth old and Feyre said she would give him everything they didn't have and Nesta just patted her shoulder as she left the bedroom. 

Feyre has decorated the room’s walls with a mural, the illyrian mountains on one side and Valaris on the other - each direction matching the landscapes of the windows beyond. 

Rhysand reads to Nyx any chance he gets - he does not understand why Nyx loves the story about the Caterpillar so much. 

6mth-1year old

Nyx starts crawling pretty soon after he masters rolling by tucking in his wings. 

He starts with a commando crawl and the bat boys all join in crawling down the halls on their knees and shoulders. 

Rhysand insisted it was to help show proper technique and Cassian said he won the bet of who would reach the end of the hall first. Azriel agreed and said he was racing the winner.

Amren now leaves shiny gifts for Nyx whenever she visits - rather than lose her own treasures she will find rare games or items and leave them with him. 

Nyx has gathered quite a collection of shiny objects, Feyre often finds them in his pockets and has a small box under his bed to put them in when she helps him get changed. 

Elain is a little more distant, she loves Nyx to bits but there is this empty feeling of something she wants for herself and isn't sure she is allowed to wish for. She gives Nyx the best cuddles and he often seeks her out in the garden once he is walking. Aunty E is always ruffling his hair and picking him up to sit on her lap as she looks after her garden.

Mor is visiting less, not because she wants to but because Feyre and Rhys want to be at home with Nyx and as Third in Command her and Amren are taking more responsibility to run the night Court. 

During Night Court state meetings, Nyx will find his way into the study, sitting on Rhy’s lap at his desk and reaching for all the papers. Those meetings are very hard to concentrate on and often require Feyre to Ask Elain to take Nyx out into the garden or to play. 

Toddler

By 1 Nyx has learned to walk - barely, his wings flick out to help him balance when he thinks he is going to fall forward. 

By 2 Nyx knows how to run and throw out one wing to help turn a corner more quickly. 

By 3 Nyx is the best at hide and seek - he doesn't need to sprint to get away, he just needs to make sure he hasn’t recently walked through the garden and left muddy boot prints down the hall. 

When he plays sardines with the IC, Azriel is always the first to find him. Nyx has told him that using his shadows is cheating. Nesta is second and Nyx has told her that the house of wind should not be giving clues. By this point Cassian Finds them and Nesta tells Nyx he should stop telling people they are cheating because the discussion is leading the other IC members to find them. Mor takes her time - she knows where they are but does not want to try fitting in a closet with those illyrians for longer than she has to - instead she watches to make sure the other members hunting for Nyx have all entered first. Feyre and Rhys use this opportunity to make themselves scarce and enjoy some “alone time”. Amren refuses to play but has learned how to make snacks for after - she is slowly getting used to her fae body and challenging it. Luckily her taste buds are as diverse as toddlers - so if Nyx likes something then Amren will too. Elain is trying to figure out if the game was inside or outside and Mor leads her inside near the end of the game so they can both “discover” the sardines together. 

aaand i’m going to stop there tonight. :) If anyone would like some Headcanons - my ask is open. :)

[nimmy22]

A Mistake: Chapter 3

They weaved through the streets of the lavish neighborhood doing their best to lose their pursuers. They crushed countless flowers and shrubs beneath their feet as they jumped from backyard to backyard. The sound of gunfire forced them to pump their muscles harder, run faster as the rain beat down on them without mercy.

Why was no one calling the police? A commotion like this would at least draw crowds of families curious about all the noise or the dead bodies littering the street and their neighbor's home.

Sherry tripped, skinning her hands and knees on the pavement. She had a second to cry in pain before Cara was already pulling her up to continue.

"I can't. It's too hard." Sherry cried, breathing laboriously as her lips trembled. "Can we take a break?" She struggled to contain her tears, knowing full well it wasn't the best time to start crying.

"I'm sorry, Sherry but not here. We have to keep moving," Cara warned, glancing behind her. She saw no one and didn't hear any gunshots, but that didn't make it safe. "I can't let them take you, Sherry. Come on, just a bit more, and we'll find help."

Sherry nodded before she began to run again. However, one step, and she yelped, wincing in pain as she put her weight on her knee. It hurt worse than when she fell off her bike while trying to teach herself. She was alone and had to patch things up herself until her mother finally noticed days later.

"What's wrong?"

"M-my knee hurts," Sherry whimpered, watching the older girl move closer to inspect the wound. Blood trickled down the little girl's legs before getting washed away by the rain.

"That looks bad," Cara sighed, turning her back to the little girl before squatting down. "Here, get on my back. I'll get us out of here."

With Sherry clinging tightly to her neck, Cara ran to the edge of the residential area and down a dirt path leading straight into the Arkley mountains. She hoped to find a hiding spot for them to catch their breath and figure out what to do.

They hid inside the base of a tree, only having each other to keep warm. The spiderwebs were all forgotten, as the girls' fear was now too exhausted. There was nothing left to spare for the tiny arachnoids fuming over their ruined webs.

What felt like hours passed, and the girls grew too cold and tired. The little Sherry's knee wasn't looking so good, the bleeding had stopped, but an infection may already be brewing beneath the skin given where they've been.

Seeing the young girl wince every so often, Cara decided it was time to move again. She needed to find help. Perhaps the men all killed each other during whatever conflict brewed up tonight.

Carrying the young girl on her back again, Cara left the forest to walk along a side road. She was on the lookout for a passing car. But their luck was too dry at this time in the night despite the rain.

"Thank you, Cara. I don't think I would've made out without you."

"I... didn’t do anything. I couldn't fight. All I did was grab you and run. God, I'm so damn useless." Cara let out a long sigh and stared down at her feet.

"You're helping me now, aren't you? You could've just left me or...or listened to those men and gave me up, but you didn't. I will definitely ask daddy to give you a raise." Sherry giggled and rested her head against Cara's back. She knew that if her friend wasn't there tonight, she would've been in the dark all alone or worse. She might've stayed hidden in that closet only to be found by the armed men. She didn't have anyone to develop the skills of hide and seek with.

"Oh, you better, or else I'm suing somebody for the years shaved off my life tonight. Your dad sure pissed off some powerful people. Who sends a whole armed squad on some doctor's house?"

"Daddy says there are people who wanted to buy his medicine, use it for bad things. But he told them no, and now they want to steal it." For a split second, Cara imagined Mr. Birkin dealing drugs with a gang, but that image didn't last long. The disheveled, nervous reck of a man with a million things to do simply didn't look the type.

"Did he keep it in the house?"

"I don't think so," Sherry shook her head.

The older girl pondered over it, agreeing with Sherry. If Mr. Birkin had kept this medicine in his home, then surely the security would've been better. And he especially wouldn't leave his only child alone in the house with it.

"They wanted to use you as a hostage. Probably force your dad to give them what they wanted."

"Daddy probably wouldn't care if they took me,"

"Hey! don't say that. Your parents love Sherry." Cara stopped walking and gave the little girl a shake.

"Then where are they? They are never home."

"Their work is very...important, I suppose,"

"More than me?"

"No! Not like that. I mean... it's just a lot-"

"Cara, look! There is a car coming!" the little girl jumped with excitement on Cara's exhausted back, but she paid it no mind as her eyes greedily drank the glow of the headlights coming down the road.

"Thank god," Cara exhaled deeply, feeling as if all her worries had just vanished. "Wait here, I will flag it down."

Cara stood in the middle of the road and waved both arms, trying to get the driver's attention like a madwoman. She definitely looked deranged, out in the rain in the wee hours of the morning. The headlights became increasingly more blinding as the car came closer. She couldn't tell the color of the car or anything about the driver.

The driver showed no signs of stopping, the speed fast and steady. "Please stop!" Cara shouted, her eyes pleading. "Please!" She won't waste the opportunity, god knows when the next car will drive by. She refused to move, standing her ground as the car sped towards her. Neither her racing heart nor the car slowed. For a moment, she thought it was the end, becoming roadkill at seventeen, having done nothing with her life.

But then it stopped, screeching to a halt inches from her shivering form. Cara let her hands fall to the hood, knees almost buckling beneath her. The hood felt warm and soothing against her icy skin. As she moved to the driver's side, she recognized the design of the police cruiser, one explicitly assigned to the STARS unit. Her heart pounded as a new source of hope offered itself to her. This seemed too good to be true.

"Thank you so much for stopping, officer! It's been a hellish night." Cara said, glancing over with a smile at Sherry, who responded with her own.

The door opened, and the officer stepped out, shining a bright flashlight at Cara. She was blinded and had to shut her eyes. "I know this will sound crazy, but please hear me out. I was babysitting this little girl when a group of armed men broke into the house and then-"

"Where is Sherry?" He asked all too calmly. Cara frowned. It wasn't his sense of calmness that unnerved her. It was the familiarity of his voice.

'Of course, it was too fucking good to be true.'

"Wait, how did you know her name was Sherry?" Cara demanded, taking several steps back. While his shades were missing, his slicked blond hair stood out to her. The rain dowsed her like buckets of ice. "You..."

"I won't ask again," He warned, walking towards her with a hand resting on his belt, ready to draw his gun. His eyes were an icy blue, radiating with the power of his cunning intelligence.

"I won't give her to you. Sherry, run-"

"Uncle Albert? Is that you?" The young girl limped over to them with newfound vigor and threw her arms around the older man. He hugged her for a moment before pushing her away, his eyes searching her for injuries.

"Sherry, no! get away from him," Cara jumped forward, snatching the little girl's hand, pulling her away.

"It's ok, Cara. He's daddy's friend." The little girl shook Cara's grip off her before hopping back into Wesker's arms. Sherry snuggled into the warmth of the older man, completely oblivious to the way Wesker stood, looking down at Cara. He cocked his head to the side with a conceited expression. Clenching her fists, she decided she didn't like him.

Wesker loomed closer to Cara, enjoying the way she stumbled back to get out of his way, almost tripping over her own feet. He deliberately bumped into her shoulder as he carried Sherry to the other side of the car, settling her gently into the back seat. He could've chosen the closest door, but where was the fun in that?

Cara stood dumbfounded, staring as the man who had only hours ago slit a man's throat and was now slapping a bandage on a little girl's knee in the backseat of a cruiser. She watched him with narrowed eyes as he tended to the little girl, finally noticing his police uniform.

"Who are you? Why are you pretending to be a cop? Who were those people? What are you going to do with Sherry?"

"I am an officer of the law."

"That's a load of shit. Say, in the slim, extremely slim chance you are actually a cop, shouldn't there be more...officers? Backup? A news station? A public statement? Something like this wouldn't happen in Raccoon and no one crowding in to watch."

"I handled it," Wesker said, strapping Sherry in the backseat before shutting the door. The little girl was already on her way to snoozing off.

"I don't understand, why-"

"Enough with the questions." He hissed, grabbing her arm. He found the little thing a pretty sight, but that mouth of hers was dangerous. "You better kill off that curiosity of yours before it lands you somewhere you'll never leave as a warm body. Don't be another babysitter we have to send a severance package to."

"You're going to kill me," Cara's laugh was void of humor, succeeding in tipping her tears down her cheeks.

"Just be quiet and get in the car."

"Why should I? You could change your mind in a split second and put a bullet in my head."

Wesker twisted her arm behind her back before shoving her against the passenger door. "Then don't tempt me," his hot breath tickled her ear as he delivered his warning. "And if I did go for it, I wouldn't simply kill you. I'll get everyone you love. One unfortunate accident after the next." His hand trailed up her back to wrap around the back of her neck. She whimpered as he shoved her face harder against the glass.

Cara shuddered, processing the gravity of her situation. The man was a trained killer and supposedly an officer. She had already witnessed him kill, had felt his icy blade to her neck. There was no doubt in her mind that he would deliver on his warning. The real question was when?

The first person to cross her mind was Claire. Truly, there were so few people that Cara cared about and who cared for her. The Redfield siblings only had each other, and Cara couldn't live with the guilt of being the cause of her friend's death. Claire was her anchor when everything spun out of control in her life. She would do anything to protect those important to her.

"Fine," She grumbled, taking out her frustration on her bottom lip. She sunk her teeth into the cracked flesh until she tasted the metallic flavor, but that didn't help get rid of the bad taste already in her mouth.

"Great, now we can finally get out of the rain." Wesker stepped away from Cara, already missing the warmth of her body. Perhaps he should've prolonged it for a few more minutes, drove her further into tears. The thought alone stirred something inside of him.

The tension left Cara's body as her arms were freed, and she rubbed her abused muscles, cursing the bastards' existence. She would do all she could to never again make his acquaintance. He started the car as soon as she was seated.

She banged her head against the window as he suddenly leaned over her. "The hell are you doing? I knew it! You already changed your mind," She hissed, failing miserably to shove his hands away.

"Safety first." He purred, a low chuckle leaving his lips as he reached over and buckled her seatbelt in one swift movement. She sat straighter than she ever did her whole life and simply stared straight ahead. She decided that if she simply ignored his existence, he would cease to be, and she'd wake up from this horrible, horrible nightmare. Her body has to be taking revenge for all the heart-disease heavy foods she'd been stuffing herself with, concocting such an awful nightmare for her. How is this a wake-up call if she couldn't pinch even herself awake?

It took too much effort for Cara to keep her eyes on the road. She immediately attributed it to sitting next to a killer. There was definitely no other reason. She kept shifting in her seat, unable to stay still. On the other hand, Sherry was out cold in the back, a fuzzy blanket draped over her.

Cara's fidgeting halted as Wesker tossed something into her lap. She picked it up with furrowed brows, inspecting it. It was some kind of badge, but not just any badge. It identified him as Albert Wesker, captain of the STARS alpha team. It looked legit, something similar to what Chris was issued. She has a thousand questions, but the man with the answers was the most uncooperative bastard she ever met. One more question and she's sure he will throw her out of the moving car.

'He was a cop, a crooked one. How many more in the police could be trusted? Who could help her? Was Chris- No! he wouldn't be part of something like this.' Cara's thought, mind fighting itself, too many thoughts wanted to be the focus.

"You were quite the shatter box not too long ago. Why so quiet now?" Wesker asked, enjoying the sequence of emotions flicker across her face.

"You practically told me to shut up," she tossed the badge onto the dashboard before resting her head against the window. She knew she was in way over her head.

"I said to stop the questions. You can still talk,"

"No."

"Alright then, suit yourself then."

It must've been the warmth of the car or the fatigue of the night that lulled Cara to sleep because she was startled awake by a ridiculously high-speed bump. Her sleep hazed eyes scanned her surroundings before she sat up straight, recognizing where she was.

Wesker had parked the cruiser right in front of her apartment building, a living place for the lesser members of society as it was all they could afford. Her wide eyes found him, and she audibly swallowed. "How did you know where I live."

"Of course, I help my dear friend run background checks on all his employees. One in his position needs to be incredibly careful with whom he uses." Wesker said, reaching an arm to rest on the back of her seat. She recoiled away as if stung by a bee.

"Is this your home, Cara? Can I come with you?" Sherry asked, having woken from her sleep minutes before. She leaned forward, resting her chin on her uncle's muscular arm.

"I-"

"Maybe next time Sherry. After we drop off Cara here, we're going straight to your parents." Wesker said, a sense of finality in his tone that had the little girl obediently return to her seat.

Cara opened her mouth to protest him knowing her name but remembered his background check and shut her mouth. He must know everything legally in the record on her, including her parent's colorful histories.

Unbuckling his seatbelt, Cara was surprised to see him exit the car. He came around to her side and knocked on the window, mentioning for her to get out. He barely gave her space to get out as he stood right by the passenger door with his arm resting on the roof of the car. She was forced to brush past him as his towering frame refused to step back. She caught the scent of gunpowder, soap, and the faintest traces of a cologne. And of course, blood. Despite her terror, she found herself taking a deeper inhale than she intended.

"Tonight, you watched Sherry until her uncle came home, and then they gave you a ride home because of the rain. Nothing. Else. Happened. You understand?" Wesker said, bending down to be at eye level with the trembling girl. With surprising tenderness, he moved her hair out of her face, but his eyes were anything but. She stood very still, wishing the ground would swallow her up. Her attempt at looking away was met with a firm grip on her chin, forcing her to look at him. "Do I make myself clear?"

"Crystal." She answered, voice cracking under the weight of her emotions. A lump formed in her throat as her eyes welled up, but she refused to cry.

"Don't mess up if you can't handle the consequences." Satisfied with his work, he stepped away, watching as the girl raced home.

"You can be so mean, Uncle Albert," Sherry whined once the officer returned to the driver's seat.

"Really? I didn't notice."

[devolympian]

Argo, chapter 4

Argo, chapter 4

Interesting thing to note for when you have what most people consider familial obligations and appointments to meet at a specific time, more often than not, you have the responsibility of waking at a designated time of day. Usually at the ripe healthy time of say, oh I don’t know, 5:15 A.M.

With this set responsibility and a need to earn a living inorder to drive a consumer centric economy with which one needs to survive in it is best to get the recommended amount of sleep 

So, between the multiple rounds of personal gaming tournaments, mountains of junk food and soda, and completely being unwilling to actually go to bed, I can proudly say none of us did that as about three hours after we had all decided to crowd into Skyes bed a loud beeping noise filled the room.

“Well shit” I happily state in an enthusiastic tone as my sleep deprived eyes look up at her ceiling.

“I’ll get it” said an even more sleepless voice to the left of my body, as Skye began to sit up and lean over a still unconscious Clair and I.

She promptly fell on top of us, her massive curly mess of blonde hair practically working as a second blanket that covered the three of us.

“Blondie” I questioned as her green eyes slowly began to close, “you gonna get that one or?”

“Five more minutes.”

And with those words Skye began to softly snore, her chest on top of mine, as she used my shoulder for a pillow.

Clair made sure to do her part by not waking up to the alarm clock and unconsciously wrapping her arms around me and Skye and pulling us into her naked body. 

Yes, Clairabell sleeps naked and it’s perfectly okay that she does so.

With a slight shrug I was perfectly content with letting the alarm clock run its course as I fell back to sleep sandwiched between these too. But, naturally, I remembered that I had a prior engagement to visit some family members who don’t particularly like being stood up.

Shimmying myself upwards I managed to slither out from in between the girls and did my best to step over Clair as she and Skye cuddled under the blanket seemingly unaware that I had left the pile.

Tapping the alarm I went about and started my day.

First thing’s first I made my way to the restroom; stepping over the various soda cans, wrappers, and half finished snacks we had decorated Skyes floor with the night prior (ooh cheetoh, nom), I was determined to perform the most important act of the day which everyone must do regardless of their social political views on it. The brushing of teeth and a warm shower.

Not saying you’re wrong if you don’t do this daily, just saying you need a therapist and time in a mental institute.

Now, let me take this moment to inform you about Skyes bathroom. It is ridiculous, not only because no one needs a personal restroom in their bedroom, but also because of the fact that the place was almost as big as her actual room with a tub that could easily fit three people, yes we’ve tested it, but also a large closet which is now overflowing with various dresses and cute outfits all of which were hand made.

None of these details are important to the story, I feel you should know, they are just my personal thoughts which I felt like sharing.

Anywho, after a nice shower, and making my mouth not smell like ass with the tooth brush I left here, which everyone needs to use TWICE a day, I wrapped the one of Skyes soft pink towels around my hips and headed on over to her dresser.

Now, I think what you’re wondering right now is “Alex, why the hell are you going through your best friend's clothes?” And even if you weren’t I will tell you any ways.

Ever since I was a wee lad Skyes room has been basically my second room, hell I think I’ve slept in her bed more than my own over the years. This was all well and good when we were little and innocent and we could basically fit into each other's clothes, but when this thing called puberty attacked us that started to change.

I got taller, my arms and legs got longer, I started shooting lightning, I got a six pack, a strong jaw, started getting hit on by older women and men even though I was like 12. You know, normal stuff like that.

Skye, on the other hand, went in kind of the opposite direction with her growing less in height and more in boob, and hip. She also gets hit on by older women and men so at least we -    have that experience in common.

In short, I had to start bringing over clothes whenever I stayed the night and sense I stay here a lot, a few of my outfits have more or less made their home in the dresser she keeps her TV and video games on. Granted, we do end up wearing eachothers clothes from time to time, but that’s besides the point.

Pushing our plates from last night to the side and setting the controllers we used back where they went I dropped my towel to the ground and started shifting through the drawer in the search for the allusive boxer shorts.

“Ooh” a tired voice called out, “that’s a nice sight to wake up to.”

I tilted my head in the direction of the bed to see Clair sitting up, her violet eyes still not fully open as she smiled at me.

“Good morning dear” I said, “sleep well, dreams of rainbows and kittens maybe?”

“More like blood, fire, death, all the fun stuff.”

“You and I have very different dreams. . . why am I only noticing that now?”

Clairabell giggled a little, then took a look around the bedroom with her expression changing to slight shock at what she saw.

“Wow, we really made a mess last night.”

“Yes well mortal kombat and super mario bros will do that.”

“Especially if someone spends the game trolling me and Skye!”

“What else was I supposed to do, not hit you with the turtle shell?”

With a sigh. Clair placed the tip of her thumb between her sharp canine teeth and bit down until I could see a bit of blood trickle out.

“Alright gals” she said, holding her hand out infront of her, “be dears and clean this mess up.”

The small amount of blood coming from her thumb quickly started to sizzle and bubbles soon began coming from it.

Every one of the bubbles quickly grew in size, changing color to a dark reddish brown before sprouting bat wings and ears. Each one had a cute cat-like face and little fangs poking out from their adorable smiling mouths.

Soon, Clair had at least ten little blood bats hovering around Skyes room, before they began picking up the mess we had made last night.

Also, I managed to find a pair of my boxers, so this was a huge win for everybody involved.

After stretching a little, Clair stood out of Skyes bed, making sure that the blanket stayed on our blond friend, before picking up her clothes from last night.

“Can’t sleep” I asked as I attempted to hunt down a pair of pants?

“Just thought I might as well wake up” she happily answered as she tossed her dirty laundry into Skyes clothing basket, “don’t want to make you feel lonely now do we?”

“Don’t worry, I know how to entertain myself whenever I’m naked and alone.”

“That’s what every girlfriend wants to hear.”

Just as I had, Clair went into the restroom to get ready for the day ahead.

She brushed her teeth, and I still can’t find a goddamn pair of pants.

“How long do you need to be on Olympus for?” I heard her call out as I slowly lost my mind from lack of lower body wear.

“Probably until ten or twelve hours. I might need to beg for forgiveness if the old man decides to snag a booty call and leaves me to deal with his wife.”

“Your dad’s gross.”

“I know that’s why I have two, but apparently neither of them can bless me with a pair of jeans.”

“Don’t you keep pants in that weird pocket thingy you have?”

“. . .”

Reaching my hand into the air I went ahead and opened the aforementioned pocket thingy, which was a small rip in space which works as a nice little storage space to keep stuff in. To most people it would look as though my hand disappeared into space, and they would be kind of right, one wrong move and my hand is gone. I can get it back, but it takes a while and requires more than two people.

Feeling my way past the treasure, bones, holy grails, and my new little worm buddy I found myself touching what felt like pants and pulled them out.

They were torn a little in the knees and a bit stained but worked for the day.

“Found my pants.”

“I am so proud of you.”

I chuckled a little and prepared to get these things on. But, before I could even slip a leg in, a still naked Clair had managed to get in front of me, wrapped her arms over my shoulder and leaned herself into a kiss.

Naturally, I did what every sane person would do when a naked woman throws herself at them. I grabbed her waist and pulled her close, our naked chest pressing against each other as she forced her tongue passed my lips and we went and explored each other's mouths.

The kiss lasted a good bit of time and I soon found myself pushing Clair against Skyes dresser, my hands sliding down her well toned body as she hooked her thumbs around the elastic band of the boxers I had put on just a moment ago and started pulling them off again.

Eventually we broke the kiss and Clair gave me a smug smile on top of her flushed face.

“Sure you have to go right now?”

With a slight smirk I lifted her onto the top of the dresser, her long legs instantly wrapping around my hips as I leaned in and whispered into her ear.

“I absolutely need to go right now.”

She gave me an annoyed groan before pushing me a little and angrily jumping off the dress as I pulled out a shirt from it.

“Oh come on” I said, laughing a little, “we can’t exactly hook up in Skyes room.”

“She’s sleeping.”

“Her parents are in the room across the hall.”

“I’ll be quiet.”

“I won’t. You know I’m a moaner.”

I wonder if Clairabell glaring angrily at me was a sign that I had annoyed her enough. Naw, I can be more annoying.

After slipping the pants on I popped the shirt I had grabbed over my head.

“That’s Skyes shirt” Clair pointed out as I slid the black tank top on, even though it was rather tight fitting. It had a cute little cartoon panda head smiling on the chest as its cheeks glowed a rosey pink.

“Yes'' I assured her as I fished out a pair of socks and slipped on my boots, “it is most definitely Skyes shirt.”

Clair sighed and patted a sleeping Skye head.

“I’m so sorry for your clothes Skee-skee.”

I watched as Skye slept peacefully next to Clairs lap and felt a slight lump build in my throat.

“Hey” I said without really thinking, “make sure you guys talk, okay?”

Clairabell gave me a confused look; one of her fangs slightly poking out of her upper lip while she tilted her head questioningly.

“Huh? We talk all the time though.”

“Yeah, but. . .”

I thought for a bit, trying to figure out the best words to use to bring up the subject.

“Just, maybe ask her how she’s feeling or something.”

“How does she feel?”

She looked down at blondie again.

“Tired. She’s tired.”

I chuckled and sighed, pushing my uneasy feeling away.

“Yep, that makes sense. Can you open the window for me?”

“Babe, there’s a door.”

“And?”

“. . . good point.”

Upon Clairs instruction a blood bat floated over and pulled Skyes window open for me letting the fresh morning air into the room.

“Thanks,” I said before taking a running start and flinging myself over Skyes bed and out a second story window.

With a loud crash I found myself laying ontop of multiple thorny bushes, the branches digging into my body as I tried to adjust to the aching in my back.

“Perfect landing” I groaned as I got ready to sit up.

“Oh yes, great job” a woman's voice said, “now please get off my plants.”

I turned my head to see two women standing over me. 

The one on the left, who was giving a very annoyed glare, looked like a lighter skinned Skye with bright yellow eyes and had her golden blonde hair tied up into a long ponytail. As was usual for her at this time of the morning, her red tank top and tanned shorts were covered in dirt and mud and black gardening gloves adorned her hands.

The one on the right was dressed up in a white toga like dress with summer lilies braided into her dark hair and she wore a diamond encrusted gold necklace around her throat. Also, her dark green colored eyes had the look of someone who had just watched her son throw himself from a second story window and land on the bushes she had helped her friend plant.

“Morning” I happily said to them before Skyes mom flicked her wrist and the bush, in response to said wrist flicking, jumped up a little and shoved me off of it before settling back into the soil.

“You’re in a chipper mood today” mom said as she helped pull me off the ground.”

“Oh who wouldn’t be when their job entails possible death and dismemberment?”

“Him and the girls practically stayed up the entire night” Skyes mom informed mine, “I swear that Clairabell screams louder than a banshee.”

Moms eyes grew wide as she gave me a once over before looking back at Skyes mom.

“They were playing video games” she assured, having finally realised what she had said.

“Oh thank the gods” my mom said, letting out a sigh of relief.

“In all fairness, Clairabell and I can multitask” I happily informed both of them.

“Alexander, shut up, you are 18, I do not need grandchildren from you yet!”

I laughed at my mom's discomfort, before noticing that a little girl with red hair had wandered up next to her. She was dressed similarly to mom but her dress was a light blue color and the only gold she had on was a pair of golden sandals and a few ringlets on her wrist.

“There’s my girl” our mom happily said, kneeling down to greet my sister, “all ready to go Fiona?”

With half awake eyes Fiona nodded with assurance, doing her best to stay awake. She promptly fell forward having to be caught by our mom.

“Oh sweetheart” mom said, giving Fiona a worried look, “maybe you should stay here.”

“No thank you.”

“She can stay here for the day” Skyes mom stated, “she can take a nap in Luke and Ninas room.”

“That should be fine” mom happily answered before turning back to the little red head, “how about playing with Luke and Nina today?”

“I will later” Fiona stubbornly stated, “I wanna go.”

“Fiona, you can’t be falling asleep though.”

“I won’t, I promise!”

“Honestly” I interjected, “she should be fine coming along. Unless she’s sick or something.”

Lifting her up  by her armpits I held my little sister up in the air.

“You ain’t getting sick on me are ya?”

“No,” Fiona said with a smile.

“Ain’t gonna throw up?”

With this question I tossed the seven year old up into the air, making her laugh like, well like a seven year old.

“Yeah she’s good” I assured our mother, as I still held Fiona.

“ . . .Is Skye ever this stubborn” my mom asked Skyes mom?

“I’m glad she’s not,” she answered, putting her gardening tools away, “makes it easier when I tell her to get rid of things like that.”

She pointed to the pegasus made of water which Skye had created last night in the arcade bathroom.

Like a good healthy horsey, Raindrop had grown in size and was now bigger than your average horse.  

“What” I protested, “you can’t have her get rid of Raindrop! It’s a sweet fragile creature who just wants your love, and understanding, and it just ate a squirrel.”

The clear blue pegasus glared at us as a fluffy brown tail hung from its mouth. 

It slowly backed away out of sight, never breaking eye contact with me specifically. Guess I have a new friend.

“See you later Trinna” mom said, taking Fiona from me and protectively holding her.

And with that, Skyes mom went over to put her tools away and mine started hurrying us over to our house.

“Do you two have everything,” mom asked as she pulled her keys out from her dress pocket.

“Yep” Fiona and I assured her at the same time.

She gives us a smile and a nod before turning to the door into our home and sliding a small golden key inside of the lock.

With a twist of the knob our front door opened up to a brightly lit bridge filled with people, either walking or riding in horse drawn carriages, dressed similarly to mom and Fiona. Far into the distance, at the end of the bridge, was a city built on top of several mountains, the rising sun illuminating the white marble buildings against a still mostly dark sky.

“Woow” I cheered, stretching my arms over my head, “fun trip, honestly the ride up is always the best part.”

“Alex” mom said, closing the door behind us, “what did I say about being a smartass?”

“Go ahead but don’t do it when we’re about to see family.”

“Exactly, and what are we about to do?”

“Visit people you hate?”

Mom lowered her eyes at me, giving me an irritated look.

“I’ll be good in front of grandma” I promised, crossing my fingers behind my back.

With a sigh, my mom locked the door we went through, causing it to sink into the ground and vanish.

“You ain't slick boy.”

I shrugged, perfectly content with my underwhelming slickness, before placing my fingers in my mouth.

Blowing into them, a loud whistle echoed out and the ground beneath us began to shake as a large hole filled with black mud spilled open. Never mind the fact that we were currently on a bridge thousands of miles in the air so a hole like that should just lead down into, well, death.

Speaking of death.

From the black mud, bone white hands started to rise from its murky depths, and latched onto the marble pavement of the bridge. Slowly, four skeletons pulled themselves out, black mud dripping down their skulls and off the dusty dark blue suits they all wore.

Each one had “eyes” of green fire and looked almost identical to each other, with the only difference being a colored rose each wore in the pocket of their suit. Red, yellow, black, and white.

These were my skeletons. Expertly trained, well mannered, professional, cold blooded, and above all else dependable. . . was not what they were.

As the yellow rose stumbled out behind white rose it fell forward, knocking into the latter.

Naturally, White rose raised it’s boney hand and slapped yellow in the face, the rattling of their teeth being loud enough for everyone to hear.

Steadying its skull, yellow turned to white, their flaming eyes lighting up with a dark green as they clutched their coworkers arm and tore it off.

White looked down at its empty sleeve hanging limply to its side while yellow pointed at them with their missing arm, the bouncing flames in its eye sockets indicating that they were laughing.

The flames in whites skull promptly erupted, smoke billowing out of them, as they tackled yellow to the ground.

Smoke and dust covered the ground as white and yellow punched and tore at each other, the latter using the former's arm to slap them in the face. Black rose stumbled forward, attempting to separate them only to be met with a flame shooting up and catching onto their new tie which instantly lit up and was reduced to ash.

Enraged at this insult to not only themselves but also high fashion Black leaped onto the two other skeletons. Red followed suit by elbow dropping all three and joining the pile as they all slapped, bit, hit, and spanked each other.

“. . . Alex, seriously” mom stated, “are you sure you don’t want new servants?”

“Naw” I answered, happily watching these boneheads wrestle, “these guys are perfect.”

Clapping my hands the hole began to bubble again, the bridge shaking even more, as a horse drawn carriage shot out of it like a bullet from the chamber and tore through the four skeletons who all fell to the ground in pieces.

The Carriage was a dark black color, large and round in shape, it looked like something a goth Cinderella would ride inorder to get to the ball and marry a guy she danced with once who only remembered her because he had a thing for feet. There was a bright gold trim on the sides that glowed brightly against the night sky. The wheels were also a gold color with human skulls adorned on the rims and green flames sparking up here and there.

 Attached to the carriage was a horse with pitch black fur with a tail and main glowing with bright green fire. It's onix black eyes surveyed its surroundings making sure there was no enemy nearby as it stomped the marble ground with its strong hooves, small flames lighting up under them as it did so.

“Horsey” Fiona yelled happily as she waved at my helpful stead.

“Hey there Mare,” I said, walking up to her, “how are you doing girl?”

As I reached out to give her a pet on the neck, Mare angrily recoiled and gave me a loud snort. 

“What? No, I didn’t forget about you.”

She neyad loudly, shaking her head from side to side.

“Of course I call you when I need a ride. You’re my horse.”

Stamping the ground, Mare continued to argue, angrily naying and shaking her main.

“Oh that is not fair! It is not my fault that you decided to wreck the neighbors lawn and eat their cat!”

She chattered her teeth and huffed again.

“Look if we had a stable I would absolutely keep you in the backyard but-.”

Mare interjected with a loud inhuman yell as she reared up on her hind legs.

“Oh you don’t bring my bike into this! He is a good boy!”

She landed and shook her head violently.

“Yes it’s a he!”

“Alex” mom said, the now reformed skeletons helping her and Fiona into the carriage, “I know you want her to stay at the house, but it’s not happening. Can we please go?”

“Yeah sure” I answered her.

As she entered the carriage I reached into my little pocket space and pulled out a nice orange carrot for Mare.

“Sorry girl, we’ll convince her somehow.”

She neighed understandingly before happily taking the root vegetable from my hands.

“To the stadium” I yelled at Red as he readied the reins, yellow sitting next to him with treats and a whip in hand. Black and White clung to the back, White still glaring at Yellow with murderous intent, as I swung myself into the inside of it.

As soon as the door was shut we were off, Yellow cracking their whip in the air as Red made sure Mare stayed on course. 

Unlike the black of the carriages outer shell, the seating was a velvet red with enough room to fit six people. The soft upholstery was comfortable and warm to the touch with cushions that made sure you could relax even during the bumpiest of rides.

Naturally, Fiona almost immediately fell asleep, her head resting comfortably on moms lap.

“Hey, she stayed awake longer than usual.”

“Honestly I’m surprised by that” mom said, brushing Fionas hair to the side, “she never gets enough sleep when we have to come up here. I wish she’d stay at home some times, it’s not healthy for a little girl to be up this early.”

“You know that would just cause gran to start whining.”

“If your grandmother really wants to see her she can suck it up and come visit the house.”

“Oh come now, you don’t expect her to live the disgraceful life of staying in a five bedroom, three bath, basement and attic house do you?”

“Well, in all fairness, she’d probably make the neighbors hate us more than they already do.”

We both chuckled a little at Grandmas expense, knowing she probably wouldn’t enjoy hearing this stuff in person. She can be kind of sensitive and natural disaster causing.

Leaning against the door I rested my head on  the window and watched as we rolled past the people walking along the bridge, none of them batting an eye at the carriage driven by four skeletons and drawn by a hell horse. In all fairness compared to the massive skyscrapers in the mountain, the rulers of the city control nature itself, and the fact we can all  breathe despite the altitude, probably making our little vihicall about as interesting as an ant carrying food ten times its size. A neat site but nothing mind blowing.

Granted, ants are pretty mind blowing if you put into perspective how they basically work to create a suitable environment for their colony with everyone having their assigned roles thus allowing them to work as fulfilling members of ant society. 

That being said, this type of government is very totalitarian all things considered so there must be a widespread outbreak of ant uprisings which most likely are quilled by the ants in black suits. You can say they’re not real, but we all know they’re out there.

“So” mom said, interrupting my deep and meaningful inner monologue about ants and ant related conspiracy, “should we talk about what’s been bothering you?”

I sighed and sat up in my seat.

“Oh you know, normal stuff.”

“Define normal for you?”

“Giant monsters, universal travel, blood sucking girlfriend who wants my socially awkward best friend to move into a dorm with her while she’s too scared to say no, oh and a new rpg came out that I am just dying to play.”

“Aw, is my little boy having girl trouble?”

“What can I say, I’m just a modern day Casanova. On a related note, my Italian is getting better.”

Mom rolled her eyes, a smile still on her face as she let out a chuckle.

“Well Giacomo, care to tell your loving mother about your, um, socially awkward blood sucking best girlfriend issue?”

“Blood sucking girlfriend and socially awkward best friend” I corrected, “also, one can summon horses.”

She blinked a bit then sighed.

“I really should have set you up on more play dates with normal kids when you were little.”

“Aw, but if you did that you wouldn’t have met Skyes mom.”

“I don’t mind Skye, reminds me of your dad, kind of. The blood sucking girlfriend is the one I have issues with.”

“Oh Clair isn’t that bad. Plus, if I remember right, you’re partially the one who arranged for me and her dating.”

Mom shrugged at my statement.

“It was either that or have her daddy demand your head on a spike. Now, talk.”

“Dang, knew you weren’t gonna let the issue go.”

I rubbed my neck, feeling a little awkward talking about my friends with my mom. She had more on her plate to deal with other than my personal drama. But, I guess I don’t feel that bad.

“Clairabell has been looking into her and Skye going to college together, and I’m pretty sure Skye doesn’t want to go. But, neither of them are talking about it so, yeah, not really sure what to do.”

Yep, even to me that sounds like a dumb problem that could be easily solved if we all just sat and talked it out. And, based on the look mom was giving me, she probably felt the same.

“Ok” she eventually said, “and in what way is that your problem?”

“Huh?”

“Alex, that has nothing to do with you. They’re both big girls, they can work out their problems.”

I blinked in surprise.

“Well, I mean, they’re my friends, so. . .”

“So what?”

“So, I want to help them.”

She shook her head disapprovingly at my response, her dark brown hair bouncing a little as she did.

“Alexander, I get that you love them, but their problems are not yours to solve, so you don’t need to worry about it.”

“I, I guess. But-”

“No buts.”

She narrowed her eyes a little, making it clear that this wasn’t a subject we were going to argue on.

“You have work, and your sister, and your own issues to deal with.”

I felt my stomach slowly drop more and more as she spoke and reminded me of how stupid my worries were.

She was right after all, Skye not telling Clairabell how she felt, and Clairabell not wanting to listen, those were not my problems.

But, still. . .

I went back to looking out the chariot window, watching as the pavement of the bridge slid by as we drove in silence.

Well, we did for a few minutes, then I felt mom poke me repeatedly on the cheek.

“Oi” she said with each poke, “oi, oi, oi!”

I smiled and looked up, finding my mom leaning forward with a bag of gold coins dangling from her fingertips.

She gave me a warm smile and dropped the coins into my lap.

“Quit pouting, you’re gonna make me feel like a bad mom.”

“Aw, you’re not a bad mom” I responded, opening the bag and eyeing the coin, “I’m just really good at making people feel guilty. This is chocolate isn’t it?”

“Boy, you get paid a fortune a year, you don’t need real gold.”

“I ain’t complaining.”

I smiled and started unwrapping a coin to enjoy the snack, before handing a few back to mom.

“Here” I said, dropping them into her hand, “Fiona loves these too.”

“Yeah, that’s why I got her her own bag. These are yours.”

“Then I guess we’ll call it an offering to a good mom.”

She let out an amused laugh.

“Gods, why is my youngest son so cheesy?”

“No idea” I told her, chomping down on the delectable coin, “I personally blame it on Television and video games for giving good moral lessons.”

She sighed, but still smiled.

“You are such a dork.

Mom went back to watching Fiona sleep and we rode into the city in silence for a bit.

“Honestly” she eventually said, “I’m glad you’re such a good kid, but it wouldn’t hurt you to worry about yourself more.”

“Yeah” I responded, understanding what she meant, if only a little bit.

I pulled out another chocolate coin and sat it in between my cupped pointer finger and thumb before flicking my thumb up and giving the coin a good flip and catching it in my palm.

“Hey, maybe I should act like the old man more?”

I gave mom a wide smile at this statement and she responded by rolling her eyes.

“Alex” she said, “if you start acting like the old man just remember that I dictate your living arrangements.”

“Aw” I teased, trying to lighten the tension, “not a fan of selfish people?”

“Being selfish is fine. He’s just a disrespectful asshole. Never cared for those.”

“If that were true you would have thrown me out years ago.”

“You’re just disrespectful. The assholeness is currently being debated.”

“Aw, that’s the nicest compliment I’ve ever gotten.”

“Oh shut up Alex.”

Despite her words she had a smile on her face.

Eventually, we pulled into the city.

The street lights illuminated our way as we walked through the busy streets filled with people of all races and sizes and other worldly species in togas. Despite how early it was the city was still bustling and busy as if it were early afternoon.

Shops filled with exautic items lined the streets next to fancy restaurants and stores filled with fancy clothes that normal people could never hope to own. As we went deeper in, the clothing people wore became more elaborate and extravagant almost as if they were trying to make themselves match the streets paved with literal gold.

“Did dad say they could use his gold?”

“No and I am still trying to get them to give it back. Honestly, their taste is just tacky.”

“I feel I need to point out that we decorate our house with bones and diamonds.”

“Alex, that is a theme. It might be tacky, but it makes sense. This is just a bunch of people showing off how rich they are. Besides, Pluton is in charge of decorating.”

“Way to blame your son for the way the house looks Ma.”

“I blame all my children for everything. Didn’t you figure that out already?”

“I was in denial.”

We joked around a little more as we eventually rode deeper into the city.

It was a nice summer morning even here, with birds of all kinds singing joyful tunes and plants you wouldn’t normally see together decorating the parks and sidewalks.

Mount Olympus, the rich neighborhood to end all rich neighborhoods. 

While we continued our stroll, I was content to rest against the side of the cart, daydreaming until we arrived at grandmas. At least, until, the chariot pulled to a sudden stop with a jerky motion and Mare let out a loud whine.

“Oi” Mom yelled, slapping the roof, “why’d we stop?”

In response Red poked his head in, by holding it in his hand and putting it through the open window.

His teeth chattered and he let out a gargling hiss to inform us of why we had stopped.

Mom sighed and slouched in her seat, Fiona still in her lap.

“Then just kill them.”

“Mom, no.”

“Alex, they started it.”

“Yeah but we can’t just murder all of our problems.”

“You sure” she said, hopefully jokingly, “the old man seems to solve a lot of his problems that way. Of course, it does make your fathers work stack up so I’m a little pissed about that.”

“How about I go deal with them?” I said, opening the door, “give daddy less paperwork?”

“Carefull, they might cause you to develop some humility.”

“No worries about that happening. I’ll be done in like, I don’t know, two, three minutes. Meet you at grandmas. Oh, I missed the step. . .”

She groaned with annoyance as her handsome, awesome, super smart son fell out of the carriage and onto the dirt of Olympus.

“Way to jump to the rescue there superman” she chimed.

I chuckled a little as I layed on the ground, before turning my head to the right and spotting the roadblocks that stood in Mares way.

“Hi” I happily said to the tall man wearing a dark blue tank top. He had a rather annoyed look on his soft face, with his ocean green eyes glaring at me and his large, muscular, arms crossed over his chest.

His dark blue hair was slicked back and had a slight gleam to it while a few scales decorated his broad shoulders and a gold belt encrusted with gems of all shapes and sizes held his gray and white camouflage pants up.

By his side were two rather younger men who looked to be either twins or clones of each other. My personal experience has told me to bet on the latter, but you can never be too sure.

They both wore back basketball shorts and red shirts to go along with their messy strawberry blonde hair. Only way to tell that they weren’t completely identical were their eyes; both of which glowed unatrually like the brights of a car, but while the one on the left had shining baby blues, the gent on the left glared at me with dark red irises. Not blood red, more like a wine red.

Just like with the big bad in the middle, I noticed a few fish-like scales running along their necks and half way down their arms. 

“Yo” the blue hair in the middle yelled at me, “are you going to get off the ground or what?”

“Naw” I responded, still sprawled on the ground, “the road feels good on my back.”

“Get off the ground Alex” Mom demanded from the carriage.

“So what can I do for you?” I asked while standing up, “directions, a ride maybe?”

“All we require is your head on a spike” the blue haired one responded. He took a boxer's pose and silver metal slowly started molding around his hands, appearing from nowhere I could see, until he was wearing two silver gauntlets with spiked knuckles.

“Sorry, can’t exactly do that seeing how I currently need my head. Mind me asking why you would want it though mate?”

“Hey” red eyes shouted, “he ain’t your mate guy!”

“Well then I ain’t your guy friend!”

“He ain’t your friend buddy,” the blue eyed one shouted at me.

“Well then I’m not his buddy mate!”

“He’s not your mate guy!”

“Then I’m not his guy friend!”

“I’m leaving now” mom stated, closing the carriage door, “meet us at grandmas okay?”

“Ok mom” I responded, waving them off.

“I’m not your mom dude” Blue eyes shouted.

“He’s not your dude pal” Red eyes shouted back.

“Seth, Joey” blue hair said, his head in his hand, “please stop.”

The three stepped out of the way, blue hair forcing Seth and Joey to bow their heads as mom passed in the sable steed drawn carriage before they took their spots in front of me again.

“Now, draw your weapon!”

Blue hair took his stance once more, their eyes narrowed at me.

“. . .Why?”

“Be-because I’m challenging you.”

“Ok but why are you challenging me?”

“Because!”

“Because why?”

“Because, shut up, draw your blade!”

“Blade as in vampire character?”

“Vampire? Your sword!”

“But I don’t use a sword.”

“Then your spear!”

“I don’t wanna draw my spear, honestly, I’m not the best artest.”

Blue hair looked ready to leap at me and scream at the top of their lungs while strangling my handsome neck.

I’m having a lot of fun.

He takes a deep breath and slowly calms down.

“Okay” they said, “please, please, get any weapons you might own, hold it in your hands, and fight me with them.”

“Ohhh! Ok, why didn’t you just say so?”

I could literally hear the last straw on blue hairs, patients breaking as they once more took a boxers pose, their eyes narrowed at me.

“My name is Markis, Muto, Reads, son of Poesidon and Pirate queen of the Caribbean Martha Reads!”

Yep, saw that one coming.

Guess good ol uncky Poesidon is still upset that I stabbed him in the face for unspecified reasons oh so long ago (last Tuesday).

“Alright Mark ma boy” I told him holding my arms up to the sky, “guess we can have a quick play date.”

Slowly, a leather strap materialized on my right arm and a thunderous roar echoed out as dark clouds gathered above us. 

Splitting through the black clouds a golden shield slammed into my arm and attached to the leather strap with a click.

I felt electricity flow out of my body and into the metal of my golden shield that was the size of my body, the aegis.

“My name’s Zee” I told Mark, adjusting aegis to be in front of me, “bastard of Zeus, and. . .”

I held my other hand towards the ground, palm opened, feeling the dirt beneath give way.

In a flash a black and gold two pronged spear emerged and pushed against my palm as I wrapped my fingers around it.

Casually, I pointed my bident at Mark to show him I was ready.

“Son of Hades.”

[hmel78]

In conversation with Doogie White ...

Circa 1994, when it was announced that guitarist Ritchie Blackmore was reforming Rainbow, rumours flooded the music community regarding who might feature in the line-up, but ultimately it was a collective of relative unknowns who made it onto the new record, and the tour bus ...

The album, “Stranger In Us All”, was issued under the name “Ritchie Blackmore’s Rainbow” in August 1995, and features Paul Morris on keyboards, Greg Smith on bass, John O’Reilly on drums, Blackmore’s Night’s Candice Night on background vocals, and fronted by Doogie White, the singer was an inspired choice; a huge fan of Ritchie’s career in both Purple and Rainbow, the singer formed a strong writing partnership with the guitarist. The album includes a reworking of The Yardbirds’ ‘Still I’m Sad’, which had been recorded for Rainbow’s debut, 20 years earlier ; Ritchie’s classical flights of fancy are truly achieved on his arrangement of Edvard Grieg’s ‘Hall Of The Mountain King’, and tracks such as ‘Wolf To the Moon’, ‘Hunting Humans (Insatiable)’ and ‘Ariel’ proved themselves to be worthy additions to the Rainbow catalogue. When it came to playing live, songs from both Rainbow and Purple were revisited, and fans are lucky enough - on the re-issue of “Stranger In Us All” -  to be presented with a unique live recording from a 1995 Swedish concert, of ‘The Temple Of The King’ - it also features a radio edit of the single ‘Ariel’, plus the song ‘Emotional Crime’ that has previously only been released in Japan.

Accompanying the extensive liner notes is a personal account from singer Doogie White, plus plenty of artwork and memorabilia from Doogie’s own Rainbow collection.

Doogie White has had a pretty extensive career as a singer / songwriter since his days with Rainbow - We caught up with him whilst on a train to Mannheim to find out more ...

HR : Having been a fan of Rainbow prior to joining them in 1994, how did it feel to suddenly have such a prominent role in the band?

Doogie White : It was a huge moment for me in every way.   There I was, a cheeky upstart who had long admired all that Ritchie did, being personally asked by him to come to America and join his band. He knew nothing about me and I thought I knew all about him. We hit it off straight away from the first notes we played together. We played old Purple and Rainbow songs and some bar band standards and jammed a few ideas just for him to see what I could do on the improvisation front.

I was only supposed to be there 4 days but he asked me to stay for a week. We discussed what kind of album we wanted to make. We played football. He did some magic tricks and we jammed for hours.

We had a good and healthy working relationship and a fine friendship. I knew my place and was happy to be part of his new adventure. He shared his hopes and fears. He trusted me.

I think we made a fine album with some good songs and a couple of real Rainbow classics. There were a couple we compromised on and we did have better ideas but we never finished them so that they could not be released as “bonus” tracks at a later date. I know how much he hated the re released Purple stuff with alternate takes.

I have hours of material but it’s in the Loft ...

HR : Despite the sudden nature of the break-up in 1997, was the overall experience of those 3 years a positive one?

DW : Yes!  Even at the very end when I decided it was here and no further,  it was all good and positive. It was sad of course as I felt there was more work to do and I had given him a tape with 6 song ideas for the next album. Some ended up on Cornerstone’s HUMAN STAIN and another on a TANK album. I treated my time in Rainbow like Ali treated the Heavyweight Crown.   It was the wrong time for the kind of music we were doing but we did it anyway.

Despite what Ritchie says, or in most cases does not say, we got on well until we did not.  His choice not mine. HR : To me it has always seemed strange that it literally ended over night - like a political coup d’etat! - Especially as You seemed to fit Ritchies criteria perfectly ; with what you contributed as both performer and writer. There are many citations which suggest that through Your input, there was a wider range of material that could be performed live, and also Ritchie stated [at the time] that Stranger In Us All was the best thing he had recorded to date - does  that reflect how You felt whilst working with him and Rainbow?  

DW : I don’t think Stranger In Us All is the best thing he did. I don’t even think it’s the best thing I have done. That’s just him promoting the album. It has its place and that is for others to judge. It was a good album though!

I just followed his lead. If he wanted to go off and jam some blues of folk or silly songs I was there as were the rest of the band (Greg Smith, John O’Reilly or Chuck Burgi, Paul Morris, and others) to back him up. He knew that we knew what was required, and also knew what I could bring to the party - he exploited that to the max some nights! He has said he does not like fun and that music is a serious business, but for anyone who saw that ‘95 tour you know that there was some serious music and some serious fun on stage! We were enjoying each other and pushing each other. He’s quite talented like that.

Then others got his ear and were feeding him negative stuff, whispering’s, designed to disrupt him, for his ears only and that was unhelpful - but it suited their agenda and just made him more suspicious, which he had never been with me before.

No one in the band was doing anything other than enjoying being in the band and RAWKin on stage every night. There were no egos just a happy band doing the best they could every night,  and those who saw it knew it was good. I did say if he had a problem with me, for him to come to me and we could sort it out - But that is not his nature and he never did. So when it came down to it he was prepared to believe what he wanted and what he was being told and have things done in his name that were quite frankly beneath the man. When his management were being obstructive I wrote directly to him and he honoured all his commitments to me and made sure that his management paid what was due at the time. That’s how it should be.

HR : And that’s where it stopped  - until now ... “Stranger In Us All” has just been re-released and given a new lease of life?

DW : Yes they have pumped out the frequencies and it really sounds lot better than the flat linear sound of the original.

We should have added some of the extra tracks I have of the demos. But there are far too many hoops to jump through and it would mean new agreements between him and I. That’s not a path he wants to walk. HR : No, understood - but going back to when the original album was released - Obviously you were unaware of the fact that it would be the only recording that Rainbow would make at the time (possibly the last ever one?)  - does it change the way that you feel about it? Do you ever listen to it?

DW : I don’t listen to it at all. I don’t listen to anything I have done other than a couple of times when I get it. Occasionally something will pop up randomly on my iTunes and and a wee nostalgic smile passes my lips. But actually with SIUA - I remember every ounce of effort ; every change of lyric, key, tempo - So it has a different flavour for me than for others. I am proud of it, yet I know that we could have done better. But I was new to the big spotlight and while I stood my ground for a bit every now and again, it was Ritchie’s band and he got to do what he wanted.  Pat [Regan] was producing it and had his instructions on how to guide me.   I was just happy to be waking up every day knowing that today was going to be a new adventure.

I had so much fun all the time. Even when the dark clouds were hovering as they kinda did for the last while. His management did go out of their way to make band, and on the road, life a little less inclusive or welcoming ... But It was that 90 mins on stage that made anything worthwhile.

From what people have told me it’s a shame he now has such a distorted view of our time together. But it’s not my business and I don’t care what he thinks about it or how he feels about me.  I have seen some of the comments attributed to him that people send me. He really does re write his own history and I always have a good giggle at some of the nonsense he comes out with.   He loved it at the time, but to be fair it was a long long time ago and perhaps NOT the most important endeavour he has done musically. I look back at it slightly differently because it was VERY important to me. It was the best of times and will never be repeated for him, or for me.

HR : Well thankfully it didn’t deter you from carrying on! You have been involved with many great artists and projects during your career - have you any particular favourite memories?

DW : My memory palace is overflowing with errr memories from my times with LA PAZ  and CORNERSTONE, YNGWIE and SCHENKER, through TANK and beyond. I have a wonderful life and I am having a wonderful career - And if I am honest, really honest, my career would have been very different had it not been for that one tape I passed to Colin Hart who passed it to Ritchie Blackmore,  who made that fateful call one Saturday night in April 1994. I am forever in his debt and do you know what? He will get no joy at all from me saying that, and that is kind of pleasing!

HR : [laughs] Now I don’t mean to offend you by comparing you to a musical nomad, but you do seem to have moved around quite a bit -  If you could have settled for any greater length of time, or even permanently with one of those bands, who would it have been?

DW : I always have plenty to do recording and writing and performing. There is no dirt on the back of my shoes.

I was with Ritchie for 3 years, Yngwie for 6, Schenker now for 5. I would have been happy to do another album with Ritchie but he had a time machine and went away to his beloved middle ages with all the comforts of the 21Century.

With Yngwie we had run our course but remain friends, if not in touch much.

With Michael I hope to continue our successful partnership. We needed time away to do other things after the 4 years of intense touring/recording - Just to get some fresh experiences and know what side the bread is buttered.

HR : That’s always a bonus! What about future plans? Any more solo work or new collaborations in the pipeline?

DW : I am doing an album with a Bulgarian metal band called John Steel. (Blaze did their first) I will be finishing it when I am back from my short run of solos shows with my band WHITE NOISE (Italian Chapter).

I am always working. Sometimes under the radar sometime soaring like an eagle. Its all good and its all fun.

HR : You always look content to be on stage, and just take it all in your rock stride! Ha! What’s the strangest gig you’ve ever played?

DW : With La Paz in the 80’s at a place called ‘Roots of Cleghorn’ run by a lad called “Chicken George”. It was farming country and George was the only black guy for 100 miles. We played to a farmer in a bunnet and his sheep dog,  and George was the door man collecting the money! HR : Haha! No way!? Well from ‘Roots Of Cleghorn’ to Stockholm Circus -  If you could take a ‘dream’ band on the road, who would be your line-up, and what songs would make it to the setlist?

DW : I would just want to be backing singer for David Bowie, and cover  anything from “Love you til Tuesday” to “Blackstar”.

[f-nodragonart]

have you guys ever watched the docufiction film The Last Dragon | A Fantasy Made Real? Its a fictional documentary set in an alternate universe where dragons were real

I wrote a few reviews abt it quite a while ago, but the longer one is p old and kinda cringey/incorrect in certain places, so I’ll run down my basic thoughts here

also if anybody wants to watch this film, here’s a link to it. I first watched this when I was a wee lil dragon-fanatic, and I’m obviously a sucker for faux-documentary/field journal fantasy media, so this movie holds a special place in my heart. HOWEVER, as I will explain here, it unfortunately gets a LOT of things wrong. it’s def got some positive qualities (which I will also describe), and it’s a fun watch, but DO NOT take this movie as an accurate assessment of what dragons could have been under different circumstances

WHAT THIS DOCUFICTION GETS WRONG*:

*I’m ESPECIALLY harsh on this movie b/c it’s a DOCUfiction. I tend to be a bit more lenient when a story isn’t necessarily aiming for a realistic setting (stylistic consistency is relevant here), but when a piece of media sets out to describe a scientifically feasible setting?? I bring the hammer DOWN

1) dear god, the anatomy is janky

the wings in particular can get RLY bad. 

these wings clearly need more musculature and lower arm/’hand’ length, and a full membrane connection to the torso. they don’t even have ANY hint of integration/connection to the ribcage– no keel, no shoulder/chest musculature, not even any scapula!!

disgraceful…

while I can accept elbow spines in certain cases, I still don’t rly think they’re necessary in most cases– ESPECIALLY in this case where they don’t even provide extra area to the membrane around the elbow! what’s even the point!!

also I just noticed the designers forgot to put the elbow spines in the skeletal, so I can’t even check if they were integrated correctly….. hell, looking closer, I don’t think the front legs have scapula either….. DISGRACEFUL…

the wing shoulders also need to be shifted back behind the front leg shoulders, obviously, but they ALSO ought to be shifted down more towards the sides of the ribcage. wings based high up near the spine are typical of birds b/c they’ve got specialized wing musculature that basically pulls all the wing muscles (including the “back” muscles) down under the ribcage. bat wings aren’t built for that kinda setup, thus the shoulders are based more towards the sides on actual bats. this would likely be the same for bat-winged dragons

and those aren’t even the worst wings

I legit lose my mind a little lookin at these wings like…. why no membrane…. WHY NO MEMBRANE…

also there was clearly some attempt here to give these wings chest/shoulder musculature, but the designers didn’t know how much musculature a wing actually needs (or even how those muscles need to be shaped to properly hold a body..). thus, we just get pillowy, bara-boy boobs that would be useless for flight, even if the wings themselves were actually designed right

obviously a keel is necessary for a creature this big, but even if the designers nyxed the keel, the LEAST they could do is stretch the pecs down the full length of the ribcage to properly support the torso…

beyond the wings, some of the torsos are JUST a mess

the wyvern’s torso is mostly a problem b/c of weird wing integration, but the hexapod up top just has a plain weird torso, wings or not

it feels like the designers attempted to slap canine-like front legs on an ungulate/equine chest, and just utterly failed to integrate them properly. thus, the legs are floating to the sides of the chest rather than connected to and holding it up in any substantial way

I actually see this lack of shoulder integration in a lot in dragon designs, but it’s usually a result of trying to preserve the shape of chest/throat scales, so it’s kinda weird to see on a leathery-skin design

another thing abt this particular hexapod dragon is a bit hard to explain, but the neck is like… weird. idk if it’s super apparent to others, but the neck attaches more under the skull, a bit like a dog (ignore the skeletal, it’s clearly not accurate to the dragon actually presented). however, the flow of the neck from the chest is more of a horse neck? the strong up-and-over curve of a horse neck can’t rly attach to the skull in any way except the direct back of the cranium, yet this neck attaches somewhat to the underside of the skull, giving it a VERY awkward curvature. I happened to recently answer an ask abt necks that may explain this better, but suffice to say, the neck is weird

also, as u can see above, the base of the neck at the chest is super stiff b/c the animators didn’t bother to shift the mass of the chest/neck w/ the movement of the neck, which in turn makes the neck look ABSURDLY thin at angles like these

oh, and while this is certainly not the worst of the anatomical sins, the shrink-wrapping is p bad. yeah yeah, flighted creatures gotta be light, but flying animals still have SOME fatty deposits, like…. c’mon, u can SEE the cartilage rings in the throat of that poor wyvern, gimme a break… + it gets cold in the sky, where are some protective feathers/’fur’ for these guys?? especially side-eyeing the one living in the mountains. yeah I know they’ve apparently got that heat-retaining blood protein or whatever, but much like the flight bladder (which I will get to later), that’s asking me to excuse a bit much in terms of anatomy

(tho to be fair, the actual dinos featured in the film are naked and thin too so… at least this inaccuracy is consistent..)

I feel like this is especially bad w/ the heads. it looks like there’s barely any muscular support at the connection to the neck, and no jaw musculature to speak of. of course, a croc-like jaw design could layer the muscles under bone so that they’re not necessarily visible from the outside

but note the mass distribution of the bones of the jaw– they still stick out a fair bit to leave room for the muscles underneath (including on the upper jaw), and more importantly, the area for basing the muscles on the lower jaw is WIDE. now dragons may not necessarily need a strong bite-force like crocs if they’re using their talons and fire for attack, but most ANY toothed-animal skull is gonna NEED a lower jaw with a wider back end to provide stable, strong support to the jaw muscles. what I’m seeing from the ‘croc-’like dragon heads in this movie (not the wyvern head so much, that actually isn’t too bad in this respect) are flimsy, cardboard structures that will warp at the slightest hint of pressure

also, the teeth on all the dragons are weirdly straight and thin? like fishing teeth? but the main dragons are all land predators– they SHOULD have thick/curved teeth. even crocs have thick, slightly curved teeth, get w/ the program!!

and let’s not forgot this fucker

sir… SIR, that is a muscle-less TUBE with LEGS….. 

………..funny how suddenly the wiener-dragon ain’t shrink-wrapped, eh?

also this dragon absolutely CANNOT glide, no matter what kinda “flight bladders” they got, the membrane surface area is FAR too small even for gliding, I’m sorry!!

2) “evolutionary theory? what’s that??”

basically the film goes, “WHOA this dragon has 6 limbs! no other vertebrate on the planet has 6 limbs! they must have a wild genetic mutation for that to happen– oh, yep, they sure do!” and just… leaves it there

the evolution of 6 limbs in any evolutionary tree similar to Earth’s is literally so complicated, I have an entire post dedicated to breaking down JUST that concept. the way this movie so briefly presents this “wild mutation” doesn’t even BEGIN to cover how incredibly difficult it would be to shift something as hard-wired as vertebrate limb number from four to six

what’s even MORE frustrating tho is that this movie’s timeline for evolution doesn’t even make SENSE! supposedly their oldest dragon is the wyvern– the tetrapod. then that TETRApod somehow led to the HEXApod marine dragon. what in the world?? WHERE did that other limb set come from? WHY is there another limb set suddenly???

as I explain in that post linked above, it’s practically impossible for another functional, full limb set to evolve in a complex vertebrate– that’s why it’s most reasonable for hexapods to evolve long before tetrapods set the standard, and the two evolutionary lines would go their separate ways. there’s a small chance a limb set could evolve properly into a small, early tetrapod (tho even that is a long-shot), but in a LARGE vertebrate whose entire physiology revolves around their current tetrapodal, bipedal setup, as this movie suggests w/ their wyvern? hell nah, not a chance

and there are def other evolutionary problems throughout– generally just the fact that dragons seem to change VERY little, ‘aesthetically’ speaking, despite so many years of evolution and adaptation to wildly different environments (looking at the marine dragon..). yet when the dragons ARE markedly different from one another (wyvern vs. hexapod), it only brings up more problems, as covered above. like it’s all just so vague and ungrounded in any real evolutionary reality

also this post pointed out further problems w/ the evolution I didn’t even think abt (like the forest dragon being a contemporary to the mountain dragon, despite being used as an intermediary b/t marine and mountain) so I’m rly just 🤔 abt all this

3) BAD lab procedure!!

why aren’t the researchers wearing masks? they need masks to protect the corpses from human germs, and protect themselves from breathing in anything weird that was on the corpse! and they keep touching the corpse w/o gloves, getting their human oils all over the body! have they never heard of contamination?? AUGH

there’s definitely more wrong here that I rly don’t have the experience to speak on (and some of it I’m willing to excuse for the sake of a short, dramatic film– like the team having a whole lab setup right on the mountain), but the cross-contamination is what rly bothered me.

WHAT THIS DOCUFICTION GETS RIGHT and/or FUN:

1) realistic, cool behavior

the dragon behaviors featured are actually realistic, and downright cool at times!

screaming to both call for help and hurt an opponent’s ears; flashing wings to warn off opponents; mimicry to trick prey; that KICK-ASS courting ritual (if not displayed a bit awkwardly in terms of body positioning); the fiery brooding method (if we at least assume egg physiology that could handle and require that kinda direct heat, which I don’t think is…. necessarily outside reality… perhaps… maybe…)– these are all awesome examples of neat behavior

2) flight bladders? kind of??

this one is in the “got it right” list based more on potential than actual application in the movie

see, the idea of a flight bladder is p cool! the source of gas from digestion is completely reasonable, and it makes sense as a way to help a huge creature relieve some of the stress of flight

plus, the connection w/ fire-breathing is super interesting! it’s a very reasonable give-and-take system, and I like it a LOT. so this post pointed out the problems w/ having a flight system that relies on a product also used up by a different system, so now I can’t even give it that much credit lmao

however, the flight bladders in the movie are used to excuse some of the worst wing anatomy I’ve seen passed off as “realistic designs”. flight bladders may make up for *some* shortened wing length, or flight endurance, but they CANNOT make up for the problems I described in the “got it wrong” list

3) fire-breathing mechanics

if we now ignore the problems w/ this gas system being directly connected to the flight system, the fire-breathing is decently grounded in reality! the designers not only took into account the fuel source (gas from digestion), but also ignition source (platinum deposits). both of these sources are super interesting to me cus’ they technically utilize outside resources, which is not usually the case w/ a lot of fire-breathing mechanics I’ve seen

also love the specialized mouth anatomy– a scaled inner mouth and protective palate-valve make perfect sense to protect the dragon’s innards from fire, esp since the fire is igniting towards the back of the mouth. though the source of ignition being so far back in the delicate throat is itself suspect, and makes me wonder why it wasn’t simply ignited up towards the front of the mouth to prevent injury….. man I can’t give this film an inch w/o taking a mile back, huh!!

-Mod Spiral

[imagineclaireandjamie]

North Carolina: a 4x03 one-shot

“Ye may find it a wee bit colder here, now that you’re in the mountains. Definitely much more of a chill at night than in the marshes around River Run.”

 Brianna chewed her corn dodger thoughtfully, dipping the remaining half in the piping hot bowl of stew, smiling at her father. “It was so *humid* there. I don’t know how Great Aunt Jocasta can wear all those layers. But I’ve been here to North Carolina before. To this area, in fact.”

 “You have?” Claire’s smile widened – she hadn’t stopped smiling since her husband and daughter – her daughter! – had arrived that afternoon. “When?”

 Quickly she met her father’s eye, brow raised in a silent question.

 “He knows,” he replied softly. “Where – when – ye’ve been. Yer Mam and I told him long ago.”

 She coughed. “A few months ago. With Roger. You’ll be glad to know that in 1970, this area hosts the largest Scottish Gathering in the southern United States.”

 “So the Scots are still here.” Murtagh mused. “That’s good. Even wi’ the war coming in a few years.”

 “I trust that when you were studying history, you covered the Revolution?” Claire asked, only half-teasing. “That information will come in handy now that you’re here.”

 “It was yer Mam’s knowledge of the Jacobites that saved the Lallybroch men during the Rising,” Murtagh explained. “She was never wrong.”

 “I – it’s been a while,” Bree stammered. “I switched my major to engineering, after you…left.”

 “Engineering?” Jamie’s brow – so much like her own – raised in question.

 “How things work. Designing and constructing buildings, and bridges, and water and electrical systems.” She turned to Claire. “Does running water exist now?”

 “I’ve seen it in Edinburgh and Paris. But not in the Americas.”

 She shrugged, returning to her cooling dinner. “Anyway – what’s in this, again?”

 “My garden isn’t quite yet up to snuff,” Claire explained, swirling her now-cooling stew in the chipped pottery bowl. “So it’s mostly what I’ve foraged – wild onions, burdock, dandelion greens.”

 “Dinna forget the meat, Sassenach.”

 Jamie’s ear-splitting grin matched Claire’s own. She sighed theatrically. “All right. Venison. It’s the one protein we have plenty of – unless you like squirrels.”

 “I dinna mind the squirrel.” Murtagh licked his spoon. “I’ve survived on far worse.”

 Brianna swallowed. “Da told me you were an indentured servant?”

 “Fifteen years in the godforsaken Chesapeake. Mosquitos as big as birds. Turtles that would bite yer fingers off. I’ve a good hand wi’ a hoe, but I’m no fisherman.”

 “The Chesapeake? I’ve visited Maryland a few times – the crab there is legendary.”

 “No’ when it’s all ye have to eat.” Murtagh sat back on the bench, dark eyes squinting in the lamplight. “But it’s a comfort, I suppose, to know that many things dinna change wi’ time after all.”

 “Too many things do,” Claire agreed, slipping an arm around her daughter’s shoulders.

 Brianna sipped another mouthful of stew. “I like venison. But I didn’t have it very often, growing up.”

 “What did ye eat, then? Besides the crabs.”

 She smiled at her father – startled at how much his eyes resembled her own. “Mama can tell you – potatoes, and chicken, and pasta with tomato sauce, and hamburgers, and – ”

 “Ham – what?” Murtagh’s bushy eyebrows – thick and gray like the tails of winter foxes – furrowed.

 “Imagine beef,” Claire explained, “but minced up finely, then patted together into a round shape and cooked over a fire.”

 He frowned. “I dinna remember the last time I had beef. And sauce, made from tomatoes? No thank you.”

 Brianna laughed. Jamie met Claire’s eyes, then – shining, like his own, with so much happiness.

 “It’s much better than it sounds. Especially with cheese on the top.”

 “Och! Dinna tease me, lass! What wi’ yer talk of beef and cheese – ye could make a man want to eat a second supper!”

 She shook her head, smiling with mock incredulity.

 A silent beat, then. The fire crackled in the hearth; outside in his pen, Clarence brayed.

 “I hope – I hope ye dinna think me too forward, Breeanah,” Murtagh said slowly. “But when ye smile…ye mind me so much of yer grandmother.”

 Brianna straightened in her chair. Claire removed her arm from her shoulders – her hand finding, and intertwining, with Jamie’s on the table.

 “Ye do,” Jamie added, voice so soft. “I’m sorry if it’s too much for ye, lass – only. Weel.” He cleared his throat. “We – yer Mam and I, and Murtagh, too – we never thought we’d ever see ye. So to have ye here – to see ye speak, to see how ye move and how ye act – it’s a lot for us to take in. And Murtagh and I – we see so many tiny things in you that mind us of her.”

 She reached across the table – laying one hand atop her parents’, and one on Murtagh’s scratchy sweater.

 “You know I’m named after her right? My middle name, anyway. She must have been an amazing lady.”

 Murtagh nodded emphatically. “She’s been gone these forty years – so to see her again…”

 Brianna removed her hand from Murtagh’s sleeve, rummaged in one of her deep pockets – then carefully opened her hand in the middle of the table.

 Ellen MacKenzie Fraser’s pearl necklace spilled from her fingers.

 Jamie gasped. Claire smiled. And Murtagh – Murtagh choked back a sob.

 “Oh lass.” Carefully he drew a pearl between his battered thumb and calloused forefinger, so gentle.

 “I gave these to yer Mam on our wedding night,” Jamie rasped.

 “That’s what she told me. She said you didn’t have much of anything at the time.”

 “Would ye believe I had to find a kilt for him to marry yer Mam in? Fraser colors. He insisted, even though it wasna safe for him to wear it.”

 “Why not?”

 “I was an outlaw. It was too dangerous.”

 “And yet he married me anyway. At a moment’s notice.”

 Claire saw Brianna shift a bit uneasily on her chair. Made a mental note to ask her later. But for now –

 Murtagh cleared his throat, gently setting the pearls back on the table. “Did yer Mam ever tell ye how I had to sober her up to marry yer Da?”

 Brianna snorted. Claire gaped. Jamie shook his head. And Murtagh – Murtagh’s grizzled cheeks glowed bright red with so much joy.

[hellotinywonder]

ten years later...

[Česká Verze] This has been kicking around my head as of late, I have a dear new friend who doesn’t speak much English, and I’ve wanted to tell him about this weird, terrible moment in my life that fundamentally changed who I am and how I will forever interact with the world (both in good ways and bad). But I don’t know how to.  So I am writing it all down, which is something I have never done. And then I will leave it here, and of course, once a year I will remember and shake my fist at the world for myself and all the other victims of violent men, and then I will put my fist down, and get back to living my life.  It’s that time of year, though...

I’ve been thinking about this a lot.  It comes unbidden in the middle of the night.  When someone is walking too quickly toward me.  When someone says something inappropriate online or in person. When too many of the boxes, of that pattern of violence I have permanently etched in my head, get ticked… I think:

“Ten years ago someone tried to kill you... maybe you should run.” (Obvious content warnings apply, readers: Violence.)

Ten years is so long.  I have adapted.  I have moved past it.  But the parts of that night, those horrific hours in the morning… 4am. 5am. In the ER by 6am… the parts that are left, I feel are going to stay with me forever.

They don’t haunt, so much.  They are just there.  In the corners.  They keep me aware.  So in some ways, they keep me safe.

Daniel Rhinehardt was my housemate.  (How do I refer to him?  There is nothing colloquial about him at all, but since this is going up online, as a statement of public record, as a possible search result for Google, that might warn some poor woman who doesn’t know… Daniel Rhinehardt is his name, and I will refer to him as such.)  We did lots of things together, because I am the type, I have discovered, who likes housemates as community.  I have had many successful versions of communal housemates, who cooked together, or went on mundane errands, that sort of thing.  With no hidden agenda, no sense of obligation… healthy relationships between people.  This was not one of them.  But I was too young and naive to figure that out in time.

I won’t go into too many details, but this man became obsessed with me.  I remember being on tour for a month, bills paid in advance, and I received harassing phone calls from him because I hadn’t called him, or some nonsense like that.  We did our first Dragon Con (major convention in Atlanta, that I performed at or now do puppetry at) that year, and he came with us to sell merch.  I woke up one morning in my band’s hotel room to find him in bed next to me, which unnerved me (I had specifically requested my female friend sleep with me, to keep this weird toxicity I was starting to pick up on away).  I was looking for apartments in September of 2008.  I was looking. I hadn’t said anything, but I knew I had to leave, but I just didn’t pull it all together fast enough.

On September 20th, 2008, at my friend David’s birthday, Rhinehardt got drunk.  At the time I did not drink and was babysitting friend of mine on the roof.  They were a bit touchy feely as they were on some other substances, but I didn’t mind. I trusted them and I knew I was in control of my situation.  When we decided it was time for me to go to bed, we all cuddled a bit and they each kissed me goodnight.  They were a married couple, and there was nothing untoward with silly friendly kisses, but it set Rhinehardt off. He started yelling nonsense and threw a chair off the roof (it was caught by a lower tier, and did not fall to the street).  He stormed off screaming garbled obscenities and was gone.  The night was thrown into disarray.  We tried to call him because we were all concerned.  But I was also starting to panic.  I took a hit of my inhaler and we went back downstairs into David’s apartment.  I sat on her bed while some friends talked me down and told me I really needed to move out. I agreed and told them how I had been looking, but couldn’t find anything at the time.  I don’t know how long we were there in the apartment when Rhinehardt came back in, yelling nonsense, walked straight in at me and stabbed me in the side.

I would like to take a brief moment to mention a memory that I can never shake.  One day, apropos of nothing, Daniel Rhinehardt told me that if he was ever going to stab someone he would make sure to swing in from the side.  That is where all the organs are, defenseless.  It was so much more work to stab from the front or the back because of the ribcage.  He *told* me that once.  Well before, I think, he had any designs of stabbing me… but he told me that.  He thought it was impressive.  This vast knowledge of violence.

“...stabbed me in the side.”  It looks so small to read it back.  Such a small action.  How does it reverberate even now?

Thankfully I had enough reactionary sense to move as much as I could, being seated on a bed, and turned myself away so that his fist, no, knife… both... hit my hip and lodged there 3 inches, (8cm or so), instead of my side.  My organs were spared, and while the scar tissue presses against it, my sciatic nerve and artery were both missed.

I screamed.  He pulled the knife back and tried to stab me again, but was pulled off by someone else.  Matt McCorkle, David Forbes, and Luke Withrow all had a hand in saving my life that night.  Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if they weren’t there, if I had gone home.  Best not to think about it, not now or ever.  It would not have been good.  As fucked as I was, I was still somehow, always, lucky.

Then came the insanity that was bleeding all over my friend’s bed and floor.  Rhinehardt was pushed out of the apartment, the door was locked.  Every time someone knocked on that door I lost my shit, completely terrified.  But at the same time I was in shock and trying to sort out how I could avoid going to the hospital, one seemingly completely logical thought was: Matt’s dad was a vet… so we had access to medical supplies?  My health insurance did not start for another TEN DAYS.  (Thank you for absolutely nothing, America.)  911 was called, because of course it was. I had been stabbed right in front of a group of friends and party-goers.  I was left, lying on the floor, while Luke and Danielle held towels against my hip and thigh to try to stop the bleeding.

That’s how it went for 20 minutes? 2 hours? I could not tell (of course it couldn’t have been 2 hours, but I lost all track fo time).  Eventually paramedics arrived, cut my pants off, staunch the bleeding as best they could (my inhaler I took during the panic attack was working as a blood thinner, so that was miserable) and whisked me away.

Shock is a wonderful feeling.  I mean, it’s horrible, but it does keep you calm.  I “made friends” with them, they were very excited about their new sealing product for puncture wounds.  They whisked me into an ER.  Where I was photographed, documented, scrubbed, sutured, stapled, and asked a million questions I didn’t know how to answer.

Meanwhile everyone was sort of detained at the apartment -now crime scene- to give statements.  More photographs were taken.  I’m told they are available somewhere, public record, but I’ve never seen them.  I’ve asked once, but was unable to track them down.

I was told by the detective on my case, no, *the* case (it would become very apparent that this was not MY case, rather I was the VICTIM in the STATE’s case) that I could not go home.  It was not safe.  Did I have anywhere to go?  Anyone I could stay with?  I didn’t know.  I had friends… but I knew Matt, Amanda, David, Luke, Danielle… but I didn’t know anyone’s last names, didn’t know how to contact anyone… I am not sure if I even had my phone, no… now that I think of it,I think my phone and my bag were left behind on the floor of the apartment.  I was given crutches, scrubs (again, my pants had been cut off), and my shoes, and a voucher for a taxi, and discharged around 9am.

I was given back my shoes.  Little beat up black ballet flats.  I just stared at them.  They were splattered with blood.  I stood there in what must be one of the most cinematic scenes of my life, a mess, leaning on crutches, completely alone in a hospital lobby, as the sun crested the mountain and poured over me.  A man offered me a wheelchair, but due to the location of my wound, I was unable to sit down.  I hobbled to the sidewalk… I had no bag, no belongings, just my shoes in my hands, and as the cab driver came over to me I saw Luke and Danielle turn the corner.  They had come to find me, and subsequently adopt me.  We went back to Matt and Amanda’s apartment, which was in the same building as mine. Rhinehardt was still in jail at the time, so we went through my apartment and grabbed some essentials.  Some clothes, my laptop, The Invention of Hugo Cabret (a book I had been meaning to read), Agatha (the cat I had been cat sitting) and some other items I forget.  We sat around Matt and Amanda’s apartment for a bit, then, exhausted, back to Luke and Danielle’s where I would live for the next few weeks.  Daniel Rhinehardt would be released on bail that night, and he would never go back to jail for this crime.  Because that is how the system works in North Carolina.

When I made it back to Luke and Danielle’s house I remember calling my parents. Calling my friend Tom in the wee hours of the morning, because of the time zone, and leaving a message saying something like “you should call me back as soon as you get this.” I called work and asked to not come in for a bit.  I tried to explain.  

These mundane exercises.

I needed to inform my people.

I started using Facebook for only that reason.  To tell my people from Charlotte, my hometown (no, I don’t claim that often) that I would be back for a short stay, couldn’t drive, needed help.  Needed people around me… I don’t know.  I do know that Erich Moffitt, an ex -but I thought friend- never returned my call.  Just left me out there, drifting in the darkest void I’ve ever drifted in.  So... yeah, a polite fuck you, dude.

Everything went from bad to worse as I tried to recover, but there were still wonderful highlights to cling to.  My friend Tom created a paypal donation site for me, as I was uninsured and would need help covering the medical bills (though in the end Victim’s Compensation would cover them, but not before they went into default and cruel creditors would harass me and call the incident of someone stabbing me an “accident”), I was caught by an incredible network of friends in Asheville, who I am forever overjoyed to see, who I can rely on to this day, and I love dearly.  My birthday, 2 days later on Sept 23rd, I spent in Charlotte, my parents collected me and took me to their home a few hours away for a few days following which made sense.  It was during a gas crisis, but I didn’t know.  My friend Mike Walker and his wife Mary came to my parent’s house, collected me in the back of their car, and drove me out for Ethiopian food on my birthday.  It was truly special.

I bonded so much with Agatha, the cat, who I was cat sitting, in Luke and Danielle’s little guest room.  She was my constant companion as I recovered.  I read The Invention of Hugo Cabret.  It is one of my favourite books to this day.  It is easy, beautiful, densely illustrated, and I would get lost in it.  I would read it over and over, or just open it and look at it.  It’s still a comfort that I can’t quite describe.  Calm, dark, stable.  An adventure, but a safe one. (Fun fact, I buy copies of that book whenever I see them in second hand shops, to give to friends.  I have one now that was just unknowingly claimed by someone.)

I was wearing my punk rock jacket, covered in patches and badges, when I was stabbed, but thought nothing of it.  When I was in the courthouse, filing for a temporary restraining order, I put some coins in my pocket and they fell out onto the floor.  The knife had gone straight through.  I later stitched it back shut in red, and then silver thread over where the staples had gone.  The punkest punk rock jacket.  I still have it, but I don’t wear it anymore.

I came back to Asheville too soon, to do a Hellblinki show.  I was incredibly out of it.  I remember Ian (who I would date for 5 years, much later) visiting that show and hugging me and having no earthly idea what I had been through.  (It should have been a warning, really, I think now, but from a place of happiness, love, and sarcasm.)  I passed out on the couch at the venue.  The bar staff and owner knew what was up and looked out for me, and told me if I ever needed anything, ANYTHING, just come to them.  Just go to The Rocket Club and they would sort it.  The Rocket Club is gone now, but I think to think that the offer still stands with Ken.

I recovered physically.  I used a cane for a while, but eventually, now, I am 99%.  That 1% shows up now and again, excruciating pain if getting a massage, or just weird weather patterns and scar tissue.

Emotionally and mentally I am okay.  I have PTSD (post-traumatic stress disorder), but that’s not surprising.  If and when I run into Daniel Rhinehardt, and I have the unbelievable misfortune of doing so now and again, I sort of “blackout”.  I go into this incredible fight or flight response moment, and I always choose flight.  It’s not an option.  It is done for me.  I “come to” as I am running down a street, hiding in a bathroom, or driving away (it’s terrifying to sort of “wake up” in your own body and find you’ve been driving a car.)  These blackouts aren’t black, but I become much more a passenger and my lizard-brain takes over.  I’m mostly aware of what is happening, but I am not the one in control.

Daniel Rhinehardt received no jail time.  He was given probation, required counseling, and is a convicted felon.  It’s not much.  It’s not much, but at least it is not nothing.  He does have a record.  And he’s added to it since me.  That’s the main reason I am writing this.  Because he attacked women after me.

I would later have several women come tell me how he had abused them or been violent, but they were always too afraid to go to the police.  This breaks my heart and makes me incredibly angry.  I would have never been put in this danger if there was some record, if people warned each other about violent men.  Thankfully we as a culture are better about that now, ten years later.  The sentencing hearing at court would be laughable if it wasn’t so goddamn tragic.  Rhinehardt's lawyer claimed he only drank that night because he didn’t want to be rude to his host, then asserting that his drunkenness somehow means his violence wasn’t actually him.  David grabbed my hand.  I could tell she was furious.  I was in a weird state of disbelief and also just acceptance that the NC Court System did not and does not give a fuck about me.

After the court hearing I was dazed.  But I remember we walked out into the gray February day, and got coffees.  What else can you do?  I had gotten knocked about so much over those 5 months that nothing shocked me.  I just accepted it as best I could.  And had coffee.

I got a restraining order, but every year when I went back to renew it some judge behind a desk made me feel like I didn’t deserve it, because if it had not been violated, why did I need it?  One of them, the last one (before I stopped going, not needing to expose myself to that trauma over and over) called me “Miss Rhinehardt”, just truly horrible people who absolutely did not care about me.  Again, North Carolina, I am looking at you with so much contempt for how you treat women.

All of my legal work was handled pro bono by Pisgah Legal, and I am thankful to them forever.  I was terrified I would not qualify or I would have to prove this happened, or I don’t know what, but no, I was firmly supported and told that the 911 call and the photos were terrible, but also incredibly damning in my favor.  An odd benefit, I guess. Also, since my attack is technically domestic violence, I had access to counseling through Helpmate and OurVoice, who are both fantastic resources.

I applied for a passport.  Just seemed the right thing to do. I wanted to leave the country.  I wanted to leave it all behind for just a bit.  The passport came in the mail, but on the same day, a check from Victim’s Compensation reimbursing me, finally, for all the medical bills I had been forced to cover, arrived.  I put the two together and a few months later left the country to go do a festival with band family in London and Whitby, and visit my dear friend Xavi Quero in Barcelona, Catalonia.

There’s more mess afterward as well...  I can never quite write it all, and maybe what is left out will just fade away into obscurity.  But this is enough.  Except it is worth saying: a couple years later a woman reached out to me on Facebook because she was dating Daniel Rhinehardt and he was scaring her.  She heard about me and wanted to know if “it was all true”.  He had told her that he had a record, but said that I had cheated on him or some other nonsense, which is ridiculous for several reasons (we were not dating, gross, and if ever we were- HOW DOES THAT JUSTIFY ATTACKING A WOMAN!?)  lots of red flags on that one, but this woman didn’t see them until too late.  I did warn her, and she got away, or so I was told.  But a few months later he was arrested for assault on a female, and she had a broken jaw.  I don’t know if they are the same, but I’ve got decent powers of deduction.

He was arrested another time as well, as I was informed via mugshot (I don’t ever need to see that face again, thank you, but there it was) for another assault on a female.  I don’t know the story, I don’t want to know… and I probably already know.  It’s a pattern.  I recognize patterns.

I mentioned that I’ve run into him.  That’s god-awful.  I have another friend who looks vaguely like him, which leads to a cute comedy of errors, that still involves a PTSD meltdown for me.  I am getting better about it, and this friend knows what I am really asking if I say “Are you at Restaurant X? Or Hey, are you downtown?” because I am giving myself a precious few seconds hoping for a “yes, that’s me!” and then relief… though usually it ends up with me hyperventilating somewhere else, after having run off, literally without thinking.

But, Valerie!  You’re usually so positive about things!  What is the silver lining of all this?

No. I’m not there yet, but I am getting there.  There is something horrible about having someone try to kill you.  Someone you trusted.  Something that breaks inside you and will never be the same.  It’s strange to have a moment when someone else decided they wanted to control your fate, your life, and by control I mean try to fuck it up horrifically, or just… end it.  Someone tried to end me.  Me.  That damaged my psyche for a long time… maybe permanently, though I have put my own spin on it.

There is something about this incident that left me feeling like less of a person, I was to another human being (no matter how terrible a person): dispensable.  I will always struggle with that, copying it over to other relationships with decent enough people, this disposability.  I don’t have inherently low self esteem or anything, but as I mentioned before, something, some trust in human decency… broke.  And I’ve never been able to put it back together right.

I worry that I give this incident too much weight, but I swear to you, fereverently, it weighs only as much as it does.  But that fluctuates.  Am I digging up the past to make drama? No.  I am trying to explain how I got here, how I became the person I am.  I am always trying to accept this.  Accept the reactions of the people around me. (The local paper referred to me, anonymously, as having been “stabbed in the buttocks”.  This led to a weird sort of dark comedy, because how silly it all sounded.  Some people would latch onto that, I would sometimes try to laugh about it too, a forced laugh.  It was really horrific to have some friends very close to me miss the seriousness of my situation because of one shitty line of reporting.  I laughed along, but I was really, really broken about that for a while.)

Trying to explain to a beautiful new friend that I am fine now, but I was not always fine, and that I fought like hell to be the shining happy blueberry girl that I get to be today. But I, like any woman who has ever stepped forward and said: “Hold on, this man did X to me”, I feel like I am fighting a world that will not believe me, despite as my lawyer mentioned, the overwhelming amount of proof, evidence, the fact that this did happen, is documented, and yet people still turn a blind eye, or make excuses.  It is maddening.  It is soul destroying.

I have people I meet who inadvertently overstep. (I have a creepy neighbour who was following that pattern of violence I mentioned, and I am completely terrified of him.)  I still have trouble dealing with them.  Almost always men.  Men who want to get too close, who miss social cues, who are creepy, who seem to want something from me. I am working on accepting that a man who is interested in me, when I am not interested in him, is not necessarily a threat. They are not all threats.  They are not going to try to murder you just because you turn them down.  But I am not there yet.  I am still working on that.  It’s a work in progress...

My positive spin?  Pragmatism.  I have a deeply ingrained understanding that tomorrow is promised to no one.  So now, while I do so responsibly, I am pretty good about going after what I want, in good ways.  It took me awhile to work back to this, but I have found a healthy balance of being responsible, and chasing after whimsy because who knows, the world could end tomorrow.  My friend, who I mentioned at the top, told me once that I was brave, having caught up to him on a random adventure by myself on the other side of the world.  Bravery never occurred to me.  It was a factor, sure, I’m brave, but it was really: “No, I want to see this friend.  And I could die next week.”  I don’t think like that… not really, that I might die next week, month, year… but at the same time I do, but with different wording.  I just think “I want this experience in my life, and now might be the only chance I get, so I am going to make it happen to the best of my ability.”

Also, I adventure.  I do incredible things, and my life has been pretty spectacular so far.  I am proud of the work I have done, the art I have made, and I treasure the friendships I’ve found and the experiences I’ve had.  That is my revenge.  Daniel Rhinehardt tried to end me.  Tried to irreversibly ruin my life, and he failed.  And, while it took some time to pull my parts back together, I have done more than just survive him, I have thrived.

A friend mentioned that to me after I had a particularly good day recently (I played puppets with my art hero and fairygodfather, who I will not mention here for the same google search result reasons), she said something along the lines of “You’re doing a lot more than just surviving.” It caught me off guard, I forgot she even knew about my whole getting-stabbed incident… I don’t mind people knowing, it is a part of who I am now.  I thought about it, and said “yes.”  It’s true.  That’s my goal.  That’s what I am doing.  And I’m okay with that.

I have mentioned a few times that one of the impetus of this tirade of tragedy is this new friend of mine, who is learning English, so I wanted to have this written down, messy as it may be, so that I am not dumping a bunch of English words on him with a context that is not easily understood with new words, (and made up words as I try to describe messy feelings not found in a textbook)… but also for my English speaking friends, because I’ve never really unloaded the whole story, or even this much of the story to anyone… I am open to sharing it, but really, sharing it is exhausting.  I get a weird surge of adrenaline when I explain it, but that adrenaline is coming from fear, mistrust, vulnerability… and it just vibrates through my system with no outlet until I realize I don’t want it.  I don’t need it.  I’m just wiped out.

But this friend.  I am going to visit him and others in a different location, still on the other side of the world, in a few months.  We met in Japan, so why not continue meeting in far off countries where I have a clumsy or nearly nonexistent grasp of the language?  What could possibly go wrong? I was explaining this to my mother a week or so ago, my trip plans, dates I’m looking at, etc, and she asked me (supportively) a very motherly question:  “Do you trust this person?”

And I answered without even thinking, or maybe I did think, but it was reactionary: “Yes. Implicitly.”  I told her.  And he’s not the first stranger-turned-friend that I have trusted implicitly, there have been several over the past few years.  Like-minded individuals who I am introduced to, or who I stumble upon and I get them, they get me, and I trust them inherently, implicitly, and with all my heart.  This has been years in the works, to get back to this point, where I can just accept a person who is good, who will look out for me, who cares for me without wanting anything in return.  A mutual trust and vulnerability.  I am lucky to have this back.

I am in a good place now.  I have been in a good place for a while.  This series of terrible moments from ten years ago left a mark, and changed who I am, but also changed me into who I am today.  And I am happy with the person I ended up as.  I’m not thanking any horrific person for trying to kill me, goodness no. He’s a terrible human being, and every woman should stay well away from him. 

I guess there is one thing undeniably positive thing I have taken away from this horrific series of events.  I’ve been through some rough times in my life since then, but nothing ever like that.  And to all of it I have been able to say: “I’ve survived worse than this.”  

And it’s gotten me through a lot.

It has sort of changed my perspective, it can sometimes be a comfort or a place of strength.

Also, I quietly know that I would win every argument of “worst housemate ever”.

That’s it, really.  No overarching summary or call to action… maybe “be kind.” Try being a good person to each other, and if you see someone leaning towards violence, stop it.  Call the cops, I don’t like cops either, but you shut that down when you see it.  Put it on their record.  Give them a record.  They’ve earned it. Make them show up in that cursory google search.

Give the next woman a fighting chance.

afterward, another reason why I wrote this, as I explained in my letter to my aforementioned friend:

...and I remember thinking to myself: "oh, scars..." and looking at you and wishing this information was already in your head, but no, I would have to put it there.   So I said something like: "there is not enough time" and I left it there.     But I hope you also know, from having met me, that I'm alright now.  I wasn't for a while.  But I am now.

I hope you all understand.

[whosxafraid]

Married life. Us. I FUCKING dare you, Gowl.

Meme: Married Life Meme Status: CLOSED

leaves their dirty clothes on the floor

Adrenaline. Some people call it the super man effect. Mother’s lifting cars off their children. Soldiers taking impossible amounts of damage and not going down until their done. And that’s not too far off from what’s going on now is it? Bullets flying, spitting off walls and near misses off helmets. But that hold he’s got on the other man’s body armor. It’s not going to waiver. So it doesn’t. And eventually House finds them cover. 

And then it’s all a different kind of chaos. Trying to scrounge up make shift bandaging and thank Christ one of the med bags made it. Peej yelling orders. Telling him where to hold and how hard to press. And it’s all hyper awareness. Because he can feel the blood pouring out around the gauze. Feel nails biting through his sleeve because that shit hurts. 

And it’s only later when the fire fight calms because the suns gone down, that he really notices. That they’re all missing some part of their uniform. Because they’d all give it all up, if it meant they all got to come home, breathing.

forgets to run the dish washer

Day three. 

It’s all starting to blur together. They take things in shifts. One sleeps the others are up. Watching the outside. Making sure the other one doesn’t die on them. At least not without anyone knowing. Remnants of MREs sprinkled throughout. None of them have really eaten a full meal since this shit storm started. 

He shifts a bit. Checks that their leading man hasn’t checked out on them. He’s good. Breathing. Half Pint says Boss will make it. If they can get out of this hell hole. 

Banks relieves him. And he’s up again. Moving through their make shift fox hole. Nudging the Peej with his foot to get up. It’s Luka’s turn for some shut eye.

        I could destroy a burger right now, you feeling me?

          “Aye.”

A pause because there’s a part of him that’s afraid they won’t ever be able to argue again about the proper way to grill one. But he keeps that to himself. A half cocked smile as he pulls his helmet down a bit to try and block out the sun.

          “Ta triple decker from B n’ B minute we ge’ back.”

pumps gas for the car

          I got us a way out but s’insane, G. 

And he listens to the pitch House tosses Gorilla, from his point by the window. There’s a humvee with a bed, that looks intact about three klicks out. No motion since sun down. It’s risky as shit. Stupid to even attempt it. But they arent’ going to get evac’d sitting here like ducks in a barrel that’s quickly losing its ability to stay upright. 

              House that’s fuckin’ worse than insa—

       “Oi’ll go.”

The stagnate air in the room gets heavier by degrees. 

             O’Ri–

        “Oi’ can make i’. House up top coverin’ me. Oi’can make i’.”

              Not without me, fucktard. It’s three clicks out and you’ll need someone carrying your ass back, so I’m going to

A brief glance at the other Irishman. He’s not wrong. What with the fact of who he spends most his down time with, that wee fucker with magic fingers when it comes to making things work that don’t have the mind. Some of that’s worn off, Luka’s seen it in action. And there’s another few beats of silence but eventually..

Damnit. Fine go. House take Banks. You two cover these idiots.

Roger that.

drives when they’re going somewhere

Chaos. It’s what he was trained for. What they all were. And it’s damn clock work in the middle of a war zone that might just be worse than Uganda. And they don’t talk about Uganda. 

            South!

            “RIGH’ ER LEF’ OI’ NO GO’ TOI’ME TA BE CHE—”

           RIGHT!

And there’s a turn that’s almost too sharp for the Humvee to handle. He can feel it start to tilt up on one side–but just when he thinks its going to clear the point of no return it levels back out again. And they speed away down the dirt road. Gun fire pinging in a symphony of clinks and clanks. That’s answered because Banks never does know when to quit. And it’s minutes before House dares…

          We good?

A choir of tired yeses. But they’re alive. And so is their downed team leader. But more than anything? That heavy hand on his shoulder that’s squeezes with all it’s might for a few solid seconds, feels good. At least until it pulls away to come back as a fist.

          Next time, I’m driving, fucker.

rearranges the furniture

It’s amazing how quick the stench can set in. The way it gets into your clothes. Into your skin. Until you nearly scrub your skin off later, and you could swear it’s still there. But right now—right now they’ve got to find what they’re looking for. No one gets left behind. 

           Needle in hay stack.

For once he doesn’t make a come back. Just keeps searching faces. One right after the other. Body after body. And there’s a twisting in his gut with each one. Wanting it to be over and yet hoping House isn’t here at all. Because if he isn’t here…

Ping!

           Contact ten o’clock!

They split behind opposite pillars. Silent communication on how they’re going to get out of this one. Not that they ever get the chance because there’s laughter that sounds more like relief than amusement.

You assholes need to keep a better eye on your sixes.

And there the little fucker is. Jumping down from a hole in the roof. Gesturing towards the enemy that had been hiding among the dead.

Like he said. They don’t talk about Uganda.

falls asleep with the TV on

What does he do when it’s two hundred hours, at the bottom of the pacific and he can’t sleep? He watches videos he’s hoarded on his phone that’s what. Earbuds stuck firmly in. Trying to keep the amusement to himself, as she dances into the camera frame for the billionth time. Looking like a wee fair folk, twirling around his little brother that bless him as no rhythm at all.

But before he knows it…it’s three hundred hours, and he’s drifted off to sleep. Listening to her ramble about work, and the mouse Houdini caught in the kitchen. And it’s all just as well. Because it allows for someone else to pick it up. Slide the ear buds away that have fallen loose. And he’ll never know how his phone ended up back where it should be. He’ll never know the message from home meant for him, made someone else feel not quite so lonely. 

But what he doesn’t know what hurt him. At least not until later, when the teasing starts because his mother had sent over a box of old things. And Beth had spotted the sock donkey. And of course had to wonder allowed what his name was.

gets to use the bathroom first

Thirty-one hours awake and counting. That concrete slab of a cot is going to feel like goose down by the time he gets to it. But for now he lets the scalding water run. Washing off…well everything. Hands flat against the tile. Lets his mind slip elsewhere. Pretends for just a minute there’s humming in the next room that he can just make out of the water flow. Pretends he can smell coconuts and cinnamon. Pretends there’s a cat trying to get to his jeans from underneath the door. Pretends a lot of things. Until–

The door on the showers bangs open, and shatters it all. Riley saddling up a few shower heads away. And there’s only a minimal change to his otherwise blank expression before he’s speaking up. Never once moving in the process.

“Next one down less ye wanna be foi’ghtin’ wi’d water pressure.”

A pause but the Peej moves up one, because there’s no real trust outside of uniform with them. Predictable really. And Luka shuts off the water. Towels off. Makes a kilt out of it and shuffles off towards the lockers without a word. Though the satisfying yell and subsquent cursing is only just so satisfying.

He owes House a fifty but it was worth it; because nothing beats an ice cold mountain dew shower to round of your thirty-two hour day.

decides the temperature for the ac/heater

As conditioned as he is…he can’t say he likes the cold. It’s a case of being able to put up with it, verses enjoying it. So maybe he feels just a little bit sorry for the Peej turned SEAL when they end up catching a beat on a whale. Feels a little sympathy for the added layer the other dons during down time. Not that he’ll say anything. Because that just wasn’t what you did.

Though when one of the heaters starts fritzing mid-cruise, sure he tosses over a few pointers. A few try this, because they last thing they need is their medic ending up in the medbay because his fingers froze stiff. Plus he doesn’t really want to listen to the sermon he’ll get when he gets home. Not that he’d blame her for it. Because he wouldn’t. 

sets up holiday decorations

Date: December 24th.Location: ClassifiedDesignation: U.S.S. -redacted-

The off tune someone just shoot him already singing of House in the corner. It’s the only thing breaking the otherwise silence of the room. The TV’s been off for hours. The gaming system dead in the water. Everyone distracting themselves with whatever else they can find. 

Because they all love their job. Can’t dream of doing anything different and yet right then not a single one wants to be where they are. All of them thinking about snow and trees covered in lights and twenty years with of memories give or take a decade in some cases. Thinking about the Christmas dinners they’re going to miss, and the night caps they are right now. And maybe for a minute having to remind themselves they signed up for this. That its worth it in the end. And there’s always next Christmas.

But then suddenly—

        ON THE FIRST DAY OF CHRISTMAS MY TRUE LOVE GAVE TO MEE-EE-EE

A symphony of on key, perfectly timed responses: SHUT THE FUCKING HELL UP, HOUSE!

leaves the lights on

Actual quiet in the bunks. Everyone’s turned in. No sense in staying up. They’re running dark right now, so phones calls are a no go. And he lays there. Listening to House’s stuffy nosed snoring. Watching the little tree none of them even know where he got it, turn from red to green to gold to white and back again. And it’s almost soothing. Almost has him on the verge of drifting off when–

A shadow gets up from their bed across the room. Shuffles over. Reaches for it. And he’s throwing a hand out. Catching Riley by the wrist. A single shake of his head before pushing the other’s hand away.

          “Leave i’. Helps him sleep.”

There’s under toned griping he can’t make out, but the Peej leaves it be. Goes back to bed and almost begrudgingly turns over to face away from the blinking tree. Luka won’t call him on it. It makes him miss home more, too. Miss her, more. But there are just somethings you take for the team. And this one? He’ll take for House.

uses the bathroom with the door open

There are things that have to be held when you’re squished together like sardines in a can, in the back of a troop truck. Things that have to be willed through on account of pissing on your buddy’s boot, while considered talent at this angle, just isn’t worth the risk of getting it elsewhere too. So you hold it. Scrunch your toes inside your own boots and say seven hail mary’s in advance for the slew of relief cursing you’re going to be doing in a half hour.

And once you do manage to reach camp? It’s a bustle of fucking movement. You never make it to the head. And next thing you know your half way up a god forsaken mountain in bumble fuck egypt when you literally can’t fucking can anymore. And you’re practically skipping off for the biggest tree you can find to let it all go.

You’ll never live it down. You know that. But this isn’t California or bust. And they can wait the few seconds it takes to water the locals and get back on track.

           Tol’ ye no’ ta—

          “Shut up, fucktard.”

fixes the plumbing (or calls the plumber)

        “Oi’m tellin’ ye, ye go’ ta pu’ t—”

            You wanna come down here and do this? No? Then stop speaking.

They’ve been at it for an hour and a half now. It can’t be this complicated to fix a leak. Well it can but neither of them exactly went to vocational school to spend their days underneath sinks.

       “Chroi’st arse jus’ call ye boyfriend.”

            No.

It’s pride. He gets it. But still it’s ridiculous. And he’s this close to calling the wee lad himself when–there’s a dull ping and a thud and—

           TURN OFF THE FUCKIN’ WATER!! TURN IT OFF!

A short lived scurry to do just that. Though by the time he’s managed it there’s already a good sized puddle of water all over the kitchen floor and Riley coming out of the cabinet. Soaked down his front and angrier than a can of bees shaken.

            Hand me my phone.

[lady-divine-writes]

Klaine fic - “Not What I Had in Mind: Chapter 2″ (Rated PG13)

Kurt and Blaine meet, under rather unusual circumstances, while on vacation in the French Alps, but even Kurt gives Blaine a chance and they hit it off, will they be able to stay together? Or will something much bigger than either of them end up keeping them apart?

Notes: A lot of people requested the second chapter to this one, so here it is. I hope you enjoy. 

Read on AO3. (3179 words)

Snow had fallen overnight, making the landscape it covered look clean and unblemished. A blank slate. Beneath that layer of crystal beauty, the ground could be scarred or scorched by fire. It could be cracked and dry, or barren. Either way, coated in a new blanket of pristine snow, it glittered.

It looks flawless.

Kurt wishes it would work that way for him, that he could lay out in the gathering drift overnight and wake up reborn. He would rise from the snow replenished – his body and his heart changed, healed.

New.

Only once does Kurt consider changing his mind, but that doesn’t last too long, trounced underfoot by his ridiculous romantic notions. He has come on this trip to experience everything he had put off for the future, everything that he’d promised himself he would do tomorrow, next week, a year from now. He’s going to let himself take this chance at having his heart stolen … and broken, if that’s the way this is meant to end.

Though he can’t imagine his heart breaking more than it already is. That’s his problem.

Kurt wanders down to Blaine’s room in basically his pajamas, only he’s exchanged his flannel sleep pants for a slightly warmer pair of knit lounge pants, and thrown a cream-colored cable knit sweater over the black Henley he wore to bed. It might not be his designer label suit from a few hours ago, but he doesn’t think Blaine will mind, seeing as it’s barely going on seven in the morning and it’s about 21 degrees outside. Kurt’s not sure how they’re going to eat on Blaine’s private patio in this weather, provided Blaine hasn’t forgotten. What if Blaine doesn’t remember that he invited him? He gave Kurt his room number, but they didn’t exchange phone numbers, and the phones in the rooms only call the front desk. No phones, no television, no Wifi. The hotel’s shtick includes the total disconnect from civilization that the wealthy dish out thousands a night for.

What if Blaine extended the invitation never expecting Kurt to show up? He seemed so sincere, but could that have been an act? What if this is a trick and Blaine was never a guest of this hotel in the first place? After all, they did sort of meet under false pretenses. What if he sent Kurt to the room of that man and his wife and daughter from the dining room, and is now miles away laughing over his sick joke?

Kurt’s doubts slow his steps as he approaches the door to 23, but a foot away from stopping and going back to his own room, the door opens. A much different looking Blaine Anderson peeks out, sees Kurt stopped in the hallway, and smiles. He beckons Kurt over with a wave of his hand, running the other through carefully tamed bedhead. Kurt is happy to see Blaine wearing a similar outfit to his own. In fact, with his own loose black knit pants and navy blue hoodie, the two of them could have ordered from the same catalogue.

“Oh, good. You’re here!” Blaine jogs out into the hallway barefoot and shivering, continuing to grin despite his teeth chattering. He takes Kurt’s hand and pulls him inside. “For a second, I was afraid you weren’t going to show.”

“My bad. I neglected to get your cell number.” Kurt follows Blaine into his room – his huge room - decorated the same as Kurt’s, using the same pomegranate and pale gold color palette, the same antique dark oak furniture, and the same mandatory provincial design elements, but nearly five times the size.

“I know.” Blaine chuckles, running his hand through his hair again, and Kurt bites the inside of his cheek, realizing he’s nervous. This flirty, gorgeous, obviously wealthy man is nervous over a breakfast date with him. “I don’t know what I was thinking.” The chuckles and giddy comments coalesce into an expectant silence, and Blaine and Kurt are left staring at one another, waiting for the easy conversation from dinner to continue. But the playing field has changed. They’re in Blaine’s suite, not the dining room, and they’re alone, with a tension building between them that could shatter glass.

Kurt thinks that if this were some kind of B-rate rom-com, they’d be rushing in for a kiss right about now.

“Oh! I ordered breakfast!” Blaine throws his arms wide in the direction of food. True to his word, Blaine ordered every item on the breakfast menu. He had it covered to keep it warm, waiting for Kurt to arrive. When Kurt takes his eyes off Blaine, he sees it immediately. He’s surprised that he missed it. Blaine had to have an extra table brought up from the dining room to hold all the plates. He must have placed the order the minute he returned to his room last night. Kurt can’t see any other way Blaine could have had this ready this early in the morning otherwise.

It touches Kurt more than he’s willing to acknowledge out loud that Blaine would have this amount of faith that he would actually show.

“Well, let’s not wait around!” Blaine says with an emphatic clap. “I don’t know about you, but I’m starving!” His eyes drift to the patio outside, shuddering at the sight of snow piled against the door. “We can … uh … still sit out on the patio. There are some heaters out there. But unless we straddle them, it might be a wee bit cold.”

“Only a wee bit,” Kurt jokes, winding his arms around his torso, chilly even though the heat in Blaine’s room is going at full blast.

“I can pull a table and some chairs up against the glass doors if you prefer. You’ll still get the great view.”

“I think that sounds perfect,” Kurt says. “To be honest, I’m not sure I have the thigh muscles to straddle a heater for a prolonged period of time.”

Blaine’s smile widens, but Kurt can tell by the way his eyelids twitch that he’s fighting the urge to look down at Kurt’s legs and check for himself.

Blaine turns his head before he loses the fight. “I’ll set up the table and we can get started on breakfast. The smell of turkey sausage has been driving me out of my mind!”

“You could have started without me,” Kurt says, feeling guilty for taking so long, for almost giving in to his insecurities and backing out.

“Never.” Blaine grunts with the strain of pulling a heavy wood table from the dining area to the glass double doors of the patio. “The point was to have breakfast with you. I was willing to wait.” Blaine winks at Kurt as he passes, struggling comically to drag the table across the floor since the thing seems dead-set on staying where it is.

Kurt watches Blaine and his heart swells, racing in his chest alarmingly fast, but Kurt likes it. He hasn’t been this excited over the prospect of doing anything since he checked in to this hotel, and this is only breakfast. Blaine takes Kurt by the elbow and leads him to the table, pulling up a chair for him to sit, and Kurt’s heart pounds faster.

“There you are.” Blaine gestures to the vista outside the glass. “Probably the best seat in the house.”

The view off the patio is glorious, everything Blaine promised it would be – a glimpse of the snow-capped mountains unparalleled by any Kurt has seen so far. But Kurt looks at it for only a second before he turns his attention back to the man getting ready to serve him breakfast.

Kurt really should object to being waited on by this man. He should get up out of his chair and help. But when Blaine turns his back to Kurt and bends over the table to reach the plates, Kurt can’t see a single reason why he would want to move.

He does, however, see one incredible reason why he should consider this chair his new home and stay here for the remainder of his vacation.

Does this hotel have a gym? Kurt wonders as he stares gratuitously at Blaine’s lower back where his sweater has lifted revealing smooth, tan skin, and defined muscles. He’d never bothered to check.

Blaine seems remarkably excited about eating breakfast with Kurt, which Kurt doesn’t entirely understand, but now that Kurt is here, now that the moment has arrived – a moment that he laid in bed all morning thinking about, barely closing his eyes for longer than twenty minutes at a stretch – he doesn’t think he can eat a bite. Which would suck since Blaine went to all this trouble. Kurt doesn’t want to offend him. Blaine starts uncovering platters, setting delicious smells free to circulate around the room, and Kurt’s stomach growls loudly.

Well, that answers that, Kurt thinks, subconsciously wrapping an arm around his waist in the hopes of muffling the sound.

Without even asking what he would like, Blaine piles two plates high with food and sets them in front of Kurt. He also takes a wild guess as to how Kurt takes his coffee, not quite getting it right, but Kurt doesn’t mind. This is the definition of a picture perfect morning – the serene mountain outside their window, flakes of snow lightly falling, whispers of a spiraling wind brushing against the patio doors, a handsome man serving him breakfast, and a feeling of complete freedom, no worries or expectations … and Kurt can’t keep his eyes open.

“Easy there, sweetheart.” Blaine stands from his chair and grabs Kurt’s shoulders as his head nods for the tenth time. “Or you’re going to have your face in the crepes again.”

“I’m sorry.” Kurt laughs, taking a sip of the exceptionally strong Italian roast in his mug. “You must think I’m horrible company.”

“Not at all.” Blaine rearranges his chair and his plate to sit closer to Kurt, preparing to rescue him from face-planting in his waffles if the need arises. “But are you sure you’re okay? You look seriously exhausted.” Blaine tilts his head and gazes at Kurt with a hundred questions in his golden eyes.

“No worse than you,” Kurt comments, stifling a yawn. He tucks into a waffle smothered in crème fraiche and fruit, praying the jolt of sugar will help keep him awake.

“Yeah, but I didn’t almost pass out in my entrée.” Blaine frowns as he watches Kurt fumble his knife and fork. “Do you … would you rather do this another time?”

“No!” Kurt shoots a hand over his mouth to minimize the gross-factor of talking with his mouth full. He swallows his bite prematurely with an audible gulp, and Blaine snickers. “No,” he repeats. “Actually, there’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

“Good,” Blaine says, satisfied. “Glad to hear it. But … I have this feeling that there’s more than exhaustion going on with you.”

“Wh---why do you say that?” Kurt concentrates hard on cutting another piece off his food, hoping that whatever feeling Blaine has goes away.

“It kind of started last night.” Blaine’s jaw tightens, like he’d rather not be admitting to this. “Call it paranoia.” Kurt’s smile dims, his eyes dropping from his plate to the napkin in his lap. He puts down his knife and fork, his appetite gone. How come he’s always so frickin’ see-through? Like cellophane? Why can’t the things he wants to hide disappear because he says so? Blaine reaches out and puts a hand on Kurt’s knee tentatively, then rests his palm against it when Kurt doesn’t withdraw from his touch. Blaine’s hand on Kurt’s knee is warm – so warm. It penetrates the cold that’s come over him since he first heard his prognosis. “I know we only met about twelve hours ago, but I hope that you might feel comfortable confiding in me. You know, some things are easier to tell a stranger.”

Kurt sighs, already beat down by the conversation that’s about to follow. He had hoped to put this off for a day – one stinking day. He’d been living with his condition for a while before it became serious, beyond anything that his doctors could have predicted, but for most of his life he was labeled the sick kid – never offered the chance to try, never given the opportunity to turn something down before he was completely counted out. He always planned on overcoming that, to exact his revenge by becoming a proficient at practically everything. Since there’s obviously no hope of that happening, for once he just wanted to forget about it and be normal, but that wasn’t going to happen, because he isn’t normal. And denying it, hiding it away as a way to negate it, wouldn’t be fair to Blaine.

“I don’t want to lie to you,” Kurt says. “You’ve been so nice and sweet, and I don’t know if you intended this to be a fly-by-night sort of thing for you or … but that doesn’t matter. I need to be honest.” Kurt stops. He takes a breath. He hangs on to his last moment of false normalcy for as long as he can. “I’m …”

“Pregnant?” Blaine leaps in to finish.

Kurt rolls his eyes, laughing even though the joke isn’t that funny. But it waylaid his momentum, and he’s too tired to stop giggling. “No.”

“Married?”

“No.”

“Secretly engaged?”

“No.”

“Running from the law?”

“No.”

Blaine looks at Kurt, eyelids narrowing.

“Canadian?”

“No!”

Blaine shrugs, smiling that self-assured, cocky smile that’s a part of his mischievous charm. It makes Kurt weak. Too weak to keep quiet any longer.

“Then I can’t think of anything …”

“I’m dying.”

Blaine laughs once, a carryover from before, but when Kurt doesn’t join in, he stops.

“Wait … you’re … you’re serious?” Blaine scoots forward in his chair, folding his hands in his lap like he’s praying it isn’t true. “You’re dying?”

Kurt looks at Blaine’s folded hands. It’s such a simple thing, a small gesture, but coupled with everything else Blaine has done this morning, it means so much.

“Yes,” Kurt says seriously. “I am.”

Blaine stares at Kurt, repeating, “Uh … um … uh …” caught with a question stuck in his mouth.

“I know what you want to ask” - Kurt folds the napkin in his lap - “and don’t worry. It’s not contagious. It’s my heart. It’s a really long, unpleasant story, and please forgive me if I don’t want to depress you with the details right now, but it ends with there’s really nothing that anyone can do.”

Blaine shakes his head. “That’s not what I was …” Blaine can’t seem to finish the sentence, something more important pressing on his mind. “H---how long?”

“Not long enough.”

Blaine’s head shake turns into a nod until he looks confused as to whether he’s agreeing with Kurt or not, and what about, Kurt doesn’t know. “Y--you know what?” Blaine stands abruptly from his seat. “I think … I think that maybe I’m a bit exhausted.” He chuckles. It sounds hollow and sad. Kurt understands. “I think … I think I really need to take a nap, so …”

“I … I get it.” Kurt stands along with him, crumpling up his napkin and dropping it on the table. Thank goodness Blaine’s curiosity forced him to be upfront about this. How awkward would it have been a week from now, or a few months from now, if this had gone that far? If Kurt had made it that far? “I’m sorry. I … I’ll just go …”

“What?” Blaine heads Kurt off before he starts for the door. “Wait? Where are you going?”

Kurt frowns at Blaine’s confusion. “I’m going back to my room. You don’t have to explain.”

“Apparently, I do.” Blaine reaches for Kurt’s hand. “I’m exhausted, you’re exhausted, and I think we could both use a nap, so …”

“I know. That’s why I’m leaving.”

“But I don’t want you to go.”

Kurt’s face takes over Blaine’s look of confusion. “But … but I just told you …”

“That you’re dying, I know, I heard,” Blaine says with a heavy sigh.

“Right,” Kurt agrees, his confusion growing as Blaine pulls him toward the next room – the bedroom.

“And that’s a little bit much for me to process with my head spinning like a top,” Blaine continues, climbing onto the bed and tugging Kurt down toward him, “so I thought we should take a nap and talk about it more when we wake up.”

Kurt surprises himself by following, by not doing the intelligent thing and stopping before it’s too late. Though, if he was smart, he would have told Blaine to leave at dinner, so apparently he’s not as bright as he gives himself credit for.

“Are you … but I … I don’t understand.” For all his arguing, Kurt doesn’t stop following Blaine as he pulls the comforter down and climbs underneath. “Does this mean … do you still want to see me?”

Blaine chuckles again, the same tired, hollow sound as before, as he wraps the comforter around Kurt’s body and pulls him close.

“Why wouldn’t I want to see you?” Blaine yawns as his head hits the pillow.

“Did you miss the part where there’s no treatment for what I have? No cure?” Kurt asks, a little worn and a lot bitter. But what was he doing? He usually tries to let people know that he’s not a threat, that they can be his friend, that he won’t up and die on them mid-sentence (not that that’s a promise he can keep). He’s always trying to reassure people who keep their distance from him. Now here comes a man who wants to be with him, and he’s turning him away?

“Yeah. It was subtle, but I caught that.” Blaine curls toward Kurt’s body. “Did you miss the part where I have you wrapped up in my arms and I’m trying to take a nap?”

Kurt sighs, not sure if he’s frustrated or flattered by Blaine’s apparent temporary lack of concern. “Blaine …”

“Kurt, I promise we’ll talk about this first thing when we wake up. But for right now, please …”

Kurt turns in Blaine’s arms to face him, intent on arguing the matter further, but Blaine’s eyes are closed, and he’s already breathing softly. Kurt stares in disbelief. But what can he do? He’s exactly in the position he had hoped to someday be in – lying in bed beside a handsome man who seems willing to stay with him despite the time he doesn’t have left.

And he did say he wanted to experience everything, including having his heart stolen and/or broken.

It was already broken. Now it’s definitely stolen.

“Alright,” he whispers, awestruck by the crazy direction this took and how quickly it got there. “When we wake up, Blaine. First thing.”

Kurt turns back around and settles in against him, closes his eyes, and the world instantly goes dark.

[pedalfuzz]

The Sea And Cake

The Sea And Cake have been making elegant, assured, and singularly unique music for over two decades. The band is made up of a who’s who of Chicago experimental/indie/jazz/post-everything musicians that include Sam Prekop, Archer Prewitt, and John Mcentire.

Their latest album on Thrill Jockey Records is Any Day. Sam Prekop (singer, guitarist) sat down to talk with Pedal Fuzz about writing and recording the record, just after a soundcheck in Durham, NC, ahead of their performance at The Pinhook.

 Pedal Fuzz: Your Last album Runner came out in 2012. When did you start working on the songs that would make up Any Day?

Sam Prekop: So it was probably February 2017. Got a bit of a slow start I guess. I started actively playing guitar for that mainly on my acoustic, roaming around my house cooking dinner for the kids. Strumming the guitar, getting it together kind of. And then Archer Prewitt (guitar) and I spent a fair amount of time together before John McEntire (drums) showed up. And then the three of us rehearsed at the practice space for probably about a week with the new material. And then we went into the studio to record the basic tracks.

PF: Is that generally how it's worked in the past, you starting just with the guitar then bringing everyone else in?

SP: So Archer and I spend a lot of time without drums to work out the intricacies of the arrangements. Of course John contributes as well, but to get the ball rolling usually I start, get the basic gist of it, and then I have Archer come in. There's a few songs on the new record that Archer and I came up with just sort of messing around improvising and stuff. So it happens that way as well. "Any Day," the title track comes out of that, and also the last song "These Falling Arms."

PF: Did you record in John’s studio, Soma Studios?

SP: His studio in flux now because he moved to California. So it was different in that regard, so we used a different studio in Chicago. He had already moved right around the time I started working on the guitar stuff.

PF: So did you track in two locations, or just go out there to L.A. and track?

SP: We never made it to L.A. actually. The original plan was to go and mix it and finish it in L.A. And John moved to L.A. but then he bought a house more northern, east of San Francisco. So that kind of threw our plans for a loop a little bit. So John would mix, and then he would send us the files and we would give input on it.

PF: As far as the songwriting. how collaborative does it get once everybody else joins in? By that point do you already have the structure set, or is there room for change?

SP: So when we have the basic tracks, it can still change because I haven't done any singing yet. So I get the basic tracks into my home studio - and I have been doing it this way for a while where I record the vocals at home and mix them later with John. So I spent quite a bit of time writing and singing and recording the vocals on my own basically. I spent more time doing that this time around than other records I would say. I'm not sure why, I think I just found myself with more time.

There were a few setbacks. One was how we thought the studio would be ready in time, so we were kind of waiting for it. Things were hinging on different factors as we were working, so I wound up like, “OK, I have another month to do other stuff,” and so I ended up redoing a lot of things this time around which was good. I think because I got a little bit of time away from what I had done, I got a slight amount of perspective. I could discover that it could be better if I tried to rewrite certain lines or words.

PF: Was it mostly lyrics and vocals you were changing, or other elements?

SP: Sometimes it was just the delivery of it, like I can sort of get more out of the performance. Other times it might be some slight adjustments to the words, or rhythm things, but usually it was that I felt like I could inhabit these vocals more...not intense exactly, but just be more familiar with them. Just to be able to really perform the song.

PF: That's something striking about the record too, it kicks right off with the vocals.

SP: I know - this is the most vocal-centric record of all, and when rehearsing for this tour and playing some older stuff I'm like, "Oh my god I hardly sing at all in long spots." And I have to say the shows have been quite the vocal workout. It's an hour and a half show and I'm singing the whole time. I'm quite burnt by the end.

PF: Are you having to come up with like a honey/lemon regimen?

SP: I should maybe! It's getting better, you know. So this will be maybe our seventh show tonight, and each night it's getting a little easier. It depends on if the monitoring is good and if the sound is good on stage. If I have to over-sing, that's a problem, and sometimes that's the case if I don't hear it properly.

PF: It seems that on this album, compared to some older songs like "The Argument" or even "Harps" from the last record, there's less electronic elements. It has much more of a band feel. How did you decide that was going to be the vibe this time?

SP: Well, usually with these things the project tells you what it wants as you're working on it. I feel like my job is to pay attention as much as possible to what the material is leading you towards. So I didn't start out like, "Oh this should be a super vocal-heavy record and it should be all about that." So as it was leaning in that direction, it seemed like there was just less room for electronic stuff. And I think I think there would have been more of that if we had been in the studio together during the overdub process - which we had planned, but didn't quite happen because of logistics. So that's also part of the reason I think.

PF: Let's talk about gear a little bit. What guitar and amp are you using on the record?

SP: So I started writing on my acoustic. It's a pretty old beat up Martin 000-17. It's a Mahogany, small body kind of deal. And so I write a lot on that. I've never played it live and I don't plan on it - too many problems involved with drums and stuff.

And my main guitar is not actually a Fender Telecaster, though it looks like one. I got it maybe 15 years ago. It was built by Greenwich Village Custom Guitars (GVCG). It's sort of a legendary builder (Jonathan Wilson) which I didn't know at the time. But as soon as I tried it I'm like, "This is my guitar." So that's been my main guitar for a while.

And I use a Fender Bassman amp - but it's not actually a Fender. It's made by Victoria Amp Company out of Chicago (Victoria 45410 Tweed, modeled after a 1959 Bassman). And I've been using that for a long time as well, at least 10 or so years.

PF: What do you like about the Victoria?

SP: It sounds very acoustic. Not like an acoustic guitar, but the sound of the wooden box is very forward in a way. It feels very lively and unveiled in a way that feels very direct. It's very responsive to the way you play, very quick and responsive. There's no reverb or anything, it's a very direct, classic amp design. I imagine it's probably pretty simple. It's designed originally for bass players but it works really well as a guitar amp.

PF: And are you putting anything between the guitar and the amp?

SP: Yeah, I have a few BJFEE pedals, from Norway. Björn Juhl made them, he went on to design Mad Professor pedals. I have one that’s a very subtle overdrive I use all the time called the Honey Bee. And a BJFE EQ pedal (Sea Blue EQ) that’s amazing. I also have a Mad Professor Deep Blue delay pedal I use for a little color – I’m not big on changing my sound per song very much.

PF: You have a very crisp, but full, clean sound.

SP: On the song “Color The Mountain,” I play some pretty distorted guitar. On that I use this Swedish Himmelstrutz Fetto Nord 70 distortion pedal I’ve had a long time. But I don’t use it much.

PF: You’re in a band with people that are in so many other bands, and so many different collaborations. Does that become difficult for everyone to juggle what they have going on?

SP: There’s no real difficulty. That’s why there’s sometimes longer breaks in-between records. So Tortoise had a record in-between, so that was about two years of the lag time. I also make solo records and usually tour on those. No problems really, it’s just a matter of making the plan and it works out.

EDDIE GARCIA PLAYS GUITAR AND ALL THE PEDALS AS 1970S FILM STOCK. YOU CAN ALSO HEAR HIM REPORTING ON NPR AFFILIATE 88.5 WFDD IN WINSTON-SALEM, NC. IN THE WEE HOURS HE RUNS PEDAL FUZZ, WHICH IS A PROUD RECIPIENT OF A GRANT FROM THE ARTS ENTERPRISE LAB / KENAN INSTITUTE FOR THE ARTS. 

[austinpanda]

Letters to Dad, last September edition

3 September 2017

Dear Dad--

Happy day before Labor Day. Not much going on this weekend, except that it's a three-day weekend, which is nice. Zach needs to change his car battery, and he's a bit intimidated by that, on account of never having done it before, and because we lack a socket wrench. Hopefully we can get the old battery off just with some pliers and then it's just a matter of coming up with some (fake! credit card!) money to get the replacement. I am attempting to encourage him to believe this is not a difficult task, and he need not be made nervous by it. It's only slightly more difficult than changing your windshield wipers, and slightly easier than changing a tire. We'll get it done.

With all the people who were affected by Hurricane Harvey, I was expecting last week at work to be a lot busier and more depressing than usual, because of people calling to report their vehicles under water. Was not so! Over the course of last week, I only set up about eight or ten flood claims. Boy, those were some unhappy people. Most of them took it in stride, though, either because they're insured (just a few) or because they lost lots more than their car, rendering the flooded car less of an issue (also a few), or because they're genuinely good in a crisis (very few, but they're the nice ones to talk to because they're not sobbing.) I had no idea until now how prone Houston is to flooding because of ancient, poorly-thought-out drainage infrastructure that just wasn't designed to remove that much water from the streets that quickly. 

It caused everyone in Austin to make a run on their gas station! It's been quite a sight to see here. There wasn't a shortage of gas yet, but everyone thought there would be, so everyone made lines at the gas pumps and got as much as they could, and guess what? Now we have a gas shortage, not because of Hurricane Harvey, but because of the storm of stupid that gripped Austin in the days afterward. I found this out just after I filled my tank up, by the way. I was able to fill up, but others visiting the same gas station had to be turned away because they ran out of gas. Then I started noticing lines at all the gas stations. Crazy. Unnecessarily crazy. 

One of my local movie theaters is showing Close Encounters of the Third Kind! They're doing this because the movie is now officially 40 years old (oh my god) and it's been remastered and re-released. This was my favorite movie throughout childhood, up until I went to college and changed it to Ridley Scott's Alien (1979), where it stayed, until No Country for Old Men came out, and that became my favorite, and remains so to this day. 

Anyway, couldn't really afford it, but we went to see it yesterday. The movie has aged pretty well, I think, except for the clothing and hairstyles. And technology has changed quite a bit, and also UFO believers are a thrust a bit further toward the crazy pile than they used to be. Spielberg made the movie because he thought that there must be some truth in all the UFO sightings. Nowadays it seems we still can't get proof of one, despite the fact that virtually every person in the country is now carrying a camera (in their cell phone) that can also shoot video. I asked Zach, who wasn't born until 13 years after the movie came out, what it was like for him to watch it. He said it seemed like an old movie, with a bunch of people running around in 70s clothes. This was not the best reaction I could have hoped for, but having just rewatched the movie, it does, in fact, feature LOTS of people running around in 70s clothes. There's some other bits too, with space ships and a weird-looking mountain, but perhaps that's less noticeable now to a young person. "Space ships? In Close Encounters? I don't remember that. I just remember how fat their neckties were and how wide the shirt collars were and how big and silly everyone's hair looked, compared to now."

Oh, my plan to amass an army of trained murder hummingirds is proceeding. I now get hummingbird visits at my feeders every few minutes, and I've taken lots of pictures and short videos of these visits. I've learned a few things! We're getting more than one kind of hummingbird. And I'm noticing a lot of hummingbirds stop by to feed at the feeder, only to be chased away by a different hummingbird. So I think I've managed to begin a turf war among the wee bastards. And this makes sense, because everything I've read about them indicates that they're vicious, territorial little assholes, just like the state bird of our fair state, the mockingbird. So if one sees an enemy hummingbird from the wrong gang feeding at the feeder, they set upon the usurper and drive them away. Some of the hummers showing up now have irridescent throats. I've been photographing them! (which is probably my true purpose behing doing this) and got a couple of good pics yesterday. I'll include 'em. 

I can't help but notice that football has started, and the month after this one is October. I can't express how joyful this makes me! I'm a lot more comfortable in my life when I'm more comfortable in my skin, if that makes sense, and I'm most comfortable in my skin when the weather and the brutal sunshine aren't conspiring to kill me. A big part of my subconscious begins to relax around October of every year, as my favorite time of year begins. 

Hope you're well. Have a great week!

[devolympian]

Argo Chapter 4

Interesting thing to note for when you have what most people consider a financially stable job is that, more often than not, you have the responsibility of waking at a designated time of day. Usually at the ripe healthy time of say, oh I don’t know, 5:15 A.M.

With this set responsibility and a need to earn a living inorder to drive a consumer centric economy with which one needs to survive in it is best to get the recommended amount of sleep 

So, between the multiple rounds of personal gaming tournaments, mountains of junk food and soda, and completely being unwilling to actually go to bed, I can proudly say none of us did that as about three hours after we had all decided to crowd into Skyes bed a loud beeping noise filled the room.

“Well shit” I happily state in an enthusiastic tone as my sleep deprived eyes look up at her ceiling.

“I’ll get it” said an even more sleepless voice to the left of my body, as Skye began to sit up and lean over a still unconscious Clair and I.

She promptly fell on top of us her massive curly mess of blonde hair practically working as a second blanket that covered the three of us.

“Blondie” I questioned as her green eyes slowly began to close, “you gonna get that one or?”

“Five more minutes.”

And with those words Skye began to softly snore, her chest on top of mine, as she used my shoulder for a pillow.

Clair made sure to do her part by not waking up to the alarm clock and unconsciously wrapping her arms around me and Skye and pulling us into her naked body. 

Yes, Clairabell sleeps naked and it’s perfectly okay that she does so.

With a slight shrug I was perfectly content with letting the alarm clock run its course as I fell back to sleep sandwiched between these too. But, naturally, I remembered that I had a prior engagement to go and get my ass kicked.

Shimmying myself upwards I managed to slither out from in between the girls and did my best to step over Clair as she and Skye cuddled under the blanket seemingly unaware that I had left the pile.

Tapping the alarm I went about and started my day.

First thing’s first I made my way to the restroom; stepping over the various soda cans, wrappers, and half finished snacks we had decorated Skyes floor with the night prior (ooh cheetoh, nom), I was determined to perform the most important act of the day which everyone must do regardless of their social political views on it. The brushing of teeth and a warm shower.

Not saying you’re wrong if you don’t do this daily, just saying you need a therapist and time in a mental institute.

Now, let me take this moment to inform you about Skyes bathroom. It is ridiculous, not only because no one needs a personal restroom in their bedroom, but also because of the fact that the place was almost as big as her actual room with a tub that could easily fit three people, yes we’ve tested it, but also a large closet which is now overflowing with various dresses and cute outfits all of which were hand made.

None of these details are important to the story, I feel you should know, they are just my personal thoughts which I felt like sharing.

Anywho, after a nice shower, and making my mouth not smell like ass with the tooth brush I left here, which everyone needs to use TWICE a day, I wrapped the one of Skyes soft pink towels around my hips and headed on over to her dresser.

Now, I think what you’re wondering right now is “Alex, why the hell are you going through your best friend's clothes?” And even if you weren’t I will tell you any ways.

Ever since I was a wee lad Skyes room has been basically my second room, hell I think I’ve slept in her bed more than my own over the years. This was all well and good when we were little and innocent and we could basically fit into each other's clothes, but when this thing called puberty attacked us that started to change.

I got taller, my arms and legs got longer, I started shooting lightning, I got a six pack, a strong jaw, started getting hit on by older women and men even though I was like 12. You know, normal stuff like that.

Skye, on the other hand, went in kind of the opposite direction with her growing less in height and more in boob, and hip. She also gets hit on by older women and men so at least we have that experience in common.

In short, I had to start bringing over clothes whenever I stayed the night and sense I stay here a lot, a few of my outfits have more or less made their home in the dresser she keeps her TV and video games on. Granted, we do end up wearing eachothers clothes from time to time, but that’s besides the point.

Pushing our plates from last night to the side and setting the controllers we used back where they went I dropped my towel to the ground and started shifting through the drawer in the search for the allusive boxer shorts.

“Ooh” a tired voice called out, “that’s a nice sight to wake up to.”

I tilted my head in the direction of the bed to see Clair sitting up, her violet eyes still not fully open as she smiled at me.

“Good morning dear” I said, “sleep well, dreams of rainbows and kittens maybe?”

“More like blood, fire, death, all the fun stuff.”

“You and I have very different dreams. . . why am I only noticing that now?”

Clairabell giggled a little, then took a look around the bedroom with her expression changing to slight shock at what she saw.

“Wow, we really made a mess last night.”

“Yes well mortal kombat and super mario bros will do that.”

“Especially if someone spends the game trolling me and Skye!”

“What else was I supposed to do, not hit you with the turtle shell?”

With a sigh. Clair placed the tip of her thumb between her sharp canine teeth and bit down until I could see a bit of blood trickle out.

“Alright glas” she said, holding her hand out infront of her, “be dears and clean this mess up.”

The small amount of blood coming from her thumb quickly started to sizzle and bubbles soon began coming from it.

Every one of the bubbles quickly grew in size, changing color to a dark reddish brown before sprouting bat wings and ears. Each one had a cute cat-like face and little fangs poking out from their adorable smiling mouths.

Soon, Clair had at least ten little blood bats hovering around Skyes room, before they began picking up the mess we had made last night.

Also, I managed to find a pair of my boxers, so this was a huge win for everybody involved.

After stretching a little, Clair stood out of Skyes bed, making sure that the blanket stayed on our blond friend, before picking up her clothes from last night.

“Can’t sleep” I asked as I attempted to hunt down a pair of pants?

“Just thought I might as well wake up” she happily answered as she tossed her dirty laundry into Skyes clothing basket, “don’t want to make you feel lonely now do we?”

“Don’t worry, I know how to entertain myself whenever I’m naked and alone.”

“That’s what every girlfriend wants to hear.”

Just as I had, Clair went into the restroom to get ready for the day ahead.

She brushed her teeth, and I still can’t find a goddamn pair of pants.

“How long do you have to work for today” I heard her call out as I slowly lost my mind from lack of lower body wear.

“Probably ten or twelve hours. I might get overtime if the old man decides he wants to go booty hunting and I have to deal with his wife.”

“Your dad’s gross.”

“I know that’s why I have two, but apparently neither of them can bless me with a pair of jeans.”

“Don’t you keep pants in that weird pocket thingy you have?”

“. . .”

Reaching my hand into the air I went ahead and opened the aforementioned pocket thingy, which was a small rip in space which works as a nice little storage space to keep stuff in. To most people it would look as though my hand disappeared into space, and they would be kind of right, one wrong move and my hand is gone. I can get it back, but it takes a while and requires more than two people.

Feeling my way past the treasure, bones, holy grails, and my new little worm buddy I found myself touching what felt like pants and pulled them out.

They were torn a little in the knees and a bit stained but worked for the day.

“Found my pants.”

“I am so proud of you.”

I chuckled a little and prepared to get these things on. But, before I could even slip a leg in, a still naked Clair had managed to get in front of me, wrapped her arms over my shoulder and leaned herself into a kiss.

Naturally, I did what every sane person would do when a naked woman throws herself at them. I grabbed her waist and pulled her close, our naked chest pressing against each other as she forced her tongue passed my lips and we went and explored each other's mouths.

The kiss lasted a good bit of time and I soon found myself pushing Clair against Skyes dresser, my hands sliding down her well toned body as she hooked her thumbs around the elastic band of the boxers I had put on just a moment ago and started pulling them off again.

Eventually we broke the kiss and Clair gave me a smug smile on top of her flushed face.

“Sure you have to go to work today?”

With a slight smirk I lifted her onto the top of the dresser, her long legs instantly wrapping around my hips as I leaned in and whispered into her ear.

“It’s donut day.”

She gave me an annoyed groan before pushing me a little and angrily jumping off the dress as I pulled out a shirt from it.

“Oh come on” I said, laughing a little, “we can’t exactly hook up in Skyes room.”

“She’s sleeping.”

“Her parents are in the room across the hall.”

“I’ll be quiet.”

“I won’t. You know I’m a moaner.”

I wonder if Clairabell glaring angrily at me was a sign that I had annoyed her enough. Naw, I can be more annoying.

After slipping the pants on I popped the shirt I had grabbed over my head.

“That’s Skyes shirt” Clair pointed out as I slid the black tank top on, even though it was rather tight fitting. It had a cute little cartoon panda head smiling on the chest as its cheeks glowed a rosey pink.

“Yes'' I assured her as I fished out a pair of socks and slipped on my boots, “it is most definitely Skyes shirt. Can you open the window for me?”

“Babe, there’s a door.”

“And?”

“. . . good point.”

Upon Clairs instruction a blood bat floated over and pulled Skyes window open for me letting the fresh morning air into the room.

“Thanks,” I said before taking a running start and flinging myself over Skyes bed and out a second story window.

With a loud crash I found myself laying ontop of multiple thorny bushes, the branches digging into my body as I tried to adjust to the aching in my back.

“Perfect landing” I groaned as I got ready to sit up.

“Oh yes, great job” a woman's voice said, “now please get off my plants.”

I turned my head to see two women standing over me. 

The one on the left, who was giving a very annoyed glare, looked like a lighter skinned Skye with bright yellow eyes and had her golden blonde hair tied up into a long ponytail. As was usual for her at this time of the morning, her red tank top and tanned shorts were covered in dirt and mud and black gardening gloves adorned her hands.

The one on the right was dressed up in a white toga like dress with summer lilies braided into her black hair and she wore a diamond encrusted gold necklace around her throat. Also, her dark colored eyes had the look of someone who had just watched her son throw himself from a second story window and land on the bushes she had helped her friend plant.

“Morning” I happily said to them before Skyes mom flicked her wrist and the bush, in response to said wrist flicking, jumped up a little and shoved me off of it before settling back into the soil.

“You’re in a chipper mood today” mom said as she helped pull me off the ground.”

“Oh who wouldn’t be when their job entails possible death and dismemberment?”

“Him and the girls practically stayed up the entire night” Skyes mom informed mine, “I swear that Clairabell screams louder than a banshee.”

Moms eyes grew wide as she gave me a once over before looking back at Skyes mom.

“They were playing video games” she assured, having finally realised what she had said.

“Oh thank the gods” my mom said, letting out a sigh of relief.

“In all fairness, Clairabell and I can multitask” I happily informed both of them.

“Alexander, shut up, you are 18, I do not need grandchildren from you yet!”

I laughed at my mom's discomfort, before noticing that a little girl with red hair had wandered up next to her. She was dressed similarly to mom but her dress was a light blue color and the only gold she had on was a pair of golden sandals and a few ringlets on her wrist.

“There’s my girl” our mom happily said, kneeling down to greet my sister, “all ready to go Fiona?”

With half awake eyes Fiona nodded with assurance, doing her best to stay awake. She promptly fell forward having to be caught by our mom.

“Oh sweetheart” mom said, giving Fiona a worried look, “maybe you should stay here.”

“No thank you.”

“She can stay here for the day” Skyes mom stated, “she can take a nap in Luke and Ninas room.”

“That should be fine” mom happily answered before turning back to the little red head, “how about playing with Luke and Nina today?”

“I will later” Fiona stubbornly stated, “I wanna go.”

“Fiona, you can’t be falling asleep though.”

“I won’t, I promise!”

“Honestly” I interjected, “she should be fine coming along. Unless she’s sick or something.”

Lifting her up  by her armpits I held my little sister up in the air.

“You ain’t getting sick on me are ya?”

“No,” Fiona said with a smile.

“Ain’t gonna throw up?”

With this question I tossed the seven year old up into the air, making her laugh like, well like a seven year old.

“Yeah she’s good” I assured our mother, as I still held Fiona.

“ . . .Is Skye ever this stubborn” my mom asked Skyes?

“I’m glad she’s not,” she answered, putting her gardening tools away, “makes it easier when I tell her to get rid of things like that.”

She pointed to the pegasus made of water which Skye had created last night in the arcade bathroom.

Like a good healthy horsey, Raindrop had grown in size and was now bigger than your average horse.  

“What” I protested, “you can’t have her get rid of Raindrop! It’s a sweet fragile creature who just wants your love, and understanding, and it just ate a squirrel.”

The clear blue pegasus glared at us as a fluffy brown tail hung from its mouth. 

It slowly backed away out of sight, never breaking eye contact with me specifically. Guess I have a new friend.

“See you later Trinna” mom said, taking Fiona from me and protectively holding her.

And with that, Skyes mom went over to put her tools away and mine started hurrying us over to our house.

“Do you two have everything,” mom asked as she pulled her keys out from her dress pocket.

“Yep” Fiona and I assured her at the same time.

She gives us a smile and a nod before turning to the door into our home and sliding a small golden key inside of the lock.

With a twist of the knob our front door opened up to a brightly lit bridge filled with people, either walking or riding in horse drawn carriages, dressed similarly to mom and Fiona. Far into the distance, at the end of the bridge, was a city built on top of several mountains, the rising sun illuminating the white marble buildings against a still mostly dark sky.

“Woow” I cheered, stretching my arms over my head, “fun trip, honestly the ride up is always the best part.”

“Alex” mom said, closing the door behind us, “what did I say about being a smartass?”

“Go ahead but don’t do it when we’re about to see family.”

“Exactly, and what are we about to do?”

“Rub elbows with conceded dicks I see almost every day?”

Mom lowered her eyes at me, giving me an irritated look.

“I’ll be good” I promised, crossing my fingers behind my back.

With a sigh, my mom locked the door we went through, causing it to sink into the ground and vanish.

“You ain't slick boy.”

I shrugged, perfectly content with my underwhelming slickness, before placing my fingers in my mouth.

Blowing into them, a loud whistle echoed out and the ground beneath us began to shake as a large hole filled with black mud spilled open. Never mind the fact that we were currently on a bridge thousands of miles in the air so a hole like that should just lead down into, well, death.

Speaking of death.

From the black mud, bone white hands started to rise from its murky depths, and latched onto the marble pavement of the bridge. Slowly, four skeletons pulled themselves out, black mud dripping down their skulls and off the dusty dark blue suits they all wore.

Each one had “eyes” of green fire and looked almost identical to each other, with the only difference being a colored rose each wore in the pocket of their suit. Red, yellow, black, and white.

These were my skeletons. Expertly trained, well mannered, professional, cold blooded, and above all else dependable. . . was not what they were.

As the yellow rose stumbled out behind white rose it fell forward, knocking into the latter.

Naturally, White rose raised it’s boney hand and slapped yellow in the face, the rattling of their teeth being loud enough for everyone to hear.

Steadying its skull, yellow turned to white, their flaming eyes lighting up with a dark green as they clutched their coworkers arm and tore it off.

White looked down at its empty sleeve hanging limply to its side while yellow pointed at them with their missing arm, the bouncing flames in its eye sockets indicating that they were laughing.

The flames in whites skull promptly erupted, smoke billowing out of them, as they tackled yellow to the ground.

Smoke and dust covered the ground as white and yellow punched and tore at each other, the latter using the former's arm to slap them in the face. Black rose stumbled forward, attempting to separate them only to be met with a flame shooting up and catching onto their new tie which instantly lit up and was reduced to ash.

Enraged at this insult to not only themselves but also high fashion Black leaped onto the two other skeletons. Red followed suit by elbow dropping all three and joining the pile as they all slapped, bit, hit, and spanked each other.

“. . . Alex, seriously” mom stated, “are you sure you don’t want new servants?”

“Naw” I answered, happily watching these boneheads wrestle, “these guys are perfect.”

Clapping my hands the hole began to bubble again, the bridge shaking even more, as a horse drawn carriage shot out of it like a bullet from the chamber and tore through the four skeletons who all fell to the ground in pieces.

The Carriage was a dark black color, large and round in shape, it looked like something a goth Cinderella would ride inorder to get to the ball and marry a guy she danced with once who only remembered her because he had a thing for feet. There was a bright gold trim on the sides that glowed brightly against the night sky. The wheels were also a gold color with human skulls adorned on the rims and green flames sparking up here and there.

 Attached to the carriage was a horse with pitch black fur with a tail and main glowing with bright green fire. It's onix black eyes surveyed its surroundings making sure there was no enemy nearby as it stomped the marble ground with its strong hooves, small flames lighting up under them as it did so.

“Horsey” Fiona yelled happily as she waved at my helpful stead.

“Hey there Mare,” I said, walking up to her, “how are you doing girl?”

As I reached out to give her a pet on the neck, Mare angrily recoiled and gave me a loud snort. 

“What? No, I didn’t forget about you.”

She neyad loudly, shaking her head from side to side.

“Of course I call you when I need a ride. You’re my horse.”

Stamping the ground, Mare continued to argue, angrily naying and shaking her main.

“Oh that is not fair! It is not my fault that you decided to wreck the neighbors lawn and eat their cat!”

She chattered her teeth and huffed again.

“Look if we had a stable I would absolutely keep you in the backyard but-.”

Mare interjected with a loud inhuman yell as she reared up on her hind legs.

“Oh you don’t bring my bike into this! He is a good boy!”

She landed and shook her head violently.

“Yes it’s a he!”

“Alex” mom said, the now reformed skeletons helping her and Fiona into the carriage, “I know you want her to stay at the house, but it’s not happening. Can we please go?”

“Yeah sure” I answered her.

As she entered the carriage I reached into my little pocket space and pulled out a nice orange carrot for Mare.

“Sorry girl, we’ll convince her somehow.”

She neighed understandingly before happily taking the root vegetable from my hands.

“To the stadium” I yelled at Red as he readied the reins, yellow sitting next to him with treats and a whip in hand. Black and White clung to the back, White still glaring at Yellow with murderous intent, as I swung myself into the inside of it.

As soon as the door was shut we were off, Yellow cracking their whip in the air as Red made sure Mare stayed on course. 

Unlike the black of the carriages outer shell, the seating was a velvet red with enough room to fit six people. The soft upholstery was comfortable and warm to the touch with cushions that made sure you could relax even during the bumpiest of rides.

Naturally, Fiona almost immediately fell asleep, her head resting comfortably on moms lap.

“Hey, she stayed awake longer than usual.”

“Honestly I’m surprised by that” mom said, brushing Fionas hair to the side, “she never gets enough sleep when we have to come up here. I wish she’d stay at home some times, it’s not healthy for a little girl to be up this early.”

“You know that would just cause gran to start whining.”

“If your grandmother really wants to see her she can suck it up and come visit the house.”

“Oh come now, you don’t expect her to live the disgraceful life of staying in a five bedroom, three bath, basement and attic house do you?”

“Well, in all fairness, she’d probably make the neighbors hate us more than they already do.”

We both chuckled a little at Grandmas expense, knowing she probably wouldn’t enjoy hearing this stuff in person. She can be kind of sensitive and natural disaster causing.

Leaning against the door I rested my head on  the window and watched as we rolled past the people walking along the bridge, none of them batting an eye at the carriage driven by four skeletons and drawn by a hell horse. In all fairness compared to the massive skyscrapers in the mountain, the rulers of the city control nature itself, and the fact we can all  breathe despite the altitude, probably making our little vihicall about as interesting as an ant carrying food ten times its size. A neat site but nothing mind blowing.

Granted, ants are pretty mind blowing if you put into perspective how they basically work to create a suitable environment for their colony with everyone having their assigned roles thus allowing them to work as fulfilling members of ant society. 

That being said, this type of government is very totalitarian all things considered so there must be a widespread outbreak of ant uprisings which most likely are quilled by the ants in black suits. You can say they’re not real, but we all know they’re out there.

“So” mom said, interrupting my deep and meaningful inner monologue about ants and ant related conspiracy, “should we talk about what happened yesterday?”

“Why, whatever do you mean mother?” I said, knowing exactly what she was talking about.

“Alex.”

“Look, if this is about where we’ll keep Mr.Worms he seems pretty chill in his jar, but if we could get a nice little spot for him out back then-”

“Alexander Green!”

The tone of her voice shot into my brain like a bullet as I felt her eyes narrow in anger. I could feel the temperature in the carriage drop significantly and even saw my own breath while a fresh coat of frost formed on the window.

With a heavy sigh I turned towards my mother and looked her in her now icy blue eyes.

“Alright” I finally responded, “What shall we talk about? The part where my manager called me up and told me that my friends needed help? Or, you’re probably wanting to discuss the dead bodys I had to fish from ruins of the demolished city and bring back to life?”

“What the hell Alex!?”

“Look no one in the city was going to dad.”

“No, they were going to another god. A god you probably pissed off by taking away souls that were going to their after life. A god who is probably going to now spend extra time to personally kill every single person you saved because, news flash, people aren’t supposed to come back to life Alexander!”

“I was just doing my job!”

“Your job is to come to this mountain everyday. Your job is to go into the city, put on a silly costume, and entertain these fucking people for a few hours. Your job is not to listen to some publicity hound who wants you to play super hero AND it is most certainly not to intervene in the natural order of things! Are we clear!?”

“. . .”

“Are we clear!?”

“yes. . . “

“Good.”

We rode in silence for a while, her disappointment suffocating me the entire time as her eyes slowly turned back to normal and the cold air gradually disappeared.

Truth be told, it’s not the first time we’ve had this conversation. Eversense I learned necromancy either her or dad, or both if I’m lucky, would get more than a little upset by me bringing people back to life and or turning them into walking talking corpses. Something about it being insulting to death gods,  and how it would cause me to get smited or something like that.

Plus, necromancy is kind of illegal in a lot of places because, as previously mentioned, people aren’t exactly supposed to come back from the dead. Side effects may include nausea, drowsiness, a hunger for human flesh, and a constant need for taking a shower. So, yeah not a lot of people want necromancers bringing maggot infested corpses of their loved ones out of the ground and I kind of need to keep it under wraps more or else I’m going to prison. But, I can make William Shakespear rise from the ground so he can talk all funny for me so I think it’s a pretty neat spell group.

Mom gave a sigh and went back to watching Fiona sleep.

“Honestly” she eventually said, “it’d be nice if you told me the full story.”

I felt my throat get instantly dry at her words as my stomach grew sick from the memory of the phone call I had received yesterday when I left the restaurant to go to the arcade.

The memory of the man's voice, a voice I had never heard before, echoed throughout my ears as he cheerfully spoke to me in a sing-song tone. Telling me how everyone I care for should die.

Naturally I blocked their number, and then was promptly greeted to a badly recorded video of hordes of mongolian death worms surrounding a city my buddys Remy and West had been staying at.

“I got a weird call” I finally told her, “they told me some weird stuff about wanting my friends dead and sent me a video of the worms heading into the city.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t really think it was important. Just a stalker or something.”

“Alex you tell me if you ever have a stalker.”

“Even if it’s uncle Poseidon?”

“Especially if it’s Poseidon. If he ever comes near you have your horse bite his dick off!”

“Oh come on that’s too cruel. I could never do that too Mare!”

After a few more moments of silence we both started laughing, the idea of Mare castrising my creepy uncle being a little amusing to us.

We managed to ride the rest of the way with the tension between us killed off a bit as we pulled into the city.

The street lights illuminated our way as we walked through the busy streets filled with people of all races and sizes and other worldly species in togas. Despite how early it was the city was still bustling and busy as if it were early afternoon.

Shops filled with exautic items lined the streets next to fancy restaurants and stores filled with fancy clothes that normal people could never hope to own. As we went deeper in, the clothing people wore became more elaborate and extravagant almost as if they were trying to make themselves match the streets paved with literal gold.

“Did dad say they could use his gold?”

“No and I am still trying to get them to give it back. Honestly, their taste is just tacky.”

“I feel I need to point out that we decorate the palace with bones and diamonds.”

“Alex, that is a theme. It might be tacky, but it makes sense. This is just a bunch of people showing off how rich they are. Besides, Pluton is in charge of decorating.”

“Way to blame your son for the way the house looks Ma.”

“I blame all my children for everything. Didn’t you figure that out already?”

“I was in denial.”

We joked around a little more as we eventually reached our destination. A giant building, round in shape, made up of pearl white marble, ivory, and gold. 

12 large statues lined the outside of its structure, each unnerving life like in how accurately they are carved and how well they had been painted. It was like the statues were watching you as you entered the building, knowing that you were most likely flipping them off as you walked by because it is super rude of them to just keep staring at you with their hyper realistic eyes.

“Well this is my stop” I cheerfully sing as I get ready to jump out.

“Hold it” Mom ordered, stopping me as I pressed on the door.

Reaching into her purse she ended up pulling out a few gold coins and handing them to me.

“Lunch money?”

“If you want it to be. Just figured you’d need a few extra coins is all.”

Looking at the coins in my hands, I studied them before hesitantly closing my fingers around the cold metal.

“Thanks mom.”

“Stay safe. Don’t do anythings stupid.”

“No promises.”

Pushing the door open I waved my goodbyes, shoved the extra money into my pocket, and headed off, listening to the chariot pull away.

“Morning guys” I said, waving at the statues as I walked past the coliseum towards the building in the back.

Compared to the colosseum this two story structure wasn’t much. A simple place with a few offices inside, locker rooms, an underground gym, weight room, enchanted portals, gateways for demon summoning, a smithy on the side, and a few stray kitty cats here and there. Basically your run of the mill gym.

It was still dark, mostly likely because it was still like five in the morning here, so I was currently the only one here at the moment. Which is normal because I am only allowed to use the key that brings me up here between 5-6 A.M. my time and 12-1 A.M. if I want to make a night time visit. I can however use it any time I want here.

And if you are thinking that that is a weird and abstract rule to place on a key which can transport you halfway across the planet, you would be right. 

I’ll probably complain to Janus about it later, maybe. Might get a soda first, Probably get a hot dog to go with it. Oh, and some chips.

What was I talking about?

“Meow.”

My nonsensical ramblings to myself were once again interrupted, this time by a black and white tabby who couldn’t be more than a year or so rubbing on my leg as he yelled at me to notice him. He had a cute black ring around the right side of his head which was a bit off set by his missing eye.

“Morning donut,” I said, looking down into his big blue eye, “hungry?”

We walked over to near where the entrance was and sat down, the overhead lights giving us a decent amount of visibility as Donut patiently waited for his breakfast.

Reaching into my pocket dimension thingy I pulled out a can of wet cat food. It was the shredded kind and easy to chew for little guys like him.

“Roasted lamb ok for today?”

Donut responded with a loud merow, his tail twitching as he eyed the can in my hands.

I pulled back the top of the can and sat it in front of the cat, his purr filling the silent morning air as he started happily eating his first meal of the day.

“Glad you’re not that picky” I told him as I pulled a bowl and water bottle out next.

After getting him a drink I gave the little guy a few pets on the head, his soft fur tickling my palm before he took a break from eating to rub his head against my hand.

For a bit I just sat and watched him eat and drink his fill, the warm morning air letting me just relax on the ground without worrying about being cold. Eventually, and after a nice stretch, Donut crawled onto my lap and curled up into a small ball of fur. 

I gave the little guy another smile as I gently stroked his body and watched his stomach go up and down as he snored soundly in my lap.

Eventually, we were joined by the sounds of the birds chirping their morning song as the sun slowly brightened up the area around us. The colosseum looming overhead as the three of us watched the sun rise.

“You know” I told the old man as he leaned against the wall next to me, “it really wouldn’t hurt Heliose to make the sun go faster.”

“Good luck on that one boy” he responded with a chuckle, “last time that happened the earth got lit on fire and a teenage boy got hit with a lightning bolt.”

“Sounds like a regular tuesday.”

“Naw, this happened on like, I think Thursday.”

“Well that would explain the thunder. Thor does love a Thursday.”

“I can neither confirm nor deny Thors involvement in me murdering a child.”

“In some versions he fell into the Ocean.”

“Boy let me have my kills, it is the only thing I’m good at.”

“Fair enough” I said, reaching into the pocket once more and pulling out two cans of beer and holding one out to him, “here.”

He took it from my hand and sat down next to me.

As usual he had on a simple short sleeved shirt and a pair of dark jeans that were probably a lot more expensive then they looked. His salt and pepper hair was messy and matched the short, but full, beard he wore on his face.

Popping the can open he tilted his head back and knocked the beer out with one quick chug before crushing the now empty can in hand and tossing it over his shoulder..

“Woo” he cheered, his lightning blue eyes filled with energy, “breakfast of champions right here! Toss me another kiddo!”

“You ever think that you might have a drinking problem?”

“Only a problem if my wife finds out. Plus, you got the beer out so, give me.”

“Fair enough.”

I chuckled and tossed him the second beer.

This time, he simply sipped on it as he relaxed on the ground next to me, a calm smile on his face which perfectly hid how much he wanted to screw with people.

“So Zeus” I finally chimed, scratching behind Donuts ears, “what can I do for the great king of Olympus?”

“Ah come one Zee, can’t I just spend some quality time with my baby boy.”

“Pretty sure this is my cat.”

“Well as your father I believe everything you own belongs to me. This includes cats, wives, beer, and any kick ass motorised vehicle.”

“Wow you must own a lot of stuff.”

“I’ve had a lot of kids.”

“Some dating back to before the invention of any child prevention methods or safe sex practices. You should probably see a doctor.”

“I have all the STDs Boy there is no helping it.”

“I am both disgusted and impressed.”

“As you should be. I worked hard for those diseases, I deserve the recognition for getting them.”

“We’ll hold you peraid on Friday.”

“Nah, then my wife would find out about all of them. How about we just take bong rips and watch crap TV?”

“Sounds like a perfect day.”

“And 48 beautiful men and women!”

“Now it sounds like an orgy.”

“Son, everything I plan is going to lead to an orgy. Remember my pitch for your 10th birthday?”

“I remember dad having you thrown out of the castle along with the multiple goats you brought along.”

“My brother’s a prude. And, they were sheep.”

We laughed at the disgusting conversation, Donut still curled in my lap as Zeus finished off his second beer.

To any passer by, it would probably look like a middle aged man sitting with his son in a strange place as they just shot the breeze with one another.

But, ofcourse, this guy wasn’t the type to do that without needing to.

“My kids are going missing” he finally admitted, a cold wind blowing over us almost in response to this new information.

I rested my hand on Donut's body, slowly allowing this information to sink in.

“How many” I asked him.

“To many.”

“That’s not an answer old man!”

“Well it is all I have!”

His voice shook with rage. Although, right now, I couldn’t tell if he was angry at me or himself.

“I found out last month” he continued, his eyes locked on the empty beer can in his hands, “they were all demigods so everyone just assumed it was Hera but, so many of them are just gone.”

“They’re being targeted?”

“Looks that way. Might be a god who has it out for me. Maybe one of my exes. I don’t know.”

He let out a heavy sigh and we just sat there for a moment, the birds chirping loudly around us.

Suddenly, the memory of the phone call yesterday came back to me.

“Oh hey” I said, “I got a weird phone call yesterday. Some guy telling me how all my friends should die.”

“Naw” he said instantly, “that probably has nothing to do with it. I don’t even have your phone number so nobody I know could get it.”

I rolled my eyes.

“Cause naturally whoever is doing this must be related to you in some way right?” 

“Exactly.”

He fling the empty can of beer into the air.

Its barrel shape began to flatten out and it grew in size as its metal was replaced with plumage of black and gray feathers. Yellow talons and a sharp beak sprouted out of its now large body and with a flap of its mighty wings the eagle instinctively took flight into the morning sky.

Standing up, Zeus started walking forward.

“Stay safe Alex” he said, not looking back towards me, “Hades can’t protect you and Fiona up here.”

Then, in a flash of white and blue light, the king of the gods vanished. A puddle of electricity sparking up where he stood before petering out.

I just sat there with Donut in my lap, mulling over what he had told me.

For at least a month, and maybe even longer, children of Zeus have been going missing. Nobody knows why, or how and I had gotten a weird phone call yesterday which may or may not be connected to the situation.

These questions swirled around in my head with the answers feeling like it was right in front of me, but I was unable to see them.

However, there was only one question I wanted to be answered at the moment.

“How does he turn things into birds like that? I wanna do that.”

Donut gave me a small meow in response as we waited for work to start.

[textsfromninjagoblog]

Ninjago Prompt: Elemental Vaccine!

(This story was based off of a prompt from @writing-prompt-s , I’ll reblog it with this story when I find it again!)

It had been a fairly typical night for my insomniac self, laying cozy in bed while sketching on my IPad; listening to K-pop and electro-swing into the wee hours of morning. Well, it was nice, until this cloaked mad man crept through my bedroom window and put a gun to my head!

“Please don’t kill me!” I begged him.

“That’s the last thing I’d wanna do,” his said, his voice somewhat gruff, “now just calm down, all of this’ll make sense in a second.”

“May-ay I ask,” I stuttered, “what the gun is for, if you’re not going to hurt me, that is?”

“Some nut case tried to attack me and steal all of my merchandise.” he replied, “I suppose if you promise to stay still and not pull anything funny, there’d be no need for it.”

“I can do that.” Was all I could muster in response.

“Now we’re in business.” He said, lowering the firearm from my temple and clipping it in his holster.

All at once, the scruffy stranger’s demeanor seemed to change. His muscles relaxed, a smirk creeping across his lips as he pulled a large black briefcase from behind him and sat it on the comforter between us.

“Congratulations doll,” he said in the almost joking fashion of a gameshow host, “you’ve just won the jackpot! You get to choose one of our fabulous prizes!”

With that, he flicked open the case with a flashy gesture and turned it to face me. Inside were all manor of vials, each one ornately decorated. Their contents all glowed in different neon colors, but some also pulsed or glittered!

“Woah,” I gasped at the sight, “what are these?”

“That’s the catch,” he answered, “you won’t know until it’s inside ya! I’ve got the needle all ready whenever you are.”

“Wait, what!?” I snapped, recoiling from the case.

“Easy now,” the stranger said, “I can’t tell you what the serums do, but I can tell you what they aren’t. None of them are poison, none of them are drugs, and none of them will kill you.”

“Does this absolutely have to happen?” I said, still irked by the thought of being injected with a strange fluid by a random person.

“Yes.” He answered, his patience starting to waver, “No rush in choosing, but keep in mind I’ve got other places to be.”

I stared at the shimmering elixirs with a mixture of fascination and terror. Despite what the man had said, I was still assessing the potential lethality of each potion. My eyes were struggling to focus with the sheer variety of oddities available to ponder, around 16 to 20 in all if I ventured a guess!

One vial was ornamented with what appeared to be silver, molded into a design that seemed both cybernetic and serene. It’s solution was a glittering sky blue, and if the condition of it’s glass were any indication, had frozen it’s container from the inside out! While beautiful, I wasn’t in the mood to have my insides frozen solid, so I passed on that one.

Another one had grand carvings of jade adorning its rims. This solution seemed far more volatile, frantically switching from its base state of sparkling amber to any number of other shades and statuses then back again! This looked about as toxic as a mystery fluid could get, so I definitely decided against it!

The next bottle I inspected was quite intriguing. A golden phoenix emblazoned its base. The solution inside initially shun a deep cherry, with flecks of light copper swirling throughout, before gradually fading into a beautiful aquamarine! It rhythmically sloshed from side to side of its own volition, as though it were part of the ocean’s tides. I’ve always felt a connection to the sea and it’s creatures since I was little, so I felt pretty secure in my choice as I began to reach for it.

“Do you have a brother or sister?” The stranger interjected as my fingers made contact with the glass.

“I’m an only child.” I replied, “Why does that matter?”

“It matters because that one has a companion,” he replied, pointing to a bold orange and crimson solution that seemed to lick the inside of its container like a wild flame, “and they’re only allowed to be given to sets of siblings.”

I retracted my arm with a huff. What was the point of being able to choose my potential poison if some were barred from me at the get go!?

But then, I saw it.

Though a bit smaller then the rest, this vial had fully ensnared my attention. It’s solution was a rich lime green, with chunks of gold soothingly bobbing about within. I had no idea what drew me to this solution, but in spite of my mind reeling at how dangerous this situation was, it just felt so right!

“Are you sure?” The man asked.

“Positive.” I replied with a sense of conviction that I’ve never before felt, let alone while in a predicament like this!

With that, the man took the vial from my hands and produced a syringe, swiftly drawing the mystical-seeming fluid for my insane inoculation. As frightening as this ordeal had been; the expert manor that the stranger had about him along with the beauty of the solution swirling in its new vessel had soothed me somewhat.

“We’ve been stuck with each other for a while now,” I said as he prepared my left upper arm with what I think was an antiseptic, “any chance I could get your name?”

“I don’t get why you’d want it,” he replied, “I’m just a samurai without a master.”

“Ah, another riddle.” I snarked under my breath.

“Ok, I’m going to give this to you now,” he said, “it can look really freaky as it disperses, so you might want to look away.”

“Will it hurt?” I asked, now just wanting for this to be over.

“I’m not sure. Guess it depends on your pain tolerance.” He answered, “If you think you could distract yourself while holding still, maybe that could help.”

“Let’s see, a distracting story…” I thought aloud, “Well, for starters, my dad once got bit by a snake when he was a kid. Still has the scar to this day!”

“Hmm,” the stranger said, “it’s interesting you picked this vial then.”

I felt a slight pinch in my skin, followed by a bit of warmth flowing in as I tried to keep my mind off of what was happening.

“You can move now, its all done.” He said, seeming proud of whatever he’s just done to me.

“Um, thank you….?” I said, still not quite sure what to make of the events that I just went through.

“Your welcome,” he replied, “if all goes as it should, I’ll be seeing you again around New Years. Quick tip, get in contact with a priest before then. You’ll really thank me later!”

Before I could even question what he had just told me, the man had disappeared back out the window, silent and swift as the wind.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

I woke up the next morning with the worst craving for some candy. Chocolate, gummy, a lollipop, heck, I would have even settled for a cough drop; I didn’t care as long as it was sweet!

So I got myself a mini Kit-Kat from the fridge, and it was amazing! I don’t think I’ve enjoyed a single candy bar this much since I was a kid!

“Wonder if this is a side effect of that shot…” I thought, looking at the part of my arm where I thought the injection had happened.

Nothing remained to tell of the previous night. I would have dismissed the whole ordeal as a weird nightmare, if it weren’t for what I found on my kitchen table…

It was a large curled up paper, sitting atop a small mound of black fabric. Upon unraveling it, I saw it was a map that lead to a remote part of Big Bear Mountain!

The words “Head there alone and find your destiny.” were scratched in the lower corner of the sheet, probably the cloaked stranger’s handiwork. I was getting increasingly concerned and confused, until I saw what the map had been laying on!

It was a hoodie with a skeleton pattern on it’s front!

Suddenly it all clicked! The events of the prior night replayed over and over in my mind, making more and more twisted sense as I thought it through!

I slipped on the hoodie and called in sick to work, curious to see if this map lead to what I thought would be waiting under the snow.

Because at worst, I was given a colorful dose of saline; but at best, that crazy Ronin had just started my personal ninja origin story!