#alas I have to make three things for color lesson and I fear

[gotchaocha]

Guess who has perfectionism issues and no technical knowledge on drawing but now has to deliver three drawings next week

[fascination-street-writing]

Jumping on Someone Else’s Train | Narancia Ghirga x GN!Reader

His is the face of the one who lost everything, found everything, and lost it all again.

A Canon Divergence AU, in which Narancia does not follow Bucciarati on the boat in Venezia

- 200 Follower Giveaway Piece I for @vergissmeinnnicht​ -

Content Warnings: Regret, Angst, Mentions of Alcoholism, & Mentions of Other Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms

Men and women clad in suits of varying styles and colors stand along the proscenium of the tracks, waiting for the first wave of commuter trains from Venezia. With thoughts of unfinished reports, soccer practices, and uncertainties of whether to have spaghetti alle vongole or ai ricci for dinner, no one pays heed to the three battered teenagers seated just behind the line – who, mind you, certainly ought to be in school.

To your left, Fugo fumes; and yet, despite his ever-apparent anger, there is unbounded despondency in his violet eyes. Despondency indeed, perhaps for the mutual decision of yours and his, or otherwise, because of Bucciarati’s blasphemy. Although, you suppose that you cannot fault your former Capo. He has always had a proclivity for saving undesirables – yourselves, included. But his kindness is not your own.

To your right, Narancia leans over and slouches, clutching his head between two hands that have not yet healed from his scuffle with the first man of the assassination team. You cannot help but to notice that several of the crackling scabs have been picked open. You regret deeply that you had not offered to run Trish’s errands with the black-haired boy. And, though he will not admit it, as does Fugo.

The sound of a shoe tapping against the concrete flooring would be irksome to you if it were anyone other than Narancia’s doing. You cannot decide if he is merely growing impatient for the train to arrive, or rather, unequivocally conflicted about what has transpired within the past hour. A shuddering breath slips past his lips, expelling as his shoulders begin to quake. He might never forgive you for letting him snivel in public.

Gently, you place your hand on his back. Narancia stills at your touch and allows his own to fall from his reddened cheeks. Reluctantly so, he meets your concerned gaze. He fears he might disintegrate into nothing more than bones if you keep looking at him this way – like you adore and loathe him all the same.

You speak his name softly, reminiscent of some kind of lullaby that his mother might have sung to him during his early adolescence. “We need you to be here,” you tell him.

His nod is an automatic response. He contemplates the bluntness of your words, understanding well enough that they have sprung from a good heart. You have become more like Bucciarati, he thinks; your pension for austerity in love rivals his, to be sure. Narancia swallows and nods once more. “I’m here,” he insists.

He would wince at the cracking of his voice if you had turned away sooner. You pull your hand back and rest it atop your leg, curling your fingers into the threadwork of your pants. “Stay with us, then.”

The rotors of the train squeal as the machinery lulls to a stop. In truth, you would never like to board another train for as long as you should live. But this is not a luxury you can afford.

“Now boarding from Stazione di Venezia Santa Lucia to Napoli Centrale. Total travel time – seven hours and thirty-nine minutes. First stop: Ferrara.”

Within the compartment of the train, Fugo sits beside you and pours over a bit of reading that he had swiped from a kiosk before embarking. Narancia determines that the book the younger boy reads must be painfully dreadful, or implausibly wonderful. His brow furrows, as if deeply embedded in his own thoughts, but his fingers never bend to turn the page.

A quivery sigh escapes as you stare from the window, appearing to be as bored as ever. The Italian countryside passes by in blurs of likewise colored landscapes. Narancia wonders how it is that you can tell the difference between a vineyard and a farm against the speed of travel. Or maybe you cannot, though you try to anyways.

You stifle a yawn, finally succumbing to the exhaustion that has accumulated over the past several days. And yet, despite it all, you are still living. Narancia feels his own jaw beginning to twitch, and his mind drifts elsewhere, to the interlude of youth before life with Bucciarati became quite so complicated; good thoughts to keep him grounded amidst the unrest of divided loss.

As it were, he remembers the day when he first met you as if it were yesterday. Before Mista, Abbacchio, and certainly Giorno – back when the two of you, Fugo, and Bucciarati made for the greatest family whom he had ever known. The only other time Narancia has ever seen such strain upon your face was when Bucciarati took you into his home, still clothed in street-rags and muddied shoes. You had not even joined Passione yet; their then eighteen-year-old leader had acted of his own volition to take you in. He always has had a way of saving people.

Narancia knows your strife as if it is his own. Your mother died and your father neglected you; you took to thievery and pickpocketing to find whatever you needed to spend a night without an empty stomach. It was only a matter of time until, provoked by the unfortunate solidarity of utter hurt, you had clicked with the two boys.

But it was not always this way.

In truth, your eagerness to snub the boy is, of some emotional gravity, debilitating. He has always believed friendship to be deserving of the highest value of any other virtue in life. When you observe his struggles to solve seemingly simple math equations during tutoring sessions, with such an unreadable look on your face, he dreads that your hesitation has born itself from an aura of superiority that you harbor against him. The moment you turn away as Fugo’s chastisement rains upon him, he wonders how he might ever be good enough to earn your favor when he cannot be good enough for himself.

When he speculates his plan to befriend you, he thinks without fail that it must be the most brilliant little scheme in the world. Narancia begins by buying you a chocolate bar from the corner store down the street, because what peer of your age does not like chocolate? By the time he has returned home, it has begun to melt in his pocket. He hopes you will not mind, and if you do, he has already decided that he will go back and purchase a second one – cognizant to carry it instead, rather than stuffing it in his corduroys.

To his chagrin, you turn your nose up at the creased, seeping parcel. “I hate sweets,” you tell him with a heavy insistence and no succeeding explanation or defense. Never mind that he had caught you sneaking cake from the kitchen last night when you thought everyone else had gone to bed.

Alas, his resolve is strong. He supposes that it was wrong of him to assume that you would indulge in a chocolate bar, because it is simply not the same thing as cake. During an astronomy lesson with Fugo, a fetching optimism takes over. That evening, he forgoes dinner to sweep the terracotta roof of dead leaves and earthly dust. He rummages through his closet for the softest blanket he owns – blue gingham that had once belonged to his mother.

He runs into you in the hallway on his way to your bedroom; budding with courage, he asks if you would care to watch the stars with him on the rooftop, because the window in his room leads right to the widow’s walk. You roll your eyes and turn away, muttering, “Constellations make me dizzy.” But did you not tell Bucciarati in passing yesterday just how much you love searching for the little dipper when the night skies are forgiving?

Narancia’s spur is beginning to wane, though he cannot blame you. Perhaps he has been reading you wrong. He simply has not pinpointed your interests – that is all. Flipping through the channels of the television, he stumbles upon a culinary program of an older man demonstrating how to prepare bucatini alla carbonara. Struck with inspiration, the boy rushes to the market for pancetta, parmesan, and dried pasta; he has never quite had the patience for making fresh dough, so he settles for pre-packed bucatini. Surely, you will understand.

And so, he leads you into the kitchen with a grin on his face. While pointing to the array of ingredients on the counter, he asks you to lend a hand and to help him prepare dinner. You are all in need of a reprieve from Il Libeccio. “I don’t like cooking,” you say, disinterested. It surely must have been a ghost who prepared the rigatoni al pesto on this past domenica, then.

Narancia does not have high hopes when he extends to you the offer of catching the movie Panni Sporchi in the theater with Fugo and he. His crushed spirits know better by now. But it never hurts to try.

You set down whatever magazine you have snatched from the corner store and cock an eyebrow. “Comedies aren’t my thing,” you utter. “They’re not even that funny. Besides, they’re just poor imitations of life. So are romances. And dramas. Thrillers – horrors . . . Actually, I hate movies.”

He bears it with a curt nod, choosing to ignore that you had held a private viewing of Auguri Professore in the living room yesterday. His head tells him that you do not wish to be his friend, amongst other things – but his heart insists that one day, you will.

It is by chance that he should wake up this night with the irrepressible urge to use the bathroom. On his way back, skin still damp from the sink, Narancia tiptoes along the embroidered vines of the carpet. It is a solitary game he only partakes in when no one is around to question his antics. When he hears a hiccup, he surmises that he has been caught. His sock-clad feet sink into the floor as he stills and prepares himself for whatever beratement is sure to follow. Instead, there is only another gasp for breath.

No, not a hiccup, he notices: it is the sound of grief that came from your bedroom. With little regard to your privacy, he peaks his head through the cracked door.

“What are you doing, Narancia?” you demand as you wipe the back of your nose and hoist the blankets – wetted by your tears – up to your shoulders. “Get out of my room.”

In this moment, it is as if the clouds have parted and clarity canvases the sky. All this time, he truly was enough for you – it was you who was not adequate for yourself. And here you are, curled up in your bed with swollen eyes that beg him to stay even though you had told him otherwise. You are tormented by bad memories that ought to be shed like snakeskin.

Narancia steps forward. “I just wanted to tell you, uh, it’s okay to cry,” he says with a certain tenderness that seems so unfamiliar to you. He rubs the back of his neck, averting your gaze. “Even if you don’t think so.”

You gawk at him and say nothing, for words have failed you. The silence is deafening, all the same. It is an audacious move, but he smiles to you – a gesture of compassion – before turning to leave. He has overstayed his welcome, and your unrelenting stare does not make him feel any better.

“Wait.” He stops, anticipating your delayed retaliation. “Could you . . . Can you spend the night with me?”

As he lies in bed next to you, distance kept by a pillow wedged between your bodies, Narancia beams – but you cannot see outline of his grin in the darkness of the room. This night and many more will pass, and you slowly become something of a beacon. He is beholden to you, because you make him feel appreciated in the ways that not even Fugo or Bucciarati can. For this reason, he will always cherish you – a talisman encapsulated within a friend.

And now, though the seeds of regret have already begun to spring roots within him – hyacinths embedded in his heart –, he will stay strong, for you are like a pharos to him. If not resiliency for his own sake, then certainly yours.

At least, for as long as he can.

“Hey, Narancia.” Startled, he jumps in his seat and clasps his knees tightly. “Is there something on my face?” you ask.

“I – Huh?” he stumbles over any response that might have come to mind. “What do you mean?”

You chuckle. “Well, it’s just that you’ve been staring at me for the past ten minutes.”

“Uh . . . I  . . .”

Fugo drags his gaze from his book to your face. “I don’t see anything,” he assures with a shrug. “Actually, come to think of it, I think your nose has gotten bigger.”

The banter of humor between you and Fugo is lost on the black-haired boy. Or rather, he is far too distracted to mimic it. He stands from his seat abruptly and reaches for the door to the compartment. “I have to piss,” he mutters.

He is gone before either of you can comment on his sudden brashness. In his absence, you nudge Fugo and gesture towards his book; just as Narancia had noted, you realize that your strawberry blonde friend has not gotten past the first page of the novel ever since you had departed. You left nearly an hour ago.

“My head is just elsewhere, I guess,” he confesses to your proclamation. He closes the book and sets it down on the seat. “I’m fine, though. As much as I can be. But Narancia isn’t.”

You hum in agreeance. “I’ll go check on him.”

Water rushes from the faucet and pools in the porcelain, ceramic bowl of the basin. Steam wafts towards the ceiling, blanketing the mirror in a cloud. Narancia’s fingers curl around the rim of the sink so tightly that the coloring flees from his knuckles. He feels like a phantom, for a part of him has surely died back in Venezia.

In another world, he imagines that he might have followed Bucciarati – as would have you and Fugo. But this is nothing more than a nonsensical thought that can never be anything more than an instance of intangible pondering. He does not wipe the fog from the mirror, because he cannot bear the sight of the boy who will greet him in return.

His is the face of the one who lost everything, found everything, and lost it all again. His stomach churns and his head whirls with aches. He has never been the type of person to boast of his character; it takes a humble attitude to realize that there is nothing special about oneself – until there is. Truly, Narancia once believed that he was a proper man, because he worked for someone as virtuous as the young Capo, whose confidence bred itself and more.

“I guess I’m not much of one now,” Narancia mumbles aloud with a sigh of vexation. “Not like Mista, Abbacchio . . . or Giorno.”

He taps the tip of his shoe against the linoleum floor. As it were, his socialization into Passione – no, into Bucciarati’s squad – has taught him the moral necessities of defending the weak who cannot otherwise safeguard nor vindicate themselves. Betraying him is a dreadful regret. How can he ignore the voice in his head that affirms his folly and tells him that he is no better for abandoning Trish in all her temperamental, vain ways, either?

When the sound of knuckles rapping against the door startles him from his thoughts, his first impulse is to lash out at whoever has disrupted his mind chamber of self-reflection. “Hey, can’t you read, idiota?” he demands, angrily. “Bathroom’s occupied.”

“Narancia, it’s just me.” The scowl on his face falters as he recognizes your voice. He turns the squealing faucet until it has dried. He does not stop to catch his staggered breaths before opening the door, and perhaps he should have. Even though you have become such close companions, you still make him feel like a child under your anatomizing gaze – as if there is something particularly interesting about him after all, which takes him for a good subject of study.

Your look of concern is jarring. For a moment, it is difficult to breathe, and he wishes he had tried to calm himself first. So much for staying strong for them. You step forward and lock the sliding door behind you. If it were anyone else – even Fugo – the proximity of your body to his might have made him uneasy. You drag a finger through the film of steam on the mirror. “I’m going to ask you something,” you begin to say, “and I’d like you to answer me, honestly. Are you alright?”

He chokes up at your words, because yes – he is perfectly fine; healthy, albeit a bit battered still from his fracas with Formaggio. As soon as he manages to stop himself from instigating the scabs on his knuckles, they will heal, and he will be left with nothing more than pink scar-tissue as an everlasting memento of these past few days.

But, in other contingencies of prosperity, he is unequivocally not alright. Against his better sense of control, his eyes well up with tears, and his cognition scatters.

“Narancia?”

There are many things that a person indulges in as a means of coping, some safer than others. Men fall to the bottle, like Abbacchio – and men lash out in violent rages, such as Fugo. He could keep picking at his scabs, find an emptied compartment to scream in, or pull out his unkempt hair. Contrition moves through him like a venom, and he supposes he should find a way to suck it out before it kills him.

His hands meet your arms in a shockingly gentle, clammy grasp; he jerks himself closer and suddenly, his lips are on your own and he is kissing you. His teeth scrape against your own and he pulls you flush, as if he cannot get close enough to you already, desperate to suffocate the detrimental notions running through him. Stunned and too preoccupied with dwelling on the sweet taste of his mouth, you have forgotten how to reciprocate.

You break apart and shrug the grip on your arms, unsure of what to say as his desperate indigo ogling gauges you for a reaction – whether you should berate him or express your equal adoration, anything is preferable than the silence. “I . . . I’m sorry,” he finally says when you have not.

“It’s fine,” you insist, an unreadable poignancy sweeping your face. “You can do it again, if you need to. I don’t mind.”

He must have heard you wrong; surely, you did not give him such a blessing as this. And yet, when he cups your jaw and meets your lips halfway, you do not shove him off. Instead, you repay the gesture and swipe your tongue along his own. His heart sings for you, like a schoolboy’s choir: thank you, thank you, thank you. You swear that your legs have become melting gold, for they quiver and you can no longer stand on your own.

Or maybe it is because the train has lurched forward. Despite the separation of your lips, Narancia catches you in arms that harbor unassuming strength, but make you feel guarded, all the same. It is strange, you reflect: he has always been something of a haven to you, ever since the night when you had cast aside all hesitations of welcoming him into your circle and did exactly that.

“I just want you to know that everything will be okay,” you tell him – about the kiss, about the train, or about your shared regrets, he does not know. No matter the intent, he enjoys listening to your voice. “You aren’t alone in this, Nara. We both made the decision to leave. You don’t have to suffer on your own, because I feel just as guilty, too.”

He frowns.

“Besides, we have all we need. You, me, and Fugo. I’m glad you’re here, you know; I couldn’t do this without you.” He hastily wipes away the tears that trickle down his cheeks. Stop crying, he sneers to himself. Stop it, stop it, stop it. You pull his frantic hand away from his reddened face and lace your fingers with his, so that he might not try it again. “It’s okay to cry, even if you don’t think so.”

He blooms and comes undone, sobbing into the crook of your neck and clasping your shirt so tightly that the spooling contorts and wrinkles. You trace shapes against his back, creasing the leather with your nails. Slow, tentative, and soft. He wishes to stay like this forever, bathroom or not – just so long as he has you.

While Narancia straightens himself and splashes fresh water upon his face, you wait for him at the door. He hesitates to follow you back to the compartment, because he can lose himself to grief exactly where he is without repercussion. You know this well, and so you extend your arm for him to take with a sense of hushed encouragement. His fingers meet yours, only this time, it is not to stop him from swiping at his face until his skin is raw. “We should check on Fugo, yeah?” you suggest.

“Yeah . . .”

Down the corridor, he trails behind you like a lost stray to his savior. In a way, that is exactly what you are, he thinks. And he will forever be grateful for it. It is not until you have returned to the strawberry blonde that Narancia lets his grasp fall from yours. You return to your seats, and Fugo offers his own attempt at a smile to you each. His book lies in his lap, untouched and unmoved.

“So, Fugo.” You drag out his name, as if deep in thought. “Did you get past the first page yet?”

| 3704 Words |

[twiceblackvelvet]

Cooking 101

request;  Can I request something based on Chef Yuri where Yuri is trying to teach Y/N how to cook but she ends up almost burning the kitchen down? Y/N feels bad but Yuri thinks it’s the most hilarious thing to happen? Thank you!

a/n; thank you for this request anon, i had a lot of fun writing this. but i’m also taking it as an opportunity to say sub to yuri’s youtube channel you cowards! hope you enjoy! 

tw // mentions of food.

It’s safe to say that cooking is not your forte. It never has been. The whole concept is something that you struggle to comprehend. The chefs you see on television or read books from always give a very thorough description of how to create a certain dish, the ingredients necessary, include the exact measurements and yet, what you end up would be better compared to something a dog may enjoy rather than haute cuisine. 

There have been several instances where you’ve gotten lucky to even survive your time within a kitchen, honestly. But, for some bizarre reason that you’re scared to find out the answer to, Yuri has decided to offer you a lesson in creating what she called “simple dishes”. You’re not so convinced they will be. 

The pristine appliances are the first thing you notice. The oven and hob clean enough to see your reflection in it. Various utensils line the walls hanging from hooks. Pots and pans all of the different shapes but all clean as a whistle. The counter-tops are made from wood and currently sporting an abundance of ingredients from fresh vegetables. poultry plus a rack of more spices than you’ve ever borne witness to. 

“It’s nice, right?” Yuri asks from behind one of the counters. Her smile is wide with excitement as she removes a few tomatoes from the fridge beside her. 

“Yeah, it’s pretty. Scary… but pretty.”

If you were to be honest with her, looking at how tidy everything is and how it’s decorated down to the smallest detail such as having framed recipes here and there on the walls, you’re rather worried that once you’re done it’s going to look like a scene from an action movie after the two main characters burst through glass windows to fight one another. 

“Wash your hands and we can get started,” She points you over to where the sink is and you hesitantly head toward it. “There’s no reason to be scared, I’m going to be right here with you every step of the way.”

“You haven’t seen me cook before, Yuri. It’s the stuff of nightmares.”

“Well, I don't scare easily.” Her smile fills her face this time showing off her adorable cheeks you can’t help but smile back at. “Here, I brought along an extra, figured you don’t own one, what with your poisonous skills in here.” 

Her right-hand holds out an apron toward you, pink in color with small yellow flowers dotted around the material. The one Yuri is sporting is similar except blue with red flowers. Trying to tie the straps around your waist even proves to be difficult which should have been a sign for Yuri to make a run for it there and then. However, she instead snakes her hands around your waist from in front of you and easily laces a knot with the strings to firmly hold your apron in place. 

The proximity of her body and face to your own is more nerve-wracking than anything else and there’s a chance you may end up killing both of you off by the end of the day if anything is under-cooked or burnt to a crisp. 

“Okay, so we’re gonna try three different courses, that way you’ll always be able to at least cook three dishes for any occasion, right?”  Her enthusiasm is not matched whatsoever as your hands begin to involuntarily shake out of panic. The smile on her face fades as she takes notice of your nervousness. “Hey, come on, how bad can it be?” 

“I could kill us both, burn the entire building down, you know? That sort of thing.” Yuri simply chuckles and moves back toward the fridge, this time removing peppers.

“You won’t kill us, come on. Let’s get started!” 

For the next hour, that feels more like six, Yuri tells you about her influence from the different cuisines around the world, how she became so interested in cooking and about the story behind each meal the two of you will be attempting to replicate today. All in the calmest voice imaginable. Her hands quickly get to work on chopping up various vegetables, offering you the knife at one point only to have to guide you into doing the correct motion and not the “lose your fingers” style you had tried to do it with as she had called it. 

The two of you eventually get started on the actual cooking portion of the day beginning with Hors d’Oeuvres, which turns out to be surprisingly easy, though it is the smallest dish of the three. Tuna and red pepper mousse tarts, which Yuri plates up to look elegant, which you learn is a skill in itself. 

“Give it a try.” She says upon finishing up making everything look aesthetically pleasing. 

The first bite immediately transports you elsewhere entirely. You’re sure that you can see stars and definitely can’t wrap your mind around the fact that the two of you, well, more so yourself, have managed to successfully make it. You never doubted Yuri would be able to do it. But yourself? There must be a glitch in the simulation somewhere. 

“It’s amazing, you have to try it too!” You excitedly shout pushing the plate of food toward Yuri who has patiently watched your face contort with pleasure from the taste.  

She quickly grabs one of the tarts for herself and joins you in salivating over how fresh it is. The two of you gush for a few more moments, happily enjoying the starter of your cooking experience. Maybe, things won’t be so bad after all. Or, maybe that’s just wishful thinking. 

“Okay, so next, I want us to try roasted squid. So, why don’t you prepare the potatoes and chorizo whilst I work on the squid, deal?”

“Sure, sounds good.” You say with a little more confidence than previously. 

You easily get to work on cutting up the potatoes and placing them into a pot of simmering water. The knife easily glides through the chorizo whilst using the technique that Yuri had showed you just earlier, and begins to sizzle away to itself in a cast-iron skillet she had pulled off a hook on the wall for you. It’s fairly easy this cooking thing, you think, perhaps all of those fears had been for no reason and that the right teacher was all you needed all along. 

Yuri decides to turn on some music as the two of you work separately. It’s soothing and makes you feel calm and helps to erase any anxiety that was still lingering deep down. If cooking had been like this all the time, you’d have started a lot sooner and could have become a master chef by now. But alas, cooking alongside Yuri feels like a good exchange. 

A few more minutes of stirring the chorizo idly, you realize why you were offered this job as it doesn’t take a lot of effort nor attention. It just hangs out in the pan casually making a few noises now and then, but other than that, it’s easy. 

Well, it would have been easy, had you not allowed your mind to slip away for a little while too long and not noticed that the previously simmering water the potatoes were left in had now boiled and the lid had begun to shake from the pressure with all of the water threatening to spill out of it and burn not only yourself and Yuri, but also destroy all of her hard work to have a clean, non-burned kitchen. 

“Yuri, help!” You panic yell toward her, the water beginning to bubble over the top of the pot now. 

“Just turn the heat off.” 

Now, whilst your ears had heard her say those words as she too had used the same panicked tone your voice had decided upon. For some reason, your body is incapable of moving or doing what it is that she had asked you to do at that moment. The fear of potentially being scolded simply too great and so she’s left to quickly dive halfway across the kitchen and save the both of you from any harm, turning off the heat herself. 

“Are you okay?” She asks, concern replacing the panic. Your hands return to shaking briefly but quickly calm as she pulls you up to offer a warm hug and tell you that everything is okay. “Come on, let’s have a break, huh?” 

A table placed away from the kitchen allows the two of you to have a breather away from the chaos that just ensued. Yuri places a glass of water in front of you before she joins you at the opposite end of the table. 

“I’m sorry.”  You apologize. 

A small smile graces Yuri’s lips before she responds. “For what?” 

You turn back to look at the kitchen and animatedly try to encompass the whole thing with your hands. “For that, just now.” 

“Don’t worry about it, no one died… yet.” she jokingly brushes off your concern. “Plus, I was the same as you once upon a time, cooking takes patience and time to perfect.” 

“I’m not sure I have the patience.” both of you laugh at the admission but Yuri once more brushes it off.

“Sure you do, we just may need to hide all of the potentially dangerous utensils and appliances from you.” 

“So… all of them?” 

The two of you continue t laugh at your less than desirable cooking experience thus far. Soon enough, you’ve finished the glass of water she had given you and Yuri rises from her seat opposite you. 

“Come on, let’s get back to it otherwise you never will.” 

“You still want me in your kitchen after that?” 

She smirks as she looks at your intensely keeping eye contact even after you have shifted your own eyes away briefly for a small break from her gaze. 

“Of course, dessert is always the best part o the meal.” 

[thebibliomancer]

Shadows of the Dark Crystal liveblog pt 15

Shadows of the Dark Crystal by J. M. Lee because urVa is a delight.

Last times on book: Naia is on a journey to Ha’rar with Kylan to clear brother Gurjin’s name and warn the All-Maudra about all these dark crystals. Their journey took them through the Dark Woods where Naia dreamfasted with a tree and made the forest less spooky. Then urVa burst out of a tree and invited the Gelfling for a cryptic soup dinner.

Chapter 17

urVa teaches Naia about archery but mostly says a lot of cryptic stuff that Naia and Kylan can’t make sense of. That’s how it be.

Naia has a flying dream.

I swear, this has to be building up to something.

When she wakes up, Kylan is already up staring at the mysterious writing again because darnit he wants to know.

Naia ponders some more whether urVa is truly alone in this dirt hovel.

From the limited belongings he kept, it was hard for Naia to believe he was completely solitary. Life in Sog was very different, with every family keeping their own stock of meat and preserves, ranging gear and ceremonial garments, spears and bola, trinkets and family treasure. The Spriton had lived in communion with one another, too, each village hut full of material evidence of life and family and the village as a whole. Even the Podling burrow they’d found had had that same proof... but should urVa one day pass away, or leave for another place, the only thing left of him would be the bare walls with the writing Naia couldn’t read. And even then, it wouldn’t take long for the wild and the elements to eat away those as well, and then there would be no record he had existed at all.

Somewhere, the Skeksis have just broken out into a cold sweat.

urVa interrupts her melancholy to offer her some ta, which is almost, but not quite, entirely unlike tea. Since it has red steam once the water hits the herbs, which I’ve never personally seen tea do. But as a name, ta still has the feel of caf or choc where writers don’t want to be just so mundane as to have coffee or chocolate in their fantastical world.

Cough Star Wars Cough

Despite his size and dragging tail, he was surprisingly stealthy and was already halfway across the small den’s space, heading toward the kettle. As he walked, his spine snaked in a liquid motion from his head to his bulk.

This. This is some good description.

urVa makes a comment about having all three suns in the sky at the same time which makes me wonder if there’s a time when that doesn’t happen and what that does to day and night.

Ta apparently tastes tangy and like alfen fruit. Fascinating.

Naia asks for directions from the Black River and urVa just gets up and gets his stuff and sets out. He’s a show, don’t tell kinda guy, I guess.

The Dark Woods is some whole other animal after Naia healed it. Full of life and joy and new growth. They’re going to need a new name for it, probably.

When the group stops for lunch, Naia asks about the corded staff and feathered spears urVa carries and he explains that they’re bow and arrows and asks if she wants to see.

They leave Kylan to rest his feet and go to a ledge where urVa can demonstrate.

“Bow -- two ends connected by a single string. Arrow -- head and tail connected by a single shaft.”

“For hunting? They look like spears.”

“Bow and arrow do not hunt; a hunter hunts. I am not a hunter.”

Naia be like ‘doubt’ but she’s impressed when he fires an arrow.

urVa hands her the bow and she tries to use it but the thing is nearly as tall as she is and the bowstring is bowstrung with the expectation of a Mystic’s bulk and four arms. She doesn’t really have success pulling back the bowstring, even without an arrow.

He helps her pull back the string and she manages to shoot an arrow, although it goes bouncing off everything because she didn’t so much shoot it as lose her grip on the bowstring.

Neech wants to go chase the arrow because that’s what he do but Naia settles him down.

urVa chuckled. “We need a Gelfling-size bow.”

Oh there’s a really cool picture of Naia and urVa on the ledge. The art in this book is so good.

Naia shoots off a few more arrows, getting better at it. She also takes the time to examine the bow and how the string is notched, the amount of curve and the type of wood. She looks at all his different arrows too.

Each was unique, with a different engraving or colorful adornment. Some had glittering sea-green scales along the sides, some had feathers or barbed orange leaves. The arrowheads were an array of hard materials, from stones and claws to bone and ancient wood. One even appeared to be made of a tooth. Every arrow was different, made with painstaking care and detail.

I wonder if Naia takes and spreads this knowledge and that’s how archery among Gelfling becomes so widespread that Toolah in Beneath the Dark Crystal can use arrows to solve every problem.

I’d like to think so.

Naia offers to go retrieve the arrows she had fired but urVa just tells her he’ll make more.

She gets really antsy about this because of the craftsmanship of the arrows and how the tradition in the Sog is to retrieve your bola. It makes her feel a little like shit that such good arrows will be lost forever just so she could see how archery works. She goes to climb down anyway but urVa pulls her back gently.

“Ah, Gelfling, little Gelfling,” he said. “Let them go. They were made of Thra and have returned to Thra. Now that my quiver is nearly empty, I have room for new arrows.”

So there was a thing I saw in a magazine profile of urVa that said he was so good at archery because he knows when to let things go and it simultaneously annoyed and impressed me because I hadn’t quite reconciled archery with how the urRu usually are but the explanation made perfect sense and was also kind of wordplay.

But it really works here and it really works as a dynamic against which Naia can butt her head.

She considers sneaking down to retreive them anyway but he just keeps staring at her so she gives it up.

“A stone in each hand leaves no room for a fifth... Mm, or in case of Gelfling, a third. Holding on to things too tightly will prevent you from moving forward.”

He’s just super good at letting things go.

But this also doesn’t sit right with Naia and tries to argue the point that if you let go of the things you care about there’s no point in trying and that there are things that are more important than stones.

urVa didn’t argue, simply bobbing his head from side to side. Though she hadn’t really expected to change his mind, Naia felt a pinch of frustration when he didn’t reply at all, but she kept it to herself. It was fine to disagree, after all, so long as neither of them held the feeling in contempt.

Naia: ‘i came her for an argument!’

At least its not getting hit on the head lessons.

But, the more urVa the more I like urVa. People could learn a lesson from how chill he is.

Naia asks urVa whether the visions and phantoms the Cradle-Tree showed her were just illusions and echoes of her fears.

“Hmmm,” urVa murmured. “Yes and no.”

“Yes and no are opposites,” Naia said, though it pained her to state the obvious.

urVa’s point though is that the Cradle-Tree is a tree and can only show what’s already there. “If you heard it, someone said it. If you saw it, someone did it” but context is key.

This doesn’t really answer the question of whether it was real for Naia but I think she’s getting used to that at this point.

While on the arrow quest, Kylan has been dream-etching the words he saw in urVa’s hovel into his book.

“Smart one, this one,” urVa said with a chuckle ... “What words are for, you know. Passing along a message from one place to another, even when the original dreamer has, himself, passed along and gone.”

The group sets off again and they pass under where the broken bridge was. And nice scenery building, the broken bridge was actually a branch of the Cradle-Tree, broken due to its darkening. Nice. I like that it ties together.

But urVa draws their attention to a figure traveling along the ridge and tells the Gelfling that its looking for them and then shrugs when they ask how he knows.

“An archer knows the path of an arrow from either end.”

Another way of saying a hunter knows when he’s being hunted, Naia thought. At least sometimes his riddles made sense to her.

Naia doesn’t worry about their maybe stalker because there’s nothing she can do about it until the pursuer catches up except pick up the pace which she does do.

They arrive at a stream that urVa tells Naia and Kylan will lead them to the Black River.

“Thank you, urVa. And for showing us the way to the river.”

“May we meet again,” urVa replied. “Even be it in a different form.”

Uhhhhhhm I mean, I like the sentiment here but I have a sinking feeling that he is going to meet them in a different form and its not going to be as pleasant.

Cough the Hunter cough.

Naia: “He seems very wise, but what good is wisdom when it can’t be understood? I didn’t understand half of what he told us this entire time.”

That’s the Mystic experience for you, Naia.

Alas, I’d like more time with urVa but he has other plot to attend to and really he’s like a super high leveled guest party member. He’s a tension breaker. For the good of the story, he has to go shoot arrows to annoy Aughra.

Bye urVa. You were a delight.

[365daysofsasuhina]

[ 365 Days of SasuHina || Day Three Hundred Four: A Crystal Cup ] [ Uchiha Sasuke, Hyūga Hinata ] [ SasuHina ] [ Verse: Divine Light ] [ AO3 Link ]

Passing through the city gates is a bit nostalgic.

Astride his dark mount, Sasuke comes to a stop just outside, observing for a short while. The first time he beheld the Luxerian capital, the protective barrier was still erect, shielding the city from outsiders. Its roads had been ghostly, empty and silent as he, his brother, the light mage, and Hinata all made their way in toward the castle atop the knoll, and the statue of Luxeria standing guard. It was there the healer at last found the knowledge necessary to cure Itachi entirely, and repay her friend’s side of the debt: the agreement between the fire and water mages then complete. Hinata had gotten away from her father, learning about magic...and in turn, Sasuke’s brother was cured at long last.

From there...things seemed to snowball.

Determined to resuscitate the city of her ancestors, the lux mage had enlisted both Itachi and Hinata’s help in rebuilding the council of the twelve elements. Itachi agreed to take igni’s mantle, and Hinata aqua’s. 

Sasuke...had felt betrayed.

His brother had promised that - once his body was whole - they would return home to their parents and finally enjoy a normal, healthy life. It was the one thing that had kept Sasuke on this path: the promise of his brother’s vitality, and seeing their parents’ faces upon their return. At first, he’d been angry - livid - convinced that the lux mage had twisted Itachi somehow to get him to agree to such a hare-brained scheme.

And Hinata, too! She’d been friends with the healer before he’d met her, but still…! Did all their journeying together - all they faced together - mean nothing? Was she really ready to throw away the freedom she’d earned and become shackled to another destiny? Give away her autonomy to involve herself with politics?

All Sasuke had ever wanted was a free, peaceful life with his mother, father, and brother...and suddenly, everything felt like it was falling apart. Perhaps it was childish...but he chose to be angry: chose to blame the lux mage and her ambitions for Itachi’s change of heart.

...of course, that had only been partially true. The blooming friendship between the pair - with hints of something more than friendship - had swayed him. But once he managed to corner his younger brother, Itachi had explained his feelings: of wanting to help restore balance and peace for their people. No longer would the el’ven have to live in fear and hiding.

Hinata, too, admitted to similar feelings. Her own family’s flight took place when she was old enough to remember, unlike Sasuke’s in his infancy. It weighed on her far heavier...as it did on Itachi, who also witnessed the downfall of their city.

...it took time, but he came to understand, if a bit stubbornly. And after meeting with the monster slayer and assassin Kakashi, Sasuke honed his skills further, taking to the road as his brother and Hinata pursued their own futures. It’s been a year, now...and he’s finally returned.

Maturity has stripped a bit more of the fat from his face, hair longer and half-tied in a tail behind his head. His brashness has tempered with patience after so many hunts and contracts. Finally, it seems...he’s grown up.

His year on the road has changed him greatly...and helped him see many matters from another angle. It’s that alone that brings him back, and at this particular time. In only a few days, the second of the new council meetings will begin.

Hence the current bustle in the city, so unlike his first glimpses of it. Allowing a hint of a smile, he gently urges his horse forward, shod hooves clacking pleasantly against the stone streets. Those on foot part like water to let him pass as he makes his way to the stables. Mount housed, he then makes his way up to the castle doors. Guards preside carefully, asking his name.

“Sasuke, house of Uchiha,” he replies evenly, seeing the recognition in their eyes.

“Oh, aye sir! Please, make your way inside.”

Nodding, he passes them into the entry hall. Flawless white stone and peerless glass windows seem to alight from all angles. Even here there are considerable crowds: mostly palace staff, alongside Luxerian acolytes dressed in white and gold. Intermixed are other elemental colors, the twelve represented and gathered to prepare for the week of festivities and negotiations.

For a time he stands and watches the bustle, mostly unnoticed as he only receives curious glances. He doesn’t stand out much in his plain traveling gear and cloak, looking every part the wanderer and sellsword he’s become.

“...Sasuke…?”

For a moment, the tone stills the beats in his chest. Then a glance aside reveals Hinata. Pale eyes are wide in surprise, posture half hesitant as though weighing the decision to reach for him. The traditional colors of Auquiana - deep and shallow blues - color every inch of her garments, accented subtly by silver. Her hair is still long, loose along her back.

“...Hinata.”

Brightening, she abandons her indecision and approaches him, bearing a warm smile. “What are you doing here? Did Itachi ask you to come?”

“No...I’m here of my own volition. Thought I’d see how things have progressed in a year’s time.”

“I see…! Then...have you plans to remain until the summit is over?”

“Perhaps. We’ll see how it holds my interest.”

That earns a wry smile. “I’m sure it will. Even if you’re not a fan of politics, the meeting of cultures is always of intrigue. I’m sure if you asked, Itachi would let you sit on his council if you wished to see the proceedings up close.”

“...we’ll see,” he replies vaguely, not too keen on the political side of things. “I hear there’s a gala…?”

“Yes, for the dignitaries and their parties, as well as some notable guests.”

“So...those with deep pockets,” Sasuke counters.

“Some, yes. Others are experts in ven, or in negotiations. Some are just important members of each culture. This isn’t just for the rich and powerful.”

That just earns a hum. “...well, I suppose I might at least participate in that, if I must.”

“It’s by far the most entertaining day,” Hinata agrees. “It’s the first, so we all begin on a friendly, light-hearted note. At least...that’s how it felt last year. We’ll see if history repeats itself. But for now...why don’t we catch up? It feels like it’s been eons since I’ve seen you…”

“Is a year really that painful?”

Hinata gives him a glance. “...was it not so for you?”

“Well...I kept rather busy.”

“As did I. But I always found myself hoping you’d write.”

A bit of guilt settles in his stomach. “...next year,” he half jokes, half promises.

“You’d better…!”

Hinata dispels her entourage, and the pair retreat to the back gardens. They aren’t alone, but the atmosphere is quite a bit less stressful than the interior of the castle. As they come to a stop nearby a fountain, a member of the staff seems to appear out of thin air, holding aloft a tray with crystal goblets filled with sparkling white wine.

“A bit early for that, isn’t it?” Sasuke asks.

“It helps keep things...relaxed,” Hinata replies in jest, accepting a crystal cup.

After a pause, Sasuke does the same, taking a small sip. “So...how has all of this treated you?”

“It’s hard work, especially since we’re still only just beginning,” she admits, watching the water. “But we’ve already made excellent headway. Treaties and new political lines are always in the works. Things are changing...slowly, but surely. The relations between el’ven and el’kor are bettering. Tensions remain, but...it’s to be expected.”

“How has my brother fared? He’d write me on occasion but otherwise I heard little - he was always vague and light on words.”

“In all honesty, I doubt I can tell you much more. As much as we work together, so too do we have plenty to do apart. But you’ll see him soon - I think he’s due to arrive today or tomorrow.”

“It will be good to see him…”

Hinata glances to him thoughtfully. “...and it’s good to see you,” she murmurs. “I take it the road treated you well enough?”

“Fairly. I sent most of my earnings back home. It hasn’t been glorious, but honest enough. Engaging enough.”

“Don’t you ever get lonely…?”

“...a bit.”

“...is that why you came back?”

His lips tick upwards. “...maybe it is. At the very least, in part. A break in the monotony is always good. There’s variety in my work, but it’s all still work.”

“Mm...I understand.”

For a moment, they stand in silence...and then Hinata lifts a hand. Casually, playfully, she starts manipulating some of the water in the fountain.

In a way it makes Sasuke nostalgic, thinking back to the first lessons he gave her about the powers her father had forbidden her to use.

“I guess our paths have no intention of slowing any time soon, do they?” she then murmurs, letting the liquid meld back into the pool.

“...I suppose not. But maybe that just means we enjoy what we have while we have it.”

A brief smile flickers across her face. “...maybe. At the very least, I intend to.” Hinata gives him a glance. “...which includes your company.”

“...I look forward to it.”

                                                         .oOo.

     More crossover with my original fantasy verse! Admittedly this one hasn't had much...story? At least not linear among all I've done with it: just random bits and pieces, sort of like the ALAS stuff. Hence not linking things (yet) because it's really all over the place lol      Speaking of, I HAVE been slowly working on a spreadsheet trying to get all of these sorted into mini series. Maybe by year's end I'll be done :'D      But yeah, not much to say about this one...just a lil reunion after some character growth. I kinda DO want to make a fic out of this, maybe...I'm just wary since it has original elements of mine. I've been doing one with a friend of mine's OC and mine, and a few canons...but SH really isn't in it, as it takes place a bit later than this...kinda? So idk if anyone here would be interested lol      Anyway, I'm...very tired, and in a lotta tooth pain, so I'm gonna call it a night~ Thanks for reading!

[yukiwrites]

The Taste of Fear

Thank you for the support as always, @breeachuu​! I got carried away writing this! sakdjlmasd It was so much fun! I hope you likey~

Summary: Crossing the borders between worlds and getting used to his new home was a task that Wolfram was equally looking forward to and uneasy about. Hiding who he was while still trying to forge new bonds would prove to be a challenge, but Wolfie knew that as long as he had Byleth and Dimitri by his side, he would be able to see it through. Dimitri, however, had his own demons to fight...

Commission info HERE and HERE!

______________________________

Wolfram adjusted the purple bandana he wore around his head to hide his pointy ears for the fourth time as he followed Dimitri and Byleth closely.

After Dimitri explained the situation to the professor, Byleth had stared at Wolfram for a long while, as though having a long-winded conversation within herself regarding his story. Or regarding himself, Wolfram couldn't say. Perhaps she also noticed the Blood he carried within his veins? Sure, the way he sensed her Ancient Blood and the way everyone from his family back home felt were fundamentally different, but they still shared some similarities...

Perhaps Byleth and the other presences Wolfram felt were closer to that one foreign shape-shifting dragon his mother Nidra encountered decades ago (who apparently visited them on more than one occasion, though not during Wolfram's memory). Perhaps a different feeling still -- he could not say for sure, not now and certainly not in the foreseeable future. Only after going back home he would be able to compare the feelings by talking it through with his mother and siblings.

Alas, for the moment, Wolfram knew one thing: despite Byleth shouldering the strongest presence of the Ancient Blood in the vicinity, she did not bear any of the usual physical manifestations of such power. Namely, the ears. Or the skin that sometimes glittered in little lighting.

Seeing his train of thought lead him that way made Wolfie once again adjust his bandana, wanting to be more than completely sure that his ears were properly hidden. Byleth's were round and in plain sight, but he could never be too careful...

After going up a set of stairs, the three of them reached the floor whence the second strongest presence lay -- the other two presences were also around that tower, but perhaps in higher levels... Trying to pinpoint their location, Wolfram looked all around as though he could miraculously see through walls or something.

"You two wait here," Byleth said as they came to a stop, making Wolfram blink and finally focus on the audience chamber in front of him.

More specifically, on the woman walking out of a nearby office, towards whom Byleth headed. For some reason, Wolfram once again felt as though he was drowning on dry land.

The bright green-haired woman carried herself with a grace that befitted the highest of nobles, but the subtlety of her steps bore the caution of a seasoned warrior. Wolfram immediately knew that under that thin ceremonial garb that woman was not what she appeared to be.

Her very presence exerted pressure in the air, making it difficult to breathe. Wolfram gripped at Dimitri's arm from behind, instinctively hiding behind the blonde youth. As they were the same height, Dimitri served poorly as a hiding spot, but the action helped to keep Wolfram grounded into the moment, not being sucked into that woman's ground-shattering aura.

There was no way around it.

Wolfram knew it, deep into his bones, intimally in every cell of his body: that woman was a dragon. A very powerful one.

Perhaps because there were so few of them around? Perhaps because she was the only one who exuded such power? But it looked as though she made little to no effort to hide her presence. Mayhap an action borne out of hubris, to always let her presence caress all that approach -- to show that she was the one who held immense power?

Wolfram couldn't even think of beginning to understand.

That woman's power was raw, almost wild -- it was as though she held it with a very loose leash; or a tight one that was very much close to snapping.

Either way, she was dangerous. She was powerful, much more than Wolfram was comfortable with imagining. He had only felt a shred of this kind of power the moments Nidra would transform to teach this or that lesson regarding their dragon halves, but it was never unleashed in such... Brittle control.

Nidra had always taught her children to keep their dragon halves in check; to talk to it and embrace it into their logical minds. To be consumed by their wild sides would be a sorry end, as she would put it. Never once had Wolfram felt a dragon so closely out of control, yet seemingly dormant. Would anyone of his family feel that... that unsettling way were they to lose their humanity?

He felt his heart growing cold with each beat, his breathing turning so thin he could feel the icy grasp of fear engulf his being from within.

He had never been so scared of someone in his whole life.

The moment she directed her gaze to him it was as though the smile she wore when speaking with Byleth disappeared from her face entirely the moment the professor left her sight. Though that was Wolfram's mind playing tricks on him -- the woman still smiled, though it didn't reach her eyes as it did moments ago. He felt a visceral urge to leave; to run away only to not be close to which felt as controlled madness.

Not realizing how rasped his breathing became, Wolfram felt Dimitri slightly step to the right, shielding Wolfram even more from the approaching woman.

Noticing how he trembled, the half-manakete looked down to Dimitri's shoulder and how strongly he grasped himself onto him. A faint wave of warmth washed over the boy, making him use that momentum to regain the air he had lost. He mouthed a 'thank you' for Dimitri's silent support, though the blonde had no way of seeing it.

The more the woman approached, the more inclined Wolfram felt in looking upwards to direct his gaze to her instead of downwards to her shorter stature. It was as though he could look at the overpowering presence towering above her instead of her actual eyes. Still, look at them he did -- the bright green hiding a vast depth within them.

"Greetings to you, child." She cocked her head downwards in a respectful bow, making Wolfram slightly wince, the shaky breath leaving his lips. "I have heard the situation from our dear Professor Byleth." She looked straight at Wolfram, as though she could see him bare.

Did she know? She knew it, right? She couldn't have missed it! If he, who had less manakete power, was this overwhelmed by her own, it was a given that she would be able to recognize a fellow shape-shifter, weaker or not!

Time felt as though it dragged itself -- one second passed and Wolfram already felt like he had stopped breathing for hours! He could only nod in response, his voice failing him. "M-mhm?" He managed to scramble around his tongue, trying to remember how to speak.

"As the Archbishop of the Church of Seiros and Headmaster of the Officers Academy, I must say that I have not heard of a transfer student -- you do not match the one we were scheduled to receive at the start of the year, either." She placed one hand over her cheek, as though in confusion.

Was she testing him? She was! Was he going to spill the beans about being a shape-shifter or would he stick to his own story? What could he do under the bone-shattering presence she exerted?

Breathing was the most he could do!

Clearly seeing how noticeable uncomfortable Wolfram was, Dimitri nudged himself a bit, taking the woman's gaze away from the foreign boy. "Even if he is not the one the Academy was expecting, we cannot simply leave him like this -- alone, confused and without memories."

Byleth stood by the woman's side, slowly walking to stay beside Dimitri -- almost forming another wall between Wolfram and the woman.

"Of course, Prince Dimitri. That would not at all be my intention." The woman said in a controlled breath, the eerie lack of color of her face making Wolfram even more afraid to be near her. "Those in need are always welcome here at the monastery -- we offer shelter, food, and work for the able."

"Lady Rhea-" Dimitri meant to speak, but the woman called Rhea simply sharply turned to him, shutting him up.

"However, to accept one into the Academy like this would not only be unprecedented but reckless and irresponsible, do you not agree?"

Dimitri pursed his lips. "Of course, we are not asking you to do this out of goodwill, Lady Rhea. The Kingdom is more than willing to shoulder any costs of his enrollment--"

"It is not a simple matter of costs, Prince." Rhea interrupted, blinking as she changed her gaze from Dimitri to Wolfram. The half-manakete felt a chill go down his spine. "It is also a matter of security and skills. The Death Knight is still out there and although far from me to doubt a child, I cannot so readily accept a new student under these circumstances."

Death Knight. That seemed ominous.

"I can fight," Wolfram heard his own voice say, surprising even himself. "I'm, uh, a wyvern rider -- I'm sure I can be of use in tracking this Death Knight with my mount."

Rhea blinked in surprise. Byleth slightly widened her eyes as Dimitri gasped, turning to Wolfram.

"You already have a flying certificate at your age?" The blonde asked, flabbergasted. Not missing a beat, he turned to the Archbishop, "truly, we cannot turn our backs to such a gift, Lady Rhea."

Finally stepping into the conversation, Byleth brought one hand to her chest, "I will make sure he is properly instructed in my class, Lady Rhea. I see much... hidden potential in this boy." She said after much deliberation.

Wolfram could swear he saw a smirk appear in Rhea's lips as she glanced at him before she softly smiled to Byleth. "Well, it does reassure me that he will be under your care, dear Professor Byleth, though I am still cautious about this."

"Can you not make it an exception this time, Lady Rhea? I will take full responsibility should anything happen." Dimitri dutifully bowed, prompting Wolfram to scramble himself in a bow as well.

"I-I'm sorry for all the trouble I'm causing, but I'm sure I can be of use." He found his breath once his eyes lost Rhea's, making speech a much easier task.

A very uncomfortable and long silence followed while both Dimitri and Wolfram had their heads down in their pleas. A tired sigh broke the stillness, followed by a "very well."

Both youths lifted their heads with the same smile, exchanging happy glances.

"However, I will still need to hear more of your story, Wolfram." She added, sending yet another chill down the boy's spine. "... At another time, of course. The hour is late and there is much to do in order to accept such a hastily enrolment in the middle of the night. For now you shall be placed at the room beside Byleth's-"

"Oh, I am positively sure Dedue will not mind to share his room with Wolfram!" Dimitri smiled, taking a step to the left so as to pat the half-manakete's back. "Indefinitely, if I might add! If it is too much trouble to prepare a new room, I might even offer my own-"

"What?! You don't need to do that, Dimitri! I'll be happy sharing rooms with- uhh," for a moment he thought how hard it would be to sleep with the bandana on, but that was something he had to worry about later.

"Dedue? He is my friend and self-appointed vassal -- his words, not mine -- with whom I am sure you will get along with. He is a wonderful person."

"It will be no trouble to arrange a new room sooner rather than later, Prince Dimitri," Rhea added, "though it is heartwarming to see how selfless the next King of Faerghus is turning out to be. May you never lose sight of these feelings." Rhea said in a motherly tone, which made Wolfram almost forget the fear that had shook him so badly. "Well, then, Professor," she bobbed her head to Byleth, "and Prince Dimitri -- I trust that the two of you will do your utmost to make our Wolfram to feel at home."

"Of course," Professor and student replied in unison, making the half-manakete smile proudly. "Farewell, Archbishop. I thank you for accepting this proposition so readily," Dimitri bowed once again as Rhea excused herself, giving him but a wave before she disappeared back into the office whence she had come.

Byleth looked at her new student, patting him on the shoulder. "We should begin by showing you your provisory room, yes? I'm sure you'll want to put all of that," she glanced at his oversized backpack, coat, belt and provisions, "away."

"Oh, yes, please." Wolfram chuckled, feeling the weight of the world slip out of his body now that Rhea was out of his sight. "Maybe show me to your stables or barn? I wanna call my wyvern over to settle him in, too."

"Of course! I would also like to meet your steed if I may, Wolfram." Dimitri smiled politely, taking a step back so as to allow Byleth to walk in front, following right after her.

"Sure! Aquilo loves meeting new people!"

Dimitri flashed a conflicted smile before speaking again. "Oh, so your mount's name is Aquilo? I am sure he is a very well taken care of beast, given how warmly you speak of him."

"Yeah, I just need to blow on here and-" Wolfram reached for the wing-shaped whistle he carried on him at all times, finally realizing he wasn't playing the amnesic part very well. "And, um, he'll come. Heh, heh..." He cleared his throat.

Dimitri flashed that same smile, patting Wolfram in the back once they reached the bottom of the staircase, "is something the matter? Oh, perhaps it would be better for US to do the talking, huh, Professor Byleth?"

"I suppose it would, yes," Byleth nodded, guiding them towards the dormitories once again.

"Eyyy, so you were just gonna waltz around with the new guy without introducing him to anyone? That's mean!" A playful voice sing-songed beside them the moment they walked out of the building into the garden. Wolfram looked from Dimitri to Byleth before locking eyes to the brown skinned young man chilling right beside the entrance, as though expecting them.

"Oh, Claude, good timing!" Dimitri smiled, walking towards the young man. He wore a uniform akin to Dimitri's, though his cape was yellow and the brooch holding it differed in design. "This is Wolfram; he will be transferring to the Blue Lions House starting today."

Claude whistled, "damn, you got another student in your House? A guy gets lonely like that!" He chuckled as he almost danced away from the wall towards Wolfram -- a set of steps of one who knew how to sneak up to someone. "Wolfram, huh? What's your story, kid?" He looked at the boy from below, a playful smirk never leaving his lips.

Tilting his head to the side, Wolfie simply smiled in confusion. "Um, I don't think I can tell you much... I don't really have any memories."

"Oh, so we're playing a guessing game, are we?" Claude looked at each one of them, immediately sagging his shoulders. "Wait, don't tell me you're actually trying to play the amnesia card. And don't tell me you fell for it, Your Highness?"

Before Dimitri could even open his mouth to retort, another voice interrupted them from behind -- a velvety yet authoritarian tone that made Wolfram somehow uncomfortable. "Oh? Surely Dimitri would not be THIS trusting?" A white-haired woman stepped out of the hedge on the opposite side. "I have said this before and I shall do it again: being this trusting will surely lead you to your demise."

"Edelgard," Dimitri bobbed his head to the girl, glancing to the tall, black-haired man behind her. "And Hubert. What a pleasant surprise -- is nothing we do here a secret? Not that I was trying to conceal anything, of course."

"As opposed to your new friend here?" Claude saw the opportunity to jab and he took it, smirking. "No hard feelings, Wolf -- I can call you that, yeah?"

"Uh- sure-" Wolfie didn't know where to look, feeling like a prey in the middle of a den full of predators.

"Please, both of you -- can you not see you are making him uncomfortable? Everything is new to him."

Edelgard crossed her arms, shifting the weight of her body to another leg, lifting her chin. "I do not claim to believe this 'amnesia' nonsense, though I have not been informed of how... foreign he looked." She said, looking straight at Wolfram before shifting her gaze to Dimitri.

Wolfie almost gave into the urge to check his bandana again, but under much self-restraint, he managed to refrain from it.

Dimitri sighed, shaking his head. "Will the two of you stop this? Trust is the first step to understanding! Irregardless of believing his story or not, one should first reach out to him for anything to have any chance of starting!"

"I will say this again -- you are a fool if you think this sort of mindset will allow you to go far in life-" Edelgard rolled her eyes with impatience, not looking for one but quite ready to start a fight if needed. However, a loud clapping sound startled the words out of her mouth.

"Alright, that is enough out of all of you." Byleth had clapped her hands, attracting everyone's attention. "We were going somewhere when the three of you surprised us -- either come with us or let us be on our way. You will have plenty of time to get acquainted from now on, after all." She said matter of factly, the authority of a teacher making the three house leaders purse their lips in their own way.

"You are once again right, Professor." Edelgard took a step back, breathing in. "I will apologize for getting in your way without any sort of warning, but I will take no words back."

Claude playfully crossed both arms behind his head. "Alright, yeah, I'll go with you. Despite everything, I still think it's not fair for the new kid to be enrolled into the Blue Lions right away without even properly meeting the other House leaders."

"Well, you two are not giving the best of impressions." Byleth said, almost sarcastically, as she once again led the way, prompting all to follow.

"House leaders?" Wolfie risked asking, trotting right beside Dimitri.

"You mean to say you didn't even hear about the Houses before Dimitri swept you to his class? Unfair!" Claude slapped the Prince's back, quickly putting himself between the two of them.

"Actually, Wolfram was assigned to Professor Byleth's class, not the Blue Lions specifically-"

"Same thing!" Claude threw his hand to the air, nudging Dimitri with his elbow. "Anyway, sorry about all this. I'm Claude, leader of the Golden Deer House. And the cheerful lady over here is-"

"I am Edelgard von Hresvelg, leader of the Black Eagles House and First Imperial Princess, heir to the throne." She declared, clearly annoyed. "You should at least properly introduce yourself, Claude."

"Meh, those titles only get in the way! I'm a people person more than the heir to something or the other. And I feel that Wolf here is also a person who likes to be around other people, am I right?"

"Oh, wow! How did you know?" Wolfie smiled, still uneasy regarding Claude's suspicion and Edelgard's animosity, but quick to wanting to make friends. "I think it's more comfortable to be around lots of people -- maybe it can trigger my memory, too."

"Riiight," Claude winked, quickly leaning on Wolfie as they walked. "Although it's already decided that you're on the Blue Lions House, I'd still like to try and seduce you out to the Golden Deer -- how about we go to the Dining Hall together once we're finished with whatever you're gonna do now? Nothing says 'bonding' better than sharing a meal, yeah?"

"Oh, what a wonderful idea, Claude. You took the words from my mouth." Edelgard jabbed from beside Wolfram.

"It was actually what I had in mind after we helped him unpack." Byleth said, a few steps ahead of them. "We don't know how long he's been lost in the woods, so I'm sure he must be starving."

"Great! It's settled, then." Claude smiled, pulling Dimitri along. "We're all gonna get acquainted real quick!"

From under Claude's arm, Dimitri chuckled. "Are you alright with that, Wolfram? If you would rather rest, we would understand."

"No, we wouldn't!" Claude protested in the middle of them, but Dimitri masterfully ignored it.

"I'm okay with it, yeah. I want to know everyone as soon as possible -- I wouldn't want to give more trouble than I already did, and being used to everything is the sure way to help me pull my weight around."

Dimitri smiled. "Very well, then. I am glad to have you aboard, Wolfram."

During the short trip from the dormitories to the dining hall, Wolfram already met so many new people! There was Dedue, a tall, black man who was under Dimitri's vassalage -- and Wolfram's roommate for the time being -- who had a most soothing presence; Ashe and Ignatz, two short-haired young men with the brightest of smiles and welcoming nature; Raphael, whose 'muscles were hungry for second dinner' as he had said and took upon himself to accompany the new kid to put 'some meat into his bones', his own words.

There was a mention of a girl who never left her room as they passed it, but no word came from her direction, so Wolfie kept being led on. They saw Cyril, a young page of Rhea's who was still hard at work despite being almost bedtime. As they made their way past the greenhouse towards the pond, Wolfram saw many 'Knights of Seiros', as the students introduced them, though some of them didn't wear the armor Wolfram saw most of these knights wearing (namely a purple haired woman, but he didn't get much time to look at her as he was being led towards a staircase that would lead to the Dining Hall). 

At the door, a pair of young women noticed the group arriving.

"Oh, hey there, Dimitri, Professor- oh wait, who's this with you? Why are his eyes closed? Are you gonna surprise him with something?" The short, ginger girl asked cheerfully, bouncing towards them.

"Annie!" The taller girl beside her pulled her ear.

"W-what? What'd I do? Did I mess up?"

"Uh, my eyes are actually open, they're just really thin." Wolfram snorted. He never really had to go through this since people knew his father well, but he did hear from Henry how he wouldn't stop hearing this while he grew up. It was rather amusing, honestly.

This Annie girl turned red so quickly she almost exploded. "Oh no no no no! I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to be rude or anything-"

"I'm sure Wolf here doesn't mind! Let's get to eating already! C'mon, you two join in too!"

"Bah! B-but we just left-"

"There's always room for more food!" Raphael placed one hand behind each girl's back, pushing them inside.

Their little group grew larger and larger as they found more people in the Hall to share the table with -- soon Wolfram was surrounded by so many people he'd feel dizzy if he weren't so at home! He liked bouncing his eyes from one conversation to the other all around the table, laughing as though he belonged there from day one.

After Annette's (he learned her proper name after she introduced herself) accidental insensitive question, most of them refrained from asking about Wolfram's amnesia, though the topic did bounce up here and there mostly due to Claude's boundless curiosity.

Wolfram could say that he at least met all of the people who were originally from the Blue Lions House -- those born in Faerghus, wherever that place was.

He met quite a few from the Alliance (who had transferred to Byleth's class as well) and one or two from the Empire, also his classmates at the Blue Lions House.

All in all, Wolfram's first night in Fódlan was so eventful, he was only able to blow the whistle Cynthia had given him way past midnight, once everyone had said their farewells. He asked the knight on duty at the stables for a spot to place Aquilo in before looking up to the moon and smile, content with how everything turned out.

Sharing a room with someone felt much better than Wolfie would've thought, honestly. He was used to always having someone by his side, so sleeping alone during the first few nights would've been nerve-wracking to the boy, to say the least.

And Dedue was a most wonderful roommate -- although a young man of few words, his calm breathing during his sleep lulled Wolfram more often than not. It was for a short while, however -- a week after transferring, Wolfram already had his own room, in the middle of Ashe's and Dedue's. He felt somehow safe to be close to his former roommate as well as near the one who bore the Heart of Immortals.

He wouldn't take Byleth out of his sight!

... Which meant that, for the time being, he had to do what she said and be a proper student.

At the Officers Academy, apart from the usual classes and training sessions, the students also had extra-curricular activities at the end of each month. Wolfram had arrived three days after the mission for October -- rather, for the Wyvern Moon -- had ended. The mission for this month was to investigate a village for a plague or something. He didn't understand very well, but the situation appeared to be dire.

It was also during the classes that he learned the reason why Claude had been complaining about Dimitri amassing students for his own House -- the Blue Lions, originally composed only of youths who hailed from the Kingdom, was an amalgamation of people at the moment. There were those born in the Empire as well as those from the Alliance -- all of them attracted to the way Byleth conducted her classes.

Which were, quite frankly, phenomenal. She brought out each student's hidden talent; encouraged and challenged them in equal terms. The way she explained strategy was as easy to understand as how she taught the proper way to hold a blade.

Apart from his family, Wolfram never really had a proper instructor to guide him through his progress. Of course, Nidra's dragonstone training as well as Cynthia's riding and lance lessons, not to mention Henry's magic instruction were all invaluable to him, which he internalized down to a T. But Byleth was someone whose entire existence was there to help him learn and improve martially. Such focus was the push he never knew he needed.

The weeks passed by so quickly it made Wolfram dizzy; there were so many people to meet he was still having trouble memorizing everyone's names. He did internalize meeting Flayn and Seteth, however -- the lesser presences he had sensed the day he arrived. The way the both of them also masterfully hid their ears made Wolfram even more aware of the fact that shape-shifters weren’t a thing this world was ready to accept.

Dimitri would take it upon himself to walk with Wolfie whenever possible -- wanting the boy to gain as much freedom as he could inside the monastery as he got himself acquainted with everything.

As fast-paced as everything was, an even more sudden event happened: The Knights of Seiros started mobilizing themselves to go to Remire Village two days before the expected.

"Things turned south in the village," Wolfram heard Jeralt, Byleth's father, say as he barked orders here and there for the Knights under his command. "Get your kids geared up and ready -- this isn't gonna be pretty."

The trip down to Remire was quick and silent, the students wearing their emotions like a thick cloak -- a dark shadow hovering over their shoulders.

For some reason, Wolfram still felt a bit detached from the reality of that world -- perhaps because of his mostly sheltered life and busy first few weeks at the Monastery, the dark cloud hovering over this world hadn't settled in for the half-manakete yet.

He had been so focused on simply staying beside Byleth he hadn't given much thought as to the reason of his summoning.

But he was about to find out.

Oh, he was about to find out, indeed.

The smell of blood hit his sensitive nose earlier than his companions', making him retch and cough before even setting foot at the borders of the village.

Crazed, distant screams filled the air, making the students flinch and the knights scowl. Pleas thrown towards the sky in a helpless attempt to find salvation tore the wind, sending shivers down Wolfram's spine.

People were dying.

They were dying at the heaps.

Afraid to give the next step towards the village, Wolfram heard everything before he saw it. The sound of a dull blade struggling to cut through flesh; the sputter of blood staining clothes and walls as its owner's life ebbed away. The laugh of a person whose mind was lost, driven to murder by the sport of it.

A woman whose long hair was pulled before her throat was slit, the scream she didn't even have time to utter dying alongside her limp body.

The smell of fire and burned flesh -- putrid skin being set aflame simply by the joy of it.

Wolfram widened his thin eyes to the point that they were visibly open -- something that rarely, if ever, happened. His entire body trembled, his mind going numb. What- whatever was happening there?! That was no plague, that was no fight, that was no war! That was slaughter, for the pure and simple joy of it!

"What's going on here..." Jeralt grumbled under his breath.

"U-ugh..." Dimitri shook his head, leaning his weight on his lance lest he felt too sick to stand up.

Byleth patted his shoulder. "Are you alright?" She gestured circles around his back.

"D-do not concern yourself about me -- rather, the villagers, we must save them..."

Wolfram's sight and hearing started spinning, his whole body losing its sense of balance. The voices all around him started to jumble one atop the other as they deliberated the best course of action as quickly as they could.

In his mind, Wolfram remembered the moonless night his siblings Cynthia and Meliodas pulled him to have a serious talk. It was about war, survival and... taking another person's life.

"Back in our future, we only had to kill Risen, so it was all fun and games," Cynthia scoffed as she sat down on the table right outside their house. The way she spoke displayed the weight of her age and the burden of two wars she had to carry in her youth. Even though she looked exactly the same, she's had two decades to mature and work through all that had been plaguing her since childhood.

Downcast, Meliodas nodded. "However, once we were sent here -- in here, we had to kill humans to survive. We took lives of people, those we swore to protect back home."

"It... It was so hard. It never got easy." Cynthia clutched her hands, then turned to her little brother. "I don't know how's the state of the world you're going to, Rammy, but you gotta understand one thing, okay?"

Wide-eyed, Wolfram felt a bit uncomfortable with the way Cynthia spoke. "O-okay, Sister." As he said that, Meliodas squeezed his shoulder in silent support.

"You're probably gonna have to kill people." She said in one breath. "You'll do it to survive; you'll have to tell yourself this. You can't hesitate just because they're people like you and me -- well, not actually like us, but you get it -- they WILL not hesitate to cut you down and we'll never be able to handle it if we lose you out there, okay? If it's too hard for you to do it with a clean conscience, you can throw the blame on your loved ones. You can say it's because you have to see them again! Because they'll be sad if you're gone! Use anything you have to justify it -- to make it less terrible."

"It's a daunting task," Meliodas crouched beside Wolfram, pressing his forehead against his little brother's arm as he squeezed his hand. "One we can only allow time to heal."

"Heh, I'm sure Father would be way more practical about this, especially back in the day." Cynthia shrugged, grasping Wolfram's hand with everything she had. "It's okay to feel bad about it, okay, Rammy? It's gonna hurt, it's gonna haunt you. But don't let them drag you down with them... don't let the guilt win, okay? Think about us... it's for you to come back to us!"

Tears blurred his vision. Wolfram could barely stand straight, his nose itching with the stench it avoided to smell, his stomach turning so readily he knew it was only a matter of time until he threw everything up.

"Hey, Professor Byleth? The new kid's not looking so good." A high-pitched voice came from below Wolfram just as he started to hear things again. "He's turning blue! D'you think it's better for him to sit this one out?" Caspar held Wolfram's arm in an attempt to keep him standing.

"It's fight or die out there, kid. If you don't have the stomach for it, maybe you should've stayed home." Jeralt said briskly as he rushed his mercenaries into the villager's rescue.

Byleth took Wolfram's hand, her cold touch bringing him out of his nausea. "We're going out there to save these people, Wolfram. I believe you can do this, but I need you to believe in it, too." She said firmly, squeezing his fingers. "I don't want you to believe that this is going to be easy -- it never is. But you can't allow-"

"... the guilt to take me." Wolfram said, taking a deep breath. "I-I understand, Professor. I'm sorry for panicking... p-please guide me."

"Our goal is to-"

"Isn't that-" Ever watchful, Dedue spotted suspicious figures at the edge of the village. "Your Highness, it seems that those are the ones in charge of this madness."

His head low, Dimitri clutched his hand so hard it tore the seams of his gloves. "It's clear what must be done. Kill them all." His voice deepened as though shaken by a subtle madness. "Don't let a single one of them escape! Sever their limbs and crush their wicked skulls!"

Widening his eyes, Wolfram looked from Dimitri to those cloaked in black, so far into the village.

'Trust is the first step to understanding!' Wolfram could hear Dimitri's soft voice comforting him.

'Poor thing, to be lost in the woods in the middle of the night.'

Dimitri's kind words rang in Wolfie's head, contrasting with what he had just said.

'Kill them all. Crush their skulls.'

Wolfram gripped at his weapon, his heart torn, not knowing what to fear.

Rhea.

Remire.

And now... Dimitri.

"Br-brother, Sister... Mother..." Wolfram whimpered, his lips trembling as he turned around to get to Aquilo.

The battle was nigh, in more ways than one, whether he was prepared for it or not.

[dailybiblelessons]

Monday: Reflection on the Thirty-fourth Sunday in Ordinary Time

Roman Catholic Proper 34 Revised Common Lectionary Proper 29

Complementary Hebrew Scripture from the Latter Prophets: Jeremiah 46:18-28

As I live, says the King,  whose name is the Lord of hosts, one is coming  like Tabor among the mountains,  and like Carmel by the sea.

Pack your bags for exile,  sheltered daughter Egypt! For Memphis shall become a waste,  a ruin, without inhabitant. A beautiful heifer is Egypt—  a gadfly from the north lights upon her. Even her mercenaries in her midst  are like fatted calves; they too have turned and fled together,  they did not stand; for the day of their calamity has come upon them,  the time of their punishment.

She makes a sound like a snake gliding away;  for her enemies march in force, and come against her with axes,  like those who fell trees. They shall cut down her forest,    says the Lord,  though it is impenetrable,  because they are more numerous  than locusts; they are without number. Daughter Egypt shall be put to shame;  she shall be handed over to a people from the north.

The Lord of hosts, the God of Israel, said: See, I am bringing punishment upon Amon of Thebes, and Pharaoh, and Egypt and her gods and her kings, upon Pharaoh and those who trust in him. I will hand them over to those who seek their life, to King Nebuchadrezzar of Babylon and his officers. Afterward Egypt shall be inhabited as in the days of old, says the Lord.

But as for you, have no fear, my servant Jacob,  and do not be dismayed, O Israel; for I am going to save you from far away,  and your offspring from the land of their captivity.

Jacob shall return and have quiet and ease,  and no one shall make him afraid.

As for you, have no fear, my servant Jacob,    says the Lord,  for I am with you. I will make an end of all the nations  among which I have banished you,  but I will not make an end of you! I will chastise you in just measure,  and I will by no means leave you unpunished.

Semi-continuous Hebrew Scripture from the Latter Prophets: Jeremiah 30:1-17

The word that came to Jeremiah from the Lord: Thus says the Lord, the God of Israel: Write in a book all the words that I have spoken to you. For the days are surely coming, says the Lord, when I will restore the fortunes of my people, Israel and Judah, says the Lord, and I will bring them back to the land that I gave to their ancestors and they shall take possession of it.

These are the words that the Lord spoke concerning Israel and Judah:

Thus says the Lord: We have heard a cry of panic, of terror, and no peace. Ask now, and see, can a man bear a child? Why then do I see every man with his hands on his loins like a woman in labor? Why has every face turned pale? Alas! that day is so great there is none like it; it is a time of distress for Jacob; yet he shall be rescued from it.

On that day, says the Lord of hosts, I will break the yoke from off his neck, and I will burst his bonds, and strangers shall no more make a servant of him. But they shall serve the Lord their God and David their king, whom I will raise up for them.

But as for you, have no fear, my servant Jacob, says the Lord, and do not be dismayed, O Israel; for I am going to save you from far away, and your offspring from the land of their captivity. Jacob shall return and have quiet and ease, and no one shall make him afraid. For I am with you, says the Lord, to save you; I will make an end of all the nations among which I scattered you, but of you I will not make an end. I will chastise you in just measure, and I will by no means leave you unpunished.

For thus says the Lord: Your hurt is incurable,  your wound is grievous. There is no one to uphold your cause,  no medicine for your wound,  no healing for you. All your lovers have forgotten you;  they care nothing for you; for I have dealt you the blow of an enemy,  the punishment of a merciless foe, because your guilt is great,  because your sins are so numerous. Why do you cry out over your hurt?  Your pain is incurable. Because your guilt is great,  because your sins are so numerous,  I have done these things to you. Therefore all who devour you shall be devoured,  and all your foes, everyone of them,  shall go into captivity; those who plunder you shall be plundered,  and all who prey on you I will make a prey. For I will restore health to you,  and your wounds I will heal,    says the Lord,  because they have called you an outcast:  “It is Zion; no one cares for her!”

Complementary Psalm 24

The earth is the Lord's and all that is in it,  the world, and those who live in it; for he has founded it on the seas,  and established it on the rivers.

Who shall ascend the hill of the Lord?  And who shall stand in his holy place? Those who have clean hands and pure hearts,  who do not lift up their souls to what is false,  and do not swear deceitfully. They will receive blessing from the Lord,  and vindication from the God of their salvation. Such is the company of those who seek him,  who seek the face of the God of Jacob.

Lift up your heads, O gates!  and be lifted up, O ancient doors!  that the King of glory may come in. Who is the King of glory?  The Lord, strong and mighty,  the Lord, mighty in battle. Lift up your heads, O gates!  and be lifted up, O ancient doors!  that the King of glory may come in. Who is this King of glory?  The Lord of hosts,  he is the King of glory.

Semi-continuous Psalm 117

Praise the Lord, all you nations!  Extol him, all you peoples!¹ For great is his steadfast love toward us,  and the faithfulness of the Lord endures forever. Praise the Lord!

¹Paul quotes this verse in Romans 15:11, part of a passage that says the Gospel is for Jews and Gentiles alike

New Testament Lesson: Revelation 21:5-27

And the One who was seated on the throne said, “See, I am making all things new.” Also the One said, “Write this, for these words are trustworthy and true;” and “It is done! I am the Alpha and the Omega, the beginning and the end. To the thirsty I will give water as a gift from the spring of the water of life. Those who conquer will inherit these things, and I will be their God and they will be my children. But as for the cowardly, the faithless, the polluted, the murderers, the fornicators, the sorcerers, the idolaters, and all liars, their place will be in the lake that burns with fire and sulfur, which is the second death.” (TLCO)

Then one of the seven angels who had the seven bowls full of the seven last plagues came and said to me, “Come, I will show you the bride, the wife of the Lamb.”

And in the spirit he carried me away to a great, high mountain and showed me the holy city Jerusalem coming down out of heaven from God. It has the glory of God and a radiance like a very rare jewel, like jasper, clear as crystal. It has a great, high wall with twelve gates, and at the gates twelve angels, and on the gates are inscribed the names of the twelve tribes of the Israelites; on the east three gates, on the north three gates, on the south three gates, and on the west three gates. And the wall of the city has twelve foundations, and on them are the twelve names of the twelve apostles of the Lamb.

The angel who talked to me had a measuring rod of gold to measure the city and its gates and walls. The city lies foursquare, its length the same as its width; and he measured the city with his rod, fifteen hundred miles; its length and width and height are equal. He also measured its wall, one hundred forty-four cubits by human measurement, which the angel was using. The wall is built of jasper, while the city is pure gold, clear as glass. The foundations of the wall of the city are adorned with every jewel; the first was jasper, the second sapphire, the third agate, the fourth emerald, the fifth onyx, the sixth carnelian, the seventh chrysolite, the eighth beryl, the ninth topaz, the tenth chrysoprase, the eleventh jacinth, the twelfth amethyst. And the twelve gates are twelve pearls, each of the gates is a single pearl, and the street of the city is pure gold, transparent as glass.

I saw no temple in the city, for its temple is the Lord God the Almighty and the Lamb. And the city has no need of sun or moon to shine on it, for the glory of God is its light, and its lamp is the Lamb. The nations will walk by its light, and the kings of the earth will bring their glory into it. Its gates will never be shut by day—sand there will be no night there. People will bring into it the glory and the honor of the nations. But nothing unclean will enter it, nor anyone who practices abomination or falsehood, but only those who are written in the Lamb's book of life.

Year C Ordinary 34, Revised Common Lectionary Proper 29, Catholic Proper 34: Monday

Selections are from Revised Common Lectionary Daily Readings copyright © 1995 by the Consultation on Common Texts. Unless otherwise indicated, Bible text is from New Revised Standard Version Bible (NRSV) copyright © 1989 by the Division of Christian Education of the National Council of Churches of Christ in the United States of America. Used by permission. All rights reserved. Footnotes in the Hebrew Scriptures that show where the passage is used in the Christian Scriptures are based on information from the The Complete Jewish Bible (CJB) by David H. Stern, Copyright © 1998 and 2006 by David H. Stern, used by permission of Messianic Jewish Publishers, www.messianicjewish.net. All rights reserved worldwide. When text is taken from the CJB, the passage ends with (CJB) and this copyright notice applies. Image Credit: The New Jerusalem (Tapestry of the Apocalypse), image by Kimon Berlin, via Wikimedia Commons. This image is licensed under the GNU 1.2 license. Michael Gilbertson adjusted tone and color using Photoshop.

[douxreviews]

Legends of Tomorrow - ‘Terms of Service’ Review

"The power is in the Palm(er) of your hands."

Is it rude to point out that the Emperor has no clothes, if you point out at the same time that the Emperor is super ripped and has been clearly doing a lot of cardio?

Because.... Damn, Emperor. You got it going on.

Which is, of course, my frivolous and subtextually homoerotic way of saying that there's an embarrassment of riches in this episode when it comes to things to like, but they all kind of rely on some serious glossing over of problem spots.

The problem in a nutshell can be boiled down to one thing. The basic opening foundation for this episode doesn't match at all with where things were left at the end of the previous one. I'm tempted to assume that I'd missed an entire episode worth of plot development, except that I know perfectly well that I didn't. It's almost as if the writers room broke a 17 episode series of stories and then just completely excised one of them when they found out they were only getting 16 to air.

For the love of God, CW, please start giving Legends a full boat of 22 episodes. It's getting embarrassing.

OK, so here's what I mean. A not insignificant portion of the plot development tonight entirely relies on the fairy godmother currently being under Gary's control. That's actually an inspired plot development, and his relationship both with Tabitha and with the next inheritor of the fairy godmother mantle were pure gold as far as both comedy and plot development goes.

The problem is, when exactly did Fairy Godmother bond herself to Gary? He calls to her at the end of the previous episode and she saves him from Mona as if their relationship was an established thing, but unless I missed something significant completely, that was not a thing they'd ever set up.

I'll be fair. I drink a lot of wine. If I missed something that explains this, please do let me know in the comments.

Additionally, at the end of 'Nip/Stuck,' Mona ate off Gary's evil nipple – not a sentence you get to type every day – and Gary was rushed out of the Time Bureau with unconscious Mona, Tabitha, and Neron in Ray's body. The implication strongly was that Gary's nipple was behind the mass hypnosis of the Bureau, and now that it had been destroyed the bureau was saved. Left behind to witness the bad guys escape was Nora, Ava, and Sara.

This week we open with the bad guys still in possession of the Bureau, only now it's due to Gary's influence over the fairy godmother rather than his fancy hypnotic nipple. Not only do we see no evidence of the bad guys leaving the bureau together, they aren't even all in a group anymore. Mona is imprisoned in the Bureau cells, which makes no sense if they were fleeing with her body ten minutes earlier. Neron and Tabitha aren't even there anymore as they're busy setting up 'PalmerX 2019,' a low key tech con with only one panel and one guest. Ava and Sara are back on the Waverider as if they'd never liberated the Bureau in the first place, and Nora is Die Harding her way to rescue Mona with no mention of how she got separated from them.

I'm sorry, show, but I have to ask. Did you smoke a gigantic bag of crack between these two episodes, or what?

It's all very frustrating, because I said earlier, where they take all of those plot threads is fantastic. Neron's plan to create fear using the monsters so that people will download an app in order to locate the monsters and in doing so sell their immortal souls through a lengthy terms of service agreement is both goat-shit crazy and completely brilliant. What's more, it would absolutely work. If you doubt it, just consider how much none of us noticed when the guests of PalmerX were shown agreeing to a terms of service agreement that they didn't read. Seriously, go back and look. The camera shots practically luxuriate on people swiping through the TOS as fast as they can, but nothing about that reads as unusual or sinister to us anymore and so we just blanked it out.

Similarly, Tabitha's plan to trick Nora into taking on her fairy godmother mantle was inspired, despite being lifted pretty completely from genie-lore, particularly Disney's Live Action Aladdin Soon in Theaters Near You. And God bless the show for keeping Jane Carr around as Tabitha. I absolutely expected that they'd find an excuse to recast Tabitha into the body of someone younger and sexier as soon as they possibly could, because that's the kind of gross thing that network execs tend to insist on. I love, love, love that they're keeping her around as Neron's love interest. And while we're talking about it, it's such a good choice for them to show that Neron and Tabitha do genuinely love each other. It would have been so easy to tumble into the cliché of a villain team eager to backstab one another.

But the best choice this episode made was in the nature of Gary Green himself. Wonderful reveal that Gary was perfectly aware the entire time that the fairy godmother was trying to get him to wish hurt on the Legends and so he was deliberately just focusing on wishing to hang out with them as a way of defying her. Even when 'Dark Gary' finally gets called forth, his glorious flow of vengeance never goes further than acne and tap dancing. Gary is a good man, fundamentally. And he's absolutely right, he does not deserve to be laughed at. I've been saying since the beginning of the season that the Legends need to face a consequence for the way they're played Gary as convenient bait that can be had for a little flattery. I think they finally learned that lesson here.

Which brings lastly to John Constantine, in a plotline I like to call, 'This should absolutely have been an entire episode all on its own.'

When they mentioned Hell's Triumvirate I briefly entertained the thought that they might be about to do the good parts of 'Dangerous Habits' that everybody always leaves out when they try to adapt it, but alas, no. It felt right that he chose Astra over Ray, as much as it broke my heart, and it felt equally right that Astra betrayed him. Can't wait to see what will happen there when Nora gets to Hell to rescue John. I do, however, which that they'd gone with the imagery from the comics and had Astra only have one arm.

Everybody remember where we parked:

There was actually shockingly little travel this week. The Waverider just hung around Washington D.C. in 2019, and a couple of our heroes went to Hell, which may or may not equate to the same time zone, it's hard to tell.

What is interesting is the reveal that Zari grew up a little outside of D.C. Did we know that already, or was that a reveal of convenience this week? Zari appeared to me to be in the 8-10 range, although I am a notoriously bad judge of age so she might be a bit older. That actually answers a couple of longstanding questions I was pondering last year about what baby Zari might be up to in our time period.

Zari mentions that it's only a few years away from when ARGUS takes over everything and creates an anti-Meta, anti-Muslim Dystopia. We're all kind of assuming they're just never going to deal with that, aren't we?

Quotes:

Sara: "Mick, Nate, do you think you can handle Tabitha?" Mick: "Granny’s dead."

Sara: "OK, can you guys stop being dragon baby crazy right now?"

Gary: "And now I have three nipples, because a spare never hurts." Having a third nipple was historically a sign of witchcraft. There is a zero percent chance the writers don't know that.

Calibraxis: "You’re dead, demon hunter!" Constantine: "I was gonna be a demon proctologist, but the pay wasn’t as good."

Calibraxis: "I’m a demon, not a pirate, John."

Zari: "It’s a demon app. I’m gonna read the fine print."

Charlie: "If I die, I’m gonna come back and haunt you." Zari: "I would love a ghost friend."

Nora: "Gary, you dick!"

Bits and Pieces:

-- This season has for some reason brought up a lot of embarrassing confessions from me. Adding to the list that already contains my love of semiotics and the assembly of flatpack furniture, this week I have to tell you how much I love logo design. Honestly. I bring this up because the PalmerX logo is a masterwork. The solid 3-D cube implied by the background framing device conveys an unspoken implication of solidity and dependability with the third implied square breaking the frame and shooting 'toward' the viewer implying a daring willingness to work outside conventional rules and by implication 'think outside the box.' The coloring, meanwhile, subtly underscores the 'Palmer' portion of the name, thus reinforcing the higher brand. Honestly, and with no ironic joking involved, the PalmerX logo is a f*cking masterpiece of work.

-- I actually have a startling number of opinions on the quality of logo design. Feel free to ask, but I warn you that the answers get lengthy.

-- I get that they were underscoring the connection between Tala Ashe and Zari's younger self, but that hairstyle just fundamentally did not work for her. That's actually kind of rare and notable for her. Just about every hairstyle they've ever given her has looked gorgeous.

-- Looks like Wixtable the dragon is hatching in time for the season finale.

-- I went back and forth on whether or not it was smart or stupid for Zari to have brought the egg with her on the mission. Ultimately, I think there was no guaranteed safe place for the egg, given how often messed up stuff happens on the Waverider when they aren't there.

-- I hope Nate is understanding about Zari leaving the egg behind.

-- So many questions about why Nate has a 'Kid Steel' costume hanging around. And why Gary picked it.

-- This week's fabulous dress watch. Jane Carr looked stunning in that evil black number she adopted once she'd ditched her godmother duties. Also, the designer of that asymmetrical sheath number that Nora wore to PalmerX is underpaid. Regardless of how much he or she is paid, they are underpaid. That dress was amazing. Please, please, Courtney Ford, tell me that you stole that dress and have it in your personal collection. Also, call me. We'll brunch.

-- They're really getting their money out of the Stein puppet. Bless.

-- Hell's triumvirate included Satan, not Lucifer. Which means a crossover with Lucifer is still possible. Fun fact, in the comics the triumvirate in Hell stepped in to rule when Lucifer left to go open up his nightclub in LA. Which means it all totally works together if they can get Tom Ellis to make a stop in the Waverider. And then possibly he and Matt Ryan could share a torrid embrace and... I'm sorry, what were we talking about again?

-- That's like the third episode in a row where they've mentioned Damien Darhk. Dare we hope to see him again next season?

If you squint at it and assume that we missed an episode of plot development, this would easily be a four. Sadly, we can't, and so I can't in good conscience give it more than three out of four fantastic logos.

Mikey Heinrich is, among other things, a freelance writer, volunteer firefighter, and roughly 78% water.

[glookie]

Fight your fears

Last weekend I went to Houston with my team members of Örebro HEMA. My beloved friend Suri was supposed to go with us, but couldn’t because their dog went ill and had to go through an emergency surgery. Suri and I booked our flight together and didn’t have the same flights as the others on our way home. I was calm with this when we booked, but when Suri couldn’t follow it stressed me out since I haven’t flown by myself before. Not this long either, I’ve only been on flights that took me an hour or so. It was also a stress not having one of my best friends with me during the entire stay. Before we left I was actually having thoughts about leaving in the whole trip, because I couldn’t handle the thought of me having to take that flight home by myself. 

When we got to Arlanda I was calm though, this wasn’t the hardest part of our journey – it was the easiest since I had company with the others during the whole flight to Houston. I was a little bit nervous about the security check in Chicago, since I’ve heard stories about them. “You know, a big guy ala CIA will make an interview with you in a room asking you why you come and visit the USA. They will take your prints and everything!” When we finally reached Chicago it wasn’t that terrifying. You just had to answer a few question on a machine, stand in another line with some ppl behind desks and when it was your turn you just went there, they took your fingerprint and asked: Why are you coming here? Jesper was in the line before me and he told the guy: We are going to a fencing competition. When it was my turn the guy just asked me: Are you in the fencing team as well? Yes! And that was how I put my feet in America the first time. Not that hard actually! We got to Houston in the middle of the night because of flights being delayed. We were a bunch of tired fencers, our trip took like 24 hours or so – no wonder we were tired! Now we just needed to get to the place we were going to stay, at the Grepares family. Our host came along to give some of us a ride (we were to many to fit in just one car) and the others got to rent a car. Very convenient. The Grepares has been incredible as hosts during the whole trip! They took care of us and it was like getting a whole new family. I am very thankful for that! We had 2 days of free time before the competition was held. During these two days we went to a winery trying out wines and had a picnic, we went to the museum and was out dining. The museum was really cool, they had like tons of skeletons from dinosaurs. 

From the museum

On Saturday we went off early to the sports arena where the competitions should be held, all the guys from us were competing this day. We realized they didn’t have any showers on site (!) not even locker rooms! This was such a weird thing not to have in a sports arena, at least for me but maybe it’s normal not to have? Anyhow, I was a bit nervous to get there since I was very tired before our trip started. I felt like I didn’t want to socialize that much since my energy was out. I told myself in beforehand that I didn’t had to. That it was ok not being all happy all the time talking to everyone, that I would make contact with people anyway. This is something I’ve been working hard on, that I don’t have to be the center of attention. Cause god damn that takes a lot of energy! And I don’t have it. I think none of us do. You know what? I’ve made new friends anyway. Just being the way I am, and this is a very important lesson for me. The open division started and I was very happy just being an audience. It was fun watching my teammates fight, and they did great! I jumped in as a judge during some of the pool fights instead of Carl. In this competition everyone that is competing also have to staff to make everything work out. It was fun judging, the fencing over there is a bit different from what I am used to. Always interesting seeing and learning new stuff. The next day it was my turn. I was up to competition! Or was I? Remember being tired and not very motivated at all. I felt it was a bit messy on sight – but it always is in some manner. I wasn’t as nervous in beforehand as I can be. I was going to be in the second pool, found out on site – maybe this was the reason why I wasn’t as nervous because usually you get that information the night before, making the whole situation “real”. I barely had the time to do a proper warmup, which is important for me. This was because of the fact that I thought that the women’s should be on one mat but it was held on two. Made me going straight up for my first match not at all ready for it. Jesper was my coach and he did a nice job. Now I became really nervous, nausea and everything! I asked myself: Why am I doing this?!?! A question that always run through my mind when I have my feet on the mat. Feels like my legs are made of syrup and having a hard time moving around, cause they won’t listen. I hate it! Still I put myself up there every time. I went through my first match and I won even though I had somewhat of a struggle at first. Than the second one, still nervous but made it through, also a win. Third, same procedure but now I started to feel like I should – telling Jesper so. He laughs and replies with: “Ok. You just had to win three matches with a hell of advantage first?!” That is Jesper just being, Jesper. The final match of our pool was me against Rebecca Glass. It was really fun, I had a blast even though I don’t remember that much from our match. But I never do, it’s like I’m in my own bubble when I compete. I won four out of four matches, and I am very proud doing so. I felt really good. Until Carl came up and told me and Britt that it might be a slight chance that we had to meet each other in the first rounds of eliminations. Whaa!! I didn’t travel that far to meet one of my teammates. Carl wasn’t mistaken – this was the way it ended up. I was ranked number three and Britt as number 6 after the pools. I told myself that I should just give it everything I’ve got. We both did, and this was the greatest match I had during the competition. It was very even between us for a very long time. Then Britt managed to hit me with a nice thrust, and the match was done. Britt won and I lost. She came through to the finals and came home with gold. Well done!! She is very well deserved of it, working hard every week to become a better fencer. After the competition we went home, took a shower and went on to the castle feast. This is a big Castle which is built in the middle of nowhere just because they wanted to have a castle. Things that can only happen in America folks! We ate a lot of meat and stuff, it was nice but.. Cold!

During my stay I’ve met so many people, Josh for example who I had contact with for 2 years thanks to a blogpost I wrote back then. It was a pleasure meeting you Josh!

I made new friends that I miss already, and I hope all of you are coming to Sweden soon!

But hey, now you might wonder. What happened with that flight on the way home?!

Well, this is the worst part of this trip by far. I was exhausted after the competition, and I also won this bad cold (which I still have because of it stubborn nature...). When we got to the airport I calmed myself down with the fact that I was going to take the first flight with the others to Chicago, then I should go to London by myself making another transit to Stockholm from there. On our way to Houston we had been both to London and Chicago, which made me feel safer. I went off to the machine to check in. It didn’t work out. I tried again, it failed once more. Then I had to talk to one of the staff to check out what was going on. She told me that one of my flights had been cancelled. My mind just freaked out. Cancelled?

Then she told me she had to send me to Philadelphia. My head starting to zoom out. I couldn’t really hear what she was saying anymore. I told Carl to get there, so we could solve things out because I couldn’t handle it there and then. Philadelphia… I felt so small! I wanted to run away and call someone who could come along and pick me up. But.. I had to do it. I almost started to cry from all the anxiety building up in my chest. Carl tried to fix so I could fly with them instead, but that flight was full. I told Carl that, well, after this I can fly everywhere! But right now I feel like shit.

We went through the security check. Of course they had to check my bag. I had Gertrud inside of it, so I thought: they will probably check her through. The guy working there took her out from her bag which has a suspicious look. He opened the bag, stared at Gertrud (who is my mascot – a lizard with rainbow-colored skin) I had a hard time to not start to laugh. I just wanted to say things like: Say hello to my magical lizard Gertrud! But I had to shut my mouth. This was hilarious! My team followed me to my gate, said goodbye and then I was on my own. Terrified and in somewhat panic mode.

Once I was on my flight I calmed down, it was the point of no return. I got to Philadelphia and was still in that anxiety mode, making me insecure. I almost took a bus to the wrong terminal. At least I realized what I was doing before I actually did it. Then I asked one of the staff where I was going to get to the right gate, just to calm myself down. He wasn’t helpful at all actually, just stressed me out even more acting like I was a stupid person. Maybe I am but hey, don’t act like it. Finally I got to the right gate, got my ass on the plane which was delayed by 45 minutes. When I got to London I got myself a new ticket to another flight since I missed my transit. You know what happened? I was on the same plane as my team-members. When we got to Stockholm my bag was lost, but it didn’t matter. I was in the right country and I grew as a human being during that flight. Now I can see the world on my own, no doubt about that!

I could write a whole book about my experience in Houston, but I’ll save that till later. The most important stuff is that this story had a happy ending.

The end!

xoxo

Lotta

[mondeauxofficial-blog]

The Bearded Woman

I’m having this problem recently where all my writing feels Very Important All The Time and I think it’s contributing a lot to my procrastination and perfectionism. So I started doing this thing where I use a random number generator to pick a list and an item on that list from this Inktober post, and then I freewrite a little story or character study using that as a prompt. Trying to get away from the urge to be perfect and meaningful all the time and loosen up with my first drafts. Here’s my first attempt, unedited--just the raw goofiness. Enjoy!

THE BEARDED WOMAN (item 8 on the ‘Steampunk’ list)

A true gentleman never notices a lady's beard. Or if he does, he says nothing. This and other lessons of well-born men I tried to instill into my young ward, Jeremy, but the lad seemed hell-bent on putting all my teachings to shame. Never mind that I was his father, or near enough to it. Never mind I put a roof over his head, fed him, sheltered him from the horrors of the Great War which raged ever closer to our borders. Alas, young Jeremy never showed me much gratitude, and he certainly never took anything I taught him to heart.

The incident of the bearded woman occurred just after young Jeremy's sixteenth birthday, when his defiance and disregard for me seemed at their very worst. Young Jeremy's long-time governess, one Miss Eliza Whateley, came down with a rather nasty case of Musgrave's Influenza and quite suddenly requested to return to her home on Bezel Island for a few weeks of bathing in the hot springs and leech-assisted bloodletting to balance out her humors once again. Quite suddenly I found myself in search of a temporary governess for young Jeremy, as I knew full well his ill temper would only worsen if he was left unsupervised for any length of time.

I settled upon one Lady Edna Windspring, who hailed from a small and rather remote town on the very tip of the middle finger in the Reaching Peninsula, and whose entire demeanor and appearance was very odd indeed (albeit pleasant), as though she had been raised by good-natured toadstools.

Her most notable feature, of course, was a thick red beard which consumed the entire lower half of her face, and which, I daresay, looked incredibly dashing while doing it. In fact, Lady Windspring's unusual facial hair was much fuller and healthier-looking than that of any male acquaintance I had ever made, much longer and curlier than the hair of any woman I have met before or since, and the most striking red color! I had never seen hair that red, beard or otherwise--red like a hot flame, red like emeralds. I must admit that even I was gripped with a pang of jealousy each time I laid eyes upon it.

But as I said, a gentleman never mentions a lady's beard, no matter how magnificent and well-kept. I made an effort not to look at it when I spoke to Lady Windspring, and I certainly never thought of asking her how she kept it so lush and coiffed and shining (except in the deepest corners of my wildest dreams).

Young Jeremy, however, was not so polite. Although I tried my best to impress upon him the importance of keeping his commentary to himself, I knew from the moment he saw her that he would ask about the beard at the first opportunity. For fear of mortifying Lady Windspring, I endeavored to keep her away from young Jeremy for as long as I could (this, of course, was a useless pursuit, and I fear it gave Lady Windspring the impression that I was some kind of nut--for it you recall, I hired her to look after the boy in the first place). But young Jeremy sought his opportunity at suppertime that night.

We had just finished the main course, and I had called upon Parks, our head servant, to aerate a fresh bottle of wine to have with our dessert. I sensed young Jeremy was gearing up for a question about the beard. He had a shine in his eye, a mischievous grin I'd come to know all too well in the time I had allowed him to live in my home. Lady Windspring sat unaware, her magnificent beard glimmering in the light from the candles upon the table. I tried to speak up, to change the subject before the damage could be done, but it was too late.

Young Jeremy spoke, a most rude and impudent question about the beard.

Lady Windspring blinked and turned to young Jeremy, shocked at his brazenness, and I all but hid my face in my hands for the embarrassment. She chided him for such a rude question, and to my horror he laughed in her face.

And then the most extraordinary thing happened.

Lady Windspring's beard seemed to take on a life of its own, snaking and curling like the angry head of Medusa. It seemed to grow longer, and thicker, and that extraordinary red color began to glow like hot coals. Before I could speak, the beard shot forward like a whip and snatched young Jeremy up, wrapping around his arms and torso, and lifting him bodily out of his chair!

Again, Lady Windspring chided him for his rudeness, and reiterated the lesson I had so often tried to impress upon my young ward--a gentleman never comments upon a lady's beard. Fearing for young Jeremy's life I plead with Lady Windspring, asking her to let him go unharmed, but she did not heed my words, only kept young Jeremy wrapped up in that hellish red beard, shaking him to and fro.

Young Jeremy, at last, began to weep, and through his blubbering he promised he would never again rudely comment upon a lady's beard, nor rudely comment upon any aspect of a lady for that matter. This seemed to satisfy Lady Windspring's beard, and she returned him to his seat, the beard receding back to its former nonthreatening glory.

I considered keeping Lady Windspring around in the hopes that she'd continue to keep young Jeremy in line, but the fact of the matter was I simply could not have a woman with such an angry facial tic hanging about the house. What would the neighbors say? And so I told Lady Windspring, very regrettably, that our arrangement would not work out after all, and I sent her on her way with a glowing reference and three weeks' severance pay, which she was very agreeable to. She bid me call upon her if ever young Jeremy needed another lesson taught, and I assured her I would.

Young Jeremy was terribly subdued for a time after the incident, so much that I feared he should never recover. Soon enough, though, he returned to his mischievous self once again, although I noticed his respect for his fellow creatures had improved significantly. Even Miss Whateley, upon her healthy return from Bezel Island, commented upon his much-improved manners.

I make a point to keep Lady Windspring's contact information on hand, just in case I happen to meet another gentleman whose young ward could use a visit from a bearded woman.

[biofunmy]

‘Till’ Brings a Tragedy to Life

On the vast spectrum of playmaking, the New York Musical Festival hews much closer to candy-colored convention than to gritty, gray outré. It’s a Manhattan institution with a Middle American cautiousness about it — a place hospitable to new work that doesn’t push boundaries or ruffle feathers.

Yet “Till,” by far the best of four shows I saw at this year’s festival, may unsettle your very soul. It’s the story of Emmett Till, and its run, which ends Sunday, is timed to coincide with what would have been his 78th birthday, had he not been brutally murdered in the summer of 1955. A black teenager from Chicago who had just turned 14, he was visiting relatives in the Jim Crow South when some white men snatched his future away from him.

With a book by Leo Schwartz and D.C. Cathro, and music and lyrics by Mr. Schwartz, “Till” is the story of that summer — of sweet, funny, rambunctious Emmett (Taylor A. Blackman); his mother, Mamie (Denielle Marie Gray), who’s trying so hard to bring her son up right and keep him safe; and his teasing grandmother, Alma (Judith Franklin), who cheers Emmett and Mamie on.

In a smart and inventive production, beautifully cast and sensitively directed by N.J. Agwuna at the Pershing Square Signature Center, this musical achieves something difficult and rare. It blows the dust of history off a tragedy and brings a martyr to exuberant, mischievous, complicated life. Emmett’s not a saint here, nor is he the corpse in the infamous photo that his mother wanted the world to see. He’s a regular kid — a little cocky, a little dreamy. And like Mamie, we wish the world for him.

With an excellent cast of six lending their rich voices to a score that’s part gospel, part old-fashioned musical (music direction and arrangements are by Lena Gabrielle, choreography is by Kenny Ingram), “Till” cuts between Chicago and Money, Miss., where the white characters are sinister in half-masks and gloves. (Costumes are by Andy Jean.) Emmett, for all his self-assurance, and all the efforts of his family to prepare him, doesn’t truly understand the danger there.

“Till” is not a perfect musical; it’s a show still en route to its final form. For now, a couple of Mamie’s songs seem awkwardly placed, disrupting the action and emotion, while the event that incites Emmett’s murderers needs to be depicted with greater clarity so the audience isn’t left puzzled at a crucial moment.

There’s also an unintended tonal danger in the script, which this production skirts but others might fall into: the perception that Emmett, by failing to fathom the perils of a racist society, might in any way share the blame for his death that belongs to his killers alone. As one character reassures another, speaking about something else entirely: “Their actions could never be your fault.”

“Till,” which in its final moments projects that chilling photo, is an inherently political work. So, in a different way, is “Leaving Eden,” a show that feels like half of a very promising musical. With a book and lyrics by Jenny Waxman, and music by Ben Page, it opens with captivating harmonies sung by three women who straddle two eras: the current day and the dawn of humanity.

The contemporary strand of the show doesn’t work. But the half set in the Garden of Eden, where Lilith is the curious, playful, courageous first woman and Adam is her fearful, controlling, dim bulb of a mate, is great fun.

Adam (Ian Ward) is in some ways a nice enough guy — and, hey, he is the only guy around — but he makes a lot of secondhand pronouncements cloaked in God’s word, as a way of getting Lilith (Sarah-Anne Martinez) to behave. She’s hard to control, and control is Adam’s whole game. Eve (Gabrielle McClinton), the second woman, turns out to be easier to manipulate.

The show’s latter-day plot is about Lily (Janet Krupin) and Adam (Azudi Onyejekwe), whose tiresome relationship gets predictably tangled up with a modern-day Eve (Ms. McClinton). But it struggles to mold itself to the biblical parallels.

The best thing about the show, directed by Susanna Wolk with music direction by Nathan Dame, was Ms. Martinez’s New York debut. Comic and poignant, delicate and bold, it was a terrific performance, and I wish I could tell you to see it. But “Leaving Eden,” alas, has already ended its festival run.

“Flying Lessons,” a poppy, madly overstuffed show that continues through Sunday, also boasts a standout performance from an actress I’d never seen before. Her name is Michelle Coben, she has perfect comic pitch, and if I tell you that her voice is part squeaky toy and part foghorn, I want you to understand that she’s somehow a delight to listen to.

Written by Donald Rupe, who also directs (additional music is by Cesar De La Rosa, music direction by Jason M. Bailey), “Flying Lessons” is about Isabella (Esmeralda Nazario), an eighth grader seeking to discover the formula for greatness in her research for a paper on Amelia Earhart (Megan Valle) and Frederick Douglass (Brandon Martin). A smart kid sinking under the weight of too much responsibility at home, she has no sympathy for her beleaguered, financially stretched mother, Lydia (Desiree Montes), but she will by the end of this lesson-teaching show.

What pleasure there is comes from the school scenes, where Isabella’s classmates (including Ms. Coben as the shallow, Kardashian-loving Cynthia) are awkwardly darling — though it strains credulity, and sets up yet another teachable moment, when the “Phantom”-loving Billy (Erick Perafan) sends Madison (Deanna Quintero) into mad-crush mode. Bonus: David Lowe, as their vice principal, is an excellent king dork.

There are geeks aplenty, too, in “Black Hole Wedding,” whose run has already ended. Directed by Craig J. George, with book and lyrics by Katherine Brann Fredricks, music by Paul Nelson and music direction by Nevada Lozano, this is a frantic, messy, hit-you-over-the-head satire that pits an evil chief executive (Sean McDermott) against an idealistic clean-energy engineer named Raymond (Jonathan Miller).

Thank goodness for the soothing presence of Mimi Robinson as Summer, a corporate masseuse who becomes Raymond’s girlfriend — a relationship that’s not terribly believable as romance and might be more entertaining if they were just really close pals. It also might be more interesting if getting kidnapped by the bad guys didn’t turn her into a damsel in distress for Raymond to rescue.

As she tells him, early on, “Relaxed alertness has survival value.” And if she knows that, I bet she can take care of herself.

New York Musical Festival Through Aug. 4 at various locations; 866-811-4111, nymf.org.

Sahred From Source link Arts

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