#cow al comes home to them like dis is what i was getting at earlier

[skunkes]

google search results for kitties cuddling

[emospritelet]

Key to the Cell - chapter 13

Last time, Belle freed Rumplestiltskin from the clutches of the Blue Fairy and returned home.

[AO3]

x

After her night of travelling through portals, freeing fairies and releasing the Dark One from the spell containing him, Belle was exhausted. She had hoped to sleep a little later than usual, but news of Gaston’s unconscious state had spread through the castle, and it was in uproar. Maurice himself hammered on Belle’s bedroom door when she was still in her dressing gown, pacing back and forth and ranting about how her intended might never wake up.

“What are we to do, Belle?” he asked, almost wringing his hands. “All those plans for a good marriage, for the merging of our lands! All gone if he dies! I should have insisted that you marry him weeks ago! I shouldn’t have let you talk me into all this waiting!”

“He slipped in his bath, you said.” Belle beckoned to Marilee to enter. “I’m sure he’ll be fine. Has anyone sent for a healer?”

“Yes, but they won’t be here for hours!”

“Well, there seems little point in panicking,” said Belle. “I suggest we have breakfast and wait for the healer to arrive.”

“But the King is here!” persisted Maurice. “The guests! The wedding!”

“Isn’t for another week,” said Belle calmly. “If we have to postpone until he wakes up, then that’s what we’ll do. We’ll explain to the guests that Sir Gaston is ill and needs rest and quiet. We can see them off after breakfast.”

“How can you be so casual about this?” demanded Maurice. “This man is to be your husband! You’re to own these lands after you’re wed! If he dies before he makes you his wife, I don’t know where I’ll find another suitor of his calibre!”

“I suggest we worry about that when it becomes an issue,” said Belle, her voice cool. “From what you say, Sir Gaston is very much alive. If a good deal quieter than usual.”

“The master’s a strong man, milord,” said Marilee diffidently, hands clasped at her waist. “If anyone can survive a blow to the head like that, it’s him. He’s taken worse while jousting.”

“Yes, yes, I suppose you’re right,” sighed Maurice, running a hand through his hair. “We must all pray for his swift recovery.”

“Of course,” said Belle neutrally. “We all want that. Marilee, I believe I’ll wear the green today.”

“Very good, milady.”

“Papa, I’ll see you at breakfast,” said Belle. “I’m sure Sir Gaston will be up and about and bellowing orders before you know it.”

Maurice gave her an exasperated look, but threw up his hands in defeat and stomped out. Belle sighed in relief. A few days of peace. I shall make the most of it.

x

After breakfast, and once she had bid farewell to their guests and accepted their good wishes for Sir Gaston’s speedy recovery, she selected a book and casually asked Marilee to send the new maid to bring her parasol out to the garden. She walked amongst the last of the summer flowers, breathing in the scent of them. The autumn air was cool despite the sun, and the leaves on many of the trees were starting to turn, the treetops kissed with red and orange, as though fire was devouring them. The patter of footsteps on the path behind her made her turn, and she smiled as Gerta hurried up to her, parasol in her hands.

“Oh, milady, I’m so glad you’re safe!” she gasped. “I couldn’t sleep a wink last night for worrying!”

“I’m fine,” said Belle warmly, taking the parasol. “I take it the steward believed your story?”

“I’m not sure he even listened to me,” said Gerta, wrinkling her nose. “As soon as I said the master had fallen, he shoved me aside and went running. But never mind about me, milady, what about you? And - and him?”

“I did as I promised,” said Belle, smiling at the memory. “And a little more besides. The Dark One was content with our bargain, and considers it paid in full.”

“Thank goodness,” said Gerta, sounding relieved. “I was so worried that he might try to trick you. Do you think he’s right about the master? Will he really remember nothing?”

“If Rumplestiltskin says so, then I believe him,” said Belle. “He keeps his word. You’re safe, Gerta, I promise.”

Gerta hesitated, fingers twisting in her apron.

“It’s - it’s not my place, milady, but - but the master is - well, he’s - he’s not a kind man.”

“Indeed he is not,” said Belle dryly. “My father insists upon my marrying him, though. The wedding is in a week.”

“What if the master doesn’t wake up in time?” asked Gerta. “What if he forgets he’s supposed to be getting married? My uncle got kicked in the head by a cow once. Out cold for four days and when he came to he couldn’t remember anything past turning thirty-two. Bit of a shock for my aunt.”

“Rumplestiltskin said three days,” said Belle. “I suppose he understands how his magic works far better than I.”

“You say his name so easily,” whispered Gerta, her expression one of awe tinged with fear. “I think I’d be scared to, in case I called on him by accident. Making deals is all very well, but I can’t imagine what the Dark One might do if you disturbed him for nothing.”

“Well, he doesn’t frighten me,” said Belle. “I think he’s a good man, beneath it all. Better than he thinks he is.”

“Begging your pardon, but I think you try to see the best in everyone,” said Gerta, and Belle smiled.

“I do,” she admitted. “But that doesn’t mean I’m wrong.”

x

Over the next two days, Belle had the most peaceful time she had enjoyed since arriving at Sir Gaston’s castle. She spent her days seated in the gardens with her books on magic, and her evenings shut away in the library, practising everything she had read. Maurice and the servants fretted over Gaston’s unconscious body, but the healer had inspected him, had shrugged and prescribed a poultice for the head wound.

“He’ll either wake or he won’t,” she said, with a matter-of-fact air that made the steward exchange uneasy looks with Sir Maurice. “Three days will tell, I reckon.”

There was only one thing to cause Belle distress, and that was the news of the approaching ogre horde. The servants returned from town full of stories of the horrors that awaited any men that tried to push the creatures back. Tales of the earlier Ogre Wars were told, in which thousands of men and even children had been drafted to stand against them, and had been cut down like barley. The tales made Belle uneasy; although there had been no battles against the ogres yet, it was only a matter of time before the King decided that he had to deal with the threat massing on the border of his realm.

On the third day, Gaston woke up.

Belle flinched at the sound of his disgruntled bellowing, audible even from behind the closed door of the library. She buried her nose in her book, eyes scanning the words of a new spell she had not yet mastered. A binding spell. It was far more complicated than anything else she had tried, and suitable only for defensive purposes, but she thought it a useful thing to learn, nonetheless. She thought she could see a way to adapt it, using something similar to the book she had used to call on the Dark One. A question for Rumplestiltskin, when she next saw him.

“Belle!”

Maurice burst into the library, breathless and red-faced, and she sighed and laid her book aside.

“Gaston is awake!” he said urgently. “Our prayers have been answered!”

Your prayers, perhaps.

“Is he well?” she asked.

“As well as ever, and calling for ale!” laughed Maurice. “Come, I’ll take you to him. This wedding is happening, my girl!”

Belle wanted to sigh, but got to her feet. Not if I have anything to say about it.

x

Rumplestiltskin had been true to his word. Gaston remembered nothing that had happened in her bedchamber, his last memories being of the hunt, and those somewhat hazy.

“Must have been riding at an incredible speed, to have knocked myself out like that,” he declared, banging his cup on the table to call for more ale. “Damn stag almost killed me, but I brought it down! No shame to fall in the hunt if you get back up again!”

“You fell in your bath,” said Belle, but he wasn’t listening, and Maurice glared at her.

“Have all preparations been made for the wedding feast?” asked Gaston, reaching for the plate of roasted pheasant and tearing off a leg.

“Everything is in hand, milord,” said the steward, bowing. “The King has sent word, though.”

He handed over a letter, and Gaston sniffed, wiping grease from his hands and breaking the wax seal to scan the letter.

“He plans to move against the ogres,” he announced. “The Duke’s army has marched on them today, and King George plans to join him in a week. He wants to know that he can count on my support. Seems like we’re headed to war, Sir Maurice.”

“But - fighting the ogres.” Belle shook her head. “The men will be slaughtered. Everyone has heard what happens to armies sent against them.”

Gaston snorted, handing the letter to Maurice..

“They’re not so tough,” he said. “My men and I have encountered ogres before, and they came off worse, believe me.”

“Then why do all reports that I hear suggest that the ogres are formidable?” asked Belle, and Gaston shrugged.

“Cowards will always find an excuse.”

“Indeed,” said Maurice, reading the King’s letter. “Still, they are not to be underestimated.”

“Perhaps we ought to delay the wedding until after the battle,” suggested Belle, and Gaston chuckled.

“What, with everything arranged? I think not. The battle is a week away. What difference will a few hours make?”

“It’ll mean a short honeymoon,” observed Maurice.

“Only takes one night, eh?” Gaston guffawed, slapping him on the back, and Maurice looked as uncomfortable as Belle felt.

“It means the King won’t be able to attend the wedding, of course,” said Gaston, reaching for the pheasant again. “Nor Prince James. No doubt Lady Belle will be disappointed.”

“Not at all, I assure you,” said Belle tonelessly.

“The ceremony can still take place,” said Maurice. “You can be married, and we can have a proper celebration when the ogres are defeated.”

“In eight days’ time, then,” said Gaston, and downed his ale in one.

x

The day before the wedding, Belle woke with a start, nerves making her belly flutter and tighten. This evening he’ll come. What will he do? What will I say to him? I know what I want to say, but will I get the chance? 

She could barely concentrate all through the day, but luckily Maurice and Gaston were closeted in the Great Hall, discussing the approaching ogre horde, and their possible plan of attack. Belle had her own preparations to make, and tried to summon all her concentration to channel magic through the crystal wand. Whether she had been successful in her attempts at magic would not become clear until she had to use what she had created.

As the sun sank towards the horizon, Belle had Marilee dress her in the gold gown that she had worn to the ball. Her wedding dress hung in the closet, along with a long veil of embroidered lace. It had been the wedding gown of Gaston’s mother, with a frothy skirt of white gauze, crystals studding the bodice and a high collar edged with pearls. Belle hoped she would never have to wear the thing.

She made her way down to the Great Hall, a book tucked under one arm. The sound of raised voices reached her before she entered, and she found her father and Gaston bent over a map of the kingdom, rolled out on the large table with markers for troop movements. Shadows stretched long and thin on the floor, the setting sun going down in a blaze of fire.

“If the tales are true, this is a disaster in the making,” Maurice was saying. “We must change our plans. The King cannot hope to prevail.”

“The men were unprepared,” said Gaston shortly.

“The men were slaughtered!”

“The Duke’s auxiliaries!” Gaston straightened, scowling. “Thieves and cutpurses, for the most part, not proper troops! What were they thinking, attacking before the King’s armies joined them?”

“What has happened?” asked Belle, and both men looked around.

“A minor setback,” said Gaston, waving a hand.

“A battalion of the Duke’s soldiers came upon three of the ogre scouts,” said Maurice curtly. “They attacked, and the ogres destroyed them. Almost to a man. The stories of the ogre horde are true. This is not a war that can be won by force.”

“The King thinks otherwise!” snapped Gaston.

“Then the King is a fool.”

Gaston pounded the table with his fist.

“We do not run from these creatures!” he shouted. “They run from us! Shall I tell the King you turned traitor?”

“My father is no traitor,” said Belle, glaring at him. “But no more is he an idiot. If the war is unwinnable, we must find a way to make peace.”

“You cannot reason with these creatures!”

“Has anyone tried?” she retorted.

“We have to do something,” said Maurice desperately. “We have to stop them!”

“Well, perhaps you can.”

A snide, familiar voice came from behind them, and Belle turned on her toes to see Rumplestiltskin lolling in Gaston’s chair, eyes alight with mischief. He was dressed from head to foot in tight black leather, the collar of his coat standing high, brushing the curls of his hair. Belle felt her heart begin to thump hard. He came! He’s here!

“Who are you?” asked Maurice roughly, and Rumplestiltskin bounced out of the chair, bending one leg in an elaborate bow.

“Rumplestiltskin,” he announced. “Or as others know me, the Dark One.”

“The Dark One,” breathed Maurice. “The most powerful man in all the realms.”

“He’s an evil imp,” said Gaston sourly. “We need no dark magic here.”

“Oh, I beg to differ,” said Rumplestiltskin lazily. “The ogres are quite upset, you know. Only blood will suffice. The blood of one person in particular.”

“What are you talking about?” asked Belle, and he eyed her for a moment, his gaze dropping briefly to the book in her arms before flicking back to her eyes.

“I heard an interesting tale from the ogres,” he said.

“You - you spoke to the ogres?” asked Maurice.

“The most important part of deal-making,” said Rumplestiltskin. “Is finding out what the other party wants more than anything. Take the ogres, for example. They spoke of a dark-haired man in a red doublet, who kidnapped one of their children several weeks ago, and tortured him. What they want, more than anything, is that man’s head on a spike.”

He pointed at Gaston, and Belle felt her mouth fall open.

“So I tortured one of them,” said Gaston, with a shrug. “So what? How else would I find out what my men might face when going against them? Everyone’s heard of the Ogre Wars. Their numbers have been swelling for years. It was only a matter of time before they attacked again. We had to be prepared for what might come.”

“You tortured a child?” said Belle, horrified.

“It wasn’t human!”

“What difference does that make?”

“Like I said,” interrupted Rumplestiltskin. “His head on a spike. A simple enough request to prevent all that war and bloodshed.”

“Begone, demon!” snarled Gaston. “My men are loyal to me! No one will betray me on the words of a twisted little imp!”

Rumplestiltskin pursed his lips, shrugging.

“In that case,” he said. “I could offer the ogres something else. You have mountains to the east, enough space to allow them to settle down and live peacefully. I’m sure they could be persuaded to call off this war in exchange for a place to call their own.”

“Yes!” said Maurice eagerly. “The mountains straddle both my land and Sir Gaston’s. I say yes.”

“I say that the Dark One is not to be trusted,” said Gaston suspiciously. “Why would he do this great favour and ask nothing in return?”

“Oh, you’re right, there is a price,” agreed Rumplestiltskin, tapping his fingers together. He seemed to be enjoying their discomfort, his eyes twinkling. Belle felt as though her heart would beat its way through her chest.

“We have gold!” said Maurice. “I’m sure the King would contribute, he—”

“Ah.” Rumplestiltskin shook his head regretfully. “No, you see, I make gold. What I want is something a bit more - special.”

He was pacing, slow, swaggering steps, circling around the two men.

“My price,” he said. “Is her.”

He had turned on his toes, pointing at Belle, and Maurice let out a sound of horror. Belle met Rumplestiltskin’s gaze with her head held high, and he winked.

“The young lady is engaged,” said Gaston harshly. “To me!”

He stepped in front of Belle, and she frowned at his back, slipping around him again. Gaston threw an arm up in front of her, keeping her in place.

“I wasn’t asking if she was engaged.” Rumplestiltskin waved a hand, looking amused. “I’m looking for an apprentice. And I want her.”

“What, so you can turn her into your whore, Dark One?” he sneered. “I think not.” 

Belle opened her mouth angrily, but Rumplestiltskin tutted, shaking his head.

“I said an apprentice,” he said. “Not a lover.” 

“You expect me to believe that you’d take someone of Lady Belle’s face and form and train her in magic?”

“What do her looks have to do with her potential?” Rumplestiltskin sounded genuinely baffled. “I asked for an apprentice. She doesn’t need to be pretty to mix potions, and the fact that your mind took a swan-dive into the gutter is hardly my concern.”

“She doesn’t know one end of a wand from the other!” Gaston’s tone was jeering. “She’s - she’s just a girl! She has no ability beyond embroidery!”

Belle could feel anger rising in her at Gaston’s incredulity at anyone seeing anything beyond her beauty. She was about to inform him exactly where she would shove the next magic wand she found, but Rumplestiltskin caught her eye briefly, as though he could read her mind. She sank back on her heels, glowering at Gaston’s back.

“Well, perhaps my assessment of her abilities is more accurate than yours,” said Rumplestiltskin. “It’s her, or no deal.”

“But - but - she’s betrothed!” said Maurice, looking appalled. “The King himself agreed to the match!”

Rumplestiltskin shrugged.

“He’s not my king.”

“They’re to be married tomorrow!” persisted Maurice.

“Oh, inviting the ogres to the wedding breakfast, are you?” said Rumplestiltskin snidely. “How very open-minded of you. Be sure to provide extra ale, I hear they have a head for it.”

“But…” Maurice looked to be almost wringing his hands, glancing desperately at Gaston, who stepped in front of Belle again, throwing out his chest and rolling his shoulders to make himself look even bigger than he was.

“She was promised to me!” he shouted, jabbing a thumb at his chest. “She is mine, Dark One! Choose another!”

“You speak of the lady as though she were a possession to be handed around,” drawled Rumplestiltskin. “Isn’t the decision hers, not yours? Perhaps she would find more purpose in becoming a sorcerer’s apprentice than in - well, whatever dull provincial life you have to offer her. The lady as my apprentice, in return for dealing with the ogre threat. That is my final offer.”

“Get out!” said Maurice sharply. “Leave!”

Rumplestiltskin gave a lazy shrug.

“As you wish,” he said, swivelling on his heels and sauntering towards the door.

“No, wait!”

Belle slipped out from behind Gaston, dodging his grasping hand and circling her father. She stepped in front of Rumplestiltskin, who was tapping his fingers together, his eyes gleaming at her and a hint of amusement in the twist of his mouth, as though he was enjoying himself. Belle raised her chin.

“I will go with him,” she said decidedly.

“I forbid it!” shouted Gaston, as Maurice reached for Belle, mouth wide open in horror.

“No one decides my fate but me,” snapped Belle. “I shall go.”

“You’ll do as I tell you!” thundered Gaston, his eyes flashing as he jabbed a finger at the floor between his feet. “I won’t have my wife-to-be carried off by the Dark One to be his slut! Don’t you know how our people will see this? Don’t you care how this makes me look?” 

“Your reputation would be in tatters, Belle!” added Maurice wretchedly. “If you go with this creature you will never be part of our society again! You will be shunned, and I too, for letting it happen!”

“Society is overrated,” remarked Rumplestiltskin.

“Out!” shouted Gaston. “Go back to your lair, you twisted creature!” 

“Certainly,” said Rumplestiltskin. “If the lady will accompany me.”

“She will not be your whore!”

“Sir Gaston is right,” said Belle loudly.

“See?” Gaston gestured at her. “Belle knows this is madness! Begone, imp! I’ll have the Blue Fairy banish you to the deepest pits of the underworld!”

“Sir Gaston is right,” repeated Belle, frowning at his interruption. “If I go with you as your apprentice, the world will call me your whore. No matter how honourably you treat me.”

“Honourably?” Gaston let out a hollow laugh.

“So I will go with you,” continued Belle. “If you’ll take me as your wife.”

She had seen surprise on Rumplestiltskin’s face before: a hint of a smile when she had said something clever, a flick of his eyebrows at a question she had asked, but she had never seen him shocked. His eyes almost bulged out of his head, his throat bobbing as he swallowed hard. 

“Have you lost your mind?” thundered Gaston, stomping forward. “You can’t seriously be suggesting that—”

Rumplestiltskin flicked his fingers almost contemptuously, and Gaston was silenced, mouth opening and closing. He also appeared to be frozen in place, his face turning red with rage as he glared at Belle. She decided to take advantage of his silence, and turned her attention to Rumplestiltskin, who was staring at her with that same wide-eyed look of disbelief.

“It seems a fair exchange to me,” she said. “After all, my father was happy to give my hand to Sir Gaston for the sake of land and gold. Surely if the bride-price is an end to death and destruction for all the people in this kingdom, the King could not object.”

“Belle, this is madness!” hissed Maurice.

“No, Papa, it’s good sense,” she retorted. “You said yourself that you wanted a good match for me in terms of wealth and status. I imagine that the Dark One must have an impressive estate.”

“It is - rather large.” Rumplestiltskin appeared to have found his voice again. “But - my Lady, please think this through...”

“I have,” she said simply. “I’ve watched my father and Sir Gaston and the other nobles argue and bicker over strategy and I have counted the cost in potential lives lost if we do not stop the ogre horde. You can stop them, can you not?”

She had stepped up to him, almost close enough to touch, Rumplestiltskin licked his lips, a brief flick of his tongue, as though he was nervous.

“I can,” he said.

“And do you have any objection to taking me as a wife?” she asked. His eyes flicked left and right, as though he was uncertain whether he was really there.

“I - no, no objection,” he said. “But your father speaks the truth. Married or not, you will be shunned by your peers if you choose me. You will have chosen exile, and censure.”

“I will have chosen a man who values me for more than my beauty,” she said clearly. “A man who brought peace to our lands, and saved countless lives. If the nobles of this land shun me for that, I shall count it a worthy sacrifice.”

He was staring at her with something like wonder, his eyes wide, and she watched his fingers twist in the air, a nervous motion. She arched an eyebrow at him.

“Do we have a deal?” 

[petitprincess1]

Good Evening Ch13 (Soft and Fragile)

AO3 Link Summary: Before the incident, Alastor has a bit more of a reflection on his "lovers" and it's quite interesting on what he wishes to do to his dolls. Words: 1,738 I AM SO SORRYYYYYY!!! I got super stressed lately and my brain just froze. I really hope this chapter is worth the wait. Once again, very sorry. Warning: Obsessive and possessive thoughts and..."knifeplay" thoughts...kinda. ~~~ Hours earlier before the “oopsie” that happened at Pentious’ house, Alastor made up an excuse to go to the kitchen just so he didn’t end up strangling Vaggie, slice her throat, or say some very mean words. The intense hatred only increased when she mentioned him bringing in gumbo that had Valentino’s body in it. He was going to bury the guy to use as manure, but he was a bit pressed for time and it was rather difficult to stuff the body with aromatic herbs to keep any stench out. Plus, he didn’t feel like draining Val’s blood. Either way, he had to take a moment to breathe before walking into the kitchen.

Al tried to calm down by taking out the tongue that he took from that dead guard. Either no one has gone into the fridge yet or no one questioned the tongue. It wasn’t like it was impossible for him to have bought a cow tongue of sorts from the store. Thankfully, idiots would do anything to justify something that’s so simple.

He meant to chop this up for breakfast in the morning, but no one said that you couldn’t have an omelette in the afternoon. Besides, he still needed to make a small meal for Charlie. Alastor realized that he was going more and more towards Charlie everyday. It was surprising that the girl intrigued him, almost as much as Anthony did. Although, he was interested in them for completely different reasons. Anthony felt the closest to what could be romantic, even if it was a bit more perverse. 

All Alastor wanted to do with Anthony was make him his and only his. Majority of the people that he came into contact with were incorrigible and absolute morons, especially that Pentious. The man had no patience with any of that and wouldn’t miss them the slightest bit if they were dead...possibly not Husker. The much older man was much more hilarious to have alive, especially whenever he was angry. It was so much fun to watch his lip curl into a snarl.

However, unless it was making him pouty, Alastor never wanted to see his ethel angry at him nor did he wish to hurt him that badly. Just the very thought sent a chill up his spine as he listened to the tongue’s muscles and ligaments making a slight squishing sound as the knife sliced through them, making him feel a nice calm about him. All he wanted to do was keep Anthony all locked up for no one else to see him. Yes, the man clearly could help himself, judging the bruising on his knuckles, but he still could have died. Keeping the little minx all tied up would clearly only benefit him.

Plus, Alastor could also easily lure those mongrels to his home and he could serve up some wonderful meat pies or casseroles to his favorite toy that he will keep all snug and cozy in his basement. Oh! That reminded him that he really needed to renovate that place back at his home. Well, temporary home in Eden. Al should also warn Anthony about the constant traveling. Alastor knew that his angel may have slight worry about his proposition, but he knew that the boy would be the one to stay.  Meanwhile with Charlie….the man longed for her struggle.

As annoying as it was to try and get the doll alone, it was also thrilling to actually have someone fight. Not that Anthony didn’t fight with Alastor occasionally, it was different with Charlie. She seemed to wish to deny all attraction towards, but he could easily tell when one has hidden desire. He has felt her heartbeat quicken on her wrist, seen the hidden passion in her eyes lying beneath the disgust, and, most importantly, he can sense the morbid curiosity in her. It won’t be too long til he finally caught her in his grasp.

Alastor scrapped the tongue off of the cutting board into a frying pan that had oil, minced garlic, and chopped onion in it. He breathed in the smell and sighed happily, “Patience is a virtue.”

Niffty came into the kitchen, carrying groceries, and gasped at seeing Alastor, “OH! You didn’t tell me you would be in the kitchen! Oh, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to intrude. I just went to get some extra food and-”

“Don’t worry, my dear! It’s perfectly fine. After all, this is your kitchen and I’m merely intruding in on your space,” Alastor spoke charmingly and humbly. Niffty gasped even more as she placed the groceries on the counter, using a step stool, and quickly replied, “No no no! My kitchen is your kitchen, so stay as long as you wish.”

The man smiled at her and gave a polite nod, “What a sweet lady you are. Also, do you mind helping me out? Just get some eggs and whisk them up. I’m making an omelette for Charlie~”

“Awww, you’re such a sweet man!”

“...I know.” ~~~ Later on into the day, Al had come over to Charlie’s office and knocked on the door. Charlie called from the other side, “Who’s there?”

Alastor thought of a joke for a few seconds and replied, “Adore!”

It went silent for a few seconds before the golden-haired girl asked, “Adore who? I don’t think-”

“Adore is between you and I, so please open up!” Alastor exclaimed, cutting her off on purpose. There was another brief silence before the door suddenly opened up and revealed Charlie looking away from Alastor. She seemed to be annoyed, but the small reddish tint to her pale cheeks showed her keeping a smile back. She mumbled under her breath as she walked away, “That was a terrible joke and you know it was.”

The creole chuckled as he walked into her office and saw that her office was pretty decent and cozy looking, especially with plush carpeting. He leaned up against a bookshelf behind him as he raised an eyebrow at two norwegian dwarf goats that were sleeping within a pet bed that looked like a little house. Charlie sat down on the chair at her desk and asked, “Is there something that you need, Al? Oh! Also, thank you for the omelette, it was very sweet of you to make that for me. Although, I thought we ran out of certain cuts of beef.”

She gestured to the empty plate on her desk that had bits of onion on the surface, as well as some ketchup. Al nodded and replied, “You’re quite welcome, my dear~ Also, I have my resources. Anyway, I was just asking if it was alright if I head off early. Just want to do a bit of hunting, that’s all.”

Al’s grin subtly grew a bit at seeing Charlie’s skin become slightly paler when he mentioned hunting. He could just say that he was just going to go hunt some deer, but it was hilarious to think that the girl thought he was hunting humans. No, not today. She gulped and replied, “Uh, well, I guess if you have nothing else to do, then that’s okay. Just...you know...be back around dark, just so you can have the night shift. I-If you want to, of course!”

The man couldn’t help but reach towards Charlie, making her slightly flinch, and gently caress her cheek. He brushed his thumb against her skin and almost felt aroused at the softness of it. Alastor could only imagine how nice it would be to carve through it. He was sure that he barely needed to add extra pressure to slice the skin open. He hummed and then muttered in a low tone, “Of course, Charlie.Why would I ever say no to you?”

Charlie mumbled under her breath, feeling an odd chill up her spine, “Uh...I’m sure you have, especially when I don’t want you messing with my cheeks.” She slowly lowered Al’s hand from her cheek and moved it back to his side. She then concluded, “Uh, well, if that’s all, the you’re free to go, Al.”

Alastor stared at his hand for a few seconds and then nodded absentmindedly as he walked out of the room. He felt Charlie’s eyes on him as he left out and listened to the door gently creak close before she locked it. However, Al barely cared as he felt many tingles up his hand that Charlie touched. He never liked being touched...but he was definitely craving more from her.

He began walking down the hall and was trying to clear his mind when a woman ended up bumping him from behind. Al turned and saw the woman looked distraught, almost in a daze. Before he could question her, she asked, “I’m sorry, but have you seen Angelo? I...I really need to speak to him….regarding a man that he...worked with.”

Alastor blinked at her and wondered what she could possibly want with Anthony. It made his stomach tie into a knot, but he just said, “Well, Anth- Angelo is on medical leave. He got harmed pretty badly.”

Not even the slightest bit of worry in the woman’s eyes, if anything, Al saw a bit of frustration. She nodded and muttered, “...Right. I forgot...thank you.”

The woman then silently walked away from Alastor, making the man narrow his eyes at her. He’s going to have to follow her, isn’t he? Great! Right...well, maybe Charlie was right about the human thing. He could always buy venison from the butcher. ~~~ In present time, Baxter was helping Sir Pentious roll up Traci’s body in a rug, while Alastor was braiding Anthony’s slightly grown out hair and Cherri was trying to calm down. The spunky girl washed the blood off of her face and pretended the brain bits were just chewed up wads of gum. She pulled her head out from the sink and quickly grabbed some towels, wiping her face off.

Cherri was making very quiet sobs as she kept envisioning the woman getting shot over and over again in her head. It just wouldn’t end. Angelo looked at her and asked, “Hey, ya gonna be alright, Cherri?”

She turned to Angelo and took a deep breath before glaring at Al, “What the hell is wrong with you!? Why did you do that?”

Alastor scoffed, “What? It was just a bit of hunting.”

[som3thingcr3ative]

Voluspa Part 5

It’s HERE!!!!!!! I promised a new chapter, and I have delivered. This one is a little slower, but things will pick up veeeery soon, I just needed to get some backstory in, some life in characters. 

(side note, this looks longer on my google docs...the next one will be longer and sooner, I promise.)

synopsis: Astrid is welcomed to the feast and to Kattegat. She meets a new ally and settles into her new home, enjoying the attentions of a certain Viking King. 

warnings: mentions of suicide, drinking, slavery. 

previously: 

“I have seen it,” I say, raising my chin just a tad. My fingers leave Einar’s fur and relax at my side. No fear. “The gods have shown me.”“

“I like this one,” Ivar muses, leaning forward once again, his eyes on me. “You are welcome here, Astrid. So long as your loyalties remain true, you are my honored guest. Welcome to Kattegat!”

PART 1 2 3 4 5 6

That night, I can relax. Old Norse takes no effort for me; it comes as naturally as any language to a native speaker, which allows my efforts to shift toward containing a disturbing number of prophecies from slipping out of my mouth. Normally, if I were to prophesy, it would be in Old Norse around english speaking people- seen as nothing more than a character quirk, but around Vikings, the prophecy would be chilling. I would be avoided at all costs if one wanted to keep their sanity. 

So for the small blessing of control, I am thankful. 

There is good ale (a bit weak compared to beer, but still enough to loosen the tongue), good food (without all of the hormones and hassle of my previous home), and good company. Vikings share their stories of raids and victories- and with enough ale, their defeats. Only once do I think of Damon; of how he would love to hear these stories from living history itself- so I chug the ale in my cup and get a refill from the blushing (and very thankful) servant girl whose arse I’d saved earlier, all thoughts of my brother banished. I learn that her name is Rita, that she was captured from what is to be France, and that by giving her the distraction needed to clean up and act as if nothing had happened, I’d spared her a great deal of pain. 

An idea blossoms. I turn to Ivar who sits to my right. “My king, could I pay you for this servant girl? I wish for her to be my handmaiden.”

Ivar’s eyes barely glance over the girl. He smiles at me and waves a hand. “You are my guest, Astrid. There is no need to pay me for her; she is yours.”

I grin at him and bow my head just briefly. “I am grateful, my King.” He nods and turns back to his food and his conversation with Ubbe while I smile at the girl. 

“Well Rita, it appears you will not suffer any more punishments. From now on, you are under my protection.” 

Rita’s jaw drops. In old french, I add “as my handmaiden, you will be given a great deal of freedom- all I ask is that you do not lie to me or plot behind my back.”

“Yes, my lady!” She replies in enthusiastic french. “Thank you so much, my lady!”

“Go get yourself cleaned up-” I hand her a small coin ‘borrowed’ from a drunken Jarl encountered on the journey here. “And get some new clothes. You are a handmaiden now, it’s best you look like it.” 

She turns the coin over and over between dirty fingers, her eyes wide. Finally she nods to me and scampers off, grinning like a fool. I allow myself a victorious smile and take a sip of ale. 

Only a few minutes pass before Ivar turns to me, at Ubbe’s goading. 

“You are certainly a puzzle, Astrid.” He comments, eyeing me. “I am told you rode here on a stallion with no tack- and then carried your own bags to this hall where you proceeded to single-handedly beat three men.” He glances down at Einar who is draped over my feet, crunching away at a cow femur. “With a wolf, no less.”

“I assure you, my King, it is quite the story.”

“Ivar.” He smiles. “No need for pleasantries, you are my guest.”

Another small smile. A gracious tip of my head. “Ivar,” I correct. “If you have the time, perhaps I could tell you?”

He raises his mug, signalling a servant to serve him more ale. Once the cup is full, he sips at it, eyes never leaving me. “I have all the time in the world.” 

My brows lift. I take a swig of ale, making a show of it. He laughs. 

“It’s one of those stories, is it?”

I grin. “It all started nineteen years ago, when my mother pushed me out of her body screaming and covered in blood…

My childhood was a pleasant one, by most accounts. I had a roof over my head, clothes on my back, and food on the table. When I was three, my father died. As the first born, I inherited his ability to sense...things. Things that I shouldn’t have known. Things that, for a while, drove me crazy. I scared people. One man jumped off of a cliff because I told him his wife would die by his hands if he did not kill himself first. He believed me because I had been right before- another man had a baby girl- I told him that he would have an accident and kill his child, but he scoffed at me. One day he was carrying his child through the house when he tripped, sending the baby flying. She landed on her head and broke her neck, just like that. He killed himself two days later. 

We moved away. Packed up everything we had and left. My mother trained me to hold those prophecies in, to keep them from hurting anyone, so instead they hurt me. I look at someone and I know how they will die. I know the defining moments of their life and their worst mistakes. And I keep all of that bottled up inside of me. 

So I started fresh. I turned to animals instead of people. Animals do not expect things of you. They want to give and receive love, they do not judge or place blame. They do not envy or betray. If you trust them and give them reason to trust you, they will be there for you, no matter what. The best part is, I can’t see their whole life mapped out before me. I can’t know exactly what to do to change their whole path, their entire fate. It is a weight off of my shoulders. 

I helped bring Hvardr, my stallion into this world. His mother orphaned him, so I made sure he was fed. I cared for him, and when he grew, I trained him to trust me and only me. He will buck anyone else off of him. If someone tries to restrain him in any way, he will hurt them- maybe even kill them. But not me. 

Einar was barely a month old when I found him strung up in a trap. I helped him heal- and I tried to keep him wild- I really did. He’s stubborn, though, so when he chose me, there wasn’t a thing I could do to say no. Here we are eight seasons later. 

I never found love, I never had those firsts so many women have. I am not like others. I am different. And because of that difference, I see things in a totally different light. This gift is a blessing and a curse- and sometimes I wish I were normal, or that my younger brother had it, not me, but then I realize that everything I am and everything I have is because of what makes me different. 

I would not be who I am if I were the same as everyone else. 

~

Rita finds me in my room that night, shortly after the feast ended. Her hair is in a loose braid, nothing too complicated while still showing her stature. Cleaned up, I can see that she is actually quite pretty, in a youthful way. No more than fourteen or fifteen summers, if I had to guess. 

Her life flashes before my eyes in quick bursts, defining moments and tragedy lasting a brief second longer than the rest until I see her death- and I know instantly how to treat her. I smile at her, eyeing her new dress. She blushes, grinning at the floor. 

“You look beautiful,” I tell her, speaking in Old French. “Like a princess.”

“Thank you, m’lady.” She ducks her head, showing respect. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

“You can extinguish that torch over there, Rita. I’m quite tired from the day’s events. Oh, and I had them bring in an extra bed. I know it’s not much, but… well it’s yours.” 

Her eyes widen as she looks over at the bed. It has two furs on it for the cold night, a few feet away from my own bed. Our beds take up only about half the space in the room Ivar was kind enough to lend to me. 

“Thank you, m’lady!” She says, holding a hand to her chest as she stares at the bed. I know that it is more than she’s probably ever had- first as a frankish peasant and then as a slave, a bed to her is a luxury she’d only dreamed of. I hope she can sleep, knowing for myself the difficulty of sleeping on a bed after more than a few nights on the floor. 

“I’ll see you in the morning,” I tell her, moving to cover myself with a fur. “Good night, and sleep well.” Behind me, I can hear her move to the solitary torch burning against the far wall. Einar, curled against my legs, watches her carefully as she walks to her bed and gets comfortable. He is still wary of her, but is slowly warming up to the idea of another person sleeping close to him. 

tag list:  All Ivar tag: @inforapound​ @amy8220 @sallydelys​ @youbloodymadgenius​ @i-am-a-teenage-dirtbaggg​

Voluspa: @tis-itheapplepie​ @thetwistedqueen @inforapound @wuxiesalt @readsalot73​ @themusingkitten @youbloodymadgenius

[readingraebow]

Leaving Las Vegas Section Two

Lemons - Plums

1. Why is Gamal no longer in possession of his jewelry? He pawned all of it. He doesn't say exactly why and since he had to borrow money from Sera, I'm not entirely sure what he did with the money. But apparently since Sera left, his life really went downhill. Basically everything fell apart and he got caught selling drugs and lost pretty much everything he had. Which is why he came to Vegas, to get Sera back so he can hopefully make money again. He also tries to go buy back all of his jewelry but his car breaks down on the way there and he has to get it fixed and he'll have to get more money from Sera to get his jewelry back. So basically he's just using her as a cash cow right now and she's just letting him. Awesome.

2. What story does Gamal reveal about his sister? So his sister ended up with a mysterious illness which he says drove her to her mattress with fever and shivers. After four days of this, their father went off in search of medicine for her at the home of a European who was rumoring to have such things. This was both expensive and dangerous but their father did manage to return with a clay pot of medicine before it was too late. This was considered a miracle since the journey was supposed to be impossible. However, within an hour after drinking the medicine, Gamal's sister convulsed and died. Their father set out to kill the man who had sold him the medicine and he never returned.

3. How do Sera and Ben meet? How does their first night together go? Al sent Sera out to work the Strip while he goes to set up contacts. So she's out on the Strip when Ben shows up. He's decided that he wants to find a hooker. So he stops in front of her and asks if she'll spend an hour with him for two hundred and fifty dollars. So agrees and goes back to his hotel with him. But he doesn't want to have sex. She tries but he tells her he'd rather drink instead and asks if she wants to drink too. Then he tells her that he'll give her more money or whatever she wants. But he just wants her to stay with him and talk to him. So she does. She stays for two hours, until he falls asleep. Then she takes a bottle of tequila, for the extra hour she stayed, lets herself out of his room and goes home.

4. What 3 gifts does Sera bring Ben? First she gives him a key to her apartment. She found him asleep on the doorstep when she got there so she had a spare made for him so that doesn't happen again. The other two presents she bought while she was out. She bought him one of those loud Hawaiian shirts because he wears so much black, it's completely different from his normal wardrobe and it seems like her mark on him because it's ~out of his comfort zone, haha. And the other gift is a flask which he loves and immediately fills and uses.

5. What experiences with addiction have you had in your life? Have you ever known someone with as serious of an alcohol problem as Ben? I honestly haven't had that much experience with addiction in my life. I was raised in a very strictly Christian family that didn't believe in drinking so I didn't have any experience with alcohol until I grew up, moved and left the church. Though Dalton smokes so I guess that's my only experience with addiction. He wants to quit but he's bad at quitting so he currently still smokes.

6. How does the book end for Ben and Sera? Did you foresee this happening? One morning Sera asks Ben to go to a doctor because he's getting sicker. He refuses and tells her it's time he moves to a hotel but she says she doesn't want him to. So that night while she's out working, he calls a hooker. So Sera comes home and finds them together and is, of course, upset. But Ben can now move to a hotel as he wants to. Twelve days later, he calls her and she comes to his hotel room. He says that he wanted to see her. She ends up jacking him off and they lie together on the bed. He dies shortly after as he's trying to drink again. And at some point earlier in the book, I realized the only way for this to end for Ben would be for him to die so I actually read the last two pages at that point. So, yes, I did forsee that happening. It didn't make it hurt any less but I did, unfortunately, see it coming.

7. Have you ever been to Las Vegas? If not, do you think you would ever go in the future? So I have always wanted to go to Las Vegas. I am weird and there are some of the coolest museums ever there??? So my best friend in college and I were planning to do a road trip out there. But that was the year that I just randomly decided to move to Missouri so we didn't get to go. But I would definitely go sometime in the future!! After reading Fear & Loathing I really wanted to go because I really want to see some of the places mentioned in that book! But, anyway, hopefully sometime in the future I'll get to go. Dalton really wants to go to California so if we ever get to do that, I'll probably insist that we also go to Vegas. *sigh* ~someday

8. Did you like the novel? I honestly really did??? There at the beginning I was like "what is this???? most of this is horrifying" but I was actually telling Dalton about it and how it's one of the best looks at alcoholism that I have ever read and realized that I honestly really liked it. I mean. Liked it as much as you can like a book like this. It was hard to read and so much of it was so sad/horrifying but it was an accurate depiction of two lifestyles and for that I really appreciate it.

  Section Two Reading Journal

Okay wow. I don’t even know what to say about this book. I’m really glad I read it. I’ll start there.

So this section was super hard to read. Even harder than Sera’s rape in the first section. About the last ten pages or so were just so hard to get through. They really hurt your heart. And you know how this is going to end so that makes it even worse.

I honestly cried at the end because it’s just so horrible? Like I knew that’s where Ben’s story is going. But what about Sera? Even though Ben was deep into his alcoholism, he was helping Sera. He was giving her a life and someone to care about and someone to come home to. So what now? What is her life now? He’s not coming back. It’s not the same hollow emptiness as after a breakup. Now she has a different type of healing to do since she pretty much watched him die. That makes it even worse for her.

I really did love their relationship and I wish he’d chosen a different way. Because I think they were really good together and I think they could’ve had a life together and really helped each other be better.

But, anyway, this is definitely the best book about alcoholism I have ever read. So I am really glad I read this book for that reason alone. I haven’t really had much experience with addiction in my own life. I basically learn everything from reading books. And alcoholism is one that you’re lucky if you don’t see up close??? Because this is just a book and it was hard for me to read. I can’t imagine seeing someone who I really know and love going through the same thing. That would be 1000x worse.

But, anyway, I have always been curious about this movie since Nicholas Cage won an Oscar for it. I just found it streaming on Amazon so I’ll definitely be watching it and I’ll write a comparison when I do.

Overall, I’m glad I read this. It was a hard read for being less than 200 pages. But I’m glad to have read it.

[sorayahigashikata]

Chapter 30: "That's so sad. Alexa, play Jurassic Park."

[darkshimmeringworld-blog]

Purgatory

October 31st, Eternity

“Bill Wyman the Hymen Man is here, dressed as a highwayman.”

October 31st, Eternity

It was All Hallows Eve, “Bill Wyman, the Hymen Man is here, dressed as a highwayman.”

October 31st, Eternity

It was All Saints’ Eve, “Bill Wyman, the Hymen Man is here, dressed as a highwayman.”

October 31st, Eternity

A figure in a cape, a detail in infinity. He knocked three times at the door of No. 6. “Bill Wyman, the Hymen Man is here, dressed as a highwayman.” In the rutilant light he a-waited.

October 31st, Eternity

Suburbia unrolled in twilight trampled noddy houses. A figure in a cape, a detail in infinity. He walked past the packs of wolf-men-children and bloody faced tricksters and knocked three times at the door of No. 6. “Bill Wyman, the Hymen Man is here, dressed as a highwayman.”

October 31st, Eternity

Suburbia unrolled in twilight trampled noddy houses. The sky was green, and it was pink-orange-red. Then a deep mauve that overtook. A figure in a cape, a detail in infinity. He walked past the packs of wolf-men-children and bloody faced tricksters and knocked three times at the door of No. 6. “Bill Wyman, the Hymen Man is here, dressed as a highwayman.” The costume was itchy, and made Bill feel like his body was burning. In the orange glow he a-waited.

October 31st, Eternity

It was Halloween. Suburbia unrolled in twilight trampled noddy houses. The sky was green, and it was pink-orange-red. Then a deep mauve that overtook. A figure in a cape, a detail in infinity. He walked past the packs of wolf-men-children and bloody faced tricksters and knocked three times at the door of No. 6. There was a discarded burrito down by his feet, cut in half like the Black Dahlia. Perhaps the work of a fox, or boy, dressed as fox. It made Bill both simultaneously hungry and repulsed. His costume itched like a hair shirt.

October 31st, Eternity

“Bill Wyman, the Hymen Man is here, dressed as a highwayman.” 

“Je suis un highwayman”

October 31st, Eternity

A lone figure in a cape. A detail in infinity. He took a pocket knife to his face, removed both of his eyes and stuck them to the house. 

October 31st, Eternity

Bill Wyman, the Hymen Man, was dressed as a highwayman, creeping in the creeping hours. It was All Saints’ Eve, virgins, for all their feathers, were a-cold.

October 31st, Eternity

In the rutilant light he a-waited.

October 31st, Eternity

. . . he bumped his head on the way in.

October 31st, Eternity

. . . he bumped his head on the way in.

October 31st, Eternity

. . . he bumped his head on the way in.

October 31st, Eternity

Bill Wyman, the Hymen Man, entered No. 6, dressed as a highwayman. He bumped his head on the threshold. Trick, and treat.

October 31st, Eternity

. . . Bill was adamant that his costume was based on the glory days of Dick Turpin et al, and not 1980s popular culture.

October 31st, Eternity

. . . Bill was a door to door salesman, of bespoke, designer hymens, and he was adamant in his belief that he could stand and deliver in a competitive autumn market.

October 31st, Eternity

. . . “Je suis Bill Wyman, highwayman”

“My name is M”

“Are your parents at home darling?”

October 31st, Eternity

. . . “Je suis William Wyman, gentleman highwayman”

October 31st, Eternity

. . . “Je suis Wyman Wyman, salesman of hymens”

October 31st, Eternity

. . . the young girl looked about 14. She wore a cat-woman costume.

October 31st, Eternity

Wyman Wyman walked up to the door of No. 6. past mutant packs of sugar high children. With one step he appeared to be forgetting something, the next remembering, the next forgetting, then remembering again, though in this act he could never grasp hold to what this thing was. In the rutilant light he a-waited.

October 31st, Eternity

“My parents must have gone out Mr Hymen Man, but I can let you in.”

“Very good Milady . . . just call me Wyman.”

October 31st, Eternity

M walked Wyman into the living room, and he tripped on his cape comically.

October 31st, Eternity

Wyman took a seat in the corner with all the fake cobwebs, and spoke his trade tongue with magic words which could sour milk. 

October 31st, Eternity

. . . there was the idol of a Phoenician cow on the mantelpiece, and the television was flickering with mischief. News report: “A young boy has died tonight in the Welsh countryside. It is believed he had taken ecstasy at an illegal Halloween rave. The boy who has not been named, was rushed to A+E by local police, after overdosing on circular tablets described as having a black seal symbol”

October 31st, Eternity

Barbie and Ken dolls littered the floor, arranged in overtly sexual poses, and the television flickered with mischief. Wyman itched at his costume, which was not regulation hymen salesman apparel. Wyman just enjoyed dressing up, a flamboyant side he retained from his earlier showbiz years. The burning sensation would wax and wane, and his mind would drift, a-drift, in the strange house of No. 6.

October 31st, Eternity

. . . there was the idol of a Phoenician cow on the mantelpiece, and the television flickered with mischief. Wyman glanced at what was playing: It appeared to be a Roman Polanski movie. But not one he had not seen before. Roman Polanski was also one of the characters. It appeared he had been kidnapped by a group of radical vigilantes, in a dark-lit warehouse structure. There was a massive bovine idol, that loomed over Polanski. Bill intuited the big, evil looking cow was not a good omen. Wyman thought this was not appropriate entertainment for a 14 year old to be watching, but M seemed pretty engrossed. For a second, in that weird room, the television felt less a domestic object and more a portal to a plane of undefinable pain and torment.

October 31st, Eternity

Temporary reality and eternal figmental.

October 31st, Eternity

“Must be the weather, very mild autumn so far” . . . Wyman itched at his collar. “Anyway, down to business”

October 31st, Eternity

. . . Wyman pulled a facial expression, that for half a wicked second, revealed the infestations of his mind, that gave the impression of some sort of internal cancellation process or culling of disavowed thoughts.

October 31st, Eternity

. . . M wore a cat-woman costume. Her parents were not at home.

October 31st, Eternity

. . . Wyman was losing track of his sales talk. In the doldrums of his mind he had become a-drift. Fiddling with his costume, he looked up at the mantelpiece, then at M, then at the floor. He looked inundated with shit ideas.

October 31st, Eternity

“Here the details change, but it will always be the same”

October 31st, Eternity

“What does M stand for darling?”

“It’s an old name. But I’m thinking of changing it anyway. I like the sound of Madame Rutabaga instead. We are the Rutabagas, me, my father and my mother, née Neep. They aren’t here tonight. Do you like words Wyman Wyman? Have you looked up the etymology of grub?”

October 31st, Eternity

. . . “We have top of the range hymens, bespoke, tailored, luxury things . . . we provide a modern service that I am sure your parents would approve. Perhaps I could show you some models, M, even try some on for size . . . whilst it was an issue with earlier models, we have reduced the effects of the Uncanny Fanny”

October 31st, Eternity

. . . in the rutilant light he a-waited. A teenager walked past dressed as a vampire. They had a visible love-bite on their neck, that looked like it could have come from a lamprey. Wyman could not recall, what he was doing on the doorstep.

October 31st, Eternity

. . . he bumped his head on the way in.

October 31st, Eternity

. . . he bumped his head on the way in.

October 31st, Eternity

Wyman walked up to the door of No. 6 . . . trick or treaters were a-frightening. Wyman felt he could walk this street a thousand times, and not be bored with it’s particulars. He also felt that the warm, itchy feeling, which caused him such discomfort, could be itched a thousand times, and he would still get no satisfaction.

October 31st, Eternity

. . . Wyman dipped his hand in the bowl of candy corns. He distantly chewed, his thoughts were of an errant, fleeing nature, like a fool galloping on a mule.

October 31st, Eternity

. . . M wore a Joker costume. She offered Wyman a Soul Cake.

October 31st, Eternity

. . . Wyman Wyman, sat in the comfy chair, hand in the sugar bowl.

“M . . where . . . what is . . .”

M smiled at Wyman.

October 31st, Eternity

. . . “But it’s like the thing with the bloody monkeys isn’t it? You give four or five apes, guitars, bass, drums, and all of eternity, they ain’t gonna come up with Sticky Fingers are they?”

October 31st, Eternity

. . . “Are you of the knowledge that if you leave a raisin out in the sun, eventually it dissolves completely?” 

“Christ . . now you mention it” 

“Look on the window sill” 

“I see five! One still there and four that have completely vanished!”

“Yes, now you see”

“Erm, that door there . . hmm . . . why are we here again?”

October 31st, Eternity

. . . M was dressed as a cow. An evil looking cow. She had an arrangement of pockets on the front, that looked like little doors that opened. She stood by the fire that glowed beneath the mantelpiece. In the rutilant light she a-waited.

October 31st, Eternity

. . . the evil looking cow, offered Wyman a drink of Halloween punch. He itched at the warm, highwayman costume and glugged down the potion. It had quite the kick. Soon it will be Bonfire Night, the burning of an effigy. Good old fashioned fun, thought Wyman.

October 31st, Eternity

. . . the evil looking cow, stood by the mantelpiece, and watched the effigy of an old man burn hydrochloric flames out of his pallid eye sockets.

October 31st, Eternity

. . . the evil looking cow, stood by the mantelpiece, and watched green sparks fizzle out of the highwayman’s head.

October 31st, Eternity

. . . the evil looking cow, stood by the mantelpiece, and watched the hunched figure of Wyman Wyman, shoot to the ceiling like a cartoon. Spurting hot, burning brain matter, like a micro aurora, noxious fissures escaped from his skull and clouded the room in strange raptures of green.

October 31st, Eternity

The evil looking cow offered Wyman a drink.

October 31st, Eternity

“Come back tomorrow, Bill?”

October 31st, Eternity

“Come back tomorrow, William?”

October 31st, Eternity

“Come back tomorrow, Mr Wyman?”

October 31st, Eternity

A little girl stood outside No. 6 . . . she pointed at a rock. 

“Rock!” she said. Wyman was confused. The little girl ran away.

October 31st, Eternity

. . . Wyman itched, and his head hurt. He left the house of No. 6. He surveyed the street in it’s gaudy haze. If there were birds, for here there were none, they would not be tweeting, but the absence of song would be the same, or perhaps differently silent. Sometimes an absence is felt greater, by the presence of something that is only half there, Wyman half-thought. He had never quite noticed till this very moment, that the ends of the street seemed incomplete. 

At the edges of his vision everything seemed rubbed out. Examining the houses closer gave him a shiver of unfamiliarity. They were built with exactitude to the blueprint of uncertainty. Underfoot, the crunch of the leaves seemed pre-recorded. What was this? Where was he? As he itched at his garment, threads came back to him . . . of a strange, vivid other place . . . Braintree, Essex.

He had been out with his metal detector, digging around in the dirt for Roman broaches. In the cold autumn morning, which he remembered as if a dream, the crunch of the leaves had more vitality and realness. He had felt a surge of pain, and dropped the metal detector. It was as if his body was on fire. The field beget a figure from another time. This shape approached Wyman. It was an odd peasant looking man, who introduced himself as Thurkhill.

“Are you lost?”

“Are you?” replied the peasant.

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

“No . . .”

“I’ve sent many stone rollers on their course . . . up there . . . follow the track when it bends, may St. Julian be your guide.”

“You what?”

“Today is October 27th, you will pass through many chambers, when you are ready your wandering will end, but that is up to you sir.”

“I go up there?”

“You are dead, aren’t you?”

Wyman appeared shocked. He muttered something about Keith Richards under his breath. The peasant continued:

“There will be a spirit realm. A place where souls are bartered. You will stay in this realm till you are claimed by one of them. This is the journey for many a penitent thief. Whatever you bring with you, will manifest up there. When they are finished with you, may your soul find salvation.”

“How long will that take exactly?” questioned Wyman with unease.

“Well . . . All Souls Day is November 2nd, but you will experience time differently . . . you need to break the surface good Sir . . . superficial digging does not find the treasure”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Wyman started scratching at his neck in discomfort.

“I’m just a peasant mate!” said Thurkhill with a look ‘ere mate shrug.

Wyman shrugged. The peasant shrugged. Wyman felt a chill. Wyman felt an itch. The peasant disappeared.

October 31st, Eternity

In the rutilant light he a-waited.

October 31st, Eternity

In the rutilant light he a-waited.

October 31st, Eternity

In the rutilant light he a-waited . . . he bumped his head on the way in.

[roundtheworldwithtaytay]

So today we head out of Galway with our sights set on the Great Atlantic Way and the Cliffs of Moher, finishing our day up in Killarney with music, drinks, dancing, singing and an amazing time.

Today MJ takes the wheel and will navigate down the Great Atlantic Way. Basically this is the Pacific Coast Hwy (California) or Great Ocean Road (Australia) of Ireland. It is stunning, but the only difference is that in some areas there is only enough room for a single car so it it is quite common to yield to another car by backing up or pulling over completely.

The scenery of this drive was incredible. What orange and patchwork was to Italy, Ireland does in Greens and Grey (the rock). We drive through the Burren Area, see castles, sheep, cows, horses, donkeys and so on and so on and then what we have been waiting for, The Cliffs of Moher.

The lady at the car park warns us of a yellow wind warning. I have no idea what this means, but the winds are insane. Reminds me a bit of the winds on Bondi beach in Australia which cause the currents that surfers around the world come to surf there. The only thing is that in Ireland and at the Cliffs of Moher those winds can blow you off a cliff to your death if you are not too careful.

The cliffs to me are one of those wonders of the world. They again remind me a bit of Australia and the Great Ocean Road, except that landscape was more orange and green and more jagged, they are on the other hand on the bottom of the world. This was blue skies, green vegetation and harsh cut cliffs. It is easily one of the most beautiful things I’ve seen in my life.

We walked around a bit to the left and then back up to the right by the castle. The waves below are crashing at such of velocity that you can see why these cliffs are eroding at the pace that they are. There is even a section that I believe has been eroded by the wind as it is a wind tunnel that I was nearly blown over in several times.

To try to explain this will not do it justice so I will post the pictures which will also not do it justice. It is quite simply a thing that I think people should be required to see as it is ultimately so beautiful.

We finish up and go down to grab a tea and for me a scone and get back into the car for Killarney, but not before taking a weird route that puts us on a ferry from Shannon to the road that will eventually take us to Killarney.

Safely in Killarney we find a hotel. MJ heads down to meet friends of hers that she has not seen in a long time. I go down for a moment and it is a moment that I will remember for ever. One of MJ’s friends knows the little girl (I believe is cousins of) that played Anne in the movie, “In the Name of the Father,” that is like one of my top 5 movies ever. She regales me in stories of the girl being picked up in a limo to go to set with Daniel Day-Lewis and Gerry Conlon. Incredible. I’ve almost died. Apparently they still live near the Conlon’s. I’m like a couple of degrees from a family that is so inspiring and their story so touching.

MJ finishes up with her friends and we head out for food. We quite literally tucks into one of the only restaurants that is still open as it is getting late. Still they have food and at this point I’m not picky. Then they give me the butter. There is bread but it is literally hard for me not to just take a spoon and start eating this whipped bowl of heaven. I restrain myself.

As this is a seafood restaurant I order some spaghetti as it is one of the only vegetarian items on the menu. Totally fine with this. Guinness goes with everything. Right? Indeed it does. I also switch over to a Smithwick’s just to give it a whirl. Nope. Too pale. I think the cold weather has pushed me into stouts for the time being.

The patrons of the restaurant soon launch into song. The men are circling the tables and all join in while a few other, tourists I assume, just listen and enjoy their meals. We finish and leave to go to the hotel. Well… no.

As we are walking by a pub we hear some more live music. It is a song I recognize and for the first time it isn’t, “Whisky in the Bottle,” by Thin Lizzy, or as they say, “Ten Lizzy.” I start singing along and dancing up the street. MJ and I give each other a knowing look and decide to go in. I order us a couple of beers, Guinness for her and a Killarney Pale Ale for me. Why not keep going with this tour.

We head back to the back room of this pub which apparently used to be a bakery and home of an older couple, according to our new friends from Denver, by way of Arkansas for one of them. :). We discovered this as the band started in on a more Irish version of, “Folsom Prison,” by Johnny Cash. Everyone in this back area is having the best time so MJ and I co-sign for a little longer. I head to get us more beer and end up going to the wrong place. The funny thing about this is that I had to dance through to go to the wrong place and dance my way back out.

Head to the bar to grab MJ another Guinness and myself a Arthur Guinness Hop 13 Lager. I’ve been wanting to try it for a while. Delicious. Still I’m on a stout roll right now so most times realize that my go to will just be a pint, which translated here always means, Guinness. While at the bar I grab a couple shots whisky. MJ’s Guinness has afforded me the ability to run my beer and the shots out to the table while I wait for her beer due to the pour. I run it out. She laughs at the unexpected shots and I head back and grab her beer. We revel more into the night. The party picks up. Everyone is dancing to the music of this Irish band. Some dude starts trying to get me to share my beer with him which prompts a very quick, “go fuck yourself.” I’m myself… even in Ireland. Probably should have said, “go feck yaself,” to be a bit more like the locals, but my way worked. He laughed and continued dancing.

Finally the band ends. We don’t even know what time it is. Thankfully our hotel is like a quarter of a block away. We stumble into the room both randomly slurring our way through words. I take a bath and then all of a sudden the seemingly boisterous amounts of energy I had earlier leaves my body. I snuggle into bed. Today has been an amazing day.