#frazer speakers

[estelle-child]

LA Lately

[maximumwobblerbanditdonut]

I am patient with stupidity but not with those who are proud of it.

Edith Sitwell

I understand that this fan may have missed my previous response, but I'd like to clarify that there have been some surreal moments from SH’s fans and their comments. This moment doesn't change the essence of who they are. This is their way of talking with all emotions flying high, right? Although claims that this word was created by Diana Gabaldon and given to SH to use on his merchandise, this is not the case. The word Sassunach/Sassanach is not a made-up word and it is not the property of any one person. It has been in use for centuries and has roots in Gaelic and Scottish culture.

Sassunach/Sassanach simply means English person. Similarly, Albanach means Scottish person. Alba in Gaelic means Scotland, which was a language that the English referred to in ancient times due to the language they spoke. SH appropriated this word because he is an opportunistic man who will take advantage of what he can find to reach some end.

Lowland Scots and non-Gaelic speakers were also called sassunach. But in the 18th century, the Scots used the word due to their occupation of Scotland for hundreds of years. No matter what you think, no one in Outlander SH or DG has a legally legitimate title to the word Sassenach. Gaelic is not inherent to DG or SH. The Gaelic language and culture are an integral part of the nation's identity, and more than half of Scotland's Gaelic speakers live in the Highlands and Islands, connecting people for centuries SH used it word as a cultural appropriation he ignored the history and struggles of the culture from which he was taken. He is a lowland Scot and he doesn't speak the language. But, Don’t be surprised, after all, everything about him is made up.

Don’t forget, Gabaldon from New Mexico picked 18th century Scotland as a setting for her novel by accident after seeing an old episode of Doctor Who featuring the companion character Jamie Robert McCrimmon, (played by Frazer Hines) fictional character also known as Jamie, who fought in the Battle of Culloden fighting for Bonnie Prince Charles on 16th April 1746.

The earliest known use of the word Sassenach is in the mid-1700s. The earliest evidence for Sassenach is in the writing of Tobias Smollett, a Scottish novelist.

Tobias Smollett wrote in the novel, Humphrey Clinker (1771), ‘The Highlanders have no other name for the people of the Low Country, but Sassenagh or Saxons’. In modern Scotland, however, the Gaelic term has been adopted into general usage as sassenach, denoting something or someone English.

In DG’s original book, there’s the problematic use of the Scots word “Sassenach,” derived from the Gaelic word “Sasannach,” which does not mean “outlander” or “foreigner” — it only means an Englishman. In Gaelic the word is neutral, but in Scots, the word has a pejorative sense which can be offensive to English people. (I’m sorry but you can’t go into the issue without greater detail here, and post about this word with nonsense comments ) You must read about Scottish Gaelic history and culture. The word is only applied to the English, "Sassenach" not refers to any traveller not born in Scotland... in other words, has nothing to do with "outlander."

It is worth noting that Gaelic is not magical and, despite being Scottish, SH did not grow up speaking the language in the Highlands as many Scots do. Instead, he took the word and applied it to his brand, taking advantage of the fact that his fans see themselves as a ‘Sassenach’ (a fictional television character, that's idiotic). This tactic plays on women's emotions and allows SH to benefit quickly without making concessions. It might be a smart move of him, but some may see it as really questionable. Nice way for a 44-year-old man to shine and live supported by adult women 😳

It’s considered inappropriate for a man to rely on the support and attention of adult women. It's concerning to see SH's female customers blindly following buying expensive merchandise for decoration and praising him all year round. These individuals are often referred to as 'useful idiots' who mindlessly parrot comments without questioning or thinking critically.

I believe if someone chooses to take advantage of their fans, it's because their fans enjoy looking ridiculous and don't mind being laughed at. Unfortunately, there's not much that can be done about this. As the saying goes, 'Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.' I find it hard to believe that some of SH's female fans who don't have any Scottish ancestry, no Scottish blood running through their veins would want to pretend to be Scots 🙄

They are female clients who pay for SH’s services at private events, but it doesn't seem to have any positive impact on their lives. His only impact was leaving a scar on his forehead that he'll never forget while increasing his bank statement. These women, and rarely men, buy his expensive products just to flaunt them on social media in hopes of getting attention from the person they idolise. This behaviour is mostly seen in women interested in a middle-aged man. It's worth noting that SH doesn't even know his clients' names or even that they exist.

It sounds like you're not familiar with SH’s books. He hired Charlotte, 👻 a ghostwriter, to write Clanlands books and another ghostwriter to write Waypoints. It doesn't matter if other people have used ghostwriters, we are not arguing about them, this is specifically about SH.

By the way, the spy who dumped me? It was a fun comedy film but Brian Glazer had the idea of ​​working with female roles and decided to choose Mila Kunis and Kate McKinnon, he did not choose SH (who was chosen by Lionsgate/Sony), as a spy who left no one behind, Well, Gillian Anderson and Justin Theroux were more important than him.

SH is not a bartender. He doesn't prepare his own recipes. Instead, he presents cocktails from real bartenders and fails to mention their creators, thereby taking credit for them. In this scenario, you are not offering any thoughtful reflection. If you don't want to be mistaken as an obsessive fan, you shouldn't behave like one. It's tiring to see such behaviour in adult women.

On the other hand, conventional alcohol brands do not need or use awards or medals as a distinctive feature, nor do they even use praise as a reason for being. Perhaps, the messages, brand attributes and market positioning are enough to win over the consumer. Very different from SH alcohol, which relies on women who have no idea how to tell whisky or gin apart to elevate and praise their idol in the marketplace.

So, It seems that you have not studied Scots Gaelic properly and have no idea about the history of Scotland. But if you've started learning Scots Gaelic, you can continue, but you should try harder. If you are a learner, it is always good practice to make this clear.

Never try to use jealousy as an excuse to open up the conversation… BAD IDEA. (Look at what happened to Leia… she kissed her brother!) By the way, no one likes mediocrity and settles for it.

Cheers :)

Posted 11th April 2024

[jmoserbom]

4.3.23 | Blog Post | U.K. New Media Bill and U.S. Streamer Regulation

On March 28th, the U.K. government published their newest draft of the Media Bill which could finally bring U.S. streamers such as Disney+, HBOMax, Netflix, and Amazon Prime under a regulatory framework. The U.K. government ultimately hopes the bill will help “turbocharge the growth potential of our world-leading public service broadcasters” and level the playing field between smaller media players and tech giants. The bill works toward making British programming easy to find and accessible for local viewers as traditional viewership shifts to both online and OTT streaming. Additionally, streamers would now be required to follow U.K. accessibility standards, such as providing subtitles, audio descriptions, and signing to support people with disabilities. 

The bill will put U.S. streamers under the influence of the U.K.’s media regulator Ofcom. Currently, Ofcom monitors both U.K. public and private broadcasters such as the BBC and ITV, and their on-demand services such as iPlayer and ITVX.  The U.K. government claims that the change is necessary due to the fluctuation in viewing habits and increasing technology, with linear viewing dropping 68% in the 16-24-year-old demographic since 2011. 

In a statement regarding the bill, the U.K. Culture Minister Lucy Frazer said that streamers have put “traditional broadcasters under immense pressure” due to their impact on audience fragmentation. 

The bill will result in major streamers being fined up to £250,000 (or $308,000) or restricted in the U.K. entirely if they violate the rules surrounding “harmful materials” that public broadcasters in the region have already been following for decades.  If the bill passes, Ofcom will be given the power to enforce standards upon these companies when deemed appropriate. The original draft of the bill proposed that streamers be taxed £250,000 maximum or 5% of their local revenues depending on which is higher. However, that clause has been removed from the latest draft.  

In addition to video streaming, the bill also addressed “smart speaker” platforms, such as Amazon and Google, in hopes to require them to ensure access to all licensed U.K. radio stations (349).

[unchartedthelostlegacy]

surprise

I know that jealousy’s a perfect waste of time, crooned Dessa from the speakers. 

Truth be told, Nadine didn’t know how she could still hear it from the other room, what with two sentient Premier League jerseys masquerading as her cousins Matthew and David proceeding to destroy the apartment in their new cleats.

“Lekker!” shouted one or the other now, as the ball hurtled out of Nadine’s bedroom and she heard a thud from within. The boys clack-clack-clacked out into the living room as the ball hit the table’s corner. Nadine, on the couch, flicked at it with her paperback, knocking it away.

But left to my devices...

“Tie your shoe, Matthew,” Nadine called, turning a page. David giggled as he caught the ball on his sweat-drizzled forehead, his brother ducking to lace the studded Adidas boot. Not an indoor soccer shoe, let alone an indoor shoe--but the smile on each boy’s face when they ripped into their presents had been enough to convince her to let it slide.

...I’ve spent far too long wasting mine...

The taller, quiet boy on the same couch piped up. “That song is sad, Nadi.”

“When did you learn English?”

Boitumelo smiled at her, secretively. As usual he had stolen someone’s baby, and the child’s bubbling laughter in his arms was another reason Nadine wondered why she could still hear the music.

Some children loved cats or dogs, but Boitumelo’s favorite animal was babies. He wanted to be a pediatrician when he grew up, and everyone whose baby started to cry at the braai would soon find him at their side miraculously calming it. He was the baby whisperer, and instead of needing to be looked after like the others, he had volunteered to help Nadine with the child-avalanche while most of her aunts went to the movies.

“How long has it been?” Nadine put her book on the table, chuckling. “Stand up, let me see how you’ve grown.”

“Nooo,” Boitumelo said, but he did anyway, cradling the baby in his left arm. Nadine held his shoulders, scrutinizing him like a diamond. 

The effect was that Matthew and David paused their natural disaster. They flanked him, standing on tip-toes. A laugh tumbled out of Nadine as she let go. “Not a contest, ja! I see you two every week, ‘course he’ll grow faster!”

The child knocked on his chest lightly with the hand that wasn’t supporting an infant. “It’s because I am Motswana,” he said with a serene smugness.

“Hey!” Matthew punched his shoulder “You can’t even speak Tswana!”

“Don’t hit him,” Nadine said sharply. “You want those cleats locked up in my safe?”

Matthew pouted, and Boitumelo merely secured the baby, indifferent.

David hugged him.

Maybe they should be together more after all, Nadine thought. Maybe I’m a bad influence on these ones.

“C’mere, Matthew. Help me make lunch.”

“Aww, no!”

Nadine gave him a stern look as she walked to the small kitchenette. She could at least keep an eye on the other kids over the counter, and set their plates out on it when they were done. Matthew followed, cleats making sad clack-clacks on the tile. 

He preferred this punishment to losing them, but not by a lot.

“We don’t hit our family,” Nadine murmured as he sorted the rice beside her. She’d set the lamb, the tomatoes, the onions on the counter and began working on them with the knife. “Not even if we’re jealous.”

“I can do that,” Matthew said. He was pointing at the meat.

“Can you do it safely?”

“Nadi! I do it at our house!”

Nadine chuckled. “You might--” and then stopped, frozen, because someone had knocked on the door.

To the boys, this was perfectly ordinary. Knocks happened to doors. But Nadine wasn’t expecting anyone, and her first thought was the Desert .5 in the safe. The next was the fact that the kids were all closer to the door.

“I will answer,” Boitumelo said in Tswana, flashing a smile at Matthew, who wrinkled his nose.

“Boys, I will,” Nadine said, washing her hands at breakneck speed, snatching the hand-towel and moving around the counter. “Boitu, sit down, the baby--

But the boy smiled that same smile at her as he slid open the lock and tugged it open, and English--CNN-newscaster English, for crying out loud--poured from his lips. “Hello, how can I help you?”

Nadine held her breath as she walked quickly, heart pounding, and her hand was just brushing the safe when another voice answered Boitumelo in the same language. With an accent.

A very familiar accent.

“I’m...sorry, I must have the wrong house.”

What...the hell...are you doing here, Frazer?

The sight of the beautiful Indian-Australian and her red sweater and faded skinnies put David and Matthew into a competing orbit. They crowded around the front door behind Boitumelo, David ducking under the baby to look at her. Nadine paced out from beside the door and murmured as she kissed the top of all three heads, “I told you not to talk to strangers, ja?”

“’Stranger’,” Chloe said, eyes narrowing as she shook her head, “Nice to see you too, ‘stranger’.”

“Is she selling us something?” David asked, confused, and Nadine cracked into chortles, causing Chloe to blink in confusion.

“She is your friend, Nadi? You are very pretty, miss. My name is Boitumelo,” said the baby-whisperer, again in English. “This is David and Matthew, and I am looking after Lavi,” he nodded once toward the child in his arms. Boitumelo was proud of his charges. Lavi was looking at Chloe with possibly the widest eyes of all the boys, but it was close.

“Oh nice to meet you! I’m Chloe. Funny of you not to introduce me, Nadine. Stop being grumpy, I know you want a hug.”

Nadine shook her head as she stepped back, and the boys followed her lead, eyes glued to the woman who stepped inside and wrapped their grown-up in an embrace.

“You’re either late,” Nadine muttered, raising her arms to hug Chloe back after a moment, “Or you show up unannounced.”

“I wanted to surprise you.”

“You wanted to be a selfish--”

“Careful, children present,” Chloe said brightly. Nadine shook her head again, releasing her treasure hunting partner a bit reluctantly in spite of herself.

But Matthew and David--English proficiency be damned, they spoke FIFA--grabbed and energetically shook her hand, insisted on showing their moves off, knocked over the basket of garlic freestyling with the ball, somehow got it on top of the fridge. Having curled up on the couch, Chloe gamely tried to fight her laughter. Nadine set a can of Castle lager from the fridge on the table in front of her and went back to the kitchenette.

Where she found Boitumelo finishing sorting the abandoned rice, the baby esconced in the high chair by the counter.

“Nadi, I want to travel with you and meet people too,” he said softly in Tswana.

“Oh, no, I don’t think so. No, you’re staying here and getting good in school.”

“But, when I am older,” he said. “You meet all sorts of people, don’t you? I want to go to America like you did.”

“Yes,” Nadine sighed. “I want you to go there too. But only if you want to, because you can study here too, Boitu.”

God, she hated thinking of Boitumelo’s future already. He was older than the soccer hellions, but no, was he going to be off to university that soon? Where had the time gone?

Lavi whined, and Nadine opened his little hand to give him a slice of tomato to hold. He squished it immediately and brought it up to his face.

“Why did you do that?” Boitumelo was laughing at her.

“Ja, this is how he develops fine motor control,” Nadine said, returning to chopping. “I’ll boil him an egg and chop it up for him too. He needs the omega-3s.”

It didn’t occur to her that they had switched back to English until she saw Chloe had snuck in behind them--the woman did have talent in that regard--and was leaning on the fridge, beerless.

“What a well-behaved child,” Chloe remarked.

“Please forgive her,” Nadine muttered with a groan.

“Oh I--I didn’t mean--Nadine what--for God’s sake, what did I say this time?”

Boitumelo was laughing as he rolled up his charge’s sleeves, and Nadine finished dropping the ingredients into the pot.

Chloe said, defensively, “I just never saw a boy help with cooking like that. Honestly.”

Boitumelo, for once, was speechless. He met Nadine’s eyes as her lip curled; it wasn’t that Chloe meant to offend. She was just...well...Nadine didn’t know all of what Chloe was yet, other than beautiful and impulsive and courageous and deeply lucky to compensate for it all. Blunt. Maybe that was the word. Both the opposite of sharp, and capable of impact, in good and bad ways.

“Nate didn’t even make you dinner?” Nadine flashed her a grin as she patted Boitumelo’s shoulder.

The effect on Chloe was instant, as in, the moment it took Nadine to press a couple of buttons on the rice cooker, Chloe’s whole face had turned red. Her perfect rows of teeth--how she hadn’t lost any when Nadine had given her a fist-shaped parting gift during their big fight in India, only God knew--were visible in a line.

“I’m sorry, Boitumelo,” she said with a swallow. “I didn’t mean that. It looks like I said something...wrong.”

“Oh, it’s all right,” the boy was marveling at her. “It is just normal in our family. Maybe it wasn’t like that in yours.”

Oh.

This was why Nadine couldn’t stay angry at Chloe long. It was less guilt and more that her heart went out to Chloe, as she brushed back past the woman to the sink muttering, “Go on, have a sit and drink.”

“In front of the children,” Chloe said pointedly.

Nadine scoffed “Think you can handle a lager.”

“Let me do something.”

Because Chloe had been an only child, and she had lost her father, and Nadine wasn’t sure if he had helped cook.

[charlottesharlot]

Love’s Easy Tears - Cocteau Twins

(released 13 October 1986)

It is known that Cocteau Twins isn’t a kind of band that writes awesome thought provoking lyrics, but rather to leave you awestruck with their ethereal sweet melodies that create colourful atmosphere around you. If you’re down for it, this EP is for you.

This 8th extended play by the band reminds me a lot of abandoned victorian mansions I usually see in horror movies or read in classic literatures— sometimes think of ethereal stained glass in gothic cathedrals. Everything in this is pure perfection. « Love’s Easy Tears » is so fuzzy and fruitful that it made me feel dizzy and have delusions of melted rainbow ice cream, I’d say that’s an amazing experience. « Orange Appled » has got to be the best track. I don’t know a single gibberish word Elisabeth Frazer has sung nor the meaning of the title, but I wish for this angelic playful, a little embarrassing to play out loud in public, unforgettable track were at least 10 minutes longer.

I suggest you listen to this with the best set of headphones you have, or the best speaker you own. Grasp all the magical details that these people created. And it was made in the 80s!! How enlightening.

4/5

[mariinara]

GET USED TO IT. (Harry Flynn x Reader) FLUFF

A/N: This was super fun to write. One of my favorite characters to write is Harry because he's all clever quips and charming grins, but I enjoyed writing this soft side of the English arsehole. 🥰

Request for: The lovely @missdictatorme . Enjoy it, darling ♡

Prompts: FLUFF (19): "I can't sleep. Can I stay here?"

Warnings: Just really soft Harry 🥺

Word count: 2,919

Not too long ago, you'd somehow gotten tangled up in some warmonger nonsense that you had no business being involved in. You always knew that mingling with the wrong crowd might bring loads of trouble to your door, but – unfortunately – the "wrong crowd" was made up of Chloe Frazer and Harry Flynn. 

Chloe was your closest friend, but no one could be close enough to find out about your immense crush on the flirtatious Englishman– Harry Flynn. 

No one could know. Especially Chloe. You didn't know what on earth was going on between both of them, but by the looks of it, they were most definitely sleeping together. 

Maybe they thought that you didn't know, but you were the observant kind that let things slide just because she thought it was none of her business. But that didn't mean that it didn't irk the living hell out of you. It bothered you to an extreme whenever you caught them sharing a laugh, with his arm draped around her neck, his lips so close to her ear that she'd bite down on her lip to suppress the giggle that threatened to spill out because of how his stubble tickled her skin.

But, you'd sigh and look the other way, as always.

It wasn't like Harry didn't flirt with you. It was always like this with you two. Back and forth, just as clever and just as witty. But it was Harry– he did that with almost every single woman in his life. You were his closest friend as well and he trusted you when he'd open up about his emotions or tell you about something that upset him. His doubts, insecurities, and such. But, for some reason, on this job, he seemed quite distant.

And for some stupid reason, you didn't want to be like any other girl in his life. You wanted to be the girl. His girl. But heartbreakers like him are more suitable to be eye-candy and maybe a one-night-stand, but that was it.

It didn't mean that you weren't head over heels for the British con-man, but you had a pretty good grip and you appreciated the way you've always looked at things with practicality. You thought that you'd definitely be drowning in your tears and self-pity if you'd somehow concocted imaginary expectations for your relationship with him in your head, only to be disappointed by the harsh smack of reality:

Harry Flynn is unattainable. 

That was the only thought that popped up in your mind when you saw him slip into his bedroom in the apartment you, him, and Chloe shared. There were three rooms but Harry would go to Chloe's when he's 'stressed' to relieve some of his 'tension', and your room was always your room. 

You were hired for this job by Zoran since you had an incredible talent when it came to deciphering ancient texts and codes. Because of that, being Lazarevic's favorite came naturally. You were like the star of the class and Zoran trusted you most with almost everything. You'd get exclusive looks at journals, maps, and his plans before anyone else in the team and, thus, it gave the impression to everyone that you were perhaps in a relationship with the war criminal, or at least were under his protection.

No one dared mess with you because of that rumour that you – of course – had no idea about. It was something that one of the men started and it spread around the troops and the research team like wildfire, but it never reached you or Zoran, for that matter.

With a small sigh, you closed the door of your bedroom behind you and plopped down on the bed, resting your head back and bringing the laptop on your lap, starting it to get some work done. 

Just when the windows icon disappeared, you heard your cell phone ringing and, without looking at the ID, you picked up, putting the device on speaker.

"Yes?" You responded, tapping away your password for the home screen to appear.

"Hey, there, love." Came Chloe's voice, making you smile a tad.

"Hi, Clo." You said, clicking on your email inbox icon to check if there was anything new forwarded to you from the research team, "I take it you found the scripts."

"Yeah, but, uh– it'll take a while to get to you."

Your eyes rolled and closed, your hand coming up to pinch the bridge of your nose, "Chloe, I don't have a while." 

"The script is scattered across the city; it'll take time until I find the other pieces–"

"Chloe– if–" You inhaled deeply to calm yourself, "Zoran gave us a week tops and he won't be happy if I don't come up with a solution to the cipher by tomorrow night–"

"It won't take you time– just trust me on this."

"The man is as unpredictable as it is; I can't take the chance and fuck up my position, Frazer. This shit takes time to decode– I'm not a computer, for fuck's sake." You spoke quickly, the irritation apparent in your voice. 

"Alright, alright.. Don't get your panties in a twist; I got it." You heard shuffling on her end, "It'll be there by tomorrow morning, sourpuss."

You sighed heavily, "Thanks." 

"Yep."

You hung up first and discarded the phone on your bed carelessly and refreshed your mail again, just in case, but nothing was sent to you. You shut the laptop and put it on your nightstand and almost sunk under the covers before a knock sounded at your bedroom door. 

Your eyes flickered over there and you blinked twice. The only people in the apartment were you and Harry, since Chloe was out on excavation with the troop and the research team. 

With that realization, you quickly sat up and ran a hand through your hair to make it look a bit more presentable and patted your cheeks and pinched them to make them look more rosy, licked your lips, then cleared your throat,

"Come in." You chirped, trying to dial it down with your excitement. Maybe it was work-related and not at all what your mind tried to make up.

Your door creaked open and there he was, in black pyjama pants and a matching black top that had rolled up sleeves and a V-neck that was deep enough to show a pendant that framed his perfect neck and collar bones. 

"Hey, darling." He started, shutting the door behind him. Your eyes flickered up to look at him with a tight smile, "You uhh.. You have a minute?" He asked as he approached the edge of your bed and you felt compelled to scoot over for him to sit. His nervous tone didn't slip past you and his little neck-rubbing brought an amused little smile to your face.

"Sure." You replied, watching as he sat down next to your legs. He looked down at his hands and you tilted your head at him, "It'd be nice having you talk to me again."

When you said that, he looked up at you with a frown, "I'm the one not talking to you?" He asked, almost sounding offended, which made you frown in confusion.

"Yeah..?" You replied, unsure. Your eyes narrowed at him, "You haven't been the same ever since we started this job."

He gave you a dry chuckle and shook his head, "Have you gone bloody mad?" He asked, incredulous, "You want me to talk to you when you're all snuggled up to Zoran? No, thanks, love, I quite prefer it when my dick is attached to my body."

He sounded frustrated. Beyond belief. And you didn't understand why someone who's sleeping with another woman had any right to be that pent up about..

“Wait--what?!” You almost screeched, sitting up so suddenly that Harry flinched, “Snuggling up to--” You cringed, “Lazarevic?!” 

The British man paused, studying your body language and reaction before frowning deeply, “It’s not true..?”

With a loud, frustrated growl, you slumped back onto the bed, laying down with your hands on your face to slowly rub your exhausted eyes, “You are insufferable..” You muttered, removing your hands from your face, only to cross your arms and stare at the ceiling, “And you didn’t think once to ask me about the matter? You just assumed?” You questioned, incredibly irritated with him.

“Hey, now..” He started, “I never assumed anything; Everyone was talking about how close you two are.” He defended himself, turning his body so his legs were crossed over the bed.

“Okay-- Harry, since when were you a conformer? The Harry I know would've barged into my bedroom, flirted his way in, and confronted me about it.." You argued, but your voice grew softer at your next words, "Besides, you can't expect me to flirt with you or talk to you, either; You're.. with Chloe." You paused a little, "And it's like a.. girl code."

"Wait– Slow down, love." He chuckled, "I'm not with Chloe."

"Cut the crap, Flynn." You hurled a pillow at him, which he caught with ease and placed on his lap, bracing his elbows atop of it, "You're sleeping with her."

"Well, sure, but that doesn't mean we're together, you stupid wanker." He teased you, throwing the pillow back at you, "Now, you could've asked me about that, but you were too busy drowning in your own jealousy."

You sat up again to face him, your brows furrowed, "Jealousy?!" You snorted and rolled your eyes, "Gimme a break, Flynn; I already told you: It's a girl code." You gave him a wry smile, trying your best to conceal the shameful pink color that tainted your cheeks.

His lips curled up into an amused smirk, "She was just a diversion for me, dummy." He replied, his fingers coming up to brush your hair out of your eyes, which made your smile drop and your breath hitch in your throat and, at that very moment, you couldn't stop glancing at his lips and biting on your own, which he took notice of.

"Diversion?" You asked, your voice almost above a whisper since he was inching a bit closer to you, his steamy breaths shattering against your lips and his cologne filling your nose more clearly.

He hummed, "I had a stick so far up my arse because of you and Zoran that I needed a distraction and Chloe did just that." 

You frowned and drew your head away from him, "You used Chloe? To get over me?"

"Relax, Susan B. Anthony; it was a mutual agreement. She knew what was going on with me and offered herself." He shrugged, "I figured why not."

You felt the heat rise to your cheeks at his words, "You like me that much?" You asked, a sweet, warm smile playing onto your lips and it was the most infectious, beautiful sight he's ever seen that it made him smile brightly.

"Don't flatter yourself, love; I'm a certified asshole who says those things to a woman to get her all nice and warm for me, yeah?" 

If you hadn't known him, you would've socked him straight on the jaw for that, but you knew he was a joker and his humor was a tad offensive and albeit often sexist, but you accepted it within reason. It was how it was. The back and forth, playful bickering.

"Right, of course, you asshole." You scrunched your nose playfully and he chuckled at your response before leaning closer again, his lips finally brushing against yours ever so softly. Your eyes fluttered to a close and you softly but firmly pressed your lips against his with a soft sigh and he eagerly shared your passion, his hand cupping the side of your neck so he could tilt his head and deepen it. 

It felt like an eternity, just having your lips dancing against each other in such heated harmony. When you pulled away slowly, the sound of the kiss breaking snapping you out of your trance. You inhaled sharply through your nose and pursed your lips, blinking repeatedly and slowly, as if your eyelids were heavy. 

"That was nice.." He whispered against your lips. You could feel them moving against yours, "Bet you Zoran isn't that good of a kisser." He teased you.

You pulled away to glare at him, "Don't push it." Your voice was stern but you couldn't help the smile on your face.

"Alright, doll." He kissed your cheek and stood up from your bed, "Good talk." He sent you a shit-eating grin when he noticed your frustrated pout, "Sweet dreams, eh? All about me, please." He winked over his shoulder, swinging the door open and strutting out of there in utter confidence and closing it behind him, leaving you there, on your bed. You glared at the closed door, knowing that he was doing this to only tease you.

But, no, you weren't going to roll with his game.

You sat back, resting your back against the headboard and crossing your arms, your leg shaking in nervousness and your eyes glued to the wall in front of you. 

'I should try to sleep..' You thought, reaching for the lamp on your nightstand and flicking it off before sinking under the covers, sighing and staring at the ceiling. You didn't know what it was about the kiss, but every time you recalled the feeling of his lips prying yours open for a deep kiss, a smile creeped onto your face and your fingers went up to touch your lips. 

'God, you're an asshole, Harry Flynn..' You thought, your face turning into a frown of dismay. Mostly at yourself. 

"God dammit." You pushed the cover off of your body and swung your legs over the bed, quickly making your way to your door, your hand reaching for the knob and when you had it in your hand, you turned it and swung the door open and you found your legs carrying you across the hall until you reached his room, "Needy bitch.." You muttered to yourself before knocking on his door and, as if he was just waiting for you, the door opened immediately and he gave you an amused smirk.

"Can I help you with something?" He asked you, his voice low and his tone teasing, his arms crossed over his chest as you pouted up at him.

"I can't sleep." You confessed, as agitated you were about the matter.

"And? Do I look like a bloody pacifier?" He prodded, raising a brow, that infuriatingly charming smirk still on his face.

You groaned, looking down at your feet and closing your eyes to calm yourself. You then met his eyes and huffed, "Can I stay here?" You asked, throwing your hands up in frustration. 

"Hmm, let me check.." He looked over his shoulder, pretending to check if there was anyone there, "There seems to be no vacancy–" He was interrupted when you smacked his arm, which caused him to laugh and rub his aching spot, stepping out of the way for you.

You glared up at him as you walked inside and you heard the door shut softly as you stared at his bed. It looked so much more comfy than yours that you were tempted to just jump on there and drift off. 

"Make yourself comfortable." He told you, watching as you sat on the edge and bounced up and down a little, smiling at how soft the mattress was before you laid down, your head sinking into the pillow like it was a cloud. His scent instantly filled your nostrils once that happened and you inadvertently let out a soft moan and closed your eyes, "Woah, girly. Not that comfortable." He teased, making you snort to hide your embarrassment. You felt the bed dip next to you and you looked over at him as he reached to flick off the lamp before laying down next to you with a sigh, staring at the ceiling. 

You stared at his side profile with big, glimmering eyes as the blue moonlight spilled from his window, outlining and highlighting the peaks of his high cheekbones. Suddenly, he turned his head towards you to look at you, but you didn't turn your head away, allowing yourself to be trapped in his intense gaze that brought a satisfied smile to your lips.

He turned to lay on his side and let his arm drape around your waist, "Hey, you know what..?" He started, his voice low and his eyes never leaving yours.

"What?" You whispered, turning on your side without ripping your gaze from his, scooting closer to him so your foreheads touched.

Harry closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, nodding to himself, "I could get used to this."

You smiled brightly, giggling like a teenage girl. He grinned and pulled you closer against him, hooking one leg around yours, holding you like a prized possession, before he pressed a soft kiss against your lips. It was affectionate and nothing like the one you shared in your bedroom. It was a tender one, speaking on behalf of your untold feelings. It sparked so many warm feelings within both of you that were so overwhelming that you two had to pull away and take a deep breath.

You found yourself smiling and nestling your head against his chest, right under his chin, curling into him and letting him hold you, "Me too, Flynn." You closed your eyes, finally feeling the fatigue roll over you, "Me too.."

_________________

[8thdiamond]

EXHIBITORLIVE 2019 Scrapbook

Earlier I covered the 2019 CTSM Dinner and exhibit trends I observed on the show floor. Here now is my annual “scrapbook” of other aspects of my conference experience, including the journey to Las Vegas.

Neal and I decided to drive to EXHIBITORLIVE 2019, rather than fly. A week before the conference we questioned our decision, as SNOW was on the ground in Las Vegas! It’s not unusual to see snow on the nearby mountains, but having the famous Strip blanketed in white is rare. One attendee said she remembered it snowing at EXHIBITOR more than 20 years ago, but I must have missed that year. (I’ve attended every year since at least 2003.) 

We had a fun road trip. Stops included Baker, California, home of the World’s Tallest Thermometer and Alien Fresh Jerky.  Since our last visit, Alien Fresh  Jerky upgraded its exterior, added a coffee place that looked about ready to open, and has a little UFO theme hotel in the works! This is something I’ll keep in mind for creative meetings or unusual event venues.

Alien Fresh Jerky.

Alien Fresh Jerky had a makeover since our last visit, with a new, improved façade, a coffee place in that back that looked ready to open, and, behind that temporary wooden fence, a UFO-theme hotel under construction.

Luckily by the time we left Southern California the roads were clear. We did see snow all the way up to the pavement in a few places when we neared the California-Nevada border.

The roads were clear, but there was still some snow on the ground as we neared the California-Nevada border.

This year the speaker hotel was The Delano, rather than Mandalay Bay. I had not stayed at The Delano since its THE Hotel days. I’ve always liked the suites. A sitting room and a guest bathroom are perfect for business meetings or just having visitors. 

Cute postcards with puppies welcomed us to our suite at The Delano.

The décor has gone to lots of WHITE to off-white and a few soft neutrals. That took a little getting used to, but the suite was as comfortable as ever, and the plain look worked well for turning the living room into a temporary film studio.

The bedroom. It was quite white.

Our living room at The Delano only looked like this when we first arrived and when we checked out. The rest of the time it functioned as a temporary film studio.

Neal and I took children's books to the book drive for Spread the Word LV, a non-profit that gives books to children and youth who otherwise might not have the joy of book ownership. This is what we brought this year.

Books for the book drive: Go Dog, Go!; Counting on Katherine (two copies); I am Sonia Sotomayor; Animals Helping with Healing; and Little Ladies: Bold Women in Black History.

We were told Go Dog, Go! is one of their most-requested titles. Next year we will bring multiple copies! We were given book marks to inscribe, and I asked Neal to write “Read Dog, Read!” on the bookmark for that classic.

On Monday my first session was a new one, “Optimize Program Performance: How Illumina Prioritizes Shows and Drives Results,” presented by Dave Frazer, Manager of Research and Analytics at GES and Vanessa Schultz, CTSM Gold, Senior Manager, Corporate Marketing, Events Center of Excellence at Illumina. I was glad to hear their thoughts on ranking and scoring shows, and compiling and reporting results.

Immediately after, I attended another new session, “Escape the Tyranny of ROI and Measure What Actually Matters.” My main complaint is the presenter allowed way too much time for questions, and the session ended at least fifteen minutes earlier than it should have. That is not supposed to happen.

Tuesday was my day to present, so I took my final class on Wednesday, “F&B, Hotels, and DMCs: Information to Bring More to Your Bottom Line,” by Kathleen Gunderson, CTSM Diamond, AVP Tradeshows and Events Project Manager, Wells Fargo. This was worthwhile, as a refresher course on Food and Beverage, and a good reminder of how the market changes. Many of us remember how much we could negotiate for when hotels were struggling, but that’s not the case these days. 

The session Bob Milam and I taught on “Effective Exhibiting for Companies with Niche Markets and Long Sales Cycles” sold out! And I was surprised that some of my fellow CTSM Diamonds came to “Ordering Electrical Services,” the very basic 45-minute session I presented with shiny new Diamond Glenda Brungardt. They said they always wanted to be more confident about this, and I was delighted. This is EXACTLY why I created this class! 

Another surprise with the electrical session -- the room was set with different types of custom furniture. Apparently this was done as an experiment for some of the sessions. Most attendees liked sitting in comfy chairs or on couches, but at least one sat towards the back at a high table, because it provided a surface for writing.

As always, I loved being part of this conference. The dates for the next EXHIBITORLIVE will be March 29 through April 2, 2020. I hope to see you there! 

[nadiineross]

note: this was gonna be for day 4 but i didnt get it in time so i guess it sucks to suck

Chloe’s hometown was once again in the strange transitional state between summer and fall where the sun still burned brightly in the day but the night air was just a touch above too cold. At sunset, the entirety of town breathed a sigh of relief like how one would upon entering an air-conditioned room after slaving about under the smothering heat all day. 

What they got was a pleasantly cool evening, fewer bugs, and the sounds of muted chatter. Townspeople took out their plates and chairs, sitting on their porches and yards to enjoy the reprieve. 

The Frazer-Ross household was one of the few who hadn’t taken to the outdoors, though their lovely semi-transparent curtains did present themselves to the town through open windows. 

The sliding door leading to the backyard was left open, living room lights swelling past the glittering curtains onto the grass. 

Inside, Nadine was placing dishes into the table, carefully straightening out the forks and spoons, and folding a napkin delicately to tuck under a plate. Chloe’s phone was plugged into the speakers, the volume turned low so that Nadine could barely make out the words of the song.

“Chloe,” she called and frowned, glancing quickly over her shoulder at the kitchen. 

“Yes, love?” came through the open doorway. 

“Louder, please.” 

Chloe complied. Billy Joel’s crooning drifted through the walls, around corners, and out into the backyard too. Nadine began to hum along to the music, enjoying the peaceful ambience. 

Suddenly, the fairy lights extended over their backyard flickered on. They glowed a soft orange, hung in uneven rows. Those that were in need of a change blinked on and off. Chloe had set it all up herself half a year ago after she had sent Nadine off with an absurdly long grocery list and surprised her with a picnic blanket under it later in the night. 

They were both well past forty, been with each other over a decade, and the way they acted with each other, the sweetness of it, sometimes still surprised even Nadine. It wasn’t to say they’d gone soft because she doubted she’d ever know how to do that. They were just in the habit of making each other smile. 

As if on cue, the music turned up even more and Nadine’s grin widened. 

The table was as neat as it was ever gonna be, so she left it alone, reaching up to undo her hastily scraped updo and pushing the loose curls away from her face. 

Perhaps it was the ambience setting the mood, perhaps this was just the kind of person she’d grown to be—she slipped her eyes closed and began to sing softly. When a warm presence hovered behind her, she broke off, eyes blinking open to see the soft glow of their fairy lights. Behind her, Chloe picked up where she left off. She wound one arm around Nadine’s middle and swept Nadine’s hair off one shoulder so she could slot her chin in. 

The whole thing was terribly cheesy; even alone, Nadine would have been mortified by the thought of doing this if she were ten years younger. 

Slowly, she relaxed into Chloe’s embrace and started again in a hum, eyes closed. Chloe pressed a grin to her neck, a kiss, and sang louder. Neither of them would ever be good enough to go for a professional singing career, but Nadine thought that they sounded pleasant enough for a pair of thieves. At least, not ear-shatteringly terrible. 

Chloe’s body lulled Nadine’s into a sway and led her away from the table in an effort to avoid potential toe-stubbings. Emboldened, Nadine joined in for the last line. 

Chloe exhaled softly. It could’ve been a huffed laugh or a simple expression of happiness, Nadine couldn’t tell. 

The next song, something acoustic, played after the saxophone faded out. They slowed to a stop. Smiling, Nadine turned her head, eyes downcast to watch Chloe push her head against her neck, and brushed the corner of her lips against Chloe’s temple. Contented, Chloe hummed tunelessly against the heat of her skin. 

Before she pulled away, she stooped impossibly closer and gave the meat of Nadine’s neck a playful tug with her teeth. It was jarring, that and the sudden absence of Chloe flush against her. 

Nadine hissed, swivelling around to give her an admonishing glare. 

Chloe simply smiled over her shoulder, halfway to the kitchen door already. Then, although it was said like a flippant line, she said sincerely: “Wait one second please.”

Huffing, she waited. 

Mid-word, the song changed to something she didn’t recognise. It was faster than the other two but not overly so, and the voice was low and smooth. The volume jacked up suddenly and Chloe came skidding out a beat later. 

Nadine couldn’t stop the wide grin at the mere sight of Chloe’s giddiness, dropping the huffy attitude in favour of opening her stance so Chloe could barrel into her. She swung around Nadine’s middle, picking her up into the air for a spin. 

“Come on,” Chloe said, glee making her almost giggly. She would be appalled if Nadine voiced this so she didn’t. “Dance with me.” 

Her enthusiasm was infectious, and Nadine found herself laughing along. Chloe set her down on the other side of the table and drew her by her the hand into their backyard. Their feet were bare against the grass and dirt, and Nadine knew she’d have to shower again just to get the muck out between her toes but she couldn’t find it in herself to mind. Chloe was, after all, beaming like she’d won the lottery or landed a heart-dropping leap, and what else was Nadine to do except indulge her. 

Chloe smoothed her hands over the top of Nadine’s airy blouse and then back up to her shoulders. Without further prompting, Nadine snaked her arms around Chloe’s middle and settled them at the small of her back. 

Washed in orange, they danced and stared at each other and tried not to crack up when their eyes met. 

Nadine felt faintly like a lovestruck teenager enjoying a domestic moment with her high school sweetheart. She wondered then, briefly, what young Chloe would’ve been like and in quick succession, thanked God for blessing her with an adult one. She doubts her former self would enjoy the company of a bratty teenage Chloe, the uppity kid she was, always seeking her father’s approval. 

The song changed again, to something classical this time. Chloe immediately adopted a stern face and, rather dramatically, stepped away to bow. 

“You queued this to do this specifically, didn’t you,” Nadine said as she took Chloe’s hand anyway and let herself be swept into a wide waltz. 

“Absolutely,” she replied, readily. 

“Ridiculous.” 

Chloe laughed and smiled, charmingly. “You bring it out of me.” 

“You too,” Nadine said, softer. 

They bumped into a flower pot, but neither of them was particularly stringent about garden maintenance and Nadine led them off to the other end of their backyard. 

“What else do I bring out of you?” Chloe asked, coyly. 

Before Nadine could reply, Chloe spun her with some flair and yanked her closer. Using the momentum, Chloe backed them up the single step into their home and fell into the couch a short stumble away. Nadine’s laugh dissipated into a short huff as she landed on top of Chloe, propping herself on her elbows so she didn’t crush her wife completely. Chloe watched her, carefully, eyes gleaming in the light, and pushed a palm up to cover Nadine’s cheek. A smile teased at her lips. 

They were quiet for a moment, the sound of violins filling in the calm. 

Finally, Nadine dipped her head down for a languid, tongueless kiss. When she backed up, Chloe followed her for a moment until she relaxed back into the cushion. Nadine hovered only an inch away, eyes crinkled with her grin. 

“Hi.” 

Chloe rubbed a thumb against her cheek. “Hey.” 

“Did you have fun?” she asked, indulging. 

“I did.” Chloe nodded, nose brushing against Nadine’s as she did. “Did you?” 

“Ja,” she said with a laugh. Nadine kissed her again, sighing through her nose when Chloe returned it with enthusiasm. 

The music had returned to their Billy Joel playlist in the time spent making out and whispering silly things to each other. 

Eventually, Nadine let up, hoisting Chloe to her feet by the single arm she’d wound around her back. Chloe lay her hands on Nadine’s collar bones and aimed sloppily for her cheek, getting her jaw instead. She patted Nadine’s cheek before she stepped away with a laugh. 

“God,” Chloe exhaled, “I’m in love with you.” 

Nadine blinked, smiled, then went a bit red. This wasn’t exactly news to her, seeing as they were married and all, but they weren’t the type to be so candid with their affection. Usually, they were a show-don’t-tell kind of couple, and it suited them just fine. 

“Thanks, wife, I’d hope so,” Nadine said, lieu of replying in kind. 

Chloe pouted. “Come on, I’ve been so romantic all night.” 

Huffing a laugh, Nadine steered her to the kitchen and gave a gentle shove. Inside, the dishes Chloe had been preparing were waiting in steaming plates on the counter. A bottle of wine stood uncorked. 

Before Nadine could make for the plates, Chloe shot out to grab her wrist and hauled her closer. 

“Really?” 

“Yes,” Chloe said, deathly serious, and then nestled her head in the crook of Nadine’s neck, sighing into the hollow at the base of her throat. 

Nadine pressed her head into Chloe’s temple and failed spectacularly in suppressing her grin. “I married you, dickhead.” 

Chloe nodded against her. “That, you did.”

A beat later, Nadine brushed her lips against Chloe’s forehead, murmured a quiet “love you,” and untangled herself from their impromptu hug.

They made quick work of setting the table and dug in. 

Out of nowhere, Chloe poked Nadine’s calf with her toe and waited for her to glance up. 

“It’s good.”

“What’s good?” 

“That you love me. That I love you.” 

“Are you on something?” Nadine raised her eyebrows and bounced a fork in her hand. “What’s gotten into you? You alright?”

Chloe scoffed. “Wow. Meet a girl in a war zone and woo her so thoroughly, she goes and forgets all about the rocky start.”

Nadine stared at her for a drawn-out second.

Chloe raised her eyebrows.

She speared some food onto her fork, attempting for nonchalant. “We don’t celebrate this anniversary.” 

“Yes, we do,” Chloe insisted. “We do the decades.” 

“The dec—?” 

Nadine stopped short. Her fork hovered in the air until she slowly put it down. 

Ten whole years, she’d known and grown to love this infuriatingly gorgeous, cunningly intelligent woman. Chloe smiled as she watched realisation dawn on Nadine. She looked ethereal, grinning like she’d won the lottery and outlined by a faint orange glow from their fairy lights.

Nadine was overcome by the urge to hold Chloe again and, never one to shy away from going after what she wanted, she put down her fork and stood. 

Chloe made a sound of protest. “Oi, I made us this and you’d better eat it.” 

“Half of this is microwaved leftovers that I cooked,” Nadine pointed out. 

“Yes, and I microwaved it,” Chloe started, but then stopped when Nadine dragged her chair back and settled into her lap. “Oh.”

“You’re so annoying.” 

“You were always a sweet talker.” 

Nadine forwent a response, pulling Chloe closer by the back of her neck. They stayed together for several long seconds before parting. Her eyes were a stormy grey, her swollen lower lip squeezed between a row of white teeth. 

“Happy anniversary,” Chloe murmured, arching up to lick into Nadine’s mouth.

Breathless and grinning wildly, Nadine cupped Chloe’s neck in both palms to keep her from straying. Not that she had any intention of doing so. 

Against her lips, Nadine returned the sentiment, “Happy anniversary.” 

[rehbar-finance]

Rehbar Meet - 18 Oct

Rehbar Financial Consultant organized a Public Meet on 18th October 2015, at Frazer Town, Bangalore.

The key speaker was Dr. Taha Mateen who spoke on the topic of Social Equity through Islamic Finance. He drew a stark contrast between the inhumane interest-based system backed by the corporatocracy and the humane equity-based system espoused by Islam.

Mudassar Baig, CEO of Rehbar illustrated the business model and presented the track record of Rehbar promoted businesses as well as showcased a couple of deals in the pipeline.

[profrjharvey]

New Post has been published on https://sydneyentclinic.com/richard-harvey/2022/05/28/managing-nasal-obstruction-optimising-long-term-outcomes/

Managing nasal obstruction & optimising long-term outcomes

AIT as an essential surgeon’s tool –

Managing nasal obstruction & optimising long-term outcomes

Speaker: Professor Richard Harvey, Rhinologist UNSW and Macquarie University

  Achieving long-term relief of nasal obstruction is a key goal for allergic rhinitis patients, particularly for those seeking surgical management. However, allergic rhinitis patients are at higher risk of disease relapse post-surgery due to the ongoing impact of their chronic allergic disease.

  Prof. Harvey will explore why ‘disease modifying’ treatment with Allergen Immunotherapy (AIT) should be considered an essential surgeon’s ‘tool’. By targeting the underlying allergy, AIT has potential to provide lasting relief for allergic rhinitis patients. His presentation will cover the key drivers of allergy in Australia, practical aspects of allergy diagnosis and optimal approaches to AIT, informed by the latest evidence and evidence-based guidelines, including recent local studies of AIT in Australia.

    Date:      Tuesday 31 May 2022

Time:      6.30pm

Venue:    Le Montage 38 Frazer Street Lilyfield NSW 2040 Tel: (02) 9555 6099

Parking:  Available at the venue

  RSVP: 

To: Vanessa Dadley

e:    Vanessa.Dadley@stallergenesgreer.com

t:     0421 744 587

[dherzogblog]

Songs/21

Welcome to a third decade for this annual playlist. Thanks to everyone and anyone who has been along on this 20+ year ride. Enjoy the music and check out the bold links along the way.

Broke- Teddy Sims (Feat. Thomas Rhett) The music business eco system has changed so dramatically since my MTV days that I barely recognize it. Bands I've never heard of routinely sell out arenas and theaters coast to coast. Social media and streaming services rather than old school promotion and airplay are the roads to success in 2021. Teddy Swims, started performing covers in his distinctive and soulful style during the pandemic on Youtube and Tik Tok garnering millions of views in the process. It wasn't long before he was recording his own R&B inspired, genre bending material like this. His Georgia roots are well evident on this R&B meets country number that's a little goofy, a tad cheesy, but mostly good fun.

Witchoo- Durand Jones & The Indications Super chill and funky party vibes from this Indiana retro soul outfit who manage to sound both old school and contemporary all at once.

Bad News - Aron Frazer The Indications co-founder, co vocalist and drummer steps out from behind the kit for his solo debut produced by Dan Auerbach (The Black Keys). His smooth falsetto vocals sound like an out take from Marvin Gaye's "Trouble Man" album. Give the drummer some!

Come Over- VanJess Smooth contemporary R&B from these real life sisters following in the footsteps of great female vocal groups like The Supremes, En Vogue, and Destiny's Child, bringing the tradition and sound up to date for a new generation.

Hot Summer- Prince It was great to have a real summer in 2021 and Prince's previously unreleased album "Welcome 2 America" was an added bonus. Recorded 10 years ago, but never released, it finally found its way to his fans. While not in a league with his very best, the whole affair is strong overall and I'll take "good" Prince over no Prince any day. If the quality of his legendary vault recordings are going to be this good, keep it coming.

Wanderer- Judith Hill As a one time Prince protege, the Purple One was certainly a musical godfather. In that case Sly Stone must be a spiritual great godfather, as her sound, look and style owe a great deal to both legends. Fun Fact: Her parents, Japanese mom/keyboard player, African American dad/bass player, met in a funk band, and now back up their daughter on stage! ('blood's thicker than the mud"). A real chip off the old block, Judith plays pretty good guitar and piano and has the kind of vocal chops that made her a one time MJ duet partner and a Voice finalist. Her new album has several stand out tracks. The one I chose, a lockdown lament, begins like a Philly 70's soul number before evolving into a funk vamp that would make both Prince and Sly proud.

Love Don't- Nathaniel Rateliff & The Night Sweats Starting with a classic Motown backbeat, this track jump right out of the speakers before it morphing itself into a Van Morrison style rave up and then climaxing with some Otis Redding like soul shouts. What's not to like about all that? I have seen these guys live several times at various festivals and they never disappoint.

Call Me A Fool- Valerie June (featuring Carla Thomas) The talented Valerie June is an absolute fool for your love as she lays her torchy, soaring vocals on top of a Memphis style soul ballad. This might be my favorite song of the year.

Nightflyer- Allison Russell Despite being almost 40, this Canadian singer songwriter is a relative newcomer to the national scene. Her debut album Outside Child deals mostly with the trauma of the sexual and emotional abuse she suffered growing up. I know that doesn't sound like a great listening experience, but I promise the album is well worth your time. Just check out this track, a soulful and beautifully defiant celebration of survival.

I Can Help-Charley Crockett I can't say enough good things about Charlie Crockett. He's released a prolific amount of music over the past few years. 10 albums since 2015, including 4 in the past 2 years, not to mention some singles and EP's. His effortless mixture of country and soul, originals and covers sound like they come from a different era, and pay homage to the classic recordings of mid 60's Nashville. Somehow he manages to sound both classic and modern at the same time. Here he covers Billy Swann's 1974 country crossover hit. One of my favorite artists of the last few years.

Write A List Of Things To Look Forward To- Courtney Barnett A jangly folk rock paean to the joys of snail mail and embracing optimism in the face of an uncertain world. Reasons to be cheerful 2021.

Stuck In The Morning- The Night Beats The album is titled Outlaw R&B, and while there is some stuff on it that qualifies, this one’s a psychedelic garage rocker.

Only For Tonight- Pearl Charles Admit it, every time you hear the majestic, swirling, disco-fied opening to "Dancing Queen" you want to dance like no one is watching. This cheeky homage to Sweden's sequined superstars was recorded by an LA singer/songwriter barely old enough to remember Mama Mia: The Movie, much less the 70’s. Yet somehow she nails that glitter ball vibe right on the head.

Caramelo- Cimafunk Cuban funk. I don't understand a word of Spanish, but my feet do.

B Side - Khrurangbin & Leon Bridges Thanks to my pal Allie Eberhardt I've recently fallen under the spell of Khruangbin, and while I still can't pronounce the band’s name, their intoxicating global blend of dub, rock, disco, and psychedelia is hard for me to resist. I saw them live this October in LA and found their show almost like a DJ set…seamless, vibey and groove oriented. I've also developed a huge old man crush on band member Laura Lee, who not only plays incredibly funky bass, but possess an inspired fashion sense and style, NEVER performing in the same outfit twice. Released moments before we went to print, this track reunites them with Leon Bridges who joined forces with the band on their Texas Sun EP in 2020. This one, (with a guitar vaguely reminiscent of Talking Heads) is from the follow up Texas Moon scheduled for release in early 2022.

Dreadlocks In Moonlight - Lee Perry (1936-2021) Natty Rebel- URoy (1942-2021) Peanut Butter- Sly and Robbie (Robbie Shakespeare 1953-2021) Reggae music lost four towering figures from its golden era this year, including one just as we went to publish. All of them Jamaican music giants whose influence stretched far beyond the Caribbean island. One was a brilliant, colorful and idiosyncratic producer who had an enormous influence not just on reggae, but popular music in worldwide. One may have inadvertently helped birth rap and hip hop, while another was part of a drum and bass/producing duo that dominated not only reggae but popular music in general for years, and finally, one was 1/3 of a legendary Kingston triumvirate who became reggae superstars and propelling it into the pop music consciousness worldwide. (more on him later)

Lee Perry, (AKA: "The Upsetter", "Pipecock Jaxson" and "Scratch") was a brilliant producer, sonic innovator, and arguably one of the most important architects of recorded music in the last century. His studio innovations around reggae and dub and remixing were nothing short of monumental. His enormous influence is still felt today throughout popular music.

He originally came into view producing the classic early Wailer records prior to the group signing to Island Records. In the mid 70's he had his own distribution deal with the label, releasing a series of albums produced at his Black Ark studio that rank among the best of the genre. His work with the likes Max Romeo, Junior Murvin, and The Congos were nothing short of essential, bringing him international acclaim and collaborations with The Clash and The Beastie Boys. He was also famously batshit crazy, I mean certifiable. His erratic and often bizarre behavior, eccentric habits and beliefs were as legendary as they were head scratching. At the height of his career, he burned down his own Black Ark studio where he birthed some of Jamaica's most enduring recordings. Call him a genuis, call him a mad man, but either way, he's undoubtedly one of music's true originals and giants.

U Roy was a pioneer reggae "toaster" /"DJ”. He started off chatting and rhyming over instrumental and dub tracks with some of Kingston's early 70's sound systems. His style proved so popular he was soon recording and releasing his own albums and singles, creating a new genre that inspired several generations of like minded performers in the process. Later on he recorded a series of albums for Virgin Records that brought him international fame. Meanwhile, in the boogie down Bronx, DJ Kool Herc a Jamaican ex pat and acknowledged godfather of rap/hip hop, was citing U-Roy as his inspiration for putting “rappers" on the mic at his legendary and seminal Bronx block parties. That innovation jump started what would ultimately become the hip hop revolution. Daddy U Roy left an amazing legacy that traveled from Jamaica to the Bronx, and ultimately the world. Wake the town and tell the people!

Robbie Shakespeare was one half of the prolific bass and drum duo Sly & Robbie (AKA "The Riddim Twins"). Starting out in Kingston's studios they played on dozens (if not hundreds) of reggae classics. Later they gained attention backing Peter Tosh on tour opening for The Rolling Stones in 1978. Upon returning to JA they took over the local charts producing some of the top names in reggae on their own Taxi label. They created an instantly identifiable style with Robbie’s thunderous bass lines and the lightning flash of Sly’s syn drum. creating a deep, dubby funk that would define post disco dance music in the new decade. Before long everyone wanted a piece of their sound.

The shout out they received in The Tom Tom Club's brilliant "Genuis Of Love" ("reggae's expanding with Sly & Robbie") spoke to their ever growing influence as the duo emerged as must-have recording session gunslingers. They performed on dozens of albums across the pop music spectrum alongside the likes of Joe Cocker, Mick Jagger, Gwen Guthrie, and even Serge Gainsbourg. They famously recorded with Bob Dylan as part of the super group he put together on his early 80's albums. They were the foundation of the genre busting studio house band The Compass Point All Stars and backed Grace Jones on her breakthrough album trilogy and her groundbreaking, chart topping club smash, "Pull Up To The Bumper". They produced and toured with Black Uhuru guiding them to international stardom and a Grammy. At the dawn of the 80's, the Sly & Robbie sound was inescapable. The Riddim Twins effortlessly segued into the 90's and the digital/dancehall era staying relevant into the millennium working with the Fugees, No Doubt and a new generation of reggae artists. Robbie was named the #17 greatest bassist by Rolling Stone. His playing is right up there with the likes of Motown’s James Jamerson, P-Funk’s Bootsy Collins, and slap bass innovator Larry Graham. His contributions as both a player and producer to reggae, dub, and dance music cannot be underestimated. He is easily the most successful and prolific bass player that Jamaica has ever seen. And that’s saying a lot.

The collective loss of these artists is enormous. They were hit makers, innovators, pioneers, and ultimately legends. They took the sound of Jamaica, made it their own and brought to the world. Jah bless them all.

Bandido Para Ti- Alejandro Escovedo For Record Store Day release, rock veteran Alejandro Escovedo re recorded his 2018 album The Crossing entirely in Spanish ("La Cruzada"). "Bandido Para Ti" is a garage punk, name dropping, foot stomping, farfisa fueled ode to his early days and is plenty fun even if you don't speak espanol. The original version ("Outlaw For You") is worth a listen if only for lyrics like "We love The Stooges and we hate U2" There was another notable Spanish re recording this year: Elvis Costello's 1978 classic "This Year"s Model" was reimagined by producer Sebastian Krys who used the Attraction's original tracks and replaced Elvis's lead vocals with various singers from the world of contemporary latin music. The results are surprisingly fun and inspired. If you are an Elvis fan, you must check out Spanish Model.

Mississippi Phone Booth- John Hiatt (with Jerry Douglas Band) Another rock n roll survivor and veteran roots and blues man returns with a classic slice of songwriting no doubt pulled from the pages his own life and personal struggles. As good a song as he has ever written and on par with his great 80's compositions.

Gutters Of Love- The Quivers If you have been following these lists for awhile you know I love me some jangle pop. This year's model comes from down under with shimmering soft rock vocals that explode into an anthem worthy of a festival crowd.

Cuff Your Jeans- Claud Moody emo-pop. Hazy, dreamlike and instantly memorable.

Nothing Else Matters- My Morning Jacket MMY has a long tradition of performing eclectic covers in their live set. But I honestly had no idea this one (recorded for a tribute album) was a Metallica tune turned inside out.

Sanctuary- Hiss Golden Messenger

North Carolina's Hiss Golden Messenger seeks shelter from the storm on a gorgeous indie-folk track.

Pass It On- The Wailers (Bunny Wailer 1947-2021)

Bunny Wailer, along with Bob Marley and Peter Tosh formed Jamaica's first super group the legendary Wailers. Allong with the cult film "The Harder They Come" they helped established reggae music as a major musical force the world over. They started as teenagers harmonizing in the Kingston ghetto, moving form ska to rock steady, finally finding real success in the roots reggae era. Even as a trio they started to develop distinct personalities and focus. Bob was the revolutionary hero, Peter the militant rebel. Bunny was the spiritual one, the mystic rasta, the man in the hills. In the mid 70's as Marley emerged as the leader and star, Bunny and Peter decided to embark on solo careers. Bunny's debut album, the rasta centric "Blackheart Man" is widely considered a roots era classic, but his reluctance to tour the states (too cold/not enough "ital" food available) and the overtly spiritual lyrics may have hurt his commercial fortunes abroad.

After Marley's death in 1981 the reggae's roots era began to wane and Bunny turned his attention to the dancehall scene emerging from the Jamaica's sound systems and the Kingston studios. Long time fans found this evolution somewhat head scratching as that type of reggae was not considered particularly conscious. But Bunny managed to fuse his rasta message with the popular dancehall rhythms and found surprising success. Sadly none of those recordings are currently available to stream.

Pass It On, written and performed by Bunny comes from the Wailers 1973 debut album for Island Records. I used the song as the closing theme on my college reggae radio show back in the late 70's. I suppose I was drawn to reggae for it’s conscious message oriented lyrics. exotic rhythms, bass heavy groove, and and of course....the weed. But this song resonated with me in a different way. It sounded like something you'd hear in a house of worship. Hymn like, with righteous lyrIcs and a simple, universal message. I’ve been compelled to "pass it on" from the moment I first heard it. Be not selfish in your doings Pass it on Help your brothers in their needs Pass it on Live for yourself, you will live in vain Live for others, you will live again In the kingdom of Jah Man shall reign Pass it on

If you made it this far...you are a G*d damned hero. Thank you. The Herzogs are are all happy and healthy here in Los Angeles. We hope you are as well. Have a great holiday season and I look forward to seeing you in the new year. Pass it on, dh songs/21

[betareaderwanted]

Let’s help i-am-mindwalking!

i-am-mindwalking 

1

Fandom: House MD 

Ship: Lisa Cuddy/Remy Hadley (Thirteen) 

Rating: might go up to M 

Warnings: mention of characters death (not the main pairing), mention of terminal illness 

Type of beta reading: non native English speaker seeking plot guidance, characterization, word choice, and sentence structure 

How to contact: email Mindwalker678@gmail.com or @i-am-mindwalking  

Status: in progress, not posted 

Additional information: would prefer to work with google docs 

2

Fandom: Uncharted: The Lost Legacy 

Ship: Chloe Frazer/Nadine Ross 

Rating: M 

Warnings: a tiny bit of violence 

Type of beta reading: non native English speaker seeking plot guidance, characterization, word choice, and sentence structure 

How to contact: email Mindwalker678@gmail.com or @i-am-mindwalking 

Status: complete, not posted 

Additional information: would prefer to work with google docs 

[thequeensbastardenglish]

Ballast

Rating: M

Pairing: Chloe/Nadine

Chapter 1 of ???

Read on A03 http://archiveofourown.org/works/13692501/chapters/31449513

“Best driver in the business my arse.”

 Chloe didn’t dignify that with a response. She couldn’t. Not with her jaw clenched shut, her teeth grinding with the strain as she helped push the damned rental jeep. She held the steering wheel with one sweat-slicked hand, trying to make sure that the useless thing went where they wanted it to.

 Nadine pushed from behind. Every so often she swore, grunting out the words as she strained. It was a nice mental image, Nadine looking all sweaty; her muscles flexing and bulging as she almost single-handedly manoeuvred the jeep through the Moroccan scrub. It was enough of a thought to get a girl all hot and bothered. If she was lucky and she played her cards right then maybe Nadine would let her massage those muscles, give them the rub down they’d need after such a strenuous work out.

 That wasn’t going to happen. Luck for Chloe was in short supply these days.

 She raised her head. There was a ledge with a tree overhanging it. Perfect for what they needed.

 “Here,” she wheezed. She pulled on the steering wheel and directed the jeep beneath the hanging branches of the tree. She squinted, it was too dark to make out what kind of tree it was. Not that it mattered; she just needed it to provide some measure of cover. She leaned over the car seat and pulled on the handbrake.

 “Right. Whew. More of a workout than I’m used to.” Chloe was out of breath; her lungs heaving, from the chase, the fight, and then from pushing the stupid jeep for near two mile. Her arms and back ached in a way that she knew she would be feeling in the morning. “Bit more weight based, ya know, not my usual cardio.”

 Nadine walked round from behind the jeep, frowning, taking in their surroundings. She had her FAL rifle at the ready. “We need to turn the jeep around.”

 Of course they did.

 “Right. Let’s get that done.”

It took them nearly twenty minutes just to turn the stupid thing around. Once they were done Chloe had to fight the urge to just collapse against the jeep.

 “I don’t like this,” Nadine said. She looked around, as though she had night vision and could actually see anyone approaching.

 “For goodness sake.”

 “We’re too exposed,” Nadine continued.

 Chloe leaned on the bonnet. “This is the best we’re going to find tonight. Unless you want to go stumbling around in the dark.”

 Nadine had her back to her but Chloe knew she was scowling.

 They couldn’t risk a light; it would give away their position. They had expected competition, someone else looking for the treasure they were after, but for some reason they hadn’t expected guns. In retrospect that was fairly naive of them - completely fucking stupid actually - since they had brought guns with them and when had any of their adventures not wound up with someone trying to blow them up?

 “Do an inventory. We need to make sure we still have our supplies.”

 “Where do you think they could possibly have gone to?” But Chloe did as she was told, muttering complaints under her breath as she climbed in the back of the jeep. She opened the case with their supplies in. The only source of light came from the Waning moon and the stars but she could make out their supplies: food, water, spare ammunition. “Oh look, every thing’s still where we left it. What a surprise. Colour me shocked that the rations didn’t get up and walk away.” She grabbed a canteen of water, dropped the lid on the case and locked it again. She stood and took a swig of water; it was blissfully cool on her parched throat. She stood on the jeep and looked down at Nadine who was still in full soldier mode, scouring the terrain with a critical eye, engaging her eagle vision. “It’s okay. All passengers are still in their seats,” Chloe announced. She handed the canteen down to Nadine.

 Nadine took it. “We can’t be too careful. They could still be close.”

 Chloe watched as Nadine took a long drink form the canteen, handing back up to Chloe, her scrutinising scowl not letting up for a second.

 “Didn’t your mum tell you that if the wind changes your face will be stuck like that?”

 Nadine’s scowl only intensified. “No. My mother told me useful things. Like: check your supplies and be aware of your surroundings.”

 “Of course she did. Mum of the year I’m sure.” Chloe hopped down from the jeep and stood next to Nadine. “Sure she also told you that rest is important.”

 “I’m taking first watch.”

 Chloe huffed out a breath. Nadine was being more stubborn than usual. “Look, I get that this new project hasn’t had the best of starts.”

 “Understatement.”

 “But us fighting won’t help matters.”

 “Are we fighting?” Nadine turned to her. “I thought we were just having a conversation. Planning our night and then what we will do in the morning.”

 Chloe chewed on her lip. “It feels like we’re… Look! You’re clearly in a mood.”

 “And what kind of mood am I in, Frazer?”

 “It’s not often that I’m the adult in this situation.”

 “You're not being the adult now,” Nadine scoffed. “Needling me? An adult would just get on with the task at hand. An adult would know to check the supplies and our weapons. An adult wouldn’t have dropped her phone in the river and an adult wouldn’t have driven the jeep off a fucking cliff.”

 “So this is my fault?” Chloe pointed at herself, incredulous. Unbelievable. “If it wasn’t for me driving down that steep slope – not a cliff- -  we’d both be dead. Or are you forgetting the APC they had? We had to go over terrain it couldn’t follow. Maybe you should have been doing your job and taking care of all the guys with guns!”

 “Hard to do that with your erratic driving.”

 “Your just here for muscle, mate, and don’t forget that. You can’t shoot straight then what use are you?”

 Nadine stared at her.

 Chloe turned away and stalked off, kicking petulantly at the dry scrub below. She stopped, hands to her hips and looked up at the night sky. She exhaled. Slowly she turned and walked back towards Nadine. She usually wasn’t the grownup between them, but she could be when she needed to be.

 “I didn’t mean that,” she said, sidling up next to Nadine. “You're not just hired muscle.”

 “I know.”

 “I’m trying to apologise here, you want to make it easy for me?”

 “Why would I do that, Frazer?”

 Chloe winced. “Oof, that bad, huh?”

 Nadine was like a statue, unmoving with her anger. She gazed out towards the horizon. Finally she pulled in a deep breath and then expelled it. “No, not that bad. I’m sorry.”

 “So we’re both sorry?”

 “Ja. We’re both sorry.”

 She didn’t sound very sorry but this was the best they were going to do tonight. Hard to believe that less than two weeks ago they had been all smiles and jokes, and everything had been fine. “Okay. You take first watch. Wake me after a couple of hours and I’ll take over.”

 Nadine checked her watch. “Sunrise is at Three-forty-seven. You take three hours sleep and I’ll have two.”

 “Or we could both have two and a half.”

 “No. You’re driving so you need more sleep.”

 Chloe held up her hands in surrender. She climbed up into the back of the jeep and pulled out the lone sleeping bag they had packed. She removed her gun and set it down within easy reach. Next she removed her bra, pulling it out from beneath her t-shirt. She never could sleep while wearing the damned thing. “You will remember to wake me, right? Don’t go doing anything stupid like staying up all night.”

 “Ja. Can you fix it?” Nadine gave the jeep a kick.

 “The flat’s a piece of piss. The rest of it?” Chloe shrugged. “Won’t know till I see it.” And she’d need light for that. She shuffled down into the sleeping bag and tucked an arm beneath her head. She stared up at the night sky. She could see the Milky Way. The lack of light pollution had always been one of her favourite things about being so far from civilisation. Funny to think of all the people who would live their entire lives without seeing the stars. “We should go to Iceland after this.”

 Nadine climbed up onto the jeep’s bonnet; she sat on it with her beck resting against the windscreen. “Frazer, go to sleep.”

 “Roger that, china!”

 /\/\/\

 Two weeks ago…

  London was cold and miserable and grey. It was late November and Nadine was feeling every single gust of wind and every slice of sleet against her skin like she was being flayed. She was wrapped up like she was going on a polar expedition, gloves, hat and a thick scarf wrapped around her face. Chloe and Charlie were just in their leather jackets, hoodies worn beneath and their usual jeans. Charlie had a hat on, his bald head more susceptible to the elements than Chloe’s with her gorgeous thick hair.

 Nadine stuffed her hands in her coats pockets and hunched up her shoulders. She liked London but she hated England’s weather.

 They turned a corner and headed down the street to the pub. The World’s End pub in Camden sat on the corner of the street and was lit up like a Christmas tree. Sam was waiting for them outside, puffing away on a cigarette. He wasn’t wearing a coat and was shivering in the sleet.

 “What took you guys so long,” He whined, taking another long pull on his cigarette. His shoulders were hunched up and there was a shake to his bare hand. He was enjoying the weather about as much as Nadine was.

 “Had to do me hair, mate,” Charlie said. He held open the door. “After you, ladies.”

 Sam scuttled in before either Chloe and Nadine could, flicking the end of his still lit cigarette over their heads.

 “Sam!” Chloe gave him a shove as she went inside. Nadine just rolled her eyes. He was such a child.

 Inside it was warm and loud. Music hummed low through the speakers and the chatter of other patrons buzzed over the top of that. Nadine eyed the groups in here. Mostly students. No one looked in anyways threatening. But then they wouldn’t. It was unlikely they would be attacked here, but it wasn’t completely out of the question when meeting up with Sam.

 Nadine pulled her scarf down her face and drew in the first warm breath for what felt like hours.

 “I’ll get us a round in.” Charlie pushed his way through the crowd towards the bar. The change in temperature from outside to in the pub made her shivering worse. She pulled her hat off and stuffed it in her coat pocket, shaking her head to loosen her curls.

 “I got us a table,” Sam said. He led them away from the bar to the booths. All but one was occupied, squashed full, people practically sitting on top of each other. Sam led them to the lone empty one that had what Nadine assumed was his coat chucked across one of the seats. A tall skinny kid wearing glasses stood by the table playing with his phone.

 “Hey, thanks for watching the table for me, Ravi.”

 The kid looked up. “No problem, Mr Drake.”

 Sam pulled a tenner from his pocket and handed it to Ravi, who took it. “Thought we said twenty?”

 “We did?” Sam patted his pockets. “Out of luck, kid. I only have the ten.”

 Ravi pushed himself up to his full height. It was impressive, but he was such a beanpole there was no weight behind his threat. “We said twenty.”

 “Twenty quid just for watching a table?” Chloe laughed. “Still shit at negotiating then, Sam.” Chloe turned to Ravi and flashed her pearly whites, eyelashes fluttering. “Ravi, is it? I can call you Ravi, can’t I?”

 “You gonna pay me the other ten?” He cocked his head to the side, pressed his shoulders back and thrust his chest out. Nadine rolled her eyes.

 “Not a chance. Twenty quid just for standing around and looking at your phone? You do that for free every day.” Chloe slid up closer to him. “What I am going to do is educate you. See my friend here.” She nodded back at Nadine. “Well she’s had a long day and she would very much appreciate your accepting the very kind, and frankly completely unearned, ten pound you’ve already received and moving out of the way so she can sit down.”

 He looked over Chloe at Nadine, who must have looked less than threatening in her jacket and her hat, with her runny nose and her chapped lips. She looked like a wet half frozen mess.

 “He said twenty -”

 “She means I’m going to punch your fucking teeth in if you don’t move,” Nadine cut in. She might not have looked threatening at this precise moment but the tone of her voice certainly sounded it.  Ravi wilted.

 “No need to get violent,” he mumbled and shuffled off. “Cheapskates.”

 “That wasn’t very subtle.” Chloe turned to Nadine, smiling.

 “I’m too cold for subtle.” Nadine pulled off her wet coat and hung it over the edge of the booth, before sliding in. Chloe slid in after her. Chloe always sat at the edge of booths, seats, tables, never letting herself be trapped in by bodies. She never said it but Nadine knew it was in case she needed to make a hasty exit.

 “Well, that takes care of that.” Sam cupped his hands over his mouth. “Thanks Ravi!” He bellowed over the din. “Kids these days. Yeesh.” He sat down in the booth, bouncing with excitement. He had messaged them all saying he was onto something big. Something so big he needed a team.

 Nadine had been hoping for more time off after her and Chloe’s last outing. More time to recuperate, to tend to old wounds, and for her to put time in at the gym. Her workout routine had taken a serious hit since she’d embarked on this treasure hunting career and she was really starting to feel it.

 Charlie pushed his way through the crowd with four pints skilfully held in hand. He set them down on the table and shuffled into the booth next to Sam. He pulled his hat off and rubbed his hand along his head.

 “If that’s a Foster’s then I’m going to be angry,” Chloe said pulling one of the pints towards her.

 “Don’t worry, it’s not Foster’s,” Charlie replied. He picked his pint up. “Cheers!” And drank half of it in two gulps.

 Nadine pulled her pint towards her and eyed it suspiciously. It was lager, she could tell that much by looking at it. “What’s this about?” She looked up at Sam.

 Sam grinned. He ran his fingers through his hair, flicking bits of water away. “Have you guys ever heard of Count Frederick Cseszneky?”

 “Descendant of the Habsburgs, or so he claims,” Charlie said. “Mental case. Not actually a count.”

 “Has one of the largest collections of antiquities in Europe,” Chloe added.

 Nadine had never heard of him. Going by the gleam in Chloe’s eyes he was worth a hell of a lot of money.

 “That’s him!” Sam snapped his fingers. “Well he’s been cooking up something special. Word is he’s after a suit of armour that belonged to a British colonel from the English civil war. He’s got parts of it already but he’s missing the full set.”

 “He wants someone to track them down?”

 “Bingo!”

 “They were still wearing suits of armour in the seventeenth century?” Nadine asked. She sipped her lager and grimaced. Would it have been too much for Charlie to ask her what she wanted to drink? She hated lager.

 “Not like a full knight’s suit,” Charlie said. “But depending on what regiment he was in he might have had more than just a helmet and breast place.”

 “Why does the Count want this suit of armour?” Chloe asked.

 “And how much is he paying?” Nadine added.

 “Right.” Chloe nodded at Nadine.

 Sam picked up his drink and looked twitchy.

 “Sam.” Chloe leaned over the table. “How much?”

 “Weeeeell.” Sam rubbed the back of his head. “He’s been vague, but potentially the lack of a solid offer is the best part.”

 “No money, no job. We don’t offer a free service, mate.” Chloe leaned back in her seat. She nudged her knee against Nadine’s. “Say we get out of here, china.”

 “Sounds good to me.”

 “Wait! Waitwaitwait!” Sam practically lunged across the table. “Just wait. And listen to the rest of it. Promise it’s worth it.”

 Chloe rolled her eyes and settled back down. She waved for Sam to continue.

 “Anyone else want another?” Charlie asked. He waggled his empty glass at them.

 “You can have mine.” Nadine pushed her barely touched pint towards him.

 “Cheers, luv.” Charlie downed half this pint as well. “What I want to know is why Count Dracula is interested in some random arse soldier from the civil war. Jack Ketch’s block, yeah, alright; Cromwell’s knickers? Sure! Nell Gwyn’s mummified tit? Makes perfect sense.”

 “Nell Gwyn was after the civil war,” Chloe said.

 Nadine frowned. “Who was Nell Gwyn?”

 “Charles the Second’s mistress. You know that ridiculous painting I have that you hate?”

 “The one with the woman making sausages?”

 “With her boobs out - yeah.” Chloe grinned. “Well that is Nell Gwyn.”

 “I don’t even want to know why you have that,” Sam muttered. He cleared his throat. “Who cares why the count wants this armour. The important thing is he’s offered a great reward to whoever can find him the whole set. Sort of.”

 “He and I might have very different ideas of what “great reward” means,” Chloe said.

 “You're really not selling this,” Charlie said. He downed the rest of his pint. “Now I’m definitely going to the bar.”

 “It’s going to be a pretty big job so I need a team for this,” Sam said. “I know it’s going to be a big job and I know the rewards going to reflect that because Cseszneky has just thrown this job out to all treasure hunters.”

 “Huh.” Chloe cocked her head to the side, her eyes narrowing. “He didn’t approach you with this?”

 Sam shook his head. “Anyone and going by what Sully passed on to me everyone is going for this.”

 “Chloe?” Nadine turned to her partner. Chloe looked thoughtful and… troubled. “What is it?”

 “You're not shitting me Sam? Because I swear to god of you are.” She left the threat hanging.

 “I’m not shitting you.” Sam held his hands up in surrender. He drew lines across his chest with his finger. “Cross my heart. I even doubled checked this with Nate, and even he’s heard about it.”

 Chloe exhaled heavily. “Right. Tell me more about this soldier.”

 Sam’s expression lit up, his grin stretching across his face. “We only know a little bit about him. His name was -" Sam preened. “Samuel Elliston. And you know with a name like that he was good stuff.”

 “Uh-huh.”

 “Aaaand - he was a royalist.” Sam did jazz hands. “Ta-da!”

 “That’s it?” Nadine demanded. “That’s all you’ve got.”

 “Right. Well. Let me confer with my partner.” Chloe turned to Nadine. “What do you think?”

 “That this is a fool’s errand.” Nadine didn’t bother to keep her voice low.

 “Agreed. British history isn’t exactly my area of expertise.”

 “Explains Cutter. Question is.” Nadine side-eyed Sam. “Why does Drake want us as part of this team?”

 Sam was pretending to inspect his packet of cigarettes. He tipped them from side to side, peering into the package as though it held mysteries just waiting to be discovered.

 Chloe sighed. “It might be worth putting out a few enquiries. See if this is legit.”

 “He’s not telling us everything,” Nadine hissed. Something was wrong with this; she could feel it in her gut. It would be a bad idea to take this job. She had learned over the years to trust her gut, even the most meticulous planning would only take you so far, only a fool wouldn’t learn to trust their instincts. Her own had got her out of more than one bad situation. But Chloe had that look in her eye, that little spark of interest that told Nadine that Sam had stoked her curiosity. Chloe’s instincts could be just fine, but they were more reactive, and she was only thinking about the payout and the adventure, and thinking nothing of the danger or the why. What was Sam keeping from them?

 “Hey. We’re not agreeing to anything just yet,” Chloe said. She squeezed Nadine’s knee beneath the table and grinned, all cocksure and bright-eyed, and Nadine almost hated the way her stomach fluttered. She knew that if Chloe agreed to this she would go along too.

 Charlie reappeared with a new pint in hand. He sat down, thumping his pint on the table. “What I miss?”

 “They’re in!” Sam yelled triumphantly, two fists in the air.

 “Oh. Good.” Charlie swigged his pint. “We should probably get to work then.”

 Nadine’s stomach sunk. This was going to be a very bad idea.

  Charlie finished his pint and they all headed back out into the rain. Sam immediately lit up as soon as they were outside. Nadine fought to get her hair back under her hat, muttering to herself about British weather. She stumbled up the street, Sam, smug as all hell, at her side. He had a lit cigarette dangling from between his lips and was practically skipping. She was so focused on her own annoyance that it took her a moment to realise Chloe wasn’t with her. She stopped and turned. Chloe was still outside the pub, standing beneath the lights and talking to Charlie. Nadine nearly stumbled. She knew about them, about their past. Whatever residual flutters she might have felt from Chloe’s earlier grin were now smothered. They stood that bit too close, both smiling as they chatted away.

 Nadine spun round and stuffed her hands in her pockets, stalking off. Chloe’s past entanglements were none of her business. She’d never let any of the other ones that she’d run into bother her and she certainly wasn’t going to start by letting Charlie <em>fokken</em> Cutter get to her.

 “Oi! No hanky-panky you two!” Sam bellowed at them, and then tittered like a school girl. “He just gave me the finger.”

 “Not surprised.” Nadine hunched up her shoulders.

 She heard hurried footsteps behind her and then Chloe was there, gently bumping into her. “What’s the rush?”

 “It’s cold.”

 “Can’t argue with that. So let’s get home, get warm and tomorrow we can get started on some work.” She turned to Sam. “Where are you going?”

 “I’m staying with you,” he answered.

 Chloe turned to Nadine. “Apparently he’s staying with us.”

 “He can sleep in the hallway. Find out who keeps stealing the doormat.”

 “He can replace the doormat.”

 “I’m hurt.” Sam held his fingers against his chest. “Real friends would let me sleep on the couch.”

 “Well I suppose we can let you have the couch.” Chloe sounded put upon.

 “You’re too kind.” Sam shuffled on ahead of them.

 Nadine sighed.

 “Penny for your thoughts.” Chloe nudged Nadine with her elbow.

 “Are you sure you want to take on this job? Like you said, British history is not your area of expertise.”

 “I haven’t agreed yet.” Chloe flashed a smile. “All we’re doing is a little bit of research. Y’know, look into the specifics of the job to see if it’s worth our while. If it’s not then we’ll leave Sam and Charlie to it.”

 “You promise?”

 “Course I do, love.” Chloe winked at her. “Cross my heart and all the rest.”

 /\/\/\

 Now…

  It was the third ting of metal that woke Chloe. She rolled over and hit her face off of one of the storage boxes. Gunshots rattled in the distance as Chloe struggle out of the sleeping bag.

 “Frazer, get down!” Nadine yelled.

 Chloe threw herself over the side of the jeep and landed hard on the ground. The bridge of her nose was throbbing where she’d smacked it off the box. Nadine yanked her back against the jeep. Another succession of tings and bangs rattled off the jeep. They were under fire.

 “Shit!” Chloe gasped. She’d left her gun in the jeep. “What happened?”

 “Jalowicz’s men found us.” Nadine moved round Chloe, waited for a break in the gun fire, then popped up and fired off a quick burst, dropping back down under cover. Return fire pinged off the bonnet of the jeep.

 “We need to move.”

 “No shit.”

 Chloe shuffled along the length of the jeep. She peered round the back, squinting into the dark. A flash of light, the ripping sound of bullets flying past her, and dirt flying into the air. She whipped back around the jeep. “Not good. Not good at all.” There was no cover other than the jeep. They were fucked. Nadine returned fire. Chloe risked another peek. It was too dark to see, the only thing that gave away the position of their attackers was the flash of gun fire.

 “Okay,” she whispered. “Okay, I’ve got an idea. You’re not going to like it.”

 “What’s new there?” Nadine yelled back. “I’m nearly out.”

 Chloe got up on her hunches and risked reaching over the jeep into its back.

 “What are you doing, Frazer!”

 Chloe grabbed the spare tank of petrol and her gun and dropped back down. She hopped back up and quickly snatched up her bra. “I’m going to need this later.” She stuffed it in her pocket while Nadine gave her an incredulous look. “You trust me, right?”

 Nadine just stared.

 “I’m going to do something a bit crazy.” Chloe held up the tank and grinned.

She’d always quite liked fireworks.

[generalkenobi22]

Fic: Bad Girls Do It Well (Uncharted) - 10,000 words

SUMMARY: Chloe has never considered herself a particularly sentimental person (perish the thought!), but certain memories, certain snapshots in time have an inconvenient way of sticking with a person. After all, only two things have remained constant in her life, amidst the chaos, the adventure, and the danger: music and photography. And...perhaps adopted family along the way? Nope, no, absolutely not. Her sentimentality must have *some* limits, surely

So after actual MONTHS, I’m thrilled to have finally finished this! Awhile ago, Sony put out playlists on Spotify for the characters of Uncharted: the Lost Legacy (they were awesome!). Chloe's was particularly inspiring, and after finishing the game, I found myself really attached to the idea that using a camera to document her adventures was something she's done since the beginning. Please enjoy Bad Girls Do It Well (title from M.I.A.’s “Bad Girls”)!

Can also be found on AO3 - Fanfiction

Oklahoma, 2002 - Nate

I said to the man, “Are you trying to tempt me Because I come from the land of plenty?” And he said, “Do you come from a land down under?”

—Men at Work “Down Under”

“Would you put that away, and give me a hand?” Nate grits out, clearly not amused by this as much as she is.

“And miss out on this view?” Chloe bites her lower lip as she watches his boxerbrief-clad backside through the lens of her camera. He audibly groans at the sound of the lens shutter, and she’s powerless against her smirk turning into a full on grin. “Unlikely.”

She imagines he would throw her an exasperated look right about now, but as it is, he’s crouched on top of a radiator, toes gripping around the edges, while his unclothed torso—along with the rest of his upper body—is dangling outside the window of their fourth story hotel room.

She watches as he contorts himself unnaturally in an attempt to retrieve one of his Para 9’s that was accidently thrown onto the fire escape during what Chloe is referring to as a particularly enthusiastic bit of foreplay. Not wanting to further encourage the suspicions of the front desk manager with patron complaints of an unregistered firearm, Nate lunged after the gun almost immediately, nary a second thought to his own livelihood.

Initially, she had protested, but after watching him writhe about, his muscles extending and contracting every time he moved, she had to admit it was far more entertaining than whatever she could pull up on the telly.

She lets him struggle a moment more before snapping a particularly gratifying shot and adds, “If you consider me your moral support—and you very well should—then I am absolutely lending a hand.”

He ignores her, focusing all of his attention on retrieving the blasted weapon, fingers splayed in the hopes of extending just a few more centimeters. “Almost…got it.”

He flashes her a huge grin once he’s back inside, twirling the Para 9 in his right hand like he’s Steve McQueen, rather than the bloke who was just hanging out of the window in his underpants. It would be absolutely embarrassing if it weren’t so endearing.

“Are you impressed, or what?” he wants to know.

Chloe considers commemorating the moment on film, but suddenly, she really likes the idea of keeping it to herself. Something she can chide herself for being overly sentimental about later. She sets the camera on the table next to her armchair, careful not to knock over the radio, which is providing ambience in the form of 104.5’s eighties at eleven.

(“Is this your guys’ national anthem?” Nate had asked last night once they had collapsed onto the bed. “Down Under” was playing then, too.

“Mmm, yes,” Chloe hums with laughter, her hand tracing aimlessly on his stomach, her head resting comfortably on his chest. “We praise the Queen and country and the musical genius of Colin Hay.”)

In response to Nate, she makes a show of fanning herself dramatically. “Whew! You certainly had me—and the residents of Tulsa who bared witness to your little show—hot and bothered.”

Much to her delight, he rolls his eyes before turning his attention to the desk next to the radiator, the same one he had just vacated. His shoulder holsters (as well as his shirt) are draped haphazardly over the accompanying chair, and he carefully places the firearm back into its holder, snapping it closed.

“You’re a piece of work, y’know that?” he says with his back to her. She can hear the amusement in his voice, but she’s more interested in the patchwork of scars stretched across the broad expanse of his back.

“I distinctly recall there being less complaints where my behavior’s concerned prior to your acrobatic performance,” she replies offhandedly. As if sensing her staring, he turns around and leans against the desk, arms crossed over his chest. “Back when we were…”

Nate grins. “…Preoccupied?”

“Is that what we’re calling it?”

“Among other things.”

“Really?” asks Chloe with a raised eyebrow. “Because I was going to refer to it as ‘being-interrupted-by-a-roving-firearm-before-I-could-even-get-my-top-off.’”

His eyes darken in distraction as he takes in her appearance, and for the first time in…well, ever, she feels herself flush. It’s nothing scandalous—more coverage than a bikini, certainly, in her tank top and knickers. But it’s the harsh light of day and her hair is down, and for the life of her, she can’t recall ever sticking around long enough the morning after for firearm antics and flirtatious banter.

It’s bordering dangerously close to domestic, which should raise all sorts of red flags, but...well, she isn’t exactly running away, is she?

All red flags are blissfully swept away, however, when he closes the distance from the desk to where she’s seated and grips the arms on either side of the chair, effectively caging her in place.

“There’s at least one good thing to come out of all this,” Nate insists, not even trying to be subtle as he rakes his gaze over her from head to toe.

“Which is?” It takes every ounce of restraint she possesses to not break into an absurdly delighted smile. Instead, she brushes her fingers, feather light, over one of his lower arms, lingering far longer than necessary.

“That at least you know it wasn’t a gun in my pocket,” he clarifies, barely holding it together. “I really was happy to see you.”

Now it’s her turn to roll her eyes, which she absolutely does, with only a hint, mind you, of amusement. Nate’s arms shake along with his laughter, but his antics are effectively cut short when she sits up and pulls him into a kiss.

Nate’s jokes only get worse from there, but it doesn’t change the fact that they don’t leave the room for at least two more days.

London, 2009 - Harry

We’re hell raising And we don’t need saving ‘Cause there’s no salvation for a bad girl We’re rock bottom But there ain’t no stopping ‘Cause it’s you and me against the world

—Natalia Kills “Problem"

She comes back from Nepal with insomnia and a spare key for a flat in London that belongs to a dead man. There’s nothing particularly fanciful or noteworthy about the place, except that she spent a lot of time (a lot of nights) there researching and planning their steps from Istanbul to Borneo for Marco Polo’s fleet back when Harry…

…back when Harry was alive.

She can’t bring herself to sleep in his bed, so she sets herself up on the couch, but after two hours of listening to rain pelt against the front window and staring wide-eyed at the ceiling, she can’t take it anymore. She throws on a pair of runners and an ancient gray hoodie before heading out into the night.

It doesn’t take her long to find what she’s looking for. She spots the tattoo shop just up the road and turns into the adjoining alley, bypassing a couple of bins before walking down a small set of worn concrete stairs to the building’s side entrance. She walks inside.

Dim, flickering overhead lights expose a seedy gym underneath. There’s a roped off boxing ring in the middle, a few punching bags near the back, and wooden benches with free weights and barbells off to the side. No treadmills or ellipticals to speak of, but there is faint music coming in through tinny speakers around the room.

She heads toward the back, ignoring the unsettling leers coming from some of the male patrons as she walks by. It’s a little more difficult to block out the bald guy in the ring, his swear-laden diatribe directed at the bloke being pummeled, but Chloe manages.

There’s no one else by the bags, which suits her plenty. She wraps her hands, but before she can start, she feels her burner phone vibrate. It’s two messages—one from Nate and one from Sully. R u ok? Nate wants to know. Damn it Frazer pick up, is Sully’s less subtle text of choice. Chloe doesn’t have the closure or emotional maturity to deal with either of them at the moment. Not until she hits something, anyway.

She thinks about Nate’s stupid face, how he traded in death and bloodshed for picket fences and HOAs, while she was left to deal with the fallout of a dead partner, a-a turncoat. She cracks her neck, left to right, before slamming her fist into the bag. A jolt reverberates back through her arm, and it’s enough to light an unseen spark, to set her off.

Sure, Chloe thinks as she unleashes a series of jabs and hooks, Harry could be an absolute tosser, but she’s not entirely sure he deserved the way he went out. Hell, she’s not entirely sure anyone deserves to go out like that. Except maybe Lazaravec. He brought his demise on himself.

But, a small, resolute voice suggests, so did Harry.

She sinks a roundhouse kick, grunting when it lands. The arsehole didn’t even think—just pursued his own ambition, not caring what or, in her case, who became collateral damage.

She blinks as a drop of sweat lands in her eye, swiping at it before landing another uppercut. It wasn’t like she was in love with him (perish the thought!), but he could be charming and sarcastic when it was just the two of them. Admittedly, being with him didn’t require much acting on her part.

She punctuates her next flurry of hits with a muttered swear, and tries to gulp down air. It’s only then that she notices how her chest feels like it’s going to burst open. With an anguished cry, she lands an axe kick that somehow manages to break the punching bag from its chains and send it flying back a few feet. It takes her a moment to calm down, for her shoulders to stop heaving and her heart to stop racing, before she realizes just what has transpired.

“Oi, watch it!” The bald guy from the boxing ring vaults over the ropes and approaches, taking in the broken heavy bag and her disheveled appearance, soaked through hoodie and all. Up close, she notices the cleft in his chin and the scars across his nose and eyebrow.

She brushes the sweat-plastered hair out of her eyes. “Sorry, I—”

“Got swept up in the moment? Yeah, yeah, I’ve heard that one before.” He crosses his arms over his chest. “I dunno if you’ve taken the time to assess what type of establishment this is, but it certainly doesn’t have enough funds to cover property damage every time some lady’s off her nut.”

Chloe bristles at that and reaches into her pocket, too exhausted to call him out on his overt sexism. “Here.” She hands him 50 quid. “Apologies to the establishment from the knackered lady.”

He pockets the money, mouth lifting into a slight smirk, but he doesn’t apologize. “Y’know,” he says instead, “we run an amateur boxing match every week. If your affinity for property destruction can be equally applied to people, you should consider signing up.”

He hands her his card (his name is Charlie, apparently) before he hops back into the ring, presumably to continue his coaching efforts. The tension in her shoulders dissipates, and she shoves his card into her front pocket. Breathing steady once again, she wipes a hand over her brow and snaps a picture of the downed punching bag. She sends it to Nate and Sully.

I’m processing, she writes back.

Sydney, 2010 - Sully

The time has come To say fair’s fair To pay the rent, now To pay our share

—Midnight Oil “Beds are Burning”

“This easily could have been discussed over the telephone, Victor.”

Sully swivels in his bar stool and looks at her over his glass of scotch. His smile is visible beneath his mustache. “Would you believe me if I said I missed the hell out of ya?”

“No,” she responds emphatically, but her laughter betrays the hardened exterior she has worked so hard to uphold over the years. She absentmindedly stirs her own drink. “I don’t buy it. What I would believe more is if you said you were here on behalf of one Nathan Drake.”

She knows she’s spot on when his cheeks go slightly pink.

“Can’t it be both?” he asks sheepishly, which says a lot about their relationship and his sincerity because Victor’s not sheepish about anything.

She laughs. “I knew it! So what is it this time, hmm? The latest treasure hunt’s gone belly up, and Nate needs a couple hundred quid to bounce back? Or perhaps his latest adventure brings him down under, and he and Fisher need a place to crash? Is that it?”

Sully remains silent and pointedly avoids her gaze. It’s so uncharacteristic, Chloe becomes concerned that Nate and Elena may be in serious danger. “Victor,” she presses, placing a hand on his shoulder, “Just tell me what’s going on. Are they—?”

“Nate and Elena are getting married.”

Chloe nearly chokes on her spritzer. “Married?”

“Don’t act all surprised, Frazer. This was bound to happen sooner or later.”

“Or perhaps,” she offers, “not at all?”

Sully clicks his tongue at that in an annoyingly condescending way. He pauses, shifting in his seat, clearly uncomfortable. “Don’t tell me you’re still sweet on him after all this time?”

‘Him’ meaning Nate. She doesn’t even have to convince herself anymore. She scoffs. “Hardly.”

“Good. Because for a second there…” He lets out a nervous breath, and slams back the rest of his scotch.

“Wait just a minute, I’m not supposed to be comforting you in all this,” Chloe insists. She motions for the bartender to come over. Before she proceeds any further, she’s going to need a much stiffer drink. “You’re supposed to be offering me false platitudes like, ‘she can’t possibly compare to you, Chloe.’”

“Oh.” Sully takes that information in. He scratches the back of his neck, and then lifts his gaze to hers. “…Do you need me to?”

“Of course not!” Chloe blurts. Mercifully, the bartender returns with her whiskey sour. She pouts, then: “But the gesture would have been appreciated.”

Sully smirks at that. “Forgive an old man his impertinence then, will you?”

They sit in companionable silence for a moment as Chloe nurses her drink. Sully’s turned around, his elbows resting on the bar top as he takes in the view of the beach behind them. When the bartender returns to settle their tab, Sully brushes her off and says he’ll take care of it. Unable to muster any energy to protest, she closes her eyes and relishes the feel of the sun on the bare skin of her back.

“Well, mazel tov to the happy couple, but why would this warrant an in-person rendezvous?” she finally asks when her curiosity becomes nearly insufferable. “Not that I’m complaining about the exceptional company by any means,” she amends.

Sully doesn’t answer right away, but when he finally does, it sounds like he’s tiptoeing across a minefield. “They need another witness, and when I suggested you as a potential candidate...well, Nate and Elena thought it was a great idea.”

Chloe lets that marinate a moment before she asks, “Who, if I may ask, is the other witness?”

Sully beams. “You’re lookin’ at him, sweetheart.”

“Should have guessed.” She sighs dramatically, letting her head loll back. I’m going to regret this, she thinks before she squeezes her eyes shut and blurts, “Fine. But I’m bringing a plus one. This bloke, Charlie, we’re working a job together."

Sully raises an eyebrow at that, but mercifully doesn’t say anything. He claps a hand on her shoulder and pulls his phone out. “I’ll let them know.”

“Wait.” She grabs the phone out of his hands, flips it open, and holds the phone out. “Here, move in closer.”

Sully puts his arm around her shoulder while she gives a thumbs-up with one hand and snaps their picture with the other. They’re both in frame when she looks at the phone screen (of course they are—what is she, an amateur?), so she hands it back to Sully.

“There. Send that over to Nate with the message that I’m in, but he owes me one.”

“From you?” Sully hits send and flashes her a smile of solidarity. “I would expect nothing less.”

London, 2011 - Charlie

So slide over here And give me a moment I’ve got to let you know You’re one of my kind

—INXS “Need You Tonight”

“Do you need any help?” Chloe hollers again, hoping her voice is loud enough to carry to the loft on the second floor. Selfishly, she hopes the answer is ‘no,’ as she has finally settled into the end of his worn, leather couch with a hot mug of tea.

“You’re incorrigible,” Charlie calls back, his voice muffled. She thinks he may have rolled his eyes, which, rude. “I’m fine. I broke my leg, not my executive function.”

She shrugs, causing her oversized jumper to slip off her shoulder. “Have it your way, then. Just don’t come crying to me when you fall and break your neck.”

The warmth from her mug radiates past her fingertips all the way down to her sock-covered feet. She closes her eyes, sinks further into the couch, and pulls her jumper back over her shoulder.

It’s good to be back on solid ground again, she thinks.

They were lucky to be alive after what happened in Syria. Once they were certain none of Marlowe’s agents had successfully tailed them, all three of them (excluding Charlie, of course, who kept groaning and swearing under his breath each time they hit a particularly rough patch of road) took turns driving until they were able to reach a small airstrip some distance from the main road and far away from the ruins they vacated.

(“An old work acquaintance. He owes me one,” was all Sully would say once they parked the tour bus, and he began leading them toward a dilapidated hangar.

“Which leads me to believe,” Charlie chimes in, hobbling and leaning on both Nate and Chloe to remain upright, “that no one we’re about to meet is licensed to operate a bloody tin opener, let alone an aircraft.”)

It was there that they parted ways. Nate and Sully boarded a relatively stable looking plane headed for Yemen, while both she and Charlie were stowed in the back of a run down cargo plane headed for southwest England, surrounded by caged chickens and other small livestock.

As it turns out, Charlie is exceedingly allergic to feathers.

It’s suspiciously silent before Chloe hears the labored sounds of someone trying to hobble down a spiral staircase. When she finally does open her eyes, she’s greeted by Charlie—red faced and wearing a cowboy hat and a pair of white boxer shorts with hearts on them. She has to stifle a disbelieving snort when he proceeds to sling his Danelectro guitar over his shoulders, allowing it to hang low on his hips.

“What are you—?”

Charlie turns his back to her and flips on his stereo, effectively drowning out the rest of her question. When he turns around—nearly losing his balance with his broken leg in the process—he pulls his hat down low and moves his hips in time to the music.

It’s a lot to taken in, but Chloe doesn’t fully dissolve into actual giggles until he lifts his gaze back to her, his brow raised and a wink at the ready. So slide over here, he mouths, hopping across the space in front of the couch with his only good foot, and give me a moment. Things enter into truly mental territory when he mimes playing his guitar.

“Are you insane?” Chloe demands. “The doctor said not to put any direct weight on it for at least a few more days.”

She tries to sound stern, but the smile that keeps breaking out on her face betrays her true feelings. She grabs one of the throw pillows to cover her face when some of his dance moves become slightly more…inappropriate. However, it does nothing to hide her laughter or the flush she feels up around her ears.

He pries the pillow from her grasp and tosses it to the side. “What can I say?” He gives her a come hither gesture. “There’s just something about you, girl, that makes me sweat.”

“Absolutely not,” Chloe says, shaking her head emphatically. She sets her mug on the nearest end table, right next to her mobile phone. Seeing it gives her an idea, so she grabs it, easily switching it to camera mode.

“Sorry, love.” She grins wickedly, not sounding even the least bit apologetic.

Before Charlie knows what’s happening, she snaps the picture. It’s a perfect still of him mid-hop, mid-lip sync, and mid-guitar solo. It takes Chloe breaking into fresh peals of laughter before Charlie realizes what has happened.

“Oi,” he cries, pulling his guitar up and over his head. He props it against the stereo. “This was meant to be a private showing.”

“And it will be,” Chloe assures him. A beat, then, “Right after I send this to Nate, Elena, and Victor.”

Charlie does his best impression of crossing the small distance between them in an intimidating manner. “Chloe,” he says warningly.

She rolls her eyes. “Oh, alright, fine.” She sets the phone aside and crosses her arms, pouting. “You’re no fun.”

“Oh, I’m plenty fun, darling,” he retorts, slowly lowering himself down onto the couch. He nearly loses his balance again, but Chloe crawls over to help, holding his arm to guide him. Once Charlie’s settled (“Bloody hell,” he grumbles under his breath.), Chloe reminds herself that she’s still holding on to his arm.

She makes an effort to pull her hands back, but Charlie snatches her right one, his grip sure. He turns to her, and one glance at his face tells her he has sobered, all mirth quickly gone. She swallows and tries to steady her heart, which begins beating absurdly fast.

Run, her mind tells her, but before she can obey or even protest, Charlie brushes a stray piece of hair behind her ear. His hand lingers, thumb brushing over her cheek.

“Sully would have killed me, back in Syria, if you hadn’t been there to stop me,” he finally says, voice barely above a choked whisper. She can hear the rawness, the slight waver in his voice, and it, frankly, terrifies her.

“Charlie, that’s not—”

He cuts her off. “No, it is. I was a downright mad man, and if it weren’t for you, Nate—“

“—is alive,” she finishes. With her free hand, she scratches her thumb against his stubble. He closes his eyes, pain evident on his face. “There’s no use in dwelling on what could have been. I was there, you weren’t yourself, and that’s that.” She pauses before adding, “In any event, I would have easily bested Victor. He’s incredibly old.”

Charlie lets out an abrupt bark of laughter before he forces himself to look at her again. It’s a new sensation for Chloe, being looked at with such adoration, that is. She’s not sure how she feels about it, only to say that the desperate commands to flee have simmered.

“Thank you,” he says. He searches her eyes for permission, and she nods imperceptibly before he captures her lips with his.

Run, her mind tells her once again, but she throws her arm around his neck, disobeying the command entirely.

One week later, during his follow up appointment, Charlie’s doctor gives both he and Chloe a long lecture about the need to avoid any direct weight on his broken leg. Chloe doesn’t even wait until the doctor is out of earshot.

“I told you so,” she tells Charlie proudly. His eye roll is nearly audible.

Glasgow, 2013 - Sam

I don’t want to go to school I just want to break the rules

—Charli XCX “Break the Rules”

There’s no reason Chloe should even be contemplating this. No reason she should even be here in the first place. It’s like salt and vinegar crisps: absolutely no nutritional value whatsoever, and yet...

…there’s no use in denying the insufferable do-gooder she has become.

A sea of writhing people, colorful, epileptic seizure-inducing lights, and pulsating bass: immediately, Chloe’s senses are assaulted as soon as she enters the club.

This has to be some kind of fire code violation, she thinks to herself sourly as she pushes her way toward the bar, serpentining through throngs of gyrating bodies and one particularly grotesque snogging couple. (“Excuse me!” she practically bellows at them, but they either can’t hear her or simply outright refuse to move out of the way.)

Finally, she reaches the bar. The bartender gestures to the glass in his hands, then back at her, but she waves him off. She wants to have clear reflexes and a sound mind for this particular meet up. Although she had insisted on a public meeting space, there’s still every chance for danger, never mind that she has no idea what her mark looks like. She imagines something like his brother, but that’s certainly not much to go on, is it?

“Now there’s a lovely lass,” she hears over her shoulder. “Curious that she’s all alone though, innit?”

Chloe turns just in time to see the stranger at the bar drag his gaze over the entirety of her person. He’s stocky with a bristly black beard and a terribly unfortunate complexion. She crosses her arms over her chest, doing her best not to shudder, and challenges him with a surly glare of her own.

“Perhaps,” she grits out, her restraint nearly in tatters, “it’s because she prefers solitude over the company that a man, such as yourself, is able to offer.”

In a magnificent feat, the stranger’s face grows even redder. When he makes an attempt to lunge after her, she can feel her heart pound in tune with whatever eurotrash music—noise, really—the DJ keeps churning out. Before the man can embarrass himself or do any lasting damage, another man enters the fray—his back to her—and keeps the other man from moving any closer by placing an outstretched hand square in the middle of his chest.

“Beat it,” the new guy says. He nods in her direction. “She’s with me.”

Chloe doesn’t even have time to enjoy the first guy’s harried retreat (she thinks he may have mumbled an apology, but it’s difficult to be certain with the heavy bass of the music bludgeoning her eardrums) before she rounds in on the new guy.

“I beg your pardon,” she blanches, her hand on her hip. “I am with no…one…”

Her speech falters once the new guy turns around, and she’s suddenly staring into a pair of hazel eyes (though, admittedly, it’s difficult to tell precisely with the uneven lighting). Everything, from the small bump on the bridge of his nose to the slight slope of his shoulders, overwhelms her with a sense of familiarity. She narrows her gaze at him suspiciously.

“Are you trying to tempt me because I come from the land of plenty?” Her tone is airy, but she chooses her words carefully, testing the waters.

“Do you come from a land down under?” he shoots back hopefully, eyebrow raised. In response to her visible relief, the tension in his own shoulders gives way, and he smirks, wiping his hands on his jeans. “Men at Work, huh? Do you do this for all your meet ups, or…?”

Apparently, all the good looks skipped right on down to Nate, she thinks idly. Not that Sam is horribly disfigured, by any means, of course. It’s just with his slightly receding hairline and his two-decades-too-old-to-be-fashionable jeans jacket, he’s not traditionally handsome like his brother.

“No,” she answers, hating herself slightly for her train of thought. “Only for known affiliates of Nate’s. Hazard insurance and all that, you know?”

He continues smirking. “Oh, I know.” A scantily clad woman stumbles past them both, brushing his shoulder as she steadies herself by grabbing onto the bar top. For what it’s worth, Sam’s eyes stay trained on her. He shoots his hand out. “Sam,” he says.

“Chloe.”

As they shake hands, she notices a couple of brutes dressed in oversized parkas just behind Sam. This isn’t her scene by any means, but even she knows that’s too much clothing for this kind of environment. They’re ideal for expertly concealing firearms, though. “Not that it isn’t a pleasure putting a face to a name after all these years, but why am I here, precisely?”

He starts to answer, but she’s barely listening, eyes still trained on the two overdressed men behind him. She watches as they push past the sea of people separating she and Sam from the two of them. It’s likely that they’re tailing them, but Chloe doesn’t want to stick around long enough to be certain.

She promptly grabs hold of Sam’s hand. “Let’s walk and talk, shall we?”

It’s less of a suggestion when she begins pulling him forward. “I—yeah, okay,” he relents.

It grows brighter and louder the closer they get to the center of the dance floor. She can feel a bead of sweat roll down her neck as they continue fighting through people, who are essentially packed in like sardines. Thankfully, the two thugs seem to be unable to bypass a particularly rowdy group of dancers when she glances behind her. It will give them enough time to regroup, at least.

“We’re being tailed!” she yells to Sam once they come to a halt. She has to avoid being hit by the elbow of a nearby dancer jumping up and down.

“What?”

“Followed,” she tries again, this time accompanying it by walking her fingers over the palm of her other hand meaningfully.

He follows her line of sight, and she can see the understanding hit him almost immediately when he turns back around. “That’s what I was saying earlier,” he yells back. “I’m in a lot of trouble.”

“Well, yes, I was able to deduce that on my own, but whatever for?”

A nearby group of girls nearly knocks Sam over, but he steadies himself by holding on to her hips. Almost immediately, he recognizes his error (it doesn’t actually require a reproachful look from her, but she tosses one in anyway) and lets go, holding his hands up for good measure. Sorry, he mouths, looking fully repentant.

“It’s a long story,” he hollers, narrowly dodging a wayward arm, “but I got roped into working for Rafe Adler—”

“Who?”

“Rafe,” he repeats, holding his head in a haughty manner and running his thumb over his index and middle fingers.

Money, she immediately thinks before making the connection between obscene wealth and heightened levels of tossery.

Ah.

“Adler,” she spits out distastefully.

Sam nods. “Exactly, and he’s got us searching for Avery’s—” He covers one of his eyes with his hands, curves the other hand into a hook shape, and mouths arghhh. “—treasure, which is why we’re in Scotland. The trail led us here.”

“Here, as in this horrible den of iniquity in Glasgow?” Chloe yells. They both have been forced into moving along to the music to avoid being hit by any number of the people dancing near them.

“No,” he yells back, barely holding back an eye roll. “St. Dismas Cathedral. We’re not supposed to leave the site, but I had to let someone know in case—” He swallows, the thin sheen of sweat on his Adam’s apple glistening. “—in case something happens. Which is why we’re here, here.” He gestures to the ground meaningfully. “Far away from Rafe’s goons.”

“Have you at least told Nate?” she hollers.

His whole expression falls. “I can’t,” he insists. “He—He already thinks I’m dead—”

Chloe lets out a frustrated groan, her head lolling back. “Of course he does.”

“—which is why I came to you,” he finishes.

“Well, you’ve done some abysmal covert work,” she yells back, her eyes focused just over Sam’s shoulders. He goes to check for himself, but she holds his face in place with both hands. “Our friends are heading toward us. We need to blend, pretend like we’re not dead as soon as they reach us. Follow my lead?”

Sam nods, rather than answering verbally. He follows her as she pushes forward, a little closer to the DJ’s table. When they come to a stop, she drapes her arm over his shoulders, and pulls her phone out of her jacket pocket.

“Hey! Everybody!” she shouts, switching her phone to camera mode. A few of the nearby patrons stop to stare at them. “This lad—” She gestures wildly at Sam. He sheepishly waves. “—just found out he’s going to be a father!”

Sam makes a choking sound just before everyone around them erupts into cheers and excitement. She has to pound on his back a few times for him to stop. When he can breathe again, she holds out her phone until the two of them are in frame, as well as a number of strangers wanting to wish the new dad well.

“’Baby’ on three, everyone!” she instructs. “One…two…three—baby!”

A chorus of ‘baby’ can be heard when she takes the picture. The cheers transform into an overwhelming roar as the patrons around them begin dancing wildly, slapping Sam on the back, and splashing drinks everywhere. It’s the precise level of pandemonium needed to make the brutes lose them. At least, for now, anyway.

Sam flinches as a particularly muscular guy claps him on the back in congratulations. When he moves away, Sam fixes her with an aggravated look. “Thanks for that,” he yells, his dour expression particularly hilarious in light of the glitter and champagne raining down on the two of them.

Chloe sighs dramatically, an infectious grin breaking out on her face.

“I live to serve. C’mon, mate,” she adds, brushing some of the glitter off of his face.

Just as she finishes, another bottle of…something douses both of them, and at its conclusion, Sam—hair soaked through over his eyes, mouth in a hardened line—spits out a mouthful like a tiny fountain. Chloe absolutely loses it as she grabs his hand and starts navigating both of them through the crowd.

“Let’s get out of here before your tail notices,” she barely gets out in between laughter.

Brussels, 2015 - Elena

We bury it, bury it, bury it And rise above

—CHVRCHES “Bury It”

It’s incredibly late—or really early, more accurately—when she gets the call.

The initial ring doesn’t even rouse her. Rather, she groans and turns over, pulling the covers over her head to block out the sound of snoring. But when it grows louder and more persistent, she grudgingly cracks an eye open, only to be blinded by the blue light filtering out from under her mobile as the vibrations cause it to skitter across the end table.

She takes a moment to reorient herself with her surroundings before carefully extracting herself from Charlie’s arm, which is draped across her waist, and wrapping a nearby blanket around her. Sufficiently cocooned, she grabs her phone and pads across the carpet over to the balcony off their hotel room, careful to close the sliding glass door behind her quietly.

She doesn’t recognize the number on the screen, but this is a new phone (the last one not only ran out of minutes, but also plummeted to the bottom of the Thames), and there’s every chance this could be a known affiliate.

She swipes up. “Hello?”

There’s silence on the other end, then, “…Chloe? It’s me, Elena.”

Well…shit, Chloe thinks rather unceremoniously, sinking on to the cheap plastic chaise lounge, pulling her blanket more tightly around her.

“Elena.” She hopes her voice doesn’t betray the sudden onset of fear sparked by this unexpected phone call. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

It’s not that the two of them don’t communicate—quite the contrary, actually. There’s the occasional e-mail and a handful of texts containing memes about their circle of acquaintances (the last one Elena sent was Chrissy Teigan’s cry face with the text: when he scales the building to enter through the 8th floor window but you could have picked the lock on the front door). They even follow each other on Instagram (in fact, she had just given a like to Elena’s last uploaded photo, the one of her new camera). However, they rarely speak over the phone. The last time had been—

…Well, the last time had been the night she and Nate separated.

There’s some shuffling on the other end before Elena responds. “Nate mentioned you were traveling, so I tried to time it correctly. Did I wake you up?”

“No,” Chloe insists, clearly stifling a yawn, “nothing less than bright-eyed and bushy-tailed on this end.” She hesitates before quickly adding, “Charlie, on the other hand, is still asleep.”

Chloe can practically hear Elena’s knowing smile on the other end. “How isCharlie anyway?”

They’re not even in the same time zone, yet she can still feel her ears grow hot. “He’s fine, if you must know,” Chloe relents, unable to stop the small smile that stretches across her face. “But now you’re clearly trying to distract me. Is…?” She hesitates, uncertain whether she will be able to stomach whatever Elena throws at her. “…Is everything all right?”

She hears Elena sigh. “Eventually, you’re going to have to give me some more details, you know that, right?”

Chloe rolls her eyes. “Obviously. But out with it, Sunshine: is everything okay? Are you and Nate—?”

“We’re fine,” Elena cuts her off, more hurriedly than defensively, which seems to bode well, in Chloe’s opinion, “or at least, we will be. We’ve decided to…leave the life.”

“Leave the life?” Chloe repeats, her voice hollow. She’s heard this one before.

“More like continue the life, but do it in a strictly legal sense,” Elena clarifies, “including permits, dig crews, no firearms, et cetera.”

Chloe snorts. “So…all things I’ve no patience for?”

Elena laughs at that. “More or less.”

“But this is something you want?”

Elena nods, or at least, Chloe assumes she does. “I suggested it, including funds for a really expensive camera and a small crew, so I can reboot Uncharted, my old show."

“And Nate’s on board with all this…gentrification of sorts?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Fascinating. I wonder what’s got him so generous all of a sudden.” Realizing how that comes across, she hastens to add, “Other than him being irrevocably in love with you, I mean.”

It sounds as though Elena has a retort for that, but instead she simply blurts, “Nate has a brother.”

The silence that falls between them is deafening. “Oh,” is all Chloe can manage—guilt slowly coiling in the pit of her stomach—before Elena launches into the story of what has occurred over the last couple months.

On the street below, there’s some kind of festival still carrying on from earlier in the evening. Colorful string lights dot the perimeter, while the sound of excited chatter and electronic music, as well as the smell of deep-fried smoutebollen, waft up to where she is on the fourth floor. Her stomach growls in response, but she ignores it, focusing only on Elena’s retelling of the events at King’s Bay, how she met Sam, and later, how they barely escaped from New Devon with their lives in tact.

“That’s actually why I’m calling,” Elena says, after she recalls the circumstances that led to she and Nate buying Jameson’s business for their new Stepford—rather than crime—inspired lives. “The last time we talked, you mentioned going back to India to…follow your father’s trail and track down the Tusk. Have you—is that still your plan?”

Chloe makes a choking sound, the question catching her completely off guard. “I—“ she sputters, shocked that Elena remembers any of that conversation at all. “Yes.”

“Since I’m basically retired, and since there’s no chance you would ask Charlie to come along…?”

Chloe glances through the window behind her, the outline of Charlie’s sleeping form visible. “Absolutely not,” she says emphatically.

Elena snorts. “I thought as much,” she admits, “but I think I have another option. The way Nate tells it, Rafe’s right hand man—Nadine Ross—abandoned them right as Avery’s ship caught fire. Questionable alliance aside, Nadine seems like a competent partner to have in the field.”

Chloe pulls her blanket closer around her, eyes narrowing, as a sharp breeze passes by. “And you know this because…?”

Elena lets out an unexpected bark of laughter. “Chloe, she kicked Nate’s ass. Not once, but twice over the course of our trip.” She pauses and then quietly admits, “There’s something especially cathartic about it happening on two completely different continents.”

Chloe wipes the tears from her eyes—a combination of laughter and the relentless wind. “Say no more,” she insists breathlessly. As soon as her teeth begin chattering, she decides it’s time to head back inside. “Do you have a way to get in touch?” she asks quietly, gently closing the sliding door behind her. She makes a beeline to the bed, sighing when the covers come up and over her frozen feet.

There’s a slight hesitation on Elena’s end before she suggests, “Call Sam. He probably knows how.”

It takes a moment for the unspoken meaning in her words to settle in, but once it does, Chloe’s face falls and her stomach plummets to the ground.

She knows.

“Elena,” Chloe breathes, her knuckles white and hands frozen in place as they clutch onto the covers. “I’m so—”

“I know,” Elena interrupts. Her tone isn’t angry, but it’s not exactly warm either.

“I wanted to tell you about him, truly,” she confesses, flinching at how desperate her voice sounds, “but I didn’t feel it was my place. I thought it should come from Nate, and—”

“I know,” Elena says again. “Listen—” she continues, trying to stifle a yawn in the process, “—I don’t want to interrupt your beauty sleep any longer than I already have, so…just keep me posted on your plans for India, okay? Oh, and tell Charlie I said hi.”

That makes Chloe chuckle. “Of course. And, Elena?”

“Hmm?”

“Thank you,” she tells her, hoping her emphasis is enough to cover all multitude of her own sins.

“Of course,” Elena echoes.

The line goes dead, and Chloe is nowhere near satisfied with the residual guilt and accompanying broken record playing over in her mind, especially because she can’t seem to fall back to sleep. So she snaps a quick photo of Charlie (he’s sprawled out on his stomach, boxers riding low on his hips, and a small stream of drool seeping from his lax, open mouth onto his pillow), and texts it to Elena with the caption six minutes into Jet Lag & Chill.

She wakens the next morning to a three-crying laughing emoji response from Elena.

It’s a start.

Maharashtra, 2017 - Nadine

And I don’t really care if nobody else believes ‘Cause I’ve still got a lot of fight left in me

—Rachel Platten “Fight Song”

It figures that her hero’s journey doesn’t play by the rules in the least bit. Sure, she stopped the villain, survived all sorts of danger, and even walked away with the treasure. But rather than riding off into the sunset while the credits roll, as is tradition, she finds herself...pushing her ride off into sunset.

Because it bloody well figures that the battery would go dead here, three-quarters of the way up a hill, at the end of their journey.

“Do I have to do all the work over here?” Chloe huffs out. She sets her feet into the dry dirt and throws her whole body into her next push, powered by a second wind. “Or do you plan on stepping up in front of the wicket?”

Sam tears his gaze away Nadine (…which, Chloe doesn’t even begin to have enough emotional, physical, mental—etc.— wherewithal to address any part of whatever that whole situation may be), and shoots her a bewildered look. “Wicket?”

Americans, she thinks irritably before making it her top priority to reach the top of this God forsaken hill, if only to sink a fist into Sam’s incredibly punchable face. Up front, she can hear Nadine—who, in addition to pushing, is also gripping the steering wheel to guide the jeep forward—snicker.

“You mean, like, baseball?” Sam wants to know. “As in ‘step up to the plate?’ Because that—” He grunts, pushing into the vehicle, trying not to loose his footing. “—I understand. That I can—shit—that I can work with.”

His stumbling and flailing cause Nadine to burst into outright laughter. She tosses a rare grin behind her in Chloe’s direction. “I follow you, Frazer.”

“Thank you!” she cries. “At least someone is sensible in this group.”

“Yeah, okay, have your fun,” he mumbles petulantly, “but who do you know that collects cricket cards, huh? I’m feelin’ pretty confident that number’s a big ol’ zero.”

Chloe doesn’t trust herself to say anything further, so she sinks all of her physical and mental efforts into pushing the jeep to the top. Her back and legs are killing her, but the thought of a bath and dry clothes in Mumbai once they get this monstrosity up and running is enough to motivate her to keep going, keep pushing.

“Easy, easy!” Nadine calls back. “Just a little more, and we’re over the precipice.”

By some small miracle, they’re on flat land again, and instead of dirt and rubble in her line of sight, Chloe can see the cerulean sky above and a sea of lush green and brown vegetation below. With few clouds for cover, the sun beats down on them relentlessly, doing absolutely nothing whatsoever for the pool of sweat collecting at the small of her back and her chest. At this point, the dark sweat stains on her shirt resemble some kind of beginner’s abstract expressionist painting.

The vehicle settles into place absent the momentum, creaking to a halt. Exhausted, Chloe and Nadine lean against the jeep, trying to catch their breath. For his part, Sam circles around to the front and pops the bonnet. He coughs and wheezes as a plume of smoke unfurls from the engine compartment. Thankfully, it’s white, not black, which—according to Chloe’s very limited motor vehicle knowledge—is the better of the two kinds of smoke.

“I’ll take a look at this battery, see if I can’t get this thing up and running again,” Sam says. He disappears behind the bonnet, and it’s all very gallant until he adds, “You girls just stay there and look pretty.”

Nadine and Chloe exchange looks before they both break into disbelieving smiles. Pretty is certainly the last word Chloe would use to describe her current appearance. Perhaps artfully disheveled instead? Nadine gestures for her to follow her into the front of the jeep, which she does, and the two of them collapse into the driver and passenger seats.

“Are we certain we can entrust this vehicle and our livelihoods to this uncultured American?” Chloe directs to Nadine, but says loud enough for Sam to hear.

“You’ve already said ‘American,’” Nadine adds as an aside, “the ‘uncultured’ bit is understood.”

Sure enough, Sam chimes in with a protest. “Hey! I’ll have you know that I used to have a completely cherried out, 1962 Indian motorcycle back when I was in Boston, so I know a little something about cars. Just…let me have this one area of expertise, huh?”

“Okay, okay,” Chloe sighs as if it’s taking a lot out of her to grant him this request, “let’s allow this strapping man’s man to fix our ride home.”

She can’t tell for certain, but she thinks Sam might be frowning. “Thank you,” he deadpans from behind the canopy of the engine compartment, which only serves to make both Nadine and Chloe snicker quietly.

Silence falls over them (with the exception of the clink clank of whatever Sam’s doing to the jeep) as Chloe leans back against the headrest and closes her eyes to the overhead sun. It’s short lived, however, when Nadine speaks up.

“Sam—” He pops his head out to look at her. “—what on earth possessed you to get this ridiculous thing?” she asks, gesturing to the side of her neck that mirrors his, the one with the bird tattoos.

Chloe pops an eye open to witness his response. He ignores Nadine’s insult and instead clears his throat. “If you’re good, maybe I’ll show you my other tattoo.”

Chloe shouldn’t find his concluding wink so…visceral. And yet… “More than one?” she interjects, while Nadine mimes heaving up the contents of her stomach, accompanied by some over the top retching sounds.

He shrugs. “My cellmate was doing a buy one, get one sort of thing.”

Against her better judgment, Chloe laughs at that. His returning smile does absolutely nothing to her. “I can appreciate a man who recognizes a good bargain when he sees it.”

Sam returns to his work, but Nadine clearly has more thoughts on the matter. She turns to Chloe and jabs a thumb in his direction. “If that’s the case,” she says, referring to Chloe’s earlier comment, “I wonder what kind of bargain resulted in that floral shirt.”

The sound of the engine sputtering to life cuts off any protests Sam may have (and Chloe is quite confident he has more than a few). It doesn’t stop the sound of raucous laughter from she and Nadine, but it certainly drowns out a lot of it.

“See?” he says smugly, slamming the bonnet shut and approaching the passenger seat. “Told you I could do it.”

He goes to grab the door handle, but Nadine holds it resolutely shut. “Back,” is all she says, jabbing her thumb behind her.

Dejected, Sam hoists himself up and over the backside of the jeep and settles onto one of the wheel hubs with one arm draped over his knee. “What a show of appreciation,” he mumbles, somewhat bitterly.

“Now, now,” Chloe begins, shifting into first gear, but her knuckles hit a button on the dash, and she’s interrupted by the sound of the radio. And not just any radio, either: pop radio.

In English.

Sam’s the first to recover. “What the hell is this?” he demands, a look of pure disgust hilariously present on his face.

Chloe turns the dial tuner to other stations, but only finds static in response. “I have no idea,” she admits, perplexed. “Surely, out this far, you would expect something in Marathi, not this. It’s—”

“—it’s noise,” Nadine interjects sourly.

She goes to turn it off completely, but Chloe bats her hand away as soon as she recognizes the song. “No, listen,” she admonishes, the smile spreading on her face almost painful. “This is actually the perfect song to close out our adventure.”

“How? Is this—is this an American torture device?” Nadine tries again.

“No, this is a ballad of empowerment,” Chloe explains between laughter. Sam leans forward and reaches across to turn the radio off, but Nadine elbows him for his efforts. He falls back, coughing and wheezing. “I’m listening,” she says skeptically, a questioning brow lifted.

“Ow,” Sam hisses, rubbing the spot on his chest Nadine hit.

Chloe ignores him as she transfers the weight from the clutch to the gas pedal to begin their ride home. The resulting breeze, though warm, is wonderful. ���Our journey has been one of growth and realizing untapped potential,” she explains. “Between Rafe for you, and Nate for me—”

“—eww, what?” Sam blanches, suddenly no longer interested in his chest pain.

“—we haven’t let anything come between us and our success,” Chloe continues as if he didn’t speak. “So this isn’t just our fight song, it’s our ‘prove we’re alright song.’”

“Our…‘take back our lives’ song?” Nadine asks tentatively.

Chloe beams. “Exactly! Elbows,” she says as she goes in for the high five, and their hands collide with a resounding smack. They both smile as Chloe digs her phone out from her back pocket. Using voice command, she switches it camera mode.

“Alright, everyone. Say ‘Tusk of Ganesh!’” she implores.

Sam sinks back onto his seat, arms crossed over his chest. “I hate both of you,” he’s sure to add.

The picture takes, and they don’t stop singing American pop songs until they cross over into Mumbai.

Florida, 2033 - Cassie

You ask yourself When will my time come? Has it all been said and done?

—Missing Persons “Destination Unknown”

“Is it here yet?”

Elena looks up from the stack of mail she’s leafing through on the kitchen table to see Cassie bounding into the living room, bouncing on the balls of her feet when she comes to a stop. She gives a small smile as she looks at one of the return addresses through her reading glasses. “I don’t know yet,” she tells her daughter. She offers the stack to her. “Do you want to look through?”

Cassie takes the proffered stack with a quick thanks and begins her own search.

“Is what here yet?” Nate asks, heading for the refrigerator with the intention of grabbing a beer. When he doesn’t see any, he grunts and grabs a vitamin water instead.

Cassie rolls her eyes at her dad (a behavior that has become increasingly common, Elena notes with a mild level of concern) before she explains, without tearing her gaze from the mail, “Aunt Chloe. She promised she would send something for my birthday.”

Elena frowns, placing her reading glasses on the table. “Cass, that’s not for another week.”

“Yeah, I know,” she agrees, “but Aunt Chloe always plans ahead—”

Elena and Nate share a knowing glance (his raised eyebrow makes her chuckle).

“—plus you have to account for international shipping rates and time differences, and—here it is!” she exclaims, holding up an abnormally shaped package wrapped in brown packing paper. Rather than tape, it’s held together with strategically tied twine.

“Hey!” Nate calls as she practically runs toward the stairs that lead up to her room. “I thought we were supposed to go fishing out on the boat today?”

“We are, Dad. Let me just look at this a second,” she calls back, her voice muffled by the floor of house between them.

Once she’s in the privacy of her own room, Cassie closes the door and flops down onto her bed. She examines the package a minute (her name and mailing address are written in Chloe’s scrawl, the purple ink a nice little addition) before pulling apart the twine ties. The contents of the package spill out once she finishes unfolding the packing paper. She reaches for the folded letter first before the enclosed CD case catches her eye. The cover is bright—there’s a blonde woman on the cover with wild hair, bright pink lips, and a swipe of blue over her eyes—and she flips it over to the track list.

“Cool,” she exhales quietly before placing it aside and picking up the letter again.

When she unfolds it, something falls on her comforter, but she ignores it temporarily as she reads the contents of the letter:

Cassie—

I hope this finds you in time for your birthday. I’ve been in Argentina with Sully and your Uncle Sam for the last few weeks. We’re supposed to meet up with Nadine and Charlie your Uncle Charlie Charlie in Morocco for a job, so apologies in advance if I time this incorrectly.

I pride myself in being the ‘cool’ aunt; however, I’d be remiss if I didn’t express some disbelief over the fact that you will be 16 this year. How time flies! I could launch into stories of you still in nappies, but I do not wish to embarrass you further (we’ll leave that to your father, surely?).

I don’t dawdle in sentimentality. In fact, I loathe it for the most part. However, a sixteenth birthday certainly calls for some level of sentimentality, even if we simply dip our feet in for a short while.

Cassie, you have grown into a remarkable young woman, and I very much look forward to whatever accomplishments you pursue in your future. You are incredibly fortunate to have the parents you do, even though I am sure their own accomplishments may lord over you, somewhat intimidatingly.

Here’s the shared wisdom bit: I’ve been the bad guy, I’ve been the hero, and I’m here to inform you that regardless which direction your path turns, there is always a chance for second chances. Always a chance for growth into something different, something better. If you don’t follow your parents already tread path exactly, there is still hope for you yet. You command your own way forward, and in the event that you make a wrong decision here or there, you are fortunate to have parents who truly love you and will help you get back on track. And for the truly bad decisions, you can always come to your Aunt Chloe. She knows a guy.

Or gal, in the case of Nadine.

Annnd…sentimentality over. Whew. Have the happiest of birthdays, love. Your Uncle Charlie and I plan to be back stateside close to the Christmas holiday next month. Until that time, when you must update me on that cute boy in science lab situation (the one with the neck tattoo, I believe? Which, please don’t take cues from your Uncle Sam), don’t do anything I wouldn’t do ;)

With love, Chloe

P.S.: I’ve enclosed a CD, which is an ancient form of technology that was used to play music in the late 20th, early 21st centuries. Do young people listen to CDs anymore? (Bloody hell, do young people even have to ask, “Do young people, etc.?” Please don’t actually answer that.) Regardless, this is a fantastic album by the Missing Persons (track 4 is a personal favorite), and I thought you might enjoy it as well.

Cassie sets the letter down and directs her attention to whatever fell out of the letter earlier. It’s a photograph of both she and Chloe from nearly a decade ago, Cassie thinks. Chloe’s crouched beside Cassie with her arm around Cassie’s shoulders. They’re both decked out in fedoras and bull whips—Cassie’s even wearing a tiny leather jacket. Cassie remembers the night pretty clearly, including when Sully secretly dumped some extra candy into her trick or treat bag. And then Charlie tried to kiss Chloe on the cheek, but she thought he was a stranger and ended up having to drive him to the ER later for a broken nose.

The memory is enough to make her smile. She flips the photo over and reads the caption:

Keeping up with the Joneses —2023

Her dad interrupts her thoughts as he calls out her name (pretty impatiently, actually). She quickly tacks the newly acquired photo next to some other family pictures—there’s one of her on Sully’s shoulder after a soccer victory in elementary school; one of she and Sam in sunglasses, trying to look effortlessly cool; one of she and Vicky in life preserver vests on the boat; one of Charlie teaching her how to play the Martin guitar he bought her in middle school; one of Nadine showing her how to properly land a punch; and one of she and her parents at Disney World (her dad looks so dorky in mouse ears and a Hawaiian print shirt).

“Coming!” she calls back, grabbing her fishing rod, and racing down the stairs to meet him.