#fuck how could i forget clotted cream on scones???

[thatswhatsushesaid]

Top fave foods?

ooops sorry anon i have no idea how i missed this?? okay let’s go:

shredded peking duck with scallions and hoisin sauce. used to enjoy them on the little pancakes you get from takeout places but alas, they are not gluten-free, and gluten hates me. also i can’t ever find any peking duck outside of the uk that tastes the same as it does at the place down the street from my uncle’s outside london. rip.

buttermilk biscuits + white sawmill gravy, which i also can only enjoy ever again if i find decent gluten-free recipes for them. actually just… just assume anything on this list that has gluten in it can only be enjoyed by me hypothetically. anyway this is objectively the tastiest delicacy from the deep south in the US, i’ll die on this hill.

pecan pie, as baked by my mother, who uses an ungodly amount of both sugar and butter. (i almost chose peach cobbler, god, this was hard.)

squash casserole, a comfort food from my childhood.

montreal-style bagels from st. viateur in quebec 🙌

[canyouhearthelight]

The Miys, Ch. 135

I think y’all are in for a treat with this one. I won’t spoil it, though, other than to say that @baelpenrose and @charlylimph-blog thought this chapter was hilarious.

Think about that, please. Charly and Arthur think this chapter is hilarious.

Eyeah. That’s all I’ve got to say about that. I do not take responsibility for any injuries sustained.

As always, please don’t forget to check out the podcast! I will plug it shamelessly, so you may as well.

“Where are they?” Alistair murmured while he searched our shared office thoroughly.  Had it been anyone else, I would say he was being calm, but the fact that he was searching for anything, at all, tagged it in my head as a downright frantic pace.

“Where are what?”

“Nothing,” he dismissed, despite continuing his search.

I furrowed my brows. “You haven’t even had your tea yet. Or your breakfast?”

A pale hand waved me off. “I am aware.”

Shrugging, I gave it up as a lost cause and went back to the list of evacuees that Tyche and I had drafted up. After whipping up a preliminary list of who was assigned where, we were doing a more thorough second pass to ensure no conflicts of personality.  Deep in thought, I paid Alistair no attention until Parvati and Hannah arrived fifteen minutes later.

“Alistair, they aren’t here, so you can stop looking,” Hannah grinned as she took her accustomed seat.

“I am sure I don’t know what you mean.”

“Surrrrre you don’t. Just like I’m sure you don’t know why several of the paint pens ran out of pigment,” Parvati assured him in the most sincere tone I had ever heard. My former therapist would have been proud.

I fought back a smile as he straightened and finally stopped his search, even going so far as to tug his shirt to get any wrinkles out. “I know no such thing.”  With that, he turned his back to all three of our snickering faces, requesting his usual tea and scone from the food console.

Composing my face, I tried to be serious for a minute. “You should eat fast, because our appointment with Arthur Farro is in about fi - “

My door whooshed open. Speak of the devil.

“ - ve minutes early, apparently,” I finished.

Unperturbed as usual, the subject of my previous suggestion strolled in with his usual air of confidence.  Just as he was going to take a seat beside Parvati, he leaned across the table. “Aww, no kiwi or pomegranate on your clotted cream this morning? Poor fing,” he said with a mocking pout.

“I am baffled why everyone believes such things of me,” Alistair grumbled into his tea with a scowl.

I sputtered. “You were using the pens on your breakfast?”

He didn’t even bother denying the chorus of confirmations from those around him, taking the higher road of sudden deafness. “Farro, I am still not entirely sure why a former warlord is necessary for discussions of an evacuation plan.”

“Warlords are generally just berserkers if they don’t have anyone to be ‘lord’ of.” Farro shot a dazzling smile as I supressed a groan. “But then again, being British, I’m sure you got confused, what with all the lords that were there in the last century without even land to their names.”

It really was easier sometimes to do things without either of them. Time to step in. “Gentlemen,” I purred in my most annoyingly ‘motivational’ tone possible, “the bathroom is right through that door, if you would like to continue your pissing contest.  However, some of us have actual work to do, so whether you fuck it out or fight it out, please do so on your own time.”

Both mouths shut with an audible click, and both men looked away from me. But at least they were quiet. Sophia: 1, Whatever-the-hell-this-was: 0.

I forged ahead while I had the chance. “Arthur, thank you for taking time to meet with us regarding the plans for fortifying the safety points. I’m sorry that Tyche couldn’t be here, however she scheduled her stay-cation several months ago and frankly deserves it.” By which I meant I had bribed Derek with a nauseating amount of bao to disable any communications to or from this office from going to her data pad until the start of her first shift post-vacation, and threatened my entire family within an inch of their lives to keep them from bringing up work around her for the next week. “However, I do have her concerns and suggestions ready, I assure you.”

With a scowl, he glanced at me and stood, calling up the emitter-map of the Ark. Quickly, he sketch circles around each of the ‘bunkers’ we had designated. “Xiomara had very sound judgement in the locations she chose for safe-zones, and I honestly expected it. Between her and Evania, there is a frankly terrifying amount of strategic prowess in what is theoretically our Health and Safety office.”

“You can’t be healthy or safe if you’re dead,” Hannah pointed out.

He tossed her a wink and grin. “Touche. However, none of them are perfect. This location,” he leaned to tap and zoom on a mess hall, “is fortified, has access to food and drink, even if you have to furiously call up non-perishables and potable water, and only has one entrance/egress.  A huge entry/egress, unfortunately: the door is ten meters wide.”

Parvati tapped a couple times on her datapad before chiming in. “It does close, however. And it locks.”

Arthur shook his head. “In two panels, each five meters wide. If even one is blown, the gap is indefensible. Both, everyone in there is free for the taking.”

“You are suggesting we ask Miys to narrow the aperture of the door?” I groaned when I heard Alistair leverage his overly-formal language.

It didn’t get any better when Arthur nodded. “Worst they can say is no, but the size of the door is simply for ease of access and to assuage anyone with proximity issues. Now that we all have these handy alerts - “ he tapped his temple for emphasis “ - it isn’t nearly as necessary. Noah? Bud? What do you think?”

The buzz from the ceiling was clearly amused. “I am amenable if this is a solution. As Arthur pointed out, the width of that door is no longer necessary.”

“Annnd there we go,” Arthur shrugged. “The boatwright said yes, if that’s what we want.”

My jaw nearly hit the floor when Alistair nodded firmly and stood. Swiftly, he highlighted three more areas. “These have the same potential concern. We should include those in the proposal.”

‘We’? ‘We’ whomst??? Since when were they on the same side?

“I agree,” Arthur continued enthusiastically, causing my head to start twinging in pain. “According to the engineers and the chemisists on board, the material of the Ark is remarkably fire-retardant despite it’s organic nature - let’s hear it for advanced civilizations - so there is no additional need for fire doors. There is however a possibility of concussive damage to the actual doors in any area, despite how thick the actual walls are.”

“Tyche recommended shock-absorbent material on the exteriors of each door, dropped via internal trigger and held taught by wires rather than any sort of scaffolding,” I suggested, recovering my focus. I flicked the concept at the emitter, where it was displayed alongside the schematic of the Ark. “Using wires would allow us to also store it in a roll at the top of the door, and allow pulleys to draw the wires embedded in the bulkhead down to cover the entire door.”

Hannah nodded thoughtfully. “The materials she suggests are a good idea - definitely maximizes shock absorption as much as possible. My only concern is that we can probably double the flame resistance of the materials for only a ten-percent loss of effectiveness.”

Calling up my datapad, I smiled as I quoted. “ ‘However, Hannah is a professional weaver and seamstress, and therefore I defer to her on any suggestions regarding materials used, provided there is no more than twenty-percent loss of efficacy’. Apparently she did the calculations and had Charly and Conor both check behind her - anything below twenty percent loss, and the blast would blow the doors.”

“And when did the more sensible Miss Reid learn engineering?” Alistair asked in what sounded like genuine curiosity.

“Tuesdays - I think?” I scrunched my face and searched my memory. “It was something very important when we were cosplaying.”

Arthur snorted, but gestured an apology when Alistair affixed him with a downright lethal glare.

Hannah ignored them both. “Wool… We should be able to synthesize raw wool, instead of the plant based materials here. Best of both worlds - fluffy, incredibly flame resistant, and disperses concussive force like nothing else. Line it with silk for shrapnel? We should be good.”

“Fortress defense via quilts. I like it,” Arthur grinned savagely.

“There is a reason tapestries were so important in the Middle Ages,” Alistair snarked at him. “Both flame resistant and insulating, both very good qualities when you see by torches and candles in a drafty residence that echoes like a cathedral.”

Arthur held his hands up in surrender. “Not arguing, no worries… Genuine respect, swear.”

“Better…”

“Annnnd forging on from whatever-the-fuck-that-was,” I interjected, trying to focus on the topic at hand rather than… well, whatever the fuck that was, “That’s overlarge entries and concussive force taken care of. What other concerns did you have, Arthur?”

“Frankly? Camouflage,” he told us sternly. “The best way to protect against an invading enemy is to make it so hard to find you that it isn’t worth the effort.  All these defenses are good an all, but… they’ll stick out like a sore thumb and practically scream ‘Hey! We’re in HERE!’ “ I stifled a laugh when he hopped and waved his arms furiously.

“Very dignified, Farro,” Alistair sniffed as he stood to get more tea.

“I know, right? I’m so classy…”

Rolling my eyes and still regretting having them both in my office at the same time, “We actually have the camouflage solved for.” You could have heard a pin drop, all four of them frozen, mouths open. “It came through this morning from Zach.” I swiped the fortress-quilt specs down, and popped up the plans for the camouflage. “We’re thinking on the visible spectrum, since humans are sight animals. Zach went with a ‘most common denominator’ approach - scent, infrared, acoustic, everything but electromagnetic vision.  The quilts cover the infrared and the majority of the acoustic issues: if any body-heat shows through fifteen inches of fluffed wool and a bulkhead door, we’re doomed no matter what.” I highlighted a line of data. “Scent, likewise: Zach is suggesting aeresolized, low concentration sulfur throughout the majority of the Ark, excluding the safe-zones. The safe-zones will also have one of Miys stationed in each one, acting essentially as an air scrubber. This will minimize acoustics from active air filtration, while also adhering to Miys being a non-participant: they will be present to ensure our comfort due to minimizing body odor, nothing more.  This was already planned, the fact that it will protect us from being detected by scent is just a lagniappe.”

I waited for the thoughtful nods to pass and decided I did not see the glance that Arthur and Alistair exchanged. As long as they didn’t draw blood during the meeting, I would let it slide. “Where it gets sticky is neuroelectric. Zach, it seems, took a page out of Charly’s manual-of-mischief.” I zoomed in on the specific line of the prospectus and waited.

“He wants to what?” Hannah asked, incredulous. “You can’t be serious.”

“Oh I like this,” came the ‘devil’ in ‘devil’s advocate’.

“How would it even work?” Parvati asked, genuinely curious.

I chose that one to respond to. “Just like the microfilament wires that will support the quilts, he wants to cover the walls inside several false locations with a mesh and electrify it to mimic human synaptic energy. Needle in a haystack theory.”

“Wait,” Alistair held up a hand to interrupt. “Are you also proposing that the doors to these false locations will be covered in the quilts?”

“Absolutely,” I confirmed. “Given how far from prospective entry points all of the safe-zones are located, they would run into several false locations before they encounter a real one.”

“And if they decide to tear into all the locations, even the false-positives?” Arthur poked, trying to find a hole in the idea. Which, I had to concede, was why he was even here instead of sending me messages for this.

“What if they decide to tear into every mess hall? Or every door? We can’t plan for everything.” I shook my head. “However, we can factor in a few things that seem pretty consistent despite species - Beings who don’t have legitimate work and take slaves are generally prone to laziness, despite somehow working harder to avoid work than I have ever actually worked a day in my life.  Point being, give them enough false positives on the way, they won’t actually search everything no matter what they say.”

“Speculation and hearsay, not admissible in court.”

“Au contraire, mon frère. Charly did the sociological analysis on all the species most likely to be pirates in the region of the galaxy where we will exit relativistic space, and her estimates are that the plan has a sixty-to-eighty-percent chance of success in the event that all human combatants fail. And I, personally, agree.” 

He conceded a low whistle. “Damn. If I didn’t like Evan so much, I would say Charly is being wasted with Huynh. Objection withdrawn.”

“Quite,” Alistair agreed smugly. “Miss Harper’s plan is a sound one. The Archives, however - “

I interrupted, still irritated about the topic. “You will be stationed immediately inside the doors to defend against any intruders who make it that far, while Tyche will be defending the y-junction between the speculative fiction and historical fiction categories to prevent intruders from reaching the actual people.”

“But the religious studies section - “

“Has already been scanned down to a molecular level to preserve the information, even if we can’t restore any actual artifacts,” Parvati advised in a profoundly bored tone. “You do realize that anyone who reaches that section will not be able to reach the actual people from there without doubling back, right?”

“Miss Fletcher, there is a Gutenberg Bible on this Ark, potentially the last one in existence.” The tone was icy enough to send a shiver down my spine.

“Phee,” Arthur threw out, guaranteeing my irate attention, “Is there any issue with moving the Gutenberg to the Speculative Fiction section until we meet with the Ekomari fleet?”

“Are you seri - “

“Not to placate the Monarchist, I swear. Just - that is a profoundly important historical artifact, even if I agree with nearly none of the contents. The start of the Information age! Literature in the hands of the vulgar masses! Your field of study would have never existed in the form it was without that achievement. Who cares if the first use was to print the frickin’ Bible?”

Before I could object, Parvati added her prodigious two cents. “I do not have to be Christian to appreciate the illuminations in a manuscript, any more than I have to be a Muslim to be brought to my knees by the beauty of a mosque. We can appreciate the significance of something regardless of whether we agree with it or not.”

“This is probably where Charly or Tyche would point out that I am a huge fan of laws against animal abuse, despite firmly believing that Hitler was evil incarnate,” I sighed. “Yeah, we can move the Gutenberg Bible, provided - hang on, stop cheering - PROVIDED - “ I paused to make sure they were all paying attention, “that any other works of significant cultural or historical significance are moved as well. Any first additions, significant religious texts - or in lack of ‘significant’ religious texts, just a copy of each that is agreed to be acceptable by all who follow that religion. A copy of Frankenstein, The Tale of Genji, et cetera.”

I knew my request brooked exactly zero argument from Alistair, as his eyes visibly shone when I added more books to the list. What I waited for were any objections from the other three.

Sure enough, Hannah tentatively raised her hand. When I nodded, she spoke up. “I think we should do a kind of Voyager-plate: a copy, even just digital, of all our texts around music, crafts, technology, mathematics… Art, fermentation, food preparation and the history of it. Not just for this scenario!” she insisted urgently, “For any worst-case scenario. Keep a copy, or several. And put those copies, along with all the relevant artifacts that we have on board, and keep them with the people in the Archives, in the safest part of the ship.”

“Where it would take a black hole to destroy it,” Parvati whispered.

Just as the tears were threatening my eyes, Arthur flopped back in his seat and kicked his boots up onto the table. “Jesus fuck, you guys are depressing. Right, but depressing. It’s doable, though. We just transcribe it into the most common language for each version of ‘language’ in the Galaxy…”

Alistair snorted. “You warlords and your short-sightedness. Clearly, the resolution is to transcribe it into the most common language in the Galaxy with instructions on how to translate it further down.”

“No, you limey-ass bastard,” Arthur growled. “Too much is lost in translation - there is a reason the Qur’an and the Sefer Torah should never be translated to be considered valid.”

Nope. I wasn’t dealing with it. We had covered all the necessary topics, I could message the rest. I twitch my head at both Vati and Hannah, at which point they both rose from their seats. Neither was noticed by the arguing men.

Arthur was mid-sentence when a quick strike from Vati to the top of his spinal cord rendered all his words gibberish. Rather than realizing this, he glanced down at his suddenly-tingling fingertips in confusion. Hannah simply hauled Alistair out of his seat and ignored his squawked objections, her shorter but sturdier frame more than a match for his tall, slender frame and brain that was very much against violence towards women but undecided about how to stop them from chauffeuring you out of a room.

With exactly zero ceremony, both men were deposited in the corridor, to the satisfaction of all three of us. I waggled my fingers in a farewell. “Fuck it out or fight it out, I don’t care. But not in my office. Ta!”

I could not hold back the smile anymore when both started pounding on the door for entry, not realizing I had disabled their permissions right after the first volley had been thrown.  It was almost habit, at this point, to disable their permissions to my office when they started bickering, only to restore them when they decided to act like adults.

Clearly that wasn’t the case this time. Oh well, maybe in a couple hours. I would need to ask Xiomara to do a ‘sensor test’ of the gym and med bays to be sure.

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[retschina]

Marriage preparatory course, Part 3

Arthur Shelby/OC

Part 1: https://retschina.tumblr.com/post/180350967093/marriage-preparatory-course

Part 2: https://retschina.tumblr.com/post/180478570868/marriage-preparatory-course-part-2

 “Your opinions on marriage seemed to be very modern and progressive. Are you a supporter of women’s rights?” She asked and Arthur looked up from his clenched fists.

“Uh ...,” he answered and shrugged helplessly. “I ... I don’t know. I’m a supporter of ... to be honest, Miss Armstrong, I’m not a ... part of the Birmingham upper class, my home is the underworld, the ganglands. I do my own politics, our own politics, and women’s rights are not a part of my day to day business.”

“Oh,” she answered and bit on her lower lip.

The following silence was a little bit embarrassing, and he took a deep, relieved breath in the moment the waiter served them the Cream tea and the malt bread.

“Thank you,” she said and gave the waiter a smile.

After drinking some tea and tasting the malt bread and the scones she stated: “That’s heavenly, you were right. That’s maybe the best Cream Tea and the best malt bread I’ve ever had.”

Arthur, who hadn’t touched his tea or the scones or the malt bread nodded: “It is. I’m glad you like it.”

“So,” she stated after another sip of the tea, “despite being a resident of the underworld you might have an opinion on women’s rights?”

Once again, he shrugged. The discussion of women’s suffrage, on women’s rights had never drawn his interest. He didn’t think that they would be able to enforce something like equality, not in the totally men controlled world they lived in. No clear-thinking politician would support women’s rights. And what kind of power could women bring up to change this? Go on strike? Risible.

“Then maybe on marriage?”

“I ... since I came back from the war I never thought I would marry one day, so ... I don’t know. Marriage doesn’t concern me. At least that’s what I thought until ...” He didn’t finish the sentence and her smile did things in the pit of his stomach he never felt before.

“What would a woman have to expect if she agrees in marrying Arthur Shelby?”

He chuckled joylessly and shook his head. “Do you want the truth?”

“Of course.”

“She has to expect a man who drinks too much, who’s plagued by nightmares and mood swings, a man who isn’t at home in many nights, a man who tends to violence and a quick and short temper.” He stopped and looked to the floor, uncomfortable with his own frankness.

“And the positive aspects?” She asked and took another piece of malt bread.

“I don’t think there are many,” he answered and shook his head. “I’m ... old-fashioned and bad-mannered.”

“I don’t think that’s true,” she encouraged him. “And being old-fashioned doesn’t mean that you’re a bad person. Back in May you’ve talked about love and that a woman shouldn’t have to complain, you implied that you know how to ... do it without hurting your wife. You talked about love and you sounded like love is a very important thing in a marriage.”

He smiled a little bit and nodded: “Aye, maybe that’s one positive thing about me. I know what to do in the nights I’d be at home. I’m gentle ... no, no ... I can be gentle and slow. And love ... I don’t know if love is something men are able to feel. Maybe love is for women, to help them bear their fate. Guess marriage is a bit easier if you love your husband. It’s most likely the pitch black hell if you don’t.”

“Maybe you’re right,” she answered and paused for a moment, clearly struggling with a fit of sadness. “How old are you, Mr. Shelby?” She asked and handed him the plate with the malt bread, so he could have a piece before she’d eaten it all by herself.

“Thank you. I’m 33. I was born on 9 August, 1887, here in Birmingham.” Finally a question he was able to answer without feeling stupid or embarrassed or uncomfortable. “Where are you from? You’re not from Birmingham. Otherwise you’d known my name and my ... reputation.”

She nodded, smiling: “I’m from Barnsley. I moved to Birmingham after Andrew proposed. I’ve found a job as a switchboard operator at the Municipal Technical School at Suffolk Street. I like it there and I grew to like Birmingham, so I decided to stay after Andrew and I split up.”

Arthur nodded, stirred with the spoon in his cup like there was nothing more interesting than his tea and said after a short pause: “I long for love, for being loved and for loving someone. I need someone who makes me forget the past, the present and the future. But my hopes ... are still unfulfilled. And with every year that passes my hopes fading. I’m not lovable, I guess. Every decent, respectable woman I’ve met was stark and stiff of fear because of my reputation. The whores only care for my money. You’re the first one since 1915 who agreed in a date without being paid.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. They don’t know what they’re missing, Mr. Shelby,” Maud answered and added: “I’d go on a second date with you, without hesitation.”

“Thank you. Would you mind calling me Arthur?” He asked and put the spoon aside.

“No, I wouldn’t mind at all. I’m Maud.”

“Aye. Maud.” He whispered her name and looked up, still overwhelmed by her beauty. “You’re so beautiful. Maybe the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

“Thank you, Arthur.” She answered and her smile got bigger. “But ...”

He flinched because he noticed that he must have said this aloud: “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to ... go like a bull to the gate. What ... what are your opinions on marriage? We’ve talked about mine a lot ...”

“I grew up in a working class family. My foster parents seem to be pretty unhappy with each other. So I always hoped that I would find a man who’s at least a bit sympathetic. And one who’s not beating up his wife on a regular basis. My father, the biological one, died in prison when I was 14 years old. He’d been sentenced for killing my mother. He’d beaten her to dead because she bought milk instead of Absinthe. She’d made nettle soup for dinner. The soup had already been cold and the piece of bread he’d found in the kitchen had been mouldy.” Maud looked on the tabletop and gave the half eaten piece of scones with clotted cream and jam a little push. “Her death sentence was a bottle of milk, bought for the child he’d fathered, a cold soup and a mouldy piece of bread. She was 23 years old. I can’t imagine that he’d loved her. My foster parents weren’t in love either, but there was no ... violence. They argued a lot, but he didn’t beat her up.”

“I’m sorry,” Arthur answered lowly. “So sorry.”

“So, long story short: I have no clue about love, neither the one affecting one’s heart nor the one affecting the ... carnal side. I wish for love, too, of course, but I have no idea how to ... love someone. I’ve read a few books, love stories, by Jane Austen, for example, and I hope for someone who respects me, appreciates me and the work I do all day. I guess that’s a basic for finding love, don’t you think? Respect and appreciation.”

“Aye,” Arthur nodded and knew he wasn’t the right man for her.

And he knew that she knew. He was just like her father, a ruthless bloke beating his wife to death because he drank too much, because she did something wrong in his eyes. This was a perfect description of Arthur fucking Shelby. This would be him if he ever decided to marry. He had to leave her alone, for god’s sake.

 A week later he received a letter, sent to his office. He opened the envelope and his heart stopped for a second after he’d read the first lines.

 Mr. Arthur Shelby

The Shelby Company Ltd.

Watery Lane

Small Heath

  Dear Arthur.

 Thank you for the wonderful tea time hour at Bellham’s. I enjoyed our conversation very much and you gave me a few topics to think about, topics I want to discuss further. Next Thursday (21 October) I’ll be at Bellham’s for tea time. Maybe you want to join me. I am looking forward to seeing you again.

 Yours sincerely,

 Maud Armstrong

 He placed the letter on the table and took a deep breath. His head still told him he was the wrong man for her. But his heart, dear god, his heart told him otherwise. He wanted her so much it hurt.

Part 4: https://retschina.tumblr.com/post/180712699093/marriage-preparatory-course-part-4

Part 5: https://retschina.tumblr.com/post/180885625713/marriage-preparatory-course-part-5

Part 6: https://retschina.tumblr.com/post/180981534258/marriage-preparatory-course-part-6