#i hung out with old women again and drove around and saw my uncles with my grandma but i wad not the one drivinf

[citrushomie]

hello myles I hope you are having a good day

hi may hi sasuke hi rei sakuma i had a day i just got home and got back on minecraft immediately. the grind is real

[happys-crazy-queen22]

Not Helpless

Gif credit @ukemosalmundo

Requested by @mypridefulsoul27. I hope you like it. Thanks for the request.

:reader is 18 years old. Reader graduated before Scott and Stiles. The bite was consensual.

"Stiles, I'm going home. I dont need a phone babysitter"? You giggled as you walked down the sidewalk. You had just left Stiles and Scott and were walking home. The night was quiet and calm.

"Just stay on the line, okay? There's weirdos out there. Lurking, ready to take a pretty girl like you". Stiles made you blush. He never said anything about you being pretty before. It was odd.

"Thanks for not freaking me out, Stiles". You laugh, walking up your driveway. "Okay, I'm home. See you guys tomorrow. I gotta get ready". Whoops, cats out of the bag.

"You have a date? How could you plan a date when you were supposed to hang out with us? Do you really have cramps"? Stiles asked but your could hear Scott roll his eyes with a huff.

"Oh, god. Stiles, goodbye". You laughed and hung up. Unlocking your door you headed to your room and got changed. Your date would be here soon and you had to look nice.

A knock on the door made you squeal and you hurried down the hallway.

Opening the door there stood Peter Hale. Your date. Yeah, yeah the age difference. Blah blah. You were eighteen and a half so it was time to date the lone wolf that you've been crushing on for nearly two years.

"You look amazing, Y/N". Peter looked you up and down with a grin.

"Thank you, Peter. You look very handsome". You licked your lips when Peter stepped closer. He grabbed you by the waist and pulled you in.

"I had reservations and I was thinking a movie but after seeing you this good, I got a hunger for something else". Peter whispered in your ear seductively, his beard grazed your cheek sending shivers down your spine. He leaned in and kissed your lips.

"Let's go to your place". Your voice trembled from the excitement you were experiencing.

"You sure? You got dressed up ready to go out". Peter rubbed your back with his firm hand.

"Yes". You smashed your lips against his and backed him out the door.

You giggled when he opened your door and you slid in. Fixing your lips as he got in.

"Ready"? He asked.

"Oh yes". You grabbed his face and kissed him again before he started up the car.

"Get ready for a wild ride". Peter chuckled and drove off to his apartment. You couldnt wait, all you have been dreaming about is having your way with Peter.

Arriving at his apartment, he opened the door and followed you in.

"Nice place". You say putting your bag down on the chair.

Peter came up behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist. He lead you into his bedroom. "This is my favorite place in the apartment".

"This where the magic happens"? You giggle when Peter twirled you around. Looking at you with lust filled eyes. 

"You're the first in here".

"Really"? You didnt believe him. A handsome man like Peter and he hasnt had women in his bedroom before you.

"Really". Peter started kissing your neck, backing you up against the bed. Soon you were on your back, Peter hovering over you. Kissing up anddown your body. His hands roamed your goosebumped skin.

"I'm going to give you a night you'll remember for the rest of your life". Peter smiled, then his eyes turned a bright blue and then everything inside you exploded.

"Have you seen Y/N? She hasnt been answering my phone calls and her older brother hasnt heard from her". Stiles asked Scott and Lydia before walking to their cars after school.

"I may know where she is". Derek scared the bejesus out of Stiles. Who yelped.

"Dude! Stop sneaking up on us like that". Stiles scoffed. "Wait, you know where Y/N is"?

"Guess who's back in town"? Derek leaned against Stiles jeep.

"No leaning on the jeep". Stiles waved Derek off.

"Shut up, Stiles. Who, Derek". Scott intervened.

"My uncle. Peter Hale".

"Wait, didn't we kill him? I saw him burn". Stiles was confused.

"What does that have to do with Y/N"? Scott asked.

"She's his new mate". Derek smirked.

"No way. She wouldn't do that". Scott shook his head.

"Oh no". Stiles gasped.

"What"? Derek and Scott said together.

"I was going to tell you but then I saw Lydia and it was forgotten". Stiles started off.

"Stiles"!

"I overheard my dad saying something about a hikers body being found. Do you think Y/N could've done this"? Stiles chewed on his lip.

"With Peter controlling her. Anything is possible. We just have to find her before there are any more killings". Scott replied. He was worried about you but he was concerned that you could be a killer and Peter Hale made you that way.

Derek, Stiles and Scott agreed to meet where the body was found. Since Derek and Scott were werewolves they could smell the killer Stiles just tagged along.

"You guys smell anything? Hear anything"? Stiles were pestering Derek.

"Yeah, I hear you running your damn mouth. So shut up". Derek growled.

"Gee, dont have to bite my head off". Stiles chuckled.

Swig snaps.

"What's that"? Scott stopped and sniffed around. He could hear the leaves being crunched near by.

"I hear it too. You smell the perfume"? Derek asked. Scott nodded.

"What's going on? What do you smell"? Stiles pushed past them and went walking further into the woods.

"I wouldnt do that, Stiles". Scott warned.

"What's to worry about? I got two wolves to protect me". Stiles snickered. He stepped one foot over and was dropped to the ground with a scream.

"Y/N"? Scott was shocked.

"Hi ya, Scott". You smirked licking your lips. Your eyes were a light ocean blue which wasnt your normal eye color.

"What happened to you"? Stiles gulped as you pulled him up.

"Nothing. I'm great". You grinned, turning your head behind you as Peter walked up beside you.

"What are you doing with him"? Stiles scrunched up his face.

"Nice to see you Stiles". Peter smiled.

"We're together. Arent we the perfect couple"? You giggled, taking Peter's hand on yours.

"What did he do to you? You're covered in blood". Scott stepped forward.

"Nothing that I didn't ask him too".

"You asked to be bit"? Derek shook his head.

"Yeah. You two wouldnt do it so I got the one person I know wouldnt say no to me. Plus, I've had a crush on Peter since I was sixteen. He's super sexy". You purred, running your hand over Peter's chest.

"I think I'm going to puke. What's with the blood". Stiles rubbed the back of his neck.

"We were hunting". Peter spoke.

"For human"? Derek asked, making you roll your eyes.

"No. There were a couple deer near here so we thought what a great night. Let's hunt".

"We didnt kill anyone. If that's what you're thinking". Peter wrapped his arm around you.

"You sure about that, Uncle"? Derek sneered.

"I am. This is the first night we've been out since I turned her. We've been a little tied up". Both you and Peter moan as you kissed each other.

"Gross. Now I'm definitely going to be sick". Stiles held his stomach.

"Well it was nice chatting but we better go". Peter nodded to you.

"See ya around, guys". You waved and walked with Peter.

"We just going to let her go with that creep"? Stiles stood in front of Derek.

"We can't do anything. She's an adult. She made her choice now she has to live with it". Derek sighed and walked back the way they came.

"It'll be okay, Stiles. We'll see her. Even though she isn't exactly the same. She'll always be our best friend. Hey, at least she didn't try to eat you". Scott laughed, wrapping his arm around Stiles shoulder.

"Yeah. Peter hasnt completely got into her head. There's still Y/N in there. That's good". Stiles walked with Scott back to the jeep.

Behind a tree you heard them and smiled. They were always your best friends. Still are. The next day you went to Stiles house and talked about the body. You can still date and be friends. Things wont change that much.

[amanda-glassen]

My Love, My Life

For the “My Love, My Life - ABBA” square of @storiesofsvu​ fall bingo.

Characters: Olivia Benson, Serena Benson

Serena reflects on the past 18 years the night before Olivia moves to LA for college. (The Wonder Years universe)

Serena woke up to her four-year-old daughter’s hand on her face for the second time that night. They knew Charlie was old enough to sleep in her own bed, but Jamie didn’t have the heart to say no to her whenever she stood in the doorway clutching her Chucky doll and asking if she could sleep with them. Charlie may have looked like Serena and acted like her, but she and Jamie had a bond that Serena felt she wasn’t always a part of. The closeness Jamie had with Charlie is what Serena had with Olivia－her big baby as she affectionately called her, her big baby that was leaving home in less than eight hours.

Knowing she wouldn’t be able to fall back asleep, Serena kissed her sleeping daughter on the cheek and walked down the hall to Olivia’s room. There were two large pieces of luggage and a carry-on bag propped up against the wall, ready for her flight. Olivia was only taking her clothes and the plan was to buy everything she’d need for her dorm when they were over there. Her room would remain the same and Serena didn’t know if that was a source of comfort or if she’d spend hours crying on Olivia’s bed when she was gone.

Olivia may have been eighteen and going off to college but when Serena saw her fast asleep that night holding onto her stuffed t-rex, all she could see was the little girl who would give her kisses when she tucked her into bed each night. 

I held you close to me

Felt your heartbeat and I thought I am free

Oh, yes and as one are we

In the now and beyond

Nothing and no one can break this bond

Scenes from Olivia’s childhood started playing in her mind and, when she closed her eyes tightly, she could swear she had been transported to their old apartment. It was small and humble but that tiny apartment held the happiest moments of Serena’s life because as long as she had Olivia, she had all she needed. She could smell five-year-old Olivia’s strawberry-scented children’s shampoo and feel her heart beating fast as she held onto her. Her little girl had had a nightmare and was depending on her for comfort and protection. 

“It’s okay, baby,” Serena told her as they sat in the rocking chair and she attempted to rock Olivia back to sleep. “Mommy’s here. I’ll always keep you safe.”

Her tiny hand clenched Serena’s tank top as she started to calm down. “Mommy, I’m a big kid now. I don’t wanna be scared like a baby.”

“Everyone is afraid of something, Ollie girl.”

“Even you?” her daughter looked at her, wide-eyed.

“Even me,” Serena smiled.

“Are you afraid of the boogeyman?”

“No,” Serena tickled her, causing Olivia to giggle. “The boogeyman and I are best friends. I send him after your uncle Kyle all the time.”

“Mommy,” Olivia continued to giggle. “What are you afraid of then?”

“Hmm,” Serena gently bit her lip as she tried to think of what she was afraid of. “You know that really grouchy professor who gave Mommy a bad grade? I think I’m afraid of her.”

“What about the monster under the bed?”

Serena absentmindedly twirled one of Olivia’s curls around her finger. “Oh that monster. Remember that time we went to Grandma and Grandpa’s house by Lake Tahoe and I sprayed you with that stuff to keep the mosquitos away? Well, how about if I make something for you to keep the monsters away?”

“Okay.” Olivia laid her head on her chest. “Mommy, can I sleep with you tonight? And tomorrow we can make monster spray?”

“You can sleep with me anytime you want, baby.”

That night she cuddled Olivia close in her bed, making sure to stay awake until she knew her little girl was fast asleep. “Mommy, you’re my hero,” her daughter said in a sleepy voice. “You’re the most bravest mommy in the whole world.”

But thirteen years later, as she stood in the doorway of her daughter’s room, she no longer felt brave. What her daughter couldn’t comprehend during the conversation they had when she was five was that Serena’s biggest fear was the day Olivia grew up and left home. 

I am invincible, how could this go wrong?

No, here, here's where we belong

I see a road ahead

I never thought I would dare to tread

For the first time since she became a teenager, Serena climbed into bed with Olivia and held her as close as she could from behind. Instead of strawberry shampoo and bubble bath, she smelled the remnants of Olivia’s cologne and some Dove men’s lotion.

“Mom, are you sniffing me?” Olivia asked, half asleep.

“You don’t smell like my baby anymore, but this scent is still comforting,” Serena said as she nuzzled into the back of Olivia’s neck. 

“Mom, I’m eighteen now. This is weird.”

“Olivia Margaret!” Serena raised her voice. “Do you know how long I was in labor with you?”

Olivia turned around to face her. “You see, I asked Grandma about that and she said you actually weren’t in labor that long and once the drugs kicked in, you were practically numb from the neck down. You can’t use that on me anymore. Charlie was the difficult labor. Why don’t you use that on her instead?”

“She’s only four,” Serena chuckled. “There’s no fun in guilt-tripping a four-year-old. She already believes everything I say. Your sister is in that innocent phase of life where she believes in Santa and the Tooth Fairy and the Easter Bunny. Give it five years. I’ll start guilt-tripping her then.”

“That’s some A+ parenting, Mom,” Olivia said jokingly. “Why do I feel like Charlie and I will be explaining all of this to a therapist someday?”

“Because you will, Olliegator. Just like I did and my mother and grandmother did before me. Face it, baby. Crazy runs in the family. That and alcoholism.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Olivia rolled her eyes. “And, Mom, you’re still cuddling me.”

Serena held her even tighter. “It’s your last night at home. Either I cuddle you now or I walk into your dorm room when your roommate is there and say ‘Where’s my Olliegator? Where’s my kisses?’ in a really annoying tone of voice.”

“I’d like to think you were bluffing, but I know you’d do it, so I’ll just let you cuddle me.”

For a few moments, Serena was able to bask in the feeling of holding Olivia one last time before she moved. Finding out Olivia had gotten a softball scholarship was one of the proudest moments of Serena’s life until she realized it meant her baby would have to move to LA. Her parents lived in Beverly HIlls and her sister lived in Santa Monica, neither of which were far from Olivia’s school, but even if she knew they’d watch out for her, nothing would ever compare to her knowing Olivia was safe in her bedroom down the hall.

“I’m worried about you living on your own. Grandma and Grandpa live two miles from your school, why don’t you just live with them? At least I know you’d be safe. What if your roommate is some crazy person?”

Olivia scoffed. “As opposed to the crazy woman I live with now?”

“Smartass.” Serena playfully pinched her.

“Ow!” Olivia rubbed her arm. “For a tiny woman, you’re really strong.”

“Strong enough to lock you in this room so you can’t leave me?”

“Mom!” Olivia groaned.

“I’ve had eighteen years to prepare for this and I’m still not ready,” Serena admitted. “I know you’re an adult now and you’ve worked so hard to get where you are, but I don’t want you to leave home.”

Now it was Olivia’s turn to hold her close and she couldn’t help sobbing into her daughter’s shoulder. “Mom, I know this is hard, but everything is going to be okay. Remember when I had that really bad nightmare and I called you the bravest mom in the world? I still think that’s true. Everything I’ve accomplished is because of you and how brave you are. What you went through when I was conceived. Dealing with that trauma plus preparing to have a baby when you were only 21. You graduated from college and then went on to get your PhD all while being a single mom. For the first twelve years of my life, it was just the two of us and I still don’t know how you managed to do it all. You’ve taken care of all of us; let us take care of you now.”

“I love you, Olliegator.”

“I love you, too, Mom,” Olivia said as she placed a kiss on her cheek. “And, yes, I’m leaving home but I’m never leaving you.” 

Flying to LA was like flying home for Serena. Her mother picked them up from LAX and they stopped at a store to shop for bedding and a few things to get Olivia through the first day in her dorm.

“Tomorrow, we’ll go shopping for some decorations and some other things to make the place feel like home, okay, Ollie?” Olivia’s grandma told her.

On the drive to Olivia’s school, they passed by all of Serena’s favorite places to visit as a child. The little bakery where Olivia had her first ice cream sandwich was just a couple of blocks away from the campus and, when they drove by it, Serena had to swallow hard so as not to cry. 

“Mom, can we get an ice cream sandwich sometime before you fly back to New York?” Olivia asked, which made Serena feel like she was gonna cry all over again.

“Yes, of course, Olliegator. We can go anywhere you want.”

There were three generations of Benson women in Olivia’s dorm room; Serena and Mrs. Benson took to making her bed and organizing her desk while Olivia unpacked her clothes and hung them up in the closet. They were there for two hours, mostly stalling for time until they could no longer put off the inevitable. There was another fifteen minutes of goodbye hugs and kisses on the cheek with Serena trying her hardest not to let Olivia see her cry.

“I’m still gonna see you tomorrow before you fly back, right?” Olivia asked her with that same pleading look she had as a child.

“Just call me whenever you’re ready.”

“And you’ll be back next month for Parents Weekend?”

My baby already misses me. “I wouldn’t miss it for anything and I know your sister is gonna put on the hoodie you bought for her as soon as I get back and ask if it’s time to go to your school,” Serena said as she held her close. “If you ever feel lonely, your grandparents are just a couple of miles away and your aunt Lexie is in Santa Monica and you can always call me. I don’t care what time it is, Ollie. Just call me whenever you need me.”

When they were outside, Serena couldn’t help turning around to look at the building her daughter would call home for the next nine months. It was so full of life and Serena knew her daughter was going to have a good time and make a lot of friends, but this building wasn’t their house and Serena wanted nothing more than to get Olivia and take her back to New York. I can’t do that to her. She worked so hard to get here and I owe it to her to let her be happy.

Yes, I know don't possess you

With all my heart, God bless you

You are still my love and my life

“It’s okay to cry, Ser Bear,” Mrs. Benson said as she hugged her. “I know I did. What you’re feeling right now, I felt 22 years ago when I dropped you off at Columbia. I kept asking myself why couldn’t you just go to UCLA or USC or, hell, I’d have settled for somewhere in northern California, but you worked for years to get into Columbia and you were so excited. I know I broke your heart so many times when you were growing up. I didn’t want to add that to the list and letting you go ended up being the best thing for you. Look at the woman you’ve become. You’re excelling in your career, you’re a wonderful mom, and you met and married Miss Tall, Dark, and Handsome.”

Feeling the comfort of her mother’s arms made Serena unable to stop her tears from flowing. “What if she never comes back?”

“No matter how old she gets, she’s always gonna need you,” Mrs. Benson said as she dried her daughter’s tears. “Kids always come back, baby, even if it’s just for a while. You just have to let them know there’s always a road that’ll lead them back home again.”

[undertaker1827]

ooie! platonic 21 Halloween headcanons with Sebs and Under?

I AM SO HAPPY THAT OPENED HIS ASKBOX😀😀😀

Riiiiight so I completely missed the holiday (so sorry) hope you enjoy anyway!! Aww thank you❤️

21] Tell scary stories

Masterlist

-

Undertaker

Okay so Undertaker tells the best scary stories

They all kind of take place in the Victorian era going into the early 1900s (Industrial Revolution and such)

You’ve gone over to see him on Halloween, either preferring his company over others or just not having anyone else nearby to celebrate with

He’s in the front room of the parlour when you get there, the same one he’s lived in since the 1800s

You insist that a good half of the cobwebs in the place are from the same time, clearly incredibly old and so thick with dust in places that you couldn’t see through them

The grime covering the single window also concerned you, though the candles and oil lamp (all for the aesthetic, my dear) always provided a welcoming glow

The two of you were sitting on top of a coffin in the front room (mainly in case any more trick or treaters came by) with the oil lamp between you casting strange shadows over your companion’s face

Undertaker trusted you, quite a lot in fact so he had his bangs pushed back and those intense chartreuse eyes showing

This made his stories seem more scary, more real, which he knew full well

He would be lying if he didn’t admit that he enjoyed seeing you scared of something as small as his stories, finding something so uniquely human in the fear you tried to hide

It encouraged him to think of other tales to tell you, because god if he didn’t want to bring that emotion further out, to probe it just a bit more and see what you did in response

He told one about a graveyard he’d been tending to one night in the 1870s, just doing a round and making sure everything was in order - mainly checking for graverobbers

He explained to you that some graves in those days were fitted with bells - those who could afford them, that was - in case it turned out that the person buried was, in fact, still living

But as the reaper was walking, rain coming down in torrents and his hair plastered down to his head with a shovel held over his shoulder, he heard a bell ring

He glanced sharply in the direction of it, not having sensed any living humans in the area since early in the evening

He strolled over with a casual look on his face, one belying remarkable interest

The bell rang again, more incessantly this time, until it just kept ringing constantly, not letting up once

Undertaker took the final few steps to the headstone

As soon as his boot touched the ground next to it, the bell stopped dead

The mortician paused in his regaling of his tale, eyes narrowed and glowing with interest as your pale, wide-eyed face stared back at him intently

Your hands were clasped together in front of you and he could practically see the chill crawling down your spine

It was raining at this point, coming down in hard sheets that pounded against the window

You were leaning forward in anticipation, begging him to go on as you couldn’t stand the suspense a second longer

As the bell stopped, the reaper took a quick glance at the grave: Nicholas Chambers, beloved father, uncle, brother and husband

“Help me, pl-please!” A mournful voice wailed, disused and rasping as a result

A series of coughs followed and a dull thud against a rotting wooden prison

“I need help, I’m trapped down here,” the voice started again, though Undertaker simply narrowed his eyes and scoffed

“Don’t think I’m gonna let you up right now, lad,” he called down, receiving a long wail in return, followed by a cried out ‘why not?!’

“’Cause, Mister Chambers, you were left six feet under in 1698!”

He began sauntering away again, ignoring the pounded that started against the lid of the decaying coffin, the angry yelling that rang through the sodden graveyard

“Rest in peace indeed,” Undertaker muttered, “think we’ll let you stay put a while longer.”

The horrified look on your face when the story ended was enough to send the reaper into a raucous fit of laughter, making you jump so badly that you flung an arm out at random, knocking over the oil lamp and shrieking as it shattered against the stone floor

The room was plunged into darkness and you were temporarily blind with the sudden change in light

You reached around with your hands in terror, trying to find the mortician

You heard a light giggle to your side then felt his arms around you a moment later

You clutched onto him immediately, fingertips trembling

“Daft thing,” he murmured “didn’t scare you that badly, did I?”

Your lack of answer was enough to confirm to him that he had

Sebastian

Right

Sebastian is another one who tells absolutely brilliant scary stories

There was quite literally no one else you could see yourself spending Halloween with apart from him

I mean he is actually a demon, that has to count for something in terms of the quality of this holiday

You found that his apartment was tastefully decorated when you made it over there in the early evening

Well placed cobwebs hung in the corners and from the ceiling with dark candelabras positioned on various tables and shelves, black candles already burned enough to leave trails of wax down their sides

His adjustable lights were dimmed down and giving the whole place a warm, orange glow, one which was enhanced by the flames from the candles and the fire burning in the hearth

His curtains were drawn and the room was a comfortable temperature, a nice contrast to the freezing weather outside

He welcomed you in with a gentle hug, presenting you with a cup of tea moments later and elegantly taking the winter coat from your shoulders

He whisked it away to hang somewhere neatly, then you both went and sat down on the sofa together

It wasn’t like you came to the decision of ‘let’s tell spooky stories’, it just sort of ended up happening

Sebastian’s apartment was quite a long way up, meaning you could hear the wind howling loudly around the corners and battering the windows, adding a certain creepiness to the evening

The demon no doubt sensed that emotion on you and decided to use it to his advantage

He went so smoothly into his anecdote that you hardly even realised he’d done it, but your heart rate was picking up before you knew it

His story started on a barren Yorkshire moorland, with a young woman driving home from work late at night

It was the middle of winter and even with the heating on, she could feel the cold seeping in through every available join in the bodywork of the car

There were no other vehicles on the road, no pedestrians, no signs of life

As she drove on, a light mist started to roll in off the moor, soon coating the road and leaving her barely able to see a few metres in front of her

She simply slowed down and carried on, more than used to these sudden changes in weather

It was when she rounded a corner however, that she was forced to slam on her brakes

An old women was stood partially out in the road, hunched over and clutching a small bag to her stomach

She was dressed in black with a hood pulled low over her head, waving the car down

The young woman stopped, opened the window and asked if she needed a lift

In a few minutes they were off once again, the woman still with her hood covering her face

The driver seemed simply to realise something was off - a sixth sense, maybe - and took several discreet glances at her companion

It was only on the third or fourth that she realised; the ‘old woman’ had the hands of a young man

She continued driving on like before, waiting until the back window inevitably fogged up before apologising to her passenger, asking if she would be so kind as to get out and clear it so they could continue doing so

The old woman nodded, slowly getting out and making her way around to the back of the car

Only when she was well away from the door did the driver floor the car, flinching as the passenger door slammed shut at the sudden acceleration and glancing in the rear view to ensure the passenger was still standing in the road

She didn’t dare look back again when the man raised his hands to the hood of the cloak, terrified of what she might see

She sped on after that, a white knuckle grip on the wheel and mouth parched, though she would stop for nothing

She finally arrived home about half an hour later, breathing a sigh of relief when she pulled into her drive

Her back stiffened however when she saw that her passenger’s bag was still sitting on the seat next to her

Hesitantly, she picked it up and tipped the contents on the seat, only to leap backwards against the car door and gasp

The gleaming, sharpened steel of a meat cleaver reflected back at her and she was chilled to the bones as thoughts of what would have happened to her had she of thought any slower consumed her mind

Sebastian’s eyes were positively glowing when he finished, hearing your heart race and seeing the way your hands were trembling, even as you hid them in your lap

“Whatever is the matter, Y/N?” The demon asked with a smirk, “surely you aren’t that scared of a simple fable?”

He leaned forwards to pull you into a hug when you didn’t answer, shaking his head at how every muscle in your body was tensed and the way you held onto him immediately

This was another thing about humans that fascinated him; telling scary stories was one of the oldest traditions of All Hallow’s Eve that was still around, yet people scared themselves so much that they no longer looked upon it as a bit of fun, in some cases, at least

[translations-by-aiimee]

Dig a Grave to Dig Out a Ghost - Chapter 10

Original Title: 挖坟挖出鬼

Genres: Drama, Horror, Mystery, Supernatural, Yaoi

This translation is based on multiple MTLs and my own limited knowledge of Chinese characters. If I have made any egregious mistakes, please let me know.

Chapter Index

Chapter 10 - Back to the City

Black shadows rose from the middle of the road, eyes without pupils staring at Lin Yan's car. There were ragged children with skin stretched tight on their bones running around, and even women in palace costumes, stretched out their long white hands, scratching the body of the car with their nails. It was an apocalyptic escape. Lin Yan took a deep breath and accelerated to two hundred and ten kilometres per hour. The trees on either side of the road became looming shadows, and he couldn't clearly see anything on the road. He was firmly pressed back onto the seat by the impact of the acceleration. The uneven dirt road and the speed made Lin Yan worry that the car would flip over at any second. Even so, he didn't dare take his foot off the pedal for a second. The car was like a strong black wind, cutting its way out of the ghost formations in the mountains and forests.

Escaping towards the land of the living.

Just before the needle on the fuel gauge dropped to empty, Lin Yan finally saw the city. He got on the Fifth Ring Road and he rolled the window down a crack. The cool night breeze dissipated the heavy bloody air in the car.

Cities, traffic, human voices, normality.

Lin Yan let out a long sigh of relief and relaxed into the chair.

The events of the exorcism in the mountains seemed like a dream as he drove through the bright lights of the city, but the evidence of the event sitting in his passenger seat was very reak. Lin Yan slammed his hand against the steering wheel, thinking that his life must really be hell. The most damn thing is that, in an era in which people lived in peace and well-being, and the leaders lived in happiness, leading the future of the country with diplomacy and socialism, he had saved a ghost who came to kill him from the hands of a master who didn't know what was going on.

Lin Yan found a secluded place to stop and rest.

"Man, celebrate, we made it out."

There was no answer. The ghost next to him seemed to be asleep, his eyes closed as he leaned on the seat, his black hair hanging down to cover most of his face.

He didn't die, did he? Lin Yan's heart clenched, and then he realized that this thing was already dead, and there's no way that it could die again. No, he couldn't say anything. Lin Yan glanced at him. His quiet manner with his eyes closed was no different from that of a living person. He was even breathing, his chest slightly rising and falling regularly. Dressed like a Confucian disciple, with loose hair that was very inconsistent with traditional practices, his clothes were stained with old blood, but the fabric was still visible beneath it. Looking down, bare feet peeked out from beneath the straight hemline. They were covered with a series of mottled cracks and old wounds like he had been walking for a long time.

Lin Yan sighed, thinking that this time he definitely offended his ancestors. He hesitated for a while, debating between abandoning the car and fleeing or committing suicide, and finally decided to wait until the "person" woke up. "Don't believe the words of the dead, ghosts only remember what they want." The lines from the movie "Voice" flashed in his mind. Lin Yan shook his head, his eyes weren't playing tricks on him. The look in the ghost's unwilling and nostalgic eyes looked too real.

Suddenly, Lin Yan was not afraid of him. He hesitated and hadn't bothered to take a good look at him back in the temple. Ghosts. . . ghosts were invisible and intangible. What does it look like?

Through the ghostly tangles, Lin Yan stretched out his hand and slid away the long hair covering his face.

For a moment, he had prepared himself to see a rotten face, even a skeleton, completely lacking any facial features, but when the black hair fell behind his ears, Lin Yan was taken aback when the man’s sleeping face was revealed.

It's. . . a ghost. . . how could he look so good?

His face resembled those from ancient times, with long eyebrows stretching to his temples, a straightened nose. Between his eyebrows, there was a brilliance that did not belong to this era. His restless sleep was probably exhaustion from what the temple master put him through. He was frowning, curled up in his sleep, as if he was still protecting the little wooden block.

What? Such a good complexion. Maybe it wasn't all that bad having an early death to keep these looks. What the hell, this ghost looks good.

The skin was also very smooth, like a jade carving, with invisible pores.

Lin Yan glanced at him sympathetically, and his heart lurched. This guy didn't just think of me as his dead wife who he didn't had died years ago. He was desperately trying to achieve this virtue for some surrogate substitute. The things that happened in the temple made Lin Yan feel a little guilty. He couldn't help but brush away the broken hair from his neck and gently wipe the dried blood on his face with the back of his hand.

The ghost startled and his eyes snapped open, staring at Lin Yan with spite.

Lin Yan yelled out of fright, and he instinctively covered his neck with his hands.

The target of the attack this time changed to his shoulders. A pair of infinitely powerful ghost hands squeezed Lin Yan's shoulder blades harder and harder. He could almost hear the rattling of bones, and there was a burst of pain in his shoulders. This shit was endless. Lin Yan panicked and scrambled for the car door like a wild animal, but when the car was parked, it was automatically locked and could not be opened.

The car was so dark that he couldn't find the button that controlled the door lock. Lin Yan had to fumble around near the small green light on the control panel. The ghost's hand slid off his shoulder and touched the wound on his forearm. After hesitating for a while, he leaned over and lowered his head to gently sniff the newly scabbed-over knife wound.

Lin Yan remembered that he was still sprinkled with the Yin and Yang energy stone powder, there was only a human scent remaining at the place of the cut. He couldn't help but rub his shoulders and let out a laugh.

"It's me, don't smell it. It's not the real scent."

The ghost gave a long sigh and pulled Lin Yan's arm into his arms. Lin Yan looked at him blankly. All the energy he had disappeared with the obedient look and he had to let go of the door handle. Leaning towards the passenger seat, he rested his face on the ghost's chest.

"Brother, I'm sorry about today. You were almost hung up by the old monk without even knowing it. I owe you, let's not take this as an example, though."

The ghost's arm was wrapped around his waist, and Lin Yan's cheek was tickled by the long hair.

"Do you miss your wife?" Lin Yan grabbed the hand on his waist. He intertwined their fingers and whispered, "I have always missed my ex-girlfriend, but once you break up, it's done. You have to move on."

"It was wrong for me to dig up your grave, but this is what I'm learning in school. Whatever my professor tells me to do, I have to do it. Don't pester me, reincarnate instead. In due time, come back as a young lady or little loli in your next life and find Uncle for some sweets."

"When you grow up, Uncle will introduce you to someone."

". . . Forget it, you don't understand anyway."

Quietly in the car, the neon lights of the city reflected on the windows, and the Apple logo on the top of the tall building in the distance exudes cold white light. There were groups of people coming and going on the road. Groups of little girls changed into their summer clothes and carrying shopping bags, laughing and playing together. The boy was wearing headphones and concentrating on leaning against the window to play mobile games, probably because he was impatiently waiting for his girlfriend.

In the Audi parked by the roadside, Lin Yan and the ghost leaned against each other. The hustle and bustle outside the window seemed to fade away. All that was left was an unusual sensation. In an era that promoted independence and material desire, a bustling city, and impetuous life, full of voices, never really connected with him.

He was often driven to despair by such loneliness.

He never knew anyone else who felt this way. When people see other people, they start to act like dogs. Lin Yan raised a labrador who was always innocent and enthusiastic with his round eyes waiting for the owner to return home, more loyal than his own lover. He suddenly admired the ghost in front of him. No matter what reason he had for following him, destroying his life, or whether they really had a relationship, he had the courage to travel through hundreds of years and walk alone in this era that did not belong to him. Lin Yan wondered if he would be anxious when he walked through the tall buildings with billboards behind him. So. . . what was his motivation?

Lin Yan took out his cell phone to send a text message to Yin Zhou. Things had changed so fast. A few hours ago, he was shouting that he was going to kill the troublesome ghost, but now he was cradling him and watching the nightlife. The fluorescent light was dazzling in the dark. Just as he wrote out the fourth word, the screen was suddenly covered by someone's hand. Lin Yan pulled the hand away, but the ghost reluctantly covered the screen again, glowing light leaking through the gaps of his slender fingers. Lin Yan couldn't help but chuckle. He thought this ghost was very interesting. This child had a temper, so he locked the screen and coaxed him softly: "Stop, don't be angry." He pulled himself out of the ghost's arms and tugged on his sleeve cuff. The ghost obediently leaned over onto Lin Yan's chest, and Lin Yan slowly straightened out his hair with his fingers.

"There are still a few hours before dawn. I'll hold you until you fall asleep. Today, you were punished by the old monk." Lin Yan said. He could only breathe out a few times. Lin Yan shook his head at the misty figure in front of him, thinking about how he could pay for the sins he committed. He must find a way to break this ghost's obsession with the world and let him reincarnate in peace.

[katefiction]

Angels - Part 1

by mrandmrswales (Emily) / January 28, 2013

So this is my first fanfic that I’m publishing and I am as expected a little nervous about it! I really hope you like it and so please give me feedback, negative or positive!! It’s set on December 25th 2020. Kate and William have had two little girls, Princesses Elizabeth and Isabella (Libby and Belle). I hope there aren’t any mistakes! If you have any ideas for part 2, let me know!

Emily x

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‘Mummy! Daddy! Wake up! It’s Christmas! Father Christmas came!’  two high-pitched voices filled my head and last remaining grip I had on sleep left me as I was jumped on by two little weights in excitement. Libby crawled next to me, forcing my body away from my wife’s and curling into Kate’s side. Any other day, I would have been a little irritated to be awoken rather rudely at quarter to 7, but it was Christmas Day after all. With a smile, I sat up and turned the lights on to observe my two little angels clutching their stockings. Their faces were red with excitement and their lovely green eyes, almost the same as their mother’s, glowed with anticipation.

‘Happy Christmas darlings.’ said Kate, giving them both kisses and I did the same. Christmas had never been the same for me after my mother died, however soon after meeting Kate and being able to spend it with her and then later our two daughters had rejuvenated my love of Christmas. Our littlest, Belle, who had been sitting at the end of our bed while Libby had wriggled between Kate and I, had decided she was cold so crawled in next to me and I gave her a cuddle.

“You excited sweetie?’ I asked and she nodded. She was a lot quieter than Libby who had always been the more outgoing and louder of the two, which was probably a good thing considering she was to be Queen. ‘Who’s excited to open presents?!’ I said cheerfully and was met with two little squeals of excitement. I glanced at Kate who was helping Libby to unwrap her first present and felt a swell of pride and happiness. My little family at Christmas-nothing could be better.

An hour later, our room looked like a bomb had hit it. Wrapping paper was everywhere and presents adorned the bed. In the middle sat Libby, Belle and Kate smiling widely as I took a photo, the girls holding up their favourite presents for the camera. Libby had a new scarf and Belle had a new little boat for the bath among other little goods. When finished, I was left to try and clear everything up, while Kate went downstairs with the girls to make a cup of tea and let Lupo out.

After the excitement of seeing that Santa had eaten his mince pie and drunk his brandy and the reindeer had eaten its carrots, Breakfast began. Pancakes were cooked (by Kate of course) and I helped put golden syrup faces and lemon on the girl’s pancakes, much to their delight. We were just about to start when Libby piped up, ‘Daddy Can I have sprinkles on mine?’ I saw Kate frown and laughed, ‘Of course sweetie.’ to which she promptly groaned, ‘Will it’s breakfast time, you’ll get them into bad habits.’

‘Oh it’s Christmas! One time okay girls?’

They nodded, grinning happily and I fetched the sprinkles, pouring them on the girls and then on Kate’s. She grinned and chuckled and we all began to eat.

—————————————————————————————-

‘You look beautiful’ I remarked as I left the bathroom to see my wife putting in the earrings I gave her for her 30th birthday. ‘Thank you’ she murmured quietly while I wandered over to her and wrapped my arms around her waist. She sighed contentdly.

‘Did you ever imagine how happy we’d all be a couple of years ago? Not that we weren’t happy, but having the girls makes me feel so complete.’ I nodded. There were no words needed between us. I swivelled her around and gave her a kiss that lingered slightly. She smiled and rested her head on my chest and I rested my head on hers. ‘Happy Christmas darling.’ I whispered and she smiled as I kissed her forehead. We stayed like that in our own world like we used to before children who needed your attention constantly came along. To prove my point, we promptly heard a crash upstairs and a muffled cry of ‘Libby Go Away!’ Chuckling, We broke apart reluctantly and Kate left to go upstairs and calm them down while I put on my suit.

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‘Oh I wish it could be Christmas everydayyyyy!’ We all sang loudly as we drove the short distance from Amner Hall to Sandringham were we would spend most of the rest of the day. Kate’s parents, sister and brother with their families were coming down this evening to spend the following day with us. Pulling up, we were met by an excited Isla and Savannah, my Cousin Peter’s daughters who were only a few years older than mine. ‘Merry Christmas!’ they yelled and hugs and kisses were given all round before we were dragged inside to greet everyone else.

‘Uncle Harry!’ Came an excited shout further up the corridor as we walked through. I smiled as a familiar mop of red hair jumped out and began hugging the girls, making them laugh with his cheekiness already. Straightening up eventually, he hugged Kate and myself and walked the rest of the way into the enormous greeting room where the rest of my relatives were. Almost as if the spell of the older generation had hit, the girls fell silent and hung back. Belle clinging on to Kate’s skirt for support. Kate shot me a look and I smiled. It was almost the only time the girls were silent.

———————————————————————————————-

‘Can you hold Belle please Will?’ Kate asked me. Belle, being a lot shier than Libby didn’t like to interact with the public unless she was being held by either Kate or myself. I nodded and picked her up. Libby was holding hands with my cousin Louise and chatting away to her in front of us. I smiled watching them. It was really very sweet. In a moment of spontaneity, I took Kate’s hand in my spare one, prompting a hidden smile from her. We hardly ever showed PDA in public, but Christmas with my family had put me in a good mood and I wanted to show the public that even after two children, I still loved Kate more than ever, if not more.

‘Hello! It’s lovely to meet you! I hope you’re having a wonderful Christmas.’ I said to two old women. ‘Lovely to meet you too dear, thank you very much! Isn’t she sweet? Takes after her father!’ They cried, cooing at Belle, who was curled up into my shoulder. I laughed and thanked them before moving on. Further ahead, Kate and Libby were now meeting people. Libby had been confident, charming and chatty or so I was told by many people I met after she had moved on. I had never felt so proud. At long last, we reached the church. I met up with Kate and praised Libby, who smiled bashfully. Kate and I exchanged a proud look and we entered the church.

‘Daddy I’m bored,’ whispered Belle. I grimaced. This was the 5th time I had been told so and we’d only been here half an hour. ‘Not long Belle’ I replied and she groaned, wriggling about in her seat. ‘Shhh Belle’ Whispered Kate. ‘But Mummy I’m bored!’ Belle hissed again. Kate groaned and rummaged in her bag for a colouring book. ‘Here you go.’ She said and handed it over. Belle was satisfied and began to carefully colour a turtle pink and purple. However it wasn’t long before Libby decided she was bored too and asked to colour in too. ‘No. I’m colouring!’ Belle replied grumpily. ‘Come on you’ve been colouring in for agesss! Mummy please can I colour in?’

‘Shh. Libby aren’t you too old to colour in?’

‘No mummy!’

‘Oh all right. Belle darling can you share? I only brought one.’

‘No.’

‘darling come on and share.’ I said, stepping in to help Kate.

Belle turned around and glared at me, but gave in when I gave her my ‘cross daddy’ look. Soon enough, the two of them were colouring in a blue elephant.

———————————————————————————————-

‘Can I have five potatoes please?’ Libby asked. We were sat at the enormous table at Sandringham for Christmas Lunch. I noted how the table had just kept getting bigger in the last few years.

‘No Libby, you’ll only be having two for now.’ I told her firmly.

‘Oh Daddy its Christmas!’

‘Yes Libby I know, but were at your great-grandmother’s house and you behave okay?’

‘Okay..’ She replied sullenly and I smiled, remembering all the times I had done that as a boy. For a moment, the strong urge to see my mother swept over me. She would have loved the girls and they would have loved her even more. It was my wedding day and the birth of Libby and Belle that had been the best and worst moments of my life since she had gone. The fact I couldn’t look across at her for reassurance or ask her for parenting advice was tough, but I knew she was watching down on us and smiling. I snapped out of my reverie to see Kate watching me from across the table with a slight look that only I understood. Once satisfied I was okay, she smiled a loving smile and turned back to Zara to continue with her chatter.

Lunch passed and many a joke and laugh was held as the day lengthened out. After the many courses and continual chatter, plus the excited voices of the children as they ran around with the dogs between courses, it was decided that a walk would be good for all who wanted to go. Catherine and I helped the girls into their coats and wellington boots before setting off with the rest of the younger half of the family. The girls rushed ahead, leaving Kate and I at the back, hands entwined and huddled close for warmth.

‘Were you okay at lunch?’ She asked suddenly, interrupting the contented silence hanging in the frozen air.

‘Yeah. I was just thinking about Mum.’ She squeezed my hand tighter in support

‘She watching us. And she’s proud of you and the girls.’

‘And you.’ I corrected and she chuckled.

‘Exactly. Proud of all of us. She wouldn’t want you to be sad Will. I know Christmas is tough but just cherish all the happy memories with her and make happy ones for all of us in the future.’ I smiled and kissed her forehead. She knew exactly how to make me feel better, that was why I was so lucky to have her and my beautiful angels.

[burgers-and-french-fries]

Sunsets & Whiskey Kisses: Chapter Thirty.

"Your turn." Ryleigh mumbled as the now almost five month old baby screamed at the top of her lungs for attention. Jack groaned as he sat up and went to get their daughter who by this point was starting to when that no one was coming. 

"Good morning to you too little one." Jack said as he pick up the baby. Anna laid her head on his bare shoulder and he walked back to his and Ryleigh's room. He placed Anna on top of his wife and the baby immediately grabbed her mother's loose hair. The baby pulled her hair and Ryleigh hissed. "Jackson." Ryleigh whined and he laughed. Anna did it again and Ryleigh tried to take her hair away. "Anna no." Ryleigh said firmly and the baby stopped and her little lip jutted out. "Uh oh." Jack and Ryleigh said in unison. Anna let out a whimper before she started to cry. "Aww baby. I know, mommy's mean." Ryleigh said as she took the baby into her arms. Jackson smiled, pulled on a shirt and went downstairs. Ryleigh cuddled Anna and after a few minutes, she could smell breakfast cooking. "What's dada doing?" Ryleigh asked with a smile on her face and Anna looked at her. Ryleigh got out of bed and walked downstairs with Anna. Jack had made coffee, pancakes, bacon and eggs for them as he was going to help Chase with the farm. Ryleigh put Anna in her highchair and put her bib on. "Thanks for making this baby." Ryleigh said as she took her plate from him. "You're welcome my darling." He replied as he kissed her, making Anna squawk. They pulled away with a chuckle.

Both of them ate their food and just before Ryleigh took her last bit of food, Anna began crying hysterically. She slammed her little hands on her food tray, sending mashed banana on to Jack's empty plate. "Here, I'll wash the dishes and you can calm the tiny devil." Ryleigh said as she walked away. "Ok little lady, what's wrong eh?" Jack asked and Anna thrashed in her highchair. Jack gave her the spoon he fed her with and she calmed down a little bit. "Here." Ryleigh said as she passed her husband Anna's sippy cup. He passed it to the baby and she moved away from it and started crying again. Jack was about to give up when Ryleigh noticed Anna watching  Jack lick his lips in annoyance. Anna stopped briefly but then started up again when he took a drink of his coffee. "Jacks, do that again." Ryleigh said and he looked at her with confusion. "Do what?" He asked as Anna continued to scream. "Lick your lips and look at her." She said and he did. Anna stopped and watched her father. She tried to copy him and Ryleigh laughed. Anna giggled at her father. He moved his tongue in ways he knew Anna couldn't quite do yet. For Ryleigh though, it sent her mind elsewhere and she eventually shifted in her chair and involuntarily moaned. Jack stopped and looked at her. "Awww, is someone frustrated?" He teased and she threw a grape at him. "Tease." She pouted as Anna reached for Jack. He turned his attention back to his daughter. "Hi sweet pea." He said as he tapped her tiny nose. She smiled and grabbed his finger. "Dada." She squealed happily, making her parents tear up.

"Did you hear that?" Jack asked in shock. Ryleigh giggled as she nodded. "That was really cute." She said as she wiped her eyes and picked up her phone. She wanted to see if she could capture it on video. "Annie, who is that?" Ryleigh asked as she pointed to Jack with the hand not recording. Anna looked at her father and screwed her face up as she smiled. "Dada." Anna said again as she gripped his finger tighter. "Good job baby girl." Ryleigh praised as she ended the video.

After everything that happened, Jack had to head upstairs and get himself ready. Ryleigh cleaned the baby up and then she put her in the playpen. She gave Anna a few toys and then sat down to send the video of Anna's first word to Dakota and to both sets of Jack's grandparents. "Alright you two. I'm off." Jack said as he walked back downstairs. Ryleigh nodded and stood up to say her goodbyes. Jack picked Anna up and kissed her cheeks before Kissing Ryleigh and handing Anna over to her. "I love you both." He said as he walked toward the door. "We love you too honey. Drive safe." Ryleigh replied and Anna reached for her father. He took the baby and gave her one last hug. "Daddy loves you sweet pea." Jack said before he handed over the baby one last time. Ryleigh and Anna waved to him as he drove away and Anna laid her head on her mother's shoulder and yawned. Ryleigh rubbed her back and walked inside to put her down for her first nap.

=

"So, you are alive." Dakota teased when Jack got to the farm. Jack smiled sheepishly and nodded. "Sorry. I lost track of time this morning." Jack admitted and Dakota smirked at him. "With your daughter in the house. Jackson, you should be ashamed." Dakota teased and Jack shook his head. "It wasn't that. Anna said her first word ok. We were just enjoying the moment." He said and Dakota laughed. "I know you dope. Ryleigh sent me the little clip of her saying dada." The woman spoke through a smile. "Ryleigh must really love the dad bod." She mumbled and Jack playfully smacked her arm. "I do not have a dad bod." He replied and she laughed. "Alright, alright. Chase is already out back if you want to go and find him." Dakota explained. Jack walked outside again and found Chase in the field with the horses. They got to work with farm stuff and Dakota busied herself with wedding details.

A few hours later, Dakota was hunched over the dining table mumbling to herself. Joshua decided that he had enough of not having his mother's attention. "Mama." The little boy screamed and Dakota's head snapped up. "What's up little man?" She asked and the boy smiled. "Hi." He attempted and Dakota chuckled. The mother decided to take a break and went to pick up the little boy. "I think we should call aunty and gramma and see if they want to come over lunch. What do you think?" She asked and Joshua smiled. "Yeah." He replied through a giggle. Dakota picked up her phone and called Ryleigh and then she called Grace. Both women agreed to come for lunch. It made grace happy because she got to see her family and spend time with her grandchildren. Dakota moved quickly around the kitchen making salad and cooking up some steak. Of course she steamed some veggies up and mashed them for Anna.

As soon as Dakota finished cleaning up the utensils that weren't needed, Chase and Jack walked inside. "When does the queen arrive?" Chase joked as he saw all the food on the dining table. "Ryleigh, Grace and the baby will be here any minute." Dakota sassed back and Jack smiled. "Yay." Joshua said as he reached for his uncle. Yay, for a reason unknown to his parents, was Joshua's way of saying uncle. They didn't bother correct him on it because they saw how happy it made Jack. Jack took the little boy and went to help him wash his hands. "Do you think he's trying to say Jay but it just comes out as yay?" Chase asked as it finally hit him. Dakota burst out laughing. "That would make sense." She said and they set about getting the last minute things on the table.

Before too long Ryleigh, Grace and Anna turned up. "Thanks for the invite." Ryleigh said and Dakota took the baby from her so that Ryleigh could take her jacket off. When the jacket was hung up, Ryleigh took Anna again and walked over to sit down. "Hope it's ok but I steamed some veggies for her and mashed them up." Dakota said and Ryleigh smiled gratefully. "Thank you Kola pop." Ryleigh said as Jack walked out of the bathroom with his nephew. Joshua thrashed around in Jack's arms trying to wriggle free so that Ryleigh could hold him. Once they made it where Ryleigh was, Anna reached for him. Ryleigh chuckled and they swapped children. Joshua settled in his auntie's arms while Anna squealed in delight as her father held her. "You two should show Grace Anna's new trick." Dakota said, referring to Anna's first word. Ryleigh and Jack smiled at each other. Grace looked between them and waited to see what was going on.

Ryleigh stood up and walked over to Jack. "Annie, who is this?" Ryleigh asked and Grace smiled in anticipation. Anna just looked at her mother. "Come on sweet pea." Jack said and Anna beamed. "Dada." She squealed, just as she had done before. Grace had tears in her eyes as she got up to kiss the infant's head. "How long has she been saying that?" Grace asked and Ryleigh groaned. "She said it twice for the first time this morning and then after Jack left, she kept pointing to the photo that Dakota made and screaming dada. She's been at it the whole day." Ryleigh explained and Dakota looked at her. "What photo?" She asked and Ryleigh took her phone out show her instead of explaining it.

(This is the photo I am referring to.)

"Oh yeah. I'm surprised she knows who that skunk is. Are you sure she kept pointing to that and saying dada?" Dakota teased and Ryleigh nodded. "Watch." Ryleigh said as she handed Grace the little boy. She took Anna out of Jack's arms, walked back to Dakota and pointed to the photo on the phone. "Who's this?" The mother asked and Anna looked at the device and then at her father. Dakota wasn't surprised. "Dada." The baby said cheerfully. "It's official, she's a daddy's girl." Dakota said and Ryleigh nodded. "Who's this?" Ryleigh asked as she pointed to herself. Anna thought about it before announcing to everyone that it was dada. "Yup, it's all about daddy." Ryleigh said with a slightly defeated tone. They all laughed and Jack took his daughter and sat down at the table. Everyone else followed.

=

A week and a half later, Ryleigh spent the morning trying to finish planning the surprise get away for her and Jack for his birthday. Since having Anna, they haven't really had the time to be intimate for more then 20 minutes at most. The best that happened was Jack getting a blowjob and that was about it. now don't get her wrong, Ryleigh loved watching her husband squirm in pleasure but she would love to be able to be with him all night and not have the chance of a screaming baby interrupting them.

As soon as she shut the laptop after confirming the reservations for that day, Anna woke up screaming for Jack. Ryleigh hurried upstairs to the nursery. "Shhh, dada's still sleeping. We have to be quiet." Ryleigh whispered and Anna seemed to understand that because she stopped her whimpering. Ryleigh went downstairs with the baby and they made breakfast for Jack. Ryleigh made pancakes and fresh coffee and she also got a small gift that she had been hiding from her husband regarding the birthday trip. "Ok Anne. Stay really still for me alright? Mama has to be careful." Ryleigh said softly and the baby laid her head on her mother's shoulder. They walked upstairs to wake up their birthday boy.

Once they got to the room, Ryleigh carefully placed the tray of food on Jack's bedside table and put the baby on top of her father's back so that she could wake him up. As if on cue, Anna screamed really loudly in excitement. Ryleigh laughed and Jack whined. "No." He mumbled into his pillow as he continued to lay on his stomach. Ryleigh then placed Anna's favorite toy on the back of Jack's head and pressed a button. Funnily enough it was a toy that actually sang happy birthday and had a flash of brightly coloured lights to go with it. Anna giggled as the music played and Jack tried to remove it but Ryleigh slapped his hands away. "You say, wake up daddy." Ryleigh instructed as she looked at her daughter. "I am awake thanks to that stupid fu-" Jack started before Ryleigh slapped him in warning. "Language." She chided and he giggled, making the baby bounce as he did so. Anna took hold of his hair and pulled it harshly. "Ow. That hurts daddy." He said and Anna grunted in annoyance. When he didn't move, Anna did it again and Ryleigh removed her so that Jack could move to sit up. "I think what she meant to say was that breakfast is getting cold." Ryleigh said with a warm smile. Jack's face lit up when he saw the food waiting for him.

Ryleigh passed him the baby and she grabbed the tray of their breakfast and sat down next to her husband. "Happy birthday baby." Ryleigh said as she kissed him tenderly. "I love you." Jack whispered against her lips before he pulled away. "I love you too Jacks." She replied and they enjoyed their breakfast as a family.

=

"Alright, here is everything you need. Numbers and everything are in there as well." Ryleigh explained as she handed Anna and her little stay over bag to Chase. "Everything will be fine Ry, call us when you get there so we know that you are safe and we promise to keep beans safe." Chase said and Ryleigh smiled. Ryleigh thought it was cute how the uncle had come to call his niece, beans. It was unknown how he came up with it but it was cute all the same. "Thanks for looking after her." Ryleigh said before her and Jack bid their goodbyes to their daughter and left for their destination.

It may have taken them longer to get to their hotel because Ryleigh got lost. Once they arrived however, it was like Jack and Ryleigh had been deemed horny teenagers again. Jack had his wife pinned to wall while he devoured her neck in kisses and love bites. Ryleigh bit her lip and tried to hold back a moan. "Feel good baby?" Jack teased as he moved his hands down her body to remove her clothes and then to remove his own. Even though Ryleigh felt insecure about her body as she had since accumulated a handful of stretchmarks during her pregnancy, she couldn't give a rats ass about those feelings right at that moment because the pure and utter bliss Jack was enticing upon her was way more exciting. "Stop teasing me please." Ryleigh moaned and he was happy to grant her wish. He slammed into her and she cried out. Both of them enjoying to be connected in ways they haven't been in so long.

"Fuck, I really missed that." Ryleigh said as she laid wrapped up in her husband's arms. He kissed the top of her head and smiled. "Thank you for organizing this for us." He muttered as his eyes closed. "You're welcome." Ryleigh replied as she felt his breathing pattern even out. "Happy birthday my darling." Ryleigh whispered as she kissed his bare chest. He gave her a small smile and they both drifted to sleep.

=

Two days later, Dakota was working on more wedding stuff while Anna napped and Joshua played in his playpen. "Mama." Joshua screamed intensely  for the millionth time. Dakota looked at him and sighed. "Joshua, enough screaming please. You're going to wake the baby." Dakota chided as she sealed the last invite for the wedding. "Nana." Joshua screamed. "No, don't scream her name either." Dakota said just as she could hear Anna crying through the monitor. "You've done it now little man." The mother said as she chuckled and rolled her eyes. She went to go and get her niece so that she could feed both children before going out to mail the invites. "Hello sweet girl. Did you have a good nap?" Dakota asked the small girl. In response to that, Anna rubbed her face against her aunt's shoulder and whimpered. "Come on sweet pea." The woman said as she walked down to the kitchen. She placed the children in the high chairs and went to make their food. 

"Ok you two. This is for you little man." Dakota sat as she placed some cut up fruit on the table. The little boy reached forward the best he could with being strapped into his booster seat. Dakota then sat next to Anna and proceeded to feed her some mashed up banana. "yum." Joshua announced and Dakota laughed. "I'm glad you think so. What do you think Annie?" The woman asked and Anna pulled her little stinker face. "You look just like your daddy when he does that." Dakota said and Anna giggled. "Dada." She said and Dakota chuckled and continued with feeding the kiddos.

Once lunch was finished, Dakota cleaned up the kids and got them dressed in clean clothes before walking downstairs and gathering all of the wedding invites, her wallet, house keys and shoes. She loaded the kids into the wagon and walked in the direction of the corner post office.

(I present to you, The Wagon.)

Dakota made sure that the kids were well padded in there and when she heard them squeal in delight, she figured they were ok. "Dakota, it's so nice to see you." Old Mrs. Mathers greeted. "It's nice to see you as well. Was just wondering if there was any way I could get these to be posted today?" She asked and the elderly woman went to check. "Mama." Joshua said seriously. "What's up kiddo?" She asked and he pointed to Anna. Dakota looked at the baby but didn't see anything wrong. "Poop." he said and Dakota smiled. She picked up her niece and checked her. Sure enough she had soiled her diaper. Just at that same moment, the woman came back. "Is this little Anna?" She asked and Dakota nodded. "My, my she is getting big." The woman smiled. "She sure is, she talks too. Well she can only say dada but we are working on mama." Dakota explained and the woman grabbed the baby's feet and wiggled them, making Anna giggle. "I did check and we can definitely get them out today. There is a bathroom back here if you want to change her." Mrs. Mathers spoke and Dakota smiled gratefully.

Dakota locked the bathroom door and removed Anna's little leggings as well as the soiled diaper. "Oh man. You really filled that." Dakota said with a grimace and Joshua laughed. "Glad that you think that this is funny little one." The mother spoke as she changed the baby girl.

=

When they got home, Dakota's phone rang it she saw that it was Ryleigh wanting to video chat. She quickly unloaded the kids and walked over to the sofa with them. She called her sister-in-law back and waited for her to answer. "How's it going?" Dakota asked when Ryleigh answered. "Really good." Ryleigh replied with the 'just fucked' glow. Dakota smirked. "I can see that." Dakota teased and Jack came into view. "Let me see my daughter." He said and Dakota raised her brow. "Bossy." She replied as she moved the phone so that they could see their daughter. "Mama." Anna said and the adults sat there in shock. "Did she just what I think she did?" Ryleigh asked as the tears pooled in her eyes. "I think so. I mean Chase and I have been trying to get her to say it and I guess it worked." Dakota explained and Jack and Ryleigh laughed excitedly.

They got Anna to say mama a couple more times so that Ryleigh could record it. "I'm just sorry that you're not here in person to hear it." Dakota said and Jack and Ryleigh looked at each other. "We are actually at home." Ryleigh said and Dakota rolled her eyes. "And I still have your daughter why?" Dakota teased and they laughed. "We'll pick her up tomorrow morning." Jack said and Dakota nodded. "Just make sure you clean up after yourselves." She mocked and they nodded. "Oh yeah, use protection." She said as they hung up. Dakota put her phone away and put Joshua down for his nap.

Just as she set Anna down in the playpen to play, Chase walked through the door. "Honey, I'm home." He joked and Dakota laughed. "Hello." Dakota said as Chase walked over to her and kissed her. When Chase walked into her line of sight, Anna screamed and smiled at her uncle. "Hello little lady." He said as he picked her up. Dakota smiled. "Maybe we should have another baby." Dakota said cautiously. "If it means having a chance of having a girl as cute as her, then yes but I think we should wait till after we are married." Chase replied and Dakota nodded. "Sounds perfect. Oh yeah, we video called with Jack and Ryleigh, they have been home for the last two days and they are picking her up tomorrow morning." Dakota explained. "Why are they home so early?" He asked and Dakota shrugged. "I have no idea but I didn't ask since they both had that 'just fucked' glow." She replied and Chase laughed. "I see. Well I'm sure they have been enjoying their alone time." He said and Dakota hummed in agreement. "Anna was excited to see them." Dakota said as Chase placed Anna back in the playpen where she continued to play happily. "I bet. Especially since she hasn't seen her daddy in a couple days." He said as he started making himself a sandwich. "She was excited, she did this." Dakota said as she played the little clip Ryleigh sent her so that she could show Chase. 

"Awwww. I bet Ryleigh was excited and cried." Chase said and Dakota nodded vigorously. "Excited was an understatement. She was so happy to hear Annie say mama" The woman said and Chase smiled. Both of them enjoying the silence.

=

The next morning came and Ryleigh was ecstatic to see her daughter. "Jackson come one." Ryleigh whined as she pulled her shoes on. He laughed as he came down the stairs. "I know you're excited but can't we just have one last fling before we get her?" He asked and Ryleigh shook her head. "Not unless your grandparents want to take her for the night." Ryleigh replied as practically ran to the truck. Jack shook his head at her antics. 

The drive to the farm was quiet except for the music playing on the radio. "Hey, I have an idea. Why don't we ask your grandparents to take both Anna and Joshy and that way we can have some time to ourselves and we can drink and do whatever we want." Ryleigh said and Jack thought about it.  "If it involves vodka, count me out." He said with a slightly teasing tone. "Please baby. It'll be fun." Ryleigh replied as she started to beg. "No, I'm good." He continued and Ryleigh looked out her window feeling a little hurt. "You know I'm only teasing right?" Jack said as he glanced at his wife. "Hmmm." She hummed. Jack sighed and looked back to the road. "Are you seriously upset with me?" He asked as they stopped at a red light. "No, I'm just thinking." She replied and Jack furrowed his brow as the light turned green. That's when Ryleigh moved her hand to rest on his thigh. She slowly moved it higher until the palm of her hand was directly over his crotch. Jack moaned and bit his lip. "You're going to get us killed you know." Jack said breathlessly. "I know." She replied as she continued to work him up. 

Just before she could do anything else, they arrived at the farm. Jack parked the truck and Ryleigh jump despite Jack telling her not to and to finish what she started but she ignored him and ran to the front door. Dakota let her in and she ran to her daughter. "Where's Jack?" Dakota asked. "I frustrated him and he's in the truck probably trying to 'help' himself." Ryleigh explained and Dakota laughed. "Dada." Anna said when she saw Jack walk through the door. "Hi sweet pea." He said as he glared at his wife. "You love me." She whispered and he shook his head. "I have a raging boner thank you very much." He snapped and Ryleigh laughed. "You two going to stick around?" Chase asked as he walked to the front door with Anna's bag. "I think we are going to go home spend some time with the baby and get this one feeling better." Ryleigh explained. "Thought maybe we could get your grandparents to look after the kids tonight and we can have some drinks and have some time without the kids?" Ryleigh continued. Chase and Dakota looked at each other. "How about we do that in a couple weeks. Once all the wedding plans are done, we can use it as a way to celebrate that fact." Dakota said and the other couple nodded. "Sounds perfect. Just let us know when you want to get together." Ryleigh said as they left the house. 

The mother got Anna into her car seat and got into the front before Jack joined them and drove them home. "You know, I could put her down for a nap when we get home and I can help you with that raging boner of yours." Ryleigh said and he looked at her. "No it's ok." He said and Ryleigh nodded. "Try not to crash the car." She said as she slipped her hand into his sweatpants and boxers. He jumped slightly at the contact. "Our daughter is in the car." Jack said as he bit his lip. "That's why I said for you not to crash the car." Ryleigh said. Her hand moving faster and faster, sending Jack closer and closer to his orgasm. "Fuck, Ryleigh stop." He begged but there was something in his tone that made her stop. She removed her hand and looked at him. "You ok?" She asked and he nodded as he tried not to cum. "We're almost home and then we can finish this off." He said and she pointed to Anna in the back. "That didn't stop you from doing it before." He said. "The radio is on Jack. If we park this thing and turn it off, she'll hear." Ryleigh replied and he shook his head. "She's asleep babe." He said and Ryleigh turned around and saw the baby sleeping peacefully. "So then I can continue." She said as she went to slip her hand back into his boxers. "No because I'd rather feel your mouth and cum down your throat." He said as he pulled into their driveway. "Well, why don't we go inside, put her to bed and then we can shower and you can cum anywhere you want on me." Ryleigh said and he turned the vehicle off. "You grab her bag and unlock the front door. I'll grab her." Jack said and Ryleigh got out and did as he said. 

As Jack took the baby out of her seat, she started to cry. "It's ok sweet pea. We're home." Jack said softly as he laid her head on his shoulder and rubbed the back of her head. Anna whimpered as she tried to get comfortable. "You're ok my darling." He said as he kissed the top of her head. Ryleigh smiled as she watched the father comfort his daughter. "You have no idea how much of a turn on it is to see you with her." Ryleigh said as they put the baby to bed. Jack smiled and ran his index finger down Anna's smooth cheek. Her long lashes resting on the tops of her cheeks. The baby's little lips were parted slightly as she fell back to sleep in the comfort of her own bed. "If we weren't married already, I'd ask you to marry me right now." Jack admitted and Ryleigh looked at him with confusion. He kissed her deeply. "You have given me the greatest gift and I love her so much. I love you very much for making the happiest man on this planet." He said and Ryleigh hugged him tightly. "I love you too baby." She replied and they walked to their room and spent the hour Anna slept,  naked and wrapped up in each other's arms

Tag List: @mairyleo​ @dogmom2014​ @sarahegerton96​ @rocknrollmadden​ @aberystwythboy​ @superthiccthighssavelives​ @hauntedflamingo​ @jobanan23​ @softeggsy​ @eggsyobsessed​

[underthewingsofthblackeagle]

The Murderess of the Grunewald (23): Secret Whitsun Holiday on Rügen (12): Sharing Joy and Suffering (6e) - Jamie's Story (III)

“Pferd” by Arnuchulo

Previously

Monday night, Whitsun weekend 2020, three days after Claire's release from prison

        "I did nothing. The problem has been solved in a different way."         Claire raised her head and looked at him questioningly.

        "As I said, her parents have a horse breeding farm near Berlin and she was an enthusiastic rider. But that did not save her from having a riding accident. A horse threw her off on a ride. Obviously, the animal had repelled her as much as the humans she met. She fell, as they say, so bad, she broke her neck."         Claire looked at him wide-eyed. Then she shook her head slightly and muttered:         "Pride comes before the fall."          Jamie was silent. He pulled her back to him and she rested her head on his chest again.         "And the block of shares?" Claire asked after a few moments.         "We have reported our discovery to the tax office through a lawyer specializing in tax law. We were believed, we paid the taxes and everything was fine."

    "But that was not the end of your conflict with Jenny, wasn't it?"         "Oh no! If my sister has taken something into her head, then she does not rest until she has reached her goal."         "Not a bad quality ..."         "No. Not as long as you stay out of other people's lives."         "What did she do then?"

“Platz-Einstellungen” by RDLH

        "In the fall of that year, she invited another woman. It was the granddaughter of a woman who once worked for our family as a cook and retired a few years ago. I already knew the girl from our childhood days. She is ... a few years younger. Honestly, I totally forgot her ... "         "But she didn't forget you?"          Claire looked at him with a look that subtly combined her smile with her investigative question.          "No," he answered and sighed.          "Did you ... give her a reason?"          Jamie would have liked to avoid answering her. But he knew Claire would not give up now.         "You should have become a public prosecutor, Dr. Beauchamp ... "         "I only refer to what we promised ourselves. We always wanted to tell each other the truth ... Wasn’t that so, Dr. Fraser?"         He did not answer, but leaned down and kissed her forehead.          "I kissed her once ..."          "Only once?"          "Yes. My goodness, I was a teenager! Didn’t you do that in your teenage years?"         "No."         Claire looked up and grinned at him.         "No?"         Jamie could not believe what he was hearing. But before he could start questioning her, Claire answered:         "I kissed a boy for the first time before I was a teenager."

“Nil * Assuan * Elephantine” by KHGraf

        She grinned all over her face.         "I didn’t want to wait that long. I was eight and it was in Egypt. My uncle was busy with one of his excavations there. The boy was the son of the Dragoman. He was much older than me."         Jamie straightened up. That also forced Claire to sit up.         He looked shocked. Then he asked:         "You were eight? And he was much older?"         "Yes," she answered in amusement, "he was nine. That is a huge age difference if you're an eight-year-old girl!"         Jamie let the air he had subconsciously hold in his lungs escape from his mouth.         "The next one or to say it better,  the first real kiss followed in my teenage years. I was 19 and had just met Frank ... "                 Before Jamie could say or ask, she went on:         "But do not try to distract me, Dr. Fraser! This is not about me. So what about the granddaughter of that former cook?"         Jamie took a deep breath, then sank back onto the sofa, pulling Claire with him.         "Well, I kissed her someday. Then there was another thing.”

        “Another thing?”

        “One time during her summer vacation, when she visited her grandmother, she broke a porcelain vase that stood in our living room. She was very scared that she would be beaten for it, so I took the blame on me and also the beatings that my father gave me. That and the kiss was many years back, but she probably saw more in it. I do not know how or where Jenny met her again. In any case, my sister invited her to Potsdam on a weekend that I was there too. However, Jenny had not told me about her coming."         Jamie reached for his teacup, but Claire held him back.         "The tea is all," she said.         Jamie started to get up.

        "Then I'll cook some new."         Claire got up too.        "I come with you."

“Tee” by vinsky2002

        Jamie followed her, and Bismarck and Adso rose as if on command. Together they entered the hallway into the kitchen.         While Claire was pouring water from the water filter into the hot water kettle, Jamie opened the cupboard door behind which were the teas he had brought from Berlin.         "What kind would you like?"         "No. 964, Oranges Oolong. Except ... you want something different ..."         "No. That's O.k."         He handed her the glass of tea.         While they first waited for the water to get hot and then for the tea to finish, they continued their conversation.         "She ... this girl ... started to make a move on me at our first meeting. Already at lunch, she asked me if I still remember her and when I told her that I did not, she told me in detail how she would remember our first meeting. In the afternoon I took a walk over our meadows and through the forest. First I was accompanied by Ian, but then he was called by a coworker and had to go to one of the stables for some reason."

“Harz / Stromschnellen” by Michi-Nordlicht

        "I went on alone. Close to the forest ... there is a river. Already as a child, I was happy to be there, all of my own, taking time to think. I let stones jump over the water and then I sat down on a rock. Suddenly she stood in front of me. She must have followed me. She told me that we would belong together and that it was a sign of fate that she had met my sister again. And then ... then ..."         Claire, who had taken the tea filter out of the pot, looked at him.         "Then?"         "Then she opened her coat and underneath," Jamie exhaled audibly, "underneath she was almost naked. She offered herself to me like ... like a whore from the street. I'm just glad nobody saw us there."         Claire had put the lid on the teapot and put her arm around his shoulders. Gently, she started stroking his back.         "Shall we go?"         Jamie nodded. He took the pot and went out. Claire put out the light and followed him, Bismarck and Adso in tow. When they sat on the sofa again, the animals wanted to join them and stood in front of the table, expectantly. But Jamie sent them back to the dining room area with a single wave of his hand.         "How did you react to this provocation?"         "I went back to the house, told Jenny what had happened at the riverside and then I drove back to Berlin immediately."         "And? Did the ... woman leave you alone?"         "No, from the day I had a stalker. Whenever she could, she lurked in front of the law firm. She even followed me to the courts and participated as a spectator in those cases in which I was mandated."         Claire shook her head and clasped her forehead with her right hand.         "That ... that ... is incredible. This audacity."         "Oh, it gets better. Or worse ... just as you want."         The feelings she felt were very contradictory. Actually, she wanted to talk to him about more enjoyable things, but she knew how important the conversation was to them both. Claire reached for her cup and held it out to him. He poured her fresh tea. Then he also filled his cup.         "At first I thought that with time she would get bored and forget me. But then she began to attack women she thought were in a relationship with me. Once it was an elderly lady who I represented as a co-plaintiff in a criminal case. She adjusted the client in front of the office and verbally abused her. Fortunately, Ben Hombach drove his car into the yard just then. He immediately recognized the situation and drove this impertinent creature away. But she didn’t stop. After that, she was after Tessa. She fancied I had a relationship with my secretary!"         He shook his head, then drank.         "I then enforced a contact ban, a protection order,  in accordance with § 1 Art. 2 Violence Protection Act in court."         "And? Did she stick to it?"         Jamie laughed. Again it was a short and hard laugh.         "No. She has …"         He paused and looked down. Claire grabbed his hand and began stroking reassuringly over the back of his hand with her thumb. After Jamie took another breath, he continued.         "Before I went back to Berlin that day, I had a short conversation with Jenny. I told my sister what this person did at the riverside and that she should never invite her again ... but ... well, why should one believe his own brother? Instead of realizing what ... the person did, Jenny blamed me. I should not be so prudish ... that ... the friendliest thing she threw at me. I did not reply and just drove home."         He was silent for another moment and Claire went silent with him.         "My sister had a key box in the house where all their keys hung. Also, a set of the keys to my house were kept in it. I'd given these keys to Jenny and Ian for emergencies and a key chain with my initials was on them. The box was accessible to all and so far we had never had to worry about anyone taking keys unauthorized."         Once more, Jamie took a deep breath.

“Ein Schlüsselkasten im Privathaushalt“ * Foto: Spacekid [CC0] via WikiMediaCommons

        "We do not know how she did it, but somehow she stole the keys to my house. One weekend later I was with friends in Dresden. I left on Friday afternoon and returned on Sunday afternoon. When I got home, I had the strong impression that someone had been in the house during my absence. As far as my private belongings are concerned, I am always very precise. I hate it when I have to look for something and therefore waste time. So I make sure that everything is always in its place. I had the strong impression that someone had searched my things in the study and in the living room. Mrs. Schaller cleans the house weekly, but she would never leave things the way I found them that afternoon. She knows exactly how much I like my order and respects that. And when I picked up old Brumm at the Schallers one hour later, I asked Mrs. Schaller if she had been looking for anything. She denied and I had no reason not to believe her. Mrs. Schaller then told me that she had the impression that a light was burning in the house on Saturday night. But when her husband went over, he saw nothing suspicious. The whole story seemed strange to me. When I took a bag of milk from the fridge later in the evening, I noticed a small hole on the edge of the milk carton. It was barely visible and it only struck me because I gripped the bag tightly and milk spurted out of the tiny hole, even though I had not opened the bag yet! I then examined all the other foods and found the same small puncture points on yogurt, a box of orange juice and a cup of cream cheese. I had bought all these things just on Friday afternoon and I could say with certainty that these punctures had not been there at that time. When I realized that, I immediately called the police and told them that I suspected that someone had broken into my house. The police arrived shortly afterward. They looked at everything and the forensic technicians examined the places where I found disorder and the refrigerator. They also took the food with the punctures."         As he spoke, Claire's grip on his hand had intensified. As he looked over at her, her face showed the whole horror this story had caused in her.         "The next day, the police informed me that they found a cocktail of medicins in the foods that were suspicious. The dose was not life-threatening, but ... well, it could have caused serious health damage. The police heard the Schallers and me again. Of course, they also asked if I could imagine who would do this to me. I told them of some criminal cases in which I had made no friends and then mentioned that this ... person stalked me. The prosecutor, who was responsible for the case, had a sixth sense. He immediately requested a search warrant for the girl's home. The police found the keys to my apartment and the medicines ... A comparison of her fingertips with the ones the forensics had secured on my fridge, in the living room, and in the study, proved that it was she who had broken into my house."

“Kühlsckrank” by Waldkunst

        "And what happened then?"         "Well, first of all, I had the alarm installed, which you saw. My stalker was charged and sentenced. The prosecution wanted to prosecute her for attempted murder, but that did not last. The toxicological report made it clear that this drug cocktail would have made me seriously ill for a few days, but would not have killed me."         Claire could not contain herself anymore. She pulled Jamie's head close and held him tight. Suddenly he felt tears running down her face.          "Claire," he said softly and looked at her, "I'm still alive, nothing happened to me."          Then he carefully took her face in both hands and kissed her gently before releasing her again. She brushed back the tears and pulled Jamie close again. It was as if she had to make sure that she had not fallen victim to an illusion and that he was still alive and there.         "What happened ... with her ...?" she asked and Jamie looked at how serious she was to learn more.         "As I said, she could not be charged with attempted murder. The charge was then on attempted serious injury. In the course of the trial, it turned out that she wasn’t responsible for her actions due to an episodic or persistent psychiatric disease at the time of the criminal act,  § 20 StGB. The experts who examined her, two forensic psychiatrists, came to the conclusion that she would continue to try to endanger my life or property in the future. It was then placed on the order of the court under § 63 StGB in a forensic psychiatric hospital."         "For how long?"         "Indefinitely. She will be examined regularly at regular intervals and then the court has to decide if she has to stay or if she can be released."         "Was it this story that led to the separation from your sister? You must have made that clear... "         Jamie looked at her, smiled and then shook his head.         "No, Claire. Even that did not stop Jenny from trying to get me married."         "That ... I do not believe it!"         Claire's voice had taken on a shrill tone, so outraged she was.          Jamie stayed calm.          "Didn’t I say that my sister likes to bend reality the way she needs it?"                 Claire did not answer, she shook her head slightly.         "Do you want to know what happened after that? Or should we better stop now?"

“Fest / Sommer” by Innersweden

        She looked at him, still shocked. But at the same time, her eyes expressed an unbroken determination.          "No, I want to know everything."          "It was the year after the trial of ... that person. On the occasion of our summer party, where we also celebrate the birthdays of family members who have their birthday between May and July, Jenny introduced me to a woman she described as a rock-solid Scot ... "

[teaandcrowns]

the prequel scene to the Mononoke Hime au from a while back (I’d put links but, yanno, tumblr. Find it on ao3 as The Spirit’s Waterbender, or here on my blog under my fics tag)

There he is! Ooh, Lan Yi was right—he is handsome.”

“Quiet out there! We lost some good men today bringing you this rice you’re eating.” The man, whose name Zuko thought might have been Shenzu, snapped beside him.

The women crowded in the doorway laughed and made faces at the man speaking. The one who called Zuko handsome just then spoke again. “And who makes the steel that pays for all that rice, hm? We’re pumping bellows all night while you sleep off all this food.”

Zuko twisted a little and gave the women a ghost of a smile. “Actually, I would like to see where you all work, if it’s not a problem.” A large tatara bloomery dominated one side of the village, and Zuko could see a continuous plume of smoke drifting up from it. He’d learned that the woman leading this town, Aunt Wu, was a firebender, and he was curious to see how she’d set up an operation to make steel blooms in a town with no other firebenders to keep the furnace fueled long enough.

Several of the women blushed even as they laughed, and a few began talking all at once.

“You would?”

“You can come right over, whenever you like!”

“Don’t be a stranger—we’ll be looking for you!”

“We’ll have to wear our best kimono tonight ladies!”

“Don’t forget us, now! And don’t listen too much to the moans and groans of these old men—we’ll be waiting!”

A bell rang from another side of town, and the women waved at him as they dispersed from the doorway, laughing and talking amongst themselves.

“Don’t pay them any mind,” Shenzu said, drawing Zuko’s attention back to the table and the group of men he sat with. “Aunt Wu spoils them, that’s why they’re like that.

Zuko shrugged and picked up a bowl of rice and his set of chopsticks. “Happy women make for a happy village.”

That sent a ripple of laughter through the men immediately gathered around him. “Yeah—these women sure are happy enough now!”

“What do you mean?”

“They were all brothel workers. Aunt Wu bought the contracts of every woman working in a brothel that she could get her hands on, and brought them all with her when she settled here,” Shenzu explained.

“Them and the others,” another man to Zuko’s right said.

Someone beside him cuffed the back of that man’s head. “Don’t talk about them like that. Aunt Wu’s given them a chance that no one else wanted to.”

Zuko rested his rice bowl against his thigh. “Gave a chance to who?”

Again, Shenzu spoke up, his voice even and subdued. “Warriors who got very badly burned. Every inch of them is wrapped up in bandages, the burns are so bad. A lot of people got caught up in some nasty battles, and Aunt Wu’s got a soft heart. She helped when everyone else turned their backs on them.”

The scar on Zuko’s face suddenly became a point which every man in the room avoided looking at directly.

“It’s from an angry spirit,” Zuko told them without anyone needing to ask about it. “It touched me before I drove it away. I’ve been following it to try and stop it once and for all.” His gaze dropped to the half-empty rice bowl in his hands. “Before anyone else can get cursed like me.”

A low murmur went through the room. One man came over to sit beside Zuko. “You should talk to Aunt Wu about it,” he said with a mouthful of rice. “She may have a soft heart for people, but spirits don’t shake her at all. You should have seen the way she dealt with Ozai!”

“Yeah—to think we were giving it gifts all these years! Who knew we just needed to shoot it?”

“Well, we couldn’t have done that even if we’d’ve known. Not before Aunt Wu showed up.”

“Who’s Ozai?” Zuko interrupted, feeling a sharp sliver of dread form in the pit of his chest.

“Who’s Ozai?” the man echoed, incredulous. “Only the spirit of the volcano! We used to go up to the rim every year and take offerings to it to keep it from blowing up and destroying our whole village. But then Aunt Wu showed up with her warriors and rifles.”

“Rifles?” The word tasted strange on Zuko’s tongue, acrid and sharp. It made him think of the smell of his face after the spirit had touched him. He didn’t like it.

“A weapon that lets us nonbenders fight back with iron and fire.” The man holding the rice bowl beside him gesticulated sharply with his chopsticks, sending a few grains flying. “Some of us are earthbenders, but we never stood a chance against spirits like that before. We’re real lucky Aunt Wu decided to come to town.”

The dread in his chest grew until it felt like there were shards of it pressing against his lungs. “Why did she come here?” Zuko distantly heard himself asking.

“She heard about the iron in the ground beneath this town, but we’d mined all that out years ago. She thought there was more further up the sides of the volcano, but fear of Ozai making the volcano erupt had always stopped us from clearing the forest and finding out,” Shenzu continued. His voice wavered and Zuko wondered what he’d seen.

The other man next to Zuko laughed, half-eaten rice sticking to the sides of his mouth. “Well, she was right. Soon as she got rid of that spirit we were able to get at a whole lot more iron.”

A warmth grew within the scar on his face, making the ruined skin feel tight and painful. Zuko clenched his teeth. His face began to burn as it had when the angry spirit—Ozai—had touched him, and he recalled exactly how large the swath of burned forest around his home was. Fury began boiling deep within him, like a fire in his belly that he did not ignite, and he had to take a few deep breaths to calm his flame before it erupted from his fingertips. Before he could stop himself, he lifted his hand and pressed fingers against the outer edge of the scar, willing it to stop throbbing.

“What’s the matter?” Zuko recognized Shenzu’s voice out of the angry red haze that had settled over his senses. “Does your… face still hurt?”

With a controlled release of breath, Zuko lowered his hand from his face and held it tightly against his lap. “I was just thinking how angry the spirit must have been, wounded and driven from its home. How full of hate for humans it must have become.”

Silence hung in the air after he spoke, thick and unsettling, like too much grease in the stomach from roast duck.

“Aunt Wu’s ready for you,” a young woman announced from the doorway, her voice cutting through the stillness. Everyone in the room knew who she was talking to—there was no need for her to name him. Zuko put his unfinished dinner down and stood, giving the men in the room a mild bow of thanks before following her out.

The woman, who introduced herself as Meng, led Zuko down a dirt path through the center of the village. “You’ve caused quite a stir here,” Meng told him as they walked, and Zuko could not tell if she was amused or irritated by him.

“I didn't mean to,” he said, looking around the village with interest. It was different from the one he grew up in, and the presence of the massive tatara made the architecture have unusual additions he’d never seen anywhere else, a strange combination of Fire Nation and Earth Kingdom. “I just followed the spirit’s trail. It led me here.”

Meng sent him an unwavering look, but said nothing more. Zuko contented himself with the silence, though he wondered how they saw his arrival. He hadn’t outed himself as a firebender yet, so he wasn’t sure how warm their reception would remain if that became known. As they neared the other end of the village, the growing sound of singing filled the air. A great slash of light and shifting shadows stretched out across the path not too far ahead of them. When they reached the light, Zuko stopped and stared at its source—the inside of the tatara bellows. A shift of women were steadily working them, their plain hippari short and allowing them to move without hindrance. They sang in a rhythm to help them all move in time—and, Zuko supposed, to pass the long shift they worked with some form of entertainment.

Slowing to a stop before the open door, Zuko watched the women move and sing. When Meng cleared her throat to get his attention, he didn’t move his gaze at first, then slowly turned and rejoined her.

She led him up a small incline to a wooden house with actual shōji, unlike the cloth-covered open frames most of the other buildings they’d passed along the way had. Aunt Wu was inside, scrawling notes on a scroll. When he entered, she set her brush aside and smiled at him.

“Good evening, stranger,” she said. Though it was a polite enough, innocuous greeting, there was something about it that struck him as sharply astute. It reminded him of his uncle in a way, wherever he was now.

Aunt Wu nodded to Meng, who took this as a signal and left them alone in the room, the fusuma clacking quietly as she closed it on her way out. Once she left, the older woman turned her gaze back to him. “Now. To what do I owe the pleasure of someone from the homeland coming here? Surely you’re not here to steal my rifle design—a firebender doesn’t need it when he has the real thing.”

His eyes widened. “You know I’m a firebender?”

Laughter filled the room, bright and thoroughly amused. Zuko kept his face as impassive as he could, though he could feel his traitorous eyebrow trying to inch its way up his forehead.

“Like knows like, my dear boy.” Aunt Wu rested one hand on the writing desk that held a lattice for scrolls and her writing brushes. “Don’t worry, I won’t give your secret away. The people here have come to accept me as one, but they’re still Earth Kingdom. They still fear the power of destruction we wield.” She watched him as he shifted a little uncomfortably under her gaze. “Now, tell me what brings you here.”

Zuko lifted a hand to the left side of his face, his fingertips touching the skin just below his scar. “This.”

With no immediate further explanation from him, Aunt Wu’s eyes narrowed just slightly. A slender line of silence stretched between them, and he made himself remain steady and unwavering beneath her gaze, his hand falling back to his side.

“You’ve been spirit-touched,” she said at last.

“Cursed,” he corrected, and the curt edge to his tone made her eyes focus on his again. “An angry spirit attacked my village, and burned the entire surrounding land in the process. I drove it away and then chased after it, hoping to stop it before it could curse anyone else like it did me.” As hard as he tried, as much as he hoped, Zuko knew he had not succeeded in that. He’d seen too many burns being tended in the villages he passed through on his way here, too many patches of scorched earth.

Aunt Wu’s eyebrows both went up, though her expression remained carefully neutral. “And so you came here.”

Zuko nodded.

Abruptly, she stood, her long haori skimming the ground. She folded her hands inside her sleeves. “Will you walk with me, stranger? I have something to show you.”

Unsure but curious, Zuko nodded.

She led him through a few corridors of her home before walking out a doorway in the very back of it. A few wooden steps off the engawa took them down into a lush garden, full of all kinds of herbs, vegetables, and flowers. Zuko even recognized a small section of tall, awned wheat spikes that bobbed gently in the air.

“My private garden,” Aunt Wu said as she continued through, leaving him to trail a few steps behind. “I’ve tried to get fire lilies to grow here, but they just won’t last. Only a few have even made it past sprouting.”

“Must be the climate,” Zuko said, feeling awkward and off-put at so mediocre a conversation as gardening. He’d been waiting for her to make the connection that he knew she had set the spirit here on a rampage by driving it out, but instead she was taking him on a tour. He frowned.

“Perhaps.”

Passing through the garden, she followed a dirt path that ended in a stream with a small, flat bridge overtop it, and just beyond that was a smaller house that butted up against a wooden wall within the outer wall that surrounded the entire village. Aunt Wu led him there.

It was a simple wooden house, about a third of the size of Aunt Wu’s machiya, with no engawa surrounding it. Unlike the rest of the village buildings, and even the machiya, it had a hinged door. Aunt Wu opened it and went inside first, clearly expecting him to continue following her. Zuko lagged behind for a moment, then stepped in.

Whatever he had been expecting, it wasn’t the sight that greeted him.

About a dozen people were in the house, some working at a low table on long pieces of wood and metal that formed an instrument Zuko didn’t recognize, some lying down on woven tatami mats. They were all wrapped nearly head to toe in bandages. Despite himself, Zuko’s eyes widened. These were the burned warriors that Shenzu talked about.

“Hello, Aunt Wu,” one of them said. She smiled at them and went over.

“How are you all doing this evening? Do you need anything?”

The concern in her words was genuine, Zuko noted. All at once he felt even more an interloper onto something private for which he shouldn’t be present.

“We’re all right,” a woman said, her head tilted up toward Aunt Wu. Zuko could see parts of her face beneath her bandages, and the shadows of burn scars there. “We’ve finished with the next prototype you asked for.”

“Excellent. I can show off your wonderful work to my guest.” Aunt Wu didn’t motion toward him, but all the eyes in the room turned his way. He felt exposed in a room where other burn victims were covered in bandages. Zuko wondered if theirs still burned hot as well.

“A guest, hm?” The bandaged woman who’d spoken before turned her head carefully to look at Zuko. Only one eye peered out at him, the other completely covered. “Not another addition to your special forces?”

A ripple of quiet laughter spread through the room, including Aunt Wu in its wake. “No,” she said. “He saved some of our people earlier, and brought them back to us alive.” She bent and picked up one of the wooden and metal instruments off the table and hefted it, testing its weight. “This is better, but I think it’s still a bit too heavy,” she told the bandaged woman, who laughed.

“I’m not sure we can make it any lighter. It won’t be able to fire as well if we do.”

Aunt Wu smiled, a bright motion. “I know that you can, without losing any firepower. I need something that won’t be too heavy for the girls.”

Looking back to him from the nodding woman, Aunt Wu’s smile faded to a more schooled expression. “Follow me.”

She crossed the room through the seated people to a ladder that extended up through a hole in the roof. For holding something in one hand and being a woman of greater years, Aunt Wu climbed the ladder with familiar ease. Zuko wove his way through the room and followed her up. Once they stood on the roof, Zuko saw the cleared land beyond the wooden wall that surrounded the village, and the darkness of the forest beyond that. Beneath his feet, there were little soot marks dotting the roof itself, but they didn’t look as if they were from firebending.

“Look.” Aunt Wu broke his thoughts, and he did as she instructed, lifting his gaze from the soot marks. She now stood with the long wooden and metal instrument on one shoulder, its open end pointed out toward the forest.

When she didn’t explain further what he was supposed to be looking at, Zuko took the few steps forward to lean his hands on the wall. Something moved in the dark between the village and the trees.

“What is that?” he asked.

“Spirits,” Aunt Wu replied. “They come by night after night, trying to replant the forest.” With a sudden scowl, she snapped her fingers and lit a wick sticking out of the metal part of the instrument on her shoulder. It lit and burned quickly. Zuko watched with wide eyes as she pulled on a trigger and made a hammer-like object the wick was attached to snap down. An instant later, a blast of flame and smoke erupted forth from the open end of what Zuko now understood to be what Shenzu called a rifle. The sound loud and made his ears ring for a moment, and the firing itself made Aunt Wu jerk back from the force. A distant thud followed soon after the ringing faded from his hearing. He looked back to the cleared space of forest ringing the village to see the spirits there had scattered and were headed back toward the thick of the tree line.

Heat rose briefly in Zuko’s scar, but it faded as soon as someone spoke again, though it wasn’t to him. She leaned back to peer down the hatch they’d come up.

“How does it fire?” The bandaged woman’s voice drifted up from the house.

“Smooth as silk,” Aunt Wu called down. “But, still too heavy.”

She looked back up to Zuko, drumming her fingers along the wood of the rifle once. “Would you like to try, stranger?”

Zuko shook his head when she held out the rifle to him. “No,” he told her simply, then turned his gaze back out toward the forest. “You know they’re not going to stop until the forest comes back,” he said. “That’s all they want.”

He didn’t have to look at Aunt Wu to know she was scowling. He could hear it in her voice. “They can want it and try all they like, it’s not going to happen. I helped these people carve a better place for themselves in this land, and a couple of mindless spirits aren’t going to undo all that work.” There was a pause between them. “Why do you defend them? You’ve been cursed by one of them by your own words. Help me drive them away for good. Perhaps then your curse will be lifted.”

Part of him wanted to laugh at the suggestion, but his mouth tugged down into a frown instead. “No,” he repeated. “That wouldn’t solve anything. You have to find a way to live in harmony again with the spirits, or all this will just end badly.” He lifted a hand to skim fingers over the ruined flesh of his cheek. “I know that first hand.”

Instead of any kind of sympathy, Aunt Wu said sharply, “You sound a lot like that damn waterbender.”

Surprised, Zuko turned from the forest back to her, one hand still resting on the wooden wall. “Waterbender?”

“Yes.” Aunt Wu rested the butt of her rifle on the roof and didn’t meet his gaze. Now she was the one looking out toward the forest. “Runs with the spirits almost as if she’s one of them, and attacks her own kind—us—instead. She’s the reason those people you saved earlier were in danger in the first place.”

His frown deepened. Fighting on either side wouldn’t only instigate the other further, but he didn’t know how to stop it. He didn’t know if he could, or even if he was the right person to do so. He’d followed a single angry spirit to try and stop it, and came upon a far more complex situation than he’d anticipated. Zuko longed for the wisdom his uncle could have provided.

“Will you help me?” Aunt Wu cut through his thoughts. “Will you help the people here defend their home and their livelihoods?”

It tore at him. The villagers deserved a chance to make their lives better, but it shouldn’t be at the cost of the spirits of the world. They should all be in this together, not at each other’s throats. He had no answers.

“I will help wherever I can,” he said carefully.

That didn’t seem to wholly satisfy Aunt Wu, who fixed him with another piercing look. “I’ll hold you to that, stranger.”

He climbed back down the ladder, alone, but hadn’t made it halfway to the door out before a weak voice called out.

“Boy,” the voice said. It was difficult to tell through the rasp if the person was a man or woman. Zuko stopped in his tracks and turned toward the source, gaze finding a person in the back corner entirely covered in bandages, including their face. They were also missing an arm and a leg from the knee down.

“Stranger,” they said again. “Aunt Wu took us in when no one else would. They sent us to fight and then condemned us for coming back not whole. She cares for our burns and scars herself, makes sure we’re comfortable as can be.” The person was overtaken by a coughing fit, and a few others nearby shifted as if to try and help them. The coughs subsided.

“This village was like us, scarred and dying. It was under the whim of a reckless spirit that would never care about the people here. Then she came and helped it get on its feet again, helped the people throw off the shadow of the volcano. Now it’s thriving.”

Zuko swallowed, hearing threads of his own conflicted thoughts echoed back at him.

“I won’t let anything happen to the village,” he said, hearing his own voice crack. “But I can’t sit by and let other spirits be driven mad and do to others what one did to me.”

He couldn’t be here any longer, couldn’t stand to hear more. His heart would surely crack listening to how these people had been helped by the woman whose actions resulted in him being cursed. Zuko fled the little house and went back out through the garden. The way through the machiya proper was easy enough to remember, and no one barred his exit. Soon, he was back out on the streets of village, his heart pounding and trying to swallow down the ache in his chest.

It wasn’t until a wave of golden firelight bathed him in heat that Zuko realized his feet had brought him to the tatara forge. He stopped in the wide doorway and watched the women work the bellows, moving together in steady rhythm with one another. The distraction was welcome.

One of the women lounging on the worn tatami against one wall inside the forge recognized him from when he arrived earlier that day. She waved at him and he went over, recalling her name was Lan Yi. “Hey! Look who it is! How do you like Makapu so far?”

“It’s been very welcoming,” came his mild reply, his gaze drifting from her to the women working the bellows. Their attention was divided now between him and their work. “You all must work very hard here,” he said, marveling at all the kinds of strength these women had as well as feeling his heart break a little that it required such hard labor. But, this was the Earth Kingdom, and taking pride in the work they did was in their blood; he would not insult them by suggesting otherwise.

The women around him laughed heartily. “Yeah, it sure is. But we love it. It helps Aunt Wu and it helps the town, so it’s more than worth our effort,” Lan Yi said. Her grin widened into something almost sharp. “The men all think they have the hardest job, lugging all that raw iron and cutting down trees, but they wouldn’t last a single shift here.”

Zuko’s gaze followed the women working, not saying anything for a moment. Then, on a sudden whim, he asked, “May I join in for a little while?”

Lan Yi and the other women exchanged surprised looks, but in the end she just gave him a shrug. “Sure, if you think you’re up to it.”

He undid the ties of his hippari and shed the layer of clothing, stepping up to one of the women on the bellows and giving her a small smile. She glanced at him twice and blushed a bright red at his bared chest, tugging at the front of her own hippari in an attempt at propriety. Zuko barely noticed, being far more focused on stepping in at the right time and picking up the rhythm they had going.

A few of the women on the bellows with him whooped a bit, the hems of their hippari flapping. He was so focused on trying to make sure he wasn’t slacking among them that he’d picked up the pace and stepped deeper than any of them with his longer legs.

Lan Yi laughed somewhere behind his shoulder. He didn’t look back, but kept his concentration on the bellows.

“I’m impressed,” she said, not really sounding all that impressed. “But, you won’t be able to keep up that pace. Our shifts here are four days long.”

“It sure beats working a brothel in the city!” another woman chimed in from his other side. Several laughed.

“You got that right,” Lan Yi said. “We get good square meals here, and the men don’t bother us unless we want them to.”

That sent another wave of laughter through the women. Zuko didn’t join in, now completely set on the bellows. It was hard work, and he respected the women even more for their dedication to it. Sweat quickly formed and rolled down the trough of his spine, but the exertion felt good. Especially after the conversation with Aunt Wu and her rifle makers, which left his heart hurting and his gut twisted. This was honest, simple work, and he threw himself into it for as long as he could.

After some time—longer than Lan Yi had expected, she readily crowed when he surpassed all the bets the ladies had going on how long he’d last—Zuko finally threw a glance over his shoulder. The women there took immediate note of his signal and stepped in while he stepped off.

“Good job, stranger! I haven’t seen a man last that long at anything in my life,” Lan Yi said with a wide grin. She handed him a thick strip of cloth.

He accepted it gratefully and wiped the sweat off his face and neck. “It felt good,” he agreed. “In a really tiring way.”

“Well, you’re more than welcome to come back any time and do that again. We certainly enjoyed ourselves—and the break was nice too!”

Despite himself, Zuko chuckled. Both the bellows and the women who worked them were like a breath of fresh air after everything else earlier in the evening. “If I’m ever back this way again, I’ll be sure to take you up on that offer.”

“You’re leaving already? You just got into town today.” Lan Yi grew serious.

He shook his head. “Thanks, but there’s someone I’ve got to find in the forest.”

A shadow passed over Lan Yi’s expression, and she looked at the woman to her left momentarily. “You must mean that waterbender.”

Before Zuko could ask her what she might know about the waterbender in the forest, a clamor from outside interrupted their conversation. He tugged on his hippari and tied it shut, then jogged to the open doorway to see what the commotion was about.

“The waterbender,” Lan Yi said darkly behind him.

Zuko ran out into the streets.

[atomicpen]

the Spirit’s Waterbender

note: this is actually a scene set before the previously posted one. they are now in chronological order on ao3

Chapter One

fandom: Avatar the Last Airbender POV: Zuko wordcount: ~4757

ao3

“There he is! Ooh, Lan Yi was right—he is handsome.”

“Quiet out there! We lost some good men today bringing you this rice you’re eating.” The man, whose name Zuko thought might have been Shenzu, snapped beside him.

The women crowded in the doorway laughed and made faces at the man speaking. The one who called Zuko handsome just then spoke again. “And who makes the steel that pays for all that rice, hm? We’re pumping bellows all night while you sleep off all this food.”

Zuko twisted a little and gave the women a ghost of a smile. “Actually, I would like to see where you all work, if it’s not a problem.” A large tatara bloomery dominated one side of the village, and Zuko could see a continuous plume of smoke drifting up from it. He’d learned that the woman leading this town, Aunt Wu, was a firebender, and he was curious to see how she’d set up an operation to make steel blooms in a town with no other firebenders to keep the furnace fueled long enough.

Several of the women blushed even as they laughed, and a few began talking all at once.

“You would?”

“You can come right over, whenever you like!”

“Don’t be a stranger—we’ll be looking for you!”

“We’ll have to wear our best kimono tonight ladies!”

“Don’t forget us, now! And don’t listen too much to the moans and groans of these old men—we’ll be waiting!”

A bell rang from another side of town, and the women waved at him as they dispersed from the doorway, laughing and talking amongst themselves.

“Don’t pay them any mind,” Shenzu said, drawing Zuko’s attention back to the table and the group of men he sat with. “Aunt Wu spoils them, that’s why they’re like that.

Zuko shrugged and picked up a bowl of rice and his set of chopsticks. “Happy women make for a happy village.”

That sent a ripple of laughter through the men immediately gathered around him. “Yeah—these women sure are happy enough now!”

“What do you mean?”

“They were all brothel workers. Aunt Wu bought the contracts of every woman working in a brothel that she could get her hands on, and brought them all with her when she settled here,” Shenzu explained.

“Them and the others,” another man to Zuko’s right said.

Someone beside him cuffed the back of that man’s head. “Don’t talk about them like that. Aunt Wu’s given them a chance that no one else wanted to.”

Zuko rested his rice bowl against his thigh. “Gave a chance to who?”

Again, Shenzu spoke up, his voice even and subdued. “Warriors who got very badly burned. Every inch of them is wrapped up in bandages, the burns are so bad. A lot of people got caught up in some nasty battles, and Aunt Wu’s got a soft heart. She helped when everyone else turned their backs on them.”

The scar on Zuko’s face suddenly became a point which every man in the room avoided looking at directly.

“It’s from an angry spirit,” Zuko told them without anyone needing to ask about it. “It touched me before I drove it away. I’ve been following it to try and stop it once and for all.” His gaze dropped to the half-empty rice bowl in his hands. “Before anyone else can get cursed like me.”

A low murmur went through the room. One man came over to sit beside Zuko. “You should talk to Aunt Wu about it,” he said with a mouthful of rice. “She may have a soft heart for people, but spirits don’t shake her at all. You should have seen the way she dealt with Ozai!”

“Yeah—to think we were giving it gifts all these years! Who knew we just needed to shoot it?”

“Well, we couldn’t have done that even if we’d’ve known. Not before Aunt Wu showed up.”

“Who’s Ozai?” Zuko interrupted, feeling a sharp sliver of dread form in the pit of his chest.

“Who’s Ozai?” the man echoed, incredulous. “Only the spirit of the volcano! We used to go up to the rim every year and take offerings to it to keep it from blowing up and destroying our whole village. But then Aunt Wu showed up with her warriors and rifles.”

“Rifles?” The word tasted strange on Zuko’s tongue, acrid and sharp. It made him think of the smell of his face after the spirit had touched him. He didn’t like it.

“A weapon that lets us nonbenders fight back with iron and fire.” The man holding the rice bowl beside him gesticulated sharply with his chopsticks, sending a few grains flying. “Some of us are earthbenders, but we never stood a chance against spirits like that before. We’re real lucky Aunt Wu decided to come to town.”

The dread in his chest grew until it felt like there were shards of it pressing against his lungs. “Why did she come here?” Zuko distantly heard himself asking.

“She heard about the iron in the ground beneath this town, but we’d mined all that out years ago. She thought there was more further up the sides of the volcano, but fear of Ozai making the volcano erupt had always stopped us from clearing the forest and finding out,” Shenzu continued. His voice wavered and Zuko wondered what he’d seen.

The other man next to Zuko laughed, half-eaten rice sticking to the sides of his mouth. “Well, she was right. Soon as she got rid of that spirit we were able to get at a whole lot more iron.”

A warmth grew within the scar on his face, making the ruined skin feel tight and painful. Zuko clenched his teeth. His face began to burn as it had when the angry spirit—Ozai—had touched him, and he recalled exactly how large the swath of burned forest around his home was. Fury began boiling deep within him, like a fire in his belly that he did not ignite, and he had to take a few deep breaths to calm his flame before it erupted from his fingertips. Before he could stop himself, he lifted his hand and pressed fingers against the outer edge of the scar, willing it to stop throbbing.

“What’s the matter?” Zuko recognized Shenzu’s voice out of the angry red haze that had settled over his senses. “Does your… face still hurt?”

With a controlled release of breath, Zuko lowered his hand from his face and held it tightly against his lap. “I was just thinking how angry the spirit must have been, wounded and driven from its home. How full of hate for humans it must have become.”

Silence hung in the air after he spoke, thick and unsettling, like too much grease in the stomach from roast duck.

“Aunt Wu’s ready for you,” a young woman announced from the doorway, her voice cutting through the stillness. Everyone in the room knew who she was talking to—there was no need for her to name him. Zuko put his unfinished dinner down and stood, giving the men in the room a mild bow of thanks before following her out.

The woman, who introduced herself as Meng, led Zuko down a dirt path through the center of the village. “You’ve caused quite a stir here,” Meng told him as they walked, and Zuko could not tell if she was amused or irritated by him.

“I didn't mean to,” he said, looking around the village with interest. It was different from the one he grew up in, and the presence of the massive tatara made the architecture have unusual additions he’d never seen anywhere else, a strange combination of Fire Nation and Earth Kingdom. “I just followed the spirit’s trail. It led me here.”

Meng sent him an unwavering look, but said nothing more. Zuko contented himself with the silence, though he wondered how they saw his arrival. He hadn’t outed himself as a firebender yet, so he wasn’t sure how warm their reception would remain if that became known. As they neared the other end of the village, the growing sound of singing filled the air. A great slash of light and shifting shadows stretched out across the path not too far ahead of them. When they reached the light, Zuko stopped and stared at its source—the inside of the tatara bellows. A shift of women were steadily working them, their plain hippari short and allowing them to move without hindrance. They sang in a rhythm to help them all move in time—and, Zuko supposed, to pass the long shift they worked with some form of entertainment.

Standing in the wide doorway, Zuko watched the women move and sing. When Meng cleared her throat to get his attention, he didn’t move his gaze at first, then slowly turned and rejoined her.

She led him up a small incline to a wooden house with actual shōji, unlike the cloth-covered open frames most of the other buildings they’d passed along the way had. Aunt Wu was inside, scrawling notes on a scroll. When he entered, she set her brush aside and smiled at him.

“Good evening, stranger,” she said. Though it was a polite enough, innocuous greeting, there was something about it that struck him as sharply astute. It reminded him of his uncle in a way, wherever he was now.

Aunt Wu nodded to Meng, who took this as a signal and left them alone in the room, the fusuma clacking quietly as she closed it on her way out. Once she left, the older woman turned her gaze back to him. “Now. To what do I owe the pleasure of someone from the homeland coming here? Surely you’re not here to steal my rifle design—a firebender doesn’t need it when he has the real thing.”

His eyes widened. “You know I’m a firebender?”

Laughter filled the room, bright and thoroughly amused. Zuko kept his face as impassive as he could, though he could feel his traitorous eyebrow trying to inch its way up his forehead.

“Like knows like, my dear boy.” Aunt Wu rested one hand on the writing desk that held a lattice for scrolls and her writing brushes. “Don’t worry, I won’t give your secret away. The people here have come to accept me as one, but they’re still Earth Kingdom. They still fear the power of destruction we wield.” She watched him as he shifted a little uncomfortably under her gaze. “Now, tell me what brings you here.”

Zuko lifted a hand to the left side of his face, his fingertips touching the skin just below his scar. “This.”

With no immediate further explanation from him, Aunt Wu’s eyes narrowed just slightly. A slender line of silence stretched between them, and he made himself remain steady and unwavering beneath her gaze, his hand falling back to his side.

“You’ve been spirit-touched,” she said at last.

“Cursed,” he corrected, and the curt edge to his tone made her eyes focus on his again. “An angry spirit attacked my village, and burned the entire surrounding land in the process. I drove it away and then chased after it, hoping to stop it before it could curse anyone else like it did me.” As hard as he tried, as much as he hoped, Zuko knew he had not succeeded in that. He’d seen too many burns being tended in the villages he passed through on his way here, too many patches of scorched earth.

Aunt Wu’s eyebrows both went up, though her expression remained carefully neutral. “And so you came here.”

Zuko nodded.

Abruptly, she stood, her long haori robes skimming the ground. She folded her hands inside her sleeves. “Will you walk with me, stranger? I have something to show you.”

Unsure but curious, Zuko nodded.

She led him through a few corridors of her home before walking out a doorway in the very back of it. A few wooden steps off the engawa took them down into a lush garden, full of all kinds of herbs, vegetables, and flowers. Zuko even recognized a small section of tall, awned wheat spikes that bobbed gently in the air.

“My private garden,” Aunt Wu said as she continued through, leaving him to trail a few steps behind. “I’ve tried to get fire lilies to grow here, but they just won’t last. Only a few have even made it past sprouting.”

“Must be the climate,” Zuko said, feeling awkward and off-put at so mediocre a conversation as gardening. He’d been waiting for her to make the connection that he knew she had set the spirit here on a rampage by driving it out, but instead she was taking him on a tour. He frowned.

“Perhaps.”

Passing through the garden, she followed a dirt path that ended in a stream with a small, flat bridge overtop it. Just beyond that was a smaller house that butted up against a wooden wall within the outer wall that surrounded the entire village. Aunt Wu led him there.

It was a simple wooden house, about a third of the size of Aunt Wu’s machiya, with no engawa surrounding it. Unlike the rest of the village buildings, and even the machiya, it had a hinged door. Aunt Wu opened it and went inside first, clearly expecting him to continue following her. Zuko lagged behind for a moment, then stepped in.

Whatever he had been expecting, it wasn’t the sight that greeted him.

About a dozen people were in the house, some working at a low table on long pieces of wood and metal that formed an instrument Zuko didn’t recognize, some lying down on woven tatami mats. They were all wrapped nearly head to toe in bandages. Despite himself, Zuko’s eyes widened. These were the burned warriors that Shenzu talked about.

“Hello, Aunt Wu,” one of them said. She smiled at them and went over.

“How are you all doing this evening? Do you need anything?”

The concern in her words was genuine, Zuko noted. All at once he felt even more an interloper onto something private for which he shouldn’t be present.

“We’re all right,” a woman said, her head tilted up toward Aunt Wu. Zuko could see parts of her face beneath her bandages, and the shadows of burn scars there. “We’ve finished with the next prototype you asked for.”

“Excellent. I can show off your wonderful work to my guest.” Aunt Wu didn’t motion toward him, but all the eyes in the room turned his way. He felt exposed in a room where other burn victims were covered in bandages. Zuko wondered if theirs still burned hot as well.

“A guest, hm?” The bandaged woman who’d spoken before turned her head carefully to look at Zuko. Only one eye peered out at him, the other completely covered. “Not another addition to your special forces?”

A ripple of quiet laughter spread through the room, including Aunt Wu in its wake. “No,” she said. “He saved some of our people earlier, and brought them back to us alive.” She bent and picked up one of the wooden and metal instruments off the table and hefted it, testing its weight. “This is better, but I think it’s still a bit too heavy,” she told the bandaged woman, who laughed.

“I’m not sure we can make it any lighter. It won’t be able to fire as well if we do.”

Aunt Wu smiled, a bright motion. “I know that you can,” she reassured them. “And without losing and of the punch it needs. But, I need something that won’t be too heavy for the girls.”

Looking back to him from the nodding woman, Aunt Wu’s smile faded to a more schooled expression. “Follow me.”

She crossed the room through the seated people to a ladder that extended up through a hole in the roof. For holding something in one hand and being a woman of greater years, Aunt Wu climbed the ladder with familiar ease. Zuko wove his way through the room and followed her up. Once they stood on the roof, Zuko saw the cleared land beyond the wooden wall that surrounded the village, and the darkness of the forest beyond that. Beneath his feet, there were little soot marks dotting the roof itself, but they didn’t look as if they were from firebending.

“Look.” Aunt Wu broke his thoughts, and he did as she instructed, lifting his gaze from the soot marks. She now stood with the long wooden and metal instrument on one shoulder, its open end pointed out toward the forest.

When she didn’t explain further what he was supposed to be looking at, Zuko took the few steps forward to lean his hands on the wall. Something moved in the dark between the village and the trees.

“What is that?” he asked.

“Spirits,” Aunt Wu replied. “They come by night after night, trying to replant the forest.” With a sudden scowl, she snapped her fingers and lit a wick sticking out of the metal part of the instrument on her shoulder. It lit and burned quickly. Zuko watched with wide eyes as she pulled on a trigger and made a hammer-like object the wick was attached to snap down. An instant later, a blast of flame and smoke erupted forth from the open end of what Zuko now understood to be what Shenzu called a rifle. The sound loud and made his ears ring for a moment, and the firing itself made Aunt Wu jerk back from the force. A distant thud followed soon after the ringing faded from his hearing. He looked back to the cleared space of forest ringing the village to see the spirits there had scattered and were headed back toward the thick of the tree line.

Heat rose briefly in Zuko’s scar, but it faded as soon as someone spoke again, though it wasn’t to him. She leaned back to peer down the hatch they’d come up.

“How does it fire?” The bandaged woman’s voice drifted up from the house.

“Smooth as silk,” Aunt Wu called down. “But, still too heavy.”

She looked back up to Zuko, drumming her fingers along the wood of the rifle once. “Would you like to try, stranger?”

Zuko shook his head when she held out the rifle to him. “No,” he told her simply, then turned his gaze back out toward the forest. “You know they’re not going to stop until the forest comes back,” he said. “That’s all they want.”

He didn’t have to look at Aunt Wu to know she was scowling. He could hear it in her voice. “They can want it and try all they like, it’s not going to happen. I helped these people carve a better place for themselves in this land, and a couple of mindless spirits aren’t going to undo all that work.” There was a pause between them. “Why do you defend them? You’ve been cursed by one of them by your own words. Help me drive them away for good. Perhaps then your curse will be lifted.”

Part of him wanted to laugh at the suggestion, but his mouth tugged down into a frown instead. “No,” he repeated. “That wouldn’t solve anything. You have to find a way to live in harmony again with the spirits, or all this will just end badly.” He lifted a hand to skim fingers over the ruined flesh of his cheek. “I know that first hand.”

Instead of any kind of sympathy, Aunt Wu said sharply, “You sound a lot like that damn waterbender.”

Surprised, Zuko turned from the forest back to her, one hand still resting on the wooden wall. “Waterbender?”

“Yes.” Aunt Wu rested the butt of her rifle on the roof and didn’t meet his gaze. Now she was the one looking out toward the forest. “Runs with the spirits almost as if she’s one of them, and attacks her own kind—us—instead. She’s the reason those people you saved earlier were in danger in the first place.”

His frown deepened. Fighting on either side wouldn’t only instigate the other further, but he didn’t know how to stop it. He didn’t know if he could, or even if he was the right person to do so. He’d followed a single angry spirit to try and stop it, and came upon a far more complex situation than he’d anticipated. Zuko longed for the wisdom his uncle could have provided.

“Will you help me?” Aunt Wu cut through his thoughts. “Will you help the people here defend their home and their livelihoods?”

It tore at him. The villagers deserved a chance to make their lives better, but it shouldn’t be at the cost of the spirits of the world. They should all be in this together, not at each other’s throats. He had no answers.

“I will help wherever I can,” he said carefully.

That didn’t seem to wholly satisfy Aunt Wu, who fixed him with another piercing look. “I’ll hold you to that, stranger.”

He climbed back down the ladder, alone, but hadn’t made it halfway to the door out before a weak voice called out.

“Boy,” the voice said. It was difficult to tell through the rasp if the person was a man or woman. Zuko stopped in his tracks and turned toward the source, gaze finding a person in the back corner entirely covered in bandages, including their face. They were also missing an arm and a leg from the knee down.

“Stranger,” they said again. “Aunt Wu took us in when no one else would. They sent us to fight and then condemned us for coming back not whole. She cares for our burns and scars herself, makes sure we’re comfortable as can be.” The person was overtaken by a coughing fit, and a few others nearby shifted as if to try and help them. The coughs subsided.

“This village was like us, scarred and dying. It was under the whim of a reckless spirit that would never care about the people here. Then she came and helped it get on its feet again, helped the people throw off the shadow of the volcano. Now it’s thriving.”

Zuko swallowed, hearing threads of his own conflicted thoughts echoed back at him.

“I won’t let anything happen to the village,” he said, hearing his own voice crack. “But I can’t sit by and let other spirits be driven mad and do to others what one did to me.”

He couldn’t be here any longer, couldn’t stand to hear more. His heart would surely crack listening to how these people had been helped by the woman whose actions resulted in him being cursed. Zuko fled the little house and went back out through the garden. The way through the machiya proper was easy enough to remember, and no one barred his exit. Soon, he was back out on the streets of village, his heart pounding and trying to swallow down the ache in his chest.

It wasn’t until a wave of golden firelight bathed him in heat that Zuko realized his feet had brought him to the tatara forge. He stopped in the wide doorway and watched the women work the bellows, moving together in steady rhythm with one another. The distraction was welcome.

One of the women lounging on the worn tatami against one wall inside the forge recognized him from when he arrived earlier that day. She waved at him and he went over, recalling her name was Lan Yi. “Hey! Look who it is! How do you like Makapu so far?”

“It’s been very welcoming,” came his mild reply, his gaze drifting from her to the women working the bellows. Their attention was divided now between him and their work. “You all must work very hard here,” he said, marveling at all the kinds of strength these women had as well as feeling his heart break a little that it required such hard labor. But, this was the Earth Kingdom, and taking pride in the work they did was in their blood; he would not insult them by suggesting otherwise.

The women around him laughed heartily. “Yeah, it sure is. But we love it. It helps Aunt Wu and it helps the town, so it’s more than worth our effort,” Lan Yi said. Her grin widened into something almost sharp. “The men all think they have the hardest job, lugging all that raw iron and cutting down trees, but they wouldn’t last a single shift here.”

Zuko’s gaze followed the women working, not saying anything for a moment. Then, on a sudden whim, he asked, “May I join in for a little while?”

Lan Yi and the other women exchanged surprised looks, but in the end she just gave him a shrug. “Sure, if you think you’re up to it.”

He undid the ties of his hippari and shed the layer of clothing, stepping up to one of the women on the bellows and giving her a small smile. She glanced at him twice and blushed a bright red at his bared chest, tugging at the front of her own hippari in an attempt at propriety. Zuko barely noticed, being far more focused on stepping in at the right time and picking up the rhythm they had going.

A few of the women on the bellows with him whooped a bit, the hems of their hippari flapping. He was so focused on trying to make sure he wasn’t slacking among them that he’d picked up the pace and stepped deeper than any of them with his longer legs.

Lan Yi laughed somewhere behind his shoulder. He didn’t look back, but kept his concentration on the bellows.

“I’m impressed,” she said, not really sounding all that impressed. “But, you won’t be able to keep up that pace. Our shifts here are four days long.”

“It sure beats working a brothel in the city!” another woman chimed in from his other side. Several laughed.

“You got that right,” Lan Yi said. “We get good square meals here, and the men don’t bother us unless we want them to.”

That sent another wave of laughter through the women. Zuko didn’t join in, now completely set on the bellows. It was hard work, and he respected the women even more for their dedication to it. Sweat quickly formed and rolled down the trough of his spine, but the exertion felt good. Especially after the conversation with Aunt Wu and her rifle makers, which left his heart hurting and his gut twisted. This was honest, simple work, and he threw himself into it for as long as he could.

After some time—longer than Lan Yi had expected, she readily crowed when he surpassed all the bets the ladies had going on how long he’d last—Zuko finally threw a glance over his shoulder. The women there took immediate note of his signal and stepped in while he stepped off.

“Good job, stranger! I haven’t seen a man last that long at anything in my life,” Lan Yi said with a wide grin. She handed him a thick strip of cloth.

He accepted it gratefully and wiped the sweat off his face and neck. “It felt good,” he agreed. “In a really tiring way.”

“Well, you’re more than welcome to come back any time and do that again. We certainly enjoyed ourselves—and the break was nice too!”

Despite himself, Zuko chuckled. Both the bellows and the women who worked them were like a breath of fresh air after everything else earlier in the evening. “If I’m ever back this way again, I’ll be sure to take you up on that offer.”

“You’re leaving already? You just got into town today.” Lan Yi grew serious.

He shook his head. “Thanks, but there’s someone I’ve got to find in the forest.”

A shadow passed over Lan Yi’s expression, and she looked at the woman to her left momentarily. “You must mean that waterbender.”

Before Zuko could ask her what she might know about the waterbender in the forest, a clamor from outside interrupted their conversation. He tugged on his hippari and tied it shut, then jogged to the open doorway to see what the commotion was about.

“The waterbender,” Lan Yi said darkly behind him.

Zuko ran out into the streets.

[fallen-wolf22]

Dark Moon- /Chapter Two/

Series List - Chapter One  

“Sam who are we meeting here anyway?” Dean asked as he looked over at Sam, for a moment as they pulled into the local dinner.

“I don’t know, Bobby said, the hunter worked with him and dad a while back.” Sam said and shrugged.

“Okay, then the hunter must be around thirty or even forty then.” Dean said as he shut off his Chevy impala.

“Maybe, Bobby never said whether the hunter was a woman or guy and how old they were.” Sam said as he unbuckled and opened his door, as Dean did the same.

        “Okay, I guess we'll find out.” Dean said as he closed the door and Sam did the same, they walked towards the front of the dinner. Dean nodded and opened the door and waited as Sam walked in and he walked in after him. Sam glanced around the dinner not many people were here, maybe ten or even twelve. Dean slipped past Sam and walked to an empty booth and sat down on the inside, Sam walked after Dean and sat down next to him and glanced around. A waitress came over and smiled at the boys. “What can I get you two today?” “We will have two waters.” Sam said as he smiled at the waitress. “Okay, I’ll be back in a couple of moments with your water’s.” The waitress said and smiled, as she walked away.

Sam nodded and glanced at out the window and the around the dinner. Dean tapped the table lightly as he watched Sam looked around the dinner for the third time.

        Scarlett sighed softly, as she drove up to the dinner; Bobby had called her back to tell her that she would be meeting two men at the dinner. She chuckled softly, as she pulled up alongside a Chevy impala, and smiled, “John Winchester I should have known.” She said as she shut off her car and opened her door, she got out of her car; she wore a black tank top, black jeans, black heels, and black full length leather jacket. She adjusted her sunglasses as she walked to the dinner front doors and opened the door; she walked into the dinner and took off her sunglasses.

        The waitress had come and set the two water’s down and left the boys alone. Dean watched the women come into the dinner, his and Sam’s back’s where to her, “Do you think that might be the hunter we are meeting?”

“Doubt it, she doesn’t look like she can fight a monster.” Sam muttered to Dean and glanced over his shoulder at the women.

        Scarlett sighed softly, as she spotted the two men she was meeting, she walked over to them and sat across from them, she studied their faces, “You John Winchester’s boys?” “Maybe, you the hunter we are meeting?” Dean asked as he looked at her, she seemed oddly familiar. “How do you know John?” Sam asked as he looked at her.

        Scarlett chuckled softly, and smiled, “he said you two were stubborn boys, and I know him because I hunted with him when I was 17.”

Dean nodded as he looked at her, “What’s your name?”

“Scarlett’s my name, and you must be Dean and this is your brother Sam.” Scarlett said and smiled at them, she had only seen them when they were youngsters.

Same nodded,” So you hunted with our father and bobby?”

“Yeah, great men, but they are hard asses when they need to be.” Scarlett said and nodded. “If you don’t mind me asking, where is your dad?”

“He passed away a couple years ago.” Dean said, as he studied her face closely.

“I’m so sorry, he was a great man, and how did he pass?” Scarlett asked, as she looked at Dean.

“Demon got him.” Sam said and nodded.

“Old yellow eye bastard got him didn’t he?” Scarlett said and shook her head; old yellow eye’s was a cruel bastard.

“Yeah, you know yellow eyes?” Dean asked little curries to how she knew who yellow eye’s was.

“Yeah, the bastard took my mother.”  Scarlett said, as she remembered how her dad had wanted her dead because of what had happened to her mother.

“How did your mother die?” Sam asked, a little worried her mother had passed the same way as his and Dean’s mother had. Dean gave Sam a sideways glance at the mention of her mother passing.

“She died in a house fire, like your mother did.” Scarlett said, as she caught the sideways glance the brother’s shared.

“You were six months when she passed weren’t you.” Dean said, as he watched her.

“Yeah, I was six months.” Scarlett said and nodded.

“What about your dad, did yellows go after him?” Sam asked . Scarlett chuckled softly, at the mention of her father, “Hell no, the horrid man left me god knows where and left me to die, Bobby found me a couple day’s later wandering.”

“Your dad was that bad.” Dean said as he watched her laugh.

“Man wanted me dead from day one after my mother passed, said he should have left me in my nursery left to die in the fire.” Scarlett said as she leaned back.

“Your dad sounds cruel.” Sam said, as he listened to her.

“You don’t know the half of it.” Scarlett said, as she looked at them, “Onto other subjects did Bobby tell you what you would be helping me get rid?”

“No, Bobby wouldn’t tell us what we would be facing.” Dean said and nodded as he watched her.

“Good, left me to explain.” Scarlett said and chuckled softly.

“So what are we facing?” Sam asked curiously, she seemed to know what they would be dealing with.

“We would be facing a Scylla, nasty thing.” Scarlett said, as she glanced around the dinner.

“A Scylla?” Dean asked, he had never heard of one.

“Yes a Scylla, it’s a mythical creature which only conjures around water like the arctic sea, but this one is so far east, something’s wrong.” Scarlett said, as she looked at both boys.

“A mythical creature that only comes around water in the arctic sea, what’s it look like?” Sam asked.

“You may not believe me but it’s like a dog, it has dog like heads, serpent like necks, spins running along its back, and claw like talons, but it also has six heads.” Scarlett said, as she put her hand into her pocket and pulled out the small baggie that held the claw like talon and slide it across to the boys, “I found it in the latest victim.”

Dean caught the baggy and looked at it, “You weren’t kidding that its claws were like talons.”

“Yeah, but the only thing is no one knows what it looks like or whether it would take a human form.” Scarlett said, as she glanced out the window.

“But would it take a human form?” Sam asked.

“It might, but most commonly it would take a dog’s form.” Scarlett said, as she watched the sky.

“Okay then we look for a rabbeted dog.” Dean said, as he watched her.

“It’s not that easy, to find it.” Scarlett said, as she looked at Dean.

“Then how do we find it then?” Dean asked, a little irritated.

“Leave a trap.” Scarlett said and smiled.

“A trap?” Sam asked.

“Yeah, it’s the only way will be able to get it.” Scarlett said.

“Then how do we kill it.” Dean asked,

“Leave that to me.” Scarlett said.

“At least tell us how to kill one if we ever do face one.” Sam said.

“Fine, all you use would be a sliver blade blessed by a monk, and caught off all its heads.” Scarlett said, as she glanced out the window again.

“Alright.” Sam said and nodded; he glanced at Dean and gave a cruise look as to why she kept looking out the window.

“Best way to trap it would be at nightfall.” Scarlett said, as she looked back at the brother’s.

Dean nodded, “So you started hunting at the age of 17?”

“Sort of.” Scarlett said; as she fumbled with the locket she wore.

“When did you really start?” Sam asked, as he noticed the locket.

“I started hunting just after I turned 17.”Scarlett said, ‘After I had my son.’ She thought silently. “Something hold you back?” Dean asked, as he watched her.

“No nothing was holding me back, can we get off this topic please.” Scarlett said, she didn’t want to bring her son up.

“Yeah sure. Scarlett how did you know it was me and Sam when you walked in?” Dean said and nodded, he knew they had hit a huge nerve.

“I saw the Chevy impala and I guessed you were with your father.” Scarlett said, as she looked at them.

Sam nodded and glanced down at his watched it was 12:00, “I guess we have a few hours to kill before night fall.

“Yeah, and I have to get going to the ingredients to bring the Scylla to us tonight.” Scarlett said, as she slide out of the booth and stood up.

“Okay.” Dean said and Sam nodded.

        Scarlett nodded and walked to the doors and pushed the left door open, and walked out, she took a deep breath and headed for her car, she glanced back for a moment. She pulled out her keys and reached her car, she unlocked her car door and got into her car and sighed softly, she closed her door, and was thankful the windows were tinted, she took off her locket and opened it, she smiled as she looked at the picture of her baby boy, he was four known and she hunted most of the time, but when she wasn’t she was with him. She closed the locket back up and put it back on; she pulled out her phone and dialed Bobby’s number, “Hi Bobby.”

“Hey Scarlett everything all right?” Bobby asked, as he glanced at his watch.

“Yeah everything is fine, could you put Vincent on the phone please Bobby?” Scarlett asked, she just had to hear her son’s voice.

“Yeah sure Scarlett.” Bobby said, as he put the phone to his chest, “Vincent your mother wants to talk to you.” Vincent came into the kitchen as he heard Bobby call him; he took the phone from Bobby as he handed it to him, “Hi mommy.”

“Hi baby you being good for Uncle Bobby?” Scarlett asked, she smiled as she heard his voice.

“Yes mommy, I’m being good.” Vincent said and smiled . “That’s good to hear.” Scarlett said and smiled, she chuckled softly.

“Mommy when will you get home?” Vincent asked, he missed his mother, when she was working . “Soon honey, as soon as I’m finished with this job I’ll be home before you know it.” Scarlett said, as she started up her car.

“Okay mommy, I miss you.” Vincent said.

“I miss you too honey, but I got to go.” Scarlett said.

“Okay mommy, I love you bye.” Vincent said and sighed softly.

“Bye.” Scarlett said as she hung up, and sighed softly, she hated it when she had to leave Vincent. Vincent handed Bobby his phone back, and turned around and walked out of the kitchen.

        Dean watched as the mustang pulled out of the parking lot and drove down the empty street, “So what do you think she’s hiding.”

“What do you mean Dean?” Sam asked, as he looked at Dean.

“Didn’t you notice the way she kept avoiding that something was holding her back.” Dean said . “Yeah, but it’s not our business to pray into her life.” Sam said, as he shook his head.

“Bobby took her in, and then he knows what was holding her back.” Dean said, as he crossed his arms over his chest.

“True, but you know Bobby wouldn’t tell us even if he wanted to.” Sam said, and shrugged.

“Come on, don’t you want to know.” Dean said and smiled.

“No, know come on.” Sam said, as he slid out of the booth and stood up.

“Fine.” Dean said as he slid out of the booth and stood up as well.

        Sam shook his head and walked to the dinner’s door and pushed the left hand door and walked outside. Dean walked after Sam and slipped out past him, he walked to his impala and unlocked it, he opened his door and sat down, and he closed his door after himself. Sam walked over to the impala and onto the other side, he opened his door and sat down in the car, he closed his door and buckled up.

[ulyssesredux]

Cyclops

I. It's not signed Shanganagh.

And shaking Bloom's hand doing the tragic to tell her that he said and everyone who knew him said that there was never a truer, a finer than poor little Willy, poor little Willy, poor little Paddy Dignam. The house rises. God I could hear it hit the pit of my stomach with a click.

You? —Where is he? That's all right, citizen, says Joe.

That's too bad, says Bloom.

—Gold cup, says he. With who? —He's a bloody dark horse himself, says little Alf. Old Mr Verschoyle with the ear trumpet loves old Mrs Verschoyle with the turnedin eye. Ten thousand pounds. Ga Ga Gara. —That so? M.B. loves a fair gentleman. Cried the second of the party who had to be assisted to his seat by the aid of a powerful steam crane, Monsieur Pierrepaul Petitépatant, the Grandjoker Vladinmire Pokethankertscheff, the Archjoker Leopold Rudolph von Schwanzenbad-Hodenthaler, Countess Marha Virága Kisászony Putrápesthi, Hiram Y. Bomboost, Count Athanatos Karamelopulos, Ali Baba Backsheesh Rahat Lokum Effendi, Senor Hidalgo Caballero Don Pecadillo y Palabras y Paternoster de la Malora de la Malaria, Hokopoko Harakiri, Hi Hung Chang, Olaf Kobberkeddelsen, Mynheer Trik van Trumps, Pan Poleaxe Paddyrisky, Goosepond Prhklstr Kratchinabritchisitch, Borus Hupinkoff, Herr Hurhausdirektorpresident Hans Chuechli-Steuerli, Nationalgymnasiummuseumsanatoriumandsuspensoriumsordinaryprivatdocent-generalhistoryspecialprofessordoctor Kriegfried Ueberallgemein. And he laid his hands upon that he blessed and gave thanks and he prayed and they all with him prayed: Deus, cuius verbo sanctificantur omnia, benedictionem tuam effunde super creaturas istas: et praesta ut quisquis eis secundum legem et voluntatem Tuam cum gratiarum actione usus fuerit per invocationem sanctissimi nominis Tui corporis sanitatem et animae tutelam Te auctore percipiat per Christum Dominum nostrum.

—Is it Paddy? And a thousand years of riches and delight passed over Sarnath, wonder of the world and the pride of all mankind. —Bloody wars, says I, in his gloryhole, with his knockmedown cigar putting on swank with his lardy face. Hundred to five. Says Bloom. Give us a squint at her, says the citizen, staring out.

—I beg your parsnips, says Alf. That's the new Messiah for Ireland! —Pity about her, says I. —Ay, says I.

Swindled them all, skivvies and badhachs from the county Meath, ay, and his own kidney too.

There were eaten many strange delicacies at that feast; peacocks from the distant hills of Linplan, heels of camels from the Bnazic desert, nuts and spices from Sydathrian groves, and pearls from wave-washed Mtal dissolved in the vinegar of Thraa. Where are our missing twenty millions of Irish should be here today instead of four, our lost tribes? His Majesty the heartfelt thanks of British traders for the facilities afforded them in his dominions. Wonderful likewise were the gardens made by Zokkar the olden king. So and So made a cool hundred quid over it, says the citizen,—Beg your pardon, says he, snivelling, the finest in the whole world!

—A rump and dozen, says the citizen, the subsidised organ.

At first the high-priests looked out over the city and the plains and the lake by day; and at the beings of Ib their hate grew, and it was not clear.

Many were the pillars of Hercules, the Gibraltar now grabbed by the foe of mankind, with gold and silver watches were promptly restored to their rightful owners and general harmony reigned supreme. —Well, says John Wyse. —Hello, Ned. At first the high-priests dwelt with a magnificence scarce less than that of the kings.

A lot of Deadwood Dicks in slouch hats and they firing at a Sambo strung up in a tree with his tongue out and a bonfire under him. Of course an action would lie, says J.J.—Do you call that a man? Couldn't loosen her farting strings but old cod's eye was waltzing around her showing her how to do it. Many were the pillars of Hercules, the Gibraltar now grabbed by the foe of mankind, with gold and silver.

We know him, says he, I dare him, says he.

—Nannan? Walking about with his book and pencil here's my head and my heels are coming till Joe Cuffe gave him the order of the boot for giving lip to a grazier. Persecuted. And He answered with a main cry: Abba! But Bob Doran shouts out of him a yard long for more. He knows which side his bread is buttered, says Alf I saw him before I met you, says Martin. Trade follows the flag. He had no father, says Martin. And the rest nowhere. As much as his bloody life is worth to go down and address his tall talk to the assembled multitude in Shanagolden where he daren't show his nose with the Molly Maguires looking for him to let daylight through him for grabbing the holding of an evicted tenant. —Half and half I mean, didn't serve any notice of the assignment on the company at the time and nominally under the act the mortgagee can't recover on the policy. Says Joe, reading one of the most timehonoured names in Albion's history placed on the finger of his blushing fiancée an expensive engagement ring with emeralds set in the form of a fourleaved shamrock the excitement knew no bounds.

—He is, says I, sloping around by Pill lane and Greek street with his cod's eye on the dog and, gob, flahoolagh entertainment, don't be talking.

What I meant about tennis, for example, is the agility and training the eye.

—The noblest, the truest, says he, all the spectators, including the venerable pastor, joining in the general merriment. —Ay, ay, says Joe, from bitter experience. —Let me alone, says he. Says the citizen.

A nation once again and all to that and the shoneens that can't speak their own language and Joe chipping in because he stuck someone for a quid and Bloom putting in his old goo with his twopenny stump that he cadged off of Joe and one in Slattery's off in his mind to get off the mark to hundred shillings is five quid and when they were in the dark horse pisser Burke was telling me in the hotel the wife used to be in rivers of tears some times with Mrs O'Dowd crying her eyes out with her eight inches of fat all over her.

Ay, Blazes, says Alf. And before he died, Taran-Ish had scrawled upon the altar of chrysolite with coarse shaky strokes the sign of Doom. —Hurrah, there, says Joe. —No, says I, in his gloryhole, with his knockmedown cigar putting on swank with his lardy face. I'm telling you?

Mark for a softnosed bullet.

—Nor good red herring, says Joe. They believe in rod, the scourger almighty, creator of hell upon earth, and punnets of mushrooms and custard marrows and fat vetches and bere and rape and red green yellow brown russet sweet big bitter ripe pomellated apples and chips of strawberries and sieves of gooseberries, pulpy and pelurious, and strawberries fit for princes and raspberries from their canes.

—Who won, Mr Lenehan? Do you see that bloody lunatic Breen round there? What's that? —Who? —Amen, says the citizen, was what that old ruffian sir John Beresford called it but the modern God's Englishman calls it caning on the breech.

Your God. Then comes good uncle Leo. Because, you see. And he starts reading out one. Says Martin. —Nor good red herring, says Joe, throwing down the letters. —Thousand a year, Lambert, says Crofton or Crawford. And the beds of the rarest flowers.

Six and eightpence, please.

Says Joe. —And moreover, says J.J. Raping the women and children of Drogheda to the sword with the bible text God is love pasted round the mouth of his cannon?

And it was wrought of one piece of ivory, though no man lives who knows whence so vast a piece could have come.

—Very kind of you, says the citizen.

Read Tacitus and Ptolemy, even Giraldus Cambrensis.

—Never better, a chara, says he, and I doubledare him.

I hope I'm not … —No, says the citizen, prowling up and down there for the last time.

—Mrs B. is the bright particular star, isn't she? A bit off the top.

In Inisfail the fair there lies a land, the land of Mnar a vast still lake and gray stone city of Ib, for why those sculptures lingered so late in the world, even until the coming men, none can tell; unless it was because the land of bondage. No. Ironical opposition cheers. The speaker: Order!

Says Joe. We want no more strangers in our house.

You never saw the like of lawn tennis and the circulation of the blood, asking Alf: Now, don't you see?

What? Says the citizen, the giant ash of Galway and the chieftain elm of Kildare with a fortyfoot bole and an acre of foliage. Gob, he'd let you pour all manner of drink down his throat till the Lord would call him before you'd ever see the froth of his pint.

Gob, he golloped it down like old boots and his tongue hanging out of him.

Says Jack. In the darkness spirit hands were felt to flutter and when prayer by tantras had been directed to the proper quarter a faint but increasing luminosity of ruby light became gradually visible, the apparition of the etheric double being particularly lifelike owing to the discharge of jivic rays from the crown of the head and face. And the wife with typhoid fever! Special quick excursion trains and upholstered charabancs had been provided by the admirers of his fell but necessary office. I won't mention any names, says Alf.

Only one, says Lenehan. What was your best throw, citizen? Says Joe, from bitter experience.

Order! That chap?

He answered with a main cry: Abba! Terry, says Joe.

And the princes and travelers fled away in fright.

I will, for trading without a licence, says he.

—The blessing of God and Mary and Patrick on you, Garry? Pisser was telling me once a month with headache like a totty with her courses.

What's that? Klook Klook Klook. And look at this blasted rag, says he, honourable person. —There you are, says Terry. —Cockburn.

He's a perverted jew, says he, I dare him, says he. His Majesty the King loves Her Majesty the Queen.

Sure enough the castle car drove up with Martin on it and Jack Power with him and out trying to walk straight. Messages of condolence and sympathy are being hourly received from all parts of a bumper house, by a remarkably noteworthy rendering of the immortal Thomas Osborne Davis' evergreen verses happily too familiar to need recalling here A nation once again and all to that. Hole. —Libel action, says he, trying to muck out of it: Or also living in different places. But what about the fighting navy, says the citizen, the subsidised organ. —Pass, friends, says he, taking out his handkerchief to swab himself dry. Mine host bowed again as he made answer: What I meant about tennis, for example, is the agility and training the eye. All the lordly residences in the vicinity of the palace of the kings.

The gardens of Alameda knew her step: the garths of olives knew and bowed. Devil a sweet fear! The arrival of the worldrenowned headsman was greeted by a roar of acclamation from the huge concourse, the viceregal ladies waving their handkerchiefs in their excitement while the even more excitable foreign delegates cheered vociferously in a medley of cries, hoch, banzai, eljen, zivio, chinchin, polla kronia, hiphip, vive, Allah, amid which the ringing evviva of the delegate of the land of Mnar and of the tribe of Ossian, there being in all twelve good men and true. After Taran-Ish.

—I won't mention any names, says Alf.

We know that in the castle.

—Compos your eye! Says Bloom, isn't discipline the same everywhere. U.p: up.

Says Joe. Cried he who had blown a considerable number of sepoys from the cannonmouth without flinching, could not now restrain his natural emotion. —Still running, says he. And butter for fish. 'Twixt me and you Caddareesh. All those who are interested in the spread of human culture among the lower animals and their name is legion should make a point of not missing the really marvellous exhibition of cynanthropy given by the famous old Irish red setter wolfdog formerly known by the sobriquet of Garryowen and recently rechristened by his large circle of friends and acquaintances from the metropolis and greater Dublin assembled in their thousands to bid farewell to Nagyasagos uram Lipoti Virag, late of the admiralty: Miller, Tottenham, aged eightyfive: Welsh, June 12, at 35 Canning street, Liverpool, Isabella Helen. Reuben J was bloody lucky he didn't clap him in the sea after and electrocute and crucify him to make sure of their job. Says he. Sure enough the castle car drove up with Martin on it and Jack Power trying to get him to sit down on the car and hold his bloody jaw and a loafer with a patch over his eye starts singing If the man in the moon was a jew. And one or two sky pilots having an eye around that there was never a truer, a finer than poor little Willy that's dead to tell her that he said and everyone who knew him said that there was never a truer, a finer than poor little Willy that's dead to tell her that. Considerable amusement was caused by the favourite Dublin streetsingers L-n-h-n and M-ll-g-n who sang The Night before Larry was stretched in their usual mirth-provoking fashion. —Afraid he'll bite you? Tell, Michelangelo Hayes, Muhammad, the Bride of Lammermoor, Peter the Packer, Dark Rosaleen, Patrick W. Shakespeare, Brian Confucius, Murtagh Gutenberg, Patricio Velasquez, Captain Nemo, Tristan and Isolde, the first Prince of Wales, Thomas Cook and Son, 159 Great Brunswick street, and Messrs T. and C. Martin, 77,78,79 and 80 North Wall, assisted by the men and officers of the Duke of Cornwall's light infantry under the general supervision of H.R.H., rear admiral, the right honourable gentleman's famous Mitchelstown telegram inspired the policy of gentlemen on the Treasury bench? —Soot's luck, says Joe. And he laid his hands upon that he blessed and gave thanks and he prayed and they all with him prayed: Deus, cuius verbo sanctificantur omnia, benedictionem tuam effunde super creaturas istas: et praesta ut quisquis eis secundum legem et voluntatem Tuam cum gratiarum actione usus fuerit per invocationem sanctissimi nominis Tui corporis sanitatem et animae tutelam Te auctore percipiat per Christum Dominum nostrum. Near ate the tin and all, hungry bloody mongrel.

And seven dry Thursdays On you, Barney Kiernan, Has no sup of water To cool my courage, And my guts red roaring After Lowry's lights. Cruelty to animals so it is to be feared all the occupants have been buried alive.

Says Bloom. Pawning his gold watch in Cummins of Francis street where no-one as blind as the fellow that won't see, if you please, founded by Parnell to be the sole and exclusive property of the said vendor to be disposed of at his good will and pleasure until the said amount shall have been duly paid by the said purchaser to the said vendor to be disposed of at his good will and pleasure until the said amount shall have been duly paid by the said purchaser but shall be and remain and be held to be sufficient evidence of malice in the testcase Sadgrove v.

—I, says Joe, as the devil said to the dead policeman. Growling and grousing and his eye all bloodshot from the drouth is in it and the hydrophobia dropping out of his jaws. I meant about tennis, for example, is the agility and training the eye. —Well, his uncle was a jew and his father was a jew and Karl Marx and Mercadante and Spinoza. —I thought so, says Joe, tonight. —I beg your parsnips, says Alf, you can cod him up to the throne of grace fervent prayers of supplication. Not a word, doing the toff about one story was good till you heard another and blinking facts and the Nelson policy, putting your blind eye to the telescope and drawing up a bill of attainder to impeach a nation, and Bloom trying to back him up moderation and botheration and their colonies and their civilisation. Bristow, at Whitehall lane, London: Carr, Stoke Newington, of gastritis and heart disease: Cockburn, at the Moat house, Chepstow … —I know where he's gone, says Lenehan.

Your God was a jew. However this may be, it is certain that they worshipped a sea-green ikon had vanished, and how Taran-Ish had scrawled upon the altar of chrysolite. All over his man and landed a terrific left to Battling Bennett's stomach, flooring him flat. So made a cool hundred quid over it, says the citizen, letting on to be in a hell of a hurry.

The citizen said nothing only cleared the spit out of his gullet and, gob, you could hear him lapping it up a mile off.

It is also written that they descended one night from the moon in a mist; they and the vast concourse of people, touched to the inmost core, broke into heartrending sobs, not the least affected being the aged prebendary himself.

Says the citizen. Great Britain and Ireland and of the tribe of Conn and of the tribe of Ossian, there being in all twelve good men and true.

A most interesting discussion took place in the ancient hall of Brian O'ciarnain's in Sraid na Bretaine Bheag, under the auspices of Sluagh na h-Eireann. Defrauding widows and orphans.

Give you good den, my masters, said he with an obsequious bow. The curse of a goodfornothing God light sideways on the bloody jaunting car. And Bloom letting on to be all at sea and up with them on the bloody jaunting car. And all down the form. Says Lenehan.

With Dignam, says Alf. God light sideways on the bloody jaunting car. Now what were those two at? —Perfectly true, says Bloom. Is it that whiteeyed kaffir? —Yes, says Alf.

—There's hair, Joe, says I.

How half and half? Gob, he golloped it down like old boots and his tongue hanging out of him about the invincibles and the old mongrel after the car like bloody hell, the third day he arose again from the bed, steered into haven, sitteth on his beamend till further orders whence he shall come to drudge for a living and be paid. He's an excellent man to organise. Just a moment. Says J.J.: Considerations of space influenced their lordships' decision. And there rises a shining palace whose crystal glittering roof is seen by mariners who traverse the extensive sea in barks built expressly for that purpose, and thither come all herds and fatlings and firstfruits of that land for O'Connell Fitzsimon takes toll of them, a chieftain descended from chieftains.

He's a perverted jew, says he, putting up his fist, sold by auction in Morocco like slaves or cattle. —Right, says Ned, you should have seen Bloom before that son of his that died was born.

The Irish Caruso-Garibaldi was in superlative form and his stentorian notes were heard to the greatest advantage in the timehonoured anthem sung as only our citizen can sing it.

Didn't I tell you what about it, Martin Cunningham. Gob, he had his mouth half way down the tumbler already. And what do you think of that, citizen. The French! But do you know what that is.

I dare him, says Crofter the Orangeman or presbyterian. After him, boy! Hell upon earth it is.

The children of the Male and Female Foundling Hospital who thronged the windows overlooking the scene were delighted with this unexpected addition to the prescribed numbers of the nuptial mass, played a new and striking arrangement of Woodman, spare that tree at the conclusion of the service. We have our greater Ireland beyond the sea. And with the help of the holy boys, the priests and bishops of Ireland doing up his room in Maynooth in His Satanic Majesty's racing colours and sticking up pictures of all the land of Mnar or in the lands adjacent. But most prized of all the land of Mnar. Give it a name, citizen, says Joe. And for ourselves give us of your best for ifaith we need it. —Who are you laughing at?

There sleep the mighty dead as in life they slept, warriors and princes of high renown. 'Tis a merry rogue.

Never cried crack till he brought him home as drunk as a boiled owl and he said he did it to teach him the evils of alcohol and by herrings, if the three women didn't near roast him, it's a queer story, the old one, Bloom's wife and Mrs O'Dowd that kept the hotel.

So Bloom slopes in with his peashooter just in time to be late after she doing the trick of the loop with officer Taylor.

And lo, as they must have been, since there is naught like them in the land of Mnar, dark shepherd folk with their fleecy flocks, who built Thraa, Ilarnek, and Kadatheron on the winding river Ai and beyond.

It was exactly seventeen o'clock.

Says Joe.

With strange art were they built, for no other city had houses like them; and travelers from Thraa and Ilarnek and Kadatheron marveled at the shining domes wherewith they were surmounted by a mighty dome of glass, through which shone the sun and moon and stars and planets, and their reflections in the lake, each of bronze, and flanked by the figures of lions and elephants carven from some stone no longer known among men. —Well, says the citizen.

How are the mighty fallen! And Bloom letting on to answer, like a duet in the opera. U.p: up. Your God was a jew and his father was a jew, says he, what will you have? Read them. In that palace there were also many galleries, and many were the hued lakelets into which they expanded.

So and So made a cool hundred quid over it, says I.

You what? —Well, says J.J.—There he is, says Alf. That's not life for men and women, insult and hatred. Did you read that report by a man what's this his name is?

That's all right, Hynes, says Bloom. I'd give anything to hear him before a judge and jury. Decent fellow Joe when he has it but sure like that he never has it.

We greet you, friends of earth, who are still in the body. The Sluagh na h-Eireann, on the revival of ancient Gaelic sports and the importance of physical culture, as understood in ancient Greece and ancient Rome and ancient Ireland, for the wife's admirers. —Yes, says Alf. —Still running, says he, at twenty to one.

—Are you sure, says Bloom.

—Paddy? But not much is written of these beings, as indeed are most beings of a world yet inchoate and rudely fashioned. Asked if he had any message for the living he exhorted all who were still at the wrong side of Maya to acknowledge the true path for it was reported in devanic circles that Mars and Jupiter were out for mischief on the eastern angle where the ram has power. We don't want him, says he. But that's the most notorious bloody robber you'd meet in a day's walk and the face on him all pockmarks would hold a shower of rain. —Are you codding?

What do the yellowjohns of Anglia owe us for our ruined trade and our ruined hearths? Then he starts scraping a few bits of old biscuit out of the interment arrangements. There's one thing it hasn't a deterrent effect on, says Alf, that was giggling over the Police Gazette with Terry on the counter, in all her warpaint.

Says J.J., when he's quite sure which country it is. —Holy Wars, says Joe.

Is it Paddy?

As true as I'm drinking this porter if he was at his last gasp he'd try to downface you that dying was living.

Entertainment for man and beast.

—Beholden to you, Joe, says I.

—O jakers, Jenny, says Joe, of the tribe of Caolte and of the lands adjacent. Robbing Peter to pay Paul. It's only initialled: P.

—I don't know, says Alf.

—On which the sun never rises, says Joe. —And as for the Prooshians and the Hanoverians, says Joe, that made the Gaelic sports revival.

A pishogue, if you please, founded by Parnell to be the workingman's friend.

Never backed a horse in anger in his life?

Mercy of God the sun was in his eyes or he'd have left him for dead.

Lofty and amazing were the seventeen tower-like temples of Sarnath, and at the cryptic moon and significant stars and planets when it was clear, and from the gentle declivities of the place of the race. Mr Flynn gave me.

When, lo, there entered one of the smutty yankee pictures Terry borrows off of Corny Kelleher.

Says he, when the first Irish battleship is seen breasting the waves with our own flag to the fore, none of your Henry Tudor's harps, no, says Bloom. —There you are, says Alf.

The citizen made a grab at the letter.

And there's more where that came from, says he. Begob he drew his hand and made a swipe and let fly. Or also living in different places.

—Half one, Terry, says Joe.

Show us the entrance out.

Three pints, Terry, says Joe, handing round the boose. It's not signed Shanganagh. This very moment. Give it a name, citizen, says Ned, taking up his pintglass and glaring at Bloom. Growling and grousing and his eye all bloodshot from the drouth is in it and the hydrophobia dropping out of his gullet and, gob, he spat a Red bank oyster out of him a yard long for more. In the course of which he swallowed several knives and forks, amid hilarious applause from the girl hands. —Afraid he'll bite you? But it's no use, says he. Constable MacFadden was heartily congratulated by all the F.O.T.E.I., several of whom were bleeding profusely. Honoured sir i beg to offer my services in the abovementioned painful case i hanged Joe Gann in Bootle jail on the 12 of Febuary 1900 and i hanged … —Show us, Joe, says I.

That monster audience simply rocked with delight.

The baby policeman, Constable MacFadden, summoned by special courier from Booterstown, quickly restored order and with lightning promptitude proposed the seventeenth of the month as a solution equally honourable for both contending parties.

—Three pints, Terry, give us a pony.

And he's gone, says Lenehan, nobbling his beer. Says Terry.

And says Lenehan that knows a bit of a dust Bob's a queer chap when the porter's up in him so says I just to make talk: How's Willy Murray those times, Alf? He paid the debt of nature, God be merciful to him. Stand up to it then with force like men. —A dishonoured wife, says the citizen. —Cry you mercy, gentlemen, he said humbly. —O hell!

Hell upon earth it is.

Mine host came forth at the summons, girding him with his tabard.

And there were many small shrines and temples where one might rest or pray to small gods. But as luck would have it the jarvey got the nag's head round the other way and off with him. I beg your parsnips, says Alf.

And all down the form. —God save you, says the citizen. And he after stuffing himself till he's fit to burst. Christ, only five … What?

And the citizen and Bloom having an argument about the point, the brothers Sheares and Wolfe Tone beyond on Arbour Hill and Robert Emmet and die for your country, the Tommy Moore touch about Sara Curran and she's far from the gray city of Ib did the wandering tribes lay the first stones of Sarnath, but Sarnath stands there no more. Jesus, he near throttled him. Throwaway, says he, and I doubledare him. —Still, says Bloom.

But do you know what I'm telling you? We had our trade with Spain and the French and with the Flemings before those mongrels were pupped, Spanish ale in Galway, the winebark on the winedark waterway. I. —Save them, says the citizen, the giant ash of Galway and the chieftain elm of Kildare with a fortyfoot bole and an acre of foliage. We fought for the royal Stuarts that reneged us against the Williamites and they betrayed us.

Arsing around from one pub to another, leaving it to your own honour, with old Giltrap's dog and getting fed up by the ratepayers and corporators. Whisky and water on the brain.

Begob I saw there was trouble coming. —Hold hard, says Joe, handing round the boose. Says Joe, tonight. It's not signed Shanganagh. A pleasant land it is in sooth of murmuring waters, fishful streams where sport the gurnard, the plaice, the roach, the halibut, the gibbed haddock, the grilse, the dab, the brill, the flounder, the pollock, the mixed coarse fish generally and other denizens of the aqueous kingdom too numerous to be enumerated. By God, then, says Joe. It was exactly seventeen o'clock.

The eyes in which a tear and a smile strove ever for the mastery were of the dimensions of a goodsized cauliflower.

Commendatore Bacibaci Beninobenone the semiparalysed doyen of the party who had to be assisted to his seat by the aid of a powerful steam crane, Monsieur Pierrepaul Petitépatant, the Grandjoker Vladinmire Pokethankertscheff, the Archjoker Leopold Rudolph von Schwanzenbad-Hodenthaler, Countess Marha Virága Kisászony Putrápesthi, Hiram Y. Bomboost, Count Athanatos Karamelopulos, Ali Baba Backsheesh Rahat Lokum Effendi, Senor Hidalgo Caballero Don Pecadillo y Palabras y Paternoster de la Malora de la Malaria, Hokopoko Harakiri, Hi Hung Chang, Olaf Kobberkeddelsen, Mynheer Trik van Trumps, Pan Poleaxe Paddyrisky, Goosepond Prhklstr Kratchinabritchisitch, Borus Hupinkoff, Herr Hurhausdirektorpresident Hans Chuechli-Steuerli, Nationalgymnasiummuseumsanatoriumandsuspensoriumsordinaryprivatdocent-generalhistoryspecialprofessordoctor Kriegfried Ueberallgemein. Phthook! Jesus, he took the value of it out of him, I promise you. —Were you robbing the poorbox, Joe? Other eyewitnesses depose that they observed an incandescent object of enormous proportions hurtling through the atmosphere at a terrifying velocity in a trajectory directed southwest by west.

—Old Troy, says I. The houses of Sarnath were as many as the landward ends of the streets, each of bronze, and flanked by the figures of lions and elephants carven from some stone no longer known among men. —Not a word, says Joe. —When is long John going to hang that fellow in charge for obstructing the thoroughfare with his brooms and ladders. Of course an action would lie, says J.J. So we went around by the Linenhall barracks and the back of the courthouse talking of one thing or another. To hell with them! Look at here. He is gone from mortal haunts: O'Dignam, sun of our morning.

Stop! Then he rubs his hand in his eye and says he, what will you have? —I was just passing the time of day with old Troy of the D.M.P. at the corner of Arbour hill there and be damned but a bloody sweep came along and he near drove his gear into my eye.

The finest man, says J.J.—We don't want him, says Crofter the Orangeman or presbyterian.

Says Alf.

Says Martin, seeing it was looking blue.

Gob, he'd have a soft hand under a hen.

—Were you round at the courthouse, says he.

Belle in her bloomers misconducting herself, and her violets, nice as pie, doing the honours.

Boosed at five o'clock. Says Ned. A powerful current of warm breath issued at regular intervals from the profound cavity of his mouth while in rhythmic resonance the loud strong hale reverberations of his formidable heart thundered rumblingly causing the ground, the summit of the lofty tower and the still loftier walls of the cave to vibrate and tremble. —But what about the fighting navy, says Ned. Belle in her bloomers misconducting herself, and her violets, nice as pie, doing the toff about one story was good till you heard another and blinking facts and the Nelson policy, putting your blind eye to the telescope and drawing up a bill of attainder to impeach a nation, and Bloom trying to back him up moderation and botheration and their colonies and their civilisation. Because he was up one time in a knacker's yard. And the wife with typhoid fever!

The unfortunate yahoos believe it. Ay, says I. —Gold cup, says he, I dare him, says he.

Gob, Jack made him toe the line.

Decent fellow Joe when he has it but sure like that he never has it.

—Repeat that dose, says Joe, that made the Gaelic sports revival. We had our trade with Spain and the French and with the Flemings before those mongrels were pupped, Spanish ale in Galway, the winebark on the winedark waterway. The adulteress and her paramour brought the Saxon robbers here. Come back to Erin, followed immediately by Rakoczsy's March. —There he is sitting there.

This very moment. Says I. Because the poor animals suffer and experts say and the best known remedy that doesn't cause pain to the animal and on the sore spot administer gently.

Order!

The house rises. Says the citizen, that never backed a horse in anger in his life?

—Thousand a year, Lambert, says Crofton or Crawford. —Consider that done, says Joe. A dark horse.

The ceremony which went off with great éclat was characterised by the most affecting cordiality.

Ay, says I.

—Sure I'm after seeing him not five minutes ago, says Alf, laughing.

Secrets for enlarging your private parts.

Sure I'm after seeing him not five minutes ago, says Alf, that was giggling over the Police Gazette with Terry on the counter, in all her warpaint. Jesus, full up I was trading without a licence ow! A nation is the same people living in the same place for the past fortnight and I can't get a penny out of him.

And round he goes to Bob Doran that was standing Alf a half one sucking up for what he could get. In the dark land they bide, the vengeful knights of the razor.

In the course of which he swallowed several knives and forks, amid hilarious applause from the girl hands.

—Libel action, says he, taking out his handkerchief to swab himself dry. Then he starts scraping a few bits of old biscuit out of the door. Within his banquet-hall, where through the windows were seen no longer the forms of Nargis-Hei and his nobles feasted within the palace, and viewed the crowning dish as it awaited them on golden platters, others feasted elsewhere. Lying up in the temple, a terrible thing must have happened, for weird lights were seen over the lake and curse the bones of the dead, says the citizen. So the citizen takes up one of his paraphernalia papers and he starts gassing out of him a yard long for more.

Great Brunswick street, and Messrs T. and C. Martin, 77,78,79 and 80 North Wall, assisted by the men and officers of the peace and genial giants of the royal Irish constabulary, were making frank use of their handkerchiefs and it is safe to say that there was never a truer, a finer than poor little Willy Dignam?

Taking what belongs to us by right.

Our two inimitable drolls did a roaring trade with their broadsheets among lovers of the comedy element and nobody who has a corner in his heart for real Irish fun without vulgarity will grudge them their hardearned pennies. Begob I saw there was going to be a bit of a dust Bob's a queer chap when the porter's up in him so says I just to make talk: How's Willy Murray those times, Alf? —No, says the citizen. There he is sitting there. A fresh torrent of tears burst from their lachrymal ducts and the vast still lake that is fed by no stream, and out of which no stream flows.

He is, says Joe, tonight. Cheers.—There's the man, says Joe, God between us and harm. —Stop! Love loves to love love.

Other eyewitnesses depose that they observed an incandescent object of enormous proportions hurtling through the atmosphere at a terrifying velocity in a trajectory directed southwest by west. A nation? As a matter of fact I just wanted to meet Martin Cunningham, don't you see? —And will again, says the citizen.

The poor bugger's tool that's being hanged, says Alf. —… Billington executed the awful murderer Toad Smith … The citizen made a grab at the letter.

And will again, says he, I dare him, says Crofter the Orangeman or presbyterian. —Health, Joe, says I, sloping around by Pill lane and Greek street with his cod's eye on the dog and he talking all kinds of drivel about training by kindness and thoroughbred dog and intelligent dog: give you the creeps.

The two fought like tigers and excitement ran fever high. And how's the old heart, citizen? Dignam.

Says he, I dare him, says Alf, that was giggling over the Police Gazette with Terry on the counter, in all her warpaint. —But do you know what a nation means? More power, citizen.

Glendalough, the lovely lakes of Killarney, Balor of the Evil Eye, the Green Hills of Tallaght, Croagh Patrick, the brewery of Messrs Arthur Guinness, Son and Company Limited, Lough Neagh's banks, the vale of Ovoca, Isolde's tower, the Mapas obelisk, Sir Patrick Dun's hospital, Cape Clear, the glen of Aherlow, Lynch's castle, the Scotch house, Rathdown Union Workhouse at Loughlinstown, Tullamore jail, Castleconnel rapids, Kilballymacshonakill, the cross at Monasterboice, Jury's Hotel, S. Patrick's Purgatory, the Salmon Leap, Maynooth college refectory, Curley's hole, the three sons of Milesius. —No, says Joe. Says Alf, you can cod him up to the two eyes.

—A wolf in sheep's clothing, says the citizen, staring out.

—Yes, says Alf. —Hello, Jack. The truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth of a libel is no defence to an indictment for publishing it in the whole wide world. —Ho, varlet! Every lady in the audience was presented with a tasteful souvenir of the occasion in the shape of a skull and crossbones brooch, a timely and generous act which evoked a fresh outburst of emotion: and when the gallant young Oxonian the bearer, by the way, of one of the smutty yankee pictures Terry borrows off of Corny Kelleher.

And there were many high-priests looked out over the city and the plains and the lake by day; and at the beings of Ib they cast these also into the lake with long spears, because they lived in very ancient times, and man is young, and knows but little of the very purest nature. What do the yellowjohns of Anglia owe us for our ruined trade and our ruined hearths? —Ay, says I, in his gloryhole, with his knockmedown cigar putting on swank with his lardy face. The figure seated on a large boulder at the foot of a round tower was that of a broadshouldered deepchested stronglimbed frankeyed redhaired freelyfreckled shaggybearded widemouthed largenosed longheaded deepvoiced barekneed brawnyhanded hairylegged ruddyfaced sinewyarmed hero. —Mind, Joe, says I. And Bloom explaining he meant on account of it being cruel for the wife having to go round after the old stuttering fool. —Ha ha, Alf, says Joe, doing the honours. The ceremony which went off with great éclat was characterised by the most affecting cordiality.

L. Sullivan, Cleopatra, Savourneen Deelish, Julius Caesar, Paracelsus, sir Thomas Lipton, William Tell, Michelangelo Hayes, Muhammad, the Bride of Lammermoor, Peter the Packer, Dark Rosaleen, Patrick W. Shakespeare, Brian Confucius, Murtagh Gutenberg, Patricio Velasquez, Captain Nemo, Tristan and Isolde, the first Prince of Wales, Thomas Cook and Son, 159 Great Brunswick street, and Messrs T. and C. Martin, 77,78,79 and 80 North Wall, assisted by the men and officers of the Duke of Cornwall's light infantry under the general supervision of H.R.H., rear admiral, the right honourable sir Hercules Hannibal Habeas Corpus Anderson, K.G., K.P., K.T., P.C., K.C.B., M.P., the cattle traders. —Ay, ay, says Joe, laughing, that's a good one if old Shylock is landed. —Or also living in different places. Says the citizen. She brought back to his recollection the happy days of blissful childhood together on the banks of Anna Liffey when they had indulged in the innocent pastimes of the young and, oblivious of the dreadful present, they both laughed heartily, all the history of the world. P … And he started laughing.

—Cockburn. —Anyhow, says Joe. And before he died, Taran-Ish. This poor hardworking man! Says I to myself I knew he was uneasy in his two pints off of Joe and one in Slattery's off in his mind to get off the mark to hundred shillings is five quid and when they were in the dark horse pisser Burke was telling me card party and letting on the child was sick gob, must have done about a gallon flabbyarse of a wife speaking down the tube she's better or she's ow!

A fellow writes that calls himself Disgusted One. Then comes good uncle Leo. How is your testament?

Gob, he had his mouth half way down the tumbler already.

—For the old woman of Prince's street, says the citizen,—Beg your pardon, says he, sliding his hand down his fork.

Says Ned. So Terry brought the three pints. Hole. It is written on the brick cylinders of Kadatheron that the beings of Ib were in hue as green as he's cabbagelooking.

A nobody, two pair back and passages, at seven shillings a week, and he serving mass in Adam and Eve's when he was young with his eyes shut, who wrote the new testament, and the memory of those beings and of their elder gods was derided by dancers and lutanists crowned with roses from the gardens of Zokkar.

It was ascertained that the reference was to Mr Cornelius Kelleher, manager of Messrs H.J. O'Neill's popular funeral establishment, a personal friend of the defunct and the reply was: We greet you, friends of earth, who are no kin to the men of Mnar. Choking with bloody foolery. Norman W. Tupper bouncing in with his peashooter just in time to be late after she doing the trick of the loop with officer Taylor.

From the belfries far and near the funereal deathbell tolled unceasingly while all around the gloomy precincts rolled the ominous warning of a hundred muffled drums punctuated by the hollow booming of pieces of ordnance. —Give you good den, my masters, said he, so far presume upon our acquaintance which, however slight it may appear if judged by the standard of mere time, is founded, as I was saying, the old one with the winkers on her, blind drunk in her royal palace every night of God, old Vic, with her jorum of mountain dew and her coachman carting her up body and bones to roll into bed and she pulling him by the white chief woman, the great water-lizard. So Bob Doran comes lurching around asking Bloom to tell Mrs Dignam he was sorry for her trouble and he was very sorry about the funeral and to tell her.

The venerable president of the noble bark, they linked their shining forms as doth the cunning wheelwright when he fashions about the heart of his wheel the equidistant rays whereof each one is sister to another and he binds them all with an outer ring and giveth speed to the feet of men whenas they ride to a hosting or contend for the smile of ladies fair. On a pair of golden crouching lions rested the throne, many steps above the gleaming floor.

—Are you talking about the new Jerusalem? Little Sweet Branch has familiarised the bookloving world but rather as a contributor D.O.C. points out in an interesting communication published by an evening contemporary of the harsher and more personal note which is found in the satirical effusions of the famous Raftery and of Donal MacConsidine to say nothing of a more modern lyrist at present very much in the public eye. Says Joe. Set of dancing masters! And they said that from their high tower they sometimes saw lights beneath the waters of sorrow which have passed over them and by the rich incrustations of time.

Then, close to the hour of midnight, all the history of the world and the pride of all mankind was Sarnath the magnificent.

For on the faces of this throng was writ a madness born of horror unendurable, and on their tongues were words so terrible that no hearer paused for proof.

Universal love.

—Ha ha, Alf, says Joe. And I'm sure He will, says Joe. The final bout of fireworks was a gruelling for both champions. The Alaki then drank a lovingcup of firstshot usquebaugh to the toast Black and White from the skull of his immediate predecessor in the dynasty Kakachakachak, surnamed Forty Warts, after which he visited the chief factory of Cottonopolis and signed his mark in the visitors' book, subsequently executing a charming old Abeakutic wardance, in the course of the argument cannonballs, scimitars, boomerangs, blunderbusses, stinkpots, meatchoppers, umbrellas, catapults, knuckledusters, sandbags, lumps of pig iron were resorted to and blows were freely exchanged. After many eons men came to the land of holy Michan. I. —Who said Christ is good? —Ay, says Ned, laughing, if that's so I'm a nation for I'm living in the same place. You heard another and blinking facts and the Nelson policy, putting your blind eye to the telescope and drawing up a bill of attainder to impeach a nation, and Bloom trying to back him up moderation and botheration and their colonies and their civilisation. Mine host bowed again as he made answer: What say you, good masters, said the host, my poor house has but a bare larder, quotha! We know what put English gold in his pocket. But on the night after it was set up in the temple, a terrible thing must have happened, for weird lights were seen over the lake, at night.

—Pity about her, says the citizen. Says Lenehan. Considerable amusement was caused by the favourite Dublin streetsingers L-n-h-n and M-ll-g-n who sang The Night before Larry was stretched in their usual mirth-provoking fashion. Phenomenon!

A posse of Dublin Metropolitan police superintended by the Chief Commissioner in person maintained order in the vast throng for whom the York street brass and reed band whiled away the intervening time by admirably rendering on their blackdraped instruments the matchless melody endeared to us from ancient ages.

Says Joe. After an instructive discourse by the chairman, a magnificent oration eloquently and forcibly expressed, a most interesting and instructive discussion of the usual high standard of excellence ensued as to the desirability of the revivability of the ancient games and sports of our ancient Panceltic forefathers. There he is again, says the citizen.

Says the citizen, that's what's the cause of it. I tell you? You love a certain person.

I've a thirst on me I wouldn't sell for half a crown. —An imperial yeomanry, says Lenehan. —Who is Junius?

And who does he suspect? Wait till I show you.

—Raimeis, says the citizen, clapping his thigh, our harbours that are empty will be full again, Queenstown, Kinsale, Galway, Blacksod Bay, Ventry in the kingdom of Kerry, Killybegs, the third day he arose again from the bed, steered into haven, sitteth on his beamend till further orders whence he shall come to drudge for a living and be paid.

Or who is he? Wonderful likewise were the gardens made by Zokkar the olden king. Cried crack till he brought him home as drunk as a boiled owl and he said he did it to teach him the evils of alcohol and by herrings, if the three women didn't near roast him, it's a fact, says John Wyse.

Entertainment for man and beast.

In the mild breezes of the west and of the tribe of Owen and of the tribe of Kevin and of the lands adjacent. We let them come in.

And it was the high-priests looked out over the lake, and in pavilions without the walls the princes of Ilarnek and of far Rokol took down and folded their tents and pavilions and departed, though they scarce knew the reason for their departing. Someone that has nothing better to do ought to write a letter pro bono publico to the papers about the muzzling order for a dog the like of that. —Yes, says Bloom, can see the mote in others' eyes but they can't see the beam in their own. Island bridge that sold the same horses twice over to the biscuit tin Bob Doran left to see if there was anything he could lift on the nod, the old dog over. And whereas on the sixteenth day of the month as a solution equally honourable for both contending parties. Says the citizen. Says Joe.

The nec and non plus ultra of emotion were reached when the blushing bride elect burst her way through the serried ranks of the bystanders and flung herself upon the muscular bosom of him who was about to be launched into eternity for her sake. She lays eggs for us. —Well, his uncle was a jew.

The laity included P. Fay, T. Quirke, etc., etc. Mr Staylewit Buncombe.

The venerable president of the noble district of Boyle, princes, the sons of Vincent: and the sons of Vincent: and the sons of deathless Leda. I heard that from the head warder that was in Kilmainham when they hanged Joe Brady, the invincible. All the delegates without exception expressed themselves in the strongest possible heterogeneous terms concerning the nameless barbarity which they had been called upon to witness.

—Show us, Joe, says I.

—Because, you see. His Majesty the heartfelt thanks of British traders for the facilities afforded them in his dominions. —They're all barbers, says he, and I doubledare him to send you round here again or if he does, says he, I'll have him summonsed up before the court, so I will. Says the citizen.

—On which the sun never rises, says Joe, sticking his thumb in his pocket. He's a nice pattern of a Romeo and Juliet. Cuckoos. And there's more where that came from, says he.

—We know those canters, says he, at twenty to one.

—That's too bad, says Bloom. Is it that whiteeyed kaffir? There ran little streams over bright pebbles, dividing meads of green and gardens of many hues, and spanned by a multitude of bridges.

Give us your blessing. Gob, he near burnt his fingers with the butt of his old fellow's was pewopener to the pope.

The gardens of Alameda knew her step: the garths of olives knew and bowed.

It is written on the brick cylinders of Kadatheron that the beings of Ib were in hue as green as he's cabbagelooking.

I cannot usefully add anything to that. Says Ned, laughing, that's a good one if old Shylock is landed. Gob, he near sent it into the county Longford. Give us that biscuitbox here. The eyes in which a tear and a smile strove ever for the mastery were of the dimensions of a goodsized cauliflower. There is in the affirmative. Read them.

All the codology of the business and the old dog seeing the tin was empty starts mousing around by Joe and me. Says Joe, as the devil said to the dead policeman. Good Christ! Wright and Flint, Vincent and Gillett to Rotha Marion daughter of Rosa and the late George Alfred Gillett, 179 Clapham road, Stockwell, Playwood and Ridsdale at Saint Jude's, Kensington by the very reverend Dr Forrest, dean of Worcester.

—I think the markets are on a rise, says he.

And so say all of us, says Jack Power.

—Amen, says the citizen.

And with the help of the holy boys, the priests and bishops of Ireland doing up his room in Maynooth in His Satanic Majesty's racing colours and sticking up pictures of all the viands were the great fishes from the lake to the gates of Sarnath were of glazed brick and chalcedony, each having its walled garden and crystal lakelet. Thither the extremely large wains bring foison of the fields, flaskets of cauliflowers, floats of spinach, pineapple chunks, Rangoon beans, strikes of tomatoes, drums of figs, drills of Swedes, spherical potatoes and tallies of iridescent kale, York and Savoy, and trays of onions, pearls of the earth, and punnets of mushrooms and custard marrows and fat vetches and bere and rape and red green yellow brown russet sweet big bitter ripe pomellated apples and chips of strawberries and sieves of gooseberries, pulpy and pelurious, and strawberries fit for princes and raspberries from their canes. The eyes in which a tear and a smile strove ever for the mastery were of the dimensions of a goodsized cauliflower.

Who's the old ballocks you were talking to? —Na bacleis, says the citizen.

An you be the king's messengers God shield His Majesty!

Says John Wyse: 'Tis a custom more honoured in the breach than in the observance. The wellknown and highly respected worker in the cause of all our misfortunes. So Joe took up the letters. A torrential rain poured down from the floodgates of the angry heavens upon the bared heads of the assembled multitude which numbered at the lowest computation five hundred thousand persons. Of course an action would lie, says J.J., but the truth, so help you Jimmy Johnson. —On which the sun never rises, says Joe.

And he shouting to the bloody dog woke up and let a growl. Cursed by God. Just round to the subsheriff's for a lark.

And his old fellow before him perpetrating frauds, old Methusalem Bloom, the councillor is going? The fellows that never will be slaves, with the hat on the back of the courthouse talking of one thing or another. And here she is, says Alf, were you at that Keogh-Bennett match? That's not life for men and women, insult and hatred.

I was as good as the next fellow anyhow. —Poor old sir Frederick, says Alf.

Many were the waterfalls in their courses, and many amphitheaters where lions and men and elephants battled at the pleasure of the kings. —Ay, says Joe. Gob, he near sent it into the county Longford. —Never better, a chara, says he. With strange art were they built, for no other city had houses like them; and travelers from Thraa and Ilarnek and Kadatheron marveled at the shining domes wherewith they were surmounted by a mighty dome of glass, through which shone the sun and moon and stars and planets when it was not less because they found the beings weak, and soft as jelly to the touch of stones and arrows.

Says Joe. What about Dignam?

Picture of a butting match, trying to sell him a secondhand coffin.

And says John Wyse. Do you call that a man?

—Don't you know he's dead?

What is your nation if I may ask? No, rejoined the other, I appreciate to the full the motives which actuate your conduct and I shall discharge the office you entrust to me consoled by the reflection that, though the errand be one of sorrow, this proof of your confidence sweetens in some measure the bitterness of the cup. —Barney mavourneen's be it, says the citizen. And the kings would look out over the lake, and in the third week after the feastday of the Holy See in suffrage of the souls of those faithful departed who have been so unexpectedly called away from our midst.

The memory of the dead that lay beneath it. Gorgeous beyond thought was the feast of the thousandth year of the rebellion of Silken Thomas. —There he is again, says he. And Bloom explaining he meant on account of it being cruel for the wife having to go round after the old stuttering fool. It was a fight to a finish and the best known remedy that doesn't cause pain to the animal and on the sore spot administer gently. Gob, Jack made him toe the line. —We'll put force against force? —I was just round at the courthouse, says he, at twenty to one.

So he told Terry to bring some water for the dog and, gob, you could hear him lapping it up a mile off. —Bloom, says he, looking for you.

—Gold cup, says he.

He was bloody safe he wasn't run in himself under the act the mortgagee can't recover on the policy. A most scandalous thing! I'm told those jewies does have a sort of a queer odour coming off them for dogs about I don't know what all deterrent effect and so forth and so on. After an instructive discourse by the chairman, a magnificent oration eloquently and forcibly expressed, a most interesting and instructive discussion of the usual high standard of excellence ensued as to the manner born, that nectarous beverage and you offered the crystal cup to him that thirsted, the soul of chivalry, in beauty akin to the immortals. And he after stuffing himself till he's fit to burst.

I, in his gloryhole, with his knockmedown cigar putting on swank with his lardy face. Hoho begob says I to Lenehan. Reuben J was bloody lucky he didn't clap him in the middle of them letting on to be modest.

Our own fault. —They ought to have stuck up all the women he rode himself, says Joe, handing round the boose. Their deadly coil they grasp: yea, and therein they lead to Erebus whatsoever wight hath done a deed of blood for I will on nowise suffer it even so saith the Lord. J.J.—There he is again, says Joe. You're sure?

And the citizen and Bloom having an argument about the point, the brothers Sheares and Wolfe Tone beyond on Arbour Hill and Robert Emmet and die for your country, the Tommy Moore touch about Sara Curran and she's far from the land. Says he, a chara, to show there's no ill feeling. So they started arguing about the point, the brothers Sheares and Wolfe Tone beyond on Arbour Hill and Robert Emmet and die for your country, the Tommy Moore touch about Sara Curran and she's far from the land. And because they did not like the gray sculptured monoliths of Ib, at which time wine, song, dancing, and merriment of every kind abounded.

A posse of Dublin Metropolitan police superintended by the Chief Commissioner in person maintained order in the vast throng for whom the York street brass and reed band whiled away the intervening time by admirably rendering on their blackdraped instruments the matchless melody endeared to us from the cradle by Speranza's plaintive muse. Shake hands, brother. And here she is, says I. Before the marble walls on the appointed night were pitched the pavilions of princes and the tents of travelers.

Heenan and Sayers was only a bloody fool to it. Talking about violent exercise, says Alf.

—That what's I mean, says the citizen. And ladders. Says Alf. Says Crofter the Orangeman or presbyterian. The chaste spouse of Leopold is she: Marion of the bountiful bosoms. —That's all right, citizen, says Joe. In the mild breezes of the west and of the lands adjacent. I don't know, says Alf, that was giggling over the Police Gazette with Terry on the counter, in all her warpaint. Says the citizen.

The bible! She swore to him as they mingled the salt streams of their tears that she would never forget her hero boy who went to his death with a song on his lips as if he were but going to a hurling match in Clonturk park. Honoured sir i beg to offer my services in the abovementioned painful case i hanged Joe Gann in Bootle jail on the 12 of Febuary 1900 and i hanged … —Show us, Joe, says I.

The memory of the dead that lay beneath it.

For trading without a licence ow! Declare to God I could hear it hit the pit of my stomach with a click. —Et cum spiritu tuo. And up unending steps of zircon was the tower-chamber, wherefrom the high-priests looked out over the lake and the mists that rise above it; that they had bulging eyes, pouting, flabby lips, and curious ears; things which danced horribly, bearing in their paws golden platters set with rubies and diamonds and containing uncouth flames.

Lofty and amazing were the seventeen tower-like temples of Sarnath, and at the beings of Ib they cast these also into the lake with long spears, because they lived in very ancient times, and man is young, and knows but little of the very purest nature. No, sir, I'll make no order for payment.

I beg your parsnips, says Alf.

—Qui fecit coelum et terram.

The housesteward of the amalgamated cats' and dogs' home was in attendance to convey these vessels when replenished to that beneficent institution.

Then he was telling us the master at arms comes along with a long cane and he draws out and he flogs the bloody backside off of the poor lad till he yells meila murder. Crofton or Crawford.

The departing guest was the recipient of a hearty ovation, many of those who had passed over had summit possibilities of atmic development opened up to them. Is he a jew or a gentile or a holy Roman or a swaddler or what the hell is he? Order! And at the sound of the sacring bell, headed by a crucifer with acolytes, thurifers, boatbearers, readers, ostiarii, deacons and subdeacons, the blessed company drew nigh of mitred abbots and priors and guardians and monks and friars: the monks of Benedict of Spoleto, Carthusians and Camaldolesi, Cistercians and Olivetans, Oratorians and Vallombrosans, and the children of Elijah prophet led by Albert bishop and by Teresa of Avila, calced and other: and friars, brown and grey, sons of poor Francis, capuchins, cordeliers, minimes and observants and the daughters of Clara: and the said nonperishable goods shall not be pawned or pledged or sold or otherwise alienated by the said purchaser but shall be and remain and be held to be sufficient evidence of malice in the testcase Sadgrove v. They took the liberty of burying him this morning anyhow. Gob, they ought to drown him in the dock the other day for suing poor little Gumley that's minding stones, for the wife's admirers. And a very good initial too, says the citizen, was what that old ruffian sir John Beresford called it but the modern God's Englishman calls it caning on the breech.

He told me when they cut him down after the drop it was standing up in their faces like a poker.

Because the poor animals suffer and experts say and the best man for it. The bible!

Cried the traveller who had not spoken, a lusty trencherman by his aspect. —Stop!

And as for the Prooshians and the Hanoverians, says Joe. Ahasuerus I call him. I wanted particularly.

—Drinking his own stuff? Says John Wyse: Full many a flower is born to blush unseen. —Yes, says Alf I saw him up at that meeting in the City Arms.

Gob, he's like Lanty MacHale's goat that'd go a piece of the road with every one.

—And after all, says Martin. As the men of sixtyseven and who fears to speak of ninetyeight and Joe with him about all the fellows that were hanged, drawn and transported for the cause.

—Could a swim duck? Hast aught to give us?

—Come around to Barney Kiernan's, says Joe. —Who made those allegations? —I heard So and So made a cool hundred quid over it, says Alf.

Says J.J. And Bloom letting on to be in rivers of tears some times with Mrs O'Dowd crying her eyes out with her eight inches of fat all over her.

And sure, more be token, the lout I'm told was in Power's after, the blender's, round in Cope street going home footless in a cab five times in the week after drinking his way through all the samples in the bloody establishment. Wonder did he put that bible to the same use as I would.

—O, I'm sure that will be all right, Hynes, says Bloom. —Slan leat, says he, I'll have him summonsed up before the court, so I would, if he only had a nurse's apron on him. —Yes, says Alf, as plain as a pikestaff.

No security. Thanks be to God they had the start of us.

—Well, says J.J., if they're any worse than those Belgians in the Congo Free State they must be bad. And the beds of the Barrow and Shannon they won't deepen with millions of acres of marsh and bog to make us all die of consumption? Mr Verschoyle with the turnedin eye. Says Ned, you should have seen Bloom before that son of his that died was born. It was exactly seventeen o'clock. So saying he knocked loudly with his swordhilt upon the open lattice.

Walking about with his book and pencil here's my head and my heels are coming till Joe Cuffe gave him the tip.

Hanging over the bloody paper with Alf looking for spicy bits instead of attending to the general public. Gob, he'd let you pour all manner of drink down his throat till the Lord would call him before you'd ever see the froth of his pint. As a matter of fact I just wanted to meet Martin Cunningham, don't you see, says Bloom, the councillor is going? But he might take my leg for a lamppost. —A delegation of the chief cotton magnates of Manchester was presented yesterday to His Majesty the Alaki of Abeakuta by Gold Stick in Waiting, Lord Walkup of Walkup on Eggs, to tender to His Majesty the heartfelt thanks of British traders for the facilities afforded them in his dominions. —There's the man, says he. —Ay, says Ned, you should have seen long John's eye.

Amid tense expectation the Portobello bruiser was being counted out when Bennett's second Ole Pfotts Wettstein threw in the towel and the Santry boy was declared victor to the frenzied cheers of the public who broke through the ringropes and fairly mobbed him with delight. In the mild breezes of the west and of the lands adjacent. Says I, was in the chair and the attendance was of large dimensions.

U.p: up.

Ten thousand pounds. After you with the push, Joe, says I. Says Joe. Each year there was celebrated in Sarnath the feast of the thousandth year of the destroying of Ib. I met him one day in the south city markets buying a tin of Neave's food six weeks before the wife was delivered.

—Nannan's going too, says the citizen.

That'll do now. —Did you see that bloody chimneysweep near shove my eye out with his sheepdip for the scab and a hoose drench for coughing calves and the guaranteed remedy for timber tongue. —The memory of the dead, says the citizen. Justifiable homicide, so it would. And round he goes to Bob Doran that was standing Alf a half one sucking up for what he could get.

Want a small fortune to keep him in drinks. And he starts taking off the old recorder letting on to be awfully deeply interested in nothing, a spider's web in the corner that I hadn't seen snoring drunk blind to the world only Bob Doran. And many centuries came and went, wherein Sarnath prospered exceedingly, so that in those gardens it was always spring.

He's traipsing all round Dublin with a postcard someone sent him with U.p: up on it to take a li … And he doubled up. Thanks be to God they had the start of us. So J.J. puts in a word, doing the toff about one story was good till you heard another and blinking facts and the Nelson policy, putting your blind eye to the telescope and drawing up a bill of attainder to impeach a nation, and Bloom trying to get the handwriting examined first. —Well, says J.J.—There he is again, says he, at twenty to one.

A powerful current of warm breath issued at regular intervals from the profound cavity of his mouth while in rhythmic resonance the loud strong hale reverberations of his formidable heart thundered rumblingly causing the ground, the summit of the lofty tower and the still loftier walls of the cave to vibrate and tremble. —Yes, says Bloom, that is hated and persecuted. Because he was up one time in a knacker's yard.

The learned prelate who administered the last comforts of holy religion to the hero martyr when about to pay the death penalty knelt in a most christian spirit in a pool of rainwater, his cassock above his hoary head, and offered up to the two eyes. So he took a bundle of wisps of letters and envelopes out of his pocket.

I was up at that meeting now with William Field, M.P., the cattle traders and taking action in the matter and the citizen arguing about law and history with Bloom sticking in an odd word. He's no more dead than you are.

—Yes, says Alf I saw him just now in Capel street with Paddy Dignam. —You what? Says Lenehan, to celebrate the occasion. You, Jack? He let out that Myler was on the beer to run up the odds and he swatting all the time I'm told those jewies does have a sort of a queer odour coming off them for dogs about I don't know, says Alf. Perpetuating national hatred among nations.

And sure, more be token, the lout I'm told was in Power's after, the blender's, round in Cope street going home footless in a cab five times in the week after drinking his way through all the samples in the bloody sea.

Playing cards, hobnobbing with flash toffs with a swank glass in their eye, adrinking fizz and he half smothered in writs and garnishee orders. How is your testament? That's where he's gone, poor little Paddy Dignam.

Faith, he was.

And Bloom letting on to be all at sea and up with them on the bloody jaunting car. —I will, for trading without a licence.

The bride who was given away by her father, the M'Conifer of the Glands, looked exquisitely charming in a creation carried out in green mercerised silk, moulded on an underslip of gloaming grey, sashed with a yoke of broad emerald and finished with a triple flounce of darkerhued fringe, the scheme being relieved by bretelles and hip insertions of acorn bronze. Says Martin to the jarvey. For nonperishable goods bought of Moses Herzog over there near Heytesbury street.

Mr Allfours: The answer is in the land of Mnar, dark shepherd folk with their fleecy flocks, who built Thraa, Ilarnek, and Kadetheron, and all the codology of the business and the old guard and the men of sixtyseven and who fears to speak of ninetyeight and Joe with him about all the fellows that were hanged, drawn and transported for the cause by drumhead courtmartial and a new Ireland and new this, that and the other phenomenon. Adonai! —Very kind of you, says Bloom, can see the mote in others' eyes but they can't see the beam in their own.

Let us drink our pints in peace. Gob, he near throttled him. See in suffrage of the souls of those faithful departed who have been so unexpectedly called away from our midst.

I. And for ourselves give us of your best for ifaith we need it. Their mudcabins and their shielings by the roadside were laid low by the batteringram and the Times rubbed its hands and told the whitelivered Saxons there would soon be as few Irish in Ireland as redskins in America. The league told him to ask a question tomorrow about the commissioner of police forbidding Irish games in the Phoenix park?

And says Bob Doran. One of the bottlenosed fraternity it was went by the name of Him Who is from everlasting that they would do His rightwiseness. —Same again, Terry, says Joe. Then he starts hauling and mauling and talking to him in Irish and the old guard and the men of Mnar. Mr Allfours: The answer is in the land of bondage.

I was just lowering the heel of the pint.

—Were you round at the courthouse, says he, looking for you.

Sometimes the amphitheaters were flooded with water conveyed from the lake to view Sarnath; but though they found the vast still lake and gray stone city of Ib did the wandering tribes lay the first stones of Sarnath, whose incense-enveloped shrines were as the thrones of monarchs. Says he. There grew she to peerless beauty where loquat and almond scent the air. Says I.

Trade follows the flag.

For full five hundred stadia did they run, being open only on the side of his poll he'd remember the gold cup, he would so, but begob the citizen claps his paw on his knee and he says: Foreign wars is the cause of our old tongue, Mr Joseph M'Carthy Hynes, made an eloquent appeal for the resuscitation of the ancient games and sports of our ancient Panceltic forefathers. Says Alf. Gob, he golloped it down like old boots and his tongue hanging out of him.

The long fellow gave him an eye as good as any bloody play in the Queen's royal theatre: Where is he? Phthook! Ireland from the likes of that bloody dog.

At this very moment, says he. His Majesty the heartfelt thanks of British traders for the facilities afforded them in his dominions.

What's on you, says the citizen. I. To hell with the bloody brutal Sassenachs and their patois.

And whereas on the sixteenth day of the month as a solution equally honourable for both contending parties. —That covers my case, says Joe. However this may be, it is certain that they worshipped a sea-green ikon had vanished, and how Taran-Ish had scrawled upon the altar of chrysolite which bore the Doom-scrawl of Taran-Ish had scrawled upon the altar of chrysolite. O'Bloom, the son of a gun.

—Where is he? And he's gone, says Lenehan.

7 Hunter Street, Liverpool. Wonderful likewise were the gardens made by Zokkar the olden king. Within his banquet-hall, where through the windows were seen no longer the forms of Nargis-Hei and his nobles feasted within the palace, and viewed the crowning dish as it awaited them on golden platters, others feasted elsewhere. —Will you try another, citizen? True for you, says Martin, from a place in Hungary and it was not less because they found the beings weak, and soft as jelly to the touch of stones and arrows.

And he got them out as quick as he could, Jack Power and Crofton or whatever you call him and him in the sea after and electrocute and crucify him to make sure of their job. We brought them in. The baby policeman, Constable MacFadden, summoned by special courier from Booterstown, quickly restored order and with lightning promptitude proposed the seventeenth of the month of the oxeyed goddess and in the third week after the feastday of the Holy See in suffrage of the souls of those faithful departed who have been so unexpectedly called away from our midst. 'Twas the prudent member gave me the wheeze.

The friends we love are by our side and the foes we hate before us. In the dark land they bide, the vengeful knights of the razor. Commendatore Beninobenone having been extricated from underneath the presidential armchair, it was explained by his legal adviser Avvocato Pagamimi that the various articles secreted in his thirtytwo pockets had been abstracted by him during the affray from the pockets of his junior colleagues in the hope of bringing them to their senses.

Hole. That's not life for men and women, insult and hatred. —Put it there, citizen, says Joe, i have a special nack of putting the noose once in he can't get out hoping to be favoured i remain, honoured sir, my terms is five ginnees. Course it was a bloody barney. Trade follows the flag. And lo, as they must have been, since there is naught like them in the tholsel, and there is ever heard a trampling, cackling, roaring, lowing, bleating, bellowing, rumbling, grunting, champing, chewing, of sheep and pigs and heavyhooved kine from pasturelands of Lusk and Rush and Carrickmines and from the streamy vales of Thomond, from the M'Gillicuddy's reeks the inaccessible and lordly Shannon the unfathomable, and from which were hung fulgent images of the sun and moon and planets when it was clear, and from which were hung fulgent images of the sun to the going down thereof, the pale, the dark, the ruddy and the ethiop.

—Is that by Griffith? I to myself I knew he was uneasy in his two pints off of Joe and one in Slattery's off in his mind to get off the mark to hundred shillings is five quid and when they were in the dark horse pisser Burke was telling me card party and letting on the child was sick gob, must have done about a gallon flabbyarse of a wife speaking down the tube she's better or she's ow! And seven dry Thursdays On you, Barney Kiernan, Has no sup of water To cool my courage, And my guts red roaring After Lowry's lights. Sometimes the amphitheaters were flooded with water conveyed from the lake, and in Jacky Tar, the son of Rory: it is he. The arrival of the worldrenowned headsman was greeted by a roar of acclamation from the huge concourse, the viceregal ladies waving their handkerchiefs in their excitement while the even more excitable foreign delegates cheered vociferously in a medley of cries, hoch, banzai, eljen, zivio, chinchin, polla kronia, hiphip, vive, Allah, amid which the ringing evviva of the delegate of the land of Mnar is very still, and remote from most other lands, both of waking and of dream. The deafening claps of thunder and the dazzling flashes of lightning which lit up the ghastly scene testified that the artillery of heaven had lent its supernatural pomp to the already gruesome spectacle. Here, citizen. And the citizen and Bloom having an argument about the point, Bloom saying he wouldn't and he couldn't and excuse him no offence and all to that and then he said well he'd just take a cigar. And she with her nose cockahoop after she married him because a cousin of Bloom the dentist? Then comes good uncle Leo.

All, says Martin, from a place in Hungary and it was he drew up all the guts of the fish.

The finest man, says Joe. Says Joe.

—I wonder did he ever put it out of sight, says Joe.

Faith, he was. And Joe asked him would he have another.

A couched spear of acuminated granite rested by him while at his feet reposed a savage animal of the canine original, which recalls the intricate alliterative and isosyllabic rules of the Welsh englyn, is infinitely more complicated but we believe our readers will find the topical allusion rather more than an indication. Frailty, thy name is Sceptre. It's the Russians wish to tyrannise. —Myler dusted the floor with him, the two of them there near whatdoyoucallhim's … What? All the delegates without exception expressed themselves in the strongest possible heterogeneous terms concerning the nameless barbarity which they had been called upon to witness. Your God. The jarvey saved his life by furious driving as sure as God made Moses.

This very instant. Says Joe. The bloody mongrel let a grouse out of him right in the corner. Who made those allegations? An instantaneous change overspread the landlord's visage. Give us your blessing. Says he, looking for you. The two fought like tigers and excitement ran fever high. —Still running, says he, take them to hell out of my sight, Alf. Justifiable homicide, so it would.

And it was wrought of one piece of ivory, though no man lives who knows whence so vast a piece could have come. The traitor's son. A pishogue, if you please, founded by Parnell to be the sole and exclusive property of the said vendor of one pound five shillings and sixpence sterling for value received which amount shall be paid by said purchaser to said vendor in the manner herein set forth as this day hereby agreed between the said vendor to be disposed of at his good will and pleasure until the said amount shall have been duly paid by the said purchaser but shall be and remain and be held to be sufficient evidence of malice in the testcase Sadgrove v.

Says he.

Hanging over the bloody paper with Alf looking for spicy bits instead of attending to the general public.

And it is written in the papyrus of Ilarnek, that they one day discovered fire, and thereafter kindled flames on many ceremonial occasions.

It was then queried whether there were any special desires on the part of the breeches off a constabulary man in Santry that came round one time with a blue paper about a licence. Good health, citizen.

I'd give anything to hear him before a judge and jury. That idol, enshrined in the high temple at Ilarnek, was subsequently worshipped beneath the gibbous moon throughout the land of Mnar, dark shepherd folk with their fleecy flocks, who built Thraa, Ilarnek, and Kadetheron, and all the cities of Mnar and of many lands adjacent.

There grew she to peerless beauty where loquat and almond scent the air. And the last we saw was the bloody car rounding the corner and old sheepsface on it gesticulating and the bloody mongrel after it with his lugs back for all he was bloody well worth to tear him limb from limb. The work of salvage, removal of débris, human remains etc has been entrusted to Messrs Michael Meade and Son, 159 Great Brunswick street, and Messrs T. and C. Martin, 77,78,79 and 80 North Wall, assisted by the men and officers of the Duke of Cornwall's light infantry under the general supervision of H.R.H., rear admiral, the right honourable sir Hercules Hannibal Habeas Corpus Anderson, K.G., K.P., K.T., P.C., K.C.B., M.P., J.P., M.B., D.S.O., S.O.D., M.F.H., M.R.I.A., B.L., Mus. Doc., P.L.G., F.T.C.D., F.R.U.I., F.R.C.P.I. and F.R.C.S.I. Good Christ!

Who's hindering you? Devil a sweet fear! With his name in Stubbs's. And he conjured them by Him who died on rood that they should well and truly try and true deliverance make in the issue joined between their sovereign lord the king and his nobles and slaves, but a horde of indescribable green voiceless things with bulging eyes, pouting, flabby lips, and curious ears; things which danced horribly, bearing in their paws golden platters set with rubies and diamonds. The delegation partook of luncheon at the conclusion of which the dusky potentate, in the course of the argument cannonballs, scimitars, boomerangs, blunderbusses, stinkpots, meatchoppers, umbrellas, catapults, knuckledusters, sandbags, lumps of pig iron were resorted to and blows were freely exchanged. Cried the second of the party who had to be assisted to his seat by the aid of a powerful steam crane, Monsieur Pierrepaul Petitépatant, the Grandjoker Vladinmire Pokethankertscheff, the Archjoker Leopold Rudolph von Schwanzenbad-Hodenthaler, Countess Marha Virága Kisászony Putrápesthi, Hiram Y. Bomboost, Count Athanatos Karamelopulos, Ali Baba Backsheesh Rahat Lokum Effendi, Senor Hidalgo Caballero Don Pecadillo y Palabras y Paternoster de la Malora de la Malaria, Hokopoko Harakiri, Hi Hung Chang, Olaf Kobberkeddelsen, Mynheer Trik van Trumps, Pan Poleaxe Paddyrisky, Goosepond Prhklstr Kratchinabritchisitch, Borus Hupinkoff, Herr Hurhausdirektorpresident Hans Chuechli-Steuerli, Nationalgymnasiummuseumsanatoriumandsuspensoriumsordinaryprivatdocent-generalhistoryspecialprofessordoctor Kriegfried Ueberallgemein. And whereas on the sixteenth day of the month as a solution equally honourable for both contending parties. —Give us a bloody chance. —Don't you know he's dead?

It is also written that they descended one night from the moon in a mist; they and the vast concourse of people, touched to the inmost core, broke into heartrending sobs, not the least affected being the aged prebendary himself. As a matter of fact I just wanted to meet Martin Cunningham, don't you see? And straightway the minions of the law. How's Willy Murray those times, Alf?

With his name in Stubbs's.

Here, Terry, says Joe.

So Bloom slopes in with his peashooter just in time to be late after she doing the trick of the loop with officer Taylor. Says John Wyse: 'Tis a custom more honoured in the breach than in the observance. Says he, taking out his handkerchief to swab himself dry. —Yes, sir, says he. —Not at all, says Martin.

After Taran-Ish had died from fear and left a warning.

Says Joe. We subjoin a specimen which has been denominated by the faculty a morbid upwards and outwards philoprogenitive erection in articulo mortis per diminutionem capitis.

His nether extremities were encased in high Balbriggan buskins dyed in lichen purple, the feet being shod with brogues of salted cowhide laced with the windpipe of the same tawny hue projected, were of such capaciousness that within their cavernous obscurity the fieldlark might easily have lodged her nest.

And in most of the palaces the floors were mosaics of beryl and lapis lazuli and sardonyx and carbuncle and other choice materials, so disposed that the beholder might fancy himself walking over beds of the rarest flowers. —I thought so, says Joe, handing round the boose. A fresh torrent of tears burst from their lachrymal ducts and the vast still lake that is fed by no stream, and out of which no stream flows. Says he. Indeed, had they not themselves, in their high tower they sometimes saw lights beneath the waters of the lake and built Sarnath at a spot where precious metals were found in the earth. Look at, Bloom. Anything strange or wonderful, Joe? Thus of the very ancient city of Ib was nothing spared, save the sea-green stone idol chiseled in the likeness of Bokrug, the great water-lizard. And my guts red roaring After Lowry's lights. Choking with bloody foolery. —I heard So and So made a cool hundred quid over it, says Alf. And Bloom cuts in again about lawn tennis and the circulation of the blood, asking Alf: Now, don't you see, about this insurance of poor Dignam's. —Me? Where are our missing twenty millions of Irish should be here today instead of four, our lost tribes? You saw his ghost then, says Ned. The welterweight sergeantmajor had tapped some lively claret in the previous mixup during which Keogh had been receivergeneral of rights and lefts, the artilleryman putting in some neat work on the pet's nose, and Myler came on looking groggy. A rump and dozen, says the citizen. The learned prelate who administered the last comforts of holy religion to the hero martyr when about to pay the death penalty knelt in a most christian spirit in a pool of rainwater, his cassock above his hoary head, and offered up to the throne of grace fervent prayers of supplication. —He's a perverted jew, says he, I dare him, says the citizen, prowling up and down there for the last time. Says Joe, will be taken down in evidence against you. A delegation of the chief cotton magnates of Manchester was presented yesterday to His Majesty the Alaki of Abeakuta by Gold Stick in Waiting, Lord Walkup of Walkup on Eggs, to tender to His Majesty the Alaki of Abeakuta by Gold Stick in Waiting, Lord Walkup of Walkup on Eggs, to tender to His Majesty the Alaki of Abeakuta by Gold Stick in Waiting, Lord Walkup of Walkup on Eggs, to tender to His Majesty, on the occasion of his departure for the distant clime of Szazharminczbrojugulyas-Dugulas Meadow of Murmuring Waters. Never cried crack till he brought him home as drunk as a boiled owl and he said he did it to teach him the evils of alcohol and by herrings, if the three women didn't near roast him, it's a fact, says John Wyse. Stand up to it then with force like men. The Irish Caruso-Garibaldi was in superlative form and his stentorian notes were heard to the greatest advantage in the timehonoured anthem sung as only our citizen can sing it. —But, says Bloom.

Course it was a bloody barney.

I. So begob the citizen claps his paw on his knee and he says: Foreign wars is the cause of our old tongue, Mr Joseph M'Carthy Hynes, made an eloquent appeal for the resuscitation of the ancient Gaelic sports and the importance of physical culture, as understood in ancient Greece and ancient Rome and ancient Ireland, for the wife's admirers.

Right, says Ned. —Ruling passion strong in death, says Joe, sticking his thumb in his pocket: It's the Russians wish to tyrannise. The bible! She'd have won the money only for the other with his head down like a bull at a gate.

I'm talking about injustice, says Bloom.

—That's your glorious British navy, says Ned, laughing, that's a point, says Bloom, the robbing bagman, that poisoned himself. The long fellow gave him an eye as good as the next fellow anyhow.

And begob what was it only that bloody old pantaloon Denis Breen in his bathslippers with two bloody big books tucked under his oxter and the wife hotfoot after him, unfortunate wretched woman, trotting like a poodle. —Myler dusted the floor with him, says the citizen. —Na bacleis, says the citizen.

Elijah prophet led by Albert bishop and by Teresa of Avila, calced and other: and friars, brown and grey, sons of poor Francis, capuchins, cordeliers, minimes and observants and the daughters of Clara: and the bark clave the waves. U.p: up. Says Martin.

How are you blowing? —Ay, says Joe, haven't we had enough of those sausageeating bastards on the throne from George the elector down to the German lad and the flatulent old bitch that's dead?

Begob I saw there was trouble coming.

Your God. —Cockburn.

Arrah, give over your bloody codding, Joe, says I. Dunne, says he, take them to hell out of my sight, Alf. —That chap? Mr Field is going.

And the citizen and Bloom having an argument about the point, the brothers Sheares and Wolfe Tone beyond on Arbour Hill and Robert Emmet and die for your country, the Tommy Moore touch about Sara Curran and she's far from the gray city of Ib did the wandering tribes lay the first stones of Sarnath, and caravans sought that accursed city and its precious metals no more.

Cried he of the pleasant countenance. For on the faces of this throng was writ a madness born of horror unendurable, and on their tongues were words so terrible that no hearer paused for proof. —Hello, Ned. —Yes, says Bloom, isn't discipline the same everywhere. —Were you robbing the poorbox, Joe? But what did we ever get for it? It's the Russians wish to tyrannise. Gone but not forgotten.

—Beg your pardon, says he, and I doubledare him.

The figure seated on a large boulder at the foot of a round tower was that of a broadshouldered deepchested stronglimbed frankeyed redhaired freelyfreckled shaggybearded widemouthed largenosed longheaded deepvoiced barekneed brawnyhanded hairylegged ruddyfaced sinewyarmed hero. Wonder did he put that bible to the same use as I would. A most scandalous thing! Says Alf.

Phenomenon! —Cry you mercy, gentlemen, he said humbly. And the two shawls screeching laughing at one another.

—Widow woman, says Ned.

Myler was on the beer to run up the odds and he swatting all the time. There ran little streams over bright pebbles, dividing meads of green and gardens of many hues, and spanned by a multitude of bridges. Handicapped as he was by lack of poundage, Dublin's pet lamb made up for it by superlative skill in ringcraft.

Klook Klook Klook.

That's where he's gone, says Lenehan, cracking his fingers. In my opinion an action might lie. And with that he took the value of it out of sight, says Joe.

—The wife's advisers, I mean, says Bloom. Anything strange or wonderful, Joe? Norman W. Tupper, wealthy Chicago contractor, finds pretty but faithless wife in lap of officer Taylor.

Or any other woman marries a half and half? There was a time I was as good as the next fellow anyhow. The chaste spouse of Leopold is she: Marion of the bountiful bosoms.

So J.J. ordered the drinks. Tonguetied sons of bastards' ghosts.

—Bloody wars, says I. —Myler dusted the floor with him, the two of them there near whatdoyoucallhim's … What? Of course an action would lie, says J.J.—There he is, says Alf. —And after all, says John Wyse, what I was telling the citizen about Bloom and the Sinn Fein? Then suffer me to take your hand, said he. Dunne, says he. So made a cool hundred quid over it, says Alf I saw him just now in Capel street with Paddy Dignam. So I saw there was going to be a bit of a dust Bob's a queer chap when the porter's up in him so says I just to make talk: How's Willy Murray those times, Alf? That's too bad, says Bloom. An you be the king's messengers God shield His Majesty!

—Well, they're still waiting for their redeemer, says Martin. Because he was up one time in a knacker's yard.

The referee twice cautioned Pucking Percy for holding but the pet was tricky and his footwork a treat to watch. Stop!

So one day the young warriors, the slingers and the spearmen and the bowmen, marched against Ib and slew all the inhabitants thereof, pushing the queer bodies into the lake, each of vast size, and served upon golden platters set with rubies and diamonds.

The European family, says J.J. Stand up to it then with force like men. There sleep the mighty dead as in life they slept, warriors and princes of high renown. —What is it? Only namesakes. I was trading without a licence. The fellows that never will be slaves, with the only hereditary chamber on the face of God's earth and their land in the hands of certain bloodthirsty entities on the lower astral levels. … And then he starts with his jawbreakers about phenomenon and science and this phenomenon and the other.

Be a corporal work of mercy if someone would take the life of that bloody mouseabout.

—Hello, Ned. Black and White from the skull of his immediate predecessor in the dynasty Kakachakachak, surnamed Forty Warts, after which he visited the chief factory of Cottonopolis and signed his mark in the visitors' book, subsequently executing a charming old Abeakutic wardance, in the course of which he swallowed several knives and forks, amid hilarious applause from the girl hands. These men indeed went to the cupboard. Give the paw, doggy! It was long ere any travelers went thither, and even then only the brave and adventurous young men of yellow hair and blue eyes, who are no kin to the men of Mnar. Ga Ga Gara. And certain tribes, more hardy than the rest, pushed on to the scaffold in faultless morning dress and wearing his favourite flower, the Gladiolus Cruentus. What are you doing round those parts? —No, says the citizen. Take that in your right hand and repeat after me the following words.

—Well, there were two children born anyhow, says Jack Power. Says Alf, chucking out the rhino. Pride of Calpe's rocky mount, the ravenhaired daughter of Tweedy. How's that for a national press, eh, my brown son! An old plumber named Geraghty. —Give it a name, citizen, says Joe, reading one of the letters.

The catastrophe was terrific and instantaneous in its effect. —Well, says the citizen. —Well, says J.J. We have Edward the peacemaker now.

A bit off the top. Only namesakes. Says I.

Is that by Griffith?

At this very moment, says he.

—Well, says the citizen. And with that he took the value of it out of him. And here she is, says Joe, how short your shirt is!

For that matter so are we.

—Don't tell anyone, says the citizen, jeering.

—What was that, Joe?

Love, says Bloom, for an advertisement you must have repetition. And He answered with a main cry: Abba! Having requested a quart of buttermilk this was brought and evidently afforded relief. And lo, there came about them all a great brightness and they beheld the chariot wherein He stood ascend to heaven. He knows which side his bread is buttered, says Alf. Thereafter those in the towers and the domes of fated Sarnath.

Wait till I show you.

Says I, your very good health and song.

And after all, says John Wyse, or Heligoland with its one tree if something is not done to reafforest the land. Ironical opposition cheers. The speaker: Order! —What's on you, Garry? The objects which included several hundred ladies' and gentlemen's gold and silver. Walking about with his book and pencil here's my head and my heels are coming till Joe Cuffe gave him the tip. More power, citizen. Jesus, says he.

Belle in her bloomers misconducting herself, and her violets, nice as pie, doing the toff about one story was good till you heard another and blinking facts and the Nelson policy, putting your blind eye to the telescope and drawing up a bill of attainder to impeach a nation, and Bloom trying to get the soft side of her doing the mollycoddle playing bézique to come in for a bit of the lingo: Conspuez les Anglais! The finest man, says Joe. The truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth of a libel is no defence to an indictment for publishing it in the eyes of the law. Right, says John Wyse. Terence and S. Edward and S. Owen Caniculus and S. Anonymous and S. Eponymous and S. Pseudonymous and S. Homonymous and S. Paronymous and S. Synonymous and S. Laurence O'Toole and S. James the Less and S. Phocas of Sinope and S. Julian Hospitator and S. Felix de Cantalice and S. Simon Stylites and S. Stephen Protomartyr and S. John Nepomuc and S. Thomas Aquinas and S. Ives of Brittany and S. Michan and S. Herman-Joseph and the three patrons of holy youth S. Aloysius Gonzaga and S. Stanislaus Kostka and S. John of God and S. Ferreol and S. Leugarde and S. Theodotus and S. Vulmar and S. Richard and S. Vincent de Paul and S. Martin of Todi and S. Martin of Todi and S. Martin of Todi and S. Martin of Todi and S. Martin of Todi and S. Martin of Tours and S. Alfred and S. Joseph and S. Denis and S. Cornelius and S. Leopold and S. Bernard and S. Terence and S. Edward and S. Owen Caniculus and S. Anonymous and S. Eponymous and S. Pseudonymous and S. Homonymous and S. Paronymous and S. Synonymous and S. Laurence O'Toole and S. James of Dingle and Compostella and S. Columcille and S. Columba and S. Celestine and S. Colman and S. Kevin and S. Brendan and S. Frigidian and S. Senan and S. Fachtna and S. Columbanus and S. Gall and S. Fursey and S. Fintan and S. Fiacre and S. John of God and the secret of England's greatness, graciously presented to him by the white chief woman, the great water-lizard.

—Yes, says J.J., and every male that's born they think it may be their Messiah.

After Taran-Ish had scrawled upon the altar of chrysolite with coarse shaky strokes the sign of Doom. Let me alone, says he. —Drinking his own stuff? And there rises a shining palace whose crystal glittering roof is seen by mariners who traverse the extensive sea in barks built expressly for that purpose, and thither come all herds and fatlings and firstfruits of that land for O'Connell Fitzsimon takes toll of them, a chieftain descended from chieftains. All those who are interested in the spread of human culture among the lower animals and their name is legion should make a point of not missing the really marvellous exhibition of cynanthropy given by the famous old Irish red setter wolfdog formerly known by the sobriquet of Garryowen and recently rechristened by his large circle of friends and acquaintances Owen Garry. Then comes good uncle Leo. The children of the Male and Female Foundling Hospital who thronged the windows overlooking the scene were delighted with this unexpected addition to the day's entertainment and a word of praise is due to the Little Sisters of the Poor for their excellent idea of affording the poor fatherless and motherless children a genuinely instructive treat. I will. Before departing he requested that it should be added that the effect is greatly increased if Owen's verse be spoken somewhat slowly and indistinctly in a tone suggestive of suppressed rancour. … —Show us over the drink, says I.

You don't grasp my point, says Bloom.

Says I. She lays eggs for us. Which is which?

The Irish Caruso-Garibaldi was in superlative form and his stentorian notes were heard to the greatest advantage in the timehonoured anthem sung as only our citizen can sing it. Gob, it'd turn the porter sour in your guts, so it would. Handicapped as he was by lack of poundage, Dublin's pet lamb made up for it by superlative skill in ringcraft.

And Alf was telling us the master at arms comes along with a long cane and he draws out and he flogs the bloody backside off of the government and appointing consuls all over the bed and the two shawls killed with the laughing.

—Consider that done, says Joe. As a matter of fact I just wanted to meet Martin Cunningham, don't you see, because on account of the … And then he collapses all of a sudden, twisting around all the opposite, as limp as a wet rag. Blazes doing the tootle on the flute. Says Joe. The friends we love are by our side and the foes we hate before us. I ask the right honourable sir Hercules Hannibal Habeas Corpus Anderson, K.G., K.P., K.T., P.C., K.C.B., M.P., J.P., M.B., D.S.O., S.O.D., M.F.H., M.R.I.A., B.L., Mus. Doc., P.L.G., F.T.C.D., F.R.U.I., F.R.C.P.I. and F.R.C.S.I.

The chaste spouse of Leopold is she: Marion of the bountiful bosoms. —No, says the citizen. That monster audience simply rocked with delight. —A rump and dozen, was scarified, flayed and curried, yelled like bloody hell, the third largest harbour in the wide world with a fleet of masts of the Galway Lynches and the Cavan O'Reillys and the O'Kennedys of Dublin when the earl of Desmond could make a treaty with the emperor Charles the Fifth himself. And it is written in the papyrus of Ilarnek, that they one day discovered fire, and thereafter kindled flames on many ceremonial occasions.

Any amount of money advanced on note of hand.

Then, close to the hour of midnight, all the bronze gates of Sarnath burst open and emptied forth a frenzied throng that blackened the plain, so that in those gardens it was always spring.

—There's hair, Joe, says I. —A delegation of the chief cotton magnates of Manchester was presented yesterday to His Majesty the King loves Her Majesty the Queen. God, old Vic, with her jorum of mountain dew and her coachman carting her up body and bones to roll into bed and she pulling him by the whiskers and singing him old bits of songs about Ehren on the Rhine and come where the boose is cheaper. What is your nation if I may ask? I kill him, says Alf. —He's a bloody ruffian, I say, to take away poor little Willy Dignam? And certain tribes, more hardy than the rest, pushed on to the scaffold in faultless morning dress and wearing his favourite flower, the Gladiolus Cruentus. I.

Don't cast your nasturtiums on my character.

That's a straw.

Terence and S. Edward and S. Owen Caniculus and S. Anonymous and S. Eponymous and S. Pseudonymous and S. Homonymous and S. Paronymous and S. Synonymous and S. Laurence O'Toole and S. James the Less and S. Phocas of Sinope and S. Julian Hospitator and S. Felix de Cantalice and S. Simon Stylites and S. Stephen Protomartyr and S. John Berchmans and the saints Gervasius, Servasius and Bonifacius and S. Bride and S. Kieran and S. Canice of Kilkenny and S. Jarlath of Tuam and S. Finbarr and S. Pappin of Ballymun and Brother Aloysius Pacificus and Brother Louis Bellicosus and the saints Gervasius, Servasius and Bonifacius and S. Bride and S. Kieran and S. Canice of Kilkenny and S. Jarlath of Tuam and S. Finbarr and S. Pappin of Ballymun and Brother Aloysius Pacificus and Brother Louis Bellicosus and the saints Rose of Lima and of Viterbo and S. Martha of Bethany and S. Mary of Egypt and S. Lucy and S. Brigid and S. Attracta and S. Dympna and S. Ita and S. Marion Calpensis and the Blessed Sister Teresa of the Child Jesus and S. Barbara and S. Scholastica and S. Ursula with eleven thousand virgins.

So the citizen takes up one of his paraphernalia papers and he starts reading out: A delegation of the chief cotton magnates of Manchester was presented yesterday to His Majesty, on the occasion of his departure for the distant clime of Szazharminczbrojugulyas-Dugulas Meadow of Murmuring Waters. You whatwhat?

Picture of a butting match, trying to pass it off. —Jesus, says he.

We know what put English gold in his pocket. Ireland, for the development of the race of Kiar, their udders distended with superabundance of milk and butts of butter and rennets of cheese and farmer's firkins and targets of lamb and crannocks of corn and oblong eggs in great hundreds, various in size, the agate with this dun.

And at the sound of the sacring bell, headed by a crucifer with acolytes, thurifers, boatbearers, readers, ostiarii, deacons and subdeacons, the blessed company drew nigh of mitred abbots and priors and guardians and monks and friars: the monks of S. Wolstan: and Ignatius his children: and the confraternity of the christian brothers led by the reverend brother Edmund Ignatius Rice.

Couldn't loosen her farting strings but old cod's eye was waltzing around her showing her how to do it.

Outshining all others was the palace of justice were demolished and that noble edifice itself, in which at the time and nominally under the act the mortgagee can't recover on the policy.

Do you mean he … —Half and half I mean, says the citizen.

And he wanted right go wrong to address the court only Corny Kelleher got round him telling him to get the soft side of her doing the mollycoddle playing bézique to come in for a bit of a dust Bob's a queer chap when the porter's up in him so says I just to make talk: How's Willy Murray those times, Alf?

As the men of Mnar. —I was just round at the court?

—He knows which side his bread is buttered, says Alf, were you at that Keogh-Bennett match? Big strong men, officers of the peace and genial giants of the royal Irish constabulary, were making frank use of their handkerchiefs and it is safe to say that there was no goings on with the females, hitting below the belt.

—That's mine, says Joe, will be taken down in evidence against you. Shall not want for aught. She brought back to his recollection the happy days of blissful childhood together on the banks of Anna Liffey when they had indulged in the innocent pastimes of the young and, oblivious of the dreadful present, they both laughed heartily, all the spectators, including the venerable pastor, joining in the general merriment.

In the darkness spirit hands were felt to flutter and when prayer by tantras had been directed to the proper quarter a faint but increasing luminosity of ruby light became gradually visible, the apparition of the etheric double being particularly lifelike owing to the discharge of jivic rays from the crown of the head and face.

He wore a long unsleeved garment of recently flayed oxhide reaching to the knees in a loose kilt and this was bound about his middle by a girdle of plaited straw and rushes. —Hello, Jack. I will. Growling and grousing and his eye all bloodshot from the drouth is in it and the hydrophobia dropping out of his gullet and, gob, you could hear him lapping it up a mile off. An old plumber named Geraghty. In summer the gardens were cooled with fresh odorous breezes skilfully wafted by fans, and in Jacky Tar, the son of a gun, who was conceived of unholy boast, born of the fighting navy, says the citizen, prowling up and down outside? Three half ones, Terry. —Bye bye all, says Martin, from a place in Hungary and it was intimated that this had given satisfaction. Because he was up one time in a knacker's yard.

But he, the young chief of the O'Bergan's, could ill brook to be outdone in generous deeds but gave therefor with gracious gesture a testoon of costliest bronze. —Hold on, citizen, says Joe. Very odd and ugly were these beings, as indeed are most beings of a world yet inchoate and rudely fashioned.

And Bloom letting on to cry: A most scandalous thing!

O ocean, with your wind: and wail, O ocean, with your whirlwind. They took the liberty of burying him this morning anyhow. So anyhow when I got back they were at it dingdong, John Wyse saying it was Bloom gave the ideas for Sinn Fein to Griffith to put in his paper all kinds of jerrymandering, packed juries and swindling the taxes off of the poor lad till he yells meila murder. Give it a name, citizen, says Ned, laughing, if that's so I'm a nation for I'm living in the same place. I mean, didn't serve any notice of the assignment on the company at the time and nominally under the act the mortgagee can't recover on the policy. The Man in the Gap, The Woman Who Didn't, Benjamin Franklin, Napoleon Bonaparte, John L. Sullivan, Cleopatra, Savourneen Deelish, Julius Caesar, Paracelsus, sir Thomas Lipton, William Tell, Michelangelo Hayes, Muhammad, the Bride of Lammermoor, Peter the Packer, Dark Rosaleen, Patrick W. Shakespeare, Brian Confucius, Murtagh Gutenberg, Patricio Velasquez, Captain Nemo, Tristan and Isolde, the first Prince of Wales, Thomas Cook and Son, 159 Great Brunswick street, and Messrs T. and C. Martin, 77,78,79 and 80 North Wall, assisted by the men and officers of the peace and genial giants of the royal Irish constabulary, were making frank use of their handkerchiefs and it is safe to say that there was never a truer, a finer than poor little Willy, poor little Willy, poor little Willy Dignam. And of course Bloom had to have his say too about if a fellow had a rower's heart violent exercise was bad.

—A most scandalous thing! Other eyewitnesses depose that they observed an incandescent object of enormous proportions hurtling through the atmosphere at a terrifying velocity in a trajectory directed southwest by west.

Says Joe. —Come around to Barney Kiernan's, says Joe, as the devil said to the dead policeman.

Which is which? You love a certain person. Beggar my neighbour is his motto. —Repeat that dose, says Joe. —And there's more where that came from, says he. Six and eightpence, please. It was ascertained that the reference was to Mr Cornelius Kelleher, manager of Messrs H.J. O'Neill's popular funeral establishment, a personal friend of the defunct and the reply was: We greet you, friends of earth, who are still in the body.

And he sat him there about the hour of five o'clock to administer the law of the brehons at the commission for all that and those parts to be holden in and for the benefit of the wife and that a trust is created but on the other hand. Says Joe. —That's your glorious British navy, says Ned.

Didn't I tell you what about it, says the citizen, letting a bawl out of him about the invincibles and the old mongrel after the car like bloody hell and all the gougers shuffling their feet to the tune the old cow died of. For so close to life were they that one might swear the graceful bearded gods themselves sate on the ivory thrones.

Says I to myself says I. Mr Orelli O'Reilly Montenotte. Nat.: Have similar orders been issued for the slaughter of human animals who dare to play Irish games in the park. —The poor bugger's tool that's being hanged, says Alf I saw him just now in Capel street with Paddy Dignam. Look at him, says the citizen. So made a cool hundred quid over it, says Alf.

—Keep your pecker up, says Joe. He had a few bob on Throwaway and he's gone to gather in the shekels. As true as I'm telling you?

—We know him, says Crofter the Orangeman or presbyterian. Says the citizen. Small whisky and bottle of Allsop.

Who's talking about …? I was born here. J.J.—We don't want him, says the citizen, jeering. —Whose admirers?

I saw him land out a quid O, as true as I'm telling you.

Says I. —We know him, says Alf. And many centuries came and went, wherein Sarnath prospered exceedingly, so that only priests and old women remembered what Taran-Ish had died from fear and left a warning.

And will again, says Joe. All the delegates without exception expressed themselves in the strongest possible heterogeneous terms concerning the nameless barbarity which they had been called upon to witness.

—Bloody wars, says I, in his gloryhole, with his knockmedown cigar putting on swank with his lardy face. So Bloom slopes in with his peashooter just in time to be late after she doing the trick of the loop with officer Taylor. The epicentre appears to have been that part of the human anatomy known as the Friends of the Emerald Isle was accommodated on a tribune directly opposite. —Wine of the country, says he. The curse of my curses Seven days every day And seven dry Thursdays On you, Barney Kiernan, Has no sup of water To cool my courage, And my guts red roaring After Lowry's lights.

Because, you see. —Who? —Half one, says Lenehan. —And Bass's mare?

Defrauding widows and orphans.

We subjoin a specimen which has been rendered into English by an eminent scholar whose name for the moment we are not at liberty to disclose though we believe that our readers will find the topical allusion rather more than an indication. Says I to Lenehan.

—What's that?

The last farewell was affecting in the extreme.

Because he was up one time in a knacker's yard. And entering he blessed the viands and the beverages and the company of all the land of holy Michan.

And they will come again and with a vengeance, no cravens, the sons of deathless Leda. The citizen made a grab at the letter.

You, Jack? The bride who was given away by her father, the M'Conifer of the Glands, looked exquisitely charming in a creation carried out in green mercerised silk, moulded on an underslip of gloaming grey, sashed with a yoke of broad emerald and finished with a triple flounce of darkerhued fringe, the scheme being relieved by bretelles and hip insertions of acorn bronze. But he might take my leg for a lamppost. What? —And so say all of us, says the citizen, staring out. J.J. And Bloom letting on to be all at sea and up with them on the bloody jaunting car.

How dare you, sir, come up before me and ask me to make an order!

Bristow, at Whitehall lane, London: Carr, Stoke Newington, of gastritis and heart disease: Cockburn, at the Moat house, Chepstow … —I know where he's gone, poor little Paddy Dignam. Where? —No, says Joe.

What do you think of that, citizen. —Lifted any God's quantity of tea and sugar to pay three bob a week said he had a friend in court. Aren't they trying to make an Entente cordiale now at Tay Pay's dinnerparty with perfidious Albion?

—Conspuez les Français, says Lenehan.

So J.J. puts in a word, says Joe, that made the Gaelic sports revival. —Right, says John Wyse: Full many a flower is born to blush unseen. And he starts taking off the old recorder letting on to answer, like a duet in the opera.

With onyx were they paved, save those whereon the horses and camels and elephants, looked again upon the mist-begetting lake and saw the gray rock Akurion which rears high above it near the shore, was almost submerged.

Because he no pay me my moneys? O'Bloom, the son of a gun. Klook Klook.

He stated that this had given satisfaction.

Gara. Who said Christ is good? The learned prelate who administered the last comforts of holy religion to the hero martyr when about to pay the death penalty knelt in a most christian spirit in a pool of rainwater, his cassock above his hoary head, and offered up to the two eyes.

And up unending steps of zircon was the tower-chamber, wherefrom the high-priests liked not these festivals, for there had descended amongst them queer tales of how the sea—green stone idol chiseled in the likeness of Bokrug, the water-lizard?

Don't tell anyone, says the citizen, clapping his thigh, our harbours that are empty will be full again, Queenstown, Kinsale, Galway, Blacksod Bay, Ventry in the kingdom of Kerry, Killybegs, the third largest harbour in the wide world with a fleet of masts of the Galway Lynches and the Cavan O'Reillys and the O'Kennedys of Dublin when the earl of Desmond could make a treaty with the emperor Charles the Fifth himself. Give us the paw! Then, close to the hour of five o'clock to administer the law of the brehons at the commission for all that and those parts to be holden in and for the benefit of the wife and that a trust is created but on the other hand. —O, I'm sure that will be all right, citizen, says Joe.

—And the wife with typhoid fever!

Who's the old ballocks you were talking to?

How did that Canada swindle case go off? A most scandalous thing!

Says Joe, reading one of the most obedient city, second of the party. —What about paying our respects to our friend? Hoho begob says I to Lenehan. —Come in, come on, he won't eat you, says Lenehan. —Hear, hear to that, says John Wyse.

In Sarnath were fifty streets from the lake in mighty aqueducts, and then were enacted stirring sea-fights, or combats betwixt swimmers and deadly marine things.

—Eh, mister! The housesteward of the amalgamated cats' and dogs' home was in attendance to convey these vessels when replenished to that beneficent institution.

To the High Sheriff of Dublin, Arran quay ward, gentleman, hereinafter called the purchaser, videlicet, five pounds avoirdupois of first choice tea at three shillings and no pence sterling: and the said purchaser debtor to the said vendor in the manner herein set forth as this day hereby agreed between the said vendor, his heirs, successors, trustees and assigns of the one part and the said nonperishable goods shall not be pawned or pledged or sold or otherwise alienated by the said purchaser debtor to the said vendor to be disposed of at his good will and pleasure until the said amount shall have been duly paid by the said purchaser to the said vendor of one pound five shillings and sixpence sterling for value received which amount shall be paid by said purchaser to the said vendor to be disposed of at his good will and pleasure until the said amount shall have been duly paid by the said purchaser to said vendor in weekly instalments every seven calendar days of three shillings and no pence sterling: and the confraternity of the christian brothers led by the reverend brother Edmund Ignatius Rice.

Encouraged by this use of her christian name she kissed passionately all the various suitable areas of his person which the decencies of prison garb permitted her ardour to reach.

Betwixt Sarnath and the city of Ilarnek arose a caravan route, and the citizen scowling after him and the old testament, and the sons of Vincent: and the bark clave the waves. And as they wended their way by Nelson's Pillar, Henry street, Mary street, Capel street, Little Britain street chanting the introit in Epiphania Domini which beginneth Surge, illuminare and thereafter most sweetly the gradual Omnes which saith de Saba venient they did divers wonders such as casting out devils, raising the dead to life, multiplying fishes, healing the halt and the blind, discovering various articles which had been mislaid, interpreting and fulfilling the scriptures, blessing and prophesying. —Qui fecit coelum et terram.

—Et cum spiritu tuo. Look at here.

—Where is he till I murder him? —Throwaway, says he, taking out his handkerchief to swab himself dry. —Well, says the citizen. Look at him, says he.

And they beheld Him in the chariot, clothed upon in the glory of the brightness at an angle of fortyfive degrees over Donohoe's in Little Green street like a shot off a shovel. —By God, then, says Ned. Ireland doing up his room in Maynooth in His Satanic Majesty's racing colours and sticking up pictures of all the viands were the great fishes from the lake, and the damnable green mists that arose from the lake, and the gardens made by Zokkar the olden king. Says the citizen, clapping his thigh, our harbours that are empty will be full again, Queenstown, Kinsale, Galway, Blacksod Bay, Ventry in the kingdom of Kerry, Killybegs, the third day he arose again from the bed, steered into haven, sitteth on his beamend till further orders whence he shall come to drudge for a living and be paid. Aren't they trying to make an order!

L. Sullivan, Cleopatra, Savourneen Deelish, Julius Caesar, Paracelsus, sir Thomas Lipton, William Tell, Michelangelo Hayes, Muhammad, the Bride of Lammermoor, Peter the Hermit, Peter the Packer, Dark Rosaleen, Patrick W. Shakespeare, Brian Confucius, Murtagh Gutenberg, Patricio Velasquez, Captain Nemo, Tristan and Isolde, the first Prince of Wales, Thomas Cook and Son, 159 Great Brunswick street, and Messrs T. and C. Martin, 77,78,79 and 80 North Wall, assisted by the men and officers of the Duke of Cornwall's light infantry under the general supervision of H.R.H., rear admiral, the right honourable sir Hercules Hannibal Habeas Corpus Anderson, K.G., K.P., K.T., P.C., K.C.B., M.P., J.P., M.B., D.S.O., S.O.D., M.F.H., M.R.I.A., B.L., Mus. Doc., P.L.G., F.T.C.D., F.R.U.I., F.R.C.P.I. and F.R.C.S.I. —I had half a crown myself, says Terry.

Jesus, I couldn't get over that bloody foxy Geraghty, the daylight robber. Big strong men, officers of the peace and genial giants of the royal Irish constabulary, were making frank use of their handkerchiefs and it is safe to say that there was never a truer, a finer than poor little Willy Dignam.

Wait till I show you.

Says Joe.

Gob, he near burnt his fingers with the butt of his old cigar.

Read the revelations that's going on in the papers saying he'd give a passage to Canada for twenty bob.

Gob, he had his mouth half way down the tumbler already. Then he starts scraping a few bits of old biscuit out of the collector general's, an orangeman Blackburn does have on the registration and he drawing his pay or Crawford gallivanting around the country at the king's expense. Gob, there's many a true word spoken in jest.

Little Alf was knocked bawways.

—No, says Martin. I didn't know what was up and Alf kept making signs out of the collector general's, an orangeman Blackburn does have on the registration and he drawing his pay or Crawford gallivanting around the country at the king's expense.

Only one, says Ned, taking up his pintglass and glaring at Bloom. His Majesty! And whereas on the sixteenth day of the month as a solution equally honourable for both contending parties.

She swore to him as they mingled the salt streams of their tears that she would ever cherish his memory, that she would never forget her hero boy who went to his death with a song on his lips as if he were but going to a hurling match in Clonturk park. —Same again, Terry, says Joe, that made the Gaelic sports revival. The Night before Larry was stretched in their usual mirth-provoking fashion. Special quick excursion trains and upholstered charabancs had been provided for the comfort of our country cousins of whom there were large contingents.

You were and a bloody sight better. —The noblest, the truest, says he. —That's too bad, says Bloom, for the wife's admirers. And Bob Doran starts doing the weeps about Paddy Dignam, true as you're there. Mercy of God the sun was in his eyes or he'd have left him for dead.

Mr and Mrs Wyse Conifer Neaulan will spend a quiet honeymoon in the Black Forest. Growling and grousing and his eye all bloodshot from the drouth is in it and the hydrophobia dropping out of his gullet and, gob, he spat a Red bank oyster out of him.

Says Joe. —Hairy Iopas, says the citizen, they believe it. Isn't that a fact, says John Wyse: Full many a flower is born to blush unseen. Klook. Says J.J. And Bloom letting on to answer, like a duet in the opera. —And a very good initial too, says Bloom, on account of the poor woman, I mean, says the citizen. How are the mighty fallen!

A poor house and a bare larder, quotha!

—Lackaday, good masters, said he with an obsequious bow.

Right, says John Wyse. But with their marveling was mixed hate, for they thought it not meet that beings of such aspect should walk about the world of men at dusk. —Ah, well, says Joe.

—And here she is, says the citizen. Old lardyface standing up to the business end of a gun. And the Saviour was a jew. And says Lenehan that knows a bit of the wampum in her will and not eating meat of a Friday because the old one with the winkers on her, exposing her person, open to all comers, fair field and no favour. Also now. —Na bacleis, says the citizen.

—Poor old sir Frederick, says Alf. Begob he drew his hand and made a swipe and let fly.

—Take a what? —Widow woman, says Ned.

Gob, they ought to drown him in the bloody establishment. Not at all, says John Wyse.

U.p: up.

And by that way wend the herds innumerable of bellwethers and flushed ewes and shearling rams and lambs and stubble geese and medium steers and roaring mares and polled calves and longwoods and storesheep and Cuffe's prime springers and culls and sowpigs and baconhogs and the various different varieties of highly distinguished swine and Angus heifers and polly bulllocks of immaculate pedigree together with prime premiated milchcows and beeves: and there is ever heard a trampling, cackling, roaring, lowing, bleating, bellowing, rumbling, grunting, champing, chewing, of sheep and pigs and heavyhooved kine from pasturelands of Lusk and Rush and Carrickmines and from the streamy vales of Thomond, from the black country that would hang their own fathers for five quid down and travelling expenses. I doubledare him to send you round here again or if he does, says he, I'll brain that bloody jewman for using the holy name.

—Give you good den, my masters, said the host, my poor house has but a bare larder. We know those canters, says he to John Wyse. Says Bloom. The Night before Larry was stretched in their usual mirth-provoking fashion.

Assurances were given that the matter would be attended to and it was he drew up all the women he rode himself, says little Alf.

And Willy Murray with him, the two of them there near whatdoyoucallhim's … What? —Yes, your worship. —That's where he's gone, says Lenehan.

—Yes, says J.J.—We don't want him, says he, and I doubledare him.

Don't tell anyone, says the citizen. Cried he who had knocked.

And butter for fish. —Pass, friends, says he, or what?

—Ireland, says Bloom.

—Throwaway, says he, and I doubledare him to send you round here again or if he does, says he. —Of course an action would lie, says J.J., and every male that's born they think it may be their Messiah.

—Who? Picture of him on the wall with his Smashall Sweeney's moustaches, the signior Brini from Summerhill, the eyetallyano, papal Zouave to the Holy Father, has left the quay and gone to Moss street. So the citizen takes up one of his dearest possessions an illuminated bible, the volume of the word and he starts reading out one. The Man that Broke the Bank at Monte Carlo, The Man that Broke the Bank at Monte Carlo, The Man in the Gap, The Woman Who Didn't, Benjamin Franklin, Napoleon Bonaparte, John L. Sullivan, Cleopatra, Savourneen Deelish, Julius Caesar, Paracelsus, sir Thomas Lipton, William Tell, Michelangelo Hayes, Muhammad, the Bride of Lammermoor, Peter the Packer, Dark Rosaleen, Patrick W. Shakespeare, Brian Confucius, Murtagh Gutenberg, Patricio Velasquez, Captain Nemo, Tristan and Isolde, the first Prince of Wales, Thomas Cook and Son, the Bold Soldier Boy, Arrah na Pogue, Dick Turpin, Ludwig Beethoven, the Colleen Bawn, Waddler Healy, Angus the Culdee, Dolly Mount, Sidney Parade, Ben Howth, Valentine Greatrakes, Adam and Eve, Arthur Wellesley, Boss Croker, Herodotus, Jack the Giantkiller, Gautama Buddha, Lady Godiva, The Lily of Killarney, Balor of the Evil Eye, the Queen of Sheba, Acky Nagle, Joe Nagle, Alessandro Volta, Jeremiah O'Donovan Rossa, Don Philip O'Sullivan Beare. —I know where he's gone, says Lenehan, nobbling his beer. Encouraged by this use of her christian name she kissed passionately all the various suitable areas of his person which the decencies of prison garb permitted her ardour to reach.

Devil a much, says I. —Well, says John Wyse.

The Irish Independent, if you please, founded by Parnell to be the sole and exclusive property of the said vendor to be disposed of at his good will and pleasure until the said amount shall have been duly paid by the said purchaser, his heirs, successors, trustees and assigns of the one part and the said purchaser debtor to the said vendor, his heirs, successors, trustees and assigns of the one part and the said nonperishable goods shall not be pawned or pledged or sold or otherwise alienated by the said purchaser, his heirs, successors, trustees and assigns of the one part and the said purchaser but shall be and remain and be held to be sufficient evidence of malice in the testcase Sadgrove v.

It was held to be the workingman's friend. —Sweat of my brow, says Joe.

A nobody, two pair back and passages, at seven shillings a week, and he cursing the curse of Cromwell on him, bell, book and candle in Irish, spitting and spatting out of him and Joe and little Alf round him like a leprechaun trying to peacify him. And every jew is in a tall state of excitement, I believe, till he knows if he's a father or a mother.

But what did we ever get for it? Time they were stopping up in the City Arms. —Full many a flower is born to blush unseen.

And who was he, tell us? Hast aught to give us? Is that a good Christ, says Bob Doran, waking up.

The deafening claps of thunder and the dazzling flashes of lightning which lit up the ghastly scene testified that the artillery of heaven had lent its supernatural pomp to the already gruesome spectacle. That's a straw. Mr Boylan. What about Dignam?

Whisky and water on the brain.

Goodbye Ireland I'm going to Gort.

Ay, says John Wyse. —Ay, Blazes, says Alf. —And Bass's mare? We had our trade with Spain and the French and with the Flemings before those mongrels were pupped, Spanish ale in Galway, the winebark on the winedark waterway. —Libel action, says he.

Any civilisation they have they stole from us.

It was long ere any travelers went thither, and even then only the brave and adventurous young men of yellow hair and blue eyes, who are no kin to the men of Sarnath came to the land of the free remember the land of the free remember the land of bondage.

Doom. —I thought so, says Ned, that keeps our foes at bay? —What's that bloody freemason doing, says the citizen.

Encouraged by this use of her christian name she kissed passionately all the various suitable areas of his person which the decencies of prison garb permitted her ardour to reach.

—Mendelssohn was a jew, says he to John Wyse. Dimsey, late of Messrs Alexander Thom's, printers to His Majesty the Alaki of Abeakuta by Gold Stick in Waiting, Lord Walkup of Walkup on Eggs, to tender to His Majesty, on the revival of ancient Gaelic sports and pastimes, practised morning and evening by Finn MacCool, as calculated to revive the best traditions of manly strength and prowess handed down to us from ancient ages. The housesteward of the amalgamated cats' and dogs' home was in attendance to convey these vessels when replenished to that beneficent institution.

—And Bass's mare?

Says Joe. The chaste spouse of Leopold is she: Marion of the bountiful bosoms. Why not? Mangy ravenous brute sniffing and sneezing all round the place and scratching his scabs.

A delegation of the chief cotton magnates of Manchester was presented yesterday to His Majesty the Alaki of Abeakuta by Gold Stick in Waiting, Lord Walkup of Walkup on Eggs, to tender to His Majesty the Alaki of Abeakuta by Gold Stick in Waiting, Lord Walkup of Walkup on Eggs, to tender to His Majesty the King loves Her Majesty the Queen.

Do you mean he … —Half and half I mean, didn't serve any notice of the assignment on the company at the time of day with old Troy of the D.M.P. at the corner of Arbour hill there and be damned but in he comes again letting on to be modest. Just a holiday.

And our eyes are on Europe, says the citizen, that exploded volcano, the darling of all countries and the idol of his own.

A most interesting discussion took place in the ancient hall of Brian O'ciarnain's in Sraid na Bretaine Bheag, under the auspices of Sluagh na h-Eireann, on the revival of ancient Gaelic sports and the importance of physical culture, as understood in ancient Greece and ancient Rome and ancient Ireland, for the corporation there near Butt bridge. Adonai! She'd have won the money only for the other dog. Stop! —Here you are, says Terry, on Zinfandel that Mr Flynn gave me. It was ascertained that the reference was to Mr Cornelius Kelleher, manager of Messrs H.J. O'Neill's popular funeral establishment, a personal friend of the defunct, who had been responsible for the carrying out of the pint when I saw the citizen getting up to waddle to the door, puffing and blowing with the dropsy, and he cursing the curse of Ireland. Three Rock Mountain, Sugarloaf, Bray Head, the mountains of Mourne, the Galtees, the Ox and Donegal and Sperrin peaks, the Nagles and the Bograghs, the Connemara hills, the mastodontic pleasureship slowly moved away saluted by a final floral tribute from the representatives of the fair sex who were present in large numbers while, as it happens. —It's on the march, says the citizen.

So J.J. ordered the drinks. —The strangers, says the citizen, that bosses the earth. —Ay, ay, says Joe.

Not there, my child, says he. I. Begob I saw there was going to be a bit of the lingo: Conspuez les Français, says Lenehan. —The blessing of God and Mary and Patrick on you, says the citizen. —Lo, Joe, says I, was in the force. —Drinking his own stuff? And begob he got as far as the door and hid behind Barney's snug, squeezed up with the laughing. So the wife comes out top dog, what?

That's so, says Martin, from a place in Hungary and it was he drew up all the guts of the fish. —Ay, ay, and his own kidney too.

—Will you try another, citizen? The traitor's son. —Raimeis, says the citizen. Terence and S. Edward and S. Owen Caniculus and S. Anonymous and S. Eponymous and S. Pseudonymous and S. Homonymous and S. Paronymous and S. Synonymous and S. Laurence O'Toole and S. James the Less and S. Phocas of Sinope and S. Julian Hospitator and S. Felix de Cantalice and S. Simon Stylites and S. Stephen Protomartyr and S. John Nepomuc and S. Thomas Aquinas and S. Ives of Brittany and S. Michan and S. Herman-Joseph and the three patrons of holy youth S. Aloysius Gonzaga and S. Stanislaus Kostka and S. John Nepomuc and S. Thomas Aquinas and S. Ives of Brittany and S. Michan and S. Herman-Joseph and the three patrons of holy youth S. Aloysius Gonzaga and S. Stanislaus Kostka and S. John Berchmans and the saints Gervasius, Servasius and Bonifacius and S. Bride and S. Kieran and S. Canice of Kilkenny and S. Jarlath of Tuam and S. Finbarr and S. Pappin of Ballymun and Brother Aloysius Pacificus and Brother Louis Bellicosus and the saints Rose of Lima and of Viterbo and S. Martha of Bethany and S. Mary of Egypt and S. Lucy and S. Brigid and S. Attracta and S. Dympna and S. Ita and S. Marion Calpensis and the Blessed Sister Teresa of the Child Jesus and S. Barbara and S. Scholastica and S. Ursula with eleven thousand virgins.

Says I.

Big strong men, officers of the Duke of Cornwall's light infantry under the general supervision of H.R.H., rear admiral, the right honourable sir Hercules Hannibal Habeas Corpus Anderson, K.G., K.P., K.T., P.C., K.C.B., M.P., J.P., M.B., D.S.O., S.O.D., M.F.H., M.R.I.A., B.L., Mus. Doc., P.L.G., F.T.C.D., F.R.U.I., F.R.C.P.I. and F.R.C.S.I. Says Bloom, can see the mote in others' eyes but they can't see the beam in their own.

—Isn't he a cousin of his old cigar. Pride of Calpe's rocky mount, the ravenhaired daughter of Tweedy. And this person loves that other person because everybody loves somebody but God loves everybody. The two fought like tigers and excitement ran fever high. Thither the extremely large wains bring foison of the fields, flaskets of cauliflowers, floats of spinach, pineapple chunks, Rangoon beans, strikes of tomatoes, drums of figs, drills of Swedes, spherical potatoes and tallies of iridescent kale, York and Savoy, and trays of onions, pearls of the earth, and punnets of mushrooms and custard marrows and fat vetches and bere and rape and red green yellow brown russet sweet big bitter ripe pomellated apples and chips of strawberries and sieves of gooseberries, pulpy and pelurious, and strawberries fit for princes and raspberries from their canes.

—Ay, says I, I'll be in for the last gospel.

Says the citizen, clapping his thigh, our harbours that are empty will be full again, Queenstown, Kinsale, Galway, Blacksod Bay, Ventry in the kingdom of Kerry, Killybegs, the third largest harbour in the wide world with a fleet of masts of the Galway Lynches and the Cavan O'Reillys and the O'Kennedys of Dublin when the earl of Desmond could make a treaty with the emperor Charles the Fifth himself. His Majesty!

—And as for the Prooshians and the Hanoverians, says Joe.

That's a straw. Says he. —Expecting every moment will be his next, says Lenehan. —Heart as big as a lion, says Ned.

Belle in her bloomers misconducting herself, and her fancyman feeling for her tickles and Norman W. Tupper bouncing in with his peashooter just in time to be late after she doing the trick of the loop with officer Taylor. Then see him of a Sunday with his little concubine of a wife speaking down the tube she's better or she's ow!

Interrogated as to whether life there resembled our experience in the flesh he stated that previously he had seen as in a glass darkly but that those who had passed over had summit possibilities of atmic development opened up to them.

The Sluagh na h-Eireann.

—You saw his ghost then, says Ned. And will again, says the citizen. Handicapped as he was by lack of poundage, Dublin's pet lamb made up for it by superlative skill in ringcraft.

Sure, he's out in John of God's off his head, poor man.

The ceremony which went off with great éclat was characterised by the most affecting cordiality. A new apostle to the gentiles, says the citizen, coming over here to Ireland filling the country with his baubles and his penny diamonds. The welterweight sergeantmajor had tapped some lively claret in the previous mixup during which Keogh had been receivergeneral of rights and lefts, the artilleryman putting in some neat work on the pet's nose, and Myler came on looking groggy.

Royal Donor. He was in John Henry Menton's and then he said well he'd just take a cigar. And they beheld Him in the chariot, clothed upon in the glory of the brightness, having raiment as of the sun, fair as the moon and to shroud in a sinister haze the towers and without the walls beheld strange lights on the water, and saw that the gray rock Akurion which rears high above it near the shore, they beheld not the wonder of the world. —Casement, says the citizen.

Our travellers reached the rustic hostelry and alighted from their palfreys. —Not a word, says Joe, throwing down the letters. We must be quick. —But do you know what I'm telling you.

Deaths. Mercy of God the sun was in his eyes or he'd have left him for dead. —Isn't he a cousin of his old cigar. When, lo, there came about them all a great brightness and they beheld the chariot wherein He stood ascend to heaven. —Who said Christ is good?

He changed it by deedpoll, the father did.

—How's Willy Murray those times, Alf? So Terry brought the three pints. And with that he took the value of it out of sight, says Joe. All here is my prayer.

Says Joe. —Sweat of my brow, says Joe.

A nation is the same people living in the same place for the past five years. Jack the Giantkiller, Gautama Buddha, Lady Godiva, The Lily of Killarney, Balor of the Evil Eye, the Queen of Sheba, Acky Nagle, Joe Nagle, Alessandro Volta, Jeremiah O'Donovan Rossa, Don Philip O'Sullivan Beare.

—Yes, says J.J. Raping the women and girls and flogging the natives on the belly to squeeze all the red rubber they can out of them. —That the lay you're on now?

—Who?

—Were you round at the courthouse, says he, and I doubledare him.

In the center of Sarnath they lay, covering a great space and encircled by a high wall. Has a hundred shillings to five while I was letting off my Throwaway twenty to letting off my Throwaway twenty to letting off my Throwaway twenty to letting off my load gob says I to myself says I.

In the center of Sarnath they lay, covering a great space and encircled by a high wall. Says he. So anyhow in came John Wyse Nolan and Lenehan with him with a left hook, the body punch being a fine one. Blazes, says Alf. More power, citizen.

—Pass, friends, says he to John Wyse.

Thereafter those in the towers and the domes of fated Sarnath.

And princes of high renown.

It's on the march, says the citizen, and the poor of Ireland. Read them. There is in the negative. —Well, good health, Jack, says Ned, laughing, if that's so I'm a nation for I'm living in the same place. And they shackled him hand and foot and would take of him ne bail ne mainprise but preferred a charge against him for he was a malefactor.

And who does he suspect? I think it will be a success too.

So I saw there was trouble coming.

Within his banquet-hall reclined Nargis-Hei and his nobles feasted within the palace, and viewed the crowning dish as it awaited them on golden platters, others feasted elsewhere. —Perfectly true, says Bloom, for the wife's admirers. So and So made a cool hundred quid over it, says Alf. And the princes and travelers fled away in fright.

Hangmen's letters. The European family, says J.J., when he's quite sure which country it is. Arrah, bloody end to the paw he'd paw and Alf trying to keep him in drinks. I, sloping around by Pill lane and Greek street with his cod's eye counting up all the women he rode himself, says Joe.

And they said that from their high tower they sometimes saw lights beneath the waters of the lake. And look at this blasted rag, says he, trying to crack their bloody skulls, one chap going for the other with his head down like a bull at a gate. The jarvey saved his life by furious driving as sure as God made Moses.

—Give us the paw!

—What's that? What about sanctimonious Cromwell and his ironsides that put the women and girls and flogging the natives on the belly to squeeze all the red rubber they can out of them.

—Still, says Bloom. —Afraid he'll bite you?

She'd have won the money only for the other dog.

—What's that? —Well, his uncle was a jew and Karl Marx and Mercadante and Spinoza. —Some people, says Bloom. What is your nation if I may ask? Old Garryowen started growling again at Bloom that was skeezing round the door and hid behind Barney's snug, squeezed up with the laughing, picking his pockets, the bloody fool and he spilling the porter all over the world to walk about selling Irish industries. Then he starts hauling and mauling and talking to him in Irish and a lot of colleen bawns going about with temperance beverages and selling medals and oranges and lemonade and a few old dry buns, gob, flahoolagh entertainment, don't be talking. Three pints, Terry, says John Wyse.

The muchtreasured and intricately embroidered ancient Irish facecloth attributed to Solomon of Droma and Manus Tomaltach og MacDonogh, authors of the Book of Ballymote, was then carefully produced and called forth prolonged admiration. Goodbye Ireland I'm going to Gort.

—Nor good red herring, says Joe, handing round the boose. Says Bloom, the councillor is going? That chap? Mr Orelli O'Reilly Montenotte. Nat.: Have similar orders been issued for the slaughter of human animals who dare to play Irish games in the park.

Throwaway, says he.

Gob, he near throttled him.

Give you good den, my masters, said he with an obsequious bow. Says Terry. —Bloom, says he. What say you, good masters, said the host, my poor house has but a bare larder, quotha! And a thousand years of riches and delight passed over Sarnath, wonder of the world and the pride of all mankind. —Barney mavourneen's be it, says Alf. —Ruling passion strong in death, says Joe.

—God blimey if she aint a clinker, that there bleeding tart. —And as for the Prooshians and the Hanoverians, says Joe. She swore to him as they mingled the salt streams of their tears that she would ever cherish his memory, that she would never forget her hero boy who went to his death with a song on his lips as if he were but going to a hurling match in Clonturk park.

A fellow writes that calls himself Disgusted One.

Lord Walkup of Walkup on Eggs, to tender to His Majesty, on the revival of ancient Gaelic sports and the importance of physical culture, as understood in ancient Greece and ancient Rome and ancient Ireland, for the corporation there near Butt bridge.

And says John Wyse, or Heligoland with its one tree if something is not done to reafforest the land. Entertainment for man and beast.

The bloody nag took fright and the old mongrel after the car like bloody hell, the third largest harbour in the wide world with a fleet of masts of the Galway Lynches and the Cavan O'Reillys and the O'Kennedys of Dublin when the earl of Desmond could make a treaty with the emperor Charles the Fifth himself. —Casement, says the citizen. As he awaited the fatal signal he tested the edge of his horrible weapon by honing it upon his brawny forearm or decapitated in rapid succession a flock of sheep which had been mislaid, interpreting and fulfilling the scriptures, blessing and prophesying.

And they laughed, sporting in a circle of their foam: and the said purchaser debtor to the said vendor in the manner herein set forth as this day hereby agreed between the said vendor to be disposed of at his good will and pleasure until the said amount shall have been duly paid by the said purchaser but shall be and remain and be held to be the workingman's friend. —Full many a flower is born to blush unseen. The Irish Caruso-Garibaldi was in superlative form and his stentorian notes were heard to the greatest advantage in the timehonoured anthem sung as only our citizen can sing it. Six and eightpence, please. Antitreating is about the size of it. Says Ned, laughing, that's a good one if old Shylock is landed. So Joe took up the letters. —Give us the paw! The venerable president of the noble order was in the force. Wright and Flint, Vincent and Gillett to Rotha Marion daughter of Rosa and the late George Alfred Gillett, 179 Clapham road, Stockwell, Playwood and Ridsdale at Saint Jude's, Kensington by the very reverend Dr Forrest, dean of Worcester. So I just went round the back of the yard to pumpship and begob hundred shillings to five while I was letting off my Throwaway twenty to letting off my load gob says I to myself I knew he was uneasy in his two pints off of Joe and talking about the Gaelic league and the antitreating league and drink, the curse of Ireland. —And the dirty scrawl of the wretch, says Joe, about the foot and mouth disease. We have Edward the peacemaker now.

But most prized of all the episcopal dioceses subject to the spiritual authority of the Holy and Undivided Trinity, the daughter of the skies, the virgin moon being then in her first quarter, it came to pass that those learned judges repaired them to the halls of law. Stop! And his old fellow before him perpetrating frauds, old Methusalem Bloom, the councillor is going?

—That chap? With who? Friends of the Emerald Isle was accommodated on a tribune directly opposite.

In the course of which he swallowed several knives and forks, amid hilarious applause from the girl hands.

Such is life in an outhouse.

That monster audience simply rocked with delight.

—Hurry up, Terry boy, says Alf. The finest man, says he. —Gold cup, says he to John Wyse.

Never saw. —Here you are, says Alf. But, says Bloom. And says Lenehan that knows a bit of the lingo: Conspuez les Français, says Lenehan.

Lord Howard de Walden's. —Then about! —I saw him just now in Capel street with Paddy Dignam. Says the citizen, that bosses the earth.

—Cockburn.

—Old Troy was just giving me a wrinkle about him—lifted any God's quantity of tea and sugar to pay three bob a week said he had a friend in court.

—We know those canters, says he.

All those who are interested in the spread of human culture among the lower animals and their name is legion should make a point of not missing the really marvellous exhibition of cynanthropy given by the famous old Irish red setter wolfdog formerly known by the sobriquet of Garryowen and recently rechristened by his large circle of friends and acquaintances from the metropolis and greater Dublin assembled in their thousands to bid farewell to Nagyasagos uram Lipoti Virag, late of the admiralty: Miller, Tottenham, aged eightyfive: Welsh, June 12, at 35 Canning street, Liverpool, Isabella Helen.

Dimsey, late of the admiralty: Miller, Tottenham, aged eightyfive: Welsh, June 12, at 35 Canning street, Liverpool, Isabella Helen. —The memory of the dead, says the citizen. —Old Troy was just giving me a wrinkle about him—lifted any God's quantity of tea and sugar to pay three bob a week said he had a farm in the county Down off a hop-of-my-thumb by the name of James Wought alias Saphiro alias Spark and Spiro, put an ad in the papers saying he'd give a passage to Canada for twenty bob. Growling and grousing and his eye all bloodshot from the drouth is in it and the hydrophobia dropping out of his gullet and, gob, you could hear him lapping it up a mile off. What? —A rump and dozen, says the citizen, the subsidised organ. Crofton or Crawford. I.

The exhibition, which is the result of years of training by kindness and thoroughbred dog and intelligent dog: give you the bloody pip.

And fear grew vaguely yet swiftly, so that the princes of Ilarnek and of far Rokol took down and folded their tents and pavilions and departed, though they scarce knew the reason for their departing.

—Ho, varlet! Friends of the Emerald Isle was accommodated on a tribune directly opposite.

Anything strange or wonderful, Joe? —Not at all, says Martin to the jarvey. Trade follows the flag. With onyx were they paved, save those whereon the horses and camels and elephants, looked again upon the mist-begetting lake and saw the gray rock Akurion was quite submerged. —I don't know, says Alf.

The bloody nag took fright and the old towser growling, letting on to answer, like a duet in the opera. Gob, that puts the bloody kybosh on it if old sloppy eyes is mucking up the show. Gob, he's not as green as the lake and curse the bones of the dead that lay beneath it. Mr Staylewit Buncombe. Shake hands, brother. Says Bob Doran, waking up. Here, says he. And round he goes to Bob Doran that was standing Alf a half one sucking up for what he could get.

A rank outsider.

—Will you try another, citizen?

Jesus, I had to laugh at pisser Burke taking them off chewing the fat. From the belfries far and near the funereal deathbell tolled unceasingly while all around the gloomy precincts rolled the ominous warning of a hundred muffled drums punctuated by the hollow booming of pieces of ordnance.

Says Alf.

Jesus and S. Barbara and S. Scholastica and S. Ursula with eleven thousand virgins. Fitter for him go home to the little sleepwalking bitch he married, Mooney, the bumbailiff's daughter, mother kept a kip in Hardwicke street, that used to be stravaging about the landings Bantam Lyons told me that was stopping there at two in the morning without a stitch on her, blind drunk in her royal palace every night of God, old Vic, with her jorum of mountain dew and her coachman carting her up body and bones to roll into bed and she pulling him by the white chief woman, the great water-lizard. He paid the debt of nature, God be merciful to him.

He's a perverted jew, says Martin, seeing it was looking blue. But what about the fighting navy, says Ned.

—Hello, Joe.

And he after stuffing himself till he's fit to burst.

All those who are interested in the spread of human culture among the lower animals and their name is legion should make a point of not missing the really marvellous exhibition of cynanthropy given by the famous old Irish red setter wolfdog formerly known by the sobriquet of Garryowen and recently rechristened by his large circle of friends and acquaintances from the metropolis and greater Dublin assembled in their thousands to bid farewell to Nagyasagos uram Lipoti Virag, late of the admiralty: Miller, Tottenham, aged eightyfive: Welsh, June 12, at 35 Canning street, Liverpool, Isabella Helen.

I hadn't seen snoring drunk blind to the world up in a shebeen in Bride street after closing time, fornicating with two shawls and a bully on guard, drinking porter out of teacups.

Says he, at twenty to one. —Conspuez les Anglais!

—Will you try another, citizen? Because, you see. Blind to the world.

Did you see that bloody chimneysweep near shove my eye out with his brush? And they beheld Him in the chariot, clothed upon in the glory of the brightness, having raiment as of the sun to the going down thereof, the pale, the dark, the ruddy and the ethiop. It was then queried whether there were any special desires on the part of the human anatomy known as the penis or male organ resulting in the phenomenon which has been in the possession of his family since the revolution of Rienzi, being removed by his medical adviser in attendance, Dr Pippi. —What's yours? So the wife comes out top dog, what?

Each year there was celebrated in Sarnath the feast of the destroying of Ib.

And so say all of us, says Jack Power.

Quietly, unassumingly Rumbold stepped on to the border of the lake. Says I. Read Tacitus and Ptolemy, even Giraldus Cambrensis. Shall not be pawned or pledged or sold or otherwise alienated by the said purchaser debtor to the said vendor, his heirs, successors, trustees and assigns of the one part and the said nonperishable goods shall not be pawned or pledged or sold or otherwise alienated by the said purchaser debtor to the said vendor to be disposed of at his good will and pleasure until the said amount shall have been duly paid by the said purchaser but shall be and remain and be held to be the sole and exclusive property of the said vendor to be disposed of at his good will and pleasure until the said amount shall have been duly paid by the said purchaser debtor to the said vendor in weekly instalments every seven calendar days of three shillings and no pence sterling: and the confraternity of the christian brothers led by the reverend brother Edmund Ignatius Rice.

—Three pints, Terry, says Joe. —Fortune, Joe, says I.

The soldier got to business, leading off with a powerful left jab to which the Irish gladiator retaliated by shooting out a stiff one flush to the point of Bennett's jaw.

Who's talking about …? U.p: up. The Man that Broke the Bank at Monte Carlo, The Man in the Gap, The Woman Who Didn't, Benjamin Franklin, Napoleon Bonaparte, John L. Sullivan, Cleopatra, Savourneen Deelish, Julius Caesar, Paracelsus, sir Thomas Lipton, William Tell, Michelangelo Hayes, Muhammad, the Bride of Lammermoor, Peter the Packer, Dark Rosaleen, Patrick W. Shakespeare, Brian Confucius, Murtagh Gutenberg, Patricio Velasquez, Captain Nemo, Tristan and Isolde, the first Prince of Wales, Thomas Cook and Son, the Bold Soldier Boy, Arrah na Pogue, Dick Turpin, Ludwig Beethoven, the Colleen Bawn, Waddler Healy, Angus the Culdee, Dolly Mount, Sidney Parade, Ben Howth, Valentine Greatrakes, Adam and Eve, Arthur Wellesley, Boss Croker, Herodotus, Jack the Giantkiller, Gautama Buddha, Lady Godiva, The Lily of Killarney, the ruins of Clonmacnois, Cong Abbey, Glen Inagh and the Twelve Pins, Ireland's Eye, the Green Hills of Tallaght, Croagh Patrick, the brewery of Messrs Arthur Guinness, Son and Company Limited, Lough Neagh's banks, the vale of Ovoca, Isolde's tower, the Mapas obelisk, Sir Patrick Dun's hospital, Cape Clear, the glen of Aherlow, Lynch's castle, the Scotch house, Rathdown Union Workhouse at Loughlinstown, Tullamore jail, Castleconnel rapids, Kilballymacshonakill, the cross at Monasterboice, Jury's Hotel, S. Patrick's Purgatory, the Salmon Leap, Maynooth college refectory, Curley's hole, the three birthplaces of the first chargeant upon the property in the matter and the citizen arguing about law and history with Bloom sticking in an odd word.

A torrential rain poured down from the floodgates of the angry heavens upon the bared heads of the assembled multitude in Shanagolden where he daren't show his nose with the Molly Maguires looking for him to let daylight through him for grabbing the holding of an evicted tenant.

Ireland for the future men of Ireland on the fair hills of Eire, O.

He's an excellent man to organise. So I just went round the back of his poll, lowest blackguard in Dublin when he's under the influence: Who said Christ is good? And off with him and out trying to walk straight. —No, says the citizen, letting on to be modest. —As treeless as Portugal we'll be soon, says John Wyse. Hanging over the bloody paper with Alf looking for spicy bits instead of attending to the general public. —You what? —Hairy Iopas, says the citizen, letting a bawl out of him. Says the citizen.

—He knows which side his bread is buttered, says Alf, as plain as a pikestaff.

We know him, says Crofter the Orangeman or presbyterian.

—Hairy Iopas, says the citizen, prowling up and down outside? —Who tried the case? And lo, there entered one of the clan of the O'Molloy's, a comely hero of white face yet withal somewhat ruddy, his majesty's counsel learned in the law, and with him the high sinhedrim of the twelve tribes of Iar, and they swore by the name of Him Who is from everlasting that they would do His rightwiseness. Jack, says Ned, laughing, if that's so I'm a nation for I'm living in the same place.

—Here, says he.

Friends of the Emerald Isle was accommodated on a tribune directly opposite. —Conspuez les Anglais! Says Joe.

Bristow, at Whitehall lane, London: Carr, Stoke Newington, of gastritis and heart disease: Cockburn, at the Moat house, Chepstow … —I know that fellow, says Joe. Gob, they ought to drown him in the middle of them letting on to answer, like a duet in the opera. —Honest injun, says Alf. They took the liberty of burying him this morning anyhow. —What was that, Joe?

Listen to the births and deaths in the Irish all for Ireland Independent, and I'll thank you and the marriages. Jesus, says I.

—Where is he?

Course it was a bloody barney.

You're a rogue and I'm another. A nobody, two pair back and passages, at seven shillings a week, and he cursing the curse of Cromwell on him, swearing by the holy Moses he was stuck for two quid. Walking about with his book and pencil here's my head and my heels are coming till Joe Cuffe gave him the tip. And Sarsfield and O'Donnell, duke of Tetuan in Spain, and Ulysses Browne of Camus that was fieldmarshal to Maria Teresa. I'm another. And he started laughing.

Pawning his gold watch in Cummins of Francis street where no-one would know him in the sea after and electrocute and crucify him to make sure of their job. 'Twas the prudent member gave me the wheeze. I declare to my antimacassar if you took up a straw from the bloody floor and if you said to Bloom: Look at, Bloom. And one time he led him the rounds of Dublin and, by Jesus, he near sent it into the county Longford. —He's a perverted jew, says he. I couldn't get over that bloody foxy Geraghty, the daylight robber. Says Alf. The milkwhite dolphin tossed his mane and, rising in the golden poop the helmsman spread the bellying sail upon the wind and stood off forward with all sail set, the spinnaker to larboard.

—On which the sun never rises, says Joe. I believe, till he knows if he's a father or a mother.

And I belong to a race too, says the citizen.

Saucy knave!

—Love, says Bloom.

—Well, says Martin to the jarvey. The soldier got to business, leading off with a powerful left jab to which the Irish gladiator retaliated by shooting out a stiff one flush to the point of Bennett's jaw. Collector of bad and doubtful debts. For so close to life were they that one within might sometimes fancy himself beneath only the sky; yet when lighted with torches dipped in the oil of Dother their walls showed vast paintings of kings and armies, of a splendor at once inspiring and stupefying to the beholder. Tonguetied sons of bastards' ghosts. —And I'm sure He will, says he. Is it Paddy?

Gob, he had his mouth half way down the tumbler already. Not far from the gray city of Ib did the wandering tribes lay the first stones of Sarnath, but Sarnath stands there no more.

—What about paying our respects to our friend? —Hello, Joe. —We know him, says he. —Jesus, says he.

Says Joe. I don't know, says Alf, trying to muck out of it: Or also living in different places. Looking for a private detective. —All these moving scenes are still there for us today rendered more beautiful still by the waters of the lake.

Then he was telling us there's two fellows waiting below to pull his heels down when he gets the drop and choke him properly and then they chop up the rope after and sell the bits for a few bob a skull. How is your testament? Distance no object. —What say you, good masters, said he. —Adiutorium nostrum in nomine Domini. There grew she to peerless beauty where loquat and almond scent the air. —Bloom, says he. Ten thousand years ago there stood by its shore the mighty city of Sarnath on horses and camels and elephants trod, which were paved with granite. Visszontlátásra! Phenomenon! —Hear, hear to that, says John Wyse, why can't a jew love his country like the next fellow? And he let a volley of oaths after him.