#it was the most important thing. Bob still has flooding and plants going on and Helmut still has memories (in a way)

[catastrophic-crisis]

There were plenty of PsychOdyssey documentary lines/moments that were highlights for me. And then I didn't screenshot them. But, sure, I'll screenshot this. And I'm not even thinking about it in a representation kinda way.

[wildlyglittering]

In the Gardens, Among the Flowers

It has been forever (two years) since I’ve written anything fanfiction-y so I’m trying to dip a toes back in. I have a few lined up but bear with me as I’m so totally rusty!

To a casual observer, Mor looked as fresh faced and glowing that morning as she did on every other.

If anyone heard about the events of the prior evening, and the levels of drinking, dancing and debauchery which had occurred, they would think it was the good fortune of Mor being high fae which kept her so bright.

Other's would think it the good fortune of being The Morrigan, a being whose vibrant personality and magic somehow exuded through her skin to wash away any trace of shadow or fatigue. At least, Mor thought to herself, that's what she believed others thought.

Those who loved her well would understand the glow she bathed in wasn't some higher fae power. They would work out what happened last night, note her satisfied smile and keep their comments to themselves.

Of course, life always contained an exception.

The prospect of early morning training must have beckoned him like a siren's call as that 'exception' had been absent from the house earlier than usual. Although Mor would roll her eyes at whatever spilled from Cassian's mouth, she welcomed his good-natured teasing.

The sun had barely risen when she bounded into his chambers as giddy as a small child, only to find them empty and his bed already made. Not wanting to disturb his training Mor decided to patiently wait in his rooms for his return.

While Mor never provided details to the rest of the Inner Circle she was nothing but honest with Cassian about when she took a lover. Her openness wasn't, as she once worried, done out of some strange obligation to their shared history but borne from a desperate need to share every element of her life with those she loved the most.

Despite his permanently laughing eyes and cocky grin, Mor trusted if she placed her very heart in Cassian's hands, he would shield it with his life.

Her plan had been to slide into his bed as she had done on many a morning and rest her head on the pillow beside his. The tradition was for Mor to wake him and tell the tales of her night-time escapades, their laughter filling the room as she relayed the expected nonsense.

Mor never worried about finding guests in his bed. Although the years had gifted her with the scent of other females on his sheets they were always gone by sunrise. Cassian made sure of it. The night may have been the dominion of nameless females she would never meet, but the mornings belonged to her.

It was more important than ever to find him this particular morning. Mor knew, as she would always know, Cassian above all others would share in her joy.

A fae named Aurielle had graced Mor's bed and it was as though the Mother herself had placed her in Mor's path.

Aurielle's eyes were bluer than any sky Mor had seen and the freckles which dusted the bridge of her nose were also painted across her shoulders. As the night progressed and the silks slid down, Mor discovered those glorious freckles in more places still.

Something of significance existed between them. Not Cauldron blessed but it felt sacred - a link which meant a promise and a promise Mor wanted to honour as it should be honoured.

Cassian had spent decades of time over the centuries reassuring Mor she was deserving of love, unwavering in his belief she would find someone. So it wasn't only excitement which made her want to tell Cassian before anyone else. In a way she wanted to reward his faith, to tell him the romance she'd hoped for had finally happened on an unexpected summer's night when the air was hot.

But there was another reason why she wanted to seek Cassian out and that was more complicated than any other. She couldn't shake the feeling something between them had shifted.

Now, when she teased him about his lack of romance and dearth of female company, his smile was subdued. When she pointed out females in Velaris, beauties who would normally catch his attention, it was as though they were invisible.

There were times now when she joked with him about his sex life, or lack thereof, where he couldn't meet her eye. Concern begun to burrow its way through her chest.

So that was the other reason Mor needed to seek Cassian out to perform their 'morning after' ritual. It was a way to reassure herself nothing between them had changed. She craved Cassian's reassurance that her world, the one which had been built on solid ground, was not breaking.

Recently it crossed her mind to be less forthcoming with Cassian about her romantic life in the same way she was with Az. The truth shrieking in her soul was that Cassian, her fierce yet tender-hearted friend, was pining.

Perhaps he was lonely and longing for the connection they all sought. Perhaps the longing had opened up old wounds and now part of him ached for Mor as he had once long ago. Perhaps her newfound openness with the full truth of her heart was now breaking his.

With Aurielle, Mor had met someone she hoped would be in her life on a permanent basis and so she needed to resolve whatever this situation was. If she was right and Cassian still held an ember of romantic flame for her then she would sooth his wounded ego and commit to finding him a welcome distraction.

Mor knew it wouldn't be hard to find someone interested in him, the issue would be to find someone who turned his head on such a scale. Despite countless lovers who previously caught his attention no one seemed to hold the ability to keep it.

Sat on his sofa, worn and scratched from weaponry and wings, she let thoughts of Cassian fill her mind. Ordinarily her magic would have given her an image of him in the training ring, his skin brown and glistening, but instead she uncovered a picture of a different kind.

He wasn't training as she had thought. While this meant she was able to speak with him sooner, it was still a surprise the magic called her to the gardens. However, she was unable to still her patience, and that's where she decided to go.

In truth, the Inner Circle had never really cared for the gardens. Their locations of choice involved places far more exciting than anywhere containing trees and plants. Still, the gardens had always been well tended, anything derelict and unkempt did not befit a High Lord of Rhys' standing.

So, although they had always been cared for by servants, they had never been loved.

Until now.

This was her first time on the grounds in a long time and rows of flowers stretched towards the sun, their petals as golden as Mor's hair, bobbing in the light breeze as she walked down the path they adorned.

The path routed her to a smaller garden, one filled with planters bursting with vegetables and leafy herbs before weaving its way through a miniature meadow filled with pink and purple wildflowers. It meandered again to another section, this one with boxed hedges and a manicured lawn set out with the human game she recognised as croquet.

None of this had existed before and it was almost appealing enough for Mor to spend time here. Almost. She would still prefer dusky evenings at Rita's with a glass in hand over bright mornings among weeds.

And, she thought, so would Cassian. But the magic called her and when she came upon a courtyard which splintered into multiple paths, she chose the one singing his name the loudest.

She found him in what had become a vast rose garden.

Mor stumbled to a halt. The magic had sung Cassian's name but hadn't added anyone else's to the tune.

The central path was covered by arches and numerous hanging boughs. Roses in a variety of colours weaved around trellis' and draped down to kiss her hair. A plethora of fragrances flooded the air around her and the combination acted as a blanket, hiding both her appearance and her scent.

Beyond the path and dotted on the luscious green grass were more rose bushes than could be counted and amongst their dark leaves bloomed soft creams, pastel pinks and vibrant reds. None however, were as vibrant as the siphons gleaming up ahead.

If she'd stumbled upon Cassian at any other time and in any other place Mor would have loudly called out his name but here and at this moment, she was too stunned at what she was seeing to alert him to her presence.

In the garden, among the flowers, stood the famed Lord of Bloodshed. His head was bowed in deep conversation with another, the expression on his face one of such intensity Mor hadn't even in battle.

The sheer hulk of him combined with wings, siphons and black training leathers made him appear grotesquely out of place with the setting but what was more jarring was his appearance against his companion.

Now her, Mor expected to see.

The love weaving its way around the garden had come from her fingers. Whether this was natural talent left over from her mortal days or something which bloomed, in every sense of the word, with her new fae blood Mor couldn't tell. There was no doubt however, the care for the gardens had come from the middle Archeron sister.

So no, it wasn't a surprise Elain was in what was considered 'Elain's gardens' but she never expected to see Elain and Cassian in them together. She also never expected to see them standing so close, speaking in tones so quiet even Mor's heightened hearing couldn't detect words.

Elain's golden-brown hair was tied loosely into a braid which draped down the front of her pale peach dress. Small white flowers had been strewn through adding to the innocent virgin look she continued to perpetuate.

A wretched unknown thing moved in Mor’s stomach.

This wasn't a pairing she'd ever considered, the one who brought death connected with the one who desperately maintained life. Mor never believed Cassian as wanting someone so gentle they were almost vacant.

In Mor's mind she expected Cassian would end up with someone like... well, someone like herself, with passion in their stomach and fight in their blood. But maybe she'd been wrong. Perhaps this was what he needed; someone soft and fragile to protect, someone pliable enough to exist with the Inner Circle without being intrusive.

Then, there was movement. Elain and Cassian were done with their conversation and Elain stood on her tip-toes, her face stretched up towards Cassian's before placing a delicate hand on his shoulder.

The something wretched moving in Mor's stomach twisted again.

Mor waited. The moment that was the cusp of their kiss lingered onwards except the kiss never came. At least, not the way she thought.

Elain pressed her lips to his cheek before smiling at him, one of reassurance, and as she rested her feet back on the ground, she gave Cassian an affectionate squeeze on the arm.

Mor's mouth dropped open. Whether this was better or worse than her initial assumption she didn't know. If it was longing for tender comfort on Cassian's part and a need to feel protected on Elain's she might have understood, but this platonic, familial interaction confused her.

Elain paused momentarily as she crossed the grass, her head slightly tilted to the side before she continued walking while Cassian wandered towards an over-flowing rose arch, his fingers idly trailing across petals.

Mor steeled herself to march over to him, to get her answers about why he was in the garden and most importantly what in the name of the Mother was he doing speaking so intently with Elain Archeron of all fae.

But, she didn't. She couldn't.

Something heavy in the air compelled her to observe, almost imploring her to view Cassian with clear eyes.

Centuries of time and love existed between them. They had seen the other at their best and worst and though it was only the once, there had been a time when Cassian's weight had pressed down upon her and she had greedily welcomed him into her body.

Mor knew every twitch his body made. He stood underneath the arch, leaves and petals brushing his hair, and she noted his guarded stance, the tightly tucked wings and the muscle flexing in his jaw. In the calmness of the garden, Cassian was anything other.

If Mor didn't know better she would have thought he was priming for battle. If Mor didn't know better than she would also have thought him nervous.

A sudden rustle sounded from behind her, of delicate silk sliding over soft skin and she turned to see Elain, an empty trug now swinging from her hand.

"Hello, Morrigan," Elain said, addressing her with the sweetest of smiles.

How had Elain crept up on her? Only a few, namely Rhys and Az, could appear without Mor noticing and Elain was neither High Lord nor spy. Still, Mor's voice was calm. "Hello, Elain."

"Will you walk with me?"

At her question Mor's eyebrows shot up. Of all interactions she had anticipated, being asked to go for a stroll around the gardens hadn't been one of them. Despite the honeyed tone with which Elain spoke, this was a request which invited no declination and so she found herself agreeing.

"Lovely. I have some roses on the other side of the garden I need to tend. Shall we?"

Mor stepped in beside her and walked through the arches toward the grass the other side of the path. She had never been this close to Elain before and while she knew Elain and Feyre shared many physical similarities she hadn't realised Elain's eyes were a deep chestnut. She also hadn't realised that Elain's skin was decorated with freckles, more so then Aurielle.

As a human Elain would have been considered pretty, but as a fae there was something about her which had been made into the other. What was once fair was now luminous, as though light had been poured into the female and, not being able to contain itself, had started to shine out.

No wonder, Mor thought, Lucien wanted to claim Elain as his mate. It was also no secret Az held a burgeoning fascination and, despite the friendliness of the interaction, there was now a possibility Cassian harboured his own desires.

Best then, Mor considered, to befriend Elain even if solely to understand her motives towards Mor's boys.

"I can almost grab your thoughts," Elain interrupted. "If I listened very carefully, I think I could pick them out."

Mor narrowed her eyes. Rhys and Feyre alone held that power and though Elain had been gifted the abilities of a Seer it didn't mean she could actually dip into Mor's mind. Although, Mor countered, it was probably safer to bury them anyway.

"I don't think you'd want them."

"Perhaps not."

They ended up walking as far away from Cassian as possible, stopping only when they reached a collection of bushes with roses of gold and silver, a variety Mor had never seen.

"Here we are," Elain said, turning to her with another saccharine smile, "you can help if you'd like?"

There was nothing in the whole of Prythian she would rather do less but the thought lingering at the back of her mind like an itch she couldn't scratch away was that she wouldn't be allowed to leave. There is, it said, no escaping this one.

So, Mor found herself nodding along and Elain, placated by the response, set herself to her task.

The magic which had originally drawn Mor towards the garden, her own magic, had been muted, becoming as light and flimsy as a cloud. The opposite was happening to Mor and it was as though she had grown roots into the ground and would remain as immobile as the roses she stood beside.

Cassian, who she could still see across the garden, matched her. He was a rigid feature next to the rambling roses that couldn't quite hide him from her view.

Of the three fae in the garden Elain was the one who moved at pace.

Even though she had requested help, Mor was surplus to requirements. Elain hummed and cut her roses and with each snip, a brand-new golden rose, more fragrant than before, filled its space. The newly sliced stem was placed in the trug and Elain repeated this pattern.

The scent filling the air was heady. Elain didn't appear to be affected but Mor found the longer she breathed in the more her brain pounded like she'd spent a week drinking dark liquor.

The perfume stung her nose and it drifted into her lungs, sharp and piercing, like she'd inhaled thorns. Mor wanted to step away to breath in fresh air but her feet refused to move.

"Is something wrong?" Elain asked.

Mor shook her head, her tongue too swollen for her to speak. A lie to Elain and denial to herself. There was always a possibility the middle Archeron had found a way to use magic to twist nature to her ends but was it deliberate? That the sweetest of the sisters had enough guile to bring Mor to this section of the garden and mute her magic.

Duplicitous little... but the thought cut off. No. Mor refused to believe she'd been out manoeuvred and out magicked by what was in essence a new-born fae. And a fae who wore daisies in her hair and pastel coloured dresses no less.

Besides, she considered, there was no reason for Elain to behave this way and no reason for Mor to be dragged away from Cassian.

But there was movement then, from the same place Mor had entered the garden. A figure walked through the very spot where Mor had stood and first watched Elain and Cassian. A figure stepped between the rose arches and on the grass towards its intended target.

If Mor had still waited at that spot then she she would have startled them off. If Mor was able to shake off the nature magic and get closer then she could have done something, but here she was, helpless. And now, slithering over to Cassian like he was her prey, came the worst Archeron.

"Sweet Mother," she managed to breath out. If Elain heard she said nothing and gave no indication of surprise at her older sister's presence in the garden.

Nesta, her golden-brown hair braided and bound around her head like she was a queen wearing a crown, marched closer to Cassian, her body rigid and face neutral.

Cassian's wings shuddered.

"Cauldron," Mor muttered, louder this time and she pushed with all her might to take a step forward. It was no good. Whatever held her there held firm and the sound of a blade slicing through stalks grew.

Nesta had reached Cassian underneath the trellis and they stood like opponents on a battlefield, less than an arm's length apart, their bodies twin tense columns.

From her viewpoint, Mor saw Nesta's face clearly but not Cassian's and only the side of his clenched jaw was visible. She imagined his expression though; one of irritation that his peace had been broken by the viper.

But he's been waiting for someone. The thought stole into her mind unwanted and once again, she shut it down. Yes, she countered, and now Nesta's presence will deter them.

The morning breeze picked up past Mor and though gentle was effective in blowing the fragrance away. It was though the fog filling her brain had cleared.

The grip around her had loosened enough for Mor to take a lightened half step forward.

The snipping stopped.

"Where are you going?"

Mor turned her head. Despite the wholesome innocence on her face with those delicate freckles and warm brown eyes Mor considered if she was a fool thinking Elain was harmless. The magic enveloping her been called forward and it felt like it had been summoned with intent.

"I think," Mor said, "you know where."

"Are you wanting to interrupt Cassian and Nesta?" Elain said with wide eyes and a tilt to her head, her tone conveying nothing but virtuous concern.

Mor frowned. The obliviousness to what Cassian was due to suffer in the next moments must have been fabricated. The level of vitriol that seeped from Nesta couldn't have bypassed Elain for the entirety of her life but those fawn eyes didn't convey anything other than curiosity.

"Yes, I am."

"Why?"

The laugh barked from Mor's mouth before she stopped it. Human's and fae alike had sheltered Elain from the truth and ultimately this had enabled her naivety as to what her oldest sister was truly like. This was an illusion Mor had no joy in shattering but shatter it she must.

"Why?" Mor repeated. "Why? It's Nesta." Perhaps saying her name with rancour would convey to Elain her outrage at being kept back from helping her dearest friend. "I can't leave poor Cassian with her."

It was so quick that had Mor not been looking directly at Elain she would have doubted she ever saw it occur. Gone in a flash but in that flash, the warm chestnut of Elain's eyes turned hard and any trace of gentleness perished leaving behind something more familiar with Nesta herself.

When Elain spoke next, her tone was as sweet as the Night Lilies which bloomed outside Velaris but possibly just as poisonous. She'd turned her back to Mor, resuming her small precise cuts along the stems, the thick unrelenting scent wafting anew.

Mor's head began to hurt again, the fragrance choking down her throat. It was so hard to move in this garden, to think, to breathe.

"Yes, poor Cassian," Elain trilled. "The vicious General of the Night Court armies and renowned Lord of Bloodshed. He who has completed the Blood Rite of the Illyrian mountains, burnt villages to the ground and massacred hundreds, if not thousands, of males in the name of Rhys' wars."

Snip.

"My heart goes to him. He only has wings, leathers, knives, centuries of training and seven siphons. How can such a male be expected to survive my weapon-less sister."

Slice.

Mor struggled to force the words out as they twisted inside her mind like vines. "She carries a weapon with her," Mor retorted, "it just sits in her mouth."

" I'm sure Cassian is used to her tongue by now."

Well, that gave her pause.

Not only the words but the way they were said. Sweet, gentle Elain who had led her away from Cassian, Elain who had taken her to the roses where she worked magic so strong Mor struggled in its depths. Elain who said things in such a way which meant Mor hadn't known she'd been stung until she had to pull the stinger out.

The unsaid truth had been trying to creep its way in. Mor had tried to wave them away but truth was Mor's gift and these had always been Mor's own thoughts. She just didn't want to believe them.

She looked back towards Cassian but immediately regretted it. Perhaps Elain, sweet, manipulative Elain who Mor had always thought too soft, had led her away for Nesta's benefit or perhaps it had always been for Mor's.

Even if the magic lifted, Mor wouldn't have moved, too horrifically eager to watch the scene unfurl in front of her.

Cassian and Nesta had shifted and now she saw both their faces.

They were talking, if it could be called that. Scowls lined their faces and their hands gestured wildly. If it was an argument, it was an impassioned one and Mor fought the compulsion to ask Elain if she knew what they were fighting about.

The breeze which carried Elain's magic away for the briefest of moments had drifted across to the pair and a strand of Nesta's hair was freed from its coronet to dance about her face.

It seemed an automatic move on Cassian's part. He reached out and tucked the strand behind Nesta's ear, his fingers lingering on the side of her face, his thumb caressing her cheekbone before pulling away.

The earlier expression on Elain's face, the one that appeared like lighting and disappeared, the one which reminded Mor of Nesta now happened in reverse.

In the seconds following Cassian's touch, Nesta's face softened into something fragile. Mor understood from his face that instead of shock at such a tender look, Cassian hungered for it.

"Elain," Mor spoke quietly, "release me."

"If I do, you can't go over." Elain held a golden rose to her freckled nose and took an exalted inhale. "It's unfortunate you found out like this; Cassian wouldn't have wanted it this way." A long sigh left Elain's lips, "No one comes into the garden."

The suspicion had turned itself into certainty at Elain's statement. This meeting between Cassian and Nesta was no anomaly.

The tightening in her chest, unrelated to the roses whose fragrance now dissipated, showed her fear. There was the possibility she was no longer the dearest thing to Cassian.

Shame burnt in her cheeks. She'd been certain his strangeness was because he'd fallen back in love with her, that he pined for her and the humiliation she'd considered that an option made her skin hot.

Elain scrutinised Mor's face. Mor could pretend she was concerned for her best friend's emotional welfare, that he would be left to romance a female who gave out cutting remarks and acid glances as easily as she breathed. Mor's magic whispered to her again; liar.

And here was Elain, looking at her as though she could see right through.

"You love him," Elain said.

"Of course, I do," she replied.

"But you aren't in love with him, you never have been. You don't love him like a lover would, like a mate." The golden rose twirled in Elain's fingertips and with the motion the thickness of the flowers, of Elain's magic, drift off. Finally.

The love Cassian and her had for each other was never a love blessed by the Cauldron and neither of them wanted it to be. However, it didn't mean she wasn't shaken by seeing Cassian and Nesta together, that despite the virulence of their argument there were sweeter moments between.

She thought back to all the times she'd pointed out females he would then ignore. He wouldn't glance at them, couldn't glance at them. Mor and Cassian were cut from the same cloth, if a link existed between him and another then Cassian would want to honour it as it should be honoured.

The solid ground on which Mor had built her world was shifting.

Mor didn't move.

She could have marched over to the secret lovers and demand her answers. She could play her hand, give Cassian his choice and, as he always chose her, win the deck. Cassian's eyes would fill with panic as she begged him to choose between a potential future and a confirmed past.

Part of her wanted to do all those things, there was a chance she may yet.

Still, she didn't move.

"He doesn't want me to know," she said, her voice quiet, "at least not at the moment. If he did, he would have told me."

Elain's voice was kind when she spoke. "He'll tell you when he thinks you're ready to hear it."

Mor could have tried to convince Elain she was ready but instead found herself saying something different.

"I just don't understand it."

Elain glanced in the direction of Cassian and Nesta, a smile lingering on her lips. "Because you don't see them."

Fighting the urge to roll her eyes, Mor looked over at them again. Loose petals floated down upon their heads from the earlier breeze and it almost softened Nesta's appearance. Almost.

Mor saw Nesta reach up towards Cassian's face and she braced herself for the crack of the slap. But of course, that wasn't what happened. Nesta's fingers began to sweep the petals caught on his hair and as she pulled her hand away Cassian grasped it, turning it over to press his mouth on Nesta's palm.

The blush blooming on Nesta's cheeks made Mor think she was looking at another female entirely. The angles and ridges of Nesta's hard face softened and the nervous energy rippling through Cassian's frame disappared leaving behind a male radiating ease.

They were still talking but their words were too quiet for her to hear. Whatever they discussed must have ended in agreement as they turned and walked together down a different path, one Mor hadn't seen.

"If you're wanting to follow them," Elain said, "I would really suggest you don't. There's a hidden cottage in the garden. I was so pleased when I was the first to have found it." Elain pulled a face reminiscent of the expression on Feyre's when she ate something unpleasant. "Then I realised I wasn't the first to have found it at all."

"I don't follow."

"Exactly."

"No, I mean I don't understand."

Elain looked at her with a smile closer to a smirk. "I share a room with Nesta," she said, "and you're always skipping off into Cassian's in the morning so where do you think they cemented things."

Mor's stomach coiled, "Ugh, yes fine. I understand."

Elain let out a giggle. "They hadn't intended for me to find out either but I love Nesta and I won't judge her choices." Elain let out a sigh. "I know she can be sharp but it doesn't mean she deserves her heart to be broken. But I do trust Cassian, I made him promise the roses."

Mor watched Elain stretch out her hand, splashed with tawny freckles, and caress the petals of a rose before plucking it. She eyed Elain with caution.

Elain turned to her, the rose in hand. "You'll do the right thing," she said and held out the flower. "When I was human, I was a gardener. The Cauldron couldn't take that - I wouldn't let it. I'm not sorry for keeping you here but I'm sorry for how the magic made you feel - like you couldn't breathe. It was like that in the Cauldron."

A stillness crept onto Elain's face and all expression melted away. "It still feels like that for the both of us sometimes," Elain continued, "that we can't breathe. That we're still floating in the dark waiting to drown."

There was nothing. Elain slipped into the blankness with ease the same way Nesta slid into her rage. She wondered if her anger was what Cassian helped her with, if he also held Nesta's heart securely in his hands and guarded it with his life.

Mor reached out for the rose, lightly touching Elain's fingers with her own. Elain shook herself from her own mind and smiled at her, the first genuine one Mor had seen all morning.

"It will have to be another day when you can have an honest conversation with Cassian." Elain's reached with soft fingertips and glided them delicately over Mor's cheek. "You can talk to him about Nesta and perhaps tell him about Aurielle too?"

It took her a moment until the realisation hit her but while Mor blinked in shock, Elain had already walked off, far from the path Cassian and Nesta had taken.

Mor traced Elain's touch with her own fingers trying to be just as gentle. She thought of how the magic had led her to the garden, how she wanted to share blossoming love with someone.

Maybe, she thought, she shouldn't covet those she loved so selfishly. There was enough love to share between more than one.

With a promise to herself she would address all this another day, Mor tucked the flower behind her ear and walked back here she came from, wondering to herself whether she now liked roses.

[bat-besties]

Courtship song

AO3

2.7k

Logince Fluff

When esteemed researcher Logan Crofter needs the help of a musician, famous saxophone player Roman Sanders gets ready for the most unusual project of his career.

-

Logan looked over the application again. Roman Sanders, respected saxophone player, winner of the Australian Jazz Bell Awards 2015 and 2018, with record sales in fifty countries. He outshone every other applicant, but that was what was worrying. Logan knew that his budget could not stretch to the kind of money Sanders would make at his average performance. Still, the musician had known their budget when he applied.

Trying not to overthink it too much, he dialed the number.

After a few moments, it picked up. "Hello? This is Roman Sanders speaking," said a clear, deep voice from the other end and he froze. He had not- expected him to sound like that. Whatever he had expected his voice to hold, it was not a timbre which seemed to be set to the resonant frequency of Logan's heart.

"Hello? Can I help you?"

"Yes-yes-" he snapped back into focus and cleared his throat. "Yes, this is, uh, Logan Crofter, I am accepting your application. You have reviewed the details?"

"I have! It all seems to be very organised," Roman replied. Logan felt his cheeks flood with heat.

"It is very organised," he said stiffly. "It's not your usual caliber of work, I know, but it is very serious. Very important. To me and others."

Roman laughed, not like he was mocking Logan, but in a genuine expression of excitement. "I know! It's important to me too! I always want to do something different, stretch my creativity, so this stood out to me. I think the idea is amazing. How did you come up with it?"

"Oh, you know, research- but more than a little hope. I had to also be creative, in my own way." Desperate times led to desperate measures, which for Logan were increasingly far from the approval of established methodology.

"Wonderful!"

He was suddenly afraid that Roman could hear his heart racing over the other end of the phone line. "Indeed. Indeed. So, I will email you the relevant audio files, then I can set up the studio for you for the 15th."

"Of course- I'll try and immerse myself! Truly get the feel! Any documentaries or anything you can recommend?"

"Oh, I-" Logan adjusted his perfectly straight glasses. "I'll send you a link to some," he said in a high-pitched voice. "And I can- set up the studio for you."

"Thank you, I appreciate it, Logan."

At the sound of his name in Roman's voice, he completely short-circuited. "Yesthankyougoodbye-" He hung up.

For a long moment, he stared at the blank screen of his phone almost breathless. I appreciate it, Logan.

He stood up, irritated, and wondered what in the name of Darwin had come over him. Attraction, he supposed. The musician's voice was simply...attractive.

Would it be egotistical to send Roman a documentary he himself had been interviewed in? It was most informative due to his consultation, but...perhaps it would not look best. Then again, research would probably cause him to stumble upon Logan's name-

He shook his head. He did not have time to deal with this. There were more important things at stake, and Roman Sanders could wait until the 15th.

*

Writing a love song would be stressful enough with a conspicuous and oft-mourned lack of a lover in his life, but as Roman trawled through the articles and videos Logan sent him, what had started as an exercise in eccentricity began to take on larger importance.

As the two emailed back and forth, the nervous, uptight voice Roman had spoken on the phone to morphed into a complete nerd delivering informative ramblings, or, in one YouTube video he'd stumbled upon, a slightly younger version of Logan almost lit up by a kind of tender curiosity.

Therefore, Roman wanted his song to be perfect, and between days practicing and nights researching, he managed to finish the piece only the day before the 15th.

*

As soon as he caught a glimpse of Roman's cloud of hair in the distance, Logan took a deep breath, and pulled on his best cool and professional approach. "Roman! I’m glad you were punctual."

Roman grinned at him. "I thought you'd appreciate that."

And, despite himself, he grinned back. He coughed, and then opened the door so Roman could carry his saxophone case through. "We rented out the space for hours, to give you as much time as you need."

"Thank you," the musician stepped through into the cool air-conditioned reception and wondered why Logan was flushed. "I hope you weren't waiting outside long? I am usually on time! I neither lag nor rush," he joked.

After a moment, the corners of his mouth twitched up. "Ah. Jazz joke. And no, please do not worry. I was not outside long."

As he led Roman down the corridor, he was trying not to look like he was watching him- though he also wanted to be polite- so he walked just ahead, turning his head every now and then. "Everything is prepared for you. We will overlay the drums afterwards, that idea is...really quite impressive."

"Well, the video you sent me gave me the idea! But yes," he admitted, with a bow more flamboyant than polite, "I do think the way I've worked it is quite unique."

They stopped outside the door. "Well-" Logan began, and Roman looked at him with interest. As they made eye contact somehow all the words he wanted to say fell down to bounce around his stomach.

Roman frowned in concern. "Are you alright?" Maybe the researcher got anxious, like Virgil did. "Would you rather I didn't make eye contact?"

"Oh," He adjusted his tie and looked down. "Thank you. No, I am alright with it. It is a threat display in many animals, but not necessarily humans-" He tapped the door-handle. He dimly knew he should cut off now but his clarification was already falling out his mouth. "It is especially seen as a threat among primates, and among those that is most pronounced with chimpanzees- which is why you must never look a chimpanzee in the eye and why zoos should in my opinion warn about body language of primates better, because visitors can upset them. But, then, many animals do become desensitised.” He shook his head. “But really, anthromorphising animals at all is a fool's route." His eyes darted up to meet Roman's once more.

Oh no. He was very, very cute. Roman would never have thought being informed about primate threat displays would be very interesting, but it was incredibly endearing. "You never think animals have their own thoughts and feelings?" he gently prompted.

"No, I know they do," Logan said sincerely. "But they are not the same as human thoughts and feelings."

"This isn't a little like that?" Roman teased.

Logan drew himself up. "No, this is research based."

"Have you set up the studio for me?" Roman asked with a twinkle of humor in his eye.

"I have. For you, a human-" But Roman just caught on you.

Logan unlocked the door, to reveal that the inside of the studio had been decorated with potted plants, the floor scattered with rose petals, a few candles lit, and a framed photo sat on a side-table.

"This is for your inspiration," Logan said with a slight smile. "You may serenade the photo."

Roman burst into a peal of laughter as he put down his case, then blew a kiss to the photograph.

It was a picture of a bird. It had mossy green feathers around its face, then brown ones around beady black eyes and a little beak with nostrils in it.

"I have played love songs for many people in my lifetime," Roman announced to Logan. "But never for, or on behalf of, a parrot."

The kakapo parrot is remarkable for many reasons- it is the only flightless parrot, as well as the heaviest one, and it is historically significant to the Maori. It ought to find mates with males booming to win the attention of females in arenas, but with critically diminishing numbers, competitions to attract mates are not replenishing or increasing the population. And therefore, conservationists must become creative.

"It is not a method which has been proven," Logan clarified, once again. "But any assistance in creating optimal conditions for the kakapo to meet mates is gravely needed."

Roman winked at him. "Don't worry, you already know that I can help set the mood."

"I don't know what you are-"

He undid the clips of his case, then picked up some of the rose petals. "And so, it seems, do you."

"It is of great importance this goes as well as it can do," Logan replied primly.

"Of course, of course, we need the rose petals," he said, with wide, sincere eyes. "For the atmosphere! Here we are, in the arena of love..."

"Actually," Logan couldn't help but add, "the arenas are very large. Each "court" is on average 50m apart, so I would have to be down the street from you."

Roman pouted. "But the benefit of this is you hearing me up close, not at the distance of a music arena. You have front-row tickets to one of the biggest names in Australian jazz." That was, perhaps, arrogant, but Logan appreciated him saying it like the fact it was. He said it like it was a gift to Logan that the musician wanted him to appreciate, not something he didn't deserve.

"Well," Logan conceded, "I suppose that the bird being serenaded is closer to the court."

"I am a proud parrot in my court then!" he said.

Logan nodded. "That is accurate. Judging by your voice, I am hoping your saxophone playing will also be attractive."

Roman paused. "By my voice?"

"It is objectively attractive," Logan said, completely objectively. "Therefore, I hope that your playing shall attract the kakapo parrots. To each other."

"Oh." Roman's eyes widened, then a soft smile spread on his face. "Thank you."

He bobbed his head into a nod, then gestured to the recording booth. "I have been instructed in how to use this, so I am going to go and set it up. You can start when you are ready."

"Just give me a moment to warm up."

"Of course."

As Logan fiddled with the controls to set up the recording for a new song, Roman warmed up, playing through a few scales. He didn't use anything to check his exact pitch, but it sounded right to Logan as he adjusted.

Then he paused, and nodded to Logan through the glass. "I'm ready."

Roman started with a few low, humming notes, similar to the booming of the kakapo, and Logan looked up from the controls, his heart in his chest all of a sudden. He could remember those long nights in a hide close to the arena, hearing the courtships- it was a sound which by rights should be common all throughout New Zealand. Then, the musician overlayed a few long notes, swaying and closing his eyes as he leaned into the music.

It was upbeat, with big dramatic swells every now and again, and Logan, whose mind was always leaping from thought to thought, from analysis to evaluation, was transfixed into stillness.

The smooth sounds, Roman's swaying, the way the dim light of the studio glinted off the saxophone and that earnest expression on the player's face…

All too soon, it came to an end with a final little trill.

*

To ward off stage fright, Roman had closed his eyes against the cute researcher and instead lost himself to his music. As he opened them again, he was met with a beaming smile and round of applause. A residue of nerves mixed with pride to thrill through him. "What did you think?"

Logan beamed. "I think it was perfect."

Roman's face heated, and his eyes crinkled as he returned a genuine smile. "Thank you! So- I'll have some water, have another take or two, and then we can see about overlaying drums and chirping?"

Logan nodded. "I think that is a good plan."

The two of them worked well together- in all honesty, Logan didn't have to input much since Roman was the expert on composition, but he was happy to cede control on a project if he was confident in the abilities of his partner. He was happy to listen to each deliberation, and provide questions if not answers.

They were finished and ready to vacate the studio half-an-hour before they needed to, since Roman helped Logan carry his props back to the van. "No- they just pair for the mating season."

"For now!" Roman declared. "My funky music will create love for a lifetime! That's a joke," he clarified.

Logan laughed. "Well, at least they have great genetic variation."

It was late afternoon creeping into evening outside the studio, and the warm air had begun to mellow and cool. "Are you staying in Auckland long?" Logan inquired.

"Only a few nights. I want to catch a show, but I don't have anything to do tonight. How about you?"

"I should be back at the sanctuary tomorrow. I would recommend the square a few streets from here if you're looking for a good restaurant. I can give you directions?"

"Oh, I don't know," Roman adjusted his saxophone case with a faux innocent expression. "I have to have this back at the hotel for safekeeping, and then it might be harder to find my way there..."

Logan furrowed his brow. "I can give you an address if you wish to use Google Maps?"

He couldn't quite work out if this was a genuine suggestion, or a gentle refusal. His hotel was close, and Logan's van on the curb. It was now or never- "You could take me," he said, with a confidence he didn't feel. "Tell me more about, uh, parrots."

Logan's heart thudded in his chest. "As a social event? Not to do with the project?"

"Social, yes."

"I'd like that." He adjusted his glasses. "I would like that very much, Roman."

They walked back to Roman's hotel, so that he could protect his saxophone, then wandered out along a quiet avenue on the way to the restaurant. The sky had dimmed to soft grey and purple, clouds scudding aimlessly across it. Side by side, they talked and laughed, glances catching on lips, on hands, on each other.

As a tentative test, Logan moved closer, so that their hands brushed together as they walked. When Roman faltered in the middle of his story about a concert, he offered his hand for him to hold.

Roman took it, raised it to his lips, and turned Logan red. Then, Logan mirrored, pulling Roman closer by their joined hands and pressing a kiss to his knuckles. For a long, still moment, they met eyes and forgot how to speak.

"I liked your playing, today," Logan said softly.

His lips parted for just a second before he could manage to say, "And I liked talking with you. Even over the emails...it has been a pleasure-" He cut himself off with a nervous laugh. "A pleasure I can't quite describe."

"We don't always need words for things." Although his hand was shaking, and his heart loud in his chest, Logan's voice was steady. "Music, body language, mutual company...there are many ways to communicate."

"Oh?" Roman murmured.

He nodded, and stroked his thumb over the back of Roman's hand. "I think so."

"Then, may I..." Slowly, he brought their joined hands over Logan's heart, and he moved his other one to cup his face.

Logan's eyes darted up to meet his, all shining with wonder. A breeze shivered through the trees, and although the evening was still balmy, he drew closer together, wrapping his arm around Roman's waist.

They stood in a tenderness of quick breaths and racing hearts, until Logan breathed, "Yes."

Roman dipped his head, and Logan tilted his up, their noses bumping into each other so the kiss was met with the beginnings of laughter. It was gentle, and curious, and as much about their clasped hands and chests pressed together and weak knees as it was the kiss itself.

They drew back for a beat. "How was that?" Roman asked, although his face was hot and Logan was starry-eyes, and he felt like he could faint.

"It was perfect," he said, thrilling again at Roman's voice so close to his face. "Just perfect. But, with these things I suppose..."

Roman stopped breathing.

A mischievous smile crept onto his flushed face. "I suppose we would be remiss for not, ah, testing further."

He burst into laughter. "Of course! Of course! Practice is the key to anything..." And they kissed again, more secure and passionate than before.

- 

This is all based on a true story! Here is an article And here is the song! 

[twdmusicboxmystery]

Fear 4x10: Analysis

Good morning! Who watched Fear last night? I have to say, I'm really enjoying this season, still. I thought last night’s episode was excellent! And, as a bonus, it had tons of relevant symbolism in it.

***Spoilers abound for Fear 4x10. Don’t read until you’ve watched! You’ve been warned!***

Let's first talk about the broad stuff. Alicia ends up at the cabin or house. It's very much like a lot of the places we've seen before. There are a lot of things that reminded me of the moonshine shack, and also the cabin Carol, Tyreese and the girls went to in 4x14.

Remember last week when I said it seemed like the group would be split up for the B part of the season and we’d have individual episodes about each group? Did I call that or what? This episode was about Alicia and Charlie, and the next episode will (based on the trailer for next week) be about Morgan.

If you want to see this as a repeat of Beth and Daryl at the moonshine shack (and you probably will as I go along) then Alicia would be Daryl and Charlie would be Beth. My reasoning on that is just that Alicia is the more angry, surly one, and Charlie is the more sad, weepy one. Between the two, Alicia is also the stronger and more capable. In a minute I'll show some dialogue but also supports this.

So, when she gets there, Alicia finds four walkers in the house. Two men and two women. This was meant to be the family that lived there. Father, mother, son, daughter. The son and daughter were at least teenagers, if not adult age. So, the family all died in the house together.

In terms of Alicia, that would've reminded her of her family a lot. Before the apocalypse happened, it was Madison, Travis, Alicia, and Nick. I think that's why she threw the pictures out. She couldn't stand the reminders of a family she once had and no longer does. But everything about this is symbolism we've seen before. There is a very obvious example of the Bethyl side-by-side walker theme.

In this case, there were two men and two women. I'm not sure what to make of that exactly, but it's interesting. I don't think we've ever seen an example of two men and two women side-by-side like this in regular TWD. But I'm wondering if the other couple (besides Bethyl) could be John Dorey and June. So maybe they're doing to show there are now two couples, one on each show, that are following the same symbolism? Just an idea.

The photos themselves reminded me of Sasha in 5B. Remember, she used the photographs as target practice? Even though what happened was a little different, in both cases these women (Sasha and Alicia) were in pain and couldn't stand to see pictures of happy families around them. Even what was in the pictures was mildly suspicious to me. A lot of them were taken at the beach, which plays into the beach theme of this episode. But I noticed one was the little boy playing baseball (Negan?) And there is also one at an amusement park, kinda like one Rick and Michonne went to in S7. And there were other ones that had water in them.

I will also say that there were several things in this that made me think Alicia was being somewhat paralleled with Rick as well. There was a part where she looked at herself in the mirror, which reminded me of Rick getting to Alexandria in 5B. We also saw her silhouette against the light several times, which they did with Rick S8.

Later in the episode, Alicia goes out to look at the four walkers she dragged out and Charlie has wrapped them in shrouds. I noticed that three of them were dark and one was white. I'm not sure exactly how to interpret that, but it's the black/white theme that we see around Beth and Daryl a lot (X). I wonder if it's something like three deaths and one resurrection? Or could be connected to the St. Nicholas/pickle story which is three resurrections. I'm not sure. But I thought it was super-interesting.

At one point, there's something dead in the fireplace. It had been stuck in the chimney and fell when Alicia was cleaning it out. I couldn’t tell what it was at first, but I’m fairly sure it was a dead bird. That’s kinda huge! 1) It’s literally a bird surrounded by ashes. So, Phoenix theme. 2) Even more than that, remember that in 4x11, Carl saw a dead bird in the pudding house. 

I’ve ALWAYS thought that was a foreshadow of Beth. Dead bird = Beth before she’s resurrected. If that dead bird had just been about Carl’s death, it wouldn’t still be a thing now. (This shot from S4 also includes a bird cage. Remember the bird cage in Beth’s cell in 4x01.)

Alicia apologizes to it and says, "I'm trying." The trying theme was especially big in TWD S5. I’m not sure what to make of the fact that she’s apologizing to it, but I’m sure it’s symbolic in some way.

On TTD, they said the family was supposed to have asphyxiated because the fireplace was clocked. So the dead bird actually killed the family. Also highly symbolic. Think of it this way: Beth’s death “killed” Daryl emotionally. In other instances of the side-by-side theme, Karen’s death “killed” Tyreese emotionally. So it’s very interesting that this bird literally killed the family in this case

In TTD, they also talked about  the bird Madison talked about in 4x08. That’s what it was about for Alicia. But it all goes back to the bird symbolism from S4. And remember, who is the song bird?

This is probably the thing that made my jaw dropped the most. When she's trying to start a fire, she burns something that says "Rottweiler" on it. 

Remember that Emily was rumored to be filming scenes at that white cabin with a Rottweiler. Wouldn’t it be crazy if those missing scenes from season five showed up in fear instead of in TWD? That would be insane! But this does seem to be foreshadowing something with a Rottweiler on Fear and having to do with Alicia.

While we’re on the subject, there were at least two other dog symbols that I saw in the house. (Sirius/Dog Star theme). When Alicia first enters the house, there's this plaque that has a dog and a paw on it. 

It was also featured on TTD. The fat that it says “Rotty” made me think of the fact that at Grady, they called walkers “Rotters.” Perhaps another rottweiller clue we totally missed?

Then here in the background, I think this might actually be a picture of two Rottweilers. It's unclear, so I can't be sure, but that's what it looks like to me. See why I’m excited?

This house also had a lot of canned food in it. That's similar to both the funeral home from Alone and also from Carol and Tyreese's cabin in the Grove. It also reminds me a lot of the cabin we saw on the Red Machete miniseries. 

Just cans of food out on the counter. 

Alicia picks a green one and a blue one. It doesn't show us the labels on either one of them, so obviously what’s in the cans isn’t terribly important for us to know. But the color scheme is there. I also noticed that in this part, there's a water bottle on the left that says Green Valley Springs.

When Alicia finds Charlie in the house, she tries to leave because she doesn't want to end up hurting Charlie. 

The sequence with the car was really strange. Alicia had the keys and tried to open the car door, but for some reason, the door stuck. I watched it several times and I'm still unclear on why the door wouldn't open. There is what looks like some sort of strap on the inside of the door, and I thought maybe it was some sort of bungee cord holding the door shut. Looking more closely, I honestly think that might just be decoration on the door. The door randomly wouldn't open and as a result, Alicia ended up with a mild head injury.

It just smacks of Beth to me. I'm not sure if we should be interpreting it literally—like something about Beth being left behind in the car had to do with the door not opening—or if it's more just the "please associate cars with head injuries" kind of thing. I don't know, but that seemed really suspicious to me.

Of course the cabin has the Grady lighting, where the inside is dark but light is coming in from the outside. We also see pictures of plants in the laws, which I think we seen before in a few different places in TWD. (Btw, on TTD, Chris Hardwick said we should be looking at the lighting, the pictures and things in the background, the shots, etc. So we’re totally justified in reading into this stuff. ;D)

Onto the dialogue. Charlie wants to save the pictures. Alicia is against it. I thought this was a really interesting way to do this theme. Alicia keeps telling her that the people are gone. (“Just gone” theme) and saving the pictures won’t bring them back. To which Charlie replies, "You don't know that!" 

Exactly what Beth said. So once again, Charlie equals Beth and Alicia equals Daryl. The Alicia later says, "No one's gone until they're gone. And "When they're gone, they're just gone." Another Daryl line.

Remember that the “just gone” line specifically means that someone is not dead, but just missing. Daryl said it about Beth in 4x16. Also, 4x08 of Fear where Madison “died” is called “No One’s Gone.” So we’re seeing this a lot and to me it always means that someone who is presumed dead is not truly dead and will return.

The candlelight dinner Alicia and Charlie share reminded me of both Beth and Daryl’s in Alone and Carol and Tyreese in 4x14. We’ve seen other similar candlelight dinners as well, but none quite as potent as those two.

The basement was flooded, which reminded me a lot of the food bank in 5x02. At one point, Alicia has flashbacks to Nick and Madison's deaths. 

That reminds me a lot of Sasha in 5x13, when she flashed back to Bob, Tyreese, and Beth's deaths. But it occurred to me that we actually have kind of an opposite thing going on here from Sasha. I found this episode to be very powerful. Charlie and Alicia, much like Beth and Daryl, came out of it in a much healthier emotional place. They found forgiveness and healing. 

That was not the case for Sasha. At least not when she had her flashbacks. She was a great deal of pain and having the flashbacks did not heal her. So, kind of an antiparallel there, but still similar to S5.

The walker in the tree. This is pretty huge too. There's a walker impaled on a tree outside the upper window of the house, which Charlie keeps looking at. We can only assume it got there because the wind picked it up and flew through the air and it ended up being impaled on the branches of the tree. I wondered while watching it, if perhaps we could relate that to Beth in some way. It occurred to me that this was a type of crucifixion. The walker was up on the tree, just hanging there. It's not uncommon for Christ's cross to be referred to simply as a tree because it was made of wood. But I also wondered if I was reaching. Looking at something that wasn't there.

Then, near the end of the episode, that walker fell out of the tree and onto the basement door. Apparently, that made it possible for Alicia to push the door open and for them to get out. Honestly, I'm not entirely sure how that was supposed to work. The door was chained from the outside, and I'm not sure how the walker falling on it actually freed them. It could be that it's weight, and possibly the weight of a tree branch simply broke the chain. Still a little unlikely if you ask me, bordering on unrealistic. It doesn't actually bother me, though. I think the whole point is the symbolism. 

Because Christ is seen as the Christian savior, I think it's important that this walker was hanging on a tree, and then ended up being the thing that saved them. There are some major Christian themes in this episode. And does this point it Beth? I don't know. It might. We have the Rottweiler references and now a reference to someone who was crucified. (Remember that Beth wore the cross bracelet at Grady to show that it was her crucifixion and Father Gabriel talked about how one of their own was “sacrificed”) will save them. I hope it refers to Beth. It may be more of a Christian theme than anything else, but Beth has also been set up as the Christ figure in TWD. So either way, it makes me pretty excited.

It's also worth noting that when Alicia shot the crucifixion walker, she shot it exactly where Beth was shot.

A look! A bunch of burials. Alicia buried a bunch of walkers that nobody actually knew or cared about. And who that we did know and care about didn't get the burial?

This brings me to another theme that we saw both in 4x13 and 4x14. Charlie said she wanted to leave the photos for anyone who might come later. That theme really came together for me at the end. After burying the walkers, Alicia said she done it for the people who might come later. I mean, this cabin could BE the cabin that Carol and Tyreese went to. It's not, but in that case someone else came before them and buried the people they found there. So when Ty and Carol got there, there were already graves on the property. Alicia’s set up was like a prequel to that. She stayed in the house, and ended up bearing the people she found there

This theme was also in 4x13 because Beth wanted to leave the thank you note in case anyone came back. It's a theme about doing something, leaving a message for anyone who might come after them. 

I think it's a really interesting and powerful theme. Oh, and there's the “friends and family” sign behind the graves. Almost as if to show that friends and family always get burials.(Sorry this pic is a little blurry. My internet connection was being a chump at the time.)

Alicia passes the weapon her signature weapon to Charlie. Kind of reminded me of Daryl giving Beth his crossbow.

Alicia and Charlie are now looking for the others. Just as Beth and Daryl did in 4B.

I’m not going to say too much about the beach theme. It does suggest something about the coast, and possibly Oceanside, but I'll leave it at that.

Alicia drives back to Strand’s mansion but everybody is gone. I did notice one thing that I didn't notice last week. I don't know if we never got this angle or if I just missed it, but there is a black and white horse artwork over the mantle.

The school bus is now on its side. We know from last episode that nobody was actually there when that happened. John and Strand are out looking for someone and Luciana went chasing after Charlie. Meanwhile June and Al are in Al’s truck. But the overturned truck reminded me a lot of 5x05 when the short bus crashes. Even in 4x10, Inmates, the bus wasn't on its side, but Maggie, Sasha, and Bob did find the bus wrecked on the side of the road.

And back to the “just gone” theory. At the end, Alicia tells Charlie that the others are “gone.” Once again, this is an example where we (the audience) KNOW the other characters are still alive. Alicia and Charlie don’t know it, but we do. And they’re being described as “gone.”

I think that's all I have for now. This is structurally REALLY feeling like a mirror of TWD 4b, and that’s where Bethyl first happened, so it gives me tons of hope. I really loved this episode and Fear is really given me the TD tingles lately. How did everyone else like the episode?

[sweet-christabel]

A Trusted Friend In Science

FF.net: (x) AO3: (x)

Chapter Eighteen - Unknown year. The Mural Room.

Feeling a little more refreshed and capable after his sleep, Doug made his way up through the ceiling outside his refuge, the office that he had decorated with a stylised Schrödinger's Cat diorama. He needed to get to his broken mural room, but he didn’t want to use the elevators in the test chambers. Although it was tough-going with his recovering leg, the dilapidated state of the facility made it much easier to travel between levels, provided one knew how to climb safely. Doug had learned the skill pretty quickly after GLaDOS had taken over.

Due to his body being in suspension, the medication he’d taken prior to their almost-escape was only just wearing off. He was starting to see shadows again, to hear whispers from voices that weren’t real. The cube, which not only spoke with Chell’s voice but seemed to have inherited her stubbornness as well, had remained audible throughout most of the time he’d been medicated. He was relying on it now to be the loudest voice, to keep the others at bay, to remind him that their suggestions were not helpful. The cube had saved him when he’d first picked it up. The voices had had him convinced that eating food would cause Chell’s death. As a result, he’d gone almost a week without eating, terrified of giving in and accidentally killing her. The cube had helped him see that the voices were wrong, and he’d eventually plucked up the courage to open a tin of beans.

As he climbed, he formed the plan of action to report back to Wheatley. It was very simple. There was no need to overcomplicate matters. He just had a few things he needed to pick up before he went back to the Relaxation Centre.

The mural room, (which, strictly speaking, did not deserve the term ‘room’ anymore), was in a sorrier state than he remembered. It was partially flooded with stagnant rain water, and it had been invaded by plants, broken walkways, and a section of wall that was designed to produce portals for the tests, which had clearly tumbled down there while he'd been out. The floor was still covered with debris from when he’d left in a hurry. He worked steadily, picking things up, tossing the rubbish aside. He found several of his paintbrushes, which he pocketed, as well as the remains of his Art Therapy book. It was falling apart, half of its pages wiped blank by water damage. He ran his fingertips over its faded, familiar cover, feeling strangely sentimental. The book had served him well over the years, helping him cope with his condition by focusing his mind through art.

Unsure what to do with it, Doug set it down behind one of the sections of wall and continued with his scavenging. He found his toolbox, which had kept most of the water out, and a couple of first aid kits. Once again using the cube as a seat, he found a roll of gauze bandage and wrapped it tightly around his right thigh, tying it in a messy double knot.

“There,” he muttered. “A bit more support should make it easier to get around. I wish the painkillers were in date, though.”

“Don’t touch them,” the cube advised. “Judging by the plants, I’d say they’re pretty drastically out of date.”

“Agreed.”

He stood up, testing his leg. It still hurt, but it felt much more manageable, much less likely to buckle when he tried to walk. He sighed in relief, knowing that he now had a chance to rebuild its strength. Turning to smile at the cube, he found his eye caught by a glint of bright white outside the mural room.

"What's that?" he asked.

"What's what?"

He set off to investigate, wading through the ankle-deep water. It soaked his shoes and socks instantly, making him grimace. As he got closer he realised it was a portal device, lying almost-hidden under the surface of the water. He bent to pick it up, shaking it a little to get rid of the excess liquid. It seemed in remarkably good condition, but he was puzzled as to how it had ended up there. Tilting his head, he glanced up, seeing a few bright spots of daylight leaking through the ceiling high above.

"Must have fallen," he murmured, trying to get his bearings.

Is that test chamber two up there? he wondered idly.

He carried the device back to the murals, wiping it on his lab coat as he did so. It was just the single portal version, only firing blue portals, which linked with orange ones that were pre-placed in the chambers.

"You can take it back with us and give it to Chell!" the cube said excitedly.

"No," Doug replied firmly with a shake of his head. "I told you, I'm not going to see her."

"Well," it huffed back, "that's the stupidest decision you've ever made. Don't you think she'll want to see you? She hasn't seen a friendly face in–”

"She'll see Wheatley, that's enough," he cut in.

"That's not the same. Stop being evasive, it's annoying."

"I'm not, I just..." He sighed, shrugging. "She won't want to see me, not when she learns what I did. But she deserves to know. If I meet her, I will tell her. Which is why...I'd prefer not to see her."

"Has it occurred to you that she might understand?" the cube asked.

Of course it had occurred to him, but it seemed wishful thinking at best.

"I...I'm...just not convinced," he stuttered. "I'm...too afraid to find out, I guess."

"Ugh," the cube exclaimed, sounding utterly frustrated. "Why? You know her, you know how she's likely to react."

"Too many variables," Doug muttered. "I've made up my mind, don't push it, please. I'll leave the device here and tell Wheatley where she can find it. This level isn't far from the docking station for the Relaxation Centre. It's dark down here, though," he went on, thinking aloud. "Have to find some way of making it visible. If it even still works."

The cube seemed to have given up arguing. "If you fix that panel up there, you'll have an orange portal to test it with."

"Good point."

Doug rifled through the toolbox, picking out what he needed, then he awkwardly scrambled up to the listing walkway that the section of wall was leaning on. He spent a calm half hour making it work again, grinning in triumph when the fiery oval burst into life on the concrete, its surface rippling and opaque.

Cautiously easing himself down, he double-checked the device, then fired into the nearest mural. With a pop, the blue oval appeared on the wall, immediately linking with the orange one.

"It works!" he yelled, hopping through the portal and back again.

"Well done," the cube praised.

Stepping through again, Doug briefly disconnected the orange portal so that both fizzled out, then fixed it so that Chell would have an easy exit when she picked up the device. Returning to the flooded ground, he set about rewiring the broken floor panels, eventually managing to get them to spiral upward in a kind of sculpture-like staircase. He placed the portal gun at the top.

"There," he said, descending. "That should draw her attention. Although...a few arrows dotted around wouldn't hurt. You know, just in case."

The cube waited patiently for him as he splashed about, drawing guiding arrows on the walls in various directions. Then, leaving his paintings behind, Doug made his way back to the Relaxation Centre.

Wheatley was agitated when he got there, grumbling for several minutes about how long he had been away. He soon shut up when Doug started to explain his plan, however.

"I've kept it simple," the scientist began, knowing full well that where Wheatley was concerned, simple was the best way to do things.

"Okay, okay," the core said, bobbing up and down. "What do you need me to do?"

"You have the most important job," Doug told him, trying not to smile as the robot puffed himself out a little in pride. "Later, you need to wake up Chell and the other test subject. Guide them to the breaker room beneath the A.I. chamber and..."

Wheatley's optic had shrunk to a pin prick in fear. "The...uh...main chamber, did you say?"

"I did," Doug said firmly. "It will be fine, she's switched off."

"Are you absolutely sure?"

"Yes, I saw it myself."

Wheatley looked away briefly, then faced him again. "Okay...if you definitely know that she's, uh, she's off, then...I'll do it."

"I know she's off," Doug repeated, "but I'll go ahead and check, if you like. If there are any problems, I'll come find you. If you don't hear from me, proceed as planned."

"How will I know you've actually checked?" Wheatley asked, optic narrowing suspiciously.

Inwardly sighing at the core's attitude, Doug decided to humour him to keep things easy. "I was planning on going that way anyway, to leave some arrows for Chell to follow. You'll see those."

"Okay. Then what?"

"Take the test subjects to the breaker room, summon the escape elevator. Then...leave." He shrugged, conscious of how anti-climactic it sounded.

Wheatley gave another nodding movement. "Okay, sounds doable. What will you be doing?"

"I'll find another way out," Doug said simply.

"Aww there's no need for that, mate! We can all fit in the lift, no problem."

Doug sent him a lacklustre smile. "I know, but I'd rather wait until you're all out first. You know, just in case there are any problems. I'm not expecting any," he added hastily, seeing Wheatley's optic move sharply. "But...you know. Just in case."

"Right...okay then." He began to move along the management rail. "I'll go wake her up, then!"

"No, no, no!" Doug stammered, darting forward, hands outstretched. "You need to wait. Wait...I don't know, three hours? Then wake them up. Both of them, okay?"

"Got it," Wheatley assured him.

"When you get to the breaker room, don't press any of the switches except the one for the elevator, okay?" Doug said, fixing the core with an adamant look. "I'm not sure what they all do."

"Okay, noted."

Nodding, Doug bit his lip in thought. "I think that's about it. I'll get going to check the way is safe. You should be able to get across the Relaxation Centre to the docking station. There's a portal device not far from there. I've already checked the route, it's pretty straightforward." He frowned up at the core, who was absentmindedly looking up at the hole-ridden ceiling. "Are you listening?"

"Huh?" Wheatley said quickly, turning his optic Doug's way. "Yes! Docking station, portal device, got it."

"Are you sure?"

"Absolutely."

Doug fixed him with a sharp look, holding up his index finger. "Above all else, do not – and I mean do not – mention me, even if Chell asks you. Just...pretend you haven't seen me. Okay?"

"Um...okay then. Can't say I understand why, but okay."

"Good. Thanks." He gave a nod in acknowledgement.

Wheatley bobbed back, then brightened. "Well, see you on the surface then, hopefully."

Doug raised his brows in mild surprise. "I guess you will. Good luck."

"Won't need it," Wheatley said confidently. "Everything will be fine."

Not quite sharing his optimistic opinion, Doug smiled anyway. "Let's hope so." With that, he and the cube left the Relaxation Centre, destination: the main A.I. chamber.

Waking up was a strange experience for Chell. Her body came back to life gradually, leaving her ample time to lie still and listen to the unfamiliar sounds around her. There was a voice, but it was fuzzy. Her head ached from where she'd hit the ground after being pulled up after GLaDOS, and there was the metallic taste of blood in her mouth, a cloying at the back of her throat. When she remembered how to open her eyes, she saw a dimly-lit, dilapidated motel room that smelt of damp. She knew at once that it wasn't a motel room. There was a management rail in the ceiling.

She didn't remember what had occurred to bring her back into the facility. Anger flared inside her as she thought about the escape she'd almost had. To wake up back again was a total slap in the face.

Chell shifted carefully off the bed she found herself on, stretching her tender limbs. Everything hurt. Her right wrist was aching where she’d landed on it. The graze on her head wasn't bleeding, which was promising, but there were painful abrasions on the back of her legs. She lightly ran her fingertips over the peeled-back skin on her heels, seeing the cuts dotted with tiny pieces of gravel. Someone, or something, had dragged her across the parking lot. The springs she'd worn were missing, and her calves were streaked with dried blood from the deep scrapes they had left behind. They’d been pulled off harshly, if she was judging correctly, and the wounds looked messy enough to scar. She wished she’d made it to a pod. The pods were designed to heal a test subject’s wounds.

Another voice cut the first one off, accompanied by a tapping at the door. Chell froze, eyes wide, then she realised that this voice was familiar. She'd heard it dozens of times. On stiff legs, she darted to the door, tugging it open.

"Arrgh! Oh god!" Wheatley yelled in shock, his optic illuminating Chell's look of disbelief. "You look terri...um...good. Looking good, actually."

The throwback to how he'd used to greet people to her office made her smile in reflex, the motion catching her off guard. Her face felt strangely numb and stiff, as if her muscles hadn’t formed any prominent expressions in a long time. She wrinkled her nose, scrunching up her features in an attempt to loosen them.

"Are you okay?" Wheatley asked, scooting forward into the room.

A valid question, considering the faces she’d been pulling. A stray flicker of amusement flashed through her brain as she wondered what he thought she was doing. She quashed it, mindful of her current situation. There would be time for amusement later. She hoped.

"I'm fine," Chell said.

Or rather, tried to.

Nothing came out. As Wheatley rattled on, oblivious, she silently cleared her throat and repeated the phrase. Still nothing.

Okay, she told herself. Don't panic. It's probably just a waking-up problem, it will come back.

She swallowed hard, glancing back up at the core, whose tirade of words had yet to come to a halt. He was interrupted by a warning announcement that called for emergency evacuation, then quickly told her to stay calm. It seemed a tall order for Chell to stay anything even remotely resembling calm, so she didn't bother trying.

Wheatley vanished up into the ceiling, adjusting some kind of control that caused the room to lurch. Caught off guard, Chell stumbled against the wall and stayed there until it stopped. When Wheatley reappeared, he again launched into a convoluted speech that he could have easily summed up in a third of the time. Feeling as though her mind had suddenly become a whirlpool that spun fragments of emotion around snippets of worrying information, Chell didn't take in everything he was talking about.

"Do you understand what I'm saying at all? Is any of this making any sense?" he asked her, taking a break. "Just tell me, just say 'yes'."

"I don't think I can," she tried cautiously, already expecting the silence. It would save them both time if he understood what was happening with her voice. She gave a small hop to get his attention.

"Okay," he commented seriously, "what you're doing there is jumping. Um...you just...you just jumped. But never mind, say 'apple'. 'Apple'."

"I. Am. Trying. To," she mouthed exasperatedly. Touching her throat, she added, "I. Can't. Speak."

But Wheatley was clearly not programmed to lip read. Declaring her efforts 'close enough', he once more disappeared through the hatch in the ceiling to begin their escape.

After a terrifying, destructive ride across the Relaxation Centre, Chell found herself looking down through the crumbled wall of her once-intact room at one of the short-term chambers she'd been in before.

Wheatley was keen for her to leave straight away to find the portal gun, claiming that they'd have an easier escape with it. While Chell agreed, she knew she had to take care of herself first. There was a small bathroom off to one side of the room's short corridor that was largely undamaged. Safely shut up in there, she washed the grazes on her legs, making sure they were as least likely to get infected as she could manage. She found spare clothing in there too. It was only a replacement orange jumpsuit, but it was clean, so she pulled it on, tying the arms around her waist. She tugged an Aperture logo-stamped vest over her own top, feeling that layers were a sensible idea. Then, finally, she reached for a pair of bizarre-looking boots that incorporated the leg springs she'd worn before. From what she'd seen through the hole in the wall, she would be jumping down into another testing track, so the boots would be essential. With her scrapes and bruises, however, they were far from comfortable. Still, she knew they were a lesser of evils.

Thus attired, Chell returned to the main room, where Wheatley was urging her to head on her way. She understood his haste, as an announcement about the reactor core safeguards being non-functional had put her on edge. However, it would have been reckless to set off without looking for supplies first.

"I'm going," she tried to say, her voice once again refusing to cooperate. She brushed her fingers down her neck anxiously, wondering what had caused her hopefully-temporary muteness. She suspected the neurotoxin, which had coated her throat and lungs regardless of her breath-holding, and had made her feel as if her skin had been burning.

She huffed in frustration. She had so many questions she wanted to ask Wheatley, but he remained ignorant of her clumsy signs. Better that she just get on with escaping until she could find paper and a pen. Giving up on trying to make the core understand her, Chell turned and stepped through the hole in the wall.

"That's the spirit!" Wheatley said cheerfully.

Chell gave him a thumbs up, then dropped through the glass ceiling into the stasis chamber below.

As she made her way through tests she'd solved before, she began to appreciate how long she'd been in suspension. The facility was a warzone, its crumbled walls showing the areas behind the test chambers, the hole-ridden ceilings laced through with tangled vines. The whole effect was unnerving to Chell – who was now more certain than ever that everyone she cared about was dead – but it also made her less apprehensive about retracing her steps through the tests, as there were clear escape routes in every chamber.

When she met up with Wheatley again, in the room that was supposed to house the portal device, she gave a half-hearted attempt at a greeting, but it was no use. Her voice was gone, and she was terrified that she’d never get it back. Without vanity, she knew that she was an attractive young woman with pleasing features, but she relied on her voice to make her stubborn, sharp-witted personality her most defining attribute. The last thing she wanted to be was a silent, vacant-looking, pretty girl.

Her missing voice was just the latest item on her growing list of concerns. She was surprised that she hadn’t gone insane with the amount of worries she had spinning through her head.

But then, she thought, how can you even measure insanity in a place like this?

At Wheatley’s insistence, she ventured cautiously into the centre of the room to search for the portal gun. The floor gave an ominous jolt and Chell hastily backpedalled. Before she could reach the outskirts, the tiles gave way, plummeting down with the portal gun’s podium and the ill-fated test subject in tow. She gave a silent yell as she fell, landing thankfully on her feet in a shallow lake of musty-smelling water.

“Hello?” Wheatley’s anxious tones drifted down to where she stood.

Chell tilted her head back to see the small, square patch of light, the only indication of where she’d come from. She didn’t like the look of the climb, especially taking her sore wrist into account, and decided to take an alternative route. No doubt she’d stumble across another test chamber soon enough.

"Can you see the portal gun?” the core went on. “Also, are you alive?” he added quickly. “That's important, should have asked that first.”

Chell rolled her eyes, unsurprised to hear his tactlessness and lack of apology. She’d grown used to the less pleasant aspects of his personality over the months he’d worked in her office. The fact that they were so…human…still made her uncomfortable.

“I'm...do you know what I'm going to do? I'm going to work on the assumption that you're still alive and I'm just going to wait for you up ahead,” Wheatley called down. “I'll wait - I'll wait one hour. Then I'll come back and, assuming I can locate your dead body, I'll bury you. All right? Brilliant. Go team! See you in an hour. Hopefully. If you're not...dead."

Silence fell above. Chell glanced around, letting her eyes adjust to the gloom. As they did so, she spotted an arrow scribbled on a propped-up concrete wall panel. She splashed over to it, sweeping her palm over the stone’s dotted surface. The ink was dry. Chell frowned, softly huffing. She wasn’t sure what she’d really expected, but after finding graffiti before that had been fresh… She guessed part of her was still hoping that someone else had survived besides her.

She moved on from the arrow, walking in the direction it had pointed. The narrow space widened out into a clearing, dominated by wall-sized boards displaying murals. As she got closer, Chell realised that they were walls, just separated by the explosions that had wrecked the facility. In the centre of the space, floor panels twisted upwards in a kind of staircase, holding the portal device just above eye level.

That’s…not an accident, she reflected as she ascended. Somebody did this on purpose, after I took GLaDOS out.

She knelt to pick up the device, noting the pre-placed orange portal already activated.

Somebody…is…still alive, she thought hesitantly, feeling her heart start to thump quicker as she considered the idea. Or they were, just after I…

Her wrist protested as she lifted the gun and she let out a little hiss of pain.

Not good.

Wondering how she was going to manage to hold the device and use it properly, she awkwardly tucked it under one arm and turned to make her way down the panels. She hadn’t yet taken a proper look at the murals, and the sight of the piece she found herself facing made her stop in her tracks.

It was unmistakably her image, a portrait painted in haste but with care. She looked tranquil, her eyes closed, her arms gently outstretched. The likeness was very good, despite the stylised technique.

Numbly, she sat down on the panels, the device lying forgotten across her lap. The painting style was not altogether unfamiliar. A whisper of suspicion crossed her mind, one that had passed that way before and been instantly dismissed on grounds of wishful thinking. Chell had initially been under the impression that the graffiti she’d found in the test chambers had been put there for the benefit of any test subject. Then, as she’d given more thought to the identity of the person responsible, she had briefly begun to consider a different possibility.

He promised me he’d survive. He promised.

Leaving the portal device on the panels, Chell walked the rest of the way down and examined the murals up close, not sure what to think. The signs were there and her instinct was shouting at her, but she wasn’t sure. She needed to be sure. Then, as if answering her wishes, she spotted something behind one of the panels. Crouching, she reached for it and pulled Doug’s tattered Art Therapy book into the light. Her mouth fell open in astonishment as she was finally granted the answers. Then she promptly burst into tears.

She’d been successful in holding back her emotions to an extent, obstinately not allowing herself to feel overwhelmed, even though she knew she was out of her depth. Now, at the point of realising that it had been her best friend guiding her, helping her get past turrets, leaving her food and water so that she could keep going, she cried. She cried in relief that he’d survived, in fear that time had taken him as it had taken the facility, in guilt as she remembered calling him a cowardly asshole when her anger had flared, in sympathy as she imagined what his life had been like on the run, and, finally, in hurt confusion that he had never shown himself.

Then, as her defences were down, she cried for her father and friends, and everyone else who had fallen to GLaDOS’s regime. She hadn’t yet had confirmation of her father’s death, but she knew the truth. She’d known ever since she’d first woken up on the testing track, she just hadn’t been able to face it.

The flow of tears halted as she released all her bottled-up feelings, leaving her drained but calmer. As before, Doug was the person she placed her faith in. A spark of hope clamoured for attention as she considered whether it was possible that he was still alive somewhere in the complex. She wanted to believe, but she tried to keep her theories rational. She’d just find herself facing crushing disappointment otherwise.

I can’t even shout for him, she realised bitterly. And there’s no way I’d get Wheatley to understand enough to do it for me.

Chell got to her feet, leaving the book where it was. Wiping her cheeks, she wandered back to the portal device, remembering that Wheatley would only wait an hour. They were on their way to find an exit, a mission she very much approved of.  

If I get out, will Doug do the same? she wondered, biting her lip, deciding, for the moment, to hope for the best and assume he was alive. Probably. That’s what I’d do.

Her best bet was to get out. She could wait for Doug on the surface and plan her next move from there. She knew that if she was waiting too long, she’d have to rethink, but she didn’t want to consider that until she was forced to.

Resolved, Chell reached for the portal gun, gritting her teeth in anticipation of her wrist hurting. Something else caught her eye, distracting her instantly. It was a first aid box, almost unnoticeable in the shadow of the broken gantry leading out of the room. She hurried over to it, unable to suppress a grin when she found a couple of rolls of gauze bandage. She stuffed one of them in the pocket of her jumpsuit and unwrapped the other. Gripping one end with her teeth, she managed to bind her wrist tightly, immediately feeling the difference the support gave. When she lifted the portal device it still hurt, but it was functional, and she no longer felt as if her wrist would give way under the weight.

She shot a blue portal into the nearest wall, stepping through onto the listing walkway. With a last look back at her portrait, Chell left the paintings behind and continued on her way.

[royalalbertamuseumblog]

We’re bringing the world to Alberta!

By: RAM Staff

Hosted from June 19th to 25th, #MuseumWeek is an international online event celebrating and showcasing all things from cultural institutions. The seven-day event has seven themes and seven hashtags. June 24 is #TravelMW and we decided to show you all the places Royal Alberta Museum staff go -- from Falher, Alberta to Hokkaido, Japan -- to find stories for our galleries and conduct research that informs our exhibits and programs.

Alberta Biodiversity Monitoring Institute (Fort Chipewyan and Southern Alberta)

The Alberta Biodiversity Monitoring Institute (ABMI) manages a rigorous, world-class, science-based program that measures and reports on the state of land, water and living resources across Alberta. The ABMI Processing Centre at the Royal Alberta Museum provides laboratory, taxonomic, and curatorial expertise for the institute.

Above: Alberta Biodiversity Monitoring Institute technicians collect lichen and moss in southern Alberta, 2016

Above: RAM and ABMI botanist Varina Crisfield prepares to quad up the Fort Chipewyan winter road in August 2016 to conduct research on vascular plants and lichen.

Above: Crisfield takes a coffee break while quadding up the Fort Chipewyan winter road.

Quaternary Environments (Hinton, Alberta)

Britta Jensen (below, in red) and Alwynne Beaudoin (below, in yellow) conducted research and collected samples in the Hinton area in September 2016. They were looking for layers of volcanic ash, or tephra, preserved in the sediments. These show up as thin white bands in the section. The ash is from an eruption from Mount St. Helen’s, Washington, about 3,600 years ago. The Hinton area is one of the most northerly locations where this ash has been identified as a visible layer. Volcanic eruptions and their effects on modern and ancient landscapes will be featured in the new natural history gallery.

Invertebrate Zoology (Utah, USA)

Matthias Buck, assistant curator of invertebrate zoology, spent time on the Colorado Plateau near Moab, Utah (pictured below) searching for a rare local population of paper wasps. Paper wasps have been studied extensively for their intriguing social behaviours, and new species are still being discovered in North America! The new museum will feature a live colony of paper wasps, the first museum display of its kind worldwide!

Cultural Communities (Falher and Lac La Biche, Alberta)

Falher In the summer of 2014, Matt Levitt (assistant curator of cultural communities) conducted research about beekeeping and the honey industry in northern Alberta’s francophone communities, for an exhibit that you’ll see in the new museum. While he was there, the community was celebrating its annual Honey Festival (pictured below). 

Lac La Biche In the fall of 2014, Levitt also travelled to Lac La Biche (pictured below) to do field research and collecting for a display in the new museum about Lebanese-Canadians’ role in Alberta’s fur trade history. “I’d never been to Lac La Biche before and was impressed by the massive lake and how beautiful it was under autumn leaves and stormy skies. The lake was crucial for mink ranching as it provided fish to feed the mink and ice to cool the fish,” Levitt says.

Botany (southeastern Manitoba, Lac la Biche, Alberta and Rumsey Natural Area in Alberta)

Manitoba Richard Caners, curator of botany, examines mosses and liverworts growing on a rock outcrop in southeastern Manitoba. Richard is currently undertaking a study on the bryophyte flora of the Great Lakes–St. Lawrence forest region of this unique part of the province.

Lac la Biche, Alberta Speckled greenshield (Flavopunctelia flaventior, pictured below) is one of 15 lichens that will be on display in the new museum, showing the diversity of the five groups of lichens found in Alberta. Speckled greenshield is a foliose lichens. It is leafy and has distinct lobes. This specimen was collected near Lac la Biche by Donna Cherniawsky (assistant curator of botany).

Credit: Roxanne Hastings Roundleaf sundew (pictured below) is one of several carnivorous plants in Alberta’s boreal forest. It grows in environments that lack the nutrients it needs to survive so it gets its nutrition in another way: by luring and trapping insects with the sticky droplets on its leaves. The droplets contain digestive enzymes that break down the insect’s body. The display at our new museum is accompanied by a terrarium with living sundews.

Credit: Roxanne Hastings Rumsey Natural Area in Alberta Grasslands are more than just grasses. An exhibit in the new museum will showcase six different non-grass plants that are an important component of Alberta’s grasslands, including spike-moss (Selaginella densa, below). Spike moss is not a moss at all; it is closely related to ferns. The long white bristles at the tip of each leaf help protect the plant from moisture loss and from the sun’s damaging ultraviolet radiation.

Credit: Richard Caners

Quaternary Environments (Bow River Watershed)

In 2016, the Quaternary Environments team (pictured below) collected samples for the flood sample project in the Bow River Watershed.

 Mammalogy (across Alberta)

Southwestern Alberta Assistant curator of mammalogy Bill Weiman (pictured below) travelled to the slopes of Plateau Mountain in southwestern Alberta in search of American pika, hoary marmots, and golden-mantled ground squirrels, as part of mammalogy’s program to document the distribution of Alberta’s mammals.

West-central Alberta Mammalogy assistant Corey Smereka (pictured below) listens for a signal from a collared cougar before going to a possible prey site in west-central Alberta. The mammalogy program is doing research on cougars’ movements and the survival of female cougars and their kittens.

Credit: Mark Edwards North-central Alberta Kristin Panylyk, former museum interpreter, and Jordanne Taylor, mammalogy summer field assistant, examined small mammal community ecology and fire succession in the semi-forested sand hill habitat of north-central Alberta. In the photo below, they are ear-tagging a deer mouse.

Credit: Mark Edwards Alberta Grasslands Bill Weiman and Dr. Mark Edwards, curator of mammalogy, travelled to Alberta grasslands (pictured below) in search of pronghorn. Two new pronghorn displays will be featured in the new museum.

Credit: Mark Edwards Ronald Lake area (north-eastern Alberta) Mark Edwards (pictured below in the back of an A-Star helicopter) conducted research on wood bison in the Ronald Lake area.

Credit: Scott Nielsen

As part of his research, Edwards (below) also installed a camera trap to record the presence of wood bison and predator activity.

Credit: Scott Nielsen

Learning Team (Head-Smashed-In Buffalo Jump, Alberta)

To reveal the behind the scenes work of the museum and bring it to life for our visitors, our Learning and Programming Team actively pursues hands-on experiences with our conservation, design, curatorial teams and other departments. They will bring this experience to the tours, workshops and other hands-on activities that will be offered in the new museum.  Here, they are a assisting Bob Dawe, Assistant Curator of Archaeology, with an excavation at Head Smashed-In Buffalo Jump.  

Quaternary Palaeontology (South Dakota, USA)

Curator of Quaternary palaeontology Dr. Chris Jass (below) travelled to South Dakota to conduct field work. Part of his work involved excavating an entrance to an Ice Age Cave deposit.

Geology (northeastern Alberta, Waterton, and Hokkaido, Japan)

North-eastern Alberta Learning team member Sean MacQueen (pictured below) went on a geological field excursion to the Canadian Shield exposed in northeastern Alberta. This was part of a trip to collect material an exhibit in the new museum. Tagging along with curatorial staff during field work excursions is a great way to exchange information with the learning team and give them real-world experience that educators can use in program development and delivery.

Waterton, Alberta Shauna Coombs and Daniel Francis (below) travelled to north of Waterton National Park. The rocks they are standing on are 1.4 billion years old! These are some of the oldest rocks exposed in the Rocky Mountains. Some of the volcanic rocks collected on this trip (pillow basalts) will be on display in the new museum.

Hokkaido, Japan Melissa Bowerman, assistant curator of geology, went to Japan on an exchange with the Hokkaido Museum. During her visit, she was able to collect an exceptionally rare metamorphic rock for our museum’s collection from this trip: a blueschist. You will see it on display in the new museum. In the photo below, she is in the field with a curator from the Hidaka Mountain Museum, examining metamorphic rocks.

On the same trip, Bowerman (below) also examined a section of pumice (a volcanic rock).