#just imagining some human finding a kiwi in space

[illegiblehandwriting1]

humans are funny because we like to eat things that want to eat us. And sometimes it's happening simultaneously, like kiwi and pineapple

[sneakerdoodle]

''Bard breathes in, taking in the calming alien view, and swings their legs in the air softly to the tune of the simple song they are so used to humming. It comes out a bit more strained, this time. There is a slight tightness in their chest, but they will not dwell on that. It can probably be chalked up to balancing many, many feet above the ground.''

Hey guys!!! I've been working on a post-canon Wandersong fic! Come watch Bard have Issues :- )

The first chapter is a shorter one, sort of like a teaser/exposition! Check it out right freaking here or on ff.net (with non-ideal formatting) bc i don't really wanna post on AO3. The second chapter is in the works >: 3

PDF || FanFiction.Net

(Not) Alone

Rated: K

Chapter 1

(General warnings: inability to breathe; heights)

Your footsteps used to echo through sacred halls no human had walked before, accompanied by the eager beating in your chest. Heartbeat – footstep – echo. A heavy, impending rhythm.

The only thing you heard was the glorious cheer of the crowd. The anticipation of victory made every breath ring like brass, like the blaring trumpets that would surely welcome you home. You felt golden, and colossal, like the Sun. Both of you had no choice but to shine.

The edge of your blade vibrated with a song of its own, metallic and crackling with static electricity. And you let it sing.

Time after time, you would sound the sharp final note of this intoxicating symphony.

Each time, for a split second of silence in your speeding heartbeat, you would be left alone, in a dark without a sound. A moment of ultimate finality in a place that was no longer a place.

Time after time, you would be brought back into the light and air, reaping your rewards, letting the world's ecstatic cheer crash against you like waves, flood you, fill you.

Not this time.

This time, the dark does not subside.

This time, you have nowhere to go back to.

What is worse, perhaps, is that you have nowhere to be.

The place that is no longer a place is all you have now. The cosmic opposite of spaciousness means that, in the suffocating absence of air, you are not granted the relief of feeling the walls close around you, the world smother you. There are no limits to the vacuum; there is no vacuum; there is no thing.

When your bare, hoarse voice escapes, lonely and flat, there is no ether to reverberate through, no echo to harmonize with you.

You are nowhere. You are a song that cannot sound. You are the only morsel of consciousness to vaguely grasp your own melody.

You are barely anything.

You are irreversibly alone.

***

A note catches in Bard's throat, and for a moment they are breathless, and shaken. Then they cough – like the fuzzy wheezing of a clogged flute – and feel the air fill their lungs once again.

Miriam's voice sounds from high above, impatient and strained with effort.

- Hello?? A little help???

Kiwi shakes off the uncomfortable reminder of last night and raises their head, up to the tops of two twin trees, where Miriam is trying desperately to keep her broom straight. It does seem quite hard to do with just one hand, while the other is occupied, clutching one end of a rope stretched between the two parted crowns.

Kiwi clears her throat one more time before singing out:

- A lit-tle bit high-er! 🎶

Miriam grumbles, and her broom lurches up just a bit. The rope now runs parallel to the ground, a level bridge from where its other end is glued to the opposite trunk.

- Now??

- Perfeeect! 🎶

From down below, Bard can't quite make out her movements, but they can imagine them vividly: Miriam pressing the end of the rope into the tree bark, letting the adhesive substance on its tip fix it in place; then her wrapping her fingers around it, face shifting into a concentrated frown. They can almost hear the quiet exasperated sigh, masking the nervousness Miriam always feels when casting less familiar spells and never wants to show.

As a thick woody vine stretches and knits itself along the length of the rope, connecting the flaming-red leafy tops, Bard claps their hands excitedly.

- Great job, Miriam!!

Miriam is already floating down to the ground. She is trying really hard to not look relieved.

- Yeah, - she mutters, glancing to the side, - thanks. Let's just... hope it holds. - She nods at the free space behind her, impatiently inviting Kiwi to join her on the broom, to rise back up to the connected crowns.

- Sure you're holding on well?

Bard adjusts their position in the hold of a curving branch and flashes Miriam a slightly tense smile.

- All good here! 🎶

Miriam frowns.

- Don't fall. Here you go.

Bard takes one end of yet another piece of rope from her hands and holds it up to the level of the previously conjured vine above their head. The sticky mushroom mash takes hold, but they do not take their hand away as to not test the glue with the rope's weight.

Miriam flies over to the other tree trunk, stretching the rope along the already formed scaffold. She glances at Bard nervously, and they give her an enthusiastic thumbs up – before immediately fretfully grabbing the branch below him, having almost lost his balance.

- Don't fall! - Miriam exclaims emphatically. Her tone is nothing short of disbelief: perhaps at the fact that she has to repeat herself so soon, perhaps at the fresh confirmation that the warning is actually warranted. - Eya... Just. Hold on, hold the rope, and don't.. stare while I do this.

Kiwi graciously looks away, letting their glance glide across the treetops shimmering in the light evening breeze. It's a new, fascinating perspective from this high up: the mass of moving, rustling red stretching all around them, making them forget about the ground below.

Bard takes the moment to appreciate the old trees, some of the tallest ones in the forest, raising him above their smaller siblings, into this weird valley of whispering leaves. Here, there is only the gentle waving of foliage and the sky that goes on and on, painted gentle orange by the setting sun.

Saphy was right. This is the perfect spot for a little perch, especially with the two crowns so conveniently close together. The thought brings Bard a gentle kind of joy. It is as if the forest itself was encouraging the initiative, eager to accommodate humans' curiosity.

Bard breathes in, taking in the calming alien view, and swings their legs in the air softly to the tune of the simple song they are so used to humming. It comes out a bit more strained, this time. There is a slight tightness in their chest, but they will not dwell on that. It can probably be chalked up to balancing many, many feet above the ground.

The rough bark of a newly formed vine softly bumps against Bards fingers, and they accommodate it, letting the woody liana reach the trunk and sink into it, as if having grown out of it many years ago. Miriam is doing amazing!

- You're doing amazing! - Kiwi promptly shares aloud, slightly breathless. Magical feats never lose their novelty, not to them.

Miriam skips past the usual embarrassment at being complimented and straight to a quizzical look.

- You sure you don't wanna' help?

- I'm helping! - Bard replies readily, feeling just slightly disregarded. Miriam fumbles.

- Ugh, no, I... - the words come out loud and annoyed in her rush to explain herself. She pauses - with obvious effort - and takes a few seconds. - ...Yeah, you are. Thanks. Just... aurgh, - she gives a jerky impatient shrug, - you know what I mean!!

Bard does know. Combining spellwork and singing is something the two have been experimenting with quite a lot. Bard could probably orchestrate the movement of the vine, direct it with their voice while Miriam is inducing its growth, instead of her sending it along the pre-marked trajectory of the hemp rope. But they shake their head, perhaps a bit too hurriedly.

- This is better! And you're doing great!!

Miriam examines their face, looking skeptical, vaguely confused.

- Fine, - she mutters in resignation. - If you say so. Toss me the next one.

Bard complies.

Their humming has stopped now. Instead, they turn their full attention to Miriam, promptly forgetting her earlier request. She throws a slightly irritated glance in their direction, but does not say anything, letting them observe as a new sprout rises out of a previously bare section of the bark.

Kiwi looks at the sturdy vines that will hold wooden planks, that will in turn hold a shiny new telescope. One of the many Elara has prepared for her world-wide project, to direct everyone's questioning eyes to the sky, to the novel, unfamiliar stars. Together, the people of Earth will explore the horizons of this young universe that has become their new home.

The thought of stars tickles Bard's throat, like the beginning of a song. The faraway lights, so tiny against the vast dark night sky, trading rays and stitching into constellations, must be creating a symphony of their own - one Bard is so eager to discover.

- This is gonna be great, isn't it? - they ask, their eyes clouded by visions of otherworldly landscapes.

- Yeah... - Miriam is silent for a moment, and Bard comes back to earth to look at their friend, questioning. - I don't... know much about stars... But if the astronomer lady says we can help--

- Of course!! 🎶 - Kiwi all but jumps up in a rush of passion. - We just need to look! We will find something really cool!!

Miriam smirks, but the smirk is unprecedentedly close to a smile, only adding to Bard's emotional high. They swing their legs in the air excitedly. It's new, and thrilling, seeing their friend like this: with the steadily growing readiness to find joy in the world around her.

- I'm glad we're doing this together, Miriam, - they say, smiling, as they shuffle to the side to secure yet another piece of rope against the trunk. - I like sharing things with you.

Miriam's hand holding the rope jerks just slightly as she looks away, momentarily flustered.

- Uh... yeah. Me too, - she blurts out, then draws a breath. - It... wouldn't be the same on my own. Or. You know. Without you.

The last vine is grown, and both of them sit down on the soon-to-be-platform, listening to the rustling of the leaves and watching the sun slowly sink towards the horizon.

Bard glances over at Miriam and examines the new look on her face, the one they've been spotting more and more. It is quiet surprise, like stepping out into the garden early in the morning and being met with a perfect gentle breeze. These days, the world seems to keep startling Miriam in the best of ways.

Miriam appears to have felt their gaze and meets it, eyebrow raised. They do not feel the need to explain, simply smile and dangle their feet happily. Miriam smirks and turns her face back to the gentle peachy sunset.

- ...It's gonna be nice, - she says contemplatively, - spending time here.

Kiwi takes a deep breath and feels the tightness in their chest ease and melt away.

- Yeah.

The walk back to Saphy and Miriam's home in the orange twilight is comfortable and special. Bard rants about the trees back in Langtree, and how different they are, and how she never climbed any before, in all her time living out in nature. Miriam grumpily recounts all the times she had to, to get potion ingredients back when she hadn't yet learned to properly fly a broom. When exiting the woods, she points out a specific tree which, she is convinced, has a personal vendetta against her, always tripping her up on its bulging roots. There is that unmistakable comfort of familiarity in her voice. For Miriam, exasperation often seems to be the easiest way to express her deep fondness for everything that is home.

They both take a second at the edge of the forest as the colorful house comes into view, just as the last rays of sunlight fall down the roof, then softly go out, one by one.

Saphy welcomes them with a boiling cauldron. (Her firm habit of using it indiscriminately, for food and for potion-making, is something Bard is still getting accustomed to.) Over dinner, she asks the two about their exploits with genuine, animated interest. Miriam shares the details, half-begrudgingly, throwing quick glances at Bard in moments of self-consciousness. They chime in readily and take the opportunity to praise Miriam's skills, seemingly making her more miserable in the process. It is a new and sweet routine for the three of them.

It is well into the night by the time Kiwi and Miriam get to setting up the guest cot, and Miriam keeps stoically fighting back her yawns. She isn't great at staying up past a certain hour.

- It isn't very bouncy, - she mutters, dissatisfied, as Bard plops down onto the thin mattress.

- It's great! - Bard reassures, running their hand over the clean sheets. - Goodnight, Miriam!

- G'night, - she mumbles sleepily, already walking towards the rope ladder hanging from the second level. With her hand on one of the rungs, she lingers for a moment and looks over her shoulder. - Are you still sure about tomorrow?..

Bard tenses up for a moment and does their best to shake it off.

- It... Yeah! It has been a while, so...

The rest of the sentence hangs in the air between them, irresolute. Miriam sighs quietly and makes her way back to the cot.

Their friend's arms wrap around them in a steady, comforting hug, and Kiwi suddenly feels very fragile. They return the embrace, hands on her back, and stay there for a few seconds, allowing themself to feel small.

Miriam pulls away and looks at them, eyelids heavy and droopy.

- Need... - a big, poetic yawn finally escapes her, despite all the efforts, -...company?

Bard shakes his head.

- You should get your rest!

- ...Yeah. Probably best, - Miriam grumbles and turns away with a final awkward pat on Bard's shoulder.

Halfway up the ladder, she sighs in annoyance and pauses, hanging from the wall with her head turned.

- Could you maybe try counting sheep this time? Silently??

Bard gives a couple of hurried flustered nods. Sharing space with other people again is proving to be difficult to combine with their musical routine.

- Sleep well, Miriam! And, - they grope for words for a bit, but don't find anything better than, - thank you.

Miriam nods slowly, turning away.

- Yeah. You too.

Bard dresses down and flops on top of the cot, hands on their chest. They listen as the house fills with the familiar duet of snores and quiet whistles and smile to themself, thinking about how rapidly Miriam nods off when she is tired enough.

Lying in bed and exploring the authentic years-old webs in the corners of the room, Kiwi goes over the events of the day in her head, and ponders what is waiting for them tomorrow.

A glum gnawing feeling rises in their chest, clawing at it from the inside. They push it away. It will be okay. And they won't be alone.

They lie there, trying not to worry. About tomorrow, about last night, about what this night will bring. They try not to think about the nightmares, and about the tightness in their chest, and the labored sounds of the once-effortless tune.

They close their eyes and dutifully imagine a sheep. A reeeally fluffy one. With big, shining eyes, and with a spring in its step, ready to conquer the highest of fences.

- One 🎶, - they sing to themself, as quietly and softly as they can.

The note does not come out right.

Next chapter

[gracereadstoomanybooks]

answering questions I’ve been asked on TikTok✨

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QUESTION: how did you get into reading?

So, when I was in middle school (many moons ago) we had this thing called AR Testing. Basically, you read a book and take a test on it—the questions were things that happened in the book, it was really simple. If you got a good grade, you got points. The more points you earned, the more eligible you were for the reading party at the end of each semester. Me, being the nerd I am, got top of my class because I went through 8th grade level books like it was nothing. The librarian at my school brought me books from the high school to read since everything was easy for me, and alas, my addiction began. And now that I have adult money, it’s a true addiction. Also, telling my father “I’m bored” and his response being, “go read a book or something” so thanks dad.

QUESTION: what’s one book you ALWAYS recommend to people?

This one is tough because I’ve read THOUSANDS of books, but if I had to choose one, it would probably be Confess by Colleen Hoover. I fell in love with her work in high school when I first read Ugly Love, but Confess is the type of book that pulls at your heart strings, y’all. It has everything people love: humor, sexual tension, drama, love. GO BUY THE DAMN BOOK. Or honestly any book by Colleen Hoover—she’s a fucking amazing author.

QUESTION: outside of making TikToks, what do you do for a living?

I currently work at a restaurant and hate every second of it. If anyone tells you to become a server, DONT. It’s not worth the hassle, I promise you. Sure, you can make decent money but the amount of rude customers and shitty tips you receive each shift is very disheartening. If you really need a job, do anything BUT work in the food industry.

QUESTION: what’s your wattpad story about?

First question: which one? I have about 30 drafts sitting there waiting to be posted. But, I’m going to assume you’re talking about the Harry Styles fan fiction I’ve been working on for the past 4 years and haven’t had the courage to post. I’ll tell you a little about it: Elaine Aldridge is forced into a betrothal to a man she’s never met & loathes. She goes to his court and realizes things aren’t what they truly seem. And the guard her future husband sticks on her??? None other than Mr. Harry Styles. Add in some magic & deaths and you’ve got my story— The First Prince. (Honestly, that’s an extremely shitty description so if you wanna check it out go to my wattpad account)

QUESTION: how old are you?

Ahem. . . twenty-one.

QUESTION: what is your dream career?

Being a published author and having people rave about my books. That’s all. Or, an editor for a publishing company. Imagine reading all day and being paid for it🤩

QUESTION: what was your least favorite read of 2020?

I already KNOW I’m gonna get shit for this but....... the wicked king. YALL I LITERALLY COULDNT GET THROUGH IT IM SO SORRY, I STILL HAVENT FINISHED IT

QUESTION: current favorite author?

Sarah. J. Maas. I don’t know what it is about her writing style, but it’s addicting. Throne of Glass is hands down the best series I’ve ever read. A Court of Thorns and Roses is the first book I’ve EVER reread. Her stories truly suck you in and hold onto you—you get lost so easily in her writing and it’s like once you’re done with a series, nothing will compare. Or, at least that’s how I felt after finishing Kingdom of Ash. Honorable mentions: Jennifer L. Armentrout, Penelope Douglas, L.J Shen, Elle Kennedy and Kennedy Fox.

QUESTION: any recommendations/tips to give to a new reader?

I’ve always given this advice to people who want to get into reading: find what you like and start with that. If you like romance, I’ve got a list for you to choose from. Mystery? Another list. Sci-fi? I GOT YOU. Fantasy? Yes! Sports fiction? It might take me a second but I’ll find you a book. Nonfiction? I’m zero help in that category, honestly. The point of the matter is that you’re never going to enjoy a book if you aren’t interested in the underlying topics.

QUESTION: do you ever find yourself comparing your life to fictional life?

Yes. All the time. I daydream about being apart of the Inner Circle and living in Terrasen with Aelin and Rowan. I think about what it would be like to have real powers and a mate. It drives my boyfriend crazy—but he loves me anyway.

QUESTION: what are your most anticipated books of 2021?

Here’s a list:

A Court of Silver Flames by Sarah J. Maas

The Crown of Gilded Bones by Jennifer L. Armentrout

Gods and Monsters by Shelby Mahurin

Crescent City 2 (Untitled) by Sarah J. Maas

A Vow So Bold and Deadly by Brigid Kemmerer (I just ordered this one & it arrives tomorrow)

Blessed Monsters by Emily A. Duncan

QUESTION: why did you start a Tumblr?

Honestly, I used to love tumblr when I was in grade school (way too young to be on here then but what else is new). I like having an extra space to get my questions and comments out without having to compress it into a 60 second video for TikTok to see. Tumblr is a good place to blog & post things like this.

QUESTION: what’s your favorite song right now?

I’ve listened to Carry You by Novo Amor every day for the past two months and I cry each time.

QUESTION: why write Harry Styles fan fiction?

Simple: I love Harry Styles. I’ve been a fan of him and One Direction since they were on X FACTOR. Read that again. X. Factor. I used to watch their performances on YouTube before WMYB even came out. Of course, I love all of the 1D boys but I was always a Harry gal. And I look up to him in a way—I’ve read things about people wishing they knew him personally and honestly? I would never want to meet him. I like the version of him I’ve cooked up in my brain over the past 10 years. I like the symbiotic relationship I have with his music. Fine Line is a ✨masterpiece✨. HS1 is a ✨work of art✨.

now, some topics I’ve been asked way too many times and want to finally get to:

QUESTION: political views?

the saying “anyone but trump” has been in my brain for the past four years. No, I’m not a republican. No, I’m not a democrat. I like to think of myself as a progressive (ahem, liberal) Did I vote for a democratic candidate? Yes, and I’d do it again and again until the US isn’t one of the worst countries—I’m sorry, businesses— to be apart of. I wanted Bernie but got Biden, and I’m alright with that. And my girl Kamala🥳

QUESTION: how did you feel about the BLM protests?

I went to multiple BLM protests and donated a lot of funds to BLM & other organizations. It’s 2021, people... stop being fucking RACIST. And don’t be afraid to call racist people out! Black Lives Matter, even if no one is posting about it anymore.

QUESTION: thoughts on abortion?

your body your choice, queen! not my uterus, not my problem.

QUESTION: there was a comment on an old video of yours talking about r*pe, why did you delete the comment?

I made a video when I first started my account on TikTok about reading in public and feeling “turned on” by it. Go watch it if you don’t know what I’m talking about. BUT, some ignorant male decided to comment and say “this is how girls get r*ped”. Whew. So. I deleted the comment because ....

I am a victim of sexual assault. Along with a lot of other women. 1 in 5 women have been victims of sexual assault. Talking about being r*ped isn’t funny.

No one else needed to see his comment. I reported it immediately and his account was shut down.

I never got justice for what happened to me, and the fact that some random male—who had never even met me or seen me before my video showed up on his FYP—had the nerve to comment that? Unacceptable.

this question isn’t as controversial but

QUESTION: what’s the best way to get out of a toxic relationship?

okay, let me just start off by saying that the people around you who love and support you are going to be your backbone. Leaving a toxic situation is hard, and every situation is different, but my best piece of advice to offer you is don’t be afraid to ask for help. Your loved ones are going to be there for you when you need them, even if you don’t believe they will. If you explain what’s happening, someone you know and love will drop whatever it is their doing to make sure you get out safely. good luck my babes.

now, back to our regularly scheduled program:

QUESTION: any tips on making tiktoks?

Literally none. I post what I think is funny and relatable and if anyone agrees, I’m satisfied. Even if it’s one view, it’s good enough for me. So I guess my one tip is to not base your life off of an app and followers.

QUESTION: favorite Harry Styles fanfic?

DONT MAKE ME CHOOSE. Duplicity is up there, along with Stall 1&2, and Kiwi. After? Absolutely not.

QUESTION: favorite WEBTOON?

y’all already KNOW. LORE OLYMPUS BY USEDBANDAID. Rachel is a genius and I have reread the series a million times. Hades is my soulmate and Apollo can rot in the fiery pits of the Underworld. also, if we’re talking about other webcomics, reading Walk on Water on mangadex...🤫

QUESTION: favorite movie?

Howls Moving Castle. I will be getting my “a heart is a heavy burden” tattoo very very soon.

QUESTION: I read your Elain theory on tumblr, can you explain a little more?

I thought I was pretty straightforward but I’ll say it again: she is always the “good” one and it’s too suspicious. SJM has already given one Archeron sister a happy ending, Nesta’s is obviously inevitable, but Elain? She has too many options for a happy ending. Lucien, who is her “mate”. Azriel, who is intrigued by her slightly. Her human guy—I don’t remember his name—who is disgusted that she’s not human anymore. Or, alone, planting flowers all day. BUT! My point is that she’s not truly happy. She was forced into the Cauldron just like Nesta. She was ripped away from the life she loved so dearly and didn’t want to give up. The man she was going to marry now hates her guts because she’s a High Fae. She has the perfect set up for a villain plot line and I’m all here for it.

well, that’s all I feel like doing tonight. hope you enjoyed my little q&a! be kind, and talk to you later! byeeee!

[akiwisfics]

In The Middle Chapter 1

Notes: Cross-posted from AO3. If people get annoyed by this, please savior “kiwi crossposts” to save your eyes.

Description:  The war's over, but the mess is still left behind. Kasumi finds herself among the wreckage with unexpected companions and questions that seem almost impossible to answer for. Life keeps moving forward, however, and the surprises it leaves behind aren't always pleasant ones.

Pairings: KasumixSha’ira

--

It was over. Weeks ago the meaning had been so terrifying that when she went looking in the mirror that very night, Kasumi had almost forgotten who she was. Maybe she had. So many thoughts raced through her mind of the impossible, the surreal, and the broken, choked sobs she'd catch from coworkers down the hall. It was all over, but the demons stayed.

    She wouldn't consider herself a religious person. The concept of a god was so completely lost on her, of vague emotions and presences that she may have touched as a child, but were so meticulously cut when the galaxy crashed around her. A god didn't throw a child out in the streets, left to fend for itself among monsters and maliciousness that it couldn't even begin to understand until they were older, and knew what was wrong with people without having to experience it the hard way. There was something irrevocably broken about people. Natural imperfection.

    It was perhaps that flaw that helped people shape their roles in life, rather than the concept of God that people felt comfortable with. It was the only way she could explain how that one flaw. That one, little habit she had of taking what wasn't hers kept her alive. When the batarians came, dragging her and her sister out of their little hiding spot to be executed for being too scrawny, one of those soldiers realized the connection-- the too expensive jewelry box in her bedroom. Instead of having her life end right there, she would listen to the shot that splintered through her sister's skull, felt the blood splatter against her arm as the little girl slumped forward, all too quiet. Then hot, piercing pain at the back of her own head.

    Even now, her fingers dug in the back of her head, trying to exercise some comfort out of the phantom pain and the awkwardness of having so many people staring at her. This was a mistake. Weeks of trying to find answers and the sudden apathy that afflicted her, and she forced herself into a tight-knit shuttle on the way to Earth, a place she had sworn she would never set foot on for more than a few days at a time not so long ago. It wasn't any personal sting, but the distance the mere thought of Earth created inside of her. It held no meaning, other than the wistfulness that her parents had occasionally used, further displaced by the bitterness and resentment her former masters had used in quiet evening conversations that she wasn't supposed to listen to but always did.

    There was a debt there that she didn't know how to pay, and this was the best answer she could come up for it. The stares didn't make things any better. Cramped to the brim in a tiny shuttle like this, and she was the only fucking human on board. A turian and asari sat across from her, chattering quietly amongst themselves, brushing shoulders and hips. The turian had gray plates with blue streaks across her chin and cheeks, dressed in a simple jacket and pants combo that was fairly simple for the trip. Though the asari was far from the soldier persona with the way she seemed to flirt with the turian, she immediately recognized the light commando armor on her. Perhaps she asked her matriarch to be here. Or maybe she was dead. After what happened to Thessia, both were strong possibilities.

    A volus sat to their right, having a confusing conversation with a red salarian she vaguely recognized from somewhere, but not nearly enough for a name to come up or any real concern. Though the terms they spoke of were growing more and more technical, she wondered briefly just how much was being covered up by the way the salarian kept nervously stealing glances at her. Aside from the scars on the salarian's face, they weren't particularly noticeable-- especially with the krogan and the batarian at the couple's other side that seemed to make a point not to look at anything in particular. The krogan was oddly reminiscent of the one that Shepard used to know-- Wrex. All scarred to shit too, though with a earthly tone to him. And the batarian, boy did he look nervous. Jittery knees, and the attire that he wore was intricate, his jacket filled with patterns that she recognized from old ancient texts. It was almost a treat to have a priest with them, but his stares were almost too uncomfortable to handle. Too much worry in them, like there was something he was trying to hide.

    Only people who seemed to be ignoring her was the drell that sat to her left, who was rather preoccupied with a datapad in her hands. As far as Kasumi could tell, there was nothing particularly interesting about it, though if things grew quiet enough she could hear her cackling at its contents in a quiet, raspy voice. Then the turian male in the corner, arms crossed and leaning back as he stared at the couple across from her. His face looked tired, though it was hard to tell. Turians were always really hard to tell, and there was a rather large elcor next to her blocking the way most of the time. Perhaps because he was defying physics by sitting on the bench, or that elcor beady eyes were always sort of uncomfortable, he made her the most nervous. Even with the distance, she could feel herself wanting to squirm.

    Instead she pulled the hood over her jacket and ignored the nakedness she felt without the catsuit, safely tucked away with other provisions in the bag on the rack above her. The security of the coat she wore, light and slimming, secured with a zipper, provided little to how exposed she felt. It wasn't her first time out of the catsuit in public, but it was a rarity that she would be out of it for so long. And maybe she stood out a tad on the shuttle, however unintentional it might've been.

    Maybe they thought she was a veteran. Was she? The question was a difficult one to answer. She could never claim to be the same sort of soldier that saved them all, her friends... her family, but there was something that still called her to this place, as if it was her own home, as if she felt for the broken remains that used to be towering cities. This had never been about grief though.

    Her thoughts were cut short by the cockpit door sliding open, and the slow methodical steps of heels clacked against the metal floor. It didn't rouse much out of Kasumi, and hadn't bothered to look in the direction of the sound. She knew there were 12 of them, including herself and the pilot that was operating the shuttle-- another salarian with green skin and a little weight on him-- so it was likely as anything that it was the missing member. What did give her pause though was how the heels stopped right by her, just a few inches from her right knee. Kasumi chanced a peek up and received quite the surprise.

    "Consort?"

    Sha'ira's smile was thin and vague, blue eyes bright with a knowing gleam that she had always seen in the asari. The somber atmosphere and rather plain clothing everyone else wore only seemed to make her stand out more in the oranges and reds of her dress, a halter with a gold trim wrapped around her middle. She seemed to take her acknowledgement as an invitation and perched herself in the empty space between Kasumi and the elcor. "I can be on my way if you wish," she began carefully, "however you seem rather..."

    "Out of place?"

    "Uncomfortable. Do you feel out of place?"

    Kasumi snorted, though there wasn't anything particularly funny about it. This wasn't her home, but the pull was still there, and she didn't know how to get rid of it. How to get rid of the sickening churn in her stomach about how quickly she lost so much. "Coming from the colonies tends to do that I think." The shuttle pitched and shuddered for a moment, and Kasumi had to grip the edge of the bench to steady herself. Sha'ira seemed to barely notice it. "Isn't it a bit strange to have the consort on a ship like this?"

    "What makes you think that?"

    She paused for a moment, struggling to answer. "... You could afford a private shuttle, I'd imagine," she said, "And... I'm not sure we'll be administering to many living people while we're down there." Sure official orders were to help refugees, but they were setting down in London, which had turned into a ghost city since the war started and was decimated by the final battle. More likely than not, they would be finding dead bodies, assuming they weren't turned into cannibals or husks in the meantime.

    "Quite the job." And Kasumi caught onto her meaning immediately. It wasn't about the victims already there. "It is just as well though. I may not be a consort much longer."

    "And why is that?" She knew about her retiring a year and a half ago, when she was onboard the Normandy. Though Shepard had remained preoccupied by the constant needs of the civilian populace on the Citadel, Kasumi had kept an eye on the news feeds. It was necessary for her job, to make sure there weren't any stunning exclusives pertaining to her, and while looking through the extranet, she had caught word of the consort's leave on the Citadel. However, long after the war started, when she was visiting Shepard's apartment, she had heard of her return in the Citadel's high-class, having attended the charity ball that Shepard broke into.

    "If you are comfortable with the question, what brings you here?"

    Ah, so she wasn't ready to answer. It was something to keep in mind. "A debt."

    "To the Alliance?"

    "To a friend."

    Sha'ira's smile grew a little wider, satisfied with the answer given to her. Kasumi wasn't sure why. Death was simple to understand, she supposed, whether or not it wrecked the mind. They were gone, and there was nothing that could be done about it. Shepard was someone that came back though. Rose from the dead, pissed and ready to murder, and ho boy, did she. But she was gone now, so it didn't matter, and it'd be sorta creepy if she managed it twice. "The others seem to enjoy your presence."

    Even the elcor looked away at that and would've proceeded it with an awkward cough if it was capable of covering its own mouth. At least, Kasumi'd like to think so. "If that's what you want to call it." It was more about being spectators. There was something about watching people break that they all wanted to see. Who could last the longest? It gave some satisfaction, she thought, of knowing that they weren't alone, but still stronger than those that suffered the same pain. It was never like that for Kasumi though, not usually. Reminders were uncomfortable after spending so much time trying to stuff it all down. If it wasn't thought about, it was easier to manage. "I don't like to be here just to make people feel better."

    "We have very little choice on the matter," Sha'ira sighed as if content for it to be what it was, "People see you and believe that you can provide something they cannot.... however correct or incorrect that assumption may be."

    "Seems like something you'd be more skilled in."

    "Perhaps."

    Kasumi gave her an odd look. "Why think otherwise?"

    She didn't respond, only giving her a strained, cryptic smile as the shuttle shuddered once more, making its final descent to the surface.

--

    In truth, it wasn't the first to met she met Consort Sha'ira, if scouting her office and home was something one could call "meeting." No one that knew her occupation could blame her for the deed, as Sha'ira was on par with Aria when it came to power by sheer influence. She saw any and all the top-notch citizens of the Presidium, from your run-of-the-mill ambassador to rumors speculating that Councilor Tevos was a regular on the premises. Through her words alone, she could command the most steadfast and stubborn general into action or calm the most volatile rage stirring inside a person. And that was before she had managed to visit the place.

    Her reputation had preceded her, and Kasumi had been tempted by it. Someone who could sway so many hearts was bound to have their fair share of suitors and plenty of prized possessions that could go to... better use.  And really, it was so easy to slip in. The security was minimal at best, the worst of which just being a security camera that took no more than thirty seconds to take care of-- one of the more surprising things about the trip. Though the consort had the power to change minds, it wasn't always an easy path-- especially if the change was unwanted. People were easy to resort to anger and defensive actions, and some were much more virulent than others, whether it be premeditated revenge, or simply heat of the moment. A place like that should have had C-sec on speed-dial, that, the moment something went wrong, C-sec would be breathing down their necks within a hair-breath's moment.

    Nope. Just a simple trip through the air ducts, and just waiting for Sha'ira to turn around. What happened after that, well. Kasumi was willing to admit that she had the habit of watching people. Sha'ira certainly wasn't the first, and hadn't been the last, but the way Sha'ira captivated her was something entirely different. It was rare to find someone so entirely dedicated, and so happy to be in the place that she was in. Her entire heart was dedicated to satisfaction, giving more than she had ever seen anyone give to her clients, and at the end of the day, while she was always exhausted, she was satisfied, and ready for whatever came next.

    Out of the hundreds of people Kasumi met in her lifetime, she was about the third person she had ever seen that seemed to genuinely be at the place she felt perfect for her. There wasn't anywhere else that would fit the way she did there. By the end of it all, Kasumi couldn't bring herself to take a single item, mostly because of how much she seemed like a kindred spirit, but also what happened the last day.

    When she jumped down from the open ceiling panel, Sha'ira was watching her. Not the empty space that it should've looked like with her cloak, but watching her. There was a small grin on her face as she outstretched a warm cup of tea to her, as if nothing was weird or awkward about the situation they were in. She had only stared at it, absolutely bewildered.

    "I do hope you will respect my clients' privacy," Sha'ira had began, "but I have the feeling that is not why you are here. Is it?"

    Kasumi couldn't respond.

    "Can I at least see what my visitor looks like?" Another silence and Kasumi had started to back away, because what the fuck was happening. This wasn't usually how things went when she was caught. "You are welcome to stay. The next hour is free for me, and I would like to know someone that... felt so called here."

    "Um." she had said dumbly. "Sorry," and then rather quietly made her way out.

    For obvious reasons, Kasumi hadn't bothered to return, and the next she had heard of the Consort was her retirement. She wasn't sure what changed. Perhaps, she didn't want to know.

--

    The landing wasn't smooth. The metal of the shuttle walls whined and wracked the closer they were to the earth, and for a moment, as Kasumi stared long and hard at her boots, she wondered briefly if the floor would shatter as soon as it touched the ground. It didn't, even though she counted the thumps and watched as others shook and tumbled out of their seat. Sha'ira's poise broke somewhere in the journey, gripping the edge of the bench-- her knuckles turning a light blue, bottom lip curling in apprehension as the shuttle rocked. It wasn't until it landed that she flashed a very brief smile before being the first to stand up, heels clacking as she returned to the cockpit.  She knew better not to follow her.

    The stench of smoke invaded her nostrils as soon as the door opened. Somewhere perhaps, there was a fire still burning, but the tangled jungle of crumbled buildings and perpetual overcast that made what used to be a great city made it nearly impossible to see. It stirred little inside of her, neither discomfort nor anxiety-- more feelings that drew thoughts of old paintings she would sit and marvel over for hours at a time in the vault. There was a strange, unearthly beauty to its ashes as a living testament to the impossible. If she waited long enough, she would almost hear the wails of dead gods somewhere in the distance, trapped within the graves they themselves built.

    If she gave it much thought, a swell of pride would form inside of her for her part, however hushed it was by the Alliance. Kasumi was part of the galaxy's brightest, stood among them as equals, and though she would hope to never repeat the experience, their unshakeable belief in her and the awed smiles she received over her old party tricks had given her shadows of days when she was a little less experienced and the sort of validation still mattered. She hadn't been against the attention in the first place. She was just really only looking for one person to be watching.

    "Maeda, hey!" It took her a second, just that slight adjustment when it came to a new name, to realize someone was calling her, and that old krogan came bumbling over as soon as he caught Kasumi's eye. He didn't give her much time to speak. "You're good with the... technical stuff, right? That's what Sal said."     She had no idea who that was. "Sure."

    "Damn communication tower's... somethin' wrong with it."

    "Er. 'Wrong?'"

    "You'll get it once you see it," and before she had time to protest it, the krogan had gotten a nice, tight grip on her arm, just strong enough to bruise should she try to resist. With a good wrench, Kasumi was escorted to the rear of the shuttle where a small crowd of the group had formed, the red-skinned salarian standing right in the middle. Upon seeing the krogan, they shifted to the side to allow him to pass so the... was that really their tower?

    A pall formed over the group as they studied it. The red salarian had the courage to speak first. "... Maybe it was an accident?"

    "If we want anymore obvious answers, we'll be sure to call on you," the turian deadpanned.

    "Be better to listen in anyway. Makes it easier for an ambush."

    Kasumi turned from the atrocity long enough to leer at the drell, hanging around the back with a sort of bemused smile over everything. "You do realize we're a volunteer group right?"

    She shrugged. "Sorta hard to tell. I can't be the only one to notice almost everyone here has some kinda military--"

    "That ain't the problem here," the krogan grumped. "Can you fix it, Maeda?"

    Fix? One of its sides looked ready to cave in, and the exposed wires almost looked like they had been gnawed on by something, the insulation missing in several parts, and oh the antenna was missing off the damn thing.  The scratches and dents made one thing abundantly clear: though it wasn't in anywhere near good shape to begin with, the trip down here didn't help matters. There wasn't even any guarantee that the damn tower would work in mint condition anyway. Something-- just something happened when  the war all ended-- flashes of red that absorbed everything, and suddenly those lumbering giants were falling-- either way technology had been on the fritz ever since. Long stretches of radio silence, amps going in and out to the point of hurting those that used them, and well... for a while Kasumi had seriously regretted the amount of cybernetic implant purchases she had made in the past several years.

    No one, especially not a thief, would enjoy being blind for a few weeks. "You're kidding right?" she sighed, exasperated. "Maybe if this place hasn't been scavenged for scrap metal already, I could get something going, but without some kinda help, no one's going to be hearing from us for a while."     The weight of the silence from her assessment was nigh unbearable.

    "Is there anyone else here that might be able to help?"

    A turian-- the one flirting with the asari-- spoke up first. "... Katul might know something, but..."

    "Great, bring them over."

    She glanced away, mandibles flickering. "Are... are you sure?"

    Why bring them up if it wasn't a good choice? "Sure, it'll be a nice bonding experience. We'll be spending a lot of time with each other as it stands. Might as well." Still silence from the turian, who stepped to the side, no longer even fully facing Kasumi-- as if her disappearance would erase her words from memory. No one seemed to care enough to step up, not even the asari she was flirting with, who only seemed to look between them with darkened, concerned eyes. The tension was obvious, and would've been interesting to explore any other time. Now it was just fucking annoying. "I'll get them myself then."

    She waved a talon behind her. "Street corner a block from here."

    The turian only met her eyes once as Kasumi walked past, beady amber eyes that shook when it was held. Lack of confidence. If she was military, it wasn't social, maybe not even combative. It was always so hard to tell with turians though. The worst scars were obvious, but scratches, abrasions? Not so much, not with those that didn't grow up seeing the differences. No. Emotions were easier to read, always had been. At the very least, the turian wasn't used to hiding what she thought.

    She kept walking, and whether the trick of the mind or the truth, it seemed that the smell of smoke was getting stronger the closer she drew to the corner. It wasn't the ashen slumped form that she spotted first, but instead the flow of oranges and reds in Sha'ira's dress among the slate grey and the harrowing sobs that broke the stillness. It was a familiar, haunting ring that resonated inside of her. Very few things tore through a person so thoroughly, even with the death that had surrounded everyone for so many months. No.

    It was a sound that rumbled inside her, shook her frame, and for a long, excruciating moment, she remained rooted to the spot, and recognized the own bile that clawed its way up to her throat, the desire for freedom and how, with the longer she remained, it became more and more difficult to force down. It was so easy for him. She could see the signs cracking underneath him, the shaking of his shoulders, and how within it all, it was a long time coming, that it was so easy to let go.

    Then, all at once, the only conscious thought she had was to run. Her steps were hurried, blind, and it didn't take long for herself to get lost. There was something to envy by the release, something that she almost hated and was enraged by, how all at once she could feel the need for her fingers to curl against the concrete walls that surrounded them.  There were hours, hours that sprawled and stretched out to days where screaming had seemed like such an easy act to make, to let her own mind peel apart.

    And how it all still hurt so much when she thought of him. It didn't take long to recognize the poison behind it, how with each time the thought crossed her mind, a little part of herself was lost by the time those feelings retreated, back to an abyss she didn't know how to reach or didn't want to. Eventually, everything that was once was hers would fall inside, and maybe, it'd be a long time before she recognized herself in the mirror, not without some sort of echo of what was once there creating a cavern inside of her.

    What was the point?

    They had all done their jobs, hadn't they? Completed what they needed to. Shepard was born, bred with this one, singular idea in mind, to be a soldier until her last breath was stolen from her, until there was security in the future in front of them. All of them did something with it, and Kasumi, she lived her title for as long as it still mattered. There weren't many places for a thief, not in the parts where people still looked with heavy hearts, but she couldn't content herself. The restlessness that jolted her body, brought her there to this god forsaken ground, to a place she practically swore off when it was still breathing more than smoke, but through it all, there was just so much pointlessness in it.

    Keiji. Keiji could've done this so much better. He had a softer heart to him, could've felt a calling in the ruins. Could've made easier friends with the crowds she waded in, beyond the personal favors she made along the way. He meant it, had always meant it. It was with a pathetic vulnerability that she could admit inwardly how at the very base of instincts, she still craved him.

    Somewhere in the haze, she managed to sit on the ground, behind a sleeping giant and an uprooted concrete block. It was easy to be enthralled by the way her hands shook under her own gaze, and how a metallic taste was near suffocating in her mouth. She barely heard the soft crunch of heels against the dirt, and how almost plainly, Sha'ira studied her.

    "Not just a friend," the consort spoke softly before sinking to a seat beside her, and the lack of hesitation in it nearly startled her. Maybe something to look at later.

    With a practiced breath, she clutched her hands against her knees, straining her grip against the cap. Just a gentle release, a practice of control as they sat there in silence. The chilled air made it a little easier, she thought, just to get the thoughts together, and when it became too much, Kasumi forced a laugh out of her lips. "There's a reason why this is easier for you."

    "Yet you were drawn by it." The smile was easy, despite the heavy, poignant weight of Sha'ira's words. She didn't even pretend to be surprised by it. She should've never spoken then, even the quiet apology then had given away too much.

    "It was your passion," no denial in it, simply a shrug, almost in defeat. "You get this, all of this, more than anyone I've ever seen, come across. ... We're a rare breed, you know."

    Sha'ira laughed, and there was something so honest about it that it hurt to hear it, how it echoed inside of her in its inappropriateness. "It'll be the death of me."

    "Is it really a bad way to go?"

    "I am imperfect, Ms. Maeda," she stood, brushed off the edges of her dress with a taut frown. "Staying alive isn't such a bad choice either. People expect more than I can give. In the end, I will hurt more than heal." Then she turned, back to something a little more professional, and offered her hand to her.

    Kasumi took it, kept a tight grip as she stood up, and though the conversation answered little, found herself breathing a little easier. "Maybe we're both a little out of place then."

    She shook her head, and there was amusement in her clear blue eyes. "This is where we were always meant to be. There is plenty of time to make those decisions. For now, I can find myself within caring for others when they can't themselves. Perhaps you should find yourself the same way."     "And who cares for you?"

    The question seemed to startle her as the grip on her hand loosened, and the thin smile that formed just barely covered the thoughts that Sha'ira coveted inside her. How it didn't reach her eyes like it needed to. All at once, it was too easy to remember how the hole she was trying to fill wasn't so unique in the end. It was just covered by different things, different ideas and distractions. A point didn't need to be made.

    Not when they all seemed to be looking for one.  

[old1ddude]

Harry Styles, Seattle

My Experience and Perceptions 

My daughter and I got in line for security at about 7:15.  Ever mindful of demographics I took note of the crowd.  Mostly (75% maybe?) women somewhere from late teens to twenty something.  I was encouraged to see quite a few dads in line as well as women closer to my age.  Many of the dads were with their wives, but did not appear to have daughters near them.  (Either they were hanging back, giving their daughters some space, or they were actual Harry fans.)  There appeared to be a good number of young men, certainly more than in my demographic.  Many were obviously with girlfriends many alone, or maybe with female “just friends.”  (Just my gut from what I saw.)  I saw a group of 4 young guys in line ahead of us - nothing about them clued me as to their sexual orientation.  I only saw a few guys who were very obviously gay™ (I don’t claim to have great “gaydar.”)

Once inside, we decided to get our merch, even though it meant probably missing the first song or two from Musgraves.  My daughter and I were chatting about the shirts on display and the young man in front of us turned and answered a question we were asking ourselves.  He was very nice and seemed very gay, or camp, in the way he spoke.  Everyone we came in contact with seemed to be taking “treat people with kindness” to heart.  The whole atmosphere felt warm, inviting, safe and friendly.  I had planned to get the Treat People With Kindness shirt, but they were out of XXL. 

I ended up buying a black shirt with this picture on the front and a list of all his tour stops on the back.  (Disregard special guest Warpaint and everything below that.)  I can’t find a pic of the actual shirt, but I quite like it.  Those hollow body Gibsons are almost as pretty as he is!

We got some Harry Styles guitar picks from the Seattle Children’s hospital table.  I think the people staffing the table were from the hospital foundation - they were very happy and effusive about Harry’s generosity.  (We’ll give a few picks to my son.  He likes Harry’s music and plays guitar.)  They were also surprised at how many fans knew all about his support of a local charity in each tour city.  My daughter and I had our picture taken by the charity table, in front of a big yellow banner and holding a “Treat People With Kindness” sign.  We were giddy, excited and soaking the whole experience in.

I have seen some very credible, pro Harry blogs lament that he has monetized TPWK, by selling merch with the slogan.  I understand their concerns, but I think the only way Harry can cheapen TPWK is by failing to live it.  From everything I see, he lives it as well as any mere human could be expected to.  I think it’s lovely we have a chance to literally buy into TPWK.

Kacey Musgraves has a pretty voice and was very pleasant to listen to.  (I do not care for much country twang, her’s is subtle.)  Follow Your Arrow is a very nice, positive song, but it is a bit of a sermon.  I feel the real power of art is in evoking emotion, empathy, or telling a compelling story, not sermonizing.  I shouldn’t complain.  I just feel her message would be stronger if the song told a story.  I quite liked the song she did featuring a trumpet.  My daughter thinks that may have been a cover??  

For fellow oldsters, or people who value their hearing, I highly recommend:

This is the brand I got (black case for me and red for my daughter) but there are many similar to chose from.  I tried pulling one out a few times and the volume was punishing.  These cut the decibels without the muffled sound from normal hearing protection.  Harry sounded BETTER and I could hear HIM better with the plugs in!  We used the “High” protection filters.

The few empty seats we observed earlier were filling in.  From what I saw, very few spots went unused.  We were amped when the screen dropped and the Rubik’s Cube animation started.  When the screen finally lifted, revealing iconic, wide leg, white trousers, everyone was cheering on their feet.  (Seats were only for the opener, I saw no one sitting after Harry appeared.)  He was absolutely magnetic.  The staging and lights were beautifully done.  Nothing felt cheesy, or gimmicky.  I can’t imagine Harry doing a show with dancers, or any of the normal pop/rock/etc. gimmicks and distractions.  Everything felt just right.  Everything felt, looked and sounded real and authentic.  (I always loved 1D’s rejection of the gimmicks too.  I love Liam, but he’s wrong on that one!  Who cares about the noise, narratives and PR?  This was Harry - a real and genuine side of Harry.) 

Harry’s voice was incredible live.  My daughter, who was only a casual fan, wished he had done a few more of his big, high notes.  I’m fine with him preserving those vocal cords - I would kill to protect them.  I tried to observe more about the band, but mostly I didn’t want to take my eyes off Harry.  The screen was nice for capturing his facial expressions, but I was finally seeing him with my own eyes.  I’ve been watching him on screen for years!  The interaction between Harry and Mitch was cute.  I think Harry is slowly turning Mitch into more of a performer, rather than only a highly skilled guitarist.  The blue-green lights during JaLBoYH were lovely.  I wish I had known about them ahead of time.  The quality of sound for the band and Harry’s vocals were positively exceptional.  There are precious few performers in this world who can equal it.

We were looking directly down at Harry’s profile when he moved to the B stage.  It felt a lot closer than I would have thought from the seating map.  Harry looked our way and we all (in my general area) excitedly waved, but there was no eye contact, or acknowledgment, despite my very bright Hawaiian shirt!  (It’s okay, I knew it was a long shot given the distance and relative darkness of the crowd.)  He was in fine form for IICF, pausing before Louis’ part and a long, dramatic shushing!  I had a bandanna in my pocket, in case I got emotional, but the whole atmosphere was so happy and warm, even during his heavy songs.  

A straight couple was sitting directly in front of my daughter and I.  The boyfriend was FULLY invested in the concert and videoed many songs on his phone.  As I said earlier, I didn’t notice anyone disengaged, from where I was sitting.  

When Harry moved back to the main stage, his audience interaction game kicked in.  I’m sure you’ve seen the gifs and clips already.  He was charming, delightful and sassy.  He was really sweet to a young girl (14) at her fist concert.  The half birthdays aren’t a thing bit was gold.  The one who found their soulmate.  Charlie’s gay birthday.  It was all delightfully sweet and entertaining. 

There were a lot of tiny rainbow flags in the pit and a few throughout the stadium.  I saw several women wearing LBGT+ shirts, of various types, in my area.  The whole atmosphere felt very safe and welcoming to all.  Harry ENTHUSIASTICALLY waved several flags during WMYB (I’m sure you’ve seen the videos.)  Harry’s message of kindness and love was palpable, but the show didn’t feel political, or heavy handed, to me.  (I think that strengthens his message and appeal.)

My daughter loved What Makes You Beautiful and Kiwi most of all.  She’s never been a hard core 1D fan, but always loved WMYB.  Kiwi is her favorite from his album.  Seeing him go so hard for Kiwi live really was a treat.  I loved the whole experience very much.  Standouts for me were:  The dramatic open with Only Angel (screen coming up - the whole experience.)  MMitH isn’t my favorite on the album, but hearing it live was beautiful - Mitch played the 12 string acoustic which had the most beautiful sound (other than Harry’s voice.)  Sweet Creature and If I Could Fly on the B stage went directly to my heart.  The audience interaction was pure gold.  The heartfelt gratitude he expressed several times.  Kiwi live really was a sight.

This was supposed to be a brief recap - guess I got carried away!  :)

[jamanimalcom]

What should the gray parrot eat?

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Do you know the gray parrot? This friendly African gray parrot is one of the more talkative varieties. And because of his character so Sociable and his intelligence It is one of the favorites to have as a pet. And you, do you know what care he needs? What should the gray parrot eat?

the gray parrot It is without a doubt a pet for anyone who wants a little more joy in the house. But beware, you must also be aware that being a very sociable and sensitive animal, it will need you to pay attention to it.

What if you shared your life with one of them? A little attention and a suitable cage are all that a gray parrot needs to live happily. Sun, toys and space to fly in his cage… And outside! Because we must not forget that like other parrots, the jackfruit needs to get out of its cage a few hours a day to be able to practice.

Now imagine that you already have everything. The perfect cage, great toys for your enjoyment and a perfect place to sunbathe, but… What does a gray parrot eat? Read on and we’ll tell you.

The feeding of the gray parrot

In the case of yaco parrots, nutrition is a fundamental aspect of their care that you need to consider if you want them to age with you. How? ‘Or’ What? What did you not know? A gray parrot can live up to 60 years!

But for these 60 years to accompany you, it is better to pay attention to their diet. You can feed it both with food and with seeds. But which ones the ideal diet for a gray parrot? Well, like humans, the best diet is one that is varied, both for what it provides and because it will keep your jack from getting bored.

Varied diet? Yes please! I think seeds and fresh fruits and vegetables are the perfect combination for your Gray Parrot to be healthy and strong.

Preparing the gray parrot’s diet

We are going to go into the details so that the feeding of the yaco parrot is perfect and that you know exactly what to give him.

I think: The usual that you can find in specialty stores.

Seeds: You can give them dry or sprouted. What can they be? Millet, birdseed, corn, wheat, lentils, peas, sunflower seeds or hemp seeds are among the ones he likes the most.

Fruit: Apple, banana, orange, kiwi, papaya or melon. Either one is ideal for them. Of course, the best thing is that they are fresh every day.

Vegetables: Tomato, carrot, artichoke, pepper or pumpkin. Like fruits, keep them fresh every day.

Sweet treats for the yaco parrot … but in small doses

There is a small list of foods that you can also feed your gray parrot, but that it can only eat in very small quantities.

Dairy derivatives without salt such as cream cheese or yogurt.

Unseasoned bread, cookies or pasta.

Prohibited foods for the gray parrot

Because just as there are perfect foods, there are also some that are prohibited in the diet of the gray parrot. Never, in any case, do not give your andco parrot any food from this list:

Lawyer

Chocolate

Salt

Milk

Meat

Soft drinks

Alcohol

Raw potato

Coffee

Tea

Cocoa

And is that, as it happens with ours, the health of our pets should be the first thing we take care of. With our tips, you can share a happy, long and healthy life with your gray parrot.

Animal expert with more than 12 years of work experience in the sector. Working at Tíanimal has allowed me to work more closely with them, helping their well-being and improving the relationship with their owners through the products, tips and articles that we have integrated. I am an aquarium and feline health expert, and have worked with protectors for over ten years coordinating donations of equipment to facilitate their work. Animals are my job and also my passion.

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[svenishere]

six months New Zealand

Have been fascinating. 

I have had the opportunity to work at an incredible Lodge. Meet amazing people and was able to learn a lot about country and culture. I was located in the Far North which provided a rather mild winter for me after the snowy Alps of Switzerland. It did not take me long to figure out I needed to move from there to more adventures. So I made plans to attempt a whole walkthrough of New Zealand's long pathway “Te Araroa”. After just 3 months I left the Lodge. I set out to walk for months and ended after just around 20 days. I walked from the furthers Northern point Cape Reinga for many kilometers. I saw amazing things along the way and learned to be one with nature after walking and living outside for so long. Every moment of the walking was intense and taught me a lot about myself. I also learned that I wanted to see more of this country than I could, just walking it. So I turned to hitchhiking as an alternative. I spent some time on beautiful Waiheke Island just outside of Auckland to figure out my next move. After a few days of party on the island, I headed back to the mainland and towards the Coromandel peninsula. Hitchhiking has turned into my main means of transportation. I ended up in a place called Whitianga in the Coromandel were I almost ended up working on a mussel farm, but then spent my time digging a hole at hot water beach. From there I headed further south to arrive in a place called Whangamata. At the time the weather in New Zealand had not been steady enough for me to sleep in my tent permanently therefor I decided to look for work again to pass time and minimise the spending of my savings. It did not take more than a day for me to find work in Whangamata. I started work in an amazing cafe with a super fun crew of people. Living the good life in Whangamata was a great choice. Surfing lots of days and just chilling in a place I called home after just a few nights. The hostel I stayed at provided me with a nice and cosy place to rest my head for the two months I spent there. It can, as some of you know, get quite lonely on the traveling, but then you find these places that give you that feeling of 'home' for a little while. The family and all the people I meet at the hostel were just wonderful and the experience served me as a very important reminder how important people are in our lives. As good as life was in Whangamata I knew my time had come and I needed to move on. So I have since about 10 days. I hitchhiked from Whangamata to Wellington in that time. My tent has been my home for most nights and traveling with the goodwill of people giving me rides has been exceptional. I have met an array of New Zealander's that I would have never met otherwise. I made it to some interesting corners of the country where I feel like an alien walking the roads with my pack, waving my thumb at every car that passes. If I can I will go to a free campsite. I eat very minimal and try to cook every meal myself, I also carry most of my food. It is either walking or hitchhiking so I'm always prepared to stay anywhere. I'm completely self-sufficient. Of course, there is the occasional slip. I have been in Wellington for a few days spending time with old and new friends. So as a friend once said ‘when in Rome…’ I have been enjoying city life, to say the least. 

Tomorrow I will take a boat to go to the other island. People on the North Island have been saying to me that the people on the South Island are even nicer. I can not imagine that, as I have met some of the most amazing people ever during my six months journey.

I must say New Zealand is an all around epic experience and there is a good reason people are amongst the happiest on our planet. Understanding the connection to the land, which is at least in most Kiwi’s very present, is essential to understanding New Zealand's culture. It is not the cities were this country holds its treasures, but the quirky countryside full of unique characters,  individuals with open hearts and eyes for the world around them. People are very mindful here, a thing that can’t be said for many places. Kiwi's are generally interested in others and curious, but never without great manners and respect for everybody. Space is another thing I must point out here, everyone has lots of space. There are no crowds in New Zealand, nowhere. Once you go bush you don’t wanna come back. Some of the places I have been like 90-mile beach, where I felt like the only human on the planet are so rare in other places, here they can be found behind every other mountain. That brings freedom to peoples minds, gives them space to be free. At the halfway point of my journey through New Zealand, I feel very appreciative of being able to be here and enjoy this little piece of heaven at the end of the world.

Can’t wait to see what's to come.

all photos in random order

[dogsliampaynedoesntinstagram]

A review (of sorts) of ‘Harry Styles’

When I read the Cameron Crowe interview, I was most surprised by the lyrics Crowe quoted: “Couldn't take you home to mother in a skirt that short/But I think that's what I like about it.” Surely they weren’t going to be in the album? Surely Harry hadn’t written a song like that? That question feels like a long time away now.   After thinking about it for a week (and having experiences in my own life that turned my feminist rage knob up to 11) I’m going to write about what I think about the depiction of women in Harry’s album and how that affects my view of the album as a whole.

The narrator of Only Angel is a misogynist fuckwit.  The song begins: “Open up your eyes, shut your mouth and see/That I'm still the only one who's been in love with me.” Then he talks about the woman’s skirt length, uses the phrase ‘make you mine’, has a weird possessive conversation with her brother, and then gets into some fucked up virgin/whore stuff comparing her to an Angel and a devil. You get no sense of the woman at all, except in terms of this man’s very limited allowable categories for women. With the controlling and arrogant opening – it could have been a song depicting misogyny where the narrator was understood to be a total asshole, but nothing about the production or development of the song suggests that at all.  It’s just Harry singing misogynist things.

I was worried about ‘Woman’ from the moment I heard the title and decided I hated it about thirty seconds in.  As I’ve said before, the early One Direction lyrics really bother me.  The basic genre is “how dare a girl that I want not want me. I am a man and the only thing that matters is my feelings.”  Now the girl is a woman, but otherwise these are the lyrics of I Would, Heart Attack and so many early One Direction songs.  I’d argue that this is a worse presentation of the same idea, because the object of the song is reduced to ‘woman’. She has no distinguishing characteristics at all – just her otherness and her refusal to do what the narrator wants.

I won’t go into so much detail about Carolina and Kiwi, but the basic approach is the same. The narrator is interested in women only as objects of his desire and as he describes them he pulls on misogynist ideas about women and sex.

A lot of people have argued that Harry isn’t talking about actual women in these songs.  That he’s talking about Cocaine or fame and personifying them as women. I think this is supposed to be a defence of the songs – it doesn’t work that way for me.

I don’t think Harry means any of this. I don’t think Harry is worried about the skirt lengths of the non-existent girlfriends he’s not taking home to Anne, Petra.  But, for me at least, that makes it worse – I’d find these songs less of a problem if I thought he meant them.

I was confused by Harry’s promo, until I listened to his album. Now I think that what he’s saying with both album and promo is: “I am a Rockstar like the Rockstars of old.”  The misogyny in the lyrics are a genre statement as much as anything else.  I don’t think Harry was trying to say anything about women with these songs, or even his sexuality, he was trying to construct himself as a Rockstar and used misogynist rock tropes about women to do it.

My big problem with the portrayal of women in music (as I’ve said before) isn’t really the straight misogyny – but the way that women get constructed as objects over and over again. Rock songs deny women agency and humanity and over and over again depict women through the eyes of men who can’t imagine women are people.  

Harry’s album carries on this tradition of objectification in two ways.  One is that he has these songs which portray women as objects using misogynist tropes.  But there’s also a meta-level - because when he’s writing these songs depicting women as objects, he’s not even talking about women. He’s using the idea that women are objects to cement his own identity as a Rockstar. I think it’s worse to use misogynist portrayals of women as objects to talk about something else than it is to just have some misogynist things you want to say about women.

Ultimately Harry’s album comes across as if he thinks there are only two legitimate modes of rock music: “Look at this woman object.” And “I am a man and I have important feelings listen to them.” (he’s not necessarily wrong about the genre). And so as a rockstar his album features these two modes (and sometimes mixes them). For me, the very limited two modes on the album affect how I respond to all the song. I first noticed this when I couldn’t take ‘From the Dining Table’ seriously, because it followed straight on from Woman and repeated the same tropes.

My emotional response to Harry’s album has been: “If you don’t think I’m a person then I refuse to give a fuck about your feelings.”  I consider it a great blessing in my life that I’ve never been vulnerable to a sad man with a guitar and I’m not going to start with Harry Styles (if I was a fair godmother I would give to all girl children the following gift: “Don’t fall under the spell of men just because they strum while talking about their feelings for three minutes, make your own music). 

At the moment, my favourite song on the album is Kiwi.  Yes there’s a lot of objectifying bullshit in the lyrics, but there’s also interesting specificity and there’s pay off because the song goes off. I may have space for some of the other songs on the album as time goes on (I really liked the performance of Sweet Creature in Carpool Karaoke).  But at this stage in my life the way women are depicted in this album is a huge barrier to engaging with the pain of the man who is depicting them in this way.

It’s not as simple of that – of course it’s not.  I have a response to this album as a listening experience and then a whole other set of feelings about Harry.  I’ve been here for two and a half years – it’s not so simple as to say ‘I refuse to give a fuck about your feelings’. I care, I can’t help it.  And I have a whole other set of thoughts about what it means for Harry Styles, who has been treated as an object since he’s 16 to reclaim his own subjectivity in this way.  But that’s for another post.  The purpose of this post was to explore how I’d responded to the work of art Harry had put out into the world.  

[disaster-aster]

The beginning - Part 3

J a c k  W o u l d  H a v e     K n o w n 

One thing I really wanted was to see adventurers and I knew exactly where to go in order to watch them. The only problem was that I didn’t know how to find the place where I needed to go… for some reason taverns and inns all look like houses and shops. At least make an effort not to build everything the same! I had to search through many villages along the shore, feeling more impatient and irritated that I didn’t find what I was looking for and Jibbs was not helping at all. She was reluctant to fly most of the time and preferred hopping on the grass and taking way too many naps a day for way too long. She was driving me crazy and I was doing the same to her, forced as I was to steal her pebble if I wanted her large feathery butt to go anywhere. You’d think sleeping from sunset to sunrise would have been enough, but no. I think I understand now why Siisa and Moltai were so angry at me when I ran away from my daily chores. Someone who refuses to do what you want them to when it’s important that they do it is infuriating.

 So as I was saying, following weeks of walking more than flying (my feet were oh so sore) I finally learned that the difference between common housing and shops were in their sign. Unlike the shops, houses have small letters on the mailbox or the fence to know which is which (except for the ones that do have big signs and I was very confused then). After making my way into more than a few wrong places, finally I found an inn which I entered through a small hole in the gutter. Jibbs was too large to fit and waited outside. Which was fortunate because the hole gave right into the kitchen, of all things. It was perfect for me, with plenty of places to hide. The door to the dining room was cut in half, too, so it was easy to fly there when nobody was looking.

 I don’t understand though what use there is for only half a door.

 It took many days, and at some point I stopped counting, before an adventurer walked in. I still remember. He had hair the colour of wheat and he carried with him the smell of sea salt. His clothes were dripping with water, too, but it was not raining. He was talking a lot, and laughing a lot, but what struck me the most was the color of his eyes. I had never seen a human with eyes of gold and I still haven’t seen another one of those afterwards. I heard him say he was waiting for his crew, and he stayed a few days. Every evening he sat with what I can only guess were strangers to him, and he talked with them for hours. I loved listening to his adventures, and I’d always find a spot to sit as near to him as possible. The ceiling beams were very useful to run across the whole dining area. He, too, seemed to be one of those people who ate maps for breakfast; he sounded like he knew the whole world like the back of his hand. Oh, and he had a bird too. A ginormous white pelican who sometimes stuck its head through the dining room’s window looking for him. It took two or three men to push his large, dumb looking face out of the inn and the adventurer kept saying the bird was not with him but clearly, it was. It followed him everywhere whenever he went looking for his crew (I watched them from where I sat on the rooftops with Jibbs). I didn’t know there were pelicans big enough for a human to sit on their back.

 He told stories better than Jack, like he was born to do that and I decided I’d tell stories better than him. Sadly, his crew joined him the next week and he left with them the day after. I never saw him again. Maybe the pelican ate him…

 That very same night, a group of young men with a similar gait came into the inn.

 I couldn’t help but to wonder what was hidden in their hip bags. They were much bigger than what I had seen on any other people I watched. Maybe they were what they call nobles, I thought. Maybe they were rich. They carried weapons with them and what better need would there be than to protect their goods? Luck was on my side: they put silver coins on the counter and asked to stay for the night. I followed them across the dining room, sticking near the ceiling. In the hallway I was in the open but humans rarely pay attention to what is above their eye level. I took a chance. The door closed right in front of me.

 “Owl farts!” I cussed and I think they heard me because the door opened immediately and they nearly caught sight of me. The head that popped out of the room looked right and left. When they closed the door again, I approached to eavesdrop. They sounded excited about something. I just had to see what it was about.

 I waited for the innkeeper to announce mealtime. In the evening, there often was one or two musicians trading a few drops of ale and a plate of whatever food was left for entertainment. That should give me all the time I wanted in the nobles’ room to look through their things and satisfy my curiosity. They would stuff their faces with strange fish and drink themselves under the table while I’d do what I do best.

 Crawling under the door was in itself quite the adventure. Old wood tend to make splinters and those splinters snagged my clothes. I had to be more careful than I had ever been so not to hurt myself. You know how mice and rats squish themselves to fit in tight spaces? Yeah well fairies can’t do that. Once or twice I thought I would never see the end of it, especially when large splinters tugged at my shirt and pants at the same time.

 ‘At this rate, once I get out from under here I’ll be naked.’ Is what I thought.

 On the other side, surprisingly with all my clothes still on, the floor was littered with weapons of all sizes, smelly wet socks and leather coats. I avoided the socks and walked on the coats alongside a well-worn lance. One of them had so many pockets inside and out I stopped counting after the tenth one. Just how many spaces did a noble need to put things in? Besides, some of those things could have easily been left back home. Like those round shiny iron beads and what I thought was a bizarre kind of pepper. The money I understood was necessary to keep, though I didn’t get why they had to divide it into so many pockets. Same about the armfuls of white pearls I found. There were a few papers as well, on which something was written but I couldn’t read it. I did however understand the numbers at the end of each line (numbers may be the only thing we have in common). I thought at first it might be for keeping track of what they owned and they had to be rich, because those were big numbers. They possessed many things in many exemplars.

 I know what you’re thinking: I was completely wrong about this.

 They were as far from what I understood was a noble as could be. But I heard from Jack about nobles before, you know. Nobles, they fancy nice clothes, colours and point lace but he also told me they sometimes wore simpler clothes that blend in the masses. So it’s only when I found holes on all of their coats that I thought… a noble would have bought a new one, yes? That’s when I realized for myself that they were thieves. Because they were still rich. See, the adventurer I had seen the days before was not carrying anything more than a bottle of ink, a moleskin notebook and a handful of money in his sash. Adventurers are poor by definition.

 “My very first encounter with thieves!” I smiled, remembering more of comrade’s stories and playing with a huge diamond ring that would easily fit on my head like a crown. In the same pocket I had found a jewel necklace large enough for me to wear like a dress. Leaving these two treasures behind, my interest quickly switched to something that was left on the nightstand. A little round contraption that started moving as soon as I touched it. I thought it was metal at first, but it bended and danced and morphed and when it stopped, I heard a voice inside my head.

 Clean.

 “What, you want me to polish you or something?” I asked dumbfounded. I had heard about artifacts but I didn’t know they could speak to you like they were people. The object started moving again, even faster than it was before. If it wanted to be cleaned, it would have to stop doing that. I searched around for something to rub it with and came back with a pure white satin glove.

 Cursed.

 The door opened and I jumped in surprise, dropped the glove and knocked the object off the nightstand. I didn’t hear it land: the thieves, back way sooner than I expected, expressed their shock in a loud and unanimous voice. As I told you before, humans don’t like the fairies. It’s out of fear, according to Jack, and they either run or fight. I tried to make them run. The magic object I was playing with the moment before had given me an idea.

 “I will curse you!” I aimed to look as menacing as possible and stretched my wings wide, trying to get a ray of sun to shine on them. It normally makes a predator think twice before approaching.

“Tough luck, I’m already cursed! If anything ya gonna make it better!”

 One more bad idea to add to the list of all the bad ideas I ever had before. Like that time when I fed an injured blueberry kiwi bird a handful of fresh peppers… You know how they already burst if they so little as catch the rising sun before reaching their nest? Imagine feeding them something hot. It took me two days to dig my way out of its blasted hole and it took it three weeks to grow back its feathers and its beak.

 Back to the story: The thief who answered to my threats, the cursed one, walked in first. He was shorter than his friends and he looked cleaner as well. He didn’t seem cursed at all, from the outside. For a human, he looked good. Or maybe I just like red heads no matter the species… The three others followed and closed the door behind them before I could do anything to get out. They cracked their fingers. I did the same.

 Cursed.

 “So what’s it gonna be? A twenty feet long beard? Or maybe a biting plant in your pants? I can also call a thousand crows on your sorry heads and you’ll never hear the end of it.” My threats still didn’t look like they gave them anything to worry for. Where was the ‘humans are afraid of fairies’ I heard so much about?

 Were they really scared of me, they wouldn’t have tried to catch me like an insect. I flew up and stuck to the ceiling, trying to remain out of reach, but it was too low to give me safety. They trapped me like a bird, except that they traded the net for a coat and I dropped to the floor like a rock. Swift, I crawled under the heavy leather, fingers crossed that they wouldn’t step on me with their big stupid feet and hoping to find refuge under the beds. The small man grabbed me by the waist the moment I popped out from under the coat. I bit him and tried for the window: it was locked. I spun on my feet to face the thieves, backing against the cold glass and I raised both hands like I was about to do a complicated magic trick.

 We don’t even need to do that for the magic to work but I thought it worked well to intimidate someone. Except it didn’t.

 “Enough! I am done playing with you!” I should have asked Jack what threats he came up with to get rid of people like them.

 Cursed.

 “Who’s playing with who? I believe, my sweet little lady, that you are the toy here.”

“And we been bored long enough trying to find a bloody cure to the boss’s curse,” smiled the tallest of them three putting the magic trinket back on the nightstand “that we might as well have a bit of fun wit’cha.”

 He had a thin pointy face and small, mean eyes. If he wasn’t afraid of me, I on the other hand was very much afraid of him. His clothes made him look even longer than he really was. Like a tower. A pointy, mean looking tower.

 “Don’t meet a damn fairy every day, after all.”

“And see, the thing with fairies like you…” I heard the small man’s voice right behind me as I ran along the window ledge “… is that you are quite fragile.”

[girl-of-ink]

Practice

A bit late, but here’s my MCGA secret Santa gift for @dorkabeth Here you go, Han! I hope you like it <3

**** Practice

It had started like this: Alex and Magnus, sitting in Alex’s room on a Tuesday afternoon. There had been a pretty big scuffle over desert after lunch, so the two of them had decided to head back to Floor 19 to relax instead. In an awkward conversation, Alex had invited the other boy to hang out with him. (In his room. Alone.) Although Alex tries not to show it, he’s kind of nervous being around Magnus by themselves. Unsure of what to do, both boys sit next to each other awkwardly in silence, each trying to ignore the heart-pounding feeling of sitting so close to each other.

An unbearable minute later, Alex can’t take it anymore and stands up to pace the room, glancing anywhere but Magnus for a distraction. His gaze settling on a pottery wheel in the corner, he mutters a barely audible “A-ha!” and strides towards the wheel with purpose. After pulling the wheel over so it faces the couch and cutting some clay with his all purpose weapon, Alex sits down and begins to ready the clay for the wheel. Without looking back up at Magnus, he asks, “Have you ever worked with clay?” The question drops like a stone into the atmosphere of the room, and Alex chances a glance up at the son of Frey, who doesn’t seem to have heard him. Instead, Magnus’ gaze is focused on Alex’s hands, shaping the wet clay on the wheel.

“Magnus.” He tries again, this time earning a “Huh?” from his fellow einherjar, whose face looks rather red. Repeating the question, Alex watches Magnus furrow his brow slightly as if he has to think about it before finally answering, “No.”

Plan A dead in the water, Alex scrambles for some other conversation topic, grasping at straws. “Well, do you do any other sort of art? Drawing, painting? Music?” With each suggestion, he watches Magnus’ face screw up further, culminating with a shake of his head. (Off topic, Alex takes a moment to mourn the son of Frey’s Kurt Cobain hair. What a tragedy.)

Frustrated, Alex asks sharply, “Don’t you do anything?” This inquiry is received with a moment of cogitation, followed by a grand pronouncement of “No.”

Sighing heavily and struggling not to crush the fragile pot swirling in his hands, Alex silently curses Magnus for being so godsdamned awkward.

Alex makes a decision- he will not be intimidated by talking to a dorky sixteen year old boy, especially considering he is one himself. He will find out what Magnus Chase likes to do if it kills him… Again.

“Everybody does something, Maggie.”

Alex sees the look on Magnus’ face that said: Don’t call me that. To Alex, though, he just says, “I’m just not a really creative person.”

Alex rolls his eyes, but doesn’t look up from his pot that’s spinning swiftly on the wheel. “You’ve gotta have some sort of creative outlet. What do you do for fun?”

There’s a few moments of silence while Magnus thinks. “I guess I just like reading and watching movies and shows. It’s kind of a hard hobby to have while you’re homeless, but I managed.”

Alex grins, momentarily looking up from his developing pot to look at the other boy teasingly. “Are you telling me your only interests are Doctor Who and Harry Potter?” Magnus sputters a bit, but Alex cuts him off.

“Relax, Chase, I’m just kidding. I know what you mean. I’ll tell you what, though- how about I teach you to make pottery sometime, and you’ll see if you like it?” Alex hopes his nervousness isn’t too apparent, avoiding Magnus’ eyes while he waits for the answer.

Magnus responds that he’d love to, and Alex is so excited that he forgets to concentrate on his pot, accidentally squishing it and sending wet clay flying across the room. He’s saved from further embarrassment when TJ knocks on the door and yells, “Time for deadly hide-and-seek, guys! Are you coming?”

Alex croaks out an affirmation and races to wash the clay off his hands. By the time they’re downstairs with the others, getting ready to hide, his heart rate is finally down to normal again.

***

The next day, Alex stands outside Magnus’ door and holds her breath while she knocks. When the son of Frey opens the door, his recently-cut hair is sticking up at all angles and he’s yawning as if he’s just woken from a nap. Alex’s heart nearly stops from how cute it is, but she berates herself and tries to act nonchalant as she invites him over for that ceramics lesson he promised.

When they’re in Alex’s room, she pulls over her pottery wheel and sits down next to Magnus, pointedly ignoring the hammering of her chest as she leans in to show him how to cut the clay. She’s sitting really close to him, and her mind won’t stop showing her unhelpful images of Patrick Swayze in Ghost. She almost chuckles over the fact that she is, in fact, dead, before remembering she’s supposed to be helping Magnus and that includes not letting him start the wheel on his own for fear of spraying them both with recently wetted clay. After stopping the oncoming disaster, she shows him how to run it, placing his hands on the clay and helping him start to widen the base.

She guides him as he begins to build the pot upwards, hands stalling when she hears Magnus start humming. For all that he claimed not to be creative, he has a pretty nice voice. He could probably be some indie singer with an acoustic guitar, the kind that play half original songs and half acoustic Nirvana covers in coffee shops. She begins to move again so they don’t squish the pot. She’s got to admit, this is nice- moving together, shaping the short pot with their hands touching. She’s almost smiling when she notices what it is he’s humming.

She’s going to kill him. Really, she is. Alex Fierro is ready to grab her garrote and decapitate him again. The little jerk is humming “Unchained Melody,” just minutes after she put thoughts of Ghost out of her head. (Honestly, she’s a little impressed too- I mean, it’s a hard song. Sure, he’s doing it an octave down, but the melody, unchained as it is, is still rather challenging.)

Brushing that thought away, she growls a bit and shoves him. Not enough to damage their pot, but enough to feel it.

“Do you want to die again, Chase? Because if you don’t quit with the Righteous Brothers, you’re gonna,” she threatens, scowling deeper when Magnus cracks up laughing.

“Sorry,” he’s gasping, in between smug giggles, “Couldn’t help myself.”

“You won’t be able to help yourself if you don’t focus on this pot, Mango boy.” Naturally, being Magnus, he just laughs harder.

“Mango?” He asks when he regains his breath. “I’m not sure if that’s supposed to better or worse than Maggie.”

Alex huffs a laugh against the back of his neck, and she wonders if she imagined how he slightly he stiffened afterwards. In their teasing, she’s somehow leaned even closer to him and all of a sudden her heart rate skyrockets once again, closer to the speed a sugar-glider’s heart might beat than that of a human.

Magnus is silent, and she worries slightly that he could somehow hear her racing heartbeat. She curses the fact that she has this problem at all- she’s dead, why should her heart be beating at all? But she supposes a beating heart- telltale or otherwise- is better than an unbeating one. This close to Magnus, Alex can smell lemon shampoo and wonders idly if he can hers- strawberry-kiwi that comes in a pink and green bottle.

By this point, the pot is getting rather tall for a first try, so Alex tries to clear her head and help Magnus widen it to make it sturdier. Their hands slide together easily, and Alex tries to enjoy it less than she really does. Her heart is still pounding at a disco beat, but she ignores it. She’s sitting so close to Magnus they’re practically touching, her chest nearly pressed up against his back as she helps him sculpt. On an impulse, she moves the last centimeter so there’s no space between them and rests her chin lightly on his shoulder. Magnus stiffens a bit initially in surprise but then relaxes, and she thinks she can see him grinning out of the corner of her eye.

They finish out the pot like that, her head on his shoulder, and when the pot is as good as it’ll likely get and the wheel is shut off, she leans in and presses her lips to his cheek quickly. He blushes deeply, and she thinks maybe she can hear his heart beating as he hurriedly looks around the room awkwardly for anything other than Alex to focus on.

Alex smiles wide. He’s distracted and flustered, looking away from her- a perfect target. Too easy, really. Taking advantage of his inattention, she ambushes him and drags her wet clay-covered hand down his face. He yelps in surprise and flails away before recovering and retaliating by flinging clay of his own at Alex. It lands on her face with a wet smack, and this means war.

Magnus, who’s looking rather proud of himself, is hit with another clump of clay and by now Alex is laughing- hysterical, almost maniacal giggles as Magnus sends another barrage her way. It’s getting in their hair and on their clothes, but thankfully they’re both wearing her Hotel Valhalla shirts today.

Within a few minutes, all the leftover clay is strewn everywhere, covering both kids as well the floor and some of the wall, but neither care too much. They’re both laughing joyfully as they end up lying on the floor.

“Well, you can’t say you’re not artistic now,” Alex teases. Magnus rolls his eyes.

“Right, I’ve mastered pottery completely,” he responds, and now it’s Alex’s mismatched eyes’ turn to roll.

“Well, maybe you need a bit more practice,” she says with mock deliberation. “We should do this again sometime.”

[akiwisfics]

In the Middle Chapter 8

Notes: No longer a crosspost, technically, but chapter already written. If you get annoyed by this, please savior ‘kiwi crossposts’ to save your eyes.

Description:  The war's over, but the mess is still left behind. Kasumi finds herself among the wreckage with unexpected companions and questions that seem almost impossible to answer for. Life keeps moving forward, however, and the surprises it leaves behind aren't always pleasant ones.

Pairing: KasumixSha’ira

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Kasumi was never a cook. Oh she craved good food like anyone that had the taste of fine life, fine wine-- an opportunity to know the difference between a perfect cut of perfect temperature of steak to scraps left behind from a meal between bored batarian slavers more concerned with profits than artistry and fine dining. But she didn’t have the chance to know how to make it herself. Not surprisingly-- she was a child when she was taken, and by the time that she was freed of her shackles, she was more concerned with the constant burning and itching  at the back of her skull than the differences of various fish filets.

Ah, but soon, she would taste riches, and sometimes, it enraptured her in a way that only art came close to.

But the richest of the rich didn’t know either. They couldn’t until that food was taken from them. No doubt many of those old blood capitalists and tyrants craved now, now that the old system was gone. 

She enjoyed taking samples when she crashed dinner parties, flirting with the idea of being among their elite and making people guess how and where they had seen her before. It was part of the fun. She learned the differences and specifics of turian, asari, quarian cuisine-- the history of different cuts and fishes that once passed alien hands in their own celebrations. She would say it was for research, to keep the guessing game going, but well.

Nothing compared to her grandmother’s cooking.

They only knew each other for about a month or so before she passed, when Kasumi was trying to figure out how to be human in the deepest dark of her despair. At times, she thought on the time and wished she’d been kinder. Spoke more, shared love and affection with her grandmother and aunt more freely. But she hadn’t known how to do it, not after losing someone so tremendous so recently. 

But every day, her grandmother would pull her from the reaches and into their tiny apartment kitchen, the thick smell of salty broth and noodles pulling her back into reality. The mere reminder of it could make Kasumi’s mouth water-- rich, melting in her mouth, leaving a soft warmth behind in her chest.

She would find out over time more specifics of what she made. It was a style of miso ramen, made specifically for the harsh winters in Japan’s northern region. Her grandmother had a restaurant for a time on Earth before moving her family to the Citadel after humanity discovered the Mass Relays and made contact with the rest of the galaxy. She had tried running a few shops there in the Wards, but had retired early to help the family adjust to life in space. 

Her grandmother served them ramen in two large, expensive bowls, chopsticks and spoon-- as was traditional back home. Kasumi would get a fork the first week until she learned how to move the chopsticks with ease (it wasn’t much different than any other work she did honestly; a little practice and a little deft work and it was done). The broth-- a thick combination of miso and fish-- easily overtook the small space between them as it soaked rich wheat noodles. Her grandmother claimed the sliced pork inside was fresh, even if that was probably impossible, topped with sweet corn, sprouts, and plenty of garlic. If she was really lucky, there would be a sliced boiled egg floating on top.

It was divine. A true labor of love each and every day. 

“You’re starting to get some meat on your bones.” Her grandmother had a sharp eye too. She could see the resemblance between them. Thick brown eyes that had been hers once, the same nose and round jaw. Her hair had lengthened well past her shoulders after decades, though Kasumi rarely saw it free from the loose bun she wrapped it in. Much the same reason she had kept her own short-- easy and out of the way of work.

She had carried her age with grace, and in her most optimistic moods, she had imagined herself looking much the same, perhaps with a grandchild of her own lingering in the kitchen, waiting for the ramen to soak like she so often did. 

30 short days, and yet they seemed to have known each other for years.

“Nanami?”

She had looked over the bowl of steam, mirroring a smile that she knew now was a family trait. “Sorry, I just--”

“What were the colonies like?”

Kasumi hadn’t known. What specks of memories she still had about her first home weren’t concrete enough to give. There was similar thick aromas in her father’s kitchen, late nights where her mother returned home covered in oil and grime. Fights and games shared with her sister. A bundle of blankets tightly wrapping around a baby boy, keeping him warm and secured. 

The mines and fields she worked after weren’t colonies. Not the romanticized ones so often advertised over the vids. Sometimes it sickened her so badly that she had to switch the channel-- something that hadn’t been lost by the other two occupants in the home.

“Mom and Dad were happy,” she said instead.

“I don’t doubt it. They would be happy to see us all here again.”

She could’ve asked a million things. What were they like? Why did they go out into the colonies in the first place? Had she kept contact? Questions that another day, another season, Kasumi would have been happy to be occupied in finding out, but as it stood, she was hurting, and as it stood, they never asked her how she came to be there.

She’d been afraid then. Unfortunately for her grandmother, the geth would find her before Kasumi had the strength to ask.

--

Dark fell quickly over their campsite-- clear as the day had been with leftover spring warmth that made it easy for her group members to stay out longer than usually. Many of them mingled awkwardly with their salarian counterparts, though fewer in number as the day wore on. If Kasumi had to guess, they were moving their camp closer. Strength in numbers. Their preoccupation would make it easy to get out, though increased her chances in running into a member or two later on in her venture.

The sea of stars above was stunning with constellations and lights that likely hadn’t been seen on London soil in decades, freed of manmade pollution and electricity. If she had time, it wouldn’t be so bad to make her way to a mostly intact building or two to stargaze. How much time she would actually have though entirely depended on how urgent someone would be to find her though. How much Major Kirrahe actually trusted her to behave.

Considering she was in her catsuit already, the lack of trust was right, however irritating it might have been. It wasn’t as if she trusted any of the STG either. Still, the catsuit felt nice after so long, fitted perfectly and adjusted for whatever tumbles and climbs she would need to make throughout her trip. 

No one was keeping a close eye to her tent. Big mistake. She activated her cloaking immediately and kept her steps quiet as she made her exit. The heavy darkness and night that blanketed the rest of the empty streets was felt immediately as soon as she crossed the perimeter, but the stars and moon were perfect for the occasion. Just enough light to help guide her way. 

There were lots of little signs of life along the way. Nests of different finch birds, a quick sonata of crickets somewhere in the distance-- out of sight and out of mind. She could see holes dug in on old gods where animals tried to make them home. Plants, grass, weeds worming their way through the cracks of broken concrete. The art that would be inspired by this wonderful rejuvenation would be wonderful to see.

The smoke that permeated so much of the asphalt seemed to fade just a bit once she did reach the graffiti wall again, as if the world was also calming down the further she left her little pocket of civilization. There weren’t any more names left on the wall, though the fact hadn’t surprised her. From here, her and Sha’ira had gone about a half-block down, over the fallen reaper. It would be a tight squeeze still, but she could move faster without someone trailing behind. She really should get something to thank the consort. Though Kasumi wasn’t sure what all could be found that was… luxurious in the ruins, there may have been a nook or cranny or two that the Alliance hadn’t touched yet--

And oh. Her omni-tool was beeping. She let the cloak fall for now as she recognized the name on the other end. Just the girl she wanted to talk to.

“Evening!” Kasumi answered into her ear piece, eyes keeping watch of the area around her. Just in case. “I thought you might be asleep already.”

“Bullshit. You wouldn’t have called at all if you thought that.” Khalisah’s voice was groggy. She felt sort of honored that she would wake up just for little ol’ Kasumi. “If this is about the murders, I already planned on moving my camp in the morning. But you know if I get close, STG will be on my ass within minutes.”

Kasumi ignored it. “Do you know about the other groups around here?”

The hissing sigh on the other end was long and exasperated, but she heard her rustling through her belongings, grumbling the entire time. “My notes are around here, hold on… Couldn’t you just ask for this when it’s not in the middle of the night?”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

“You fucking suck,” but there wasn’t as much bite as there was usually. Kasumi smiled. She heard pages (paper? Oh how old-school) being quickly flipped through before Khalisah finally spoke again. “There’s another volunteer group southwest from you guys? Pretty much the same. Only thing that stood out was an older guy with half his face scarred to shit.”

“Yellow armor? Real terminus system vibe to it?” Not ideal, but if Zaeed was close, he might be bored enough to lend a hand. Security detail for a volunteer group seemed a bit low energy for him, but maybe their benefactor had about as much credit as theirs did. 

“Yeah. Figures you’d know the only other shady person in the area.”

“Be nice. He’s just cranky, usually.” And had a lot of guns and explosives on hand. He also was real handy with booby traps. If she could get her hands on another proximity mine, he could tell her something that she wouldn’t know already. Especially if their batarian neighbors were more mercenary than refugee. “Could you do me a favor?”

“I’m starting to think you don’t know what blackmail means, Ms. Goto.”

“I could’ve just let the batarians kill you, you know,” she teased. Good-naturedly. Promise.

Khalisah sighed. “Fine, fine. Whatever. What do you want?”

“Be happy. I was going to keep you up for the night before you told me that,” and suppressed a snort when she heard the snarl. “Make sure it’s Zaeed Massani, of course. And if you would, ask him to come by my camp tomorrow… morning is probably good. Before the others wake up.”

“What? You want me to wake up an angry mercenary now? I’m sure he’ll love the camera light in his face.”

“I have his channel. Assuming he hasn’t changed it anyway.”

“Then call him yourself!”

And risk him getting worked up without confirming anything? Clearly the woman hadn’t worked with many mercenaries before. Kasumi tsked. “I’m busy--”

“So was I. Sleeping!”

“Just send a nice, friendly email saying… ah.” Hmm. What should it say actually? If he was early, she wouldn’t exactly want him asking for her directly. Sure, it was about a 50-50 shot on finding someone that knew who she was at camp at this point, but Zaeed wasn’t exactly quiet. “Tell him Ms. Goto’s looking for him at camp, and if he doesn’t see me, just ask for Sha’ira or Kirrahe. Then wait til I get there.”

“And he’ll just go?”

“If you’re that worried, you’re welcomed to toss 500 credits down for me. Money does talk.”

She hung up on her instead. Rude. Kasumi was going to offer to pay her back, but maybe the message came off a bit strongly. She still sent a quick message off with his channel information, in case the reporter did decide to follow through on the request. If not, he probably wouldn’t be hard to find. Guess she couldn’t fault her for getting antsy though. Since their deal was made, Kasumi hadn’t actually followed through with anything, though in her defense, she was spending that time warning her instead. 

It could and would wait for now though. She reactivated her cloaking device and continued her trek toward the murder scene, mentally wording whatever apology email she’d need to make to Khalisah later along the way. The hushed landscape made it easy to concentrate on it, disappointingly absent of any tracks or evidence of others that may have passed through in the meantime. 

If this was newly staked batarian territory, they weren’t using obvious wider paths. Either they didn’t want to be found, or were acutely aware of the possibility of someone tracking them. Could be both, or neither. 

She shimmied around the dead god’s head, and found little had changed in the last few days. It was still a clearing, shadowed by crumbled buildings, half-shapened concrete blocks-- debris of either the buildings around them or elsewhere. She had spent plenty of days memorizing the reach of reaper lasers and various weaponry for the many, many runs she did for the Alliance. Sometimes, the fact that they had won at all still seemed utterly surreal. They were creatures perfectly suited for Lovecraftian lore, hulking, massive creatures  that extended and did things beyond human imagination.

And yet… they were like any other piece of machinery. Artificial, metal, wires. A very scary thought, that over the years, they wouldn’t just dispose of the pieces, but reuse them. Shape something new out of it. With any luck, Kasumi would be dead before that bit humanity in the ass.

She shook those thoughts away and located the alleyway from before. There was still a blackened spot from where the proximity mine had gone off, stretching out like tendrils toward the slab that Kasumi landed on. Noticeably, however, was that any shrapnel had been picked up. The slab looked clean and dusted off. Someone was trying to cover their tracks.

Just at her feet, another red light stretched across the width of the alleyway. It was so easy to spot now that there was evidence of a previous detonation. It wasn’t meant as a trap then. More like a security measure. The sound would be picked up by any guards in the area, allowing them to retaliate to whoever wasn’t hurt by the mine, or move the group before they were found. Their camp may be close by then, if they hadn’t been spooked by their visitation from the other day.  

Nothing special. Kasumi had disabled hundreds of mines in her lifetime. A quick scan of her omni-tool and it short-circuited, allowing her to pick up the mine safely and quietly. Initial look and it seemed… simple. Looked to be scrapped together with various shrapnel from old signs if she had to guess. The circuitry of the actual proximity program would be hard to see without opening it up, but she doubted there was anything unique about it. The maker was experienced, that much Kasumi was sure. If they had any resources from outside Earth however, it was probably gone by now.

She kept it for now, and made sure to study the alley closely for anymore. None on this side. Rationing carefully then, or just that confident in whatever guards they had in the area to act quickly. 

The alley opened up to an even larger clearing than the one before, in what Kasumi could only figure was a rather nice square before. There was still remnants of old cobblestone, ones that had been there centuries and lived through more wars than she could count. Street ways that had been there once, brushed over by dirt and grime, cracked into pieces where weeds and grass sprouted in between. The fountain in the middle was in about the same shape, once wondrous and calming, spouting water from a jar a… cherub perhaps? Was holding into a pool that had been empty for some time. Much of the smaller details were lost by the throes of time and war. The curvature of marble surrounding it still stood enough to be a tempting seat for weary walkers.

Likely why she found the spatter of dried blue blood on its rim. Sura mentioned Thyra wasn’t much for walking for long periods. Yet she managed to dodge the proximity mine…?

The east entrance was blocked by a section of broken highway, but the west was clear enough to come through it looked like. She doubted their killer would cover the alleyway and not such a wide berth of area. Too wide for a simple proximity trip though. Perhaps more traditional mines? Kasumi would have to check as she investigated then. A good thing Major gave her mods back.

Well, presumably she died there, unless there was another turian victim in the interim. That narrowed the scope a bit. A sniper would want the highest building they could get. Probably wasn’t any building on the other side of the fountain. Then…

Ah. A parking deck about a 60 degree angle. It was a good place to start, though maybe not the easiest to climb. It was structurally sound, and compared to most parking decks found in say the Citadels or Illium, wasn’t too high. Most parking decks on Earth had been converted to top level access only once skycars became commonplace. Valets would take over parking once an individual skycar landed on the roof, and would be retrieved by the valet when the visitor returned. 

However, employees and visitors still needed an entrance on the ground level. That would be the place to start. She brought up her omni-tool once again to scan the area between the fountain and the parking deck, but kept her eyes on the rooftops and upper levels just in case. No obvious red lights, and a glint of armor would be difficult to spot in the moonlight. She couldn’t see any signs of smoke ventilation or fire, but toward the very top, it looked like there was… haphazard plating maybe? Someone covering holes that were left from various skirmishes. The metal didn’t fit the rest of the building. Where she’d find her camp then.

And no mines based on the scan. Made sense if they have kids or just regular people with them. That lended credence to what Darshan had told them before about it being a settlement. Mines were also extensive to maintain and keep from dumb mercenaries from accidentally killing themselves though. They could just have them installed along the openings. If they had a shuttle or skycar handy, they wouldn’t have to walk out of the clearing ever, though to rely on enough clearance to land was risky in a ruined city. 

The actual entrance facing the square looked caved in sadly, but after a few minutes circling the building, she noticed a discreet sheet of metal ever so slightly askewed. A very small crack in the corner. Peeking inside only showed a thick blanket of darkness within. Could be wearing night vision goggles, but more than likely, the lower level here was unguarded. No obvious signs of tampering for a trap or bomb of some kind. With careful hands, Kasumi peeled the metal back.

Sure enough, no guns suddenly pointed in her direction. Risky to leave their entrance unmanned. If they had a sniper on the roof though, they may have noticed the metal moving. So long as she was careful though, they wouldn’t find her. Any explosive trap was unlikely at this point, unless they wanted to risk blowing the support beams with it. They were left mostly intact, but if Kasumi studied close enough, she’d see the beginning cracks of wear and tear. 

Most of the skycars inside were gutted and cut open, eviscerated of their wiring and circuitry. Where they were getting the shrapnel to make the bombs then. Smart. They had enough there to last them a good while. There was a ramp further back, though it took some climbing to get to it. 

Mostly climbing over corpses. Not human, at least… not anymore. The wiring that stuck out of rotting flesh told her exactly what sort of things that were littering this parking deck. … It looked like they were being gutted too. She hoped just for the wires and not… anything else. Husks and cannibals mostly, one brute that she nearly tripped over as she navigated the darkness, it’s jawless turian skull another of plenty of images that she really, really wished wouldn’t be haunting her to her grave.

She had dreams about it sometimes. Sometimes of being forced onto one of many pikes, feeling it rip through her chest and continue to breathe and survive until she was more metal than bone, more wire than flesh. Other times, it wasn’t the reapers. Other times, it was Cerberus. Finding her again, trying to entice her with a contract, only to--

Oh. Hm. Rudimentary, but effective when electricity wasn’t always available. A simple wire strewn across the bottom of the ramp. Likely went up further to the higher levels. Properly paranoid, then. Kasumi could respect it. She had been fortunate to keep several back up generators for her various security systems at both locations that survived the invasion. She stepped over the wire easily, and then noticed the lone light further up the ramp, stretching long and lonely on the asphalt.

Though the cloak would keep her from being spotted, Kasumi still kept to the outer wall, eying the ground carefully for any scattered rocks or pebbles-- anything that might give away her presence to the guard above. The catsuit wasn’t just for style, fortunately, equipped with various sound dampeners from the padding to her shoulders to the soles of her shoes. A listless guard or two would have a hard time picking up muffled steps.

Just one it seemed. Batarian, as Darshan said. He looked younger, fuller face on him with scuffed up navy armor. The vindicator loose in his hands was in good shape, a couple of mods that focused on power and increased ammo in the thermal clip. Trying to make the best out of every shot it seemed. He sat on an old lawn chair with a flashlight by his feet, the harsh shadows making him seem more intimidating than he actually was. Even from her distance though, Kasumi could see those dark eyes drooping, just a minute or so from dozing off. She slipped past him easily.

Fewer corpses on this level, and she doubted she’d seen any on the next. They were making it a home for themselves clearly. Two more batarians sat on crates around a campfire west from their sleepy friend, conversing to themselves. No tents, but sleeping bags it looked like. She ducked behind a gutted car and tried to listen in.

“Dinner was rough tonight.”

“We’re running low on rations. It’d be nice to go out and actually hunt soon, but…”

“Yeah, I get it. At least the salarian had some nice shit on him--”

“Dumbass, that’s precisely why. You saw the datapads in there yourself!”

Sounded like the STG murder was an accident then. They had plenty of resources as far as scrap metal and wiring went here, so why were they bothering with that? Medical and food supplies maybe? Information would’ve been an obvious decision if it’d been on purpose, but.

“... What are we going to do…?”

“... Just let boss work it out. Everything will be fine, Sakul... alright?”

“Guess we don’t have much choice.”

Didn’t seem worse than the run-of-the-mill mercenary group then. Inconsistent armors, so not likely to be from any major organization or anything. She would be reluctant to just kill a bunch of dumb people for the whole mess, but STG would likely disagree. And they weren’t exactly innocent. They hadn’t regretted Thyra’s death. Not yet anyway. 

They would soon enough though. She crept past their campfire with as much ease and stepped over another wire alarm as she continued her trek up. All too quickly, the dim light that was swallowed by the darkness above. Quiet, too temptingly so. She made sure to wait long enough for her vision to adjust to the change in light. As Kasumi suspected, there weren’t any reaper remnants on this floor. The batarians were doing some clean up, at least. With as much work as they’ve done with their security systems, it wouldn’t surprise her if they planned to stay for a while.

She spotted a glint in the darkness though, off in the corner. A quick flash of her omni-tool and she recognized the turret installed there. Seemed to be turned off though. After a few minutes of menial work, taking and pocketing a wire or two, and Kasumi made sure it would stay that way. 

The fourth and fifth floor were set up much the same, blanketed completely in darkness with a few turrets stationed in various corners and hiding spots. It confirmed that the group was small at least, and the area was too large to cover with manual resources. Sneaking past was hardly a challenge, but she hadn’t had one in a while. Not in the technical aspects anyway. Still, it felt… nice going back to normal for her. She really wasn’t suited for civilian life. Too much monotony and people were just strange. Or hurt to see them.

She wasn’t sure how Sha’ira thought she would be okay with it. Being a consort wasn’t nearly as violent or illegal as her job, but it wasn’t normal either. It wasn’t the 9-5, or just trying to pick up the pieces with family and friends. She was meant for something. 

Maybe they could talk about it later. Maybe it would get the consort from prying too much about the greybox. 

She finally found the camp on the sixth level, just one floor short from the roof. Kasumi could understand the choice. The enclosed space protected them from exposure and the higher elevation kept them from running into vermin species that likely still scurried around London streets. Any lights had long since been extinguished by the time she arrived, save for the campfire that was still glowing brightly, right in the center of the halo of tents. They were close together-- any sound from one would obviously carry to others. 

More batarian guards sitting at the actual fire, too quiet to hear as she watched on the outskirts of the camp. While tempting to listen in on their conversation, it was probably too risky with the amount of tents that were around. By her estimate, there were about 20 or so located in the tents themselves-- a rather large camp for as decimated the hegemony had been by the war. 

She crept along the edge of the camp, hugging the makeshift walls facing the square and the outer walls of the tents. No one would likely pick up any movement at this late from within, but Kasumi wasn’t one to overstay her welcome. The firelight danced lazily against the white, offering brief flickers of shadows inside. Most didn’t have cots or personal effects, it looked like-- sleeping on simple bags or pallets made out of well worn blankets and pillows.

Smaller shapes, others a more feminine contour. Women, children. Not many, but enough. Their tents were closer to the fire, to keep the little ones from getting cold at night. 

… Darshan’s story checked out then. That was going to make this a lot more complicated. STG specialized in extraction though, missions especially like this. While she would have trouble kidnapping someone tonight, perhaps they had a few suggestions that wouldn’t end in unnecessary bloodshed. Or they wouldn’t care-- though Major Kirrahe didn’t strike her as cold. 

The other option of course, would be to take care of the sniper herself. She knew how to make it clean and efficient enough-- perhaps frame the scene as an accident to avoid backlash from the batarians. They were already a bit flighty, considering they murdered one person for just going into their territory. … They might put the blame on STG if she did do it though. If they kept them busy for a while,  it would give her the opportunity to get the logs they had on her and destroy them. Hmm. Didn’t exactly avoid the whole bloodshed thing, but, ah shit. Samara knew she was coming out here tonight.

She would have to meet this sniper and go from there, she supposed. 

Kasumi slipped past the camp, it’s final tent about ten feet or so from the ramp that led up to the roof. She was surprised to see that it was in as good of shape as it was. There was some crumbling along the edges, faded lane paint, but it had little in way of debris. If not for her dampeners, her steps would probably echo on such an empty expanse. The moonlight was bright and clear in the sky above, crescent with all the stars and constellations she had admired before. The view of the city alone must be spectacular. It wouldn’t be so bad as a dating spot, honestly. 

One last wire alarm at the top of the ramp, easily stepped over. The roof had been cleaned up about as well as the lower floors it looked like. A skycar or two that had yet been cleaned of materials. A decrepit alcove where steps were before, now resembling more like a jagged spike sprouting on the pavement. 

Her target was laying on their belly, the concrete rim cleared away to allow the sniper rifle freedom of movement. They had a pale lavender sheet over them to stave off the cold. As Kasumi approached, more personal touches became clearer. They had a flashlight off to the side, keeping them illuminated for any other snipers that could be stationed on neighboring buildings. Stench of overcooked varren meat from a plate left abandoned on the hood of a skycar cleaved in two from a reaper beam. Canteen by the front fender. Yellow tulips beside it. Cute.

By their feet, she recognized the model of the sniper rifle. Standard M-98 Mantis, though the scope looked modded for extended range. Whoever was handling their weapons was very familiar with the modding process. Taking it might have some advantages, but she would need to distract the actual gunman holding it. 

She retreated back, and careful not to alert the guard, picked up the canteen. With a quick under-handed toss, she chucked the canteen closer to the ramp, clinking against the hard ground and denting the well-worn equipment further. She ducked around the other side of the cleaved car, just as the sniper’s head shot up.

“What the fuck?!” 

He looked young too. Small. Smaller than the first guard she ran into on the way up the deck. He had plenty of fat left on his cheeks, not quite developing the small hairs and thick folds that signified adulthood in a batarian. The armor, a deep olive green, barely fit him as he stood to his feet and approached the canteen cautiously. His steps were heavy on the pavement, but he stumbled on every third. 

Just the rifle then. Kasumi moved quickly and quietly to his nest. The rifle was easy to swipe from underneath the sheets, same weight as a typical mantis. She folded it to its resting position, ready to holster it to her back.

Then she heard ringing. Her eyes snapped to the ramp, where the boy had bent over and tugged at the wire with two fingers. Then his eyes caught on hers-- or more likely-- the sniper rifle that appeared to be floating in the air. 

She was too greedy for her own good sometimes.

The young batarian kicked off in a sprint toward her position, fast, but only fists raised. Should be easy enough to incapacitate him and split, but now the batarians would know someone came by. She would have to make this quick. She snapped the sniper rifle to her back and stood, quickly reaching for a flashbang grenade in her back pocket. It’d disorient him and hurt, but--

She thought it was a lunge at first, clearly on a fight response already, but as she saw the sheer panic in his eyes as the momentum took him past her, Kasumi realized he tripped over his own shoes. On his own shoes toward the edge. Without thinking, she snapped a hand out, tightly gripping onto the back of his chest armor, one foot dangling in the open air of the square below. 

“I’ve got you,” she hushed as she noticed his slacked jaw as he stared down. His panicked panting, just at the edge of a scream, wasn’t helping matters any. He looked to the empty space holding him up, already too big eyes comically larger in his panic. Just a kid. Any other time, he may not have even known how to use the rifle she’d stolen from him. 

She released the cloak as she brought him closer, back onto safer ground, just as his ear piece crackled to life.

“Hey. We heard the cans from the roof. Everything alright?” much older voice on the other end. Either one of the more veteran guards on the lower floors or maybe Mr. Boss himself.

She pressed a finger to her own lips, “Just want to talk. Don’t do anything that’ll hurt someone. Especially you.”

The boy looked behind him, to the open air he had been just a split second from tumbling into, and just to emphasize her point, she tightened the grip on his collar, locking it tightly in her fingers. He gulped, visibly. “... Everything’s fine. Just accidentally tripped it dropping my canteen.”

“Be more careful, will you? Had about half the building in a panic.”

“S-sorry.”

The communication cut off, and Kasumi released him. His shoulders sagged immediately, though looked a bit lost now without the rifle in his hands. He kept looking at it on her back, as if trying to decide how to pry it off. “... What-- who are you?” though he kept his voice quiet. Smart.

She shrugged. “Oh, I was just in the neighborhood. How old are you?”

The boy hesitated before sitting down on the lavender sheet, rubbing the back of his neck. It looked a bit too warm for spring, with wool like texture. Maybe they nabbed it in the city somewhere. Kasumi was half-tempted to ask where they got it. “... 13.” His eyes wouldn’t meet her, even under the shade of her hood.

“Bit young to be killing people, isn’t it?” Still, she sat down across from him, trying to keep him calmed down, keep him from alerting those below. “How long have you been using this rifle?”

“What’s it to you?” He pressed on his ear piece, but Kasumi quickly held a finger up, tsking.

“Let’s not do that,” and she flashed her omni-tool, just enough to illustrate her point. “Overloading comms can knock out your hearing for a long time.” The boy deflated, arm loosely dropping, knuckles slightly scraping against the concrete. “I appreciate it. And really, I’m not trying to cause trouble. Just need to get a few details before I go.”

“About what?”

“Oh, just a couple things, really. Are you always the one manning this roof?”

“... Me or my dad. We take turns.”

“Do you remember a turian girl that came by a few days ago? Was it your dad that shot her?”

“... Oh…” He turned away from her, stretching out on the blanket as he peered over the edge. Back to her-- one of the worst things anyone could do in the terminus systems. He hadn’t been raised in the worst of it then. “... Figures you’d come for that.”

“Unfortunately, I’m not the worst of it, but I can keep your dad out of trouble,” she tilted her head, trying to catch his gaze. “You don’t have to protect him, and if you can convince him to--”

“I shot her.”

She was afraid he’d say that. On the bright side, STG would handle it better than the Alliance would, she’d imagine. They were a calculating bunch, but they didn’t have as much history as humanity did with them. It churned her stomach to even consider putting some teen in handcuffs though, not when he was just trying to protect his family. “I’m sorry. That’s a lot to put on you. Was that your first time?”

He finally looked at her, and the fragility behind his heavy gaze broke her heart. “... The wind’s different here than back home. I just meant to scare her off…”

“No one’s perfect.”

“... You’re weird for a human.” Still, he seemed pretty calm, and no one else had noticed her yet. Kasumi had located her suspect, but the others didn’t have to know, did they? “Dad said I need to be more careful. Batarians always get the bad rap, so we have to assume the worst and behave the best.”

“He sounds like a smart man,” ah but the fact that he was still alive, “Was he… well, you know.”

The boy’s brow furrowed. “He learned his lesson, if that’s what you’re asking. Said a-- a miskha -- a monster, I think is what you guys say? … Roughed him up real badly. He can’t really move much anymore, so we use sniper rifles instead.”

She’d heard that word before, though from where Kasumi couldn’t quite place. Legends from her old masters perhaps, horror stories they’d share with one another around the campfire as the varrens nipped at her heels and the whispers tugged and pulled at her. It wasn’t a kind word. Heavier than monster. Like a beast, beyond comprehension. 

“... Thank you,” Kasumi said and stood. She had plenty enough to think in any case. Easier to target the dad then. Easier to spin a former slaver back in the business, or… just trying to survive. It wasn’t pretty, it wasn’t nice. But she would take a former slaver’s blood over a kid’s any day. 

“Ma’am?” He called after a moment, just before she could really make the move to leave. “... What are you going to do now?”

Talk with Zaeed. See if he had any experience framing someone for murder. It wouldn’t do him any comfort. Telling him the truth, or even bringing up the STG would just hurt him. “Couple more passes around the neighborhood, I guess~. Night’s still young.” She stretched her arms, ready to switch the cloak back on, then heard the click of a heavy pistol behind her.

Oh, kid. Don’t do this. She offered a placid smile as she glanced to his hands. Carnifex, standard model. It was a favorite of hers back on the Normandy. Unfortunately for him, she had assembled and disassembled, modded, and overloaded far too many to be worried about it pointed at her face. 

“You’re gonna tell those salarians right? … I’m gonna die.”

“It doesn’t have to be that way. Don’t.”

Finger too close to the trigger. She sighed and swiped her omni-tool quickly, efficiently. Kasumi had done it hundreds of times at this point. Just a second delay, almost where the boy was squeezing the trigger, before the carnifex sparked and exploded in his hands. 

The jolt of electricity and fire was quick and immediate. The boy screamed out in pain as he threw the pistol aside. The charred, burning flesh nauseated her, a stench that had permeated constantly throughout the war. Please. Let it be enough. 

He dug his heel and charged her. Kasumi braced for the weight against her, but she wasn’t a heavy woman. Her head hit the ground hard as he toppled them both over, burned hands fumbling between strangling her or reaching for the sniper rifle behind her back. She curled her fists tight and threw it as hard as she could against the boy’s jaw, but he just wouldn’t get off. Instead he matched blow for blow, cracking a burnt knuckle against her eye socket.

She gritted her teeth and squirmed best she could for her back pocket for a flashbang, but suddenly felt one of those hands on sleek metal around her waist. The locust!

The omni-blade barely registered before it sank into the side of his chest, sliding perfectly between plates of armor and rib bones. His hands froze immediately, and he slumped against her, blood gurgling from his mouth. Kasumi sucked in a deep breath, trying to soothe the heavy pounding her heart. Let the adrenaline wash out of her. Eyes closed. Counted a few seconds. 

He was still alive, but not for long. Where the omni-blade landed would’ve punctured his lungs. While quick, it would be very painful. Numbly, she took the boy’s shoulders and pushed him off. He flopped like deadweight onto his back. Not much longer. She was sorry. So, so sorry.

She replaced her carnifex when she had left. Swiped a suppressor from a drunk soldier on Illium. That man was probably dead now too. She placed the muzzle on his temple and squeezed the trigger once. Any gasps, gurgles, halted movements of his chest-- they stopped immediately. 

Sloppy. So, so sloppy. So messy.

She took the earpiece.

“Korem?! What’s going on up there?! The guys on sixth said they heard screaming.”

What the fuck was wrong with her?

They would be up there any minute. It would be tricky to get out without a distraction splitting some of the forces. She peered over at the corpse beside her and sighed. 

Korem’s body crunched on impact, red and flesh mingling with the white pavement as it spattered in wild directions. 

“What the hell was that?! Someone go check that! Sixth floor, roof ASAP!”

“Oh, god, I’m sorry--”

Kasumi spared one last glance to memorize the shape of the broken body, his face frozen in horror as he stared unblinking to the starry sky, and tossed the ear piece over the roof with him. By the time the guards arrived to scope out the horror Kasumi left behind, her cloak was already activated, and she walked past-- letting the unfolding chaos and anguish distract from her exit.

--

Someone was calling again.

Somewhere, somehow in her hazy mind, Kasumi found herself sitting atop the graffiti wall, legs dangling over and staring upward. The air had cooled, and her right eye kept tearing. Bruising probably. Maybe some irritation from dirt and grime on that child’s hands. Child. She killed a child. What was she--

“Kasumi?”

Her hand clasped over her mouth as she felt the bile rise in her throat and swallowed, ignoring how the acid burned in her throat. No. Not right now. Deep breath. “Hey…” and she hated how steady her voice sounded. “I thought you’d be asleep already.”

Sha’ira sounded unsteady, as if unsure how to broach the topic. Her voice had more air to it than usual too-- still tired probably. “I couldn’t sleep,” she admitted, “I was worried, but wasn’t sure you would answer a call right now.”

 “I… I was lonely, I guess. I usually don’t.” 

“Are you okay?”

 No. She was going to have to spend the rest of the night trying to find a canal or something to scrub the catsuit while trying not to vomit. She would have to explain her black eye in the morning to everyone, and she would have to explain that one of their big scary killers was a child, and she had just used his body to escape a hellfire of bullets. She wanted to scream. She wanted to go home and hold Keiji, or his image, or just feel something, anything else right now. 

“... Where are you right now?”

“I’ll be back soon. I don’t want you to get hurt. It’s kinda hard to see right now.”

“Kasumi.”

She didn’t want to be alone. But then Sha’ira would see this, and -- “Do you know where the nearest river is? Or like… a body of water?”

No hesitation, no pauses. Kasumi could even hear the smile on the other side. “I’ll bring a change of clothes. Whatever happened… we’ll get through it. Together.”

At least, it’d give her a chance to plan. They would be coming back for her, and she sure as hell wouldn’t fault them for it. 

--

As it turned out, an actual, functioning canal wasn’t super far from there. It was hardly clean, and absolutely guaranteed, she would smell like sewage or worse if she even tried. The canal’s water was moving though, which meant it had a better chance of being sterile than any other body of water that wasn’t an actual fucking river. It was water. It was flowing in a canal that was only holding itself together by the seams. Bridges connecting one side to another completely fallen apart, edges and sidewalks broken, husk corpses-- some of which were not-so pleasantly floating in the water.

It didn’t matter, because the blood was coming off. She had found a spot where the sidewalk had partially caved, providing a perfect ramp to the water. She had stripped off her catsuit with frightening efficiency and submerged the whole thing-- allowing her balled fists to stretch against the leather. The pads would take longer to dry, but fuck it. She didn’t care right now. She just wanted the blood off.

The first time it happened was on Omega, and she was a lot fresher faced and a lot more stupid. Eclipse merc used a hostage. Thought she wouldn’t go that far. Had, and wished she hadn’t. Kiera lectured her for days for how sick she felt. Kids didn’t know better. They couldn’t know better. They were just put in places by dumb adults and then dumber adults killed them. The recovery should have made them more important, but it didn’t and now a thirteen year old was dead. 

She couldn’t blame his father for it. He should have been safe on the roof with six floors of batarians with more experience between. Korem was old enough to want to contribute, and so he did. 

What could, should she tell the others? There wasn’t any framing to do now, but with how she left the place, the batarians would be going after STG next. Convenient for the shit she needed to get back, but it wasn’t their fault. They didn’t tell her to go. They didn’t tell her to kill a kid. And the truth… she wasn’t sure she could admit it. She never needed to the few times it had to happen. It’d been so long. It hurt. It hurt so bad. She didn’t even realize how badly until she was sitting on that stupid wall and that stupid call came in.

She shouldn’t care. It should be easy to just walk away. Take the shuttle, let them deal with the mess, and forget this ever happened. But she did care. She cared before those stupid batarians took her, before she met Keiji, before he died, before the fucking normandy. She wasn’t a monster that could just remove those thoughts and feelings aside. She wasn’t--

“Kasumi, I brought-- oh!”

And to Sha’ira, she probably looked a bit crazy at the moment. It’s not like she had a change of clothes with her when she stripped. So here was the consort, coming to help her friend in the middle of the night and finding her hunched over by a canal in her underwear, scrubbing at a catsuit and mumbling to herself. This was not a great look. Yeoman Chambers would’ve had a field day with that psych write-up. She wondered how she was doing. Probably not great. Few former Cerberus operatives were these days.

“Apologies. I imagine someone in your occupation would prefer some courtesy. I can turn around if you’d like. … I just thought you would be in the water already.”

The stench in her catsuit was going to be hard enough to get rid of. She didn’t need her whole body smelling like it. Did the consort seem a bit flustered? That surprised her. She peered over her shoulder, making out the curvature of Sha’ira back as she faced away and poised as gracefully as ever, and tried not to smile so wide. “The sewage smell isn’t the most appealing,” Kasumi remarked and pulled her catsuit from the water. Most of the blood was off, but a few spots were staining the pads. Ugh. “You can look by the way~. Just no cameras, of course.”

“Promise.” Though the offer was made, Kasumi didn’t really expect her to take it. The turn was quiet, barely discernible, but curious eyes studying her was obvious enough. It seemed fair after dragging her out of camp in the early morning hours, even though the offer had been reluctantly accepted on her part. She kept at her work however, this time finally separating the padding from the rest of the leather. The dried blood and stench nearly made her gag. 

Sha’ira stepped closer, less subtle steps, until standing just above her and studying the fabric that Kasumi was so desperately trying to get the stains out of. “... You’re injured.”

“Oh, it’s just bruising. It’ll be gone in a day or so.”

“Not a scratched cornea?” Probably not. Fists usually didn’t do that… she didn’t think. In any case, she could see fine, even if it was just a little blurry sometimes. What cybernetic work she had usually covered any surface hurt that could come out of a fight. Though the black eye would be hard to explain away once she did make it back to camp. Zaeed wouldn’t give a shit at least. “... I really am glad you’re alright.” 

She was never really in danger in the first place. It’s what she hated about thinking on her feet. Sometimes, Kasumi would come back and find about ten different plans that would’ve been plenty better than whatever stupidity adrenaline put her in. That ability to act, to not be paralyzed by fear or the unexpected, kept her alive for so long. But a great thief would never be in that situation in the first place. 

Sha’ira gripped her shoulder, squeezing once. The touch on her bare skin was temptingly warm, and distinctly, Kasumi remembered how much she craved.

Then she heard clothing shift as Sha’ira stood, and she turned her head back to her companion just in time to spot bare blue skin. Kasumi bit the urge to bawk as Sha’ira tossed her dress aside. “What are you doing?”

“It’s not ideal. I would agree with that. However, I do have perfumes to help mitigate the smell,” she offered casually, and Kasumi tried, very hard, to remember that nudity was more a human issue of decency than an asari one. This was fine. As if to emphasize its casualness and not a continuing symptom of Kasumi’s spiralling madness, Sha’ira stepped to the water’s edge, and without so much as a toe dip to test the temperature, submerged herself in murky depths. 

It was only a second later that she re-emerged by Kasumi’s hands, taking the soft padding between her own fingers and eying the fabric with a critical eye. The water was about chest-level, though Sha’ira hardly paid any mind to how odd the situation looked as she squeezed the fabric, letting the water it held to drip back into the canal. “I may have stain remover back in my tent. Though for blood, I would recommend bleach. I suppose if I had an idea on the material, I could make do with a combination of agents...”

The plain black bra was already soaked through. Kasumi was a bit surprised the fabric wasn’t sheer enough to be translucent from the water. Her freckles extended down to her shoulders, only becoming a lighter dusting as they approached the valley of her breasts. She… wasn’t in shape. It was actually sort of nice to see. She clearly took care of her body, but it wasn’t hardlined of muscle, of scars nicking her skin, and old war stories that never really went away in a person’s head. Her eyes curved easily with her smile, even as it looked odd examining bloodied material. Her hands weren’t calloused, long fingers that didn’t know strain as well as she did. 

Her smile widened just a little as Sha’ira spoke. “You must have a lot on your mind.”

She considered the padding between them and shrugged before tossing it back on the concrete shore. It landed in a rather unimpressive thump, joining the rest of the leather of her catsuit. Then, Kasumi eyed her with a half-hearted skepticism. “If I still stink after your dosing when we get back, I’m going to be pissed at you.”

“In my defense, your hands have already been in the water for a while, but I promise. You won’t leave my tent until you smell like roses, Kasumi.” And she waded herself a few feet back, giving Kasumi enough space to join her in the water. 

She slid in the water feet first and drew in a hiss as the chills ran up her spine. It wasn’t like ice, which she counted her blessings for, but cold water on an even colder evening was not pleasant. And Sha’ira had to have a damn good poker face not let that show when she dipped in.

The consort chuckled as she came closer, though refused to address Kasumi’s discomfort directly. “When was the last time anyone had seen you completely?”

An odd way to phrase nearly naked. “... Not since my partner? I’m sure Cerberus was a bit displeased with me disabling their cameras to ensure that.”

Sha’ira looked taken aback. “I… I can’t imagine you working for them for very long.”

“Oh! Oh no. That was with Shepard. And it was very much in the contract that it was a one-time deal. I just needed some extra help getting the…” Kasumi hesitated, though there was little point in it. “... Getting the greybox.”

“... Your partner was killed then?”

“Yeah. For the greybox.”

Sha’ira seemed pensive for a long moment, clearly different thoughts and suggestions coming together. Some being disregarded, others entertained more. She settled on one eventually though as she reached out, thumb lightly grazing against her bruised cheek before reaching the back of her skull, tracing the horizontal scar gnarled and aged in her olive skin. “... Is that how you got this?”

“No,” Kasumi admitted. “... That one’s been there for a while.”

“It’s deep. How old?”

“Ten.”

There was understanding there, sad but not pitying. It hadn’t surprised her that up close, Sha’ira recognized the scar for what it was. In her worst days, she thought she still heard the whispers and threats to her life if she didn’t obey. Sometimes, it felt like the plate was still there-- burning and itchy. But it wasn’t, and truly, it did make getting the greybox surgery much easier. The pain and recovery was nothing compared to that plate burning into her skin. Nothing compared to that. 

Her hand brushed through the shaved underside, through the short wisp of hair that had grown long enough in the front to brush into her eyes sometimes, and found the long, thin scar across her temple. “And this?”

“Sniper just barely missed. You know you’ll be at this for a while if you do this for everything?”

Sha’ira pulled her hand away, though the hum in her voice hadn’t completely left. “I hadn’t known until…”

“Yeah. My back tends to scare a lot of people. That’s what the tattoos are for.”

“This may surprise you, but you are remarkably well put together for someone that has gone through as much as you have.” She hesitated again, and she could feel her eyes following the path and lines of her skin-- what was undoubtedly a stark contrast to her own. Not just in the color either. Her olive skin had paled even further over the years of being in the shadows, and her skin had toned. Light enough to carry herself through the smallest nooks and crannies, but muscled just enough to get her from point A to point Z without taking the sidewalk. However, learning how to be a thief was hardly an easy walk in the park.

Some were from varren bites, lashes and beatings from old masters. She had the bullet holes and burns to prove her disastrous run-in in Illium, more from small incidents like tonight, others…

The tattoos were meant for covering others. She wasn’t the full body treatment like Jack, but she had a few. It was nice when she was younger and hated the skin she had been left with after so long. Abstract paintings were needled in mostly, splashes of color and whims that an old Omega roommate had illustrated beautifully. They dotted from the back of her neck to her shoulder blades, and even now when she would get the chance to look, she would admire the handiwork. There were other, smaller touches. Rose and thorns-- cliched but sentimental along her other hip, and her most recent addition, ‘SR-2’ on her right bicep. It took a lot of haggling to keep that artist quiet.

Her haircut was something more impressive once, but it wasn’t as if she had access to a hairdresser at the moment. The undercut did enough of a job, no matter how much Khalisah wanted to tease her about it. She used to have it longer, tied up in a bun like her grandmother had done before-- but it was so impractical. A few untimely somersaults and she would have wild black strands getting everywhere. It was a liability more than anything.

It was also very strange being studied like she was. There hadn’t been as much pressure as it was back when Kasumi had enough clothes to cover the most identifying parts of herself. Yet, there was something so inherently benign in the way Sha’ira observed her-- as if natural, as if there wasn’t anything else to do or worry about. 

She tried to lighten the mood. At least a little. “You make me feel like I should be posing or something~”

“It’s not necessary.” And Sha’ira smiled, and oh, there were only a few inches between them. She saw the water droplets slip lazily along the curvatures of her skin, separating in one valley and joining at another. Her hand fit easily along the lining of her jaw, nails lightly scratching as she held her. “... I want to memorize this. Like a rare flower found in the depths of a forest. I know how unique this is.”

So. Kasumi was being pampered. She knew this game too well to be bashful. She held her gaze, letting the smile ease onto her lips.

“Your arms were shaking before,” Sha’ira observed. “This is much better, isn’t it?”

It was hard to say. 

“Tell me what happened?”

“I killed a kid today.” The confession came out without a thought.

She felt the other hand fit around the other side, this time more careful, deliberate. “What happened?” she asked again. Maybe too close. It didn’t matter. The very look dared her to try and pull away. 

“I told him not to, but I freaked him out. … He killed Thyra. He just wanted to live.”

“Was he trying to--”

“I stabbed him and dumped his body over the parking deck.” Didn’t matter what he was doing. Samara would kill her for that alone, and the batarians would assume it was the STG. They didn’t know who she was. No matter how that conflict ended, more people would die and it would be her fault. The boy’s body was a broken jigsaw by the time it crunched against the pavement. If she studied close enough, pulled it from the depths of her own greybox, she could see every detail, down to those empty eyes starring above and how his arms and legs weren’t supposed to bend like that-- wondered how long Thyra’s death had stuck inside him, like every first kill did to someone. 

Maybe it wouldn’t have been so bad if she didn’t remember every detail, fully knowing she always would. She always would remember the exact shape his body made on the pavement, the way he gurgled and suffocated from the puncture in his lungs, from the beginnings of rot and blood overtaking the overcooked varren still left on his plate. She remembered everything because she had to. 

Sha’ira wrapped her arms around her neck and pulled her tight against her. She barely registered her head resting against the crook of her shoulder, but as she felt those same uncalloused hands comb through black hair, soothing and gentle, she let her eyes flutter closed.

She didn’t deserve it, but Kasumi couldn’t find it in her to turn Sha’ira away.

[old1ddude]

Living With Pink

Since @seasurfacefullofclouds did a lovely review on ‘Harry Styles’ (post) after living with it for more than a year - I felt inspired to write up my own observations and opinions.  

For the sake of brevity and the fact that it seems to irritate certain haters - I will refer to Harry’s album as “PINK” throughout.

Melody!  There are ten good, fully developed melodies in an era where a four note hook combined with a bass loop is thought to constitute a song.  Really, there are more than ten, Sign of the Times has three distinct melodies, seamlessly woven together.  (On an intellectual level, I understand that some people don’t think melody is the most important element of music.  On a gut level, I just don’t get it.  Melody is it for me.)  I’ve listened to PINK straight through hundreds of times.  The  beauty and quality present in every song, nearly every moment never fails to impress.  I’ve never really been an album guy, because, even among my favorite artists, at least half of the songs seem there just to take up space.  (I used to make mix tapes, back in the day.)  With PINK, I feel that every song has real merit and is fully worthy of it’s place.    Harry’s voice (which I have always really loved - even X-Factor era) and vocal technique have reached a superlative level.  I think Harry is at absolutely peak performance, and it’s a beautiful thing to behold.  The instrumentation and arrangements are breathtaking.  Even the angry Kiwi has deep beauty and avoids shrill, unpleasant sounds, often found in hard rock.  For those who are willing to look below the surface, PINK’s honesty, vulnerability and frankness are noteworthy.  I feel that Harry is speaking directly to me and the album is providing a window into his soul - into his humanity.  PINK grapples with internal conflicts omnipresent in the human condition, good and evil, love and hate, selfishness and sacrifice.  I am very confident that PINK will sound just as good 20, or 30 years from now - it won’t ever become stale, or sound dated.  Some wished for a more cohesive album, but for me, the variety makes it really hard to grow bored of PINK.  I was infatuated with the album from the start.  As time goes on, my love for it only deepens.

This ended up getting pretty long - track by track under the cut.

Meet Me in the Hallway was a bit dreary to me at first.  Now I find myself absorbed in it.  The aching and longing, the vulnerability, the pain - it all feels so close, honest and real.  The repetition of  “gotta get better” is slightly irritating to my ear - for that reason, I will occasionally skip the track.  I do wonder, however, if that irritation was intentional - meant to provoke some unease in the listener.  The guitar part on this song is achingly beautiful, as is Harry’s voice.

Sign of the Times is a masterpiece by any measure.  Sea pointed out how difficult it is to sing this song in a way to do it any justice.  Precious few artists could pull it off.  Every time I hear it, the song transports me - it lifts me out of myself.  The rich, full sound and deft combination of three distinct melodies is no small feat.  Guitar slides, strings, gospel choirs - it could so easily be overblown, or too grandiose, but it strike the perfect balance.  The song moves at a stately sixty beats per minute.  I would imagine this is very close to Harry’s resting heart rate.  There is nothing rushed - every moment is given it’s full due.  Also, I am of the old fashioned belief that art should be beautiful.  Every second of SotT is achingly beautiful and I love it.

Carolina is great fun and incredibly clever.  May artists try to be “edgy,” or “cool” by referencing drugs.  Carolina recreates in music what I imagine it would feel like to be high on coke.  (I’ve been around people who were jacked up before.)  The manic “la la la la la la la la’s,” the fuzzy sensation, “she feels so good!”  If you listen carefully, Harry sings it as if he is in a slight haze - king of nuance, as always.  The metaphor is nothing short of brilliant - “get’s into parties without invitation” -  “she feels so good.”  Layers of sound, particularly on the second verse, are extraordinary.  This song gives you the same kind of sugar rush a hit pop song can deliver, but backs it up with plenty of vitamins and protein, so you don’t get that “sugar low” and grow tired of it.  

Two Ghosts has some of the most compelling word images - “Fridge light washes this room white,” for one.  It’s a deceptively simple, easy to sing song, but a lot of artist would turn out a boring rendition.  The album version is lovely, but the performance he did, just Harry and his guitar, was breathtaking.  Once again, we have deep vulnerability and profound honesty.  I do wish he had done the vocal “ooo’s” on the album version.  We’ve all seen how hyper aware Harry is of his surroundings.  He stared right at the camera trying to snag a sneaky snap.  He spots people, way up in the nosebleed seats, trying to leave early and gently chastises them.  He’s too finely tuned of an instrument to handle fireworks easily.  I believe he is much more aware of all his senses than the average person.  Touch, taste, sight, sound - he sculpts and paints with his music.

Sweet Creature is a song I will often skip back and repeat as once through just isn’t enough.  It’s not a sugary, or fairy tale version of love, but honest, vulnerable, real.  “Runnin through the garden, oh when nothing bothered us,” paints such a beautiful picture.  “Sweet Creature” is such and odd phrase and yet conveys such warmth and deep connection for Louis another person.  Harry’s voice brings an incredible warmth to this song - a warmth utterly unique to his quite distinctive voice.  Again, it takes great artistry to impart such feeling on a relatively simple song, like this.  The guitar part is certainly inspired by the Beatles’ Blackbird, but any similarity ends there, in my opinion.  For my ear, Sweet Creature is a better song - it moves me in a way Blackbird never could.

Only Angel sets up a beautiful dichotomy.  The angelic, SotT inspired, into and outro envelop the hard rock interior.  The contrast intentionally reinforces the song’s story.  Harry’s voice doesn’t quite have the anger, or hardness one might expect at on a first listen - the warmth in his voice was very intentional.  The angel (which is Harry himself) is also a devil between the sheets.  Mother (authority figure) doesn’t approve of how the angel presents “herself.”  Harry loves attention and the stage, but hates fame.  He’s good and kind, but also has a dirty side.  (I could go on and on, but I’ve  written on my OA interpretation extensively, ages ago.)  A plus for using a flawed angel as a metaphor for himself - brilliant.  The melody is catchy as hell - it’s a “bop” and great fun to hear, but there’s so much meat it’s almost ridiculous.  The sound is rich and beautiful throughout and I love that he brings back the angelic sound to close it out.

Kiwi has so little movement in the melody, yet it works beautifully - somehow, it’s still a great melody and hard to get out of your head.  The instrumentation is angry and hard, yet rich, full and pleasant to the ear.  Harry’s voice has just the right amount of anger and derision.  “She” is Simon Cowell.  She tempts the boys with fame and fortune, but she’s hollow inside.  It’s an angry song, but it feels so good, joyful even, to hear it.  Harry’s stage performance reveals how cathartic it is to finally tell Simon what he thinks of him - in front of a massive audience.  I love Kiwi so much, I’ve made the most raucous chorus into a ringtone on my phone.  “Oh I think she said, “I’m having your baby” [heyyyy] “it’s none of your business” [hoooo......]  Harry has such a great, raspy rock voice - it really isn’t fair.

Ever Since New York sounds like some combination of Bruce Springsteen and the Statler Brothers.  The accompaniment is beautiful and rich with a really great, solid melody.  Harry’s vocalization suggests someone who is TIRED and DONE with the situation.  “Tell me something, tell me something new.  Don’t know nothing, just pretend you do...” is sung as a plea - a plea devoid of any hope of being answered.  Harry is vulnerable, broken and through putting up a front, or playing games.

Woman has been compared to Elton John’s Bennie and the Jets a lot - way too much, in my opinion.  There are similarities in the structure of the song, but Woman has a completely different sound.  I like a lot of John’s music, but when he sings “B-B-B-Bennie” he squeaks like a rusty hinge.  Harry sings “W-W-W-Woman” in a different key and melody (and with a deep, pleasant vocal.)  “Selfish I know...”  It’s one of the best jealousy songs I’ve ever heard.  He knows he’s selfish - knows it’s wrong, but can’t help his feelings.  I love Harry’s unflinching look at the darker side of human nature and wholly realistic view of his own failings.  Woman has a very good melody and those little “la-la la-la la-la la-la’s” give it just the zest in needs.

From the Dining Table might just be too honest.  While the artistry was immediately apparent, I was a little slow to warm up to this song, because it’s a bit depressing.  He sings about masturbating as a distraction to his pain and loneliness (and some said the album wasn’t honest enough!)  This song is pure vulnerability.  It’s arranged with such simplicity and great restraint.  (Harry understands the beauty of restraint, you can hear it in If I Could Fly.)  This is another song which must be sung with great artistry, to prevent it being dull.  The addition of strings and lovely female harmonies (”maybe one day you’ll call me...��) is a master stroke.  I am perplexed as to why he didn’t have Sarah and Clair sing the harmonies on tour.  Beautiful, beautiful song, but it is still a bit depressing - as it was meant to be.  Harry loves angst and drama.

Speaking of restraint, Harry has a habit of doing just enough, but never too much (nuance again.)  He changes vocal inflection and flavor with ease, but never adds gratuitous vocal embellishment.  Harry is quite capable of singing runs and all sorts of vocal gymnastics, but chooses a simple, restrained beauty.  (Sometimes, less is more.)  He maintains this restrained discipline in the accompaniment, as well.  PINK is a rock album, but also so much more.  In ten, or twenty years it will still sound fresh - and I think more people will realize what a masterpiece it truly is.

[glenmenlow]

61 Ways To Differentiate Your Brand

Everybody wants a brand that’s different. The irony of that statement is intentional. It belies the conservative manner in which most brands approach competitive difference.

They say they want to be distinctive to consumers but often, in their heart of hearts, they actually want to align (read conform) with the rest of the industry. One of the key issues for that is an uncertainty on the part of brand makers and decision makers to find a starting point.

In some ways that’s actually less difficult and daunting than it first appears. Begin with a premise that is truly one degree away from your rivals. By logically progressing that premise over time, and with strong discipline, you will build a brand that is consistently and markedly different.

Here’s 61 ways you can create a meaningful difference for your brand:

1. Go Slow In A World Of Speed. Each Rolex takes a year to manufacture. The perception that a longer process is needed to build the world’s best timepiece also reinforces the value.

2. Use Country Of Origin To Your Advantage. Brands from Switzerland are highly associated with precision and fine craftsmanship. Seek to build brand associations with countries that support your reputation for service, manufacturing, innovation etc.

3. Behave Differently. Online shoe retailer Zappos has built its advantage on an iron clad return policy and customer service that goes above and beyond, breaking down the perceived barriers of selling and buying shoes online.

4. Look Different. Apple always looks like Apple. Diesel always looks like Diesel. Absolut Vodka always looks like Absolut. They’re in a category but they are distinctive in that category.

5. Be The Underdog In A Category Where Everyone Else Wants To Be Top Dog. Nantucket Nectars started “with only a blender and a dream,” and Clif Bar proclaims that its founder once lived in a garage. Underdogs win the compassionate consumer. Look for the underdog story you can tell.

6. Be Truly And Unapologetically Shocking. Benetton’s “Unhate” campaign ruffled feathers on almost every front. But – and this is critical – the outrage you generate must link to a solution and that solution should be your front. Otherwise, you simply risk shouting into the wind.

7. Expand Your Appeal. “Discover” an untapped audience in your category and, by drawing them in, intensify the sense of community around your brand and the interaction that people have with the brand. Enterprise Rent-A-Car did just that by offering leasing at a time when competitors did not. By serving this unmet need with attention to customer experience, Enterprise became the world’s number 1 car rental company. Apple too saw what others did not. No one was asking for an iPhone, but an untapped audience emerged when new value in the form of a cell phone was introduced.

8. (Re)Invent A Category – And Own It. UFC became the fastest growing sports organization in the world by redefining the reach and the audience for mixed martial arts. Today, UFC produces more than 30 live events annually and is the largest pay-per-view event provider in the world. Swatch differentiated from other watch brands by focusing on self-expression rather than precision.

9. Create A New Category. Airbnb, The Toyota Prius, the Nintendo Wii, and Red Bull are all brands that created new categories, outside the established norms of their product category. By stepping outside the bounds of their categories, these brands created a space that they can call their own.

10. Tell A Story That Defines You And Is Unique To You. The story may be about your founder as in the case with Virgin and Richard Branson, your heritage like Hickory Farms or the value you bring to the world like Coca-Cola’s Open Happiness. It may also be based in imagination – like the thought that Keebler elves make Keebler cookies. Or perhaps it’s a story based on your highly guarded secret – only two people in the world know Coca-Cola’s formula. Your story may also be about the source of your product, service or inspiration.

11. Forge New Ground In The Spirit Of Your Founder. Chanel continues to personify the philosophies, ideals and legend of Coco Chanel long after her death.

12. Leverage Your History To Define Tomorrow. National Geographic have redefined what it means to experience the world we never see by expanding their channels and offerings while still holding their history close.

13. Own An Eternal Idea. Red Bull expresses in every action its belief in, and addiction to, excitement. Ingredients, spirit, sponsorships and the human desire to do things that make the heart race are inextricably linked. Dove owns and serves the idea of real beauty. lululemon finds its eternal idea in the mind state of yoga and has built a powerful athleisure apparel brand on that concept.

14. Change The Possibilities. This is about more than just product innovation. It’s about the introduction of technologies that completely change how people can live. Boeing redefined travel forever with the 747. LinkedIn brought business people together so that they could network and share ideas. Dyson changed the possibilities by reinventing old technologies like the vacuum, hand dryer and fan.

15. Make Active Plans To Be Where Others Aren’t (Yet). This article looks at the fact that while Chinese consumers are now overwhelmed by Western brands and doing business in Greater China has become very expensive, other countries in Asia with booming economies like Indonesia, Malaysia and the Philippines remain largely overlooked.

16. Solve A Global Problem. “Big bang” solutions in areas like pharmaceuticals or biotechnology require huge investment and scary timeframes, but when they work, they deliver huge distinction, kudos and profits. A “Big Bang” solution can come from any brand — TOM’s seeks to solve the problem of children without shoes. TOM’s matches every pair of shoes purchased with a pair of new shoes for a child in need. One for One.

17. Build Groundswell. Do something startling to generate attention. Use attention to build a crowd. Use a crowd to gain credibility. Use credibility as the jumping off point for your next distinctive act. Red Bull, Virgin and Apple should come to mind.

18. Redefine How People Buy. With millions of products, 24/7 access, superior search and browse technology, user reviews and many other sources of in-depth product information, Amazon offers a superior purchase experience.

19. Bring Unprecedented Optimism To A Category. Nike redefined what people believed they should be capable of.

20. Connect The Previously Unconnected. LinkedIn brought business people together so that they could network and share ideas in a way that was effortless, credible and global. In doing that, they resolved a problem that no-one realized they had until they saw the potential for what they would now be able to do.

21. Rewrite The Experience. Southwest Airlines put the fun, the quirkiness and the savings back into the serious and process-packed world of travel. Starbucks differentiated not on coffee, but a ‘third place’ – a respite between home and work.

22. Make What You Sell Feel Even More Personal. This great infographic hints at how much further retailers could take personalization.

23. Link Your Brand To Specific Occasions. Habits are powerful, but occasions may be even more so. They engage us so effectively because they combine time and focus. And because of that, they provide permission – it’s OK to behave this way or that. It’s OK to do something you wouldn’t do on any ordinary day. De Beers, Hallmark, Mercedes, Hershey, Cadbury, MACY’s and others have tapped into occasions or created occasions and have made themselves synonymous with the celebration of those occasions.

24. License To Brand. Brand licensing can bring valuable new meaning to a brand, further differentiating it from its competitors. Pillsbury licenses the Cinnabon brand to do just that for its cinnamon rolls. Colgate licenses Disney characters to increase its brand appeal.

25. Break Away From Conventional Wisdom. Breakaway brands bring new meanings to the party and make the most of the stretch, holding on to enough of the old to avoid category defection. Breakaway brands stretch the boundaries and live as outliers. These brands are the opposite of the well-behaved brands in the category and consequently provide radical differentiation from the status quo. Cirque du Soleil is one such brand. It falls into the “circus” category, but this brand has skillfully crafted a highly valued and differentiated positioning as everything a circus is not. There are no tents, tigers and elephants. No ringmasters. Instead it borrows attributes from other entertainment categories like, dance, music, opera and theater. It becomes something all together different–far outside the bounds of a conventional circus.

26. Change The Name. Sometimes your original brand name works against its appeal. Take the Chinese gooseberry. When the name was changed to kiwi fruit, the world suddenly had a new favorite fruit. New names are opportunities to create new brand associations.

27. Personify. The Green Giant character became the difference in a family of vegetables in many forms. Frank Perdue became the tough man behind the tender chicken. The Gecko became the much-loved spokesperson for GEICO.

28. Create A New Item. The cantaloupe people wanted to differentiate a special, big cantaloupe. But rather than call them just plain “big,” they introduced Crenshaw melons. Tyson wanted to sell miniature chickens, which doesn’t sound very appetizing. So it introduced Cornish game hens.

29. Reposition The Category. Pork was just pig for many years. Then the industry jumped on the chicken bandwagon and became “the other white meat.” That was a very good move when red meat became a perceptual problem.

30. Identify, Identify, Identify. Ordinary bananas became better bananas when a small Chiquita label was added to the fruit. Dole did the same for pineapple with the Dole label, as did the lettuce people by putting each head into a clear Foxy lettuce package. Of course, you then have to communicate why people should look for these labels.

31. Be The Expert Or Specialist. The specialist can focus on one product, one benefit, and one message. This focus enables the marketer to put a sharp point on the message that quickly drives it into the mind. Domino’s can focus on home delivery. Pizza Hut has to talk about its different pizzas, home delivery, and sit-down service.

32. Price With Pride. Starbucks prices its coffee higher to raise perceptions of the quality of its coffee. Singapore Airlines, the most profitable airline in the world, does the same thing and always sells at a premium. In each case, the price is a signal of supremacy – differentiation via perceived quality.

33. Use Ingredient Brands. The North Face uses Gore-Tex technology to differentiate. In the PC space the Intel brand adds to the product’s perceived performance. Each brings noticeable differences in their own right.

34. Highly Target A Market. Who you focus on can create a unique point of difference. Consider FOX News, an American news outlet designed to serve the Republican Party and its supporters. This laser focus has made it synonymous with conservative views and policies, creating by far the strongest commercial brand associated with those views. Wegmans Supermarkets believes that happy customers are generated by happy employees. They have built their powerful brand on the mantra that their employee’s are number one.

35. Change The Reach. How your product or service reaches a customer can set you apart. Redbox specializes in the rental of DVD’s and video games. Through an easy to use kiosk it differentiates from its competitor Netflix and helped seal the fate of Blockbuster. Amazon has a futuristic plan to deliver some orders via drone.

36. Give Unprecedented Access. The reason people flew Concorde was the opportunities that could come from who you would sit next to. You weren’t paying for a faster flight, you were paying for the company. Country clubs in Asia are the same. It’s not about the game of golf; it’s about the networking. For Citibank’s Citi Private Pass card holders the unique value is in the preferred access at entertainment events.

37. Share Values. When a brand is built on shared values it can differentiate on those values and enjoy perhaps the strongest bond in the marketing world. Think of any brand that really matters and you’ll discover the type of people buying the stuff are the same type of people who design, make and sell the stuff. This is the power of brand values and brand identity alignment. Apparel brands like Patagonia, L.L. Bean, and The North Face understand the importance of shared values. The bond that binds is a deep inter-personal connection between the users and the makers.

38. Stand For Something Your Customers Want To Stand For. In the same manner as the enthusiast apparel brands mentioned in #37, Kashi cereal customers see themselves, their values, and their identities in complete harmony with the Kashi brand. They’re one and the same. Likewise, the Kashi people care about the same stuff as their consumer– greater health and well-being for themselves and the planet. For Kashi, making food that enhances life is sacred business. For Kashi customers, living well is sacred business. More people are waking up to caring more about others and our planet, and buying Kashi products too. Your brand can differentiate as being the do-good brand in your space.

39. Give Them Something To Unwrap. Package design offers one of the biggest opportunities for brand differentiation. Color, shape, size, functionality, texture and materials can influence purchase decisions. There’s no mistaking a Tiffany & Co. box and its distinctive blue. Innovative packaging proves another signature differentiator for Apple as well as Tropicana which learned the value of this difference when it attempted to redesign its packaging.

40. Engage The Senses. Every marketer should explore the senses when ideating brand differentiation strategies. Each of the five senses offer a channel to connect with your target customer and flex a point of difference. The more each of these are engaged at any one time during customer contact the more your brand and what it stands for will be remembered. Scent branding in the hotel world is one example. Sofitel, Le Meridién, The Ritz-Carlton, Westin, Sheraton and Marriott are some of the hotel brands employing a signature scent strategy to further move away from their competitors.

41. Put A Famous Face To Your Brand. The age-old strategy of pairing products and services with a well known celebrity continues to be a viable option for brand differentiation. However, the rules have changed. There must be an authentic alignment between the brand and the celebrity. Case in point: Tiger Woods and Nike Golf: Yes. Tiger Woods and Buick: No. The association between brand and celebrity must be clear and obvious.

42. Redefine Usage. How your product is used can serve as a key differentiator. Arm & Hammer Baking Soda became much more when customers discovered it also made for a powerful air freshener. This helped Arm & Hammer not only extend into new categories but also create a multi-use brand that is more meaningful to its target customers.

43. Introduce Simplicity And Purity Into People’s Cluttered Lives. Stand for good things. Market highly valued values. With deep customer insight you will know what your target customers value most. That insight can help create highly valued brands. Honest Tea was born from the insight that simple and pure refreshment was missing from the market. The Method brand came to life through a quest to create household cleaning products that were not harmful. The Honest company challenged unhealthy compromises made in the manufacture of products.

44. Tap Into The Power Of Emotions. Linking your brand with customer emotions can prove an effective differentiator. It was humor that helped GEICO pull away in the me-too world of insurance brands. While their competition focused on fear, GEICO used witty and funny campaigns to differentiate itself and gain an advantage. Brands like Hallmark found brand differentiation based on human emotions could lead to a 92% mind share.

45. Control The Accessibility. Brands can differentiate on when they make their products and services available and who they make that accessibility for. Elite luxury brands will limit how many of its signature products are manufactured. The most influential customers will have access to those products first. This all builds into the frenzy that drives desire and purchase of the brand. It also helps command a premium price. Brands like Coca-Cola use accessibility on the other end of the spectrum. They desire to be the most accessible brand and have distribution channels into the deepest regions of the world.

46. Focus On Design And Aesthetics. Consider Hermès scarves, Vilebrequin men’s swimwear, Robert Graham shirts and Alexander McQueen fashion wear. Or how about the Michael Graves Design’s collection at Target? This helps college and university brands too. Beautiful campuses tend to attract students. For municipality brands, “attractive neighborhoods” rates as one of the top things people consider when deciding where to live. Camden, ME, Niagara-on-the-Lake (ON, Canada), Quebec City (QC, Canada) and Bruges, Belgium are very popular as tourist destinations, in large part due to their superior aesthetics. Never underestimate the power of superior aesthetics to differentiate.

47. Convey A Higher Status. If you knew I went to Philips Academy, Andover, Harvard and Stanford, lived in Atherton, CA, summered in Nantucket, drove a Mercedes-Benz model S-class, and sailed a Nautor’s Swan53, would these brands effectively communicate my social status?

48. Create A Unique Product Purchase Experience. How different is purchasing a teddy bear with a child in a Build-A-Bear Workshop versus buying one off the shelf in a typical toy or department store? Very different. And very differentiating.

49. Create An Unusual Theme Or Context. Consider the following unusual restaurant brands – Opaque (dining in the dark), Ice Restaurant (in Dubai), Underwater restaurant in Maldives, Magic Restroom (toilet-themed) Café in CA or Dinner in the Sky (suspended 50 meters above the ground). For more creative restaurant themes, see here.

50. Treat People Differently Than Your Competitors Do. We love Ritz-Carlton’s “Ladies and gentlemen serving ladies and gentlemen” mantra. This alludes to a level of gentility, civility and respect not often experienced in product purchase or usage experiences. If an opportunity to serve your customer better does not exist — create one.

51. Create A Brand Ritual. Associating a brand with a <a href

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Kings of loser comedy: how Flight of the Conchords took off

New Zealands fourth most well known folk-parody act are on a sold-out arena tour. Is there a shrewdness behind the duos laidback shtick?

Few comics ever play London’s O2 Arena and fewer still oversee three nights in a row. Those who do tend to have some things in common: a relatable observational style, limited creative desire and ruthless commercial savvy. None of which applies to Flight of the Conchords, perhaps the unlikeliest act ever to reach those airless elevations of the comic stratosphere.

I insured Flight of the Conchords last week, warming up for their forthcoming realms tour with a run at the 140 -seat Soho theatre. Watching their suite of kooky sungs about medieval romance, piano-playing seagulls and spoonful thieves, laughing at their low-key converse and minutely detailed interplay, the believed to be their imminent transfer to arena stages was supremely incongruous. Not least to the Conchords themselves.” We’ll continue that in for the O2 ,” they’d remark, after this or that improvised quip or ramshackle moment of fun.

If you first learnt Bret McKenzie and Jemaine Clement, as I did, in a dingy cellar on the Edinburgh fringe 15 years ago, you are able struggle to wrap your head around the scale of their new tour. But if you factor in a Disney film, writing an Oscar-winning song for The Muppets, a sleeper make HBO sitcom, and the fact that this musical-comedy duo is one of the funniest and most talented acts to come along in two decades- well, an explanation have started to take shape.

It’s certainly not down to any dead-eyed careerism. In my 20 years of interviewing comics, few showed as shambling and un-starry as McKenzie and Clement in 2003– the year they were nominated for Edinburgh’s Perrier award. The previous year, theirs had been the festival’s breakout present, due largely to word-of-mouth enthusiasm spread by fellow comics.

Watch the chant Hiphopopotamus vs Rhymenoceros, from episode three of Flight of the Conchords.

Their shtick was artless banter spliced with improbable comic ballads , notable for their pernickety lyrics and eclectic musicianship. Zoological rap combat Hiphopopotamus Vs Rhymenoceros was an early favourite (” They call me the Hiphopopotamus/ My lyrics are bottomless” and” I’m not a large water-dwelling mammal/ Where did you get that absurd hypothesis ?”). The Humans Are Dead, with its” binary solo” and robo-vocal report of the cataclysm, was another, while their Space Oddity spoof Bowie’s in Space was achingly near the mark.

With merely a couple of acoustic guitars and a digital glockenspiel, they were maestros of every pop music style imaginable, although they concealed their talent with gags.” You can tell when we’ve learned a new chord ,” they told me,” because we’ll use it in our next three anthems .” On stage, they played losers who thought they were wins. Off stage, they were wins who pretended to be losers. They’d been invited to Hollywood to pitch a project, they told me- but” you needed a clearly defined suggestion of what you wanted to do, and we didn’t have any suggestion at all “. So they were sent packing.

I left that interview unsure whether I’d gratified the “real” Clement and McKenzie or an extension of the gormless act. From the off, they excelled at clambering true and fiction- as per the blissful bit of onstage talk in which they guess when the other is in character (” You’re in … now you’re out … now you’re in …”) It helped that they took deadpan to whole new tiers of blankness.

” It’s so dry and so Kiwi ,” says their compatriot and fellow comic Rose Matafeo, who is not alone in tracing much of the Conchords’ distinctiveness back to their national character.” The constant self-deprecation, the playing it straight, these are so common in New Zealand. We’re at the bottom of the world, so isolated. We’re like what the fuck is happen if “youve left” someone alone in a chamber for a day .”

Jarred Christmas, another New Zealand comic, is surprised how far this took them.” I never envisioned there’d be an international espouse of that. I’d never seen that happen, comedy-wise .” Christmas co-starred in the Conchords’ eponymous 2005 Radio 2 sitcom, as did Jimmy Carr, Daniel Kitson and Rob Brydon( the Conchords have always surrounded themselves with fast-rising flair ).” What struck me ,” Christmas says,” is that no matter how laidback they find themselves, they’ve always believed they’re good enough. You’ll notice that, on the radio demonstrate , not one of their chants was played in full. So they retained the rights, rather than those defaulting to the BBC. Clearly, they had their visions set on something bigger .”

No strife, only placid acceptance … the HBO series Flight of the Conchords. Photograph: BBC/ Paul Schiraldi/ HBO

Something bigger duly came in 2007, with the launch of the duo’s HBO sitcom, again eponymously named. They played themselves as hapless immigrants in New York, inducing zero impression as a band whose director( played by Rhys Darby) moonlights as a culture attache at the New Zealand consulate. The series feigned to taunt their homeland’s eccentricity and boringness. But, really, it celebrated those qualities. Eccentricity and boringness were the show’s touchstones, while its USP was the radical flatness of McKenzie and Clement’s performances. They took the faux-real stylings of The Office et al and ratcheted up the humdrum, but blended it with wildly incongruous flares of carol in which Bret and Jemaine’s fantasy lives paraded in all the regions of the screen.

The show ran for two series, featuring soon-to-be-illustrious co-stars( Aziz Ansari, Kristen Wiig) and winning Emmy nominations. Clement and McKenzie likewise won a 2008 Grammy for best comedy album. The series was never more than a cult hitting, in the UK at least, but its significance outperformed its ratings. It opened the world up to indie Kiwi culture and alerted American Tv to overseas flair. Where McKenzie and Clement led, the likes of Trevor Noah, John Oliver and James Corden have followed. Likewise, in its depiction of failure, in its disdain for TV conventions( it was part-improvised ), and in its uniquely hip brand of musical comedy, the present proved more influential than its modest impact at the time might suggest.

Conventionally, failing in comedy has been something to rail against: it’s the fight that builds it funny. In Flight of the Conchords, there is no battle, merely placid adoption.” It demonstrated you didn’t have to be an alpha male ,” says Christmas- and in so doing, it winged the flag for a new generation stimulating more arty and intimate, less obvious and aggressive slapstick. But it cross-fertilised that strain with the gentle surrealism of Spaced and The Mighty Boosh, to show that you could be dorky losers and rock deities, showed bachelors and lotharios.

Key to this were the hymns, two per episode, that underscore the flights of fancy that offset( or should that be overtake ?) Bret and Jemaine’s feckless real lives. The songs alter current realities, moving the plot along in unreal routes, as if singing yourself out of loser-dom genuinely were an option. Narratively, it stimulated tenuous sense, but you were enjoying the hymns too much to care.

” One of the hardest things in musical comedy is to write a number that people want to hear again ,” says Phil Nichol, of 1990 s Canadian musical comedy act Corky and the Juice Pigs.” Usually, once you’ve heard the gags at the end of each stanza, you know all you need to know. But both Jemaine and Bret are astounding musicians. They write stuff that stimulates you think,’ Wow, why didn’t I write that ?’ Their ballads are exceptionally replayable .” Many of them match or even overshadow the trails they pastiche- such as the Emmy-nominated Carol Brown( based on Paul Simon’s 50 Lane to Leave Your Lover ), or the Peter Sarstedt take-off Rambling Through the Avenues of Time.

The villainous crustacean Tamatoa voiced by Jemaine Clement in Disney’s Moana. Photograph: Allstar/ Walt Disney Productions

It’s certainly a rare accomplishment to stimulate musical comedy cool . A rarer feat still is to alumnu from writing funny sungs to winning best chant Oscars, which McKenzie did in 2012 with Man or Muppet from that year’s Muppets movie. Clement’s interim job has been even more eye-catching, with voiceover roles as Fleshlumpeater in Steven Spielberg’s The BFG, as the villainous crustacean Tamatoa in Disney’s Moana, and as intergalactic criminal Boris” the Animal” in Men in Black III.

” People who discovered them at the movies have then gone back and watched Flight of the Conchords ,” says Christmas.” And the sitcom did what The Office did: it stopped at its peak, arguably before its peak, so people have remained perpetually desperate for more .”

And now they’re get it, as McKenzie and Clement touch down for the UK leg of their world tour.” They’ve just been so consistently good over their entire job ,” says Matafeo, who credits the life she’s living today as a New Zealand comic, based in the UK and working internationally, to their example.” Everyone has their own special relationship with a stage of the Conchords’ job. Some people learnt them early, at Edinburgh. Some people- like me- recollect downloading bootlegs of their hymns from the internet. And some people came to them after the sitcom finished. It’s all been so good that, whenever you encounter them, you fall in love with them .”

Flight of the Conchords are at Portsmouth Guildhall from 5-7 March. Then touring the UK until 3 April. Phil Nichol’s tour Your Wrong starts in September . li>

Read more: https :// www.theguardian.com/ stage/ 2018/ disfigured/ 04/ flight-of-the-conchords-comedy-tour

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8 reasons to visit the South Island in winter

Erica is an American mountain muse living an unconventional life in New Zealand. Part time barista, full-time type II fun seeker. Follow her tales from the trails here and here. 

Every year I get a handful of messages from people mapping out their New Zealand winter itinerary and each person always asks the same question. Is it worth going to the South Island in the winter?

Listen, I get it. You see New Zealand on a map and you see how far south the South Island is and you can’t help but imagine spending your entire holiday trudging through an icy winter tundra. But here’s the thing: New Zealand is a pretty small country and the North Island is not that incredibly far or different from the South Island. In fact, with the North Island humidity, frizzy haired people like myself will argue that the South Island is actually preferable all year round. Plus, there are significantly less people around in winter. You have the place to yourself.

10 Reasons Why New Zealand in Winter Rocks

As an ardent lover of seasons, I’ll argue that ALL South Island seasons are magnificent and deserving of your precious holiday time but it’s time for winter to have its moment. It’s time we give this magical season all the attention and glory it deserves.

Here are my top 8 reasons to visiting the South Island in the winter.

1. No Sandflies

Ok, that’s not entirely true.

Perhaps limited sandflies would be more accurate. If you have been to New Zealand before, I’m going to give you minute to ponder over that thought. Think of the most beautiful places you saw in New Zealand and how quickly you came to despise them because of the nasty little flies who carry the bite of a horse. Imagine enjoying the bliss and serenity of Milford Sound or the West Coast while not having to worry about these demonic flesh eating monsters who literally use saw-like barbs to tear open human flesh.

If you have never been to New Zealand before, you’ll have to trust me that this alone is reason enough to book a trip for the winter.

Māori legend has it that sandflies were creating to discourage visitors for lingering too long in the most beautiful parts of the country. If that’s not the most Kiwi legend I don’t know what is.

Oh, you’re enjoying something beautiful? Move along please and definitely don’t talk about it too much.

These little pests are mostly blind so they disappear at night and are attracted to warmth. As much as I despise these little jerks, I have to tip my hat to one of mother nature’s most impressive ladyboss species. The females sandflies are the only ones who bite and they’ll travel great distances for a tasty blood meal because drinking blood is vital to their ability to lay eggs. Lady sandflies getting shit done.

How’s that for girl power?

2. Explore the South Island’s hot pools

Summer is for escaping the brutal New Zealand sun by jumping in glacier lakes and refreshing rivers. The last thing anyone wants to do on a 30-degree day is soak in a hot pool.

Winter, however, is the perfect time to explore and discover the plethora of the South Island’s hot pools. Sure, they are not as plentiful as the North Island but the South Island can definitely hold its own.

For the keen outdoor lovers, head to the Welcome Flats Hut on the Copland Track on the West Coast. This 20 km walk is long but gentle with minimal elevation change. At the end of your hike, you’ll be rewarded with a modern hut to rest your head for the night and your choice of three natural hot pools. I have done this hike in the summer and the winter and winter is the definite winner. Not only will you have more space to stretch out in the hot pools but the warm water will actually feel good and HELLO no sandflies.

Win win win.

For those looking for some hot springs without the work, enjoy the luxury hot springs in Lake Tekapo or Hanmer Springs. No matter your location, you’ll be within close proximity to a good soak with epic views.

3. Discover New Zealand’s cafe scene

New Zealand is a country that takes its coffee consumption very seriously. It’s not uncommon to find a world class espresso machine in a petrol station, neighborhood gym or local bike shop. You can get a decent coffee almost anywhere in New Zealand but where this country really shines is its dedicated cafe culture. Unlike in the USA where cafes have become every freelancer’s home-away-from-home-office, New Zealand cafes pride themselves on being the epicenter of social catch ups. In fact, don’t be surprised if many New Zealand cafes don’t have offer wifi. Many discourage laptop squatters and prefer to keep their tables open for customers who are there to get the full cafe experience.

Kiwis have been taking notes from the Brits when it comes to their morning and afternoon tea. Every day between 10 and 10:30, the cafes begin to buzz with working professionals and tradies alike taking a break from their day to meet up with friends or grab a quick bite to eat. In the afternoon, they take another break for cake and tea.

If you find yourself looking for something to do on a rainy winter day, order yourself a flat white and post up in a cafe for a bit while you watch the local community thrive around you.

4. Explore small town quirks

In the summer, nobody really wants to spend the day inside but winter is the perfect chance to explore the weird little nooks and crannies that make each South Island town so unique.

Interesting road trip pit stops are plentiful in the South Island. Maybe check out the Totara Estate, a historic 1800’s South Island farm credited for being the birthplace of New Zealand’s billion dollar frozen meat industry. Or perhaps you’ll pop into Adventure Books in Oamaru where you could easily spend a few hours of sifting through collection worthy adventure literature books. Treat yourself to a movie at Cinema Paradiso in Wanaka where traditional cinema charts have been swapped out for upcycled cozy couches. During intermission, indulge in their famous freshly baked cookies or glass of a local pinot noir. It’s like watching a movie in the comfort of your own living room with 50 strangers.

The South Island is filled with these hidden treasures that are often overlooked in the summer when tourists are busy filling their holiday itineraries with sunny activities. Visit the South Island in the winter and you’ll discover secret spots not everybody takes the time to see.

5. Shred the pow

I’ve been dancing around this one for long enough but it just seems so obvious. Clearly one of the biggest draws to the South Island in the winter is the access to world class alpine terrain. In Wanaka alone, you’ll be a stone throw away from a handful of top-notch ski fields.

Where else in the world are you going to get views like the ones offered at the top of Treble Cone? Fresh white powder overlooking sunny Lake Wanaka? Yes please! Treble Cone is perfect for groups with varied abilities. For beginners, their bunny slope for learners is free! For those looking to make fresh tracks on backcountry terrain, their backcountry lift pass is only $40/day and gives you access to some of the best (and quietest) views in the area.

Are large ski resorts not for you? Explore the quirky “club ski fields” where you’ll find uncrowded slopes and *interesting* lift configurations. Or for those who prefer to do their own thing in peace and quiet, rent some gear in town and head out for some snowshoeing or cross country skiing.

At the very least, buy yourself a sled from The Warehouse and shred the pow like 7 year old on a snow day. Whatever your cup of tea, get out there and enjoy the uniquely surreal snowy landscapes.

6. You can still do (mostly) everything outdoors!

Ok so maybe skiing and snowboarding is really just not your thing. I get it. It can suck sometimes.

Good news is, while everyone is having a ball up the mountain, you can still get your fix in town because the climate is actually incredibly mild. Yes, it’s a little chilly sometimes but the temperatures hardly drop below freezing in the winter and there’s never snow on the ground.

Here’s a list of all the things you could theoretically do in the winter: take a walk, ride a bike, play frisbee golf, do an ollie at the skate park, put a cute dog on the end of your SUP board and paddle out to Ruby Island in Wanaka, window shop, enjoy a beer in the sun, climb up a waterfall on the Via Ferrata in Wanaka, send a route at one of the local outdoor climbing hubs, skydive pretty much everywhere, walk in a field of lavender, pet a sheep, drink a glass of wine in the sun, ride a horse hike up a mountain, take a ski-plane onto New Zealand’s longest glacier and go snowshoeing. Really, you can do it all.

The point is unless it’s pouring down torrential rain, the winters are actually pretty pleasant. You can still enjoy all the things you would in the summer, just with an extra few layers on. Trust me, just because it’s in the mountains, it’s not that cold. Embrace the kiwi spirit, put on some wooly layers, harden the fuck up a bit, and don’t let a little cold air stop you!

7. Enjoy the rugby season

If you’re like me, you like to be fully immersed in the culture you’re visiting, even if that means screaming and shouting at real life giants playing a game you don’t understand on TV.

Rugby is king in New Zealand. Even the non-fans still have a good grasp of what the game is actually about and how each team is doing throughout the season.

Good rugby is a huge source of national pride for Kiwis. When I first moved to New Zealand in 2015, I woke up at 3 am one day to watch the New Zealand All Blacks battle South Africa in the Rugby World Cup semi-finals. I was told that if I missed it, I might not get another opportunity to see them again in all of their glory. That turned out to be wrong because they made it to the finals (and later won the world cup) the next day.

Needless to say, Kiwis love their rugby and if you want to understand this cultural obsession, visit New Zealand in the winter so you can wake up at 4 am to go to a classic bar to watch these incredible athletes mow each other down.

8. Experience all of the winter festivals

The South Island is home to some seriously cool winter festivals. Let’s start with Matariki, the Māori New Year. You’ll find celebrations in pretty much every town across the country, each with their own Hakas, Hangis, and fireworks.

Queenstown hosts Winter Festival, a 10-day long event marking the start of winter complete with all the coziness associated with a winter Christmas market without the stress of having to Christmas shop. Street markets, dog derby, live music, comedy shows and of course more fireworks. The most compelling event, however, is the dog barking competition where dogs are commanded to bark on cue. If the dog doesn’t bark, the owner gets on all fours and barks on the dog’s behalf.

If dog barking competitions are wacky enough for you, check out Omaru’s annual Steampunk Festival held every year on the Queen’s Birthday Weekend. Omaru is New Zealand’s Steampunk capital and this festival is the self-proclaimed premier and longest running Steampunk event of the Southern Hemisphere.

Perhaps you’re looking for something a little more mellow like the New Zealand Mountain Film and Book Festival held in Wanaka and Queenstown. This epic week long festival offers workshops and courses as well as world premiere showings of mountain films. This year, the film festival had an entire segment dedicated to up and coming NZ directors ranging from a 10-year-old Lake Hawea crusher to professional mountaineers. If you love mountain culture, you’ll love this film fest. Liz has also been a speaker here for the past few years.

New Zealand’s South Island in winter is pretty awesome. Have you been? Do you travel in winter? Share!

The post 8 reasons to visit the South Island in winter appeared first on Young Adventuress.

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[thebackroadtourist]

A Midnight Train to Nowhere

The conductor came behind me in the darkness and grabbed my upper arm nearly yanking it out of it’s shoulder socket. My initial instinct was to protect myself, the cramped heat that had welled up inside of me tempted a right hook to his face as I whipped around but I knew I had to keep cool. “What the hell man?” I replied shaking my arm from his grip. He angrily motioned for me to keep moving as he pushed my gridlocked arm away from him causing me to stumble forward. He thought I was blocking the narrow sleeper train walkway with my backpack. Ignorant dude, I thought, I couldn’t move anyway.

Two days earlier: “It’ll be fun!” Kirill hyped in a successful attempt to recruit me to Budva with him two nights prior to our night train to nowhere. He had found night train tickets for $30 each in a sleeper car, not a bad deal for a 14 hour ride. That evening we walked to the Belgrade train station to buy our tickets for Saturday’s train. A station unlike the one’s I’ve been to; a run-down, un-manicured station that brought you back in time. A visually non-appealing station that resembled the city itself, an attitude of “we’ve been through some shit.” Belgrade has been demolished 14 times since the 1500′s, more than any other country.  Saturday came as we walked back to the station to catch our 9pm train. Unsure of which platform our train would leave from we spotted two Englishmen and two Kiwis sitting on a bench. The two Kiwi’s had Hawaiian shirts on, their beards scraggly and long hair muffled, they haven’t showered for days. “Mate, by day 5 every gulp of beer felt like razor blades in my throat” the Kiwi said in his hoarse New Zealand accent, the dark circles under his eyes were battle scars from the 8 day festival in Budapest they were recovering from. “We took whatever we got our hands on - acid, srooms, pills.” Woof, I can’t imagine. They were going to Montenegro too, though unsure of what stop they would get off or where they would sleep the next night. Kirill and I at least had our hostel booked in Budva. “Somehow we would make it Budva” we repeated optimistically. Maybe we would catch a bus once we arrive in Montenegro, or hitch hike? Our minds were set on Budva, a beach town an abundance of beautiful nature, electric nightlife and an old city that drew tourists in from neighboring former Yugoslavian countries. Our train arrived to platform 6, like nails on a chalkboard it screeched into the station just minutes before 9. We searched for our car, hurrying along the rusty sides of the graffiti-ridden train, some cars pitch black from a lack of electricity while others were slightly dimmed. No luck finding our car. The ticket taker at each car sent us to the next, like our quest for the techno club earlier that week, we couldn’t find our car. Finally we found it, the one without electricity as we crammed into the narrow hallway pushing through Serbians who had already begun smoking cigarettes out the windows. We baby stepped inch by inch, making our way through the cluster of smokers and families entering their rooms, trying to find ours.

The conductor had come behind me nearly yanking my arm nearly out of it’s socket. My human instinct was to blow a punch at his face when I whipped around but I knew I had to keep cool. “What the hell man?” I replied, as he angrily motioned his free hand for me to keep moving as he pushed my gripped arm away from him causing me to stumble forward. He thought I was blocking the hallway with my backpack. Stupid man, I thought, I couldn’t move anyway. Moments later we found our room, number 4. The room must have been no larger than 50 square feet, no larger than my small bathroom in my Brooklyn apartment. a family of 4 was already in there beds, the two remaining were the bunks at the very top, two triple-bunkers with slanted beds the width of Kirill’s torso hanging on by rails with a ladder with no locked foundation at the top. We used the unstable ladder to climb into our bunks and tucked our luggage in the storage rack in front of us. We laughed, knowing this would make for a cool experience. The Serbian family below us had two young children, already curled up in their sheets, unbothered by the suffocating humidity in our room, of course the  small fan on the wall was not working.

~To travel is to get out of your comfort zone~

Tonight there was no shower before bed. There was no brushing of teeth, no washing of face, no perusing through Instagram. Tonight was just me, Kirill across from me and the family of 4 below us, with two feet of space in between our adjacent bunks and a hallway outside our door large enough for one person to walk through and the smell of burnt steel around us. The train rumbled as we geared up to begin our trek through the large Serbian countryside, assuming we’d make it to Montenegro by morning. We were drenched in our own sweat, sticking to our sheets like a glue-stick. The train had no water. The train had no food. This was a fend-for-yourself situation. Luckily we had prepared ourselves with snacks and water - the one true adult decision we have made in the past couple of days. We were roughin’ it, yet we were in the flow. As the train creaked along the tracks moving at snails pace with no breeze coming through the cracked window in our room to the other side of the tracks, we stripped off our shirts in hopes of some relief. Meanwhile the young boys beneath us appeared perfectly comfortable. We made the best out of the situation, agreeing it sucked however this is what backpacking is all about. Kirill and I swapped stories of our high school and college lives and joked about the pervious couple of days we had shared in Belgrade, from the beer fest to the techno club to the funny dutch guys we met and feasted with each night at the same restaurant because it was so damn good. To the beautiful Serbian women we met to the Asian guy in our dorm who moaned in his sleep.

Kirill had no trouble falling asleep as he was hungover from the night before. I on the other hand had an experience riding these rails. While I was laying in my bunk I felt culture shocked, I began to realize how random my life had become in that moment. Traveling with a Serbian family and a Russian through the backlands of Yugoslavia on my way to another foreign country in a post soviet train. 1am approached and I still couldn’t sleep, the heat was getting to me. I quietly climbed down the shakey ladder and into the narrow hallway where people were smoking cigarettes and stick my head out the window to gaze at the dark trees whisking by in front of me. A feeling of peace came over me. Around 2am the temperature had dropped and I was able to fall sleep. 3 hours later we were woken up by the sound of border patrol - “Passports please!” a brutal wake up call we got our visas stamped, one more country. One more country.

~My favorite feeling in the world - entering a brand new country~

I smiled to myself and fell back to sleep. Two hours later Kirill and I woke up in pitch darkness as the train screeched to a halt. “Did we just stop in a tunnel? Why?” Kirill’s slight claustrophobia had made it’s first appearance. “I don’t like this” he panicked slightly. “This is normal in our country.” Everything is OK,” the mother from two bunks below soothed him with her sweet voice, her broken English so sweet and innocent. A Serbian night train was nothing to fear.