#kingfisher silkens

[sighthounds-and-sketches]

Let's talk about flying to pick up a puppy by yourself

And some ways to make it easier on you.

Your prep starts honestly, about a week before baby actually comes home. Maybe 2 weeks.

For my pre-flight prep, I first picked out a flight carrier. I went with the one my breeder recommended.

It has expandable sides, and a little storage pocket. And it's resistant to chewing. I'm really glad I didn't buy a cheaper one, and I can't stress enough that it's cheaper to buy a quality one the first time than have a zipper break or a tear in the middle of your trip. My trip in total was 4 flights and 4 hours in the car, with him being with me for half of it and having the longest layover of my day. I could only really let him out a couple times, so this next part was incredibly helpful.

I mailed the carrier to my breeder,

at her behest. This was *huge* because the siblings got their scent on it and he was acclimated to being in it before I got to him. It acted as a secure place for him to ride in the car and for his first few nights here, he slept in there through the night.

And now that he's in his crate, the removable pad with scents on it has been instrumental in establishing the crate as a safe place for him.

Video of why I'm really glad I got the durable carrier.

Please consider what you're wearing that day.

Wear clothes you don't need to fuss with *at all* that's normal airport protocol- but I can't stress this enough, you're carrying the puppy in your arms through the TSA checkpoint and other people will be fussing over him. Make sure your appearance and personal bag is no fuss.

See: jeans, hoodie, puppy treat and potty bag that can be shoved into my personal Item, and a no fuss backpack.

In my personal travel bag I kept:

Pee pads, his food from the breeder, a change of clothes in case of incidents, a portable battery to charge my phone, collapsible food and water bowls, collar and leash incase one wasn't provided, and SEVERAL toys in there.

The toys were great for waiting in the terminal. I'd expand the sides of the crate and introduce a new toy to him to help him run a bit of energy out before we had to board.

Peepads: Even though airports have animal relief areas, chances are they're either kind of gross or your dog may be a little too young for it to be safe. I was traveling through one of the busiest airports in the world, and nobody was checking jack shit so I opted for potty breaks to occur in bathrooms with pee pads. He didn't end up going but it's better to be prepared.

I flew Delta and used Skymiles accumulated from our credit card with them that we pay off monthly, so the only thing I paid for out of pocket was 95.00 to bring Argos on board. My flight only costed 20k miles total, and that was only a small portion of what we'd accumulated over the 6 months we've been using the card. I think it's worth considering if you're planning to fly to a breeder. It enabled me to go anywhere in the country that Delta flies and not worry about costs.

Day of hack: double check your flights on the airlines app and switch your seat if possible. I swapped one of my return flight seats to an empty row for 15.00, which meant I could have my carryon and him with me at the same time and that was very nice for readjusting where my stuff was and taking a damn nap. Because at this point, I'd been up for about 18 hours and still had 7 hours of traveling before I'd get home.

I think my last thing is that if you're like me and you do have an invisible disability- ask if you can preboard. Dont be afraid to say "hey, i have this problem and standing in the heat while carrying a bunch of stuff is potentially going to cause an episode. " The employees were extremely nice, and willing to work with me. Ultimately, I went through all of this because he's a service dog prospect and will hopefully help.

Small things for me specifically prior: ate in the morning and right before I picked him up, he was able to chill in his carrier while I ate dinner at a restaurant in the airport- didn't make any sounds. He slept the whole time. I don't think I couldve eaten in the food court, too much to carry between him and my main bag.

I think that's it. I may add to this if I remember anything I forgot.

Edited to add: for my besties with miscellaneous illnesses-

A baggie with your medicines is IMPORTANT. Do not forget some dramamine, advil, Tylenol, whatever, pack it if there's a small chance you'll need it!

I ended up getting migraine symptoms like 5 hours into travel, and that was not a day I could afford to have blurred vision. <3 remember to take care of YOU on the journey.

[coffeeandcalligraphy]

LONAN KILLS REEVE IN SV?!?!!!

HE DOES LOL

explanation & excerpts under the cut! <3

CW: murder/death/torture/trauma

okay so I am the DRAMA--obviously Reeve is still alive, but she does technically die and only survives what happens because of Harrison (king <3).

TL;DR: Lonan is brainwashed by his tyrannical family & is sent on a literal mission to kill his sister. He does, but Harrison "revives" her with his magic (the icon the legend the man himself).

More details: So back in 2015 when I was writing book 3 of the original series, Lonan was ALSO brainwashed, but by his other sister Anna and Anna's girlfriend Kate who were mad at him for some reason (I can't remember why exactly, everyone is mad at Lonan in that book LOL). The logistics of how this was done are quite fuzzy because I was 13 :) but essentially think of Lonan as a bluetooth speaker who could be controlled remotely! <3

In this state, Lonan almost kills Reeve a couple of times (and this is when they love each other! not when they don't know they're siblings and have been trying to murder each other!). This DEEPLY upsets him and becomes a major point of tension for his characterization (I believe he makes Harrison promise to kill him if he tries to hurt his sister again, which is... on brand for right now <3). At that point in the series, Lonan's biggest fear is that he's still a terrible person--he's struggling to be redeemable even to himself. So to hurt the most important person in his life at the time, his sister... oof. He's not happy.

I wanted to bring this back into SV, since I love recycling old material into this book to relive the joy of writing them originally (not me... finding joy in psychologically torturing these siblings oops). So Lonan is once again "programmed," but the logistics make more sense because this is done through magical means. Lonan in SV is an extremely controlled person. Every move he makes is monitored, and what little good he does have in his life are used against him to torture him (like... his girlfriend... who I haven't talked about on here... but we can!).

Reeve isn't an exception to this. The play by play of what happens here is that the squad (Harrison, Reeve, Darren, Foster), have all been looking for Humilitas (the magical bird that's been missing for a while/the magical bird that Lonan is part of). They locate Humilitas (Harrison flew on the back of a giant bird who showed him where he was :) lol :)) and this is great! This has been their goal the whole time. But then this happens:

“Humilitas,” she says, inching her fingers toward its face. Her eyes sparkle like she’s seeing a saint, a god, even. She begins to smile, so close to touching him.

A branch snaps.

Not delicate. A weighted sound. A human sound.

Harrison spins around.

He doesn’t believe what he’s seeing at first. Surely, he’s hallucinating, sicker than he’d initially thought, bombarded by strange, unrealistic visions. Black hair like a silken cut of obsidian. Fingers precise, thin. Eyes kingfisher blue and as hot as a gas flame.

“Lonan?” he says, dazed, hardly able to make out his name without slurring every letter. Harrison lurches forward to where he stands, ten, twenty feet away, barely catches himself on a bramble bush. Thorns skewer his palm, but he feels no pain, not even when blood seeps down his wrist, candle wax overflowing. Instead, his mouth foams, his knees so weak that on his next step forward, he falls onto his elbows.

(there's a Feeding Habits easter egg here with the kingfisher eye description--which is the way Suzanna describes Harrison's eyes to Lonan awww. Also I love that feverish Harrison can describe Lonan once again like a painting. My god.)

Harrison is so stunned and is ALSO physically ill at this sight (relatable content <3). No, but really, he is quite literally sick (H&L are bonded through magical bird things & being so close is... not good for them at this point).

Reeve is so excited that she doesn't really notice Harrison's Suffering (TM). This happens:

As if she’s never seen Humilitas, as if he no longer matters, as if she’s an elk running from a mountain lion or a mountain lion chasing an elk, as if the earth no longer matters either, as if she is wind and he is alive, he is alive, as if, no matter who tries, no one can stop her, Reeve launches at her brother with full force.

And then we get... the actual drama:

Lonan raises an arm. From the ground, as Harrison watches through jittering eyes, he looks as if he’s going to hug her. They could be children again, reunited after a summer trip apart, one about to spin the other in greeting. Reeve is crying, tears glittering off her chin like flakes of shattered glass. She wraps her arms around her brother, shaking, sobbing, shocked as a rat snapped in a trap.

Lonan looks at her. His arm still raised. Does he smile? Harrison’s vision has spotted so badly that he can hardly tell.

Against the deep backdrop of night, a glint.

Harrison gasps. He wills himself to get up, to run to her. Ash. Bone.

But by then it’s too late. One moment, Reeve clutches her brother, and the next, he gouges a knife straight through her heart.

Aaand that's how part two ends. Fun!

We start part three in Reeve's first solo POV chapter, where Darren explains what happened:

“You died,” he whispers. Reeve blinks. “I saw you. On the ground. I swear, I got to you not even a second after he hurt you, yet you were gone. I looked at you and I thought, I’m going to have to bury her.”

(THHHEEE ROMANNNNCCEE)

She also sees the consequence of Harrison's magic (that did bring her back in the end!):

What marks her chest: a pattern the colour of soot, radiating from around the bandage covering the puncture.

Permanently grafted on her skin are the sun’s waving rays.

Harrison doesn't actually know how to use his magic at this point in the books/what his magic even is. But seeing his bestie literally die is... too much for him, and instinct just takes over really fast. This is the opening of chapter 17 and where the title of book 2 comes from:

From Harrison’s bloody fingertips: a hot, bright ribbon scatters from his body and across the ground, bounding like a heartbeat. Watch as it ripples and ignites a line of maple leaves, beating to the same rhythm as the words she can’t die. She can’t die. She can’t die. Not after all of this. Not now. Watch as it climbs over her thigh, side, stomach, a messenger with its goal in target. Watch as it stabs her body as the knife previously did, how upon contact with her heart, her entire figure luminesces. She becomes a Madonna on that sunless ground, haloed in light.

^^ get you a best friend who is so stubborn he refuses to let you die so miraculously uses his magic to save you <3 aw

After this, Harrison passes out for a long time. He's not aware of how terrible of a state he was in (also near dying) until he talks to Foster:

“Where’s Reeve?” he asks. Though he’d been feverish and near-unconscious on the ground, he’d seen the look on her face as her body fell. Her smile of relief punctured with some sick mix of shock and horror.

“She’s okay,” Foster says, and glances out the private room’s exit. “Darren’s with her.”

That’s all it takes for Harrison to move. He rips off the catheter in his nose, peeling up the tape securing several tubes to the back of his hands.

“Hey—” “Don’t get in my way,” Harrison growls when Foster goes to herd him back into the cot.

“You’re not well—”

Harrison yanks all the wiring knotted around his body so harshly that one of the monitors checking his vitals appears to shut down.

“Does this look like the work of an unwell man?”

(LEGENDARY DIALOGUE HARRISON ^^)

We ALSO get Harrison going beast mode and calling Foster by his actual name LOL:

“Get out of my way, August,” Harrison nearly shouts. If Reeve is in this infirmary, alone with a man who sure, cares about her, but that isn’t him, he will damn well get to her.

And of course, he's back to wanting to kill Lonan:

Harrison crosses his arms. “I’m going to find Reeve. And then I’m going to kill Lonan.”

It’s the first time he’s said the words aloud, the words that’ve hummed in his body since he awoke. Kill Lonan.

“I can’t let you do that.”

“I don’t need your permission.”

At this point, no one actually knows Lonan did this unintentionally because he's been unable to tell them because someone may or may not be trying to kill him as we speak!

And strangely, Harrison also has matching markings on his palms like the one Reeve has on her chest:

When his palms are naked again, he doesn’t even question the black solar markings in the centre of each palm—nothing matters. Lonan cannot die. “Hey,” Harrison says, hands trembling even harder now as he tugs the hem of Lonan’s shirt upward to reveal the wound, likely pierced through, or close to his heart. Lonan’s mouth hangs open, like he’s trying to say something, but Harrison won’t let him. No goodbyes.

(not me just leaving this excerpt here as if this isn't going to open up a whole bunch more question LOOOL I'm evil and also willing to talk more <3)

Eventually, when everything settles down, Harrison confronts Lonan about what the actual fuck happened that night he "killed" Reeve:

“One of the first things I told you was not to look for me. Why did you?”

Harrison laughs. He doesn’t think. He’s not even sure what it means—if he’s genuinely amused, or if he’s shocked, or if he’s angry. “Why wouldn’t I look for you?”

“I told you not to.”

When Harrison laughs again, he’s absolutely sure why—exasperation ripples off his body. “You were haunting my dreams to the point where I couldn’t sleep. Your sister begged me to help find you. And besides, you found us.”

“But you shouldn’t have saved me. You should’ve left. It would’ve been best—”

“Are you telling me I should’ve let you die? Forget you for a second—what about Reeve? She should’ve died too?”

Lonan looks over to him—Harrison feels his gaze on his face, but now he’s looking at his hands, trying to force them to still with his mind. He’s not angry. Lonan is not ungrateful. He’s not angry. Lonan is not ungrateful.

“Harrison,” Lonan says after a moment. “My family is dangerous. I wanted to keep you as far from this as I could—”

“But you didn’t,” Harrison says, his voice breaking. “You gave me half your power. You knew they would look for me if you took what made you useful and gave it to me. And you did it anyway. You put a target on my back.”

“That target was always on your back. From the moment you were born it was on your back. I needed to be certain you could keep yourself safe when something happened. Not if.”

“Safe?” Harrison almost shouts. Out of everything he’s considered himself in the whirlwind of the last few weeks, safe was the absolute last one. And the absurdity of this implication, as if Harrison would even understand how to use his own magic to keep himself safe. He’s somehow managed to keep himself alive and burned himself on a fork—Lonan didn’t gift him his powers and a manual to use them. Safe. Impulsively, he yanks his hands from his pocket, splaying open his fingers to reveal his palm and the black sunrays tattooed onto the centre. “This is what you’ve done to me, Lonan. This is what you’ve done to Reeve.”

Lonan’s brows perk up, and now he’s trying very hard to catch Harrison’s gaze. “What is this about Reeve?”

(For context on the "what about Reeve" dialogue--since Lonan is the Virtue, if he dies, which is impossible since he's immortal but... almost happened lol, his whooooole family dies with him. Also: "burned himself on a fork" I'm crying LOL)

From this excerpt, we can tell Lonan clearly has no idea what happened and what he did to Reeve (accurate to the OG books). This may or may not lead to a nervous breakdown.......... oops!

Anyway so that's the explanation!

I love spoiling SV. Always happy to talk about it!

[duhdumb89]

A Forbidden Happiness | Chapter 16

Jiang gui ren ran her hands over the silken collar of her brand-new Imperial Concubine's chaofu*. All the little pieces were dazzling. The embroidered jacket, the precious necklaces, the golden chaoguan!† She had toiled so many years for this, and it was finally happening. Was it bittersweet that His Majesty didn't personally promote her? Sure. But being part of a group promotion for The Empress Dowager's birthday celebration was better than no promotion at all. The notice of her promotion and her chaofu was delivered last week. However, she was still recovering and couldn't venture outside. Now, for the first time in a month and a half, she was leaving her rooms as the soon-to-be mistress of Xianfugong.

"Mistress," said Susu, "You're going to look so dashing when you wear this for your promotion ceremony. Not even Lian pin will be able to match you,"

Another bittersweet mouthful to swallow.

Lian pin would soon become Lian fei. She bore no children and made no merits, yet she somehow was going to be a Consort.

"His Majesty is set on respecting her family," replied Jiang gui ren, "At the very least, Xiang gui ren got nothing,"

"It's so embarrassing. Even Wang chang zai is getting a promotion!" Said Susu.

"The Empress Dowager is just showing her pity. His Majesty wouldn't dare to clean away the cobwebs between the legs of that old fish," said Jiang gui ren.

Their giggling was interrupted by a delivery of purple fabric. As a Noble Lady, purple was a color far above her station. Now, she would wear it as often as she could.

"Did Huan momo unpack all of my jewelry yet? And my good clothes?" Jiang gui ren asked, digging through the stacks of silks.

"Yes, I even convinced them to leave a few gold pieces. I tried to tell momo that you could wear kingfisher feathers, but Haun momo wouldn't listen," replied Susu.

"No matter," replied Jiang gui ren, "Once I have a son, I can send them all back home with some money. I asked Lou taiyi about my odds of having a child, and he said nothing should stop me from getting pregnant. I only have to suffer them for a bit longer,"

"You don't...." Susu dropped her voice, "You don't want to get rid of them sooner?"

Tsking, Jiang gui ren rolled her eyes, "Idiot, don't be so impatient,"

"Mistress," Yao gonggong said, coming into the bedroom, "His Majesty and Her Highness have invited you to share a meal with them and a few of the other mistresses to celebrate your promotion,"

"Shall I call Huan momo and Cui momo to help you dress?" He asked.

"Yes, quickly, quickly!"

–––

In all, The Empress Dowager had chosen 12 women to promote. The majority were first and second-class attendants. Beside Lian pin and Wang chang zai, there was Jiao gui ren and Cha chang zai. Jiang gui ren smiled as Zhang Wei led her to the chair on the other side of The Emperor. It should've been Lian pin's seat, as she was the most senior concubine at the table. The Emperor was gracious enough to let Huaguang come to the celebration. While it demonstrated how far above she was of the other women, it was so annoying. Huaguang was squirmy and fussy, crawling into His Majesty's lap and back to hers again. Whenever she tried to converse with His Majesty, Huaguang was pulled at her collar or made a mess at the table. Luckily, His Majesty appreciated Huaguang's vigor instead of finding it unkempt.

To make matters worse, Xiang gui ren arrived. An gui ren had done her duty and kept Jiang gui ren company, but Xiang gui ren still needed to visit her daily. It was awful to watch that whore gloat about how The Empress Dowager loved her gift and how happy it made His Majesty. Just looking at her was making her sicker. At least in a few days, Xiang gui ren would never be able to look down on her again.

The Empress ordered that Cha chang zai move one seat down so Jiang gui ren and Xiang gui ren could sit together.

"I'd like to propose a toast," said Xiang gui ren, "To my jiejie. No one is more deserving of becoming mistress of Xianfugong than you,"

It took everything in Jiang gui ren to keep her lips from curling in disgust. She raised her cup and sipped her wine.

"Xiang gui ren, I can't help but feel sorry for you," said Lian pin, "You and Jiang gui ren are two peas in a pod. You both should be called Your Highness by now,"

Lian pin covered her mirth with a polite cough. Jiang gui ren fumed. Lian pin had a lot of never comparing her to a prostitute like Xiang gui ren.

Xiang gui ren bowed her head, "Jiang jiejie is of noble blood and has given His Majesty a daughter. I can't compare,"

"Yes, jiejie," said Jiang gui ren, "I hear a few doctors have come by your Jingrengong. Is there good news on the way?"

Lian pin shifted in her seat, "...No. It was just a bit of sickness from the heat,"

Jiang gui ren frowned softly, "That's too bad. Jiejie is young and healthy. I"m sure you'll be able to give His Majesty a child soon. You can come to me for advice if it ever happens,"

"Enough," The Empress said, "If fate allows, a child will come. There's no use in talking like this," 

When Huaguang began to cry loudly in His Majesty's arms, Jiang gui ren pulled her over,only for her to squirm and cry even louder.

"What's gotten into you?" Jiang gui ren muttered.

Xiang gui ren leaned in close, "Oh, is she sleepy? Should her nursemaid take her back?"

"Not at all," said Jiang gui ren, "She's just being fussy,"

"You should let Xiang gui ren hold her for a moment then," said His Majesty, "The Empress says Huaguang behaves with her at the A Ge Sou,"

It rankled Jiang gui ren to be reminded that Xiang gui ren could spend more time with her daughter than she did, but she passed Huaguang over anyways. Amazingly, Huaguang did quiet down in Xiang gui ren's arms.

"Maybe I'll go to Xiang gui ren for advice when I get pregnant," said Lian pin.

Jiang gui ren glared at Huaguang lying quietly in Xiang gui ren's arms. It was obvious that the momos were turning her daughter into a brat.

"Are you tired? You can sleep in my arms," Xiang gui ren whispered to Huaguang.

With a roll of her eyes Jiang gui ren let Susu refill her wine. If that bitch wanted to play nursemaid, Jiang gui ren wouldn't stop her. She lifted her cup and leaned into The Emperor's side.

"A toast to Your Majesty,"

The Emperor locked eyes with her and smiled. Just as they touched the rims together, a chorus of gasps erupted around the table.

"Huifen!" The Emperor sprang to his feet and nearly knocked Jiang gui ren over in his haste.

Xiang gui ren moaning in pain, clutching her head. Her forehead was split open, and rivulets of blood were dripping through her fingers. Huaguang was screaming in Xu niang's arms, face red and blotchy. Xu niang looked frantic, bashing her head to the ground, begging for forgiveness.

His Majesty grabbed a handkerchief and pressed it to Xiang gui ren's face, "What happened?!" He asked.

"I don't know!" Said Lian pin, "Xiang gui ren was holding Fifth Princess when she suddenly grabbed a plate and...hit her!"

It was as if the blood was draining from Jiang gui ren now. How could a two-year-old child do so much damage? Was it a trick? She and her daughter were favored, but there wasn't enough favor to return from something like this. Jiang gui ren flinched as The Emperor kicked Xu niang to the ground, not caring that Huaguang was in her arms.

"You worthless thing! How have you been raising Fifth Princess?"

Xu niang cried, "I deserve to die, I deserve to die!"

Jiang gui ren threw herself at The Emperor's feet, "Your Majesty! Forgive Huaguang. She's just a child! She didn't mean it!"

That was a mistake. The Emperor turned his rage to her."

What sort of devious child have you raised, Jiang gui ren?" He hissed, "How could you birth this beast?"

"Your Majesty, please dissipate your anger," said The Empress, stepping between them, "Take Xiang gui ren into the side hall. I'll call for Hwang taiyi to stop the bleeding,"

The Emperor nodded before turning to Xu niang again, "Get that child out of my sight!"

Xu niang scooped up Huaguang and ran off. 

The Emperor followed as Xiang gui ren's limp form was dragged away. Jiang gui ren stayed collapsed on the ground.

"You can all withdraw," The Empress said, "The mood's been spoiled,"

Susu helped Jiang gui ren to her feet as the other women exited the courtyard.

"Jiang gui ren," said The Empress, "Make yourself scarce,"

––––

An gui ren's spirits soared as Weiwei recounted the events at His Majesty's promotion meal.

"What about Jiang gui ren?" An gui ren asked.

"She's locked in her rooms," Weiwei replied, "There's no word if His Majesty will take back her promotion,"

An gui ren sighed. Jiang gui ren really did have all the luck. Her child damn near bludgeoned Xiang gui ren, and she was still becoming an Imperial Concubine. An gui ren didn't have much of an idea when she started to fuss with Huaguang. At best, the girl would embarrass Jiang gui ren and have her lose a bit of face. It seemed the scare tactics made Huaguang go above and beyond.  It all meant nothing in end. Jiang gui ren was going to be a mistress, and An gui ren was not.

As she continued her stroll, An gui ren spotted a large group of servants clustered together, giggling and whispering.

"Has there been any good gossip lately, Weiwei?" She asked.

"Not that I've heard. We're still talking about Fifth Princess going crazy," replied Weiwei.

An gui ren hurried over to the group, watching their backs shift with laughter. 

"How absurd!" Weiwei said. 

The servants jumped and at the sight of An gui ren, dropped to their knees. 

 "An gui ren is here and you won't even acknowledge her! She should report you to The Emperor right now!" said Weiwei. 

"We beg your forgiveness! Please have mercy on us!" A eunuch cried.

"I don't know," said An gui ren, "Is it really worth it to spare such useless things like you?"

The servants began to beg for lives with renewed fervor.

"Alright, alright. I'll forget about this if you tell me what's so interesting these days. What were you chatting about just now?"

The servants fell silent and glanced at one another. It was something juicy then. "I recognize every one of your uniforms. One word and you'll lose your heads," Said An gui ren.

A brave maid spoke up, "It was...A'Fen from the ice house just came from visiting her new baby sister and told us about the rumors in the capital about First Princess,"

"First Princess?" Said An gui ren, "What about her?" "I don't want to dirty your ears with this sort of talk," said the maid.

An gui ren rolled her eyes, "Spit it out already,"

"They're saying First Princess is...keeping company with the eunuchs here," said the maid.

"What?" Asked An gui ren, "How can anyone believe that?"

"Some palace eunuch from the palace was bragging about it in a brothel. Apparently First Princess' underwear and love tokens are hidden in a eunuch's room,"

"Which eunuch?"

The maid shook her head, "Nobody knows,"

An gui ren shook her head, "And this is all over the capital?"

"Even the gêgês are talking about it,"

"You're all dismissed," said An gui ren, "Don't you dare speak more of this,"

She tugged Weiwei down the road, "Hurry! We have to see His Majesty,"

Finding The Emperor was a struggle, and when she did, An gui ren waited outside his doors for almost an hour.

"An gui ren, His Majesty has no time to see you. Please, return to your palace," said Zhang Wei.

"Wei gonggong, this is important. Announce me, please," she begged.

When it looked like he wouldn't budge, she added, "It's about First Princess," An gui ren said.

Zhang Wei stared at her for a moment longer before sighing, "Fine then,"

The Emperor was sitting behind his desk, missives nearly covering the entire surface. An gui ren's heart began to race. It had been some time since she and His Majesty were alone like this. He hadn't flipped her tag in almost a year.

"This concubine wishes–"

"Speak quickly and withdraw. I don't have time for nonsense today," The Emperor said.An gui ren paused before quietly finishing her greeting. The Emperor was still in a bad mood because of Xiang gui ren's injury.

"Your Majesty, I have something to report,"

–––––––––��––

*chaofu: Court attire for women of Imperial Concubine status and above †chaoguan: Hats worn by consorts have two tiers of dongzhu pearls and phoenixes topped by a cat eye stone

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[artdaily7]

Albert Bierstadt 1871-1873 Sierra Nevada, oil on canvas, Reynolda House Museum of American Art

The Defeat Of Youth by Aldous Huxley I. UNDER THE TREES. There had been phantoms, pale-remembered shapes Of this and this occasion, sisterly In their resemblances, each effigy Crowned with the same bright hair above the nape's White rounded firmness, and each body alert With such swift loveliness, that very rest Seemed a poised movement: ... phantoms that impressed But a faint influence and could bless or hurt No more than dreams. And these ghost things were she; For formless still, without identity, Not one she seemed, not clear, but many and dim. One face among the legions of the street, Indifferent mystery, she was for him Something still uncreated, incomplete. II. Bright windy sunshine and the shadow of cloud Quicken the heavy summer to new birth Of life and motion on the drowsing earth; The huge elms stir, till all the air is loud With their awakening from the muffled sleep Of long hot days. And on the wavering line That marks the alternate ebb of shade and shine, Under the trees, a little group is deep In laughing talk. The shadow as it flows Across them dims the lustre of a rose, Quenches the bright clear gold of hair, the green Of a girl's dress, and life seems faint. The light Swings back, and in the rose a fire is seen, Gold hair's aflame and green grows emerald bright. III. She leans, and there is laughter in the face She turns towards him; and it seems a door Suddenly opened on some desolate place With a burst of light and music. What before Was hidden shines in loveliness revealed. Now first he sees her beautiful, and knows That he must love her; and the doom is sealed Of all his happiness and all the woes That shall be born of pregnant years hereafter. The swift poise of a head, a flutter of laughter— And love flows in on him, its vastness pent Within his narrow life: the pain it brings, Boundless; for love is infinite discontent With the poor lonely life of transient things. IV. Men see their god, an immanence divine, Smile through the curve of flesh or moulded clay, In bare ploughed lands that go sloping away To meet the sky in one clean exquisite line. Out of the short-seen dawns of ecstasy They draw new beauty, whence new thoughts are born And in their turn conceive, as grains of corn Germ and create new life and endlessly Shall live creating. Out of earthly seeds Springs the aerial flower. One spirit proceeds Through change, the same in body and in soul— The spirit of life and love that triumphs still In its slow struggle towards some far-off goal Through lust and death and the bitterness of will. V. One spirit it is that stirs the fathomless deep Of human minds, that shakes the elms in storm, That sings in passionate music, or on warm Still evenings bosoms forth the tufted sleep Of thistle-seeds that wait a travelling wind. One spirit shapes the subtle rhythms of thought And the long thundering seas; the soul is wrought Of one stuff with the body—matter and mind Woven together in so close a mesh That flowers may blossom into a song, that flesh May strangely teach the loveliest holiest things To watching spirits. Truth is brought to birth Not in some vacant heaven: its beauty springs From the dear bosom of material earth. VI. IN THE HAY-LOFT. The darkness in the loft is sweet and warm With the stored hay ... darkness intensified By one bright shaft that enters through the wide Tall doors from under fringes of a storm Which makes the doomed sun brighter. On the hay, Perched mountain-high they sit, and silently Watch the motes dance and look at the dark sky And mark how heartbreakingly far away And yet how close and clear the distance seems, While all at hand is cloud—brightness of dreams Unrealisable, yet seen so clear, So only just beyond the dark. They wait, Scarce knowing what they wait for, half in fear; Expectance draws the curtain from their fate. VII. The silence of the storm weighs heavily On their strained spirits: sometimes one will say Some trivial thing as though to ward away Mysterious powers, that imminently lie In wait, with the strong exorcising grace Of everyday's futility. Desire Becomes upon a sudden a crystal fire, Defined and hard:—If he could kiss her face, Could kiss her hair! As if by chance, her hand Brushes on his ... Ah, can she understand? Or is she pedestalled above the touch Of his desire? He wonders: dare he seek From her that little, that infinitely much? And suddenly she kissed him on the cheek. VIII. MOUNTAINS. A stronger gust catches the cloud and twists A spindle of rifted darkness through its heart, A gash in the damp grey, which, thrust apart, Reveals black depths a moment. Then the mists Shut down again; a white uneasy sea Heaves round the climbers and beneath their feet. He strains on upwards through the wind and sleet, Poised, or swift moving, or laboriously Lifting his weight. And if he should let go, What would he find down there, down there below The curtain of the mist? What would he find Beyond the dim and stifling now and here, Beneath the unsettled turmoil of his mind? Oh, there were nameless depths: he shrank with fear. IX. The hills more glorious in their coat of snow Rise all around him, in the valleys run Bright streams, and there are lakes that catch the sun, And sunlit fields of emerald far below That seem alive with inward light. In smoke The far horizons fade; and there is peace On everything, a sense of blessed release From wilful strife. Like some prophetic cloak The spirit of the mountains has descended On all the world, and its unrest is ended. Even the sea, glimpsed far away, seems still, Hushed to a silver peace its storm and strife. Mountains of vision, calm above fate and will, You hold the promise of the freer life. X. IN THE LITTLE ROOM. London unfurls its incense-coloured dusk Before the panes, rich but a while ago With the charred gold and the red ember-glow Of dying sunset. Houses quit the husk Of secrecy, which, through the day, returns A blank to all enquiry: but at nights The cheerfulness of fire and lamp invites The darkness inward, curious of what burns With such a coloured life when all is dead— The daylight world outside, with overhead White clouds, and where we walk, the blaze Of wet and sunlit streets, shops and the stream Of glittering traffic—all that the nights erase, Colour and speed, surviving but in dream. XI. Outside the dusk, but in the little room All is alive with light, which brightly glints On curving cup or the stiff folds of chintz, Evoking its own whiteness. Shadows loom, Bulging and black, upon the walls, where hang Rich coloured plates of beauties that appeal Less to the sense of sight than to the feel, So moistly satin are their breasts. A pang, Almost of pain, runs through him when he sees Hanging, a homeless marvel, next to these, The silken breastplate of a mandarin, Centuries dead, which he had given her. Exquisite miracle, when men could spin Jay's wing and belly of the kingfisher! XII. In silence and as though expectantly She crouches at his feet, while he caresses His light-drawn fingers with the touch of tresses Sleeked round her head, close-banded lustrously, Save where at nape and temple the smooth brown Sleaves out into a pale transparent mist Of hair and tangled light. So to exist, Poised 'twixt the deep of thought where spirits drown Life in a void impalpable nothingness, And, on the other side, the pain and stress Of clamorous action and the gnawing fire Of will, focal upon a point of earth—even thus To sit, eternally without desire And yet self-known, were happiness for us. XIII. She turns her head and in a flash of laughter Looks up at him: and helplessly he feels That life has circled with returning wheels Back to a starting-point. Before and after Merge in this instant, momently the same: For it was thus she leaned and laughing turned When, manifest, the spirit of beauty burned In her young body with an inward flame, And first he knew and loved her. In full tide Life halts within him, suddenly stupefied. Sight blackness, lightning-struck; but blindly tender He draws her up to meet him, and she lies Close folded by his arms in glad surrender, Smiling, and with drooped head and half closed eyes. XIV. 'I give you all; would that I might give more.' He sees the colour dawn across her cheeks And die again to white; marks as she speaks The trembling of her lips, as though she bore Some sudden pain and hardly mastered it. Within his arms he feels her shuddering, Piteously trembling like some wild wood-thing Caught unawares. Compassion infinite Mounts up within him. Thus to hold and keep And comfort her distressed, lull her to sleep And gently kiss her brow and hair and eyes Seems love perfected—templed high and white Against the calm of golden autumn skies, And shining quenchlessly with vestal light. XV. But passion ambushed by the aerial shrine Comes forth to dance, a hoofed obscenity, His satyr's dance, with laughter in his eye, And cruelty along the scarlet line Of his bright smiling mouth. All uncontrolled, Love's rebel servant, he delights to beat The maddening quick dry rhythm of goatish feet Even in the sanctuary, and makes bold To mime himself the godhead of the place. He turns in terror from her trance-calmed face, From the white-lidded languor of her eyes, From lips that passion never shook before, But glad in the promise of her sacrifice: 'I give you all; would that I might give more.' XVI. He is afraid, seeing her lie so still, So utterly his own; afraid lest she Should open wide her eyes and let him see The passionate conquest of her virgin will Shine there in triumph, starry-bright with tears. He thrusts her from him: face and hair and breast, Hands he had touched, lips that his lips had pressed, Seem things deadly to be desired. He fears Lest she should body forth in palpable shame Those dreams and longings that his blood, aflame Through the hot dark of summer nights, had dreamed And longed. Must all his love, then, turn to this? Was lust the end of what so pure had seemed? He must escape, ah God! her touch, her kiss. XVII. IN THE PARK. Laughing, 'To-night,' I said to him, 'the Park Has turned the garden of a symbolist. Those old great trees that rise above the mist, Gold with the light of evening, and the dark Still water, where the dying sun evokes An echoed glory—here I recognize Those ancient gardens mirrored by the eyes Of poets that hate the world of common folks, Like you and me and that thin pious crowd, Which yonder sings its hymns, so humbly proud Of holiness. The garden of escape Lies here; a small green world, and still the bride Of quietness, although an imminent rape Roars ceaselessly about on every side.' XVIII. I had forgotten what I had lightly said, And without speech, without a thought I went, Steeped in that golden quiet, all content To drink the transient beauty as it sped Out of eternal darkness into time To light and burn and know itself a fire; Yet doomed—ah, fate of the fulfilled desire!— To fade, a meteor, paying for the crime Of living glorious in the denser air Of our material earth. A strange despair, An agony, yet strangely, subtly sweet And tender as an unpassionate caress, Filled me ... Oh laughter! youth's conceit Grown almost conscious of youth's feebleness! XIX. He spoke abrupt across my dream: 'Dear Garden, A stranger to your magic peace, I stand Beyond your walls, lost in a fevered land Of stones and fire. Would that the gods would harden My soul against its torment, or would blind Those yearning glimpses of a life at rest In perfect beauty—glimpses at the best Through unpassed bars. And here, without, the wind Of scattering passion blows: and women pass Glitter-eyed down putrid alleys where the glass Of some grimed window suddenly parades— Ah, sickening heart-beat of desire!—the grace Of bare and milk-warm flesh: the vision fades, And at the pane shows a blind tortured face.' XX. SELF-TORMENT. The days pass by, empty of thought and will: His thought grows stagnant at its very springs, With every channel on the world of things Dammed up, and thus, by its long standing still, Poisons itself and sickens to decay. All his high love for her, his fair desire, Loses its light; and a dull rancorous fire, Burning darkness and bitterness that prey Upon his heart are left. His spirit burns Sometimes with hatred, or the hatred turns To a fierce lust for her, more cruel than hate, Till he is weary wrestling with its force: And evermore she haunts him, early and late, As pitilessly as an old remorse. XXI. Streets and the solitude of country places Were once his friends. But as a man born blind, Opening his eyes from lovely dreams, might find The world a desert and men's larval faces So hateful, he would wish to seek again The darkness and his old chimeric sight Of beauties inward—so, that fresh delight, Vision of bright fields and angelic men, That love which made him all the world, is gone. Hating and hated now, he stands alone, An island-point, measureless gulfs apart From other lives, from the old happiness Of being more than self, when heart to heart Gave all, yet grew the greater, not the less. XXII. THE QUARRY IN THE WOOD. Swiftly deliberate, he seeks the place. A small wind stirs, the copse is bright in the sun: Like quicksilver the shine and shadow run Across the leaves. A bramble whips his face, The tears spring fast, and through the rainbow mist He sees a world that wavers like the flame Of a blown candle. Tears of pain and shame, And lips that once had laughed and sung and kissed Trembling in the passion of his sobbing breath! The world a candle shuddering to its death, And life a darkness, blind and utterly void Of any love or goodness: all deceit, This friendship and this God: all shams destroyed, And truth seen now. Earth fails beneath his feet.

[amuseoffyre]

October Prompts - 21st

Prompt - Guilt

All behind a snip because it starts a bit mature and continues in a similar vein.

1880 – The Hundred Guineas Club, London

“Lord, Angelique!” Thomas panted, clutching at the divan beneath him. “You– you are damned–”

The man calling himself Angelique pressed his hand over Thomas’s mouth, stifling him. “No more words,” he growled, as his body moved over Thomas’s with a fervour and heat that made Thomas keen in both pleasure and pain.

When he spent himself, Angelique stepped back at once and uttered a low sound of disgust. “Get out.”

Thomas scrambled up off the low bed, flushing, no doubt as red as his hair, his body still crying out for release. “I beg your pardon.”

Angelique didn’t look repelled, but neither did he look as once who had taken his pleasure ought to. He rubbed at his brow and waved his other hand towards the door. “Off with you.”

Thomas stared at him, then down at himself. “You’re done with me?” he demanded, offended.

Angelique’s pale eyes ran over him, then the man stepped closer. For one who looked so cherubic, there was something sinister in the curve of his lip. “My dear boy,” he murmured, “I could play with you until you screamed for mercy.” He brought his lips close. “I could torment you until you begged and pleaded for release…”

Thomas shivered. There was no warmth in those words, no pleasure. It sounded more threat than teasing promise.

Angelique’s lips drew back from unnaturally sharp teeth. “Get. Out.”

Thomas backed away from him, skirting around the edge of the room to the door that led out into the rest of the club. There would be other men, he thought, shaking. Ones who were not so… so… whatever it was that Angelique was.

At the door, he glanced back.

Angelique had sunk to sit on the divan, looking infinitely tired and ancient. Thomas hesitated, wondering if he should offer some kind word or comfort, but it was as if a chill was rippling outwards, turning the room to an ice box and he retreated, pulling the door closed behind him.

____________________________________

 1884 – Belgium

The fight over the continent was heating up. The damned Portuguese were trying to claim land rights by way of outdated and irrelevant treaties, while the French had snuck in under the guise of exploration and planted a flag.

With a little nudging, Bismarck and his associates at the forthcoming Berlin gathering ought to provide the support needed to push matters back in Belgium’s favour.

Leopold scowled down at the map. “I will have it.”

“Of course you will.” His attendant was pacing in ever narrowing circles on the far side of the room, his pale hair tipped with gold in the gaslight. There was something predatory in the way he moved, the curl of his back, the flash of his eyes. “You and your… philanthropic missions.”

It struck Leopold that he could not recall when Monsieur Raphael had come into his service or how the man had come to be so knowledgeable of Leopold’s own affairs. “You sound doubtful of my success.”

“Ha!” Raphael ran a hand along the mantle. “Let’s not mince words. We both know there is nothing humanitarian about your intentions in the Congo basin.”

And yet, Leopold thought, the other members of the International African Association had been convinced of it easily enough. “You think you know so much, Monsieur? You think so little of my plans?”

Raphael made a disparaging sound. “I know you have no intention of ceasing the slave trade. But isn’t it useful? They’ll let you go in and be so helpful, won’t they? And won’t it be marvellous, they’ll say. What a generous and gracious King. And all the while, you’re hoarding up land and resources for yourself.”

Leopold eyed him. Some of his people knew of his intentions, but none would speak so boldly of them. “And what do you think of it all?”

Raphael whipped around, reminding Leopold of naught so much but a serpent. “What does it matter what I think?” he snarled, stalking across the room towards the map table. “You can do what you damned well please, you stupid man.”

“How dare you address me so,” Leopold snapped back furiously.

Raphael, his hands braced on the edge of the table, raised his eyes from the map. They were solid blue, no white at all, the pupils slit like a serpent’s. He smiled, but it was unlike a smile in every particular but the shape. Alarming enough to make him back away.

“You know what you want to do, your Majesty,” he hissed, leaning out over the table. “What the Hell do you need me for? Permission?”

Leopold stared at him, then down at the map. “I will have it,” he repeated. “By whatever means I must use.”

Monsieur Raphael’s smile widened, his teeth like needlepoints. “I’m sure you will,” he growled, the lamplight flickering. He extended one hand and, with a single finger, overturned the figure of Leopold on the map. “And we will be waiting when it’s done.”

“We?” Leopold echoed.

Serpent eyes stared at him. “Oh, you’ll know.”

And between one blink and another, it was as if… no one had ever been there at all.

_______________________________________

1892 - London

“Savage little ruffians, aren’t they?”

Oscar shifted on the couch, trying very much not to pay heed to the man seated beside him, but the man it seemed was having none of it. Against the ragged feigned grandeur of the room, his neighbour was a diamond among rocks, his clothing of exquisite cut, the very richness of the fabric a lush field of deep golden brown.

“The one on the left.” The heat of his breath sent gooseflesh rising upon Oscar’s skin. “I imagine he would turn you on your belly and have you spent in moments.”

For all that he wished the man to be silent, it was as if he had reached into Oscar’s mind and plucked the very thoughts dancing tantalisingly there. Bosie knew of his covert desires and had found a rather handsome gaggle of young men, strong and broad of shoulder, narrow of waist. Handsome creatures, but untamed by conversation and literature and utterly primitive in the most delicious ways.

It was… unseemly.

A step too far and he knew it well. It was one matter to seek the pleasures of the flesh with a like-minded man, but to buy their favours was something less innocent and edifying. He would finish his drink, thank them for their patience and be on his way.

Oscar took a fortifying sip from his goblet, the wine heady and strong. “If you do not mind, sir, I am only here at the behest of a friend. I shall be leaving shortly.”

The man’s arm unfurled along the back of the couch like a serpent uncoiling along the branch of a sycamore, the weight of it heavy with sin and promise. “We both know that’s not true, don’t we, my dear?”

Abruptly, a hand broad and warm pressed against the front of Oscar’s breeches.

“Sir!” Oscar snarled, though his hips canted rebelliously into the firmness of the touch.

“Tell me to stop,” the man murmured against his ear. “Tell me that this is utterly unsuitable. Tell me you would not want me to have you ready and bring one of those … lovely creatures over to tend you with his lips.” His tongue curled into Oscar’s ear, wicked as the snake of Eden, ripe fruit held within reach. “All you need to do is tell me.”

Would that he were a stronger man. Would that he had not held such wishes at arm’s length for decades of misery. Would that he had not grasped the man’s hand and urged it betwixt fabric and flesh, urging him to take hold and do as he pleased.

“You want them, don’t you?” the man whispered, his hand far rougher than any gentleman’s ought to have been, knowing and firm and utterly relentless upon him.

“Sir…” Oscar gasped, the wine glass shaking in his hand.

“Call one of them over, my dear,” his… friend purred, as though offering a fine delicacy in the most elegant of salons and not selling the flesh of young men for shillings in a room so gloomy and grey that no gentleman should ever have set foot there. “The dark one. Marcus, I believe.” Hot breath, like sulphur, poisonous and smothering, whispered on his skin. “He has a marvellous mouth, my dear. Utterly wondrous.”

“Marcus!”

The lad on the far side of the room leapt up like a wildcat, striding across the room, plump lips spread in a smile.

The glass slid from Oscar’s fingers, shattering into a thousand pieces, scattering like stars on the dark wooden floor beside the couch. Wordlessly – for what place had words on lips like that? – he motioned to the front of his breeches.

The boy knelt as a pauper to a king and his neighbour slipped his wicked hand free as the boy nimbly unfastened the buttons of Oscar’s breeches. Lord, his purse would weight every touch if he allowed it. He ought to refuse, to demur, to, to, to…

“I–” His words seemed utterly spent, tangled and useless.

His neighbour chuckled, catching the boy’s chin in his hand. The boy’s dark eyes fluttered closed with greedy pleasure as the man’s thumb pressed between his lips, rounding them out beautifully, his tongue curling and lapping furiously.

Oh.

“Watch him, my dear,” the gentlemanly neighbour murmured withdrawing his hand. His other hand stroked through Oscar’s hair as the boy lowered his head and closed those plump pink lips around him. Oscar pressed his feet to the floor, his hips moving wantonly, but he could not look, not when there was no feeling, no passion, no…

“Oh, but of course there is,” his neighbour said softly. “Look, my dear. See how much he enjoys it.”

The boy’s dark eyes met his, limpid bright pools, as his head bobbed and dived, eager as a kingfisher for a fish. His hands moved too, rough and firm, well-practised and shamefully skilled. It took hardly any time at all.

Mutely, Oscar reached out, catching a heavy silken hank of dark hair. The boy grinned at him, leaning up into him, and his mouth was as eager to please in every particular, salted yet sweet, and twice as hungry.

 ____________________________________

 1900 – Paris

The wind rattled the windows in their frames, the shrill of it like a blade sinking into the throbbing cavity of his skull. Oscar turned his head against the pillow, trying to muffle the sound as best he could, but even that small motion felt like the efforts of Atlas.

The room was cold again, though he could see the fire was burning. Strange, then how cold he felt. Numbed at the hands and feet, the chill spreading inwards from his extremities. So very bitter and painful.

He closed his eyes for a time and the lancing pain behind his eyes eased.

Beside him, the edge of the mattress dipped under the weight of another. He lifted his weighted lids, expecting dearest Robbie, but finding another face, a terrible and familiar face, close to his side.

The fair man with the fleet of beautiful brutes, the ones who had spilled his secrets as easily as they made him spill his seed.

In another room, in another lifetime, he would have risen in a rage, cutting the man to ribbons with words. In another lifetime, the bone-deep cold would not have been sapping what little strength he had, leaving him little more than a restless shell, too weak and drawn to move.

“Sir,” he breathed.

The man turned his fair head to look at him and the grief and despair carved in the furrows of his face spoke more eloquently than words could. “Oscar.” A broad hand found one of his, closing about it, and some little warmth spread through him, dulling the icy ache in his limbs. “You– I–” The man’s hand tightened on his, the words catching in his throat like a piece of stale bread. “This ought not to have happened, dear fellow.”

No, Oscar thought, unable to draw his eyes from the man. Gone was the ardent sensualist, all louche manners and predatory lips. He seemed like another man entirely, hollowed out and spent. “You… incited…” he breathed.

The man bowed his head. “I did,” he said in an unhappy breath. “I– indulgence should not be so condemned. Desire– wanting someone– having someone who wants– who will give you all–” His voice wavered. “What is so terrible in it?”

Oscar’s eyes welled with unsolicited tears. “Nothing,” he whispered, clasping the fellow’s hand. “Nothing at all.”

The man made a low sound like a wounded animal, folding over their joined hands. What had he lost, Oscar wondered, to bring him so low?

“You should have been happy,” the man said, so soft Oscar could scarcely hear him. “To have what you desired, to be with the one you chose, to… enjoy your life. You ought to have been happy.”

“Life,” Oscar murmured, “is not so generous.”

The man lifted his face to stare at him. “Life is nothing, my dear fellow. Life did not do this to you. They did this to you. The ones who believe themselves better and right and good.” He pulled Oscar’s hand to his breast, holding it there. “Would that I could save you.”

“A charming thought.” Oscar’s head fell back heavily against the pillow. “Alas, it comes too late.”

“Too late,” the man echoed. All at once, his other hand was beneath Oscar’s head, cradling him gently and his eyes as blue as polished turquoise filled Oscar’s world, blazing like the lightning-torn sky in a storm. “Then have what they will not allow you…”

It was as if his mind was flooded with visions, of rainbows and men embracing other men openly, of a marriage ceremony with no bride, of banners with his words held proudly by people defiant and glorious and free.

Tears streaked hotly down his face. “What is–?”

The man drew him close and radiant wings, ephemeral and shining, wrapped around him, driving the pain and the cold away. “The world to come, my dear,” he said softly. “You will be remembered and you will be remembered well.”

 _______________________________________

 1914 – Vienna

“You should go, your Highness.”

Franz Ferdinand looked up from the letter in his hand to the mirror and the man standing behind him, clipping his hair. “Your opinion is not required.”

The man – Samuel, was it? – bowed his head mildly. “Your pardon, your Highness.”

The Archduke ignored him, turning his attention back to the letter in his hand. It was one of the many threats that had been lodged against anyone of the Habsburg house who dared to visit Sarajevo. Not unfamiliar. They received them often enough from the provinces.

He set it down, tapping his fingers on the arm of his chair and glowering at it.

His Uncle’s people were all up in arms, insisting it was a serious threat to the crown. The Governor of Sarajevo insisted it was nothing. All blustering and shouting and none of them saying anything useful at all.

“Your Highness’s wife will be disappointed, I think.”

That made him turn. “What did you say?”

Samuel widened peculiar blue eyes, clutching his hands before his chest. “Nothing, your Highness.” He licked pale pink lips and hesitantly said, “They want you to go as a show of military strength, do they not?”

How a barber had come by such knowledge, Franz Ferdinand did not know. Servants, he supposed. They saw everything and no doubt reported it on to one another, whispering and scurrying like mice through the walls of the Hofburg.

“And what say you of my wife?”

Samuel blinked guilelessly at him. “But… surely your Highness knows that his wife would be able to accompany him?”

Franz Ferdinand stared at the man.

At every turn, protocol and propriety stymied him, preventing Sophie from standing by his side where she ought to have been. But of course, if he was not there on Imperial matters, but on military matters, then as a highly-ranked officer, he had the right to take his wife with him if he so desired.

He turned back, riffling through the papers, drawing out the order of events. The date was so close to the anniversary of their wedding, he noticed. They could make a day of it, defy those who would refuse Sophie her rightful place. For once, he could proudly walk by the side of the one he had chosen to love.

Behind him, he barely even noticed the door closing as the barber slipped away.

 ________________________________

 1917 – Passchendaele

The rain was torrenting down, cold and miserable.

Albert shifted sideways to allow another fellow to squeeze into the narrow space that remained under the frail gantry. It was not much in the way of shelter, but it was better than standing underneath the pelting sky.

“The orders have come. We’re going over the top.”

Albert glanced over, chaffing his hands together to warm them, his stomach churning.

It was the order he had been dreading for days and weeks now. He had somehow, mercifully, avoided the charge in the past, but the Germans were pressing back and it was becoming more and more vital to reclaim Ypres.

“When?” he asked.

“Soon as the rain lets up,” the messenger said. “Be ready for the signal.” Then he slipped back out into the rain, his footsteps muffled by the mud.

As soon as the rain stops.

It was a damned awful thing to know that the weather turning would be the moment of your death.

“Damn,” he said quietly, squeezing his hands together so hard that they ached.

There was a chance, though very slim, that he might survive. Fellows had come back from the charge before, though often they were in a terrible state. No Man’s land was still littered with those who could not be retrieved. It was – if he was lucky, if God had mercy – not a death sentence.

If things went badly…

“Does anyone have paper?” he demanded, trying to keep his voice steady. “I’d rather like to write a letter.”

An unhappy chap in the corner raised his head. “A letter? What good is a letter going to do?” he demanded bitterly. “The moment you put your head over the edge, that’s the end of things. A bit of paper is hardly going to save you.”

“Sir!” One of the other man snapped.

Albert studied the man in the corner. Not someone he had seen before, but he looked as ground down and utterly miserable as the rest of them. “If I can give my wife some little comfort for the future, then I shall,” he replied. “If I’m lucky, I shan’t have to send it, but if not, then I’d be happy to know she had some little word of assurance.”

The man stared at him. He had very peculiar eyes.

“For your wife,” he said slowly. “D’you know that the love of a wife was what got us all here? How damned stupid, to think that it matters at all! It shouldn’t have come to this!” He shook his head. “It’s all for nothing. Why waste your time?”

The poor bugger looked as though he were about to burst into floods of tears.

“All the same,” Albert said, “I would rather know she had a moment of happiness, no matter how little, if I can grant it.”

“Even if you’ll never see her again?”

“Especially then,” Albert said stoutly. “I prefer to leave her with my affections than with dust and ashes.”

The man stared at him for a long time, then reached inside his uniform and pulled out a sheaf of miraculously pristine paper. He hesitated, then took one sheet for himself, and handed the rest to Albert. Other men were watching, listening, and looking. What manner of man would he be if he didn���t offer them the same chance?

For a time, the only sound in the dugout were the scratches of pens to paper over the rattle of the rain on the metal overhead. Gradually, the pens trailed to silence and, little by little, so too did the rain.

The fair man in the corner rose, walking to the entrance of the dugout and staring out.

“You shouldn’t go,” he said. “None of you.”

“We must,” one chap said, rising and reaching for his helmet.

One by one, they rose, picking up their gear. Albert hastily finished scratching his letter, then folded it up tightly and tucked it snugly into the depths of his uniform. He bent to pick up his helmet, then paused. A piece of paper lay where it had fallen, tramped on by boots. He picked it up, glancing about for its owner.

It was only a couple of lines, scrawled in a shaking hand.

Dearest Angel. I miss you. I’m sorry. I asked too much of you.

There was no name, no sign of who had written it.

“Are you going?” The fair man was standing in the entrance, watching him. “You don’t have to.”

Albert smiled sadly at him. “I rather think I do, old boy.” He joined the man in the entrance, looking out at the thinning clouds overhead. “I suppose they’ll get our letters home for us, won’t they?”

“You can take it home yourself,” the man said.

Albert looked out at the trench and the wire and in the distance, he could hear the whistles and shouts and the crack of gunfire. “God willing, yes.” He patted the man’s shoulder. “Best we get under way.”

“Yes,” the man said sadly, walking out after him. “Under way.”

 _________________________________

1941 – Soho

Much was made of animals retreating to their holes to lick their wounds.

Aziraphale could quite understand the appeal.

For close upon a decade, he had not left his shop. In fact, he had barely moved at all, spent and drained and unable to ignore the chasm he had crafted between himself and the one person who might have cared about him.

No, there was no room for illusions. There was no ‘might’.

Crowley was created to care and care, he did. Too much, one might say, a perfect counterpoint to a demon who could not care less. Cared so much, in fact, that he would rather risk their lives than kill.

In hindsight, Aziraphale felt like a fool.

Of course Crowley – good, kind, merciful Crowley – would never want any part in a plan that would leave blood on his hands. He was not a creature made for guile and brutality. Of course he would never have acceded to a plan to kill Aziraphale’s fellow demons.

Alas, by the time that thought sank in, Aziraphale had spent decades wreaking merry Hell across the continent, urging people to indulge their every whim and enjoy themselves while the world spun ever closer to oblivion. Outrage, spite and indignation were a powerful motivator.

And of course, because the Almighty’s humour was of a bitter kind, his every intervention had turned so terribly, terribly wrong. Deaths, disgrace, brutality. Even the war – the first of two now, it seemed – had been credited to him. Commendations and celebrations and awe had followed and he had smiled and smiled, then retreated to his shop and drunk himself into a stupor.

A little credit went a long way.

They had stopped requesting reports. No doubt, they thought this latest carnage was his doing as well. Which meant he no longer had to leave the shop, so he… didn’t. He ignored the knocks at the door. He certainly ignored the pulsing presence of an angel in a café across the road.

Lord, if Crowley recoiled so hard from him at the thought of killing a demon, the thought of his expression when he heard of Aziraphale’s dealings since their last encounter… so many people. So many of his beloved humans. Not intentionally, but that hardly mattered, did it?

So Aziraphale sat. Dust settled on him like a mantle. He had no need to move. He had no desire to move. Perhaps, like the myths of old, if he remained where he was, he would turn at last to stone.

For several days, he had watched in silence as letters slipped through the door and a touch of a miracle followed them, turning them to ash before they touched the floor.

Crowley, approaching but not. Hesitating.

If a letter fell, if it was left intact, then and only then would he move.

It seemed the thought was enough to change reality, for only two days later, another letter dropped through the door, the same size and shape as those that had fallen into ash only days before.

Aziraphale’s body ached as he unfolded from the chair, dust sloughing off him. He crossed the floor and bent, snatching up the letter. He had never seen Crowley’s hand, but the bold precise letters seemed unlike him.

He frowned, breaking the seal. Crowley had been the one to destroy them, which begged the question as to why. The answer was clear enough in the scent of the letter. It reeked of malice and ill-intent, though it was nothing more than an order for books from a gentleman called Harmony and a request for a meeting over some more specialised items.

And yet Crowley had been intervening with them?

Aziraphale turned the paper over in his hands, considering it. It was entirely possible that his angel was trying to keep him from dangerous sorts, but Crowley was… well, frankly rather hopeless when it came to such things. A cell in a French prison came acutely to mind.

He folded the letter up, tempted to reduce it to ash with its brethren, but…

But, damn it all, Crowley was interfering in matters that likely didn’t concern him and no doubt had no idea of the kind of people he was toying with. The very least I can do, Aziraphale thought, is make some discreet inquiries of these men. See if I can’t find out what’s what.

He went to his desk, dismissing the dust with a snap of his fingers, and opened out a fresh page of paper. His ink had dried up, but refilled at a look, and he sat down and wrote a polite, moderate response to the mysterious Mr. Harmony, suggesting that a meeting would be an agreeable possibility.

The angel need never know.

[travelonlinetips-blog]

New Post has been published on https://travelonlinetips.com/12-of-queenslands-best-restaurants-that-will-blow-your-mind/

12 of Queensland's best restaurants that will blow your mind

There are good restaurants, and then there are the restaurants worth flying for.

Ones that make you dream of certain dishes for years to come. Ones with a three-month waiting list for a Saturday night booking. And the ones under the helm of Australia’s most exciting and innovate chefs.

If you’re a bona fide foodie on a mission to try all of the best restaurants in Queensland and all they have to offer, this list is for you.

The Fish House, Burleigh Heads, Gold Coast

There’s a good reason why we’ve espoused the virtues of The Fish House before. And the twice-daily delivery of fresh fish, enviable Burleigh Heads location, and sophisticated wine list are just a few of the reasons why it was again awarded a chefs hat in the 2019 Australian Good Food Guide.

For the best chance of menu sampling, order the Chef’s Selection ($110 per person), which may see you slurping live dry opened Sydney Rock Oysters, supping simple lemony fish soup, spooning prawn bisque risotto and signing off with Patagonian Toothfish.

Rick Shores, Burleigh Heads, Gold Coast

Named as one of the best dining experiences in the country by The Australian Financial Review‘s 2018 Top 100 Restaurant awards, Rick Shores is so close to the water it’s literally lapped by the waves.

But with a culinary team drawn from the kitchens of some of Australia’s top South-East Asian restaurants (Spirit House, LONgTIME, Longrain), the food here almost outshines the view.

Take your time with the menu and enjoy inventive bar snacks like ‘Ricks’ fried bug roll, with gem lettuce and sriracha, through to fried shrimp wonton with smoked ham broth and pork floss.

Urbane, Brisbane

Crowned as one of the Top 100 restaurants in Australia by both Gourmet Traveller and Gault&Millau’s 2018 awards, chic dining darling Urbane has long been one of Brisbane‘s best-kept secrets.

It’s an interesting formula for success: open only three nights per week, a vegan chef, and degustation-only menu. But, oh how it works.

The five or seven-course omnivore or herbivore menus take diners on a journey from the interesting (yellow peach and lobster consommé) to the intriguing (poached fennel on brioche with nori and miso butter) with ingredients changing depending on seasonal availability.

Gauge, South Brisbane

Well before the accolades – including this year’s chefs hat in the Australian Good Food Guide – we knew Gauge was something special.

Though it looks more cafe than fine dining establishment, the food being lovingly plated up at the sister venue of Teneriffe’s hip Sourced Grocer and South Brisbane bar Maker is nothing but five star.

Ordering off the dinner menu will have you sampling the daring raw lamb with shiitake and flying fish roe, or keeping things amusingly sweet with cherry sorbet, caramelised cream, nutmeg, and artichoke.

Otto Ristorante, Brisbane

Awarded two chefs hats and Wine List of the Year in the 2019 Australian Good Food Guide, Otto Ristorante is the first Queensland locale for the company behind Sydney’s renowned Quay and Bennelong restaurants. Which means to say that it’s good. Very good.

Overlooking Brisbane‘s Story Bridge, the Southern Italian menu has been designed with the Queensland climate in mind and executes all your favourites: oysters with lemon and black pepper granita, Villani Culatello with balsamic watermelon, and house-made pasta with finesse.

Gerard’s Bistro, Brisbane

Tucked in a lane off Fortitude Valley’s James Street, Gerard’s Bistro has all the right ingredients for a memorable night out.

Named the Top Restaurant in Queensland in The Australian Financial Review‘s 2018 Top 100 Restaurant awards, you’ll find yourself on a culinary journey through the Maghreb and Middle East, with perfectly paired wines taking flavours to the next level.

The generous menu stretches from confit southern squid with roasted bone sauce, hazelnut tarator and grilled enoki mushroom; through to nitro sahlab with carob ice cream, blackberries, blood plum and pistachio.

Stokehouse Q, South Bank, Brisbane

Taking home two chefs hats in the 2019 Australian Good Food Guide, Stokehouse Q is another southerner migrated north, perched pretty on the banks of the Brisbane River at South Bank‘s River Quay precinct.

Inspired by the Mediterranean, the menu here showcases the best in local produce – with miso-glazed barramundi belly, seaweed dashi and Davidson’s plum oil.

Drink in the view and a long, lazy afternoon over the likes of market fish, white soy cucumber, fermented macadamia cream; saltbush & labne dumplings, silken tofu, dried lime XO; leaving room for vanilla semifreddo, rosella sorbet and dark chocolate mousse

The Long Apron, Montville, Sunshine Coast

Hotel restaurants don’t always hit the mark, but The Long Apron at Spicers Clovelly Estate is not your average hotel restaurant.

When the hotel is actually a boutique homestead in the gorgeous Sunshine Coast Hinterland, and the restaurant is the type of place you’d book months in advance for that special occasion lunch or dinner, when the two combine, it’s magical.

Head chef Chris Hagan takes his inspiration from around the world, and being classically trained, he has a skill for clean precise dishes with an excellent balance of flavour and elegant presentation.

Wasabi, Noosa, Sunshine Coast

When you feel like taking a trip to Japan for the evening, but want to feel the tatami under your feet with views of the Noosa River at the same time, Wasabi knows how to deliver on all accounts.

Awarded two chefs hats in the 2019 Australian Good Food Guide, the most outstanding achievement here, however, is the hyper-local sourcing of ingredients. Namely from the restaurant’s own farm where rare Japanese ingredients are grown and composted, and the highlighting of lesser-known local seafood takes place.

Trust us and hand over the reins for the omakase seven or nine-course menu – aka let the chef decide.

Sum Yung Guys, Sunshine Beach, Sunshine Coast

The name sums it up: four mates, a passion for pan-Asian cuisine, all just a stone’s throw from one of the most beautiful beaches on the Sunshine Coast.

The heat since opening Sum Yung Guys in 2017 by local resident (and Masterchef fave) Matt Sinclair and friends doesn’t appear to be slowing down, either: it was named one of the 50 hottest restaurants by The Australian and top 100 restaurants in the country by The Australian Financial Review in 2018.

Here, nothing has been left untouched by creativity, from their funky neon signage and street murals adorning the walls, to their share-style menu featuring zesty delights like Hiramasa kingfish, green scud and laksa; and wok-tossed mussels with lemongrass, ginger and coconut water.

Indulge Cafe, Bundaberg

There’s a simple ethos at Indulge Cafe in Bundaberg: “We know where it came from and how it was made”.

True to form, their undeniably outstanding use of fresh, local produce and giving the growers the kudos they deserve, has won not only our bellies over but a number of well-deserved accolades.

Open for breakfast and lunch, every dish has a story here and the owners of Indulge are more than happy to share.

Nu Nu, Palm Cove, Tropical North Queensland

If you want to know what Tropical North Queensland tastes like on a plate, make a beeline for chef Nick Holloway’s Nu Nu (you may have seen him on MasterChef in 2015).

Nestled nicely on the paperbark tree-lined esplanade of Palm Cove, with cracking views out over the Coral Sea and Double Island, this is fine dining with its tie not only loosened, but left at the back of the wardrobe.

A four or seven-course tasting menu is available and is perfect for those who can’t possibly choose between cinnamon roast Victorian lamb with caramelised Mungalli yoghurt and pumpkin custard; and wok-fried north Queensland mud crab with chilli tamarind, sweet pork, market greens, jasmine rice and ginger broth. (You understand the dilemma, no?)

What’s your favourite restaurant in Queensland?

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[sighthounds-and-sketches]

You would not believe who has had the biggest of big days today!

One hour drive.

2 flights.

A nearly 3 hour layover.

And now, we have one more hour drive.

His dad can't wait to meet him. I can't wait to get home.

I am so incredibly tired. My day started at 3:55am and he has a vet appointment at 10:30 in the morning.

He's so worth it but goddamn I won't lie and say I couldn't use a full night's rest.

And maybe a couple days after that.

Looking forward to giving more updates than the spark notes of this day when I've slept.

[sighthounds-and-sketches]

Some pictures from Argos' breeder of what life is like with his siblings. The others head to their homes tomorrow. 😭

I feel bad that he's gonna be there for a few days without them.