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batsplat · 3 months

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hi batsplat! i would like to say that you are an absolute pillar of the motogp community on here, like you are truly so so appreciated. both for your knowledge and also for the way you write about things (i think you could write 3000 words on a grocery store trip valentino took in 2003 and still make it super interesting reading)

i was reading your post about your favourite rivalries that didnt include one of the aliens, who would you personally include as part of that list? (versus who is really good but not quite alien status) id also really like to know if (and who) youd count as aliens from the pre-motogp era, and if theres been a difference over time about how often we are seeing aliens or if theyre easier/harder to spot as technical developments have sped up

hope you have a great day!

that's so sweet... thank you that's such an incredible compliment dsdkhfkhfd

about the aliens, the way I use the term is entirely as a historical descriptor, not as a qualitative assessment of any riders. it's a useful shorthand for a specific riders in a specific era, but to me it has limited relevance outside of that era. so to be clear we're talking valentino, casey, dani, jorge and marc - and according to common wisdom this usage originated from colin edwards' 2009 comment:

“But as I’ve said before, I’ve got to be pleased to be finishing next best behind those four guys, or should I say aliens. “They are riding out of this world and to be right behind them means I’m doing the best job I can and that’s about as good as I can hope for at the moment.”

(jorge discusses valentino as an alien in 2007, see here. which might be complete coincidence, but has always made me kind of curious whether the word was floating around in the paddock in some capacity before edwards 'coined' the term)

the thing is, right, it made sense to treat those four (and later -casey +marc) as distinct from the field, because they were winning almost everything. one reason for this was that they were very good, very skilled riders. another was that from 2007-15, only four to six bikes were capable of regularly challenging for wins at any one time. it was a massive field disparity that quite frankly was partly enforced through machinery. that's why it makes sense to include marc in that term: it's not just the fact that he was very good, it's the fact that he was riding a repsol honda that was the best or second best bike by a long way for his first three years in the premier class. in 2016, motogp returned to michelins and introduced new technical regulations - and for all intents and purposes, the alien era ended. it ended when eight different riders won in eight races that season. yes, marc, valentino and jorge were still the top three in the championship... but it's the difference of whether you go into a weekend convinced you know the winner will come from a list of four riders, or if you very much do not know that. between 2008 to 2015, apart from the aliens, a grand total of two riders claimed wins - dovi on a repsol honda in 2009 and ben spies on a factory yamaha in 2011. both of those were wet races (which of course are generally more open than dry ones). so just to reiterate: a greater number of riders won in 2016 alone (9) than in 2008-15 combined (7). (in 2007, a further two different riders won races - capirossi on the championship-winning factory ducati and vermeulen on the suzuki.) yes, obviously the aliens were very good riders, nobody is going to argue with you over that... but those numbers? they're only possible in a specific version of motogp - one that only existed for a few years

honestly, I don't even really use the term 'alien' to describe valentino pre-2006 or marc post-2016. it's just not that useful to me... aliens to me is a 'pack hunter' thing, where even if some of them are injured or are having a bad day or whatever, at least one of them will basically always be there to pick up the pieces. marc and valentino might have dominated the sport as a whole - but not all of their championship seasons were completely dominant, and there's only so much any one athlete can dominate in the sport... you're not going into every single weekend thinking 'oh yeah they're definitely going to win' (yes, yes, there were two times per year where you did very much do that with marc). which is different when you compare it to the aliens as a pack, where you could be confident that ONE of them would end the weekend on the top step of the podium

which is why I just don't apply the alien term to anyone pre-valentino - it's not because I think they were less good or less talented or less anything, it's because for me it's a term that's more about an era than it is about individual riders. you have to treat each era on its own, and I'm not really a big fan of inter-era comparisons. it's just kind of impossible to say whether a rider in the 1970s is more talented than one in the 2020s, whether ago's numbers are more or less impressive than marc's and so on... the sport has just changed in so many ways over the years. of course, in sports you do generally have this upward momentum where each generation is 'better' than the last. sports has gotten more professionalised, there's been massive advances in terms of pedagogy and sports medicine and exercise science and all of those things - all of which already affects how athletes train from childhood onwards. the young aren't more 'talented' in the sense that they were born with an innate superior ability to compete at the sport, but they are more 'talented' in that their ultimate ceiling will be higher as a result of all these gradual changes over time. these things can change quite quickly even (and if other sports is anything to go by, I wouldn't be surprised if the nineties/early noughties brought some big changes in that regard) - so already between, for instance, valentino and marc there'd probably been a real shift in how young talent is being nurtured

(the most blunt illustration of this is that young valentino's lifestyle was completely different from that of young riders today, in terms of how much time he spent training in the gym, sleeping habits, nutrition etc etc. athletes now can't get away with that much deviation any more, and indeed valentino had to massively change his approach in the 2010s to remain competitive - but of course it's different if you haven't been doing this stuff since you were a kid. I think we can safely assume valentino's 2003 supermarket trips looked rather different from marc's 2017 ones)

being good in pro sports may in some ways be harder now than it was in, say, the eighties, and the level of competition you're facing might be higher now - but of course, it would also by extension be unfair to judge those athletes by the standards of today. also, different eras are going to lend themselves to different profiles of rider depending on competitive trends, type of machinery and so on - even very basic stuff like how tall you are might have helped you in a certain era and hindered you in another... so what does that mean for talent? if we're discussing 'talent' at all, how can we possibly treat it as anything other than relative to the era we're discussing? to me, it just makes these comparisons between different generations pretty pointless... or well, I like talking about some of this stuff in a more holistic 'isn't this interesting' kind of way, not a 'this is why xyz is better than xyz' approach... this kind of thing is also why I finds goat debate such a uniquely boring way to spend your time, incidentally

this is a very long way of saying, I don't have a metric by which I judge athletes pre-2000 as 'alien' or 'not alien'! I think you have similarly dominant athletes, though again it is so tough to decide how much of that is down to talent and how much of it is down to bike advantage. if you take doohan's title winning seasons for instance:

yeah, look, sure, you can call him an alien as far as I'm concerned - if I'm watching these races live I will be expecting doohan to win in any given weekend. I'm still kind of missing the pack hunter feel in some of these seasons, so I won't know for certain the winner is going to come from a very short list. like take 1998:

not really one group vs the field, is it? and yeah, even if I consider doohan an 'alien' in some of those seasons, I'm still not going to call him that - because the term was essentially coined in 2009 for a specific group of guys that one other guy was later added onto. the competitive landscape and demands of doohan's era were so different that it feels off to try and go back and label him or any other past riders aliens... they were phenomenally talented, yes, they were great champions, yes, they can be called as good as the aliens, sure - but why wrench the term out of its historical context? is it still an analytically useful concept if you do so, except as a way to generically refer to a rider as 'very talented'?

which is also why I personally don't describe anyone since then as an alien. this doesn't mean I don't think fabio or now pedro aren't as good as those guys were, I just don't think they've been given the opportunity to have that kind of hold over the sport. fabio won five out of eighteen races in 2021 - and he did so on a yamaha that basically only he was able to consistently get a high level of performance out of. which is deeply impressive - but unlike say casey in 2007, he didn't have those other riders to dominate all the other races. eight riders won a race that season! it's just a fundamentally different competitive landscape. personally, I'd be perfectly content if we don't get another alien era. of course 2007-15 isn't all bad, but for good reason most fans' most fondly remembered eras are either 2001-06 or 2017-19... yes, at times one rider was too dominant, but it still felt like more riders had a shot at victory - and most importantly the quality of the racing was generally very high. this kind of domination by a few mega talents on the best machinery can get drab pretty quickly (though of course a lot of the blame for decreased race quality needs to be assigned to the 800cc era 2007-11, not to any of the aliens themselves)

I'd be quite happy to retire the term alien going forwards... except as a useful shorthand for a specific group of guys who have mostly retired. it shouldn't be used as a way to bash the young stars, as if they just can't measure up to the legends of the past. which would be dumb! again, plenty of ways in which motogp is harder now than it ever has been, though the most important thing is that it's just... different. not better, not worse, just different. sure, maybe we'll get another equivalent to the alien era, even though I personally think it's quite unlikely. if it happens, yeah, let's discuss cranking the term out again (and, yes, if you look at the current season and ignore sprints... if this current trend continues then we can have the debate at the end of the season. pecco and jorge despite all their apparent inconsistencies are currently building a pretty solid case for themselves) (now I've said that they're both gonna crash out of assen huh)

that being said! I don't exactly neatly follow this principle myself, because sometimes I do use something like the term 'alien-like talent' to refer to fabio or pedro... obviously, you can argue this is basically the same as calling them aliens in everything but semantics. so what's the criteria there? when do I use this term? I think to me it's just... instant, 'in your face' talent. they arrive to the premier class and they shine basically immediately. valentino got a relatively sedate start to the premier class by alien standards - which is fitting, because he's not really about that blistering raw pace. still, he wasn't far from being a rookie champion, got ten podiums, two wins... not too bad. casey was on a satellite team, but he got pole in his second ever race and came painfully close to winning his third. dani got a podium on debut and fought for the championship for almost the entire season. jorge got pole in his first three races and won his third. marc won the second time out and of course secured the title in his rookie season. compare that to fabio - pole in his fourth ever race on satellite machinery, fighting for wins in his first season. pedro got a podium in his second ever race and is handily outperforming everyone else on that bike

so it's about how quickly these guys pick this stuff up, how quickly they make that step from one level to another - though again, it's important to stress you can't just neatly compare these achievements! valentino's first two seasons were on 500cc bikes, which were notorious for being kind of evil. some of these riders started on satellite bikes (we're not counting valentino here), and there's also plenty of talk about how the bikes have become more complicated to ride now, making pedro's rapid adjustment even more impressive. but in every case, there is just this ability to 'be fast immediately', whatever the circumstances... and it's worth pointing out that even though pecco had a mediocre rookie season, he was incredibly quick in 2019 pre-season testing. jorge martin secured his first pole position and podium at his second race in motogp

speaking of, those two were already a touch older when they joined the premier class. there does generally seem to be something to the idea that in motorcycle racing, if you are not already very fast at a certain age, you will have a quite definitive ceiling... and from valentino onwards, the age by which you need to already have reached that standard of 'very good' seems to have gone down. when we're talking about talent and throwing around the term alien, this feels like another important change to mention - doohan was not winning his titles as a 22 year old! neither was rainey! or schwantz! or lawson! or... actually spencer was very young, yeah. but I think you get the point. I cannot tell you definitively why this changed, but it clearly has changed. in the 21st century, only two riders have won titles when they were older than 26: valentino (29-30) and jorge (28). valentino and marc were both 27 when their dominance over the sport ended (even if valentino secured titles after that point and marc will very probably do so as well). casey was 27 when he retired. (fun fact: pecco bagnaia is currently 27 years old.) so overall it's pretty rare in grand prix motorcycle racing to operate at the top of the premier class for more than a certain number of years - but the precise age window in which you are likely to be at your best does seem to have shifted pretty radically this century. which should demonstrate how hard these things are to compare... like I said, talent is often assessed by how quickly you are good at something - but if we called mick doohan a late bloomer, it would be wildly ahistorical

and yeah, look, this idea of 'you have to be good young or you will have a certain ceiling' is hardly unique to motogp, lots of sports are like that... another measure of this precocity that's perhaps more useful than just 'age' is looking how long it took them to win a title from when they joined the premier class (if they did so at all, of course). it's generally very fast! marc year one, valentino, casey and joan year two, jorge and fabio year three... and, well, pecco and hayden year four. of course, there's exceptions to this 'be fast immediately' rule - athletes who ended up being very good and title contenders who had slightly different paths getting there. the sete's and dovi's of this world - and to a lesser extent hayden too, who unlike those two was only even really a title contender in a single season... but generally speaking, those riders seem more heavily reliant on circumstances playing out just right to have a shot at a title

or perhaps! perhaps it's going to change! especially if you look at repeat champions, pecco does become a bit of an outlier in how he got there this century, doesn't he? compare the numbers he was posting in his rookie season vs valentino, casey, jorge and marc. and in some ways, you can extend this even further and say he's a massive historical outlier in terms of any premier class champions. there was an article about this in late 2022:

and some more about how historically unusual he is:

isn't that great? you don't become premier class champion with that kind of a rookie season, but pecco did! hey, aleix was a serious title threat in that season, which is a far more remarkable story still! and the thing is, right, if you're studying the current era and are labelling some riders aliens but leaving out pecco... then no offence but what's the point? look, who knows, maybe marc and pedro and david alonso are going to dominate the next twenty titles and pecco will have been a weird blip. but isn't there something fun about believing that a bunch of different riders could eventually develop into title threats? wouldn't it be kind of cool if you don't have to just write someone off age 22 any more? I don't know, I think it's a neat development! I hope it sticks around! there'll be plenty of alien-level talents in the future, but personally I wouldn't mind at all if there were no more aliens

#hope you have a great day too anon and again that is an INCREDIBLY sweet comment #'aliens' is just my way of avoiding the term 'fantastic four'. but that's basically how I use it #obviously this is all my personal read bla bla... if you want to call fabio or schwantz or surtees an alien go ahead none of my business #it's not something i feel THAT strongly about. i do feel strongly about talent discourse though!!#i mean relative to other sports pecco's already pushing it for me... that moto2 title is a bit sus #in a different way fabio was FANTASTIC!! what a surprise! what a revelation! people had written that kid off and they were so wrong!#motogp #//#brr brr #batsplat responds #i'm very jekyll and hyde about this in motogp because in sports in general i'm not into the wunderkids #but i just HAPPEN to like a few specific guys in motogp a lot who HAPPENED to dominate the championship for like two decades #that's not me!! i'm all about smarts over natural talent about getting gradually better rather than showing up fully formed #shaking my head while watching 2001/2007/2010/2013 to show everyone i don't agree with what's happening

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moonshine-nightlight · 2 years

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Nothing's Wrong with Dale: Part Seventeen

It’s been a week, but you’re fairly certain your fiancé accidentally got himself replaced by an eldritch being from the Depths. Deciding that he’s certainly not worse than your original fiancé, you endeavor to keep the engagement and his new non-human state to yourself.

However, this might prove harder than you originally thought.

Fantasy, arranged marriage, malemonsterxfemalereader, M/F

AO3: Nothing's Wrong with Dale - Chapter 17 - MoonshineNightlight - Original Work [Archive of Our Own]

[Part One] [Part Two] [Part Three] [Part Four] [Part Five] [Part Six] [Part Seven] [Part Seven.5] [Part Eight] [Part Nine] [Part Ten] [Part Eleven] [Part Twelve] [Part Thirteen] [Part Fourteen] [Part Fifteen] [Part Sixteen] Part Seventeen [Part Eighteen] [Part Nineteen] [Part Twenty] [Part Twenty-One] [Part Twenty-Two] [Part Twenty-Three] [Part Twenty-Four] [Part Twenty-Five] [Part Twenty-Six] [Part Twenty-Seven] [Part Twenty-Eight] [Part Twenty-Nine] [Part Thirty] [Part Thirty-One] [Part Thirty-Two] [Part Thirty-Two] [Part Thirty-Three] [Part Thirty-Four]

“My lady,” you hear Grandfather say from somewhere behind you. Bracing yourself, you resist the urge to turn around and instead prepare for another uncomfortable conversation.

Grandfather has managed to invite—or find those already invited—anyone who has the remotest affiliation with the study of the Depths or herblore or spiritual matters and promptly introduced you. He then pays particularly close attention throughout the conversation to you and them. You think he’s hoping someone more versed in such things might be able to sense or notice something about you or Dale that will prove his theory about some sort of demonic influence affecting you correct.

Luckily, none have acted odd so far—that you could tell. Instead it just makes for sudden, very nerve-wracking conversations where you feel more than ever like you are on a stage, performing. You dislike galas and balls and such already—these new examinations are not helping, except that occasionally after one, the rest of the event feels far less tense than before in comparison. At least Grandfather doesn’t seem to be preparing these individuals ahead of time with his suspicions.

Also, to be fair, Grandfather seems to have pulled back with his other methods of detection. There have been no more overly spiced meals or suspicious flower arrangements—baring the first ball in Connton which had been covered in white roses. Dale thankfully continues to give no signal he knows either of you are being tested, but he’d managed to smoothly tuck a flower in your hair. Your blush at such an obvious display just to show the flowers lack of effect had hopefully helped sell it. Dale even pricked himself on a thorn to show it had no poisonous effects to himself and demonstrate his blood is still red. You think you’re the only one to notice that his bandage is removed only three days later—and that it was on the wrong finger for the last day.

You’ve gotten this far though. One more conversation won’t be the end of it all, you try to remind yourself. You turn with a polite smile on your face to see Grandfather walking towards you with a sanctif at his side. You hope your face doesn’t give away your sudden apprehension at being confronted with an actual spiritual leader. The white and red robes mark him as likely the High Sanctif for all of Connton. Also, he’s older than Grandfather, which doesn’t bode particularly well either.

While the spiritual colleges in the north in recent years have moved in a more scientific direction—away from philosophy—the more older and southern sanctifs are far more likely to preach anything associated with the Depths as inherently dangerous, rather than something to be understood.

Which is probably why Grandfather is helping this sanctif into the seat next to you.

“His Illuminance, Ellon of Connton has found the time to join us for the next course,” Grandfather says as he sits down opposite you. This particular feast has many courses, with seating on various tiered daisies each with five or so smaller tables, between which guests are encouraged to switch seats so that all may socialize—within their daisies, of course. You’ve ended up staying primarily where you are as there has been no shortage of companions, as had Dale.

However, as it is nearly time for the next course, it appears he’s staying down with the transportation officials—a pity because you had wished to talk to them as well and there is no longer enough room for all of them. Perhaps it is a good thing because you doubt this sanctif is going to have anything particularly good to say. At least Grandmother has also been pulled away by some magistrates or she would no doubt make matters worse.

You nod politely to the sanctif. “Greetings, your Illuminance. How are you doing this evening?”

“Greetings to you as well,” he replies, his voice is stronger and brisker than you expect given his age and the distracted way he has already begun searching for the wine jug.

Once his eyes land on the jug, he reaches for it, but is at a bad angle for him to pick up well, so you stand up yourself. “Please, allow me to assist you.”

“My thanks, my thanks,” he says, sitting back as you pour him a glass of wine, then one for Grandfather, since he is also new to the table. A cousin of Dale’s to your left still has half a glass and so does one of his aunts.

You start to relax when only polite small talk is made while everyone else begins to settle into their seats. You’re happy to discuss the weather and food as many times as you need to because at least you don’t feel like you’re going to say the wrong thing.

It doesn’t last though.

“So, where do you hail from, my child?” Ellon asks as he butters a roll from the ever-refilling baskets on the table, the knife making a scraping sound against the butter dish which you try not to wince at.

Swallowing down your inappropriate offer to prepare it for him yourself just so the noise will stop, you tell him, “My family fief is Portsmith and with the bay of Glittany.” Glittany is what most have heard of when it comes to your family since it is the name of the bay and the major seaport city. Most barely are aware of the name of the fief it resides in.

Ellon seems to have heard of it, but, given the skeptical huff he lets out at the name, not positively. “Those that live on the seas court death, if you ask me.” You most assuredly had not, but you didn’t think he much cared if you had. “The Depths are most clearly expressed there, below those treacherous waves. Even close to the shore, it can steal the unwary away far too easily.”

You knew there was a certain amount of superstition about the deep waters among some, but while all those who worked on the seas had a healthy respect for the sea, none blamed the Depths. Biting your tongue so you didn’t mention that the places in the world where the border was thinnest were primarily above solid ground, you merely say, “I am certainly no sailor, though I admire the bravery of those who are.”

He wags his finger, looking over his thick spectacles at you. “Mark my words, even living for so long with that salt air is dangerous. Why the great scholar and sanctif, Malarby of Airs said that those along the shore twice as likely to be taken than those who do not.”

You again refrain from saying that the scholar he speaks of had numerous critics during his own time, let alone now. At least, Grandfather seems skeptical of this claim, but it's also obvious he’s watching for your response more than anything. “My understanding is that the Glittany sacred community has procedures and safeguards in place to limit any such influences, however, I admit that I did not grow up in the city. I was not often well as a child and so grew up on our country estate, which is more than a day’s ride inland.”

“Yes,” Ellon agrees loud enough you flinch at his volume. “It is truly heartening to hear that some physicians know the healing air that can only come away from the watery death that surrounds us. Country air is not as fortifying or pure as mountain air, but I am sure that it was the best for you.” He pats your hand in what you assume he believes is a comforting manner and resist the urge to pull away. “We must find balance between keeping our family, our connections, with us in times of struggle and finding a truly blessed location where we can heal—as far from the physical negative influences as possible.”

“I do believe it was a far calmer environment to be in and my physicians were all very skilled,” you reply, not wanting to touch on his spiritual opinions. Were they more than opinions if they were from a sanctif? Regardless, you know the Glittany santifs didn’t talk like this, probably because they actually live and work next to the sea. You would pay money if this man had ever even been on a boat—or that he had and had simply immediately gotten seasick.

“I was not aware the sea was so treacherous beyond the literal dangers it presents,” Grandfather observes mildly, likely not wanting this topic to die when it is so close to where he likely wants it to go.

Unfortunately, that is all that Ellon needs as encouragement to continue in this vein. “Of course, anywhere the veil between the realms is a danger—whether man-made or natural. And while it is one folly to invite demons in yourself, it is another folly to go where they thrive. The chances of being taken in by such beings, of bringing home those who have stolen away, are far greater on the waters than on the land.”

Ellon is clearly enjoying the captive audience he has and you while you don’t believe any of this nonsense—you’d still rather he talk about the dangers of oceans than anything else related to the Depths. Without him asking, you refill his wine glass for him.

He nods his thanks with a smile and seems to really warm up to the topic, his voice growing a touch more theatrical as he says, “Beyond the threat of death from such supernatural dangers, there is the general threat of death from the natural. With that, there is the metaphysical danger which haunts these vessels. Many bodies are lost at sea, falling below those frigid waves—it is a far harder journey for the soul to ascend after death. Many no doubt, do not reach the light.”

Grandfather blinks at Ellon, clearly taken aback by this turn. “…I see.” From your observations, Grandfather does not have much interest or patience for the philosophical nor the spiritual, to your understanding, until recently. While spiritualists often warn against the Depths, Grandmother’s motivations and grudges seem to primarily come from a literal danger perspective, given the way demons and such influences have been used for violence—not hypothetical dangers to the soul.

“Are you saying that after death the soul can be held down by water?” a polite but skeptical voice interjects. You turn to see that Francesca, one of Dale’s cousins, has decided to join your conversation.

Ellon looks surprised by her question, but rallies quickly enough. “It is not the material involved but the distance, the fact that one is already below.”

“Then would not miners be similarly endangered?” she asks, raising one eyebrow up quizzically.

You know she hasn’t specifically joined the conversation to help you out, but you can’t help but feel like she has and it warms you to her. You are an adequate debater when prepared and a hesitant one when unprepared.

Ellon frowns at her argument, pursing his lips. “A miner can be brought up by his fellow workers and still cremated.”

Francesca hums, leaning back in her chair consideringly. “Is cremation truly so necessary? I know it is best practice, but I thought it was primarily for those left behind.”

“No, no,” he says, his mouth a grim line. “It is for both, the living and the deceased. The soul can be trapped if the body is not taken care of properly.”

“I see,” she replied, for all it’s very clear to you she’s still skeptical. “I was unaware that the body could become such a cage to the soul after death. I thought it was taught that death itself is what releases the soul from the body.”

That causes the sanctif to bristle. He make a show of frowning thoughtfully and drinking some more wine before grudgingly admitting, “Well, yes, that is the primary mechanism. And if there were no Depths, cremation would likely be unnecessary. However, given that there are forces working to keep a soul from ascending, we must do all we can to aid the deceased on their journey.”

“Pardon me,” you turn to see Francesca’s husband leaning towards you as well. “Are you proposing that denizens of the Depths or perhaps even the realm of the Depths itself can reach out to consume the souls of those born here based on location or method of death alone?”

“Of course not,” Ellon blusters, cheeks turning a bit red, “but the effect such things have on the soul are undeniable, beyond ill deeds weighing a soul down.”

“Actually, a recent paper from the Rokea Institute has called that into question,” Francesca says. “According to the scholars—”

“You trust one scholar over thousands of years of spiritual practice?” Ellon asks, his tone a mix of condescension and offense. “Scholars these days think they can measure and categorize and label each phenomenon they encounter and the second something cannot be so neatly sorted they fit it in where it does not belong, ignoring contradictory evidence. Rokea is among the worst for encouraging this type of thinking. Even the thinkers out of the Ha are more reliable in these modern times.”

Before anyone else could interject, he continues, “They decry hundreds of years of carefully documented experience, only relying on what they and peers they deem worthy have personally seen. They waste time questioning fact and reinventing the parts of the past they personally approve of to claim that knowledge as their own new discovery.

“Not to mention the poison seeping into the Vaomen universities.” That seems to be more what Grandfather, and you, were expecting rather than a spiritual debate about the nature of souls. “What used to be sole bastions of rational thought against their poor country’s perverse deal with the Depths has fallen to its influence rather than the reverse. They push aside safeguards and time-tested tools to allow demons full citizenship. How many times much a school, a city, a nation fall to those beasts and devils before this world learns its lessons?”

Francesca’s gaze darts to her Grandfather, likely fully aware of his and her grandmother’s opinions. As he does not look particularly upset, she cautiously says, “I’ve heard of no recent incidents at their colleges.”

Ellon scoffs. “Of course you haven’t. They are too arrogant, too proud to let such truths out into the world where they would be recriminated for their folly in front of all other accomplished and rational thinkers. They keep any word of failures and dangers to themselves unless they can be justified sufficiently. The deans of such institutions have fallen to their own pride and hubris—mark my words.”

The only good part of all this talk is that even Grandfather is beginning to look aggrieved, as though—perhaps—he might regret having sought out this specific sanctif, for all he’s certainly anti-demon. Grandfather is no believer in conspiracies, thank the light.

“I have always held that any interaction with the Depths is inherently dangerous to the soul even when my contemporaries disagreed,” Ellon puffs up as he says so, clearly proud of going against popular opinion in this and you resist the urge to roll your eyes. “To see the world move so firmly in the wrong direction is disheartening, even with bastions of true spiritual stalwartness such as Northridge attempting to keep our country secure from incursions from Below.”

Both of Francesca’s eyebrows raise at that particular choice of words and she exchanges a suppressed but amused glance with her husband.

“Certainly proper precautions must be taken,” you take the time to say, hoping to move the sanctif away from more vehement proclamations. It also can’t hurt Grandfather’s impression of you to say the things you do believe. Just because matters have worked out, does not mean that they could easily not have. “Those who remove safeguards are truly foolish and we can only hope their lapses do not endanger more than themselves.”

The original Dale put his entire home in danger with whatever plans he had and you have no doubt he ignored safety measures as unnecessarily limiting, just given your assessment of his nature up to that point.

“Precisely,” Ellon nods with a smile for you. “Demonic influences are more common than anyone would like to admit and so one must be persistently wary and alert.” He punctuates this with raps on the table—luckily not nearly hard enough to knock anything over, though your hand automatically goes to your glass all the same. “The number of easy, necessary, precautions the everyman does not bother with is astounding. Of course, I must be even more careful, given my position as a person of faith and a lighthouse to others.

“Oh?” You don’t think he’ll need much more than that to continue. It's clear Francesca and her husband have lost true interest in what he has to say, writing him off as an eccentric. You can only hope their skepticism inspires Grandfather’s own. They’ve turned to talk to the companions on their other sides—unfortunately with two empty seats still on the sanctif’s and Grandfather’s other sides, there is no such easy diversion for you.

You’ve never been more relieved to see plates of fish being brought out in your life. Unfortunately, that relief is quickly dwarfed by the nerves that spring up to see Dale making his way over to you with a lady—bound for the openings still at your table.

“Yes, yes,” Ellon says, snapping your attention back to him. “Take meals for instance. I shall demonstrate as it is easily one of the times people feel most comfortable and yet are at their most vulnerable.” He begins digging in his pockets while Dale gestures the woman with him to the seat next to Grandfather.

As Dale takes the seat next to Ellon, introductions fly around—the lady is some sort of minister for Connton—and the sanctif’s is primarily distracted, but still polite. Dale gives no hint of nervousness at being introduced to a sanctif which is a good sign and—Ellon gives no indication he knows he’s just been introduced to a demon possessing a lord, so that’s good as well.

“Sanctif Ellon,” Grandfather says to the two latecomers, “would like to show us a device for…what was it again? Detecting poison or demonic influences of some kind?”

“Yes, quite right—both,” he says without looking up from his search. Dale goes a bit still at Grandfather’s words, but you think it is only because you are paying attention that you even notice it. Unfortunately, Grandfather is paying attention too. Still he’s further away from Dale so perhaps he didn’t.

“Here we are,” Ellon finally pulls whatever he has been looking for out of his robes. He seems to be brandishing a small circular glass, not unlike a monocle or other magnifying device, although it looks rather cloudy—or perhaps dirty?

“It took me years to develop and find the right minded people to help me in our research,” he seems to be turning sections of the small handle and the glass gets more opaque. “It’s still a little temperamental, a bit slow, but as I tell young people,” he wags his finger at you in particular as the youngest person near him no doubt, “life is all about patience and the determination to see something through.”

“Now, in addition to showing poisons in food,” he points to the dish of fish now before him. All have you have been served, but those in seats adjacent to Ellon have refrained from eating—even Francesca and her husband on your other side seem to be intrigued with your conversation once more. Likely because the sanctif is no longer moralizing and is instead explaining something practical. “It can also show possession in humans.”

He turns his head to look over all those around him and you feel your anticipation tighten. He ends up looking directly at you. “Pardon me, my lady, but would you mind helping me with this demonstration?”

While you are nervous at being the focus of some sort of demonstration, you realize it’s an infinitely better option than Dale. “Of course not,” you reply, your voice seemed steady enough, right?

“Now, for the resting state, the glass starts off as murky and gray,” Ellon gestures with the device, moving it around so everyone can see how gray and fogged over it is. Before he pushes some things aside and takes your hand in his free one, laying flat on the table. “But as I hold it over her hand,” he holds the glass steady over your hand. “It fades, leaving only a red-ish tinge over her hand.”

Indeed, before your eyes, the fog grows less and less thick, getting a faint red tint, like clouds lit up by a fading sunset. “This proves her to be human. The lack of color on the other objects in view shows them as non-living. Demonic influences would cause the smoke to darken from the original light gray or even blacken if held over a true demon.”

Everyone murmurs as they take a look and you make a purposeful effort not to look at Grandfather and see his reaction. Maybe this was a good thing after all, some proof he might believe. After all you truly aren’t influenced by demonic anything—beyond new Dale’s personality, you suppose.

After a moment when the effect seems to no longer intensify, he pulls away and you take your hand back, feeling more relieved than you have in days. “To reset it, you merely agitate the vapors once more.” He shakes the glass so it fills with fog again. You move to lean back in your seat, rather limp with your relief when he turns to his right, turns to Dale. All that tension is shoots right back up your spine, when he pulls the glass over Dale’s left hand, resting on the table. “After this quick refresh, it is ready to be used once more.”

Unfortunately, unlike with your hand, the fog does not lighten or dissipate. Instead it continues to swirl, perhaps from the sanctif’s motion, but also likely because of Dale himself. You can barely breathe, you refuse to look at Dale’s face, as the sanctif frowns. The fog gradually grows darker “Hm, sometimes it can get stuck so to speak. Nothing a good shake can’t fix.”

He pulls the glass away and shakes it even more vigorously than before. Your eyes can’t help but dart to Dale, who appears to be staring at his hand, but almost unfocused—like he’s concentrating on something you can’t see. You hope he knows some way to deceive this little device because otherwise…

Ellon moves the glass back over Dale’s hand. This time, the vapors slowly stop spinning and then, over what feels like ages but must only be seconds, slowly start to dissipate. Lightening and turning a mild pink, they outline his hand in an effect similar to, if not much weaker than when it was used on your own hand.

“Ah! There we are, see! On the slow side but ultimately works like a charm. The more use it sees, the weaker and slower it gets,” Ellon says with a triumphant smile before he pulls the glass away. “It needs a full day in sunlight to properly charge. So many courses means I’ve had to use it far more often this evening than usual. Forgive me for wanting to save its strength for the food yet to come.”

“Of course,” Dale replies, motioning with his right hand—not the one that was just examined. It stays where it is on the table, looking rather limp. “If you do not mind, I am rather hungry for this next course.”

“Yes, it looks delicious,” Ellon replies. “Please, please, do not let me delay our meal any longer with my sidetracks.”

“Nonsense,” Grandfather says and you finally risk a glance at him. He looks a bit shaken, but he also appears relieved. He smiles at the sanctif. “We greatly enjoyed your demonstration.”

“Good, good,” Ellon says with a proud smile as he begins to cut his fish. You shakily take up your own utensils. You hope no one notices Dale is only using his untested hand for his food.

You barely taste the food you put in your mouth, still coming down from the flash of fear from the moment Ellon turned that glass on Dale. You wonder if your heart will ever recover as it continues to spin through what might have happened if Dale hadn’t managed to subvert the device.

A cough from next to your stirs you from your thoughts. The sound loud and wracking enough that you glance over at him out of the corner of your eye. You frown, turning more fully when he drops his fork with a clatter. Ellon’s face is pinking and he starts to take deep breaths, though they don’t appear to be working if the way his breathing speeds up is any indication.

“Is something wrong, your Illuminance?” Grandfather asks, brow furrowing as the sanctif gulps down some water before pushing his chair back from the table, as if to get more space. Dale tries to help, but he can’t seem to grip Ellon’s chair well with his left hand.

“Yes,” the man's voice is much thinner than it had been, rougher despite the drink. “Need a doctor.” He coughs and then makes an urgent gesture with his hand when everyone just stares. “Now!”

“Yes!”

“Right!”

Francesca and Charles get up at once and head in opposite directions in search of a physician, while the minister tries to flag down an attendant who might find one quicker.

You hastily refill Ellon’s water glass, at a loss for what else you can do for him. What could be happening to him? Abruptly, you realize in all his demonstrating, he never actually ran the detection glass over his own food.

Grandfather puts the same facts together as you do, “Heights, have you been poisoned?”

Ellon shakes his head though, trying to look at the dish through eyes that are watering up. You don’t know what he sees, but some understanding dawns on him even as his breathing gets rougher.

“All-” he coughs, trying unsuccessfully to clear his throat, but it appears as though his airway is closing, “Al-lergi-c,” he manages to pant out.

“Oh!,” you hastily rifle through your own pockets. You only carry a handful of tonics at all times, but with your own allergy to keep in mind—this is always one of them. You pull out a small bottle and work to get the cork off hastily and explain, “Tonic of soma?”

Recognition lights up in his watery eyes and Ellon reaches towards you desperately. “Yes,” he croaks.

Once the cork is free you pass the little bottle over to him and he drinks it down as best he can, swallowing convulsively. Soma tonic is a medicine for allergic reactions, containing ephedra and other balancing herbs for opening up one’s airways. A temporary solution to be taken only when truly needed, it should buy the sanctif enough time for a doctor with proper treatments to arrive.

He drains the dose and drinks another full cup of water, before his breathing eases. “I’m sorry, I only have one dose. But it can be dangerous to take two as it is,” you find yourself saying. “It should be enough to help.” You hope that’s true as you refill his cup, your hand is shaking. You’ve never had to use the medicine more than once and that had been on yourself, not a prominent spiritual official. There’s no reason it won’t work and yet, you are scared that either it will somehow make things worse.

“Thank you,” Ellon manages to say between breaths but you don’t feel like being thanked is appropriate, not when he still seems in too fragile of a condition. Then two doctors descend on your table in a flurry of activity. You manage to communicate what you gave him, handing over the bottle with its neat label you had spent time months ago writing. The large bottle you get had been carefully dosed in several smaller ones so you could more easily have them in your pockets without weighing your skirts down oddly.

You find yourself explaining this to Dale, who had walked around to your side without you realizing. The doctor you handed it over to doesn’t seem to listen, merely reading the label, which is probably for the best. Instead, he turns to you and asks only, “Can we keep this?”

“Yes, yes, of course,” you answer automatically.

Two footmen help Ellon into a wheelchair, which they then bodily carry off the dais, with one of the doctors going with them. The other stays behind to say, “He’s going to be fine, truly. We’ll give him some proper medicine and then monitor him overnight. He has his own medication for such attacks—it appears that the sauce has some sort of nut he cannot eat in it.” Sighs of relief come from those around you and you feel your own heart finally start to slow back down.

The doctor talks with Grandfather, who also came around to your side of the table at some point. Before he leaves though, the doctor takes a moment to say to you, “Very pleased you had this on you, my lady. Do you have a similar condition?” You nod ‘yes’ and he nods in reply. “Smart thinking to carry some with you. You’ve made this a far less close call than it could have been. My gratitude.”

He leaves before you can think of a reply. Slowly, you all sit back down, trying to return to some semblance of normalcy. Your table is rather subdued and you keep getting interruptions from others who come to ask what all the fuss was about. When this course concludes, you stand up to leave the table for the first time in the night, wanting to move to another table in the hopes of regaining something of a typical mood.

When the minister Dale brought over, indicates the two of you should accompany her to her table, she asks Grandfather if he would like to come as well.

“No thank you, my lady,” he replies with a kind smile. “I’m certain my grandchildren would prefer some time with others. I have plenty more to catch up with.”

Dale laughs and so does the minister. As you walk away, trying to put your finger on what was different about Grandfather, you realize that for the first time since the hunt, he included you once more in his family.

[Part Eighteen]

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