#since we were poor we always got the consoles about 2 generations late

[carbonateddelusion]

I will forever hold L is Real close to my heart

[cupcakemolotov]

Scatter the Die: Part 2

Okay, this was supposed to be part of @lalainajanes birthday present, and in true birthday form, exploded. And since I cannot imagine giving a birthday present without some kind of smutty bits, this is going to have to have more added onto it later. But my brain has been stubborn and I am hoping that getting something posted will help me get something else done!

You can read it here at A03 (including Part 1) if you prefer!

Warnings: death, monsters, discussion of murders, dismemberment and so on. 

Caroline shifted her weight uncomfortably, lip caught tightly between her teeth as she bit back a hiss, stubbornly rotating her ankle. Stiff and sore, today was her first full week without cast or crutches, and she refused to spend one more minute than necessary desk bound. The two weeks she'd been forced to take it slow had seriously rankled. Her partner's running commentary about pre-apocalypse medicine had not improved her temper. Witches’ spells could do a lot, but broken bones still needed time to heal. 

There was no one here yet to see her wince through the PT exercises anyway. Taking a slow breath as she finished the motion, Caroline glared at the paper files that had recently become her life. Not that she’d been given much of a choice.

If you’re stuck on a desk, Detective Forbes, we might as well make use of you. Salvatore did a number on the servers. Find me what he wanted to hide.

She supposed it at least had given her something to do as she’d never sat well for long periods of time, and digging through the files of old ghosts hadn’t improved her mood. Lifting her eyes, she gazed across the silent desks, frowning as her eyes lingered where she'd nearly died. She’d made a point to walk over it every day since her return, refusing to let the nightmares that left her sweat-soaked and shivering gain root here. 

They'd replaced sections of the concrete floor, patches that hadn't quite darkened to match the rest. They were a bitter reminder of the blood of the cops who had died under Tyler’s teeth, and his escape along with the fae-witch he’d brought in under the pretense of an arrest still burned a hole in her gut. It was a poor consolation that the bullet she’d put in Tyler would have done almost as much damage as what the collapsed wall had done to her leg. 

Of the injured survivors, she'd been the luckiest. A mangled ankle was at least fixable. Alaric had lost a hand to the fae, and not even magic had been able to reattach it. Matt was still in a coma, his condition unknown. There were a dozen others simply outright killed. 

Brushing a hand down her face, she rubbed her tired eyes. It would be a long time before the precinct forgot the horror of being betrayed by their own. A longer time still, before she stopped re-playing the scene in her head and wishing her bullet had been a half of an inch further to the left.

Noisy, and deliberately loud whistling broke into her thoughts and she rolled her eyes as her partner came around the corner. Caroline shook her head as she took in her partner of four year’s messy hair and stubble. Clearly he hadn’t slept yet.  “You're late.”

Detective Enzo St. John snorted and dropped a bag onto his desk before shuffling the paper cups in his hands to offer her one. “Someone is picky about her donuts. I'll never stop being surprised at the line at this time of night. It’s three am. People should be sleeping, not trying to clog their arteries.”

Caroline accepted the coffee and made grabby hands at the paper bag. In the seven decades since the barrier had gone up, humanity had clawed its way out its primitive post-apocalyptic society. They'd restored the US Government, running water. Electricity. Phones. 

Donuts were her personal favorite. 

She scowled when Enzo reached into the bag produced something that was decisively not a donut. “Were they out of the good stuff?”

“I've got two glazed in the bag for you, Gorgeous, but you need to eat something that isn't puffed sugar,” he drawled as he wiggled the napkin in her direction. “I don’t want to have to explain to that witch-friend of yours why you keeled over on my watch.”

Sighing heavily, Caroline accepted the sausage roll. Gia would have many, many words to say to her if she fainted on the job. “This better have cheese.”

Enzo rolled his eyes, pulling out a jelly filled donut and biting into it, mumbling through his mouthful. “As if I dared give you subpar food. Well, not twice, at least.”

Glaring at him for his lack of manners, she polished off the snack in quick bites. Her partner was a good man, someone who’d been her friend before they’d gotten thrown together. He’d migrated from Britain at some point, and stubbornly maintained that crisp accent, and was mostly human. The non-human part of him was classified as void.

It was his void magic that made a lot of cops nervous, but Caroline hadn’t minded his oddity, fully aware that magic always came with a price. For her partner, when he absorbed magic, his body converted that magic into harmless energy, but that energy had to go somewhere. Most people would’ve considered being somewhat immortal a gift, but Caroline had seen pictures of the wife he had buried. 

Still, having a partner who could eat magic was extremely helpful when magic fireballs started getting tossed about. The number of times Enzo had saved both their asses with his magic had risen exponentially over the past twenty-four months. She knew that he stilled raged that he hadn’t been on sight when Tyler had sprung his trap, that he and others believed that things would have gone differently if he had been here. 

“How's the eye-bleeding going?” 

Caroline shrugged and dusted her hands, studying her friend. “It's all organized and set to be added back into the database.”

Enzo threw his feet onto his desk and grinned, tossing her the paper bag which she caught with a scowl. “Find anything interesting?”

She grimaced and dug out her first slightly squashed donut. “Only in regards to what is missing. It's like the files were scrubbed long before I got my hands on them.”

Which made sense in a way. Mason had been their commander for six decades, for nearly as long as they’d had a precinct to work from post-apocalypse. He’d likely been keeping an eye on the written reports as long as they’d been making them.

It was why Caroline had always been so very careful with what she put into writing. Mason had been someone she’d trusted to do his job, and that trust sat in a bitter knot in her chest, but that trust had had limits. There were some things she’d only ever trusted Enzo with and after everything that had happened, that wasn’t likely to change.

“We knew Mason was most likely a figurehead for the group,” Enzo said tightly, jaw working harshly as he mentioned their previous Commander. “Any chance you can figure out what's missing? Computers might not work as well as they used too, but usually stuff isn’t really gone. Or so I’m told.”

She snorted at the wry note in his voice. Computers didn’t always work right around Enzo and he was lucky she didn’t mind doing the bulk of their reporting. She was pretty sure it was why he’d been shuffled to her in the first place.

“Maybe,” Caroline said. “Most of the detectives originally assigned to the cases are dead, but one or two did survive into retirement. I can call in a favor, meet them to see what they remember, but I'm not sure we’ll get much. Whatever Mason was hiding, he was thorough.”

Enzo leaned back in his chair, arms crossed behind his head as the springs groaned. “The new Commander won't like that.”

Caroline grimaced. 

Interim Commander Katerina Petrova had shown up two days after Mason Lockwood had disappeared. Caroline had still been in the hospital recovering, but Enzo had done a dramatic retelling of how she'd strode in on her Louboutin heels and turned the entire precinct on its ear. Most people grudgingly agreed she'd been mostly fair, but some of the older detectives were considering more than grumbling. 

It certainly hadn’t helped Commander Petrova’s popularity that she was zero percent human. Most cops could accept a certain amount of weirdness, Enzo and then a few others who were witch born or shapeshifter were eyed suspiciously, but mostly ignored. And while Changelings were considered less dangerous than some of the other fae species who’d been cut off when they'd raised the barrier, nothing about them was human. 

Their new Commander was gorgeous, demanding, and dangerous. She wasn’t the sort who Caroline would have pegged as a cop, much less one that played at a local level. Magic users with any power preferred state and federal politics, and they played viciously. The Feds enjoyed little more than stepping in and taking over from the locals as soon as there was a whiff of anything interesting. 

Cops, in turn, generally distrusted anything with true power. They saw too much from the creatures that slipped through the cracks, and New Orleans’ barrier was notoriously thin. It made the city a hotbed for any number of political maneuvering, and too many good cops died in the crosshairs of some FBI agents' personal agenda. Magic users would bleed each other dry if given the opportunity, and even dead, Fae magic lingered. 

Having an FBI Bureau located in New Orleans meant keeping cases local and off the radar of coven or Fae families difficult. Once an agency got involved, the answers they could provide to a family were limited to the most political of answers, if they could even give them that much. Missing persons cases were rarely solved even if they had recovered bodies, and some murders were pushed under the rug entirely. 

Caroline hated it. 

Before his betrayal, Commander Lockwood had given the impression that he'd fought for his people. He’d gone toe to toe with the feds, had occasionally won. Werewolf or not, he'd been trusted. But Mason had used his people's acceptance of his werewolf nature to betray them, and it was still a bitter taste in the department's collective mouths. 

It would be for years.

Now the Feds were watching them closely and they'd put a changeling in the precinct. Tongues were wagging, and Caroline wasn't certain who to trust. 

“I’ve got a buddy or two,” Enzo interrupted her thoughts, words slow. His chin dipped so that his eyes met hers, gaze serious. “A couple of ties to some of the alphabet agencies.”

“Do you?” Caroline murmured, intrigued. It didn’t surprise her. Enzo knew a lot of people. “What sort of gossip has been going around?”

“You aren't going to like it,” he warned. 

Caroline paused. “It doesn’t have to do with any of our past cases, does it?”

Enzo eyes darkened as he absorbed her words and his head moved in a barely perceptible no. The fist around her lungs loosened, and she bit into her donut and motioned for him to continue. His expression turned rueful, and she braced herself.

“Rumor has it our new Captain has some fascinating ties to a certain Mikaelson.”

Caroline’s eyes closed in silent aggravation.  

When she'd been a fresh faced street cop, determined to work her way up the ranks to detective, she'd never have imagined it wasn't magic that was going to cause her the most aggravation, but the politics. She’d learned how complicated they could be at her mother’s murder, had watched it destroy good men who promised to find her answers. But she’d never thought herself incapable of traversing them. What had been important was bringing closure she’d been denied to families. But the better she became at her job, the more she found herself staring at insurmountable roadblocks. 

And of those cases, Special Agent Klaus Mikaelson was a particular pain in her ass. 

She'd met him nearly a half a decade earlier during a case involving a kelpie that had tried to kill her. The Irish water horse had taken on a humanoid form and drowned her victims on land, and New Orleans had been ideal hunting grounds for her. She might have even escaped notice for a few more years but her preferred meal had been male cops. 

Caroline had been one of the detectives hunting the cop killer, but it’d been Mikaelson she'd butted heads against repeatedly. Klaus had thought she was unnecessarily reckless and Caroline had been frustrated by his unwillingness to share information. The fact that he came from a family with deep pockets and even better connections had left her teeth grinding, particularly since she'd known he was keeping things close to his chest. 

To make it worse, she’d found herself grudgingly admiring the fact that he'd never backed down from the bite of her temper. She'd told herself repeatedly during those first few months that the urge to bite his smirking mouth, to see how well he'd bluster with her tongue against his was the result of her dry spell. The chemistry between them had been explosive, and if he hadn't been a Fed intruding on her territory, she might have been intrigued enough to let him charm her.

But later, he’d shown her the truth of himself and she hadn’t really known what to think. She still didn’t but whatever was between them it wasn’t fear. Fear was a cold sweat and tight lungs in the middle of the night, the ice of possibilities. Klaus burned, and the heat between them threatened to send them both up in flames if she gave him even an inch. 

“How fascinating?” Caroline said, voice taut with frustration. “Is she in his pocket?”

Enzo pursed his lips, gaze flicking across the mostly empty bullpen and he pushed his chair closer. “That's a question I don't have an answer too.”

“God dammit.”

He nodded in agreement, gaze careful as he phrased his next question. “Have you found it curious that the FBI is so interested in you? Because I have. No offense, but smart and resourceful aren't necessarily what they are looking for. And they rarely try to recruit full humans.”

Caroline had no answers for him. Whatever Klaus thought he’d seen in her, he had offered no explanation. If it hadn’t been for the way he kept popping up in her life, in her cases, she’d have written it off as a whim. The man was mercurial enough for it but he was also unyielding when it fit his fancy. But there was no good way to explain to her partner the way Klaus watched her when it was just the two of them.  “Who knows what goes on with the Feds?”

Enzo sighed. “I don't think it's much of a secret that the veil between worlds is getting thinner each year; that we're looking at a catastrophic break here in New Orleans. Whatever prisons the supernatural made, whatever it is that they’ve tried to vanish beyond our world, we both know they are starting to slip back through in higher and higher numbers.”

She nodded tightly, thinking of the cold iron knife she always wore, the cuffs that set heavy against her hip. Standard police ammo included silver bullets and her medkit had fresh sage and blessed salt. “I thought finding a way to close those weak points is a priority.”

“Sure, that's what our departmental memos are going to keep spouting, but you don't exactly see the witches succeeding at it,” Enzo drawled, brow arching as the truth of their jobs sat in his eyes. “Shit is going to go down eventually, and humanity is going to be the collateral damage. We’ve already seen it.”

Caroline grimaced. She'd seen the trend, over the years. Humanity made the perfect buffet for a lot of the nightmares behind the veil, and as a species, humans reproduce quickly, unlike many of the supernaturally gifted. Most Fae and the other not-humans thought of humanity as nothing more than an easily replaced buffet. 

Then there had been Silas.

Enzo nodded, voice low. “So we’ve got a situation brewing in New Orleans. The Bayou is a perfect place for things that go bump in the night to find a hiding place while they regain their power. And even keeping both eyes on a situation, we don’t always know about a problem until it goes boom.”

More and more bodies dumped into the bayou were never recovered. Gator hunters were home well before dark, and will o'wisps haunted the water. The kelpie that had attacked cops was the first of three that had been killed in five years. There were rumors of sirens in the Mississippi and gremlins lurked in the shadows of the most brightly lit alleys. 

New Orleans was a powder keg.

“Yeah,” she said tightly, mouth thinning. “We have seen it. We’ve also reported it to all the right channels.”

And until Tyler had killed twenty percent of the cops in her department, until his fae-witch had sunk her hands into the chest of good men and turned them feral, no one had listened. 

“Did I ever tell you that I requested a transfer here?”

Caroline blinked, shook her head. “No. Why on earth would you?”

“Voids aren’t born, Caroline. We’re made.” His mouth twisted in an old memory, eyes dark. “The process is terrible. If anyone survives. After my wife died… well. This city has very established ancestral magic, and a bureau ready to stick its nose into the smallest hint of trouble. Not to mention that the federal government cannot afford to show weakness when it's becoming clearer and clearer every year that humanity is no longer the apex predator; and those that are just happen to wear our skins, sometimes. New Orleans should appear to be a lot safer than it manages.”

Caroline winced, tried not to think about how literal that was about faces. She’d killed a doppelganger three years ago who had worn her face and sometimes that case played a part in her nightmares. “That doesn’t explain why you wanted to be here?”

“I wanted to know why the strength of humanity and the power of witches was failing,” he said bluntly. “Why I was tortured and suffered and lost years with my family if we were only going to fail in the end.”

“Did you find your answer?”

He shook his head. “The veil falling might be inevitable. But I know why we’ve held it so long. Being here, having you as a partner, it’s reminded me that not all of humanity is bad.”

She wadded up the donut bag, tossed it as his face. He ducked with a frown and Caroline smiled. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

“Thanks, I think.”

“So what does all this have to do with the Commander?”

“She’s tied to the State AG, not the local prosecutors. From what I've been able to glean, we’re not the first precinct she's been brought in to clean up. She was in Ireland five years ago, New York before that. She did a short stint in Chicago, but didn't stay long. What I can't find is where she goes once she leaves.”

Caroline licked her lips, pondering those words. “Wait… the new AG? I think I saw something about a replacement when I was in the hospital. It was Elijah something, right?”

“Full name is Elijah Mikaelson.”

“Elijah Mikaelson? Please tell me he’s not…”

“Related to the Very Special Pain in your ass?” Enzo interrupted with a wry grin. “Oldest living brother. There is also a younger sister and brother, both witches. You'll be interested to know she’s recently relocated into the area. And the younger brother has moved stateside.”

Caroline ran a hand down her face. “How do you know all this?”

“Been around awhile,” Enzo said. “Got a few friends, still willing to give me a tip or two. But the Mikaelson horde isn't the only family making a move into the area. There's been an uptick in the locals complaining about being priced out of good apartments and the housing market has taken a surprising turn for a place full of monsters.”

“A State AG,” Caroline said slowly, eyes narrowing, ignoring his grumble about housing. “A Special Agent with the FBI who has enough leeway to fly into the city as he wishes, and witches. What are the Mikaelsons looking for?”

He shrugged, something almost sympathetic behind his eyes. “Good question. You might get a chance to ask him sooner than you think.”

She eyed him warily. “What's that supposed to mean? I'm not exactly on regular speaking terms with any of them.”

Not that it did much good. The first hint of something powerful in her case and Klaus turned up, butting his perfect nose where he wasn’t wanted. She cursed him for it, often. If she’d learned who was tipping him off, they would have had words.

“Yeah,” Enzo drew out slowly, inching his chair back. “Did anyone mention he showed up at the hospital during your surgeries?”

She froze. “What?”

“Hmm,” Enzo held up his hands in a placating manner, still moving slowly backwards. “Brought in his sister, the witch. Rebekah. Interesting girl, very prickly.”

Caroline blinked at the edge of amusement in his voice, that faintest hint of interest. “Wait, did you flirt with her?”

“Regretfully, I didn’t have a chance. Agent Mikaelson was pretty determined to get her into your theatre to make sure that whatever magical damage was done could be corrected.”

Her jaw dropped, lips parting as she gaped. “No one thought to mention this?”

“Yeah, killing the messenger? That's something most people are pretty sure you'd attempt. I'm telling you now,” Enzo said with a shrug. “Besides, that's not really the fun part.”

Her stomach dropped at the word fun. “What does that mean?”

“Your Very Special Agent has relocated. Rumor has it he's now Supervisory Special Agent, and New Orleans is considered his territory.”

“Goddammit.”

Enzo nodded his agreement. “So the real question for all of this is now pretty much isn’t if there is going to be a second apocalypse, Forbes, but when. And are these folks here to stop it or to capitalize on it?”

Caroline dug out her second donut with an air of someone on the executioner's block. Klaus had made New Orleans his home. He was in her city and she’d no doubt he’d turn the FBI Office into his personal fiefdom. She hadn’t forgotten that show of power from him, the truth about himself he’d shown her as she’d sat in the ambulance, half drowned by a kelpie. 

“I guess we’ll have to find that out, won't we?”

“You up for that?”

She sighed. “I don't think I've much of a choice.”

Enzo echoed her expression, mouth twisting. “Good luck, then. If you need me to distract his sister, just let me know.”

She glowered until Enzo spun around at his desk, shoulders shaking with silent laughter.

-

When Caroline had learned a Bennett witch had moved to New Orleans, she very deliberately went out of her way to avoid her. She’d potentially had time during her PTO to arrange a meeting with her old friend, but hadn’t. Bonnie Bennett was an old ghost, if no longer a familiar one. But while Bon was no longer part of her nightmares, the things she represented still lingered like a bad taste in her mouth. 

Liz Forbes had never liked witches. Caroline couldn’t remember if she’d had an opinion before her mother’s murder, but after, the sly smiles and flashy spells from ‘expert consultants’ had sat like lead in her chest. Something about the ease of finding her mom’s killer, the neat little bow tying up all loose ends had always seemed wrong. 

Years later, she’d been proven right. 

But as a grieving teenager, her last real memories of Bonnie had been wrapped up in that grief and a sense of abandonment. She remembered Grams quiet disapproval of the witches invading Mystic Falls, and she’d kept Bonnie confined to the house until the investigation was all over. Caroline had known that hadn’t been Bonnie’s fault, but it had still hurt. Her life had been so violently turned on its head, and she’d wanted her closest friend. In the end, when Caroline walked away from Mystic Falls, she'd gladly left those ties behind. 

Bonnie moving to New Orleans had been a quiet reminder that while she’d solved her mother’s murder, leaving her past completely behind was an impossibility. It had also been another warning that whatever was going on with the barrier, it was getting serious. Caroline might have left Mystic Falls behind, but she’d kept a distant eye on its on-goings. 

And Bonnie was a power. 

But finding her childhood friend ankle deep in mud, frowning over the corpse of a rotting body in the swamp wasn’t how she’d imagined what was probably an inevitable reunion. The tip about a dead woman in the swamp had come through dispatch, and Caroline had called in her response as she’d driven out to secure the scene. 

If she was lucky, the worse she’d seen would have been gator marks. If it was worse, having her partner on hand would be the wisest course of action. She had no real desire to be cursed or eaten. The swamps were dangerous and she had a healthy sense of caution when it came to finding what was potentially a feeding ground. 

But all thoughts of containment had disappeared when she realized she’d been beaten to the body, and by who. The visible surprise when Bonnie had watched her get out of the car had echoed her own. The witch’s dark eyes were hidden by a pair of neat, designer shades that were in such contrast to her clothing that Caroline wondered if she had borrowed them.

“Caroline,” Bonnie started and then stopped, flipping her glasses on top of her head instead. Her hair was twisted away from her face, the elegant bones of her cheekbones surprisingly delicate for the force of the personality behind her eyes. “Or is it Detective Forbes?”

Caroline let her lips curl. “It’s Detective.”

A hint of what might have been sadness briefly tightened her mouth, but then it was gone. Giving a short nod, Bonnie’s eyes lowered back to the corpse. “I thought I was the first one to the body.”

As far as Caroline knew, Bonnie was correct. Dispatch had said the call had been from a gator hunter, and they were too smart to linger where a dead body had washed up. Very few things ever made it to a shoreline. This body was situated about five feet from solid ground, a strange mudflat having made an appearance around it. “News spreads quick, I suppose.”

Those dark eyes studied her, and the right side of her mouth tugged upwards. “I’d heard that about you.”

Caroline arched a brow as she considered the mud between them. It was likely that Bonnie would be fine, and while the mud was a problem, something else about the scene itched at her. Grabbing a camera, she checked her side piece and knife before moving to join Bonnie. Sighing heavily because she liked her boots, she moved carefully down the sharp drop of the bank where the swamp should have pushed up against the shoreline. It was almost as if this area had been drained of water, leaving nothing behind but the thick, sludge-like carpet of mud. It didn’t smell, but there was a disturbing lack of debris and the only visible movement was from Bonnie. 

“Be careful, the mud is deeper than it should be,” Bonnie cautioned as Caroline made her way over. “Something altered the swamp around here, and it’s not good.”

Pulling a face as her boots deeply into the muck, Caroline scowled. “I can see that. And what exactly did you hear? I didn’t think you’d been here that long.”

“Nothing bad, just that you still have a nose for trouble.” A small noise as if Bonnie was remembering something amusing. “And that you’re quite stubborn, but I already knew that.”

“I didn’t really keep up with anyone from home,” Caroline said. “I’m not sure who’d be telling tales.”

“I asked around when I got here.” Her teeth worried her lip for a moment and Bonnie shrugged. “Not that your fellow cops talked much. I barely managed to find out that you were hurt, and that came from different sources entirely.”

Caroline carefully came to stop a foot from the body and studied the remains. Bloated, with her face scarred beyond recognition, whoever this had been had spent enough time in the swamp they should either have started to decompose or been eaten by a gator or worse.

So why hadn’t she? And where were the insects?

“I didn’t catch what you're doing here,” Caroline said after a moment, tugging a pair of latex gloves free from where she stuffed them into her back pocket. It took a moment to tug them on, the humidity leaving her skin sticky. “You seem pretty prepared for a witch who just happened upon a body.”

Bonnie also wore what looked like police issued latex gloves, the material spelled with a little more protection built in than the average pair. But as a witch, Bonnie could have done the spells herself. It was the neat little kit next to her, filled with what were probably samples of the mud and whatever she had been collecting from the body, that really said that Bonnie wasn’t here as a concerned passerbier.

Huffing, Bonnie used her forearm to wipe at her cheek, her skin sweat damp in the muggy heat. “I’m the new Forensic and Magical Anthropologist for the Bureau. And no one ‘happens upon’ these things, Detective. I’ve been seeding the area with detection spells for weeks now. I just didn’t expect them to pop quite like this.”

Caroline snorted as she absorbed that bit of info.  “A Fed? Really, Bon? Did Grams shit a brick?”

Shooting her an exasperated look, Bonnie bent back over and continued her examination. “We’re not that bad.”

“Uh huh,” she retorted. “If you stayed out of my cases, maybe I’d believe that.” If they stayed out of her cases and had been more willing to tell the families the truth. Secrecy left behind open wounds.

“I could say the same thing,” Bonnie shot back, eyes challenging. “You do realize that since I was here first, this scene belongs to me? My boss will make the decision if we turn it over.”

Caroline frowned, trying not to think of who that boss was. “The remains are a bit fresh for your field, aren’t they?”

Bonnie shrugged, unconcerned. “I’ll have the body delivered to the morgue; we’ll have to dispose of the flesh anyway. Whatever happened to this victim isn’t quite right, even for a fae-mauling. They should have started to decompose and nothing here has tried to eat it. That concerns me.”

Warily, Caroline glanced around. “You think it’s a trap?”

“I’m not sure, but I’ll hit us both with a bit of magical napalm to kill anything that might try to attach when we’re done here.” She blew out a breath as she sketched a few quick runes over the body, the symbols glowing faintly for a few quick moments. “Though it seems clean, I don’t trust it. We’ll need to make sure the bones are contained.”

Caroline glanced at her. “Contained?”

A solemn look. “Monsters aren’t the only thing interested in the dead bits and pieces of potential biohazards, Detective.”

Considering those words, the truth of them, Caroline finally sighed. “Do you need help moving anything?”

“Nope. I think anything else will need to be collected once we get the body situated.”

“Alright, I won’t kick up a fuss if you share whatever you find.” Caroline lifted the camera off her neck, and she started snapping careful pictures. Whoever the Feds sent to move the body would likely do the same, but Caroline liked to have her own copies. Plus, the camera was special. 

Bonnie nodded. “Deal. But I want a copy of your pictures. That camera isn’t standard. In fact… It feels like void magic. But that’s impossible.”

Lips curling into a smirk, Catoline agreed. “It’s an experiment.”

Looking interested, Bonnie tipped her head to the side. “What does it do?”

“In theory, it’ll filter out any magical interference.” Gia and Enzo have been working with Enzo’s magic, to see if they could embed it. They’d started the project after what had happened with Silas and the collected evidence had been magically corrupted. So far, they’d only had mixed results. 

Bonnie’s brows lifted. “In theory?”

“The pics will either turn out or end up a weird mess of colors,” Caroline shrugged. “Your forensic minions should have more reliable equipment when they show up.”

“True,” Bonnie said slowly. “But Void magic is still mostly a big mystery. So very few survive the process. I’d be interested in watching these experiments.”

Caroline made a noncommittal noise. Enzo was her friend and her partner, not a science experiment. He could decide what experiments to allow, but that was his business. No one else's. Even if she was found surprisingly comfortable around Bonnie Bennett after all these years.

“Did you find anything interesting?” Caroline pointed the camera away from the body, snapped a few pictures of the swamp around them. “I don’t like this place.”

Bonnie sighed. “Agreed. And it’s hard to say what I’ve found. I’ll know more later.”

“Well, I trust your magical nohow over whomever took over for Alaric. Grams never trained a fool in her life.” Caroline reluctantly admitted as she straightened, glancing back towards her car as she heard the sound of vehicles driving carefully along what there was of a road. Backup was finally arriving. 

“You clearly don’t remember my mom well,” Bonnie replied dryly but there was no heat. “And I think the position of Medical Examiner is still technically vacant. Didn’t you hear?”

“Hear what?” Her gaze narrowed as she recognized the SUV’s pulling up as Federal. Her phone beeped in her back pocket, but she didn’t dare touch it until she’d been cleared of magical contamination. The camera had enough of Enzo’s magic to eat anything that tried to attach itself. 

She was still glaring at the slow moving vehicles when Bonnie spoke. “With the growing concern that we are likely to experience a catastrophic breach of the barrier, the State Legislators have decided that full cooperation between our departments and yours is necessary. We don’t need a morgue. You have one. Though I’m told it’s going to receive a few magical upgrades. Rebekah is… particular.”

Caroline muttered a few choice words under her breath as a familiar figure stepped out of an SUV, the door shutting loudly behind him. His ruffled curls were as recognizable as the tense line of his shoulders. Something twisted in her stomach at the first sight of him, awareness brushing along her skin. For a moment, she faced him, tongue tucked between her teeth as she tried to absorb the impact of his presence even so far from her. Shoving his sunglasses into his hair, Klaus stared back, the long line of him tense as he watched her. 

Deliberately turning her attention back to Bonnie, heart a staccato in her throat, she pulled a face. “Oh, goody. More Feds.”

Bonnie laughed softly and finally straightened, her field kit held firmly in one hand. “I don't think I can learn much more here. We should probably head back to shore, let the paramedics pack up the body.”

Knowing that she couldn’t avoid Klaus forever, Caroline nodded but hesitated, letting her eyes scan along the swamp. Bonnie paused as well, looking around. “What’s wrong?”

Caroline shook her head. “I’m not sure. It just feels like there should be more here. It’s too clean. I don’t trust clean. Not in the swamp.”

Bonnie looked troubled, and jerked her chin towards solid ground. They both started the trek back, and tension ran down Caroline’s spine until she noticed that Klaus was watching the swamp behind them, ignoring everything else. The tense line of her shoulders eased a hair. They’d at least get a warning if something charged them. 

“I don’t disagree,” Bonnie finally murmured as they neared the incline. “Did you get anything useful from your tip? 

“Just a tip that there was a body lying out in the open without a single scavenger,” Caroline replied. “My money is on a gator hunter who knew better than to stick around. I’ve got a twenty pound bag of rock salt in my trunk if you think you’ll need to ward the area.”

“I might.”

Caroline looked up when a hand appeared in front of her as they approached the bank. She frowned to find Klaus waiting on her. His eyes were blue today, and there was something about the set of his mouth that prickled warning down her spine. He arched a brow and she bit the tip of her tongue to keep from doing something dumb. Enzo would never let her hear the end of it if she fell into the mud instead of accepting help with her ankle still healing. 

She was still tempted. Touching Klaus was risky, it gave her dreams too many details and left her wondering about things that were better left as mysteries, but today it didn’t look like she had any choice. Taking his hand, Caroline let Klaus help her back onto solid ground. It was a strain, not to notice how solid he felt beneath her fingers and palm, the heat of his skin noticeable even through two layers of latex.  

“Thanks.”

He nodded, studying her face, and he didn’t immediately release her hand. “Of course, Detective. My understanding is you’ve just been cleared for field duty. I’d hate for you to relapse.”

She wasn’t at all surprised he’d been tracking her recovery, especially if Katerina was a mole for his family. Giving a slight tug, she refused to feel relieved when he finally let her go. 

“Is it?” She shrugged. “I heard you got a promotion.” 

Stripping off her gloves, she kept an eye on the Feds as Bonnie gave orders as she secured her kit in what looked like a box fashioned from cold iron. Beside her, she watched the slow curl of Klaus’ mouth out of her peripheral vision. A herd of wild horses couldn’t drag out of her just how unfair she found the shape of his mouth, but her abdomen went tight at the hint of dimple in his cheek. 

“Keeping track of me, Caroline?”

She snorted and tossed the latex into the biohazard bag one of Bonnie’s people brought over. Several more were slugging through the muck with a body bag. She did not envy them that job.

“I don’t need your people butting into my cases,” Caroline reminded him firmly, ignoring his question. “It was bad enough when you were sticking your nose into things. Now you have minions.”

“That may be so,” Klaus said, studying her with an intensity that felt like a touch. “But even you must recognize that there are some things your department doesn’t have the firepower to deal with.”

Setting her jaw at the carefully worded reminder of the recent events, she lifted her chin to growl back when the ground suddenly bucked and someone screamed. She staggered hard, ankle twinging painfully, and Klaus caught her. For a moment she froze like that, the hard line of his biceps beneath her palms as he steadied her, the feel of his skin fever hot. 

When the ground continued to shake, he yanked her up against him, and the firmness of his hand and arm a brand against her spine and side. The smell of him changed to the scent of an open flame, and she felt the magic gathering around them. Curling her fingers into his shirt, she hung on as the shakes continued to turn the ground violent beneath their feet.

Someone started screaming. 

Klaus barked a handful of orders, the edge in his voice easily carrying over the shrieks of his people. Gripping his shirt with both hands, Caroline twisted her head to stare at the swamp to see and inhaled sharply. Where the dead body had laid earlier, there were tentacles, nearly a dozen of them. The largest was at least seven feet in length. 

The Feds who had been sent out to collect the body had been scattered. Two were being swung through the air, their screams full of pain filled terror. One agent was scrambling through the mud towards the bank, her face bone white as she tried to get to safety.

Caroline couldn’t find the fourth. 

But it was clear the Feds weren’t the main attraction. Instead, unbothered by the mud and lack of deep water, one of the large tentacles wrapped around the body and dragged it back beneath the mud. The ground shuddered violently, but Klaus remained rock solid against her. 

Terror turned her mouth to ash as she watched the thing move. The tentacles were more than long enough to reach the shore and grab more victims. Only the feel of Klaus, hot and solid, kept her from sprinting for cover. She had a shotgun in the truck, but she wasn’t sure even rocksalt would penetrate the thickness of those tentacles. Horror closed her throat, and she heard seams pop from her grip on Klaus’ shirt. He remained rock steady against her, fingers splayed against her hip fever hot. 

“Bennett,” he growled. “A little urgency.”

Bonnie stepped forward, palms lifted, but before she could cast whatever spell she’d been planning, the tentacles suddenly retreated with alarming speed. The agent who had nearly reached the shore screamed as a tentacle snagged her around the waist. The sounds of guns firing seemed to do nothing as it dragged the agents beneath the mud. For several tense minutes everyone was unnaturally silent after the boom of the last expended cartridge died as they waited for it to come back. Caroline’s breath burned harshly in her throat, and she was unashamed by the grip she had on Klaus. 

Giant tentacle monsters were way outside her paygrade. 

“Bennett, secure the perimeter. Kol, help her.” The sound of Klaus’ firm voice broke through the shocked silence. “Someone secure those remaining samples and find me a response team. I want to know where it went and if we have a chance of recovery, and I want it five minutes ago.”

Forcing herself to release his shirt as the feds scrambled, Caroline leaned back. Klaus didn’t move, hand curved firmly against her hip. Biting the tip of her tongue to hold in her wince as she put pressure on her ankle, she tapped his wrist firmly. 

“Agent Mikaelson. I need to call this in.”

His gaze lowered to hers and she forced herself not to flinch when she saw his eyes. The blue was gone, the white hot center of his pupils bleeding his iris gold and turning his gaze inhuman. There was something dangerous about the set of his mouth, the angle of his jaw but she had never let him intimidate her and she wasn’t going to start now.

“This is our scene, Detective.” His gaze flickered over her shoulder. “The veil is far too thin here.”

Caroline nodded. This was way past her precinct's ability to handle. Whatever was going on in the swamp was dangerous. Most cops weren’t equipped to deal with tentacles and unholy swamp mud. “Agreed. But I still need to call it in. We get a half dozen reports a day that a body has been found in a swamp; real and fake. I’ll need to let the precinct know that those investigations need to be directed to you. My partner is also on his way, he needs to be warned.”

Klaus’ head dipped, eyes sharp and too bright against her face. “You’re not usually so helpful.”

She gave him a tight lipped smile. “That’s because you usually stick your nose into places you aren’t needed. This?” She jerked her chin, encompassing the swamp and everything in it. “Totally your kind problem.”

Those bright, calculating eyes narrowed but his hand fell away from her side. His gaze lowered, dragging down the line of her legs and lingering on the mud encrusted mess of her boots. Something his jaw shifted, mouth compressing before his eyes lifted to her face. “Agreed. It is my kind of problem. And as such, we’re going to need your boots, love.”

Caroline dropped her eyes to her feet and groaned. She was caked to her ankles in mud, and after seeing what had come out of the mud, she was wearing evidence. “Goddammit.”

Klaus made a noncommittal noise in his throat. “You’re probably not going to want to track that around. We’ll get you some plastic to wrap up in, but you’ll need to come with us to the morgue. I’ll have one of the agents drive your car.”

Glancing at the baby faced agents wandering around, she gave him a look full of disbelief. “You must be joking.”

His lips curved, the hard gold light in his gaze finally softening into a more familiar blue as he finally stepped away from her. The air was hot and muggy, but somehow she still felt a chill now that he wasn’t holding her. “Afraid not. Driving with both feet wrapped in plastic seems a bit unsafe. You can take the front seat in my SUV, if you like.”

The only thing worse than being chauffeured around by Klaus would be being stuck in the back seat. Huffing, she shifted her weight and couldn’t quite hide her wince as her ankle throbbed. His gaze sharpened, and she shook her head, cutting off whatever he was going to say. “I’m fine. It’s nothing that needs immediate attention.”

She watched as he clearly considered fighting her. Gaze dropping back to her muddy feet, he finally exhaled harshly. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his keys. Offering them, his head tipped towards one of the large SUVs. “Let’s get your feet wrapped and you tucked into my car, then. Bekah can look at your ankle when we’re at the morgue and you’ve gone through decontamination protocols.”

Caroline frowned, trying to pin down the familiarity of that name. “Bekah?”

A slashing look. “Dr. Rebekah Mikaelson. My sister.”

Turning on his heel, he started snapping out a series of orders. Bonnie twisted around a moment later and stared down her feet with an irritated expression, mouth drawn tight. Her gaze snagged Caroline’s, and for a moment they stood with mirrored expressions of complete exasperation. It almost made the way she had to bite her tongue as they wrapped her feet in plastic worth it. 

-

The clothes she’d been given after decontamination were two sizes too big and worn thin after too many washes, and she really wished she had a jacket. Morgue’s were never warm, and the hum of the air conditioning was a steady buzz to combat the muggy heat of New Orleans. The ice that Klaus’ sister had all but slapped onto her ankle wasn’t helping much either. Dr. Rebekah Mikaelson’s gaze had been frosty enough to freeze a dead body solid in thirty seconds as she’d demanded Caroline keep the bag in place for fifteen minutes before she’d disappeared with both her and Bonnie’s boots. 

Bonnie had shrugged at her, warm and cozy in her back up clothes, expression slightly sympathetic. “Rebekah takes some getting used to.”

Caroline snorted. “I can’t say I’d have noticed.”

Her old friend relaxed enough to smile, eyes warming a little. “Honestly, the whole family is like that but they do… grow on you, I suppose. Some of them, anyway.”

She made a noncommittal noise, unwilling to comment on anything about that particular family. She’d be willing to bet a significant portion of her life savings that there were a number of spells in the room monitoring their conversations. She’d have assumed Bonne would have noticed them, but she wasn’t taking any chances. 

“How long have you been with the feds?”

“Almost a year,” Bonnie answered easily enough. Her head tilted. “You’ve been here, what, six years?”

“Almost seven,” Caroline corrected. That information would give no secrets away and was a matter of public record. “A detective for most of that.”

Bonnie nodded, eyes going a little distant as she fell into her own thoughts. Caroline let her, the familiar tug of post-adrenaline exhaustion tugging at her bones. Needing a distraction, she took a moment to study the room. She had never spent much time in this section of the building, wouldn't even have known a break room existed if one of Klaus’ minions hadn’t ushered her and Bonnie into the small, but tidy space. Klaus had disappeared further into the morgue, and she hoped the staff here was used to him. It wouldn’t be easy studying samples while he prowled behind them, his impatience and temper sharp in the air. 

She sympathized.

It’d been a long ride back into the city limits. They hadn’t spoken much, but she’d gotten the impression he was riding a knife edge of anger and if he tipped the wrong way it would be disastrous. She couldn’t help but think about the feel of his magic, the heat of it burning in his eyes. She’d done a good job over the years, not letting the mystery that was Special Agent Klaus Mikaelson niggle at her in those rare, quiet moments in her life. But sitting in his oversized vehicle, the tense muscle and bone of him next to her, she’d wondered if the status quo between them had inevitably changed. The veil between her world and the nightmares the fae had tried to banish was weakening at an alarming rate and the witches had no answers. 

No one did. 

But it was starting to look like more than one magical family had a plan, but only time would tell just what those plans were and how badly humanity would come out on the other end. The first apocalypse had taught a lot of hard lessons, and left deep scars. What did it mean that Klaus had angled himself into this city, into a position of such authority? What did he want? And what did she do with the knowledge that watching him fume, the line of his jaw and the set of his shoulders rock hard, his magic noticeable to even her senses that she wasn’t worried his temper would pick her as the target?

There were too many questions she didn’t have the answers for. What she needed to figure out was what exactly he wanted and how deeply involved his family was in this mess. Dr. Rebekah Mikaelson seemed competent, and if Enzo could be believed, she was responsible for the magical repairs on her ankle. 

Deciding that was something to deal with later, she studied the seemingly mundane around her instead with cop eyes. There was a coffee pot, a small mini-fridge, and the couch was clearly new. Rebekah’s influence, she decided.  None of those items came cheap, and department budgets were always stretched too thin. Here, most of the allotted money would have gone to maintaining the air conditioning. No one wanted dead bodies exposed to warm, muggy air. The mini-fridge was a relic of the past and probably had been converted to an icebox which was easier to maintain with spells, but the look of it was cool. She wondered what kind of favors it’d take to get a pot of coffee going. She’d bet whatever Rebekah had on hand would be far better than the swill she’d spent her shift drinking. 

At least the couch was super comfy, and if she’d been anywhere else, she’d have settled in for some quick shut eye. Whatever had happened that afternoon was going to cause a stir and nothing good could come of it. Giving herself a moment to mourn the bed she wasn’t likely to see for several hours yet, she settled in to wait instead. 

“How long have you known Klaus?”

Caroline glanced at Bonnie as she broke the silence between them. “What do you mean?”

Bonnie's gaze was curious. “You seemed familiar with each other. I expected that but…” her words stopped and she frowned, gaze darting behind Caroline. “Ah. I think your partner is here.”

A moment later, Enzo strolled in carrying a very familiar bag over his shoulder. His expression was tense, but the hard line of his shoulders relaxed at the sight of her though his mouth tightened as he caught sight of her ankle. He offered her the bag he was carrying with a sigh. “I thought we’d agreed to fewer life or death situations when you were on your own.”

She accepted the emergency bag she kept at Enzo’s place with a murmured thanks, yanking on the zipper and digging for the sweater she knew was buried inside as well as her spare pair of sneakers. “It’s not like I planned on there being a giant tentacle monster hiding in the swamp, Enzo. And I did call you even though dispatch should have messaged you.”

“And yet, somehow I didn’t manage to make it out of the city limits before the fun was all over,” he replied dryly. “Exploring the swamp by yourself isn’t exactly wise for any number of reasons.”

Caroline rolled her eyes as she pulled on the extra layer. “I wasn’t by myself.”

Enzo’s gaze shifted to the witch next to her. “Oh? Replacing me already?”

Taking the hint, Caroline made introductions. “Enzo, meet Dr. Bonnie Benett, the new Forensic and Magical Anthropologist for the Bureau. Bonnie, this is Detective Enzo St. John, my partner.”

Bonnie smiled. “It's a pleasure.”

Enzo lifted a brow. “Bennett? From Mystic Falls, that Bennett?”

“Yes,” she said slowly, head tipping to the side.”But how would you know that?”

“You exposed that little heretic cult problem that was trying to bring down the veil. Helped catch Kai Parker. It was memorable.”

Bonnie’s eyes narrowed. “I’m surprised you know about that. Not many people do.”

He smiled, charm thick in his voice.“I had an interest in keeping an eye on that case file, and I know people. I hear things.” 

Her old friend didn’t look impressed with his explanation, and Caroline wished her luck. When Enzo clamped down on a source, not even a strange, self-proclaimed fae-god could get him to talk. She knew, because she’d seen Silas try, right before Enzo had sucked him dry. Shifting the bag, she carefully slid her camera inside, tucking it between her second favorite set of sweats before closing the bag and casually tucking it behind her legs. 

“Dispatch sent around a very interesting warning about fifteen minutes ago and is requesting that all patrol calls check in every half hour.” Enzo continued, his gaze moving between the women with something hard behind his eyes. “Quite a curious change of events, when they were so adamant that things were getting back to normal. So what exactly did you two do?”

“What do you mean what did we do?” Caroline questioned, gaze narrowing. “This wasn't my fault; blame dispatch. I was just following up on the tip since everyone else had their hands full.” 

“And the fact that you were off duty and should have been heading home to grab some shut eye?”

She shrugged her shoulders. “Semantics.”

Enzo let out a long sigh. “And you wonder how you find so much trouble.”

A muffled cough filled the room, and Caroline turned her head to glare at a clearly amused Bonnie. “Really, Bon?”

The childhood nickname slipped out, but Bonnie only smiled. “He’s not wrong. You do have a knack for trouble. You always have.”

“It seems to be something you share in common.” 

The clipped, british accent broke into their conversation without warning, and Caroline turned to find that Klaus had finally joined them. She narrowed her eyes, she hated it when he snuck up on her, and he met her gaze unflinchingly. Behind him stood his sister and another dark haired man who shared their dimples and Rebekah’s cheekbones. Another family member then. 

How many did Enzo say he had?

Bonnie’s chin lifted. “I followed protocol to the letter.”

“Come now darling, going into a swamp all by your lonesome with only a human cop as backup?” The dark haired man tsked. “Seems risky. Did you not take my warnings seriously about what I would do if you managed to be pulled into the otherside of the veil?”

Definitely related, she thought, recognizing that particular brand of threat. Bonnie didn’t seem particularly impressed by it, and it made Caroline like her childhood friend just a bit more.

“No one takes anything you say seriously,” Bonnie returned flatly. “The idea that you’d do something for someone else without expecting an equally great favor in payment is even less believable.”

Kol’s eyes narrowed, and as much as Caroline wanted to let the argument play, see how much they could learn, now wasn’t the time. Enzo’s gaze met hers and the exasperation there had her fighting a smile. But her partner gamely inserted himself smoothly into the conversation.

“Must have been something pretty impressive at the swamp to get your team so riled, Dr. Bennett.” He crossed his arms and smiled, ignoring Kol’s narrow-eyed look. “What exactly did my partner get herself involved in?”

“It was a kraken,” Rebekah answered, her back still to the room and her voice bored. “A tiny one.”

Enzo straightened at those words, expression going flat. “A kraken.”

“I thought kraken kept to deep waters,” Caroline said slowly, something cold settling in her gut. “There hasn’t been a sighting in a few decades.”

Rebekah huffed and walked across the room to what would have once been an electric teapot that had been converted to run on magic. Hitting a button, she stared moodily at it as it started to heat the water. “We’ve known for some time that there was a possibility that the creatures on the other side of the veil are adapting, mutating. It seems like we now have proof.”

Bonnie reached up and rubbed a fingertip between her eyes as if to chase away a growing headache. “The veil shouldn’t be receding this quickly; the magic that formed it isn’t breaking, it's disappearing. Not even Kai was able to do that, and he did more than enough damage.”

Caroline wondered if that was why Bonnie had been putting out so many detection spells and made a mental note to ask Enzo about Kai Parker, and what exactly his little cult had hoped to accomplish. That Rebekah had named the monster at the swamp a kraken, that it was a small one…

Uneasy, she glanced over at Klaus to find him watching her. His eyes were blue now, the worst of his rage tucked back into the hidden spaces where he kept it. There was something about the tilt of his lips, the angle of his eyes that concerned her far more than the words that Rebekah and Kol had been tossing around.

The veil was going to fall. 

“How much time do we have?”

To his credit, he didn’t pretend to misunderstand her. 

“Days,” Klaus said. “Maybe a week, if the deterioration continues at this rate.”

The dark haired witch smiled brightly, eyes gleaming. “I, for one, can’t wait. This is going to be so much fun.”

“Kol,” Bonnie snapped, voice hard.

Kol sighed and shrugged, hands sliding into his pockets. “Oh, don’t look so annoyed, witchling. Everyone in this room has known this was coming for years. That something sped up the timeline just makes it interesting, don’t you think?”

“A lot of people are going to die,” Caroline said flatly. “I don’t find that interesting.”

An amused look full of cocksure arrogance. “It's not like you're going to be one of the unlucky ones going into something’s gullett, darling. Not with Klaus keeping both eyes on you, though I’m not particularly sure of the appeal.”

Caroline didn’t bother responding to his baiting, recognizing his type. She didn’t doubt that Kol was a powerful witch, but he was as likely to use that power for a prank as for anything else. Any help from him was likely to bite. 

Enzo gave him a lazy smile. “Short sightedness does seem to be an affliction of witches.”

Those dark eyes narrowed when Rebekah laughed, and then Kol smirked. “The Void. I had forgotten you existed. You do collect the most interesting friends for a human, Detective Forbes.”

“That’s enough,” Klaus cut in before Kol could keep going. “Rebekah, what do you need?”

She turned with a mug in her hand and stalked over, shoving it at Caroline. “From you? Nothing. The spells here will contain whatever magical residue the kraken left behind. Human flesh is its preferred choice for a meal, so I imagine more bodies will start popping up in the bayou.”

“Of course they will,” Kol said. “Human’s never stay where they are supposed to.”

Rebekah pinned him with a glare. “Then you won’t mind finding me one. Between us, I’m sure Bonnie and I can give a much more thorough report once we’ve had a recently dead specimen to study instead of just scrapings of rotting mud.”

“If I must.”

“You must,” Rebekah replied. “Until then, stay out of my morgue and stop terrifying my people.”

Bonnie frowned a little, brows bunching together. “The spells I’ve layered on the bayou will give us some warning if the deterioration escalates, but I’ll need to check them manually to confirm.”

“You’ll take another witch with you,” Klaus said firmly. “There will be no more solo missions.”

“What am I supposed to do with this?” Caroline asked when it was clear that everyone was done making demands, chin dipping towards the mug of steaming liquid she’d been given as she eyed the clearly annoyed witch. 

“Drink it.”

“Yes, thank you.” She managed to say through a somewhat polite smile. “Why?”

“I spent a lot of magic putting your ankle back together,” the blonde said coolly. Tossing her braid over her shoulder, she gave Caroline a tight smile. “That will ensure the healing sticks. Drink it or not I suppose, but I won’t be fixing your ankle a second time.” 

“Charming,” Enzo murmured as Rebekah swept out, his lips curling slightly in the corners. “I like her.”

Bonnie stood with a snort. “I suppose someone should. If that is all, Mikaelson, I’m going to go see just those slides Rebekah’s minions are studying for magical contamination.” Klaus tipped his head in silent permission and Bonnie paused in the doorway. Her eyes caught Caroline’s and they flickered briefly towards the gym bag at her legs. “We’ll talk later, Care.”

To keep from having to answer immediately, she took a cautious sip of whatever it was that Rebekah had shoved at it. It wasn’t the worst tasting tea she’d ever had, so she took another and very, very carefully didn’t look at Klaus. She’d wondered if Bonnie was going to bring up the camera in front of Klaus. She wondered what it meant that her old friend hadn’t. 

Kol didn’t bother saying goodbye as he followed Bonnie down the hall, a jaunty whistle echoing down the hallway.

“Your brother is a piece of work.”

Klaus lifted a brow at Enzo’s words, unbothered. “He’s been called worse, all of it accurate.”

“I’m assuming I’m free to go?” Caroline asked when it looked like her partner was going to say something else. The last thing she needed was him picking a fight with Klaus. She wrinkled her nose, glanced at her tea. “After I finish this, at least.”

“I have no intention of keeping you here longer than necessary,” Klaus murmured, gaze lowering to skim along her body, a hint of gold glinting in his pupil. “But there are a few things we must discuss. How did you end up at my scene, love?”

She narrowed her eyes. “Its Detective, and I was responding to a request to investigate from dispatch. Information from the call should be logged.”

“I’m sure our delightful Commander-in-Chief is digging into the details,” Enzo supplied cheerfully. “She wasn’t particularly thrilled to learn that you were almost tentacle bait. Particularly since you were supposed to be off duty.”

Caroline shot him a sour look. “Thanks.”

“Welcome.”

Klaus tipped his head, considering her words. “There are still a number of locals determined to make a living off the swamp despite the dangers, I’m not sure we’ll get much from that front.”

“You think it was a set up?”

A shake of his head. “Unlikely. At least, it wasn’t a trap meant to catch anyone specific if it was a set up. More likely, someone wanted me to know they have power.”

“Wanted you to know?” Caroline repeated. “A bit arrogant, don’t you think?”

Something terrible moved behind his eyes, hot jagged lines of gold barely visible before disappearing. “Not at all. The veil is going to fall, Caroline. And when it does, the lines of power are going to change. I’ve claimed this city as mine.”

There were so many things about that statement that pinged her instincts. The glint behind his eyes, the set of his mouth told her he meant those words. He thought them true. The edge of his mouth kicked up, something possessive and territorial bleeding through his expression as he watched her before it disappeared again. “But I won’t keep you. You just finished your shift, if I heard correctly? Rebekah has cleared you of any potential magical contamination, but I expect you to call it in if you have any reason to think otherwise.”

Enzo made an amused noise. “She feels clean.”

Klaus studied her partner for a long moment before nodding. “Understood, but the orders stay the same.”

Caroline frowned at them both, eyes flickering from one to the other, exasperation turning her voice sharp. “Seriously? I’m not a rookie.”

A hint of a smile tugged at Klaus’ mouth but disappeared as he glanced back at Enzo. “I assume you can get her home?”

“I can drive myself,” Caroline tartly interjected. 

“That’s the plan,” Enzo agreed, ignoring her pithy comment as his hands slid into his pockets. “I’ll make sure she makes it safe and sound.”

Klaus’ eyes gleamed as they met hers before something caught his attention down the hall. “I’ll have someone drop your car off. Do try to stay out of trouble for the rest of the night, love. The next few days are likely to keep us all busy. I’m sure I’ll be seeing you soon.”

“Best finish your tea,” Enzo suggested into the silence after they’d watched Klaus leave. “We still have to call in an update to the commander and who knows how long that will take, and I for one am ready for my bed.”

Sighing, she gulped down the tea before shoving her feet into her sneakers and standing. Enzo took her mug as she gathered her things, putting it in the small dishwasher.  Caroline paused for a moment to glance down the long hallway Klaus had disappeared. There had been something in his voice, the glitter behind his eyes that warned her she was only seeing a small part of the picture. Instinct and the nagging curiosity that made up the heart of who she was a detective was hyper aware of Klaus had gone. But she could let it go for now. 

Because he’d been right. 

She didn’t doubt she was going to see him very soon.

[skgway]

1832 Nov., Mon. 12

9 1/4

12 1/2

Pickles came at 9 1/4 which roused me up – To see him after breakfast at Lower place or he to call here again in the evening – Letter 3 pages and ends from M– [Mariana] (Lawton) vide line 27 page 285. Inquiries about Miss W[alker]. Smokes what is going on. Writes with implied affection, true and great as that of former days. Is unhappy and carless off living long, and has made her will and …… the tears started to my eyes and all my own affection burst upon me again –

Breakfast at 10 40/.. with my aunt – George Robinson came almost immediately for near an hour – Settled with him for stone leading for James Smith’s road etc. – He proposed some means of getting rid of Lower Brea lane footpath – To see about another day –

Breakfast at 11 40/.. – Told my aunt of M– [Mariana]’s letter – Came to my room at 12 20/.. – Fire in my room and from 12 25/.. to note 2 pages of 1/2 sheet from Miss Walker at 1 10/.. in consequence of which off in 1/4 hour to Lidgate and there in 25 minutes –

Home again in 1/2 hour at 5 20/.. – At my desk in about 10 minutes – Wrote the last 1/4 of page 3, and the ends and under the seal and finished my letter to Breadalbane MacLean – Began yesterday – Thanks for her letter and the willows (sent off Monday 29th instant from Coll house) 

"which I am very anxiously expecting, not only for their own sake, but because they are associated with many remembrances that I value most highly" –

Should have written some days ago, but waited in the hope of announcing the arrival of the cuttings – Shall write by tonight’s post to Glasgow to inquire about them – Bavardage amical – Wonder how her people did without her so long (5 weeks away) 

"Your life is one continued benefit to them; and a five week’s arrear of such services is hardly to be made up" –

Sorry her father is so dead to the world and that Sir Hector’s health is so failing – Mention the death of old Lochiel on the 19th September – Only known to Lady S– [Stuart] on the 6th ultimo and not known to Vere on the 24th ultimo the date of her last letter to me (from Turin) – Hope 

"if Lochiel is obliged to come over immediately surely V– [Vere] will remain with her friends till he can return for her – I should quite dread her being hurried across the alps at this season of the year …. You would all be pleased at dear Vere’s having got her rank – Surely, it has some value in a world of vanities like this" –

Civil congratulations on  Mrs. Maclean’s being again about to increase her family and sorrow at Mrs. Hunter’s having lost her youngest daughter – The loss of my steward and my aunt’s suffering health have kept me so long here or I should have been on the continent again before this – But my aunt so very much recovered, no longer uneasy about her – She herself spirits me up to get off, and I hope to leave here about the end of January but all things here so uncertain never think much of plans very long beforehand – Kind regards to all I know "and believe me always very truly yours A Lister" –

Had written the following 2 1/4 pages to M– [Mariana] just before being off to Lidgate –

"Shibden Hall – Monday 12 November 1832 

Mary! I have been late this morning, and have done nothing but see and speak to Marian, and breakfast, since reading your letter – It would be difficult to describe the effect it has upon me – It is many months since I have basked beneath the beam of happiness, and without courage to think of the past, or hope to calculate the future, I am attempting to answer your letter –

Your account of yourself unnerves me – I grieve over your leaving Lawton, and tho’ I could, and would, see good in your going to Leamington, if you would let me, I am now uneasy at the thought, and little out of sorts than you can be – The only thing I rest upon, is the manner in which you mention coming here for a few days –

It makes me fancy, nay almost hope, my scheme is not quite impossible – You would have been agreeably surprised, and satisfied to hear what Marian said about it – Say I am not well (God knows I am sick enough at heart) or, which is true, that I am in great perplexity, or that my aunt is poorly (tho’ she is very much better, and probably in no danger) or say what you please, but lose no time in coming to me for at least a few days –

I really do want to see you – I will take the carriage and meet you at Manchester – Do pray make an exertion and get off – At any rate, answer my letter by the second post after you receive it, and tell me if you cannot come off immediately – Nothing like the spur of the moment –

You will get my letter tomorrow afternoon – and, if your answer is off on Wednesday morning, at night on that day I may hear whether I may be off for you on Thursday or Friday morning at seven, or not – Bring merely a few things and yourself – I will take care of you from and to Manchester –

You will see from my manner of writing, that I am not likely to relax my interest while it is yet necessary to your happiness – Your pages of Saturday make me fancy, I may have been mistaken, and that, in the bitterness of disappointment and regret, I may have miscalculated what it was my interest and desire to estimate most correctly 

This here written after dinner –

It is needless to write more – I shall anxiously and impatiently wait your answer – I would give worlds to hear of your being in better health and spirits – I had a letter from Eugénie last night – I consider her engaged; and she is to wait my orders till January –

I cannot enter upon the subject of my friend, as my aunt and sister laugh and call her – I am too much thinking of the interests of other days – Come if you can – You might be almost ride over to Manchester –

But cheer up, my dearest Mary – Time was when I had power to charm you into pleasure-stirring thought, and almost into happiness – I am what I was – And yet this power is gone, – Parted like Aynt never to return? 

God bless you! The heart knoweth its own bitterness – ’Tis harder than you think to break the spell of twenty years – Entirely and very especially yours AL –

Sent off at 8 by John my letter to Miss Maclean of Coll, Coll house Aros North Britain and my letter to Mrs. Lawton Lawton Hall, Lawton, Cheshire and my letter to the “Reverend T. Ainsowrth, at Miss Bentley’s, 1 crescent, Salford, Manchester”

George Robinson then came and staid till 9 – Said Ramsden, now the constable of H–x [Halifax], bought the last ground sold adjoining my Northgate land at 11/6 [shillings/pence] a yard – and Stancliffe bought his ground fronting into Broad street the street given at 12 /. [shillings] or 12/6 [shillings/pence] a yard but then it was cleared, or sunk down ready for building –

Had seen Bates of Washer Lane who said that I might build a good corn mill at Mytholm with saw and goit and wheel and machinery for £1500 and might have 7 to 7 1/2 percent for my money tho’ people in general did not look for much for their money now – 

Some man (Brook?) of Brighouse is letting a mill had 10 percent on his money for the 1st ten years, and then 5 percent rent afterwards – The Embargo on Dutch vessels has already made a great difference – Has stopt the German trade –

Went into the other room for 1/2 hour till 9 1/2 – π [Mariana] thought I might have gone from York to Langton 

"Is it Miss Walker of Crow Nest with whom you seem so suddenly to have formed an alliance? You mention her twice as "my friend" and as you were not wont to bestow this title lightly I am puzzled to unders[t]and, not having ever heard you mention her name,  how Miss W[alker] has so quickly succeeded in adding herself to the list so designated.

You say, "I shall be glad to hear your friend was etc. etc." I am glad to hear anything that gives you pleasure, and so far shall be pleased to hear all possible good of Miss Walker, but as I don't remember ever having seen her. 

She must be satisfied with secondhand interest for I cannot fancy her at all one of those who could herself awaken it. So far as her better health can contribute to your comfort, I rejoice that it is likely to improve and hope by this time she has somewhat recovered the loss of her particular friend" –

You say ‘I always tell you how much better Mr. Lawton is,’ because you always ask me. In bodily health he is certainly better than I have known him for years, but in mind and temper he is infinitely worse. As he improves I fall off, and I have been weak enough to fret and discomfort myself about this Leamington plan until I have almost made myself ill –

M– [Mariana] in very bad spirits about going to Leamington – "and if I could get to you, I should come for consolation" – Should be glad to spend a few days with me but does not know how it can be managed –

Watson more philosophical than π [Mariana], thinks she shall get all her mistresses things off to a place of safety   

"Made my will the other day, and told Watson where to find it – I do not fancy, my dearest Fred, that my health or happiness will claim your attention 20 years longer, so dont relax your interest while it is yet necessary to my happiness. I live in so much discomfort that it cannot be expected that I should covet living forever”

Concludes with 

God bless you Fred. Whatever I have said or may say, trust me, there is not much warmer affection bestowed upon you than that which flows from the heart of yours, very entirely, Mariana –

Poor π [Mariana].

Vide line 4 of today –  The following is Miss W[alker]s note

I have received a letter, which you shall see, but we must meet on different terms. Oh that I had taken you at your word last Monday, and as you said finished the matter on that day.  I should then have spared you this additional bitterness. 

I did hope when my word was once given to you that I should have felt at rest and satisfied, but in reflecting on all you have said and trying to turn it to my own advantage   I cannot satisfy my conscience, and with such sufferings as I have endured since Wednesday, I feel I could not make you happy. That I should only bring misery upon you,   for misery I am sure it would be to you to see me in the state I have been in for several days.

It was this sort of wretchedness that was expressed in my note on Friday. It was these miserable feelings that prompted my request

(that is I suppose for me not to send to York for the ring)

For your own sake, fly whilst it is yet in your power, 

(I smile as I copy this sentence)  

and believe that I will never intrude myself in any way upon you (unless it is your wish) whenever you revisit the neighbourhood. 

Nov[embe]r 12 eighteen hundred and 32 writton [written] on the outside of this half sheet but under cover,

Read this alone

–

Off I set. Found her twenty minutes ago returned from Cliff hill and lying on the bed in tears. Kissed and soothed her till in a few minutes she went down to dinner. I remained in her room a little while read overMr. Ainsworth’s letter pathetic appeal to her feelings, making sure that she must be engaged and hoping that her choice would do all he, Mr. A[insworth], had hoped to have done.

Begging her to take the scrapbook as a friend and to condescend  to write in answer to say if he might send the book and a narrative of himself. And if this business should be the death of him, he would only pray for blessings on her. But much bad tact and the whole ill done, tho better than I expected. 

I went down before dinner was over. Agreeablized and amused both Miss Parkhill and Miss W[alker]. Then pretending business letters for Miss W[alker] to answer, Miss P[arkhill] left us, and I talked the poor girl into admiration of my conduct and into thorough approbation of my writing and sending (I wrote there and shewed it to her) the following to Mr. Ainsworth,

Lightcliffe Mon[day] 12 November eighteen hundred and 32. 

Sir, I am commissioned by Miss Walker to acknowledge immediately the receipt of your letter of Saturday and to inform you that she has given me for the future, at least for some time to come, the surveillance of all her letters and parcels.

I am Sir your obedient servant, Anne Lister

Before writing I had asked if it was her heart that had changed towards Mr. A[insworth]. No, it was all her conscience. She owned she was not in a fit state to judge fairly and tho she had felt great affection for him, yet she did not know how it was, now all seemed dead. And if she felt at liberty, she did not know or think he was quite the man she should choose, in spite of the two great things, his being a clergyman and liking to live at Cliff hill. 

‘Well, but what would you have done had I not been here?’ She said she would certainly have exone[ra]ted herself now. Would have gone to her aunt Ploughs in London and then brought down the Chapmans with her. She would not have been alone and would have kept out of the way and done the best she could.

This, said I, is enough. In answer to her note said I did not think her at liberty to marry anyone without my consent, in which she agreed, and that Wednesday had given me a power over her which I was determined to use in her service. She would be better by and by and more able to judge for herself, and then she might try again, but now I should not let her.

She might safely trust to my honour, but I pledged myself to nothing. She brightened up and owned how much better she was. I even brought away, with her full consent, and A[insworth]’s letter, and the book of prayers he gave her with a long rigmarole written on one of the flyleaves promising to get her another of the same from London, and on asking for my dirty night things to bring back she said no till I promised to send clean ones, and we parted very good friends. 

She agreeing with me that she had reason to be thankful for the great event of Wednesday – Who could have anticipated such a result as the consequence of her note?  She likes me. But my affections are not so fearfully and I irretrievably hers as she thinks, and I shall manage well enough, tho I really will do her all the good I can –

Writing the above till 11 – Came to my room at 11 20/.. and then wrote note to Mrs. Holroyde

“Mr. T. Holroyde Esquire Solicitor Halifax” in answer respecting the land at Northgate – Not in any way anxious to sell, but would sell lot A as marked in the plan if his client would give my price – But before naming any terms I wished to know what sort of buildings it was proposed to erect –

Wrote to desire Booth to get me Gilpins practical hints on Landscape gardening and theform of family prayers published by Hatchard and Son Piccadilly London 8 edition 1828. 12mo. [duodecimo] pages 159 and 2 bottles of Albin and Chapman’s chemical writing ink – 

Did my clothes for the wash. Very fine November day – Fahrenheit 49º now at 11 40/.. – Sent off my note written last night to Mr. Holroyde –

[in margin] vide line 12 page 286

nothing like the spur of the moment

very fine November day

[neednothavehappenedtobetrue]

remember this? it’s my Ketzedon fairytale about death marrying Ruby and Opal, the goddesses of stability and change. I recommend you read or reread it before you read this post, which is part 2

ruby, opal, and death have children. this is something of a complicated process, as death cannot make living things and ruby does not seem capable of making new things at all, but they persist. 

opal is eager and hungry for this, but scared to do it alone. things she does totally alone tend to go off the rails in short order. 

there are different stories about how opal came to be pregnant. some of them involve death making a miniature man that opal managed to make live for only a day, only as long as she could combat that much entropy. some of them involve straightforward infidelity with a human man. some stories suggest that her third-born child Coin figured it out, and figured out how to make it retroactive, only born last because retroactivity is a bit fiddly. 

ruby, for her part, cannot get pregnant, but she stays close beside her sister for months and months. she fusses over her extravagantly, leaving her side only to bring her rare fruits and herbal remedies for the various unpleasantnesses of pregnancy. she talks her sister repeatedly out of smiting down all the humans there are in fits of pique. she has grown used to humans and likes them. 

death is busy with the business of death, but happy to be a father, regardless of precisely where the baby came from. he takes to asking the humans he meets questions about childcare. they are generally bewildered by this.

opal’s firstborn is born very late and a bit strange. they borrow a human midwife for the occasion, one who does not easily fluster.

“is he perfect?” opal asks, when the baby is finally born. she is very tired now.

“he’s very big.”

“good! right, good?” opal is beginning to feel anxious. 

“humans do this every day,” ruby says breezily. “he’s fine. you’re fine.”

“be careful. he’s a bit sharp.” the unflappable midwife hands the very large baby to his mother. 

“are babies supposed to have teeth right away?” opal asks worriedly. “they’re very big teeth.”

“he’s a big baby, but no, generally they don’t have teeth,” says Death.

“they start getting teeth around six months,” the midwife confirms. “and usually they’re duller and flatter than that.”

“I know what a baby looks like,” ruby says. “I can make him look more like a baby, if you’d like.”

“hmmm,” opal says. “usually it is helpful when you fix things. save the teeth, though, in case he wants them back later.”

ruby dutifully puts all the teeth in a little box. “do you want him smaller?”

“no, I don’t think so. he’s just going to get bigger again, right? I went to all the trouble.”

ruby hands the baby back and opal commences to nurse him, a task made easier by the removal of the thirty-two rather large and sharp teeth previously in his mouth. 

they give the baby a handful of names, just in case. fang is one. 

he is a rambunctious and quick-tempered child. he breaks things and spills things. his mother and aunt are indulgent with him. he is four, (or something like four, time is different for them), when he finds the little box of teeth.

“did you get these from a tiger?” he asks his aunt, who often watches him when his mother needs to go on her own adventures. he roars. he has a very impressive repertoire of animal noises, very authentic. 

“no, little fang, little fierceness, I got them from you when you were very new born.”

“you took my teeth away!”

“you needed to be fed. you would have maimed your poor mother.”

“I want my teeth back!” 

“ask your father.”

“he’s off with the dead people. and mama’s on an adventure. I want my teeth.” 

ruby sighed, but she was indulgent and so, she knew, was her sister. she returned little fang’s teeth to his mouth. he was very proud of them. when she returned, opal was proud of herself for having the foresight to save them. 

but her baby was big now, big enough to demand his own teeth. she decided on a second baby, won over first ruby and then death to the idea. conceived the same way she had the first one, whether it involved miniatures or infidelity or some trick of her not-yet-born third baby.

the second baby is a source of some contention. opal wants a girl very much. she loves little fang with his fierceness and rough-and-tumble play but thinks two of them like him might be a little much to handle. fang, of course, wants a brother. 

“we’re both girls and couldn’t be any more different,” ruby says. “besides, maybe you’ll have a boy that takes after his father, fastidious. anyway, they’ll be born the way they’re born.” she refuses to put forth a preference. nobody asks Death and he is relieved not to be asked. 

the baby is born early and very small, a girl. 

“oh dear,” opal says. “how small is too small?”

“usually, that’s too small,” says the unflappable midwife, who has been hastily fetched. “usually, that small and this early is a problem. not necessarily insurmountable, but tricky. that’s humans, now. can godlings die?”

 “I’ve seen babies that small more than once,” says death worriedly. ever since little fang he has been a bit emotional about taking babies and gone rather out of his way to avoid it, but sometimes a thing must be done. 

“give me the baby,” ruby says. “I told you before, I know what babies are supposed to look like.”

she gives the baby back a few minutes later, somewhat bigger.

“she’s still small,” opal says.

“babies are supposed to be small. her brother was unusually big,” ruby says. 

“yes, but could you make her maybe just a little bit bigger?”

“no. some things are just small. she’s got smallness the same way her brother has got fierceness. do you want me to fix those feet, though?”

“oh, they don’t need feet until they’re a bit older, do they? fang wanted his teeth back as soon as he found them. we should wait until we can ask her for permission to fix her feet.”   

ruby huffs, but her sister has the final say when the baby is this new and small. 

fang is thoroughly disappointed. she’s so little! she can’t run or chase or play.

“she was always going to be little,” ruby says. “you couldn’t even crawl til you had been around a while and you were three times as big as her, at least.” 

“I wanted a brother.”

“you got kin,” ruby says, and that is what the baby is named, Kin, though mostly she gets called Little One, Little Sister, Little Daughter. 

kin is a quiet child. she learns first to crawl and then, surprising everyone, to walk, though her walk is wobbly and slow. she refuses to have her feet fixed. 

“they’re my feet,” she says. “fang got to keep his teeth.”  

fang decides he loves her, even though she is quiet and doesn’t move much. he loves her because she is his sister, his kin. he romps around her and teaches her animal sounds from his impressive repertoire.  

she loves the workroom with her father’s miniatures, which little fang never took much interest in. she follows her father around, slowly. 

when she gets a little older, he takes her with him when he needs to bring little children to the land of the dead. he still does not like to do it, but now the children have someone to chatter with as they travel, and she seems to put them more at ease. on the way back home, he disguises himself and little kin as humans and goes into towns to buy her the world’s different sweets. he has no difficulty carrying her. she stays little, even as she grows.

by the time opal decides on a third baby, fang has taken to objecting to being called “little.” he is still young, maybe ten or eleven by human reckoning, but taller than his father, his mother, her sister. he wears his hair long and smiles toothily. little kin is still little, maybe six or seven, newly occupied with cheering and consoling the dead children, a task she loves and not just because of the candy after. she is friendly, gregarious, eager to meet other children. 

“are you sure?” ruby asks, a little skeptical. 

“there’s one more. I feel them. I dream about them. there’s one more.” 

“well, if there is then there is,” death says obligingly. and they repeat whatever they do to conceive again. 

the unflappable midwife has long since died, but opal will have no other, and it is an easy thing for death to fetch her.

“this is miserable, why did you let me do this?” opal wails, and ruby squeezes her hand, wisely does not remind her whose idea this was. 

 the third baby is perfect. there is nothing for ruby to fix. they have ten fingers and ten toes. they have no teeth at this juncture. they have a light fuzz of dark hair and bright, curious eyes. 

fang wanted a brother and kin wanted a sister, so neither of them is particularly pleased or disappointed. kin kisses the little baby on their forehead. fang sings a little birdsong, the gentlest sound he can make. 

“what’s their name?” ruby asks her sister. 

“coin,” opal says. “they told me in a dream.”

that settles the question. 

three children is a lot to manage. opal leaves for her adventures as soon as the baby is weaned, reappearing periodically with presents and stories. sometimes death takes kin with him, and he makes time to spend with the other two, but as usual the bulk of the childcare falls to ruby. fang becomes a teenager while baby coin learns how to walk. 

kin, meanwhile, from watching her father, learns to take herself down to the mortal world. she wants to meet other children and there are none in the land of the gods besides her dumb brother and the baby. she loves them, of course, but it gets lonely being eight years old and best behaved, so she decides to be no longer the latter. when ruby is chasing fang or the baby, kin quietly disappears herself and brings herself to parks and beaches and temple schools and city streets, everywhere children congregate. 

time is strange between home and the world and sometimes kin manages to be gone for days before her aunt, quite flustered, finds her and drags her home. she is a bright and resourceful child, even if her gait is slow and wobbly, and she usually finds her own way and makes hew friends. no amount of scolding will stop her. 

then fang learns to copy her. he goes to the world, but not so much the places where people are. he makes friends with wolves and bears, lions and tigers. he has no interest in people outside of his immediate family. ruby is always going off to find them, one or the other or both having disappeared, wearing coin strapped to herself. 

opal, of course, thinks fresh air and a little independence is healthy. ruby wants to attach all three of them to leashes, even the teenager. instead, she calls her own parents, the earth and the sky.

“three children is a lot to manage,” she says. “fang is old enough to apprentice to somebody, but he has no interest in the world of people.”

“we are only marginally interested in the world of people,” the earth and sky say. “we can teach him things he might enjoy learning. is two easier than three?” 

so ruby, with her sister’s permission, sends the oldest godling off to his grandparents until he is ready to be a responsible adult or until they get sick of each other, whichever comes first.  

[supericonblog]

Super Icon - The Long Slow Death of an Indie Studio

Our History So Far…

I began developing games back in the late nineties; Xtreme Racing on Amiga was my first game, and ever since then I have only ever worked at my own development studios.

Starting with Graphic State; initially a sub-contract artwork studio, later moving into handheld game development on the Gameboy systems. This then evolved into Icon Games; focusing on small-ish console games on PlayStation and Wii.

You can view a full list of all the ‘Icon Games’ releases here:

·        IconGames_Catalogue

And ‘Graphic State’ releases here:

·        GraphicState_Catalogue

I founded Super Icon in 2012; an ‘evolution’ of Icon Games; like the transition from NES to SuperNES! At Super Icon the focus was on creating the games that we wanted to make, rather than trying to ride the coattails of current popular games or casual games. The focus was always trying to make great games, as good as we possibly could – games that people enjoy playing.

Our first proper release was Life of Pixel on PlayStation Mobile. We released a second PSM title around that time too, called MegaBlast.

Back in 2016, after the release of Life of Pixel on Steam and our Battlezone type shooter Vektor Wars, we decided that it would probably be best to partner with a publisher going forward. Our sales numbers were low, and we failed quite badly at building any sort of interest in the games. They didn’t completely tank, but the numbers were poor, and not enough to sustain a business.

At the time we lived in London, and during that period (we were there for about 4-years), we had tough times. I say this as possibly the world’s greatest understatement!

I attempted to document that period a couple of times in the past couple of years, and in the interest of completion I have finally released an account of our time there, which you can read here:

·        RHW_MentalHealth

 In addition to the financial difficulties, it covers mental health issues and was very difficult to write. 

Following the above period, we moved to Cornwall – which is where we are today. Just after the move we ran a Kickstarter for another game; Best Buds vs Bad Guys. It was successful, and we managed to get funds to help complete the development. During the Kickstarter I started chatting to a great bunch of guys at a studio called Whitemoon Dreams.

The upshot was I explained we were not having much success at selling/promoting our games, and they agreed to act as a publisher on Life of Pixel and Best Buds going forward, to take them over onto PlayStation and Switch.

We worked together with them, releasing Super Life of Pixel onto PlayStation 4 and Vita in December 2018. Also, during the development phase, we pitched another title we were making, called Platform Maker. After a fair few rejections, we finally found a publisher in pQube. We renamed the game to PLATAGO, and it was released onto Steam Early Access in 2018, with a full Steam and Switch release in June 2019.  

Current Development Phase – 2017 to 2019

Unfortunately, despite most players seeming to enjoy Super Life of Pixel, the sales have been poor. So bad, in fact, that Whitemoon decided they were unable to continue publishing for the time-being. As such, in the first quarter of 2019, we saw our income pretty much completely grind to a halt.

I haven’t been given any PLATAGO figures, but I suspect they are poor – it probably didn’t help that we released a couple of weeks before Super Mario Maker 2 on Switch!

We also developed Vektor Wars for Switch and PS4. Switch is out, but sales were low – since July just under 300 units. PS4 is complete and in Sony QA.

Again, my family and I faced a spell of homelessness this summer, our landlord decided to sell – and we were given 8-weeks to move out. We came closer than ever to not having a home this time, as it coincided with us also earning no revenue at Super Icon. We got lucky in the end and found a small place that we have for one year (the owners are selling early 2020), but it was scary. Added to that we have no savings or fall-back money; it was a tough time. I’m 46 this year, with three great kids who are now that much older, and it is tough for them. I think being a penniless indie develop is a younger person’s game!  

Speculative development

I did have a plan though, and it seemed a good one…

In addition to the games we released above, I developed a game called They Came from Beyond (TCFB), which off and on took about 18-months (it is pre-Alpha currently). I pitched to a few publishers, and while there was interest, I didn’t manage to secure a deal. I worked on this while Steve handled code on our other projects.

Hand-on-heart, I thought it was a strong concept, and the best game we have created so far. I was certain I would secure a publishing deal to fund the completion and release, and perhaps finally have a popular game out there. The plan seemed solid – ongoing releases generating income, with a new deal secured in the later stages for our biggest project so far.

I still f#&king love TCFB too, I really do. I KNOW there are bits I need to revisit, and it needs plenty more love and content before it is ready to release, but it appears my faith was entirely misplaced.

You can read an overview document of TCFB here:

·        TheyCamefromBeyond_Overview

 I pitched TCFB to a lot of publishers, several of whom replied that they really liked the game and the concept, but it wasn’t a good fit for them. I would say the most common comment was that many of the publishers told me that they are shifting away from smaller indie releases like TCFB to larger scale, bigger budget projects – those with budgets up to about half a million dollars. More ‘AA’ than indie really.

So, the lower than expected sales, in combination with failing to secure a deal on TCFB has really proved to be a terminal blow.

I have also developed another title over the last 6-months, called Gates of Hell; which is a sort of follow-up FPS to Vektor Wars. Arcade action, short bursts of high score chasing.

You can read a brief overview here:

·        GatesofHell_Summary

 Even now, I am still developing; working on a new 2D game. A NES plus visual style shooter; with several game types in there – top down, zoomed out top down, platform run and gun. I had planned to call it ‘The Lost Carts’, but everyone I asked says that name is a bit shit!

The concept is as follows:

Some experimental NES carts have been found, which were created using a custom ‘SuperPowerFX’ chip – which allowed a 1000% increase in enemies, effects, bullets and mayhem. Unfortunately, because of the sheer numbers of enemies and arcade action these games put out, the chips used to overheat, and production had to be cancelled. Only now have the carts been unearthed, and machines are now just powerful enough to handle the gameplay without melting! I had a small series of a few games in mind.  

And… one failed concept

Not long after we moved to Cornwall, I also spent about a year (off and on) on another speculative game, called ‘The Tower’.

I pitched to various publishers, and it was a no. I stopped work on The Tower, as without funding it was just too ambitious. There is a blog for it (updated until I stopped working on the project):

https://thetower-game.tumblr.com/

And you can read the pitch doc here:

·        TheTower_PitchDoc

  Studio Limitations

One of our key strengths as a studio is a proven track record of creating and completing games, often with very minimal budgets. In an ideal world, we would love to expand our resources so we could fully realise the vision we have for our games.

Personally speaking, I love creating games. I love the whole process; from the initial research and prototyping phase, through to making the various ideas a reality, adding little touches and cool ideas, putting it all together and trying to make it all as good as I can.

Continual restriction on resources limits what we can achieve. The result is that we make good games, but not quite great games, and unless you are very lucky, a game needs to be great to really stand out.

It also means that certain elements take longer than I would like, such as graphics and level design. These are typically the bulk of project time, and I create most of them myself, which has several drawbacks:

Quality – I am good at some things, less good at others, and I know I can find others out there who can produce far better-quality graphics than I can alone. When I do commission art, I usually have to request the minimum amount of animation and number of enemy designs. Reviewers and game players notice this instinctively they notice the quality dips, the sometimes overly generic art and lack of animation.

Limiting Factors – often our games are good fun to play, but lack that something to make them stand-out. Throughout development, there are so many ideas for cool visual & gameplay elements – bosses, new enemies, set-piece background art, cut-scenes and story artwork – that we don’t do because we can’t afford to commission artwork.

Level Design – I also handle the level design for every game we do; 2D and 3D. This way of working is probably the single most limiting factor, as you are getting ideas from just one person, and when you play the game, it shows. Most games are the product of a combination of ideas, usually from a range of different people with different tastes and experiences. Without that combination of thoughts and suggestions, a game can lack that special something to make it stand out.

Why did we not try and expand?

Both Steve and I have gone without income at times, to fund development, and when we do take income it is minimal to allow us to fund development as far as we can.

I didn’t believe we had a strong enough track record to secure financing to expand, so I didn’t pursue that option. As a studio we have developed and released more games than most; they haven’t really been successful enough financially. Also, I am on the Autistic spectrum, and this does play quite a pivotal role; I have amazing drive and focus, determination and resilience but saying I lack people skills is an understatement! I mention this because it has been the cause of without doubt the studio’s single biggest downfall; promotion.

I seem to have a complete inability to successfully promote our games, to create compelling game presentations/store pages/social media posts. I have tried many times, and never seem to get anywhere with it. Additionally, when I pitch proposals to third parties, I don’t do justice to the game and vision. As a person, I am very honest, down-to-earth, quiet and reserved – almost the opposite of someone who achieves great things through self-promotion and building a strong network of contacts.

In the past, I have sought advice from several people in the industry, showed them our proposals, asked for feedback – I have tried to improve this aspect. Most recently, when I pitched, They Came from Beyond, I managed to confuse many of the publishers who had no idea what the game was about from the proposal! I revised and adapted based on their feedback, but usually, you only get that initial chance to show the game, publishers don’t tend to revisit once they have said no.

That said, I have pitched quite a few games over the years, and secured several publishing deals – but usually for smaller amounts that are just about enough to get a game completed.  

The End of an Era

From day-one, Super Icon has been a rough ride.

As covered above, our biggest issue was always been getting our games noticed and finding an audience. The actual development process is always smooth, and our game reviews are usually reasonably good. In general, everything works quite well, especially given the lack of resources we’ve always battled with.

However, we are not making money, and it has now got to the point where we need to make an urgent decision about our future.

I considered quietly closing the studio down, but I thought I’d see if there was any possibility I could sell or perhaps find a partner/investor. We don’t have much debt, a few hundred, and everything is in good order. We have accounts for each year since incorporation, prepared by our accountants EXCEED based in Surrey.

I spent the last few days reaching out to some contacts of LinkedIn; some amazing, talented and successful people – kind of a last attempt to salvage the studio as it is.

I put together a couple of docs which covered the various aspects of Super Icon, the way the studio has worked, the whole development process. You can read them here:

a.      Studio profile doc: LINK

b.      Overview of our development process: LINK

 This morning though, I have reached the conclusion that we are done. The feedback has been that our games/studio is essentially pretty much worthless. I expected this, but there is always a small glimmer of hope – perhaps that has always been my biggest failing?

Years of fighting tooth and nail just to survive, just to live. Messing up my family’s stability and security, mentally breaking down, and so often treated like shit by landlords, accountants, etc.

I have tried so very hard to make it work, and I always had that hope I could one day do it. Unfortunately, I am now middle-aged with zero pension, no savings or home and a very uncertain future. Time has a way of creeping up on you, one day you think – I still have a long time to turn things around - then suddenly you think, shit, I’m nearly fifty now; an Autistic games industry fuck up with terrible people skills, crippling self-hate and an on-going mental health battle.

I have made A LOT of games that aren’t worth shit, I have an impressive inability to self-promote and perhaps I am now rather out of touch with the industry as a whole?

The main practicality though is that we just can’t afford to continue. Super Icon can’t afford to get the accounts done or pay the monthly studio bills. I don’t really earn much beyond a few hundred here and there, and every week we are running out of money to even buy groceries and essentials for the home.

We just notified the company accountant that we were unable to do the accounts, and this was their typically hugely helpful response: 

“My colleague will issue the P45 for Richard and will close off the payroll. As the accounts will not be submitted, there will be some penalties and we also believe Companies House will strike off the company at some point (you may apply for strike off but not sure whether they will allow you to do so and also depends on possible buyer you are looking for). In the given situation, unfortunately we have to terminate our services till this has been resolved.

If you manage to find a suitable buyer and manage to pay the debts, we will be more than happy to reinstate our services.”

 So, whatever the future holds, I think Super Icon has run its course. I feel a lot of different emotions, but ultimately, there isn’t much more I can do.

A huge thanks to everyone who bought and/or played our games over the years, and to the other indie developers and indie peeps who have helped us over the years.

Special big thanks to: Jay Koottarappallil, Christian Phillips, Matt Spencer, Rusty Buchert, Jack Littlejohn, Harry Holmwood, Jools Watsham, Garry Williams and probably several others that my currently frazzled brain has forgotten! 

Richard Hill-Whittall

Email: rich@supericon.co.uk

September 14th, 2019.

END

[46ten]

Beloved Matthew Clarkson, part 2

EH to Matthew Clarkson, 17Sept1804. 

Part 1 here. 

I haven’t been able to get much further with the Clarkson-AH relationship specifically, but thanks to @runawayforthesummer I do have more information about Clarkson after AH’s death, including his assistance to the Hamiltons. 

Gouverneur Morris wrote in his journal [transcribed by runawayforthesummer]: 

Mr. Hammond, who dined with us, desired me to think of some means to provide for poor Hamilton's family. Mr. Gracie and Mr. Wolcott called for the same purpose. I had already mentioned the matter to Mr. Low, who seems to think a subscription will not go down well, because the children have a rich grandfather. Mr. Hammond mentions certain engagements in bank, indorsed by Ludlow and David Ogden. The same thing probably exists as to him, Gracie, and Wolcott. Be motives what they may, I will use the occasion and freely pay my quota. Clarkson will unquestionably do as much. David Ogden says he, Clarkson, will do more than he ought. He is a worthy fellow, as, indeed, he always was, and is extremely wounded. He said to me on Thursday, just after our friend had expired: “If we were truly brave we should not accept a challenge; but we are all cowards.” The tears rolling down his face gave strong effect to the voice and manner with which he pronounced this sentence. There is no braver man living, and yet I doubt whether he would so far brave the public opinion as to refuse a challenge. The Diary and Letters of Gouverneur Morris, vol 2. pg 458

A rumor circulated that Rufus King had said that Clarkson had said that the duel between AH and Burr was “unavoidable”, with the implication that Clarkson approved of this duel; Clarkson wrote to King about it and provided his own feelings about the duel:

New York

August 20th, 1804

My Dear Sir

Since the late melancholy event that deprived us of our friend Hamilton, a report has reached me, that yourself in conjunction with Mr. Pendleton and myself had given it as an opinion that a duel was unavoidable; a report of this nature (as I abhor the practice) has occasioned me great uneasiness, and as I was only a hearer of what you related to me and had no other agency in the business, you will much oblige me by a line to this effect. I promise you that no other use shall be made of the letter but only to show it to two persons from whom I received the information-whom I am very solicitous should be rightly informed on the subject. Previous to the fatal event the silence you imposed on me was most scrupulously attended to; but which agitated my mind exceedingly; immediately upon my hearing of its having taken place I directly went to our friend, who I found had already requested that I be sent for. The scene which I witnessed has almost been too much for me, and the idea now suggested has not contributed to my repose. Let me request, my dear sir, to hear from you as soon as possible. 

P.S. We are endeavouring to obtain by subscription some property for the children of our friend; is anything of a similar nature likely to be done in Boston?  -  Life and Correspondence of Rufus King, Vol 4, pg 399

King responded to Clarkson:

Waltham near Boston

August 24, 1804

My dear Sir

I lose no time in replying to your letter of the 20th which I received last evening considering the reserve I have observed upon this subject of national affliction. I am truly surprised that any such rumor, as that you mention, should have got into circulation upon my authority: No person can be justified by any observation that you ever made to me, or that I ever made to another, in reporting that you had given an opinion that a Duel between our lamented friend and Col Burr was unavoidable.  

It was not until the challenge had been given and accepted that I mentioned the affair to you, and then under injunction of secrecy – [insert] knowing our friend’s determination to be positive [end insert] my mind was agitated with strong forebodings of what had happened; and though the correspondence was closed by the agreement of the Parties to meet each other, I nevertheless mentioned the subject to you, and asked if you would perceive any mode of interference; your answer, expressive of much sorrow, was in the negative -; I did not however infer from this answer that in your opinion our friend might not have declined a meeting with Col Burr, but merely, by the acceptance of his adversary’s challenge, that the interference of third persons was precluded.

P.S. You are absolutely to make any use of the above that you may deem proper.

There exists in this quarter a difficulty that may disappoint our hopes of pecuniary succor for the family of our lamented friend – I allude to the misunderstandings that existed between him and Mr. Adams. Should we fail in procuring money, I understand that certain persons who purchased a tract of land in Pennsylvania of Col. Pickering, and for which they paid him $25,000 will be disposed to convey the lands to the family of the deceased. This will be a valuable property at a Distant Day, but cash only will pay Debts- *

original letter here, also found in Life and Correspondence of Rufus King, Vol 4

King follows up with another letter to Clarkson less than a week later: 

Boston

August 29, 1804

Dear Sir

Mrs. Hamilton having written to Mr. Cabot to endeavor to procure for Alexander a situation in a reputable commercial house, Mr. Higginson has readily consented to take him, and until a suitable family can be found to take Alexander in as a boarder, Mr. Higginson will receive him into his own family. This will give to the young man an opportunity of becoming acquainted with the respectable persons of the town, and with such young men as are of the best reputation-

In my answer to your letter of the 20th I omitted to say anything concerning either Mr. Pendleton or myself in regard to the Report to which your letter alludes. I have no recollection that Mr. Pendleton ever expressed to me any opinion whether General H. could, or ought to, decline a meeting with Col Burr; though I very well remember that he soberly agreed with me in opinion of the inconsistency of the General’s determination to receive the fire of his adversary, and to throw away his own –

No person can view with deeper abhorrence than I do the practice of dueling, and our lamented friend was not unacquainted with my opinion upon this Subject. 

-original letter here, also found in Life and Correspondence of Rufus King, Vol 4

So King told Clarkson about the planned duel to see if he could do something about it; Clarkson said he could not interfere at that point, but someone thought Clarkson was saying that AH was right to accept Burr’s challenge, while all of these men expressly disapprove of dueling, of course. 

By the way, King left NYC and was in Boston at the time of the duel. Washington Morton, “a young man of strong passions” (whose “conduct, as usual, is preposterous” haha) spoke “indignantly of the conduct of King, giving the impression that such was the feeling of his wife’s family” (pg 391-392).  Pendleton supposedly said at a dinner party that King’s behavior could be construed to show, “great coldness of heart,” although he didn’t hold it against King. More ammunition for James A. and JCH to sue King 20 years later.

Back to the Alexander Jr. situation and Clarkson...

In addition to the letter from Elizabeth Hamilton above, transcribed by runawayforthesummer here, and by aswithasunbeam with photo of original letter here, there’s the following letter (see this post for more context): 

EH to General Matthew Clarkson (in NY) 

Albany, September 29th, 1804

With thanks permit me to acknowledge the receipt of your Letter. The advantages my friend of placing my son [Alexander] in Boston are great, but they are all with respect to acquirements in the knowledge of making property. And his Moral and Religious Character must be entirely depending upon himself and how few are there at his age that do not want a watchfull parents care to guard them, and even there they are Hazarded by a short absence. The present day has evils of every sort assailing a young mind, that has but just stepped from the studies of a college class. The advantages of having a home, ware [where], he will meet with tenderness, to make[?] him domesticated, books that will be suited to him and see a tender virtuous father’s Bust that will press on his mind, that goodness, and Religion must be his Chief support.

With respect to myself how little am I fitted to bear the anxiety for an abscent child, the alarms for his health will be many and fears I shall constantly have, I have several children let the pain of separation be a little protracted and the eldest remain to give me some consolation and by prayers for his prosperity attentions on my part endeavor to make up any loss he may attain by a different situation.

With Esteem, E. Hamilton

This is all very sad. Clarkson does seem to have been regarded as “the bravest man,” who will do more than he “ought,” who could teach a young man about Religion and other subjects that “marked his character.” AH asked for him while dying, and Clarkson seemed heartbroken by AH’s death. All around, a good man and friend. 

*If one wants to read more about this property, check out pages 405-411 of the Rufus King volume linked above.

[its-love-u-asshole]

Twelve Hours [Ch. 1]

Pairings: Kuroo Tetsurou/Tsukishima Kei

Summary: Kuroo Tetsurou has dealt with a lot since he was eighteen, each year bringing the same depressing challenges on the same depressing night. He expects this time to be no different, but the universe is trying desperately to prove him wrong in the most bizarre ways imaginable. So screw it, Kuroo’s only choice is to buckle in and hope he doesn’t die. Easy enough. And hey, with some new allies at his side, maybe he has a chance. Who knows? At least Kuroo is sure of one thing in life when it comes to March 15th, and he stands by this unwritten law, no matter what happens:

If you try to kill pizza delivery boys on Purge Night, you’re irrevocably a bitch. 

Rating: T

Tags: Purge AU, mentions of violence but nothing graphic or too bad, no character deaths here okay, this is borderline crack and idk what I was thinking, first meetings, other characters, shenanigans and just...a lot of fun (it seems angsty but its not)

Note: I said I had a new weird au and I do not lie. This au....is so fun to write lmao I got the inspiration from a writing prompts blog (they always work wonders, I swear) and I'm so glad I actually sat down and produced this, no matter how crackish it is lol. I hope everyone enjoys! I already have 2 more chapters written so 'm going to try and be frequent with the updates (as much as I can anyways), so expect those every other week ^^ Thanks to @emeraldwaves for reading this over! 

AO3

Sec. 175. In accordance with national law and employment regulations, no government corporations, hospitals, schools, or select businesses are to remain open on the night of the annual Purge. Should a private chain or entity choose to conduct themselves, all labor codes must be adhered to, and employees are to be compensated with a wage fifty times the normal hourly rate, as well as provided with basic equipment needed for protection. Any businesses found to be neglectful of such policies will be examined and penalized.

--

March 15, 2020

1:00 PM

6 hours until the Purge

"Shit."

A shrill, joyless tune rang through Kuroo's room, and his eyes snapped open. His first mistake of many.

The sound of his alarm and his general grogginess had him rolling right out of bed and onto the floor in his piss poor attempt to reach for the snooze button (for real, how had he fucked that up?). His limbs acted like hooks, bringing his bundle of blankets and pillows down with him.

It wasn't that different from a regular morning, in truth. The only difference was that this time, he was ashamed by how late he'd managed to sleep in.

Kuroo prided himself on being an early riser. He had his good name to defend. At this rate, even Bokuto would be up and about (or in the midst of his first nap), that log.

"Dammit," Kuroo muttered, reaching up to silence his phone. The end of the stupid ringtone didn't end Kuroo's suffering. The sun shone through his window, making him squint, and that, along with his mind beginning to power on, reeling with dates and to-do-lists, became far too much stimulation for the morning.

Er...afternoon.

Kuroo sprang up, unaware he'd collapsed the previous night in such exhaustion he hadn't been able to pull his jeans all the way off his legs.

The result? He fell face first onto his unvacuumed carpet once again, and okay, out of all the days of the year, this was not the day for him to be so clumsy. It probably hadn't been a good idea to work a double shift the day before at the pizza parlor, but there was a gaming console he really wanted (not to mention his strong desire to keep his savings growing), and he was so close to being able to afford it.

And make no mistake, Kuroo didn't like stealing, sanctioned crime or no sanctioned crime.

So he was saving up, like a high schooler or something. Oh well, it beat the alternative...

On autopilot, Kuroo fumbled for his remote, groaning as his hand touched something mushy.

Oh god. Gross. Gross and weird, what the fuck--

Clearly, some spring cleaning would be in order for tomorrow. The world ‘tomorrow’ made his heart stop for a second in fear of the unknown, but he got over himself quickly. He had to. Today he just had to.

After some deep breathing, he managed to pry his eyes open enough to find what he was looking for: the remote. Switching on the television, because that's what he did on a normal day, he couldn't help but groan at his mistake.

Routines could be his downfall at times, especially when his television automatically turned onto the news station. He should really know better by now…

This was the one day where he preferred to not watch the news while he got ready. Kuroo would've much preferred some B movies, or even better, a documentary on how to make soap.

Not caring enough to switch the set off, he threw the remote to his bed, and waited for the coverage to begin. No point avoiding it now. In the meantime, he figured he really needed a quick rinse, and a good brush through his hair (it wouldn't look any better afterwards, but it was the thought that counted).

Kuroo had to return to work by five anyways, as was policy. Even though the pizza place he worked at wouldn't start accepting orders until the start of the Purge, they had to be there to lockdown, take inventory, prepare their cars, and get their gear on.

So basically, Kuroo would have to get gas, organize his artillery, and make lunch all before then.

I want ramen...no...fried chicken.

Fuck it, he was getting paid fifty times his usual wage tonight, he could afford to treat himself to both.

The news logo flashed onto the television, gaudy and bright. On screen, two anchors sat, the countdown clock framed innocently in the upper right-hand corner.

"Good afternoon and thank you for joining us on the eve of our nation's 7th annual Purge! I sure hope everyone is excited. What should we be expecting from tonight Kudobera-san?"

Before closing the bathroom door, Kuroo glanced back, catching the far too cheery smiles of the news anchors giving their annual spiel.

"Well Takigawa-san, we expect a much higher turnout than last year. However, reports show that a lot of businesses have upgraded to new top of the line security systems. It'll be interesting to see how these changes will affect the crime rates tonight.

"But in celebrity news, idol Fuwa Reiko's Purge bash is said to have a guest list of over fifty people this year, and prizes will include..."

Kuroo rolled his eyes, grabbing the nearest bath towel, and shutting the door.

--

The Purge began when Kuroo was eighteen years old, and it was truly a terrifying and horrific time and blah, blah, blah, blah...

Yeesh.

Look. Kuroo could go on and on about the corruption and politics surrounding the Purge and how it came into being. He could then spend another few hours about how it ended up impacting him personally. His newly formed anxiety, his suppressed fears, the fact that many people he knew and met sometimes didn't survive the year.

Very grim stuff. No fun.

Tonight wasn't about any of that, and Kuroo wasn't going to waste time on detailing the Purge and all the blood-chilling and fucked up things which happened during it.

No one had time for that.

And yeah, one day Kuroo dreamed he'd be rich enough to move away from this cursed nation, safe and healthy with all his friends without the Purge looming over him every month until March rolled around.

But, it was not the time for escape quite yet, so Kuroo refused to dwell on the subjects of blood and gore. No time to reminisce over his childhood, no reason to recount his tragic backstories or feelings on the matter.

Not tonight. Maybe next year.

Tonight, he had a twelve-hour shift, and he was expecting to be paid well.

The point of all this? (Aside from the gaming anyways...) Simple. In order to one day achieve his dream, and keep himself alive until then, he needed money. Purge night, as shitty and immoral as it could be, let him earn enough money to cover three months’ worth of rent. That was without tips too.

That was his only focus.

So in short, in order to keep himself sane, Kuroo worked hard, and had no problem with diverting his internal angst into jokes at any given moment.

Liiiiike now.

Kuroo kicked open the door to Bokuto's bedroom, where he was still cuddling Akaashi against his chest. One of their infamous afternoon naps. How cute.

They were sickening. "Hello naughty children, it's murder time!"

The couple jolted awake, and while he might deny it later, Bokuto totally screamed. Kuroo smirked as Bokuto flailed on the floor, reaching for a nearby water gun to defend himself.

Given that Kuroo knew Bokuto was quite skilled with actual guns, it was a sight to see.

Akaashi glared at Kuroo from the bed, eyes full of pure, empty disgust, like Kuroo was a dead bug on the windshield of Akaashi’s life. Kuroo's joy was not deterred, and in a sudden moment of bluntness, Akaashi uttered his first sentence of the day: "Kuroo-san, I hate you."

"Is that any way to treat your best friend who woke you guys up in time for your flight?" Kuroo wiped his fake tears, gesturing to the bundle of suitcases Akaashi had packed dutifully two nights prior.

"I had an alarm set--"

"And your best friend, who made you guys lunch and drives you to the airport every year," Kuroo continued, not willing to wilt under Akaashi's piercing stare. Bokuto stayed on the floor, rubbing the sleepiness out of his eyes.

Kuroo could defend himself alright? Being a cunt was a defense mechanism he used so he wouldn’t just start fucking crying all over how much he loved his friends on the worst day of the year, so he was sticking with it. They knew of course, but maybe they didn’t say anything for Kuroo’s sake, and he loved them for it.

Akaashi sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as he channeled his inner anger management guru. Kuroo liked to poke fun at the fact that maybe Akaashi needed to purge more than anyone, but they all knew the raven abhorred violence.

Well, most of the time.

Without another word, Akaashi chucked a pillow directly at Kuroo's face (with impressive force he might add), and Bokuto became aware enough to tackle Kuroo to the ground two seconds later.

And though Kuroo whined and complained, eventually crying his surrender after Bokuto had him pinned down long enough, he couldn't help but smile at how much he cherished these moments.

Bokuto and Akaashi would only be gone for a week, but he would miss them. They always picked the time of the Purge to take their yearly vacation.

It was...better that way.

They could afford it too, being players for the national team. Bokuto got nervous and overly protective whenever the Purge rolled around, and though Akaashi wouldn't admit it, they were both scared of ever being remotely close to a situation in which they might lose each other.

So, they decided to travel to a different country every time the heinous event rolled around, one where the Purge had no weight or influence.

As Kuroo made them their pancakes and helped them with their bags, he couldn't help but doubt himself, like he did each year.

"Are you sure you don't want to come with us Kuroo, we can still get you a ticket, we can figure something out!" Bokuto's concerned look almost had Kuroo giving in. He slammed the trunk, putting Bokuto's suitcase down next to him.

The airport was never that crowded on Purge night. Guess people trust their security systems enough to not leave the county.

The couple never failed to offer Kuroo a ticket. They cared about him, didn't like the thought of him not being safe. Kuroo agreed. That's why he'd begged his family to move out of the country years ago, why he encouraged Bokuto and Akaashi to leave around this time as well.

But Kuroo...Kuroo was stubborn.

He hadn't finished school yet, and his savings weren't where he wanted them to be. When he moved, he wanted to be secure. Plus...Kuroo could be kind of dumb about these things. He got a twisted sense of pride when he survived Murder Night™ every year, even more so now that he chose to work during the event.

Yeah...that was a whole different story.

Kuroo shook his head, smiling easily. "We've been over this man, you don't have to worry about me. I refuse to die."

Akaashi curled his hand around Bokuto's before the other could begin to protest. Akaashi disagreed with Kuroo's decisions too, but he knew arguing got them nowhere. "You are like a roach."

Kuroo stumbled back, as if punched. "Ouch. I'll try to take that as a compliment."

"It wasn't."

"Akaashi."

They all laughed, and as the clock struck four, he watched them disappear into the airport, after a painful, drawn out embrace, waving at him one last time.

He smiled through his misty eyes, and couldn't help but feel relief knowing they'd be far away by 7 PM.

--

Now generally, it was pretty agreed by all that during the Purge, people shouldn't target delivery boys. Out of all the people to kill, you're gonna go after Papa John? Get fucked.

Who the hell was shitty enough to murder some sad minimum wage worker?

Well, a lot of people actually. People were cruel during the Purge, that was sorta the point. But, in Kuroo's experience, the freaks with knives and masks would often overlook him and his crappy pizza delivery uniform.

Some things were worse than death, they probably thought.

Kuroo wouldn't complain. The less trouble for him the better. While he did occasionally have to fire warning shots and rev his car at people who were a bit bolder and more bloodthirsty, he stayed fairly safe.

Or as safe as one could be, surrounded by crazed people wielding machetes. He was more than fine with ignoring the screams and explosions by turning up his stereo to inhuman levels, bottling up his inner hero.

Because in reality, Kuroo had never managed to shake his core beliefs, no matter how fucked up the system was. He was honest, valued good work ethic, respected his elders, all that jazz.

Yes, Kuroo Tetsurou was the guy who helped old ladies cross the street. Definitely not someone who should be working during the Purge. But, well, his mother always told him people would underestimate him if given the chance.

Kuroo's natural instinct was to defend, to protect. However, during the Purge, it simply wasn't practical, and he was forced to hate himself for it later.

At least he had Matsukawa and Semi to keep him company.

"Happy Murder Night, would you like to hear about our specials?" Matsukawa deadpanned as Kuroo walked through the front door of the parlor. The blast shields were already up, and the shop was technically closed. The only occupants of the booths were his fellow coworkers, the other people insane enough to be working that night.

Semi rolled his eyes, greeting Kuroo without a polite nod. He assumed Kyoutani was in the back, making breadsticks. Again, normal day, if he didn't count the various rifles and bulletproof vests spread out on the counter. Backup measures, in case somehow, the titanium doors were broken down.

Kuroo laughed, walking over to where Matsukawa sat perched behind the register, and picked up the vest with his nametag on it.

So much to do, so little time.

He clipped the vest on securely, holstering two of the guns and a knife.

"I don't know how this place stays in business," Semi muttered from where he polished the counter. "Why would people order pizza on the most dangerous night of the year?"

"You say that as if we don't get at least ten or so orders every year," Matsukawa reminded.

"Robbing and plundering does work up an appetite," Kuroo agreed.

"Like you'd know," Semi said with a snort, throwing the dirty dish rag at Kuroo's face. All this disrespect today.

"Hey, I'll have you know, I once stole a bag of chocolate coins from the discount store." Kuroo crossed his arms, his grin wide and triumphant.

Matsukawa squinted, tapping his hands on the bright red countertop. "It was an accident, wasn't it?"

"..."

"Did you cry afterwards?"

Fuck.

Kuroo said nothing, and Semi looked two seconds away from laughing his ass off. Wankers. All of them. Nothing but wankers.

"I'll take that as a yes," Matsukawa said, ducking just in time to avoid Kuroo's headlock.

It was at that moment Kyoutani made himself known, asking if Kuroo had ever done jail time for a crime so heinous.

"You've got jokes now? What's the world coming to?" Kuroo cried, falling to his knees.

"Given what day it is, should you really be asking that?" Semi said, and man, too far.

They all stared at each other, letting the dark foreboding and realization settle over them. The thoughts sprang up like they always did, violent and despair-riddled, before Kuroo defiantly squished them down.

Then, they all broke out into laughter, the kind which brought tears to the eyes.

Yeah, the Purge was fucked up, but it brought them closer together.

And honestly, grease stains or not, Kuroo was glad to wait out the Purge in the company of these assholes.

After all, it was the best he was gonna get for now.

--

Kuroo's car was geared up and ready to go.

The delivery vehicle given to them for Purge night only opened from the driver's side. The rest of the car was plated with a lightweight metal, armor essentially. The front behaved more like a battering ram than a hood, in case of extreme circumstances, like having to get through a crowd of attackers. The mirrors were shatter resistant, and the tires were as slash and puncture resistant as possible. Still, the car came equipped with a set of spares just in case.

They kept the car in a special fortified garage which was only accessible through the parlor. The garage door into the parlor locked every time it was closed, a security measure for if someone tried to break in while Kuroo was leaving for a delivery.

All in all, Kuroo felt safe at his workplace. Outside though...he didn't trust anything, and for good reason. Better safe than sorry.

After helping with food prep, checking the car's interior, and filling up the tank, hours had gone by. Looking at his clock, Kuroo's heart skipped a beat.

6:50 PM. Ten minutes until the Purge.

Dread coiled in his gut for a moment before it was gone. Kuroo never got used to this, but he knew what to expect now after seven years.

"Kuroo c'mon, time to get inside," Semi said, poking his head through the garage door. Kuroo was technically safe in the garage but...they just liked to all be together during the opening broadcasts.

Taking a deep breath, Kuroo followed after him, just in time to catch the start. The large flat screen in the dining area which usually played sports games and cheesy commercials lit up blue, the emergency broadcast text slowly beginning to scroll up the screen.

"This is not a test. This is your emergency broadcast system announcing the commencement of the Annual Purge sanctioned by your government. Weapons of class 4 and lower have been authorized for use during the Purge. All other weapons are restricted. Government officials of ranking 10 have been granted immunity from the Purge and shall not be harmed. Commencing at the siren, any and all crime, including murder, will be legal for 12 continuous hours. Police, fire, and emergency medical services will be unavailable until tomorrow morning at 7 a.m., when The Purge concludes. May God be with you all."

The classic pause.

The silence.

Kuroo never got why there had to be the brief stall before the alarms began, but he despised it. Everyone in the parlor remained stone-like as the chilling sirens began echoed in the distance. They were ghostly almost, unreal, like a thick fog no one could escape from. Sometimes, Kuroo could hear them in his dreams, and he’d wake up with two pillows pressed against his head, as if trying to block the sound.

Kuroo couldn't help but laugh bitterly to himself.

Guess the walls aren't that thick.

As the sirens began to fade, none of them moved. Yeah, it never stopped being sort of surreal. They waited for the telltale crash of store glass or gunshots in the distance, but for now, things had yet to get into full swing.

Or so they'd thought.

Life was weird and unexpected. That much Kuroo knew. But if someone had told him all the twists and turns he'd go through over the course of the next twelve hours, he would have laughed in their face.

He'd be wrong though.

Now, it wasn't abnormal for them to get orders later in the night, usually from families waiting out the Purge or from rich assholes throwing Purge parties. Kuroo didn't get it, and he didn't appreciate the calls, but it was his job.

But again, the calls normally came later. Like, much later.

So when the phone on the counter started to ring not even two minutes after the sirens stopped, only Kyoutani managed to find his voice through the shock of it.

"Are you fucking kidding me?"

[nehapatel64]

Devakshi’s Guide to Friendship

Devakshi have one of the most realistic of stories because it progressed from hatred to cordiality and sprung forth from a deep rooted friendship. This friendship is what helped them flourish in their dating days, and the regression of this component is what killed them in the end. Throughout their marriage, Devakshi worked so hard on being husband, wife and DIL, that they forgot how to be friends. Years later, we are again seeing bittersweet cordiality sprout into the beginnings of a friendship. Here are a few lessons Devakshi taught us about friendship followed by an analysis on what they had lost as spouses and are regaining again.

1. Given the right circumstances, even the dearest people who you trust the most can fail you. Not because they started loving you less but because something along the cores of friendship (communication, patience, understanding), started faltering.

2. It’s never too late to apologize or to forgive. Don’t regret the lost time. Make up for it. Forgiveness may take time and won’t be complete immediately, but with baby steps, it can happen.

3. Some people are more prone to forgiveness and less prone to long-lasting anger than others. People need their time and space, but only communication can eventually revive what was lost. In this case, Dev is far more optimistic and eager than Sona for full recovery of the “good old days”. 

4. Mistakes, though some worse than others, are never one-sided. The quicker you can accept this, the easier it will be. 

5. Love is not unconditional- friendship is. It’s friendship that makes you respect a person at all costs and friendship only that gives you the right to kick someone to reality AND help them back up. 

6. Friendship is the foundation of all great relationships. Making friends may come easy for some, but staying friends is a true attestation to love. Never forget to cherish that above anything else. 

“LOVE IS FRIENDSHIP THAT HAS CAUGHT ON FIRE...

     Every love story incorporates a deep friendship, but not all friendship is necessarily romantic. In the last three episodes, we saw Dev’s misunderstanding about Jatin clear up and a bond of friendship reforming between Dev and Sona. Upon seeing Jatin and Sona’s bond, Dev did perceive Jatin as a friendship that had amplified to something more. As much as he tried to believe Sona (and boy did he try to believe her), overhearing two shady conversation and seeing Jatin and Sona together at Devakshi’s favorite date place tipped him over the edge. The first of 3 episodes started with a drunk Dev saying “Ms. Sonakshi Bose. Tum yehi thi. aur yehi ban ke rehna chahti thi”Aur aaj ke baad to Ms. Sonakshi Bose ban ke hi rahogi.” De is implying that Sona was inherently inclined to break her relationship with Dev, and to break relationships in general. In the next second, Dev had a repeat self-realization that he has no right or reason to think she shouldn’t move on or there was something between them left to mend. As expected, Dev at this point decided he is never going to try to win her back, as if he is convincing himself to move on. 

  Jatin was circumstantially dragged into this mess and stayed there as Sona’s guardian and best friend. When he showed up with the police, Dev did a double take , as if he was gauging whether he should be upset that Jatin is helping Sona or thankful that he did so much for his family. To be honest, I thought it would take time for Dev to believe that Jatin and Sona weren’t together. But Sona had proved her trustworthiness at various points before Khatri’s arrest that he was ready to keep and open mind when listening about her and Jatin’s collaboration.

IT IS MUTUAL CONFIDENCE....

     As friends, Devakshi had a confidence in each other’s judgement, strength and kind heartedness. This included things as small as Dev calling Sona about taking sleeping pills or the way he took care of Sona during her accident. In fact, this was one of the biggest reasons they started falling in love with each other. Devakshi’s greatest asset as lovers was their confidence in each other’s love and the unhesitant promise to stay together forever. It wasn’t until after marriage that Dev and Sona stopped talking, understanding and listening. For Dev, explaining his intensity, his past and his family dynamics became an exhaustive task he barely tried to do. Sona, on the other hand, struggled to make Dev understand her intentions as a new married woman of the house and how her marriage to him can’t be separated from her marriage to his family. This became most prominent with the jhula track, where neither Sona understood how fast she was trying to change Dev nor Dev maintained the honesty required of a husband, and it only got worse from there. (This is where Asha aunty and my FAVORITE Dev and Ish hug come into play :) ). With worsening communication came decreased trust. Weakening of trust led to decreased confidence in each other and their promises. Dev and Sona had no doubt, that they really loved each other, even if that was the easiest bitter accusation to make 7 years later. If anything, they were disappointed with themselves and each other that they couldn’t maintain the promises or confidence in each other that had started brewing with their friendship. Seven years later, Dev and Sona started off showing off that they don’t need each other, trust each other, love each other and never did. However, Jatin and Khatri’s secret brought a turning point to both of their psyches that brought them to something resembling friendship. When Khatri asked Sona what Dev was to her, she confidently admitted that they have a relationship of maan, maryada and dosti. Even thought she hadn’t yet confronted a raging Dev since the fight, distance from Dev made the heart grow fonder, and Asha’s words on trusting brought a new epiphany and ray of hope for Sona. She wasn’t ready to love him again but became aware of the advantages of opening up to her friend and trusting him again. 

Sona herself was wondering how she could get Dev to believe and react appropriately to Khatri’s and Jatin’s truth. In order to stop Dev from killing Khatri (as expected from him), Sona started by establishing her trust on him rather than asking him to trust her. “Maine zindagi main tujhse zyada kisi pe barosa nahi kiya”.  The fact that she paused in completing this sentence showed it was something even she hadn’t fully accepted in a long time. But with Asha’s recent emphasis on trust, and Dev’s recent distrust, she subconsciously found the perfect point on which he could believe her. By not telling him how he should feel but rather showing her faith in him, Sona got Dev to calm down. Having Sona accidentally call Ishwari maa during her explanation yet again served a similar purpose. Dev started sensing how Sona had truly accepted his family’s problem as hers and how Sona still feels that emotional connect with the people who he knows had hurt her so much. From that point on, Dev became more prepared to verbalize his guilt and appreciation. Dev saw Sona standing with Khatri and couldn’t even dream that Sona would have come there just for his well being. This made Dev think she was involved in Khatri’s planning, and Jatin showing up could have also ended in something worse. However, all of these small moments collaboratively helped Dev be grateful to Sona and again cleared Dev’s doubt on Jatin’s role. Dev’s helplessness, guilt, fears, faults and regrets started coming out like uncontrollable word vomit post Khatri’s arrest, and he was once again taken aback when he saw Sona TRULY meant it when she said she trusted him. Dev was shocked seeing Sona consoling him and worrying about him, which forced him to recognize that his Sona, his best friend, was again at his side. 

IT IS QUIET UNDERSTANDING...

     A friend will joke with you confide in you and love you. But only a best friend has the patience, generosity and foresight to make you understand something about yourself better than you do and to tell you how they feel without needing to say much at all. In many cases, the body language ends up speaking louder than the words. There were several instances where Sona’s actions were more effective than all her explanations, but I’ll just discuss the best ones that come to mind. 

      As stated before, we saw Dev’s breakdown soon after Khatri’s exit. As soon as Khatri left, Dev assumed that his mom’s crime must be money related, as money was the one thing that the family could have been desperate enough for.  That doesn’t mean that this is all there is to the crime, or that what Dev is assuming is actually true. Now coming to Dev’s assumption that Ishwari robbed a family. Immediately after it dawned on him that the crime could have been a robbery, Dev started describing the desperate situations of his old life. Dev understands the plight of a poor person, and can see Ishwari’s act from that angle. Furthermore, it is an initial instinct to be in shock and denial when the mother you worshipped for so long may have potentially been involved in crime. Dev never once claimed this crime as okay. Rather, he emphasized just that he wishes he could have done something to prevent it. Dev has always been selfless. Even when he has hurt people, it’s because he didn’t know how to find a permanent balance between all the people he loved. In trying not to break hearts, he broke several. It’s this trait that makes Dev reprimand his 10-year-old self for not being the man of the house and made him confess to Sonakshi that he was unable to fulfill whatever little she had demanded of him. Sonakshi tried to reason with Dev regarding all his issues, but Dev only wiped his tears once she grabbed his arm and said, “It’s fine. It’s ok.” All of Sona’s previous words, though true, sounded like justifications to what Dev considered his faults. But when she grabbed his arm and said nothing but “It’s ok”, the cloud seemed to have lifted for now. It was as if Dev didn’t need someone telling him where he was right but a best friend who would patiently stand by him even when he was wrong. 

     Dev started outwardly expressing this comfort by subtly holding her hands a few time. Eventually, his emotions took over, and Dev couldn’t resist wrapping Sona in a bear hug. He thanked her not only for helping with Khatri but for coming back as the best friend he has needed for years. Golu was the closest to this kind of support Dev has ever had, but neither he nor Sona, could calm his heart’s turmoil like Sona did. Sona, on the other hand, only half hugged Dev. She was not fully ready to allow Dev into her bubble but knew how much he needed that at the time.

      We see Dev’s second breakdown when he thought about how unaware he was about the inner guilt that Ishwari had suffered through by herself. Ishwari’s secret lends to why she was so overprotective of her children, and potentially to why she had such a paranoia of Dev leaving her or no longer loving her. Dev is now realizing that this aspect of Ishwari’s behavior runs far deeper than basic insecurity and is feeling guilty that this was something he could never tune into or relieve. When Sona walks into the room, she immediately recognizes that Dev needed to release all of his emotions and for now just needed a shoulder to cry on. Therefore, she initially sat there with a hand on Dev’s shoulder while he continued his conversation with himself. We see Sona’s squeezes Dev’s shoulder even harder when he says he was a bad husband, as if to non-verbally assure him that neither was his love meaningless nor was her hatred for him real. Sona served as his silent shoulder to lean on until Dev had run out of things to say.

     Devakshi had their first light-hearted conversation as friends after the anniversary celebrations. Here we saw how Dev approached Sonakshi so carefully and started opening up upon seeing her smiling phase and receptive mood. Dev became so hopeful that he leaned in for a hug when Sona was only willing to to give a handshake. While this did lend to a humorous moment, we also saw the most understanding exchange between the friends, which happened just by picking up on each other’s indirect cues. When Sona silently offered her hand, Dev immediately admitted that it will take time for them to open up, but they will start to understand each other more with time. When Dev was unable to let go of her hand, Sona picked up that he didn’t actually want her to go and actually gave him a few chances to hold her back. 

     This ability to understand what the other needed or wanted better than he/she could was something Devakshi possessed prior to their marriage and started dying in their relationship. The scene that immediately came to my mind was when Dev quite literally asked Sona to understand his heart’s desires, which was something he knew even he couldn’t do. In comparison to this, Devakhi’s marriage showed increasing disconnect between the two in which even things said directly went insanely misunderstood or ignored. 

SHARNG AND FORGIVING ...

Devakshi have again reached a point where they take time to reflect on things that happen in their lives. They have reached a point where they can at least share their feelings, if not forget about them, and show each other a mirror where it’s most required. I love how Sona was able to compare Dev to Ishwari without a single ounce of bitterness. Instead, Sona took it as a moment to show Dev that he is doing to himself exactly what he regrets Ishwari doing: keeping all her pain contained and releasing it in an unwise way when he can’t take it anymore. To this extent, we can say Sona has forgiven Dev. She is not ready to forget and make the same mistakes again, but she is able to talk about the people who hurt her the most in a way that will help them the most. She was always able to identify Dev’s flaws, but after 7 years is attempting to at least understand what she can’t fully justify. 

     Even Dev, who was keen on calling Sona the obodro that left him, had huge moments of self reflection he was able to confess. When Devakshi were at the farmhouse, he admitted he was the reason that Sona had become an obodhro, and that she used to be the girl who laughed at his stupidest jokes. 

We see in the conversation after the anniversary, that Devakshi aren’t just opening up about their problems but actually taking time to enjoy each other’s company. Sonakshi is sitting here laughing at Dev’s stupid joke when, not even hours before, he was regretting that he changed her from the woman who laughed at his stupidest jokes to an obodro. Dev is almost more hopeful for full recovery of "the good old days”, and Sona is more hesitant. He doesn’t take long to ease into making jokes and friendly conversation once she welcomingly smiles and gives him the green light. By the end of the conversation, he’s even prepared for a friendly hug that she, albeit politely, declines. 

     It seemed throughout their entire marriage, Devakshi grabbed at the small happy moments they could to flow through the whirlwind called life. Devakshi stopped appreciating each other’s presence and stopped reflecting on those happier moments. Positive vibes became a needle in the haystack that they struggled to find and had no moment to cherish before the next problem arose. 

IT IS LOYALTY THROUGH GOOD AND BAD TIMES...

     Trust and loyalty are two components that require all the previously mentioned characteristics. When the understanding goes down, the confidence in each other decreases as well. When the confidence in someone decreases, it’s hard to trust them, and lack of trust makes loyalty all the more difficult. We aren’t talking just about a dying love or an extramarital affair. There was nothing in Devakshi’s relationship suggesting they loved each other less or really had plans to move on. Even though the circumstances for the break up had been building for eons, the intention was there to be with each other through everything. Devakshi stopped trusting each other’s ability to be there with each other against all odds. That’s why by the end, when Vicky put the blame on Dev for the prenup and losing Bose house, Sona believed it. As much as Dev had tried to balance his life, he had failed to do it and failed to realize that he had failed. At this point in time, Sona had reached the maximum point of her tolerance and was willing to believe that Dev could do anything of any caliber (even hurt her) for his family. Dev, who was still ether oblivious or in subconscious denial of his faults or his family’s faults, trusted his log-changing, superhero woman to be by his side through all difficulties. He didn’t think there was any problem so big that they, especially she, couldn’t handle. 

Eight years later, Dev is standing outside of the farmhouse admitting that he had failed as a husband and couldn’t provide Sona with what little support required through good and bad times. He is questioning why she is still there standing by his side when he couldn’t do the same and realizing on surface level, where he went wrong in their relationship and where he has gone wrong since they reunited years later. On the other hand, Sona voices that “Ek problem kya aa gayi, aur maine haar mani.” I’m sure many of us raised our eyebrows at how Sona reduced their marriage to one problem. However, the idea of that statement was that she was recognizing from what angle Dev would say that she left him too. Both had made promises they couldn’t keep. The main difference is, while Dev’s was a gradual downfall, Sona’s tolerance started declining exponentially. The Dev who had broken down his hard shell for this woman became so soft, he couldn’t handle the necessary struggles. The woman who found a best friend in her enemy and considered him her first and last love even when she was losing him to Natasha, couldn’t stand up to the promise she made once she had him. Now, Sona is able to be that person again, and Dev is able to recognize and appreciate that. 

At the end of this anniversary day, Dev is laying awake in bed, worrying about all of his new revelations. Conversely, Sona is unable to sleep while thinking specifically about him. She was there to hold his hand and wipe his tears. In some time, we should be seeing Dev do the same. 

IT SETTLES FOR LESS THAN PERFECTION AND MAKES ALLOWANCES FOR HUMAN WEAKNESSES.”

Some of my favorite scenes of all time have been when Dev or Sona are sitting below and against the other. These scenes are always full of impromptu calming motions such as holding hands, caressing the face and playing with fingers. Furthermore, seeing one kneel before the other amplifies the helplessness of the tormented person and portrays how they are with each other through their ugliest cries and weakest moments. Sona loved Dev even more when he was able to show her his weak side. Dev loved Sona even more for accepting it wholeheartedly. The first time we saw this was during Neha’s wedding. As a boyfriend, Dev had plans to keep his pain within and not worry his girlfriend, But he immediately broke down when she reminded him that she will always be a friend first. This was followed by a very appreciative and intimate “thank you” by Dev the next morning. In this instance, and in Dev ki Deewangi, Dev poured out his woes as non-stop tears. In both instances, Sona worried for him from within but stayed strong and practical to (quite literally) help him get back up on his feet.

We never saw such effective release of emotion through Devakshi’s entire marriage. When they said something, they fought about it. When they had a breakdown, it was more accusatory and usually resulted in the other person denying it or the hurt person forgetting it. The most recent example was just prior to Devkashi’s break up, we saw Sona’s least effective breakthrough of all time, She yelled her heart out, only for him to divert from the main point. They forgot it all in the heat of a romantic night, and it only became worse when Sona jumped up with joy at the thought of seeing Ishwari the morning after. 

Today, Sona is kneeling before Dev. We have seen in the past that the one having the roughest breakdown is the one usually on the ground. But this time, Sona came and kneeled down in front of him. That’s when I realized it’s not the person having the breakdown who is always on the ground. It’s the person who is ready to have all the emotions (whoever’s emotions they may be) come pouring out. Dev was stressed, but stoic. Sona showed up to hold his hand, comfort him and make him accept what was still bothering him. With her help, Dev was able to reason through the fact that Ishari’s past may have tarnished the hard work Dev put into this family but does not define it. By talking to Sona, he realized it’s time to stop blaming himself for not being able to prevent Ishwari’s guilt, and that the only way she would be able to absolve from any sins or guilt is the face the problem up front. As Sona always used to, she provoked Dev to release his deepest worries and used this knowledge to strengthen him rather than judge him or his family. 

[talesfromsomeday]

GSNK - Please Select a Present

Read on AO3 | Series on AO3 Series: Alternate Route (Part 2) | Title: Please Select a Present Fandom: Gekkan Shoujo Nozaki-kun | Pairing: MayuMiko (Platonic/Greyromantic [QPR]) Rating: G | Warnings: None | Genres: Fluff Summary: Mayu is rather suddenly made aware that Mikoshiba's birthday is on Valentine's Day, and sets out to find a gift for him. Author’s Notes: I'm sorry this is a day late! I wanted to finally follow up on my first fic and post something for Mikoshiba's birthday, and this is what I came up with. ------------ “Oh, Mikoshiba...” Nozaki started, swiveling his chair to face the table Mayu was huddled at between Mikoshiba and Sakura. “Your birthday is coming up, is there something you want to do?” Mayu’s head popped up in a rare moment of reflex, startling Mikoshiba, who just barely managed to stutter out an answer. “I-I didn’t really think of anything... I thought you would be busy planning for your notes and research...”

“Ah, that’s true. There’s a lot of new chocolate displays this year,” Nozaki nodded, touching his chin. “That doesn’t mean we can’t make time to celebrate, Mikorin!” Sakura chimed in, an almost scolding tone directed at Nozaki. “Most of the research and note-taking is only during school anyway. We’ll have plenty of time after!” “Y-you really don’t have to worry about it! It’s fine!” Mikoshiba insisted. “It’s awkward to be out on my birthday anyway...” “Well, if you really don’t want to...” Sakura replied quietly. “Maybe we can do something the day after?” “Mikoto-san’s birthday...” Mayu finally said. “Is it Valentine’s?” Everyone stared at him, except for Mikoshiba, who was fidgeting with his pen and staring at the flowers on the page in front of him. “You didn’t know?” Nozaki finally asked. Mayu shook his head. “Ah. Well, yes, it’s Valentine’s Day.” “Poor Mikorin...” Sakura wiped a tear from her eye. “Hey! Don’t make fun of me!” Mikoshiba accused, finally moving into motion again to point an annoyed finger at her. “Well, we can plan something for the day after,” Nozaki said. “Try and think of something you want to do.” Everyone went back to working on their portions of the manga, and Mayu laid his head back down on the table and watched Mikoshiba’s hands carefully tracing ink in the shapes of flowers. It was only after Mikoshiba and Sakura went home for the night that Mayu got up from the table to pull insistently on his elder brother’s sleeve. “Hm? What is it, Mayu?” “Mikoto-san’s birthday...” “Oh, did you want to come along for the celebration?” “Yes, but... a gift...” “I see! Yes, you two are pretty close, you should definitely get him a gift!” Mayu could tell by the glint in his eye that his brother had some ulterior motives, but he couldn’t really be bothered to care too much. “You could get him chocolates! Or flowers! Wait, are flowers too romantic? What about a confession letter?” Mayu frowned at him. “No, you’re right, that’s too much.” “His birthday,” Mayu emphasized. “Hmm... you’re right that Mikoshiba doesn’t like Valentine’s Day much… so it would probably be best just to focus on the birthday part.” His brother held his chin and shut his eyes in thought. “Something heartfelt and not too romantic...” Mayu wondered why “not romantic” was even being mentioned as a qualifier, but chalked it up to the unfortunate date of Mikoshiba’s birthday and didn’t question it further. As the minutes stretched on in silence with no new ideas, Mayu debated going home. He ultimately decided he was too tired, though, so after Nozaki suggested he ask Sakura for advice and returned to working on his manga, he curled up on his futon in the corner to get some rest. --------- “And everything has to be pink, you know? Always pink and covered in ribbons and stuff! It’s so embarrassing!” Mikoshiba buried his face in his hands as Sakura awkwardly patted his shoulder in an attempt to console him. “Don’t worry, Mikorin, we’ll do something fun for your birthday so you’ll forget all about all the pink, okay?” The only response she got was something that sounded distinctly like a muffled sob. “Oh, Mayu-kun!” Sakura quickly waved as she saw the boy walking down the hall towards them. “Sakura-san, can we talk?” A confused look crossed Sakura’s face, but she nodded. “Sure, is something wrong...?” Mayu shook his head, then turned and started walking away, towards the stairwell. Sakura gave Mikoshiba another quick pat on the shoulder, assured him she’d be right back, and rushed to follow after Mayu. “What’s up, Mayu-kun?” Sakura asked once they had gotten into the stairwell and out of earshot of Mikoshiba. “Mikoto-san’s birthday...” Sakura’s face lit up. “Oh! Are you going to do something for him? You should get him chocolates! Or flowers!?” Mayu sighed quietly to himself and wondered when exactly his brother and Sakura would finally get together. They sure had a lot in common, at least as far as he could see. “His birthday,” Mayu emphasized again, feeling tired from repeating himself. “Oh, right, it probably wouldn’t be a good idea to do a Valentine’s thing, would it...? But I’m sure there’s something else you can do!” Mayu frowned. “D-don’t worry, Mayu-kun! If you need help, I’ll help you! We can go after school and look for something!” Mayu wasn’t sure how well it would work out, but he wanted his gift to be a surprise, so he couldn’t ask Mikoshiba directly. Though it would certainly be tiring, Mayu didn’t think it could hurt, so he agreed to a meeting place with Sakura and left for class. After the long day of school, they met up in front of the building and decided to head in the direction of the nearby mall. “So, Mayu-kun, how were your classes today?” Mayu considered the question. “I slept the best in math today.” He nodded slightly. “Uh, I think you’re supposed to be paying attention…” Sakura said. “Ah, but what about gym?” “We played basketball...” Sakura’s face brightened. “Did you score any points?” Mayu considered it. “Brother is better at basketball than me,” he finally said. He could tell Sakura was now questioning whether he had actually tried or not, but he didn’t feel the need to argue in his defense. “I see,” she said. “Are there any sports you like besides judo?” Mayu tried to think about what other sports existed, finally landing on one he had tried as a kid. “Archery?” “Ah, I think that suits you! It requires a lot of strength, but you don’t have to move much.” Mayu nodded slightly. It was something he wouldn’t mind doing again, though practicing two sports at once seemed like it would be too tiring. His train of thought was interrupted when he suddenly became aware of a familiar presence nearby, and he turned to find his brother hiding behind a nearby tree. “Hiding” was really being generous, as the thin twig of a tree was barely wide enough to hide one arm, much less his whole body. Still, the older Nozaki looked startled when Mayu lazily pointed him out, drawing Sakura’s attention. “Oh, Nozaki-kun! What are you doing here?” Though Mayu could tell by the slight twitch in her eye that she already knew, she still seemed perfectly happy to see him. “I—I needed some supplies from the art store!” He quickly lied. “Nozaki-kun, if you wanted to come along you could have just asked.” Nozaki rubbed the back of his head sheepishly and finally moved out from behind the tree to join them, and the three of them started walking again. It wasn’t too long before they arrived at the mall. Mayu felt a wave of tiredness as he stepped into the busy building, but he valiantly fought the urge to yawn. “Okay, commence Operation ‘Get Mikorin the Perfect Gift’!” Sakura declared, clenching her fist. “Operation ‘Gift’,” Mayu agreed with a surprising amount of energy, which was to say, with a voice he recognized as slightly more emotional than monotone. “Ah, yeah, that’s a bit shorter, huh?” Sakura laughed. “Mayu is very good at shortening things and coming up with acronyms,” Nozaki nodded. “Doesn’t it get confusing though, since he does that all the time?” Sakura questioned, then shook her head. “No, never mind, that’s not important right now. Mayu-kun!” She turned back towards him. “Where do you want to start?” Mayu shrugged with one shoulder. “That’s what I figured,” she said dejectedly. “We could go to the art store,” Nozaki suggested. “Nozaki-kun, we both know you were lying, so how is that supposed to help us get a gift for Mikorin?” “I was only partially lying, I really do need some supplies,” Nozaki said seriously. “Okay, fine. We’ll go to the art store while we try to think of a better choice.” With their destination agreed on, they set off in that direction. Nozaki busied himself loading a basket with screentone sheets while Mayu hung around with Sakura, who was browsing the oil paints and brushes. “Do you ever draw, Mayu?” Sakura idly asked, thumbing through a cup of brushes. “Yes, for judo.” Sakura gave him a weird look. “Why would you need to draw for judo?” “To teach my team moves. I practice because they focus better when I draw things they like.” “What sort of requests do they make…?” Sakura asked suspiciously.            “Well, they always want me to draw girls…” He paused. “They have specific tastes, I guess.” Sakura looked even more suspicious. “…would you show me sometime?” She finally asked, her curiosity about the content plain on her face. Mayu figured she was probably also wondering if he could draw as well as his brother could. “One of my classmates made a blog to collect them,” he said, pulling out his phone. “Here.” He opened up the webpage and handed the phone to her. “It’s surprisingly girly,” Sakura commented to herself. “Do you do all the drawings on a white board? That’s gotta be tough!” Mayu nodded. “Wait, ‘MayuMayu’...? Where have I heard that name before?” She considered it, scrolling through the pictures and squinting at the screen. Mayu wondered if she had spontaneously forgotten his name when she suddenly jumped, a bright blush appearing across her face. She hurriedly shoved the phone back into Mayu’s hands. “Wait here I’ll be right back!” She almost yelled, scrambling out of the aisle and leaving Mayu standing there confused. He briefly considered following her but decided it would be too much trouble and went back to looking at the myriad of paint colors. He’d find out why she was acting so weird eventually, no point in expending the energy on it now. She returned after several minutes of hushed voices floating over from the next aisle, smiling innocently but still blushing a little too much to really sell it. They went back to their shopping, but Mayu did not miss all the furtive glances she kept sending him. Once Nozaki had retrieved all of his needed supplies, and Sakura had splurged on a few new brushes, they finally left the store and promptly realized they had forgotten to think about where to go next. “Well, Mikorin collects figures right? We could go look at the figure store,” Sakura suggested. “Yeah, that makes sense,” Nozaki agreed, nodding. Mayu also nodded his agreement, and so the three of them set off to look at figures. “I forgot that it’s a little bit intimidating,” Sakura said as she stepped sheepishly inside. She turned towards Mayu. “Do you know what series or characters he likes? There’s a lot of choices…” They started to wander around the store, Mayu pointing out the figures that he recognized from Mikoshiba’s collection. By the time they had circled the whole place, it was clear to all of them that identifying the series or favorite characters was not the issue; it was finding a figure from any of those series the store stocked that Mikoshiba didn’t have. “W-well, it doesn’t have to be a figure! I’m sure there’s something else so let’s keep looking!” Sakura turned to lead them out of the store, accidentally bumping into someone who was standing behind her. “Oh, sorry—” She stopped suddenly as she realized who it was. “Oh, Mikoshiba,” Nozaki half-greeted from behind her. “M-Mikorin!? How long have you been standing there?” Sakura squeaked. He ignored both of them in favor of groaning pathetically. “Not again…” He covered his face with the hand that wasn’t cradling a large figure box next to his hip. After a long minute of silence, he finally looked at them again. “What are you guys even doing in here this time!? Is Nozaki planning to buy a figure to mutilate again? And why is Mayu with you!?” “Sorry, Mikorin! We were just looking around,” Sakura said, holding her hands up defensively. “Although, now that you mention it,” Nozaki started, “it still wouldn’t be a bad idea to get a figure for reference.” Mayu could practically see the steam coming out of Mikoshiba’s ears at the comment. “Out! Out! If you’re not going to respect the figures then just leave!” He summarily kicked both of them out of the store, leaving Mayu standing in the aisle, looking at the back of Mikoshiba’s head and the box that was still in his hands. “Are you going to buy that?” Mayu finally asked, pointing at the box. Mikoshiba finally turned back to him, his cheeks slightly flushed. “I was thinking about it, but I don’t have enough money right now…” “Can I see?” Mayu asked. “Huh? Oh, uh, sure…”Mikoshiba sheepishly handed him the box. Mayu took it and examined the figure more closely. It didn’t seem as incriminating as the one that he had been holding the last time Nozaki and Sakura had seen him in the store, or at least it didn’t seem so based on the description his brother had given him of the incident. The figure was of a girl with short, pale pink hair, wearing a somewhat short skirt, a button-up shirt, and a green hoodie. She also had a small pixel spaceship hair clip in her bangs and a cat-shaped plush backpack on her back. Mayu really had no idea who she was or what series she came from. “Cute,” Mayu finally commented. Mikoshiba seemed to breathe a sigh of relief.“Right? She’s one of my favorites from this series! But the price… it’s normal for a prepaint statue but it’s a little more than I can afford right now...” Mayu’s eyes finally settled on the price tag on the front of the box. It was a little over ten thousand yen; he didn’t really have enough money for it either. He briefly wondered if pooling their money would be enough, but he didn’t think that was any way to get someone a birthday present out of the blue and quickly gave up the idea. He handed the box back. “Maybe for your birthday?” “It’s too embarrassing to ask my parents for something like this! But maybe I’ll get some money or something…” Mikoshiba said, looking at the figure sadly before putting it back on the shelf. Mayu suddenly had an idea. “Mikoto-san, do you want to come with us?”“Huh? Why? No, I mean… what are you guys even doing here?” “We just wanted to hang around,” Mayu lied. Mikoshiba eyed him suspiciously. “You wanted to hang around?” He asked skeptically. Mayu shrugged. “Brother was going so I couldn’t go to his house. I decided to come along.” Mikoshiba didn’t look entirely convinced but he dropped the subject. “Alright, well, I guess I can go with you? Since we’re all here? Where were you guys planning to go next?” Mayu shrugged again. “Haven’t decided.” “Okay. Well, I guess we should go get Nozaki and Sakura, huh? They look a little antsy out there.” “Gossiping?” Mayu suggested, looking at the pair outside, leaning close together with their hands hiding their mouths. “Probably,” Mikoshiba said dryly. They finally turned and headed out of the store to meet Nozaki and Sakura. “Why didn’t you kick Mayu out too?” Nozaki grumbled. “Now, now, Nozaki-kun, I’m sure he has his reasons,” Sakura chided with a knowing tone. Mikoshiba seemed to pointedly ignore her implications. “So, where do you guys want to go?” He asked. “Oh, are you coming along, Mikorin?” Sakura asked, her eyebrows drawing together. “Mayu asked me to come…” “Oh,” Sakura said, giving Mayu a questioning look. “Alright then! Why don’t you pick, Mikorin?” “Why do I have to pick?” Mikoshiba groaned. “Hmm… how about the game store?” Sakura discreetly looked to Mayu for guidance, and catching his tiny nod, agreed. “Okay! Let’s go!” “I didn’t know you liked games, Sakura?” Nozaki questioned. “I don’t play them often but it’s fun to look around!” She shot him a “please play along” look, which he surprisingly noticed and heeded. “Ah, okay. Then let’s go!” They finally headed off. “Maybe I should play a game sometime too? Dating sims are kind of fun. At least that one we played was.” “Well, you are always complaining you don’t have any hobbies when you finish your manga early…” Mikoshiba said. “But then we’ll probably just end up drawing more doujinshi...” “Doujinshi?” Mayu questioned. “Ah, when Mikoshiba made me play the game, we got really attached to this side character named Tomoda, so we ended up drawing a doujinshi where he gets his own love story with the—” “Nozaki!” Mikoshiba quickly cut him off. “I’m sure he’s not interested in what it’s about!” “With who?” Mayu prompted, inadvertently ignoring Mikoshiba’s attempt to end the conversation. “With the protagonist,” Nozaki finished before Mikoshiba could stop him. Mikoshiba covered his eyes with one hand. “They pulled an all-nighter to finish it; it was little shocking the next day when I saw it,” Sakura added. Mikoshiba covered his face with his other hand. Mayu wondered to himself why Mikoshiba was so embarrassed about it, but decided not to question further. “We’re here,” he finally said, which made Mikoshiba reluctantly uncover his face. “They have a display for Girls Princess 4! I forgot it was coming out this month!” He suddenly exclaimed, eyeing the display in the front window. “The tenth, huh? That’s this Friday,” Nozaki said. “Crap, that means I can’t buy it yet!” Mikoshiba finally rushed inside the store to look at the promotional stands, and Mayu followed slowly after. “And I can’t preorder it either because I’m short a little bit...” He added with a depressed tone. “Ask for your birthday?” “It’s a gal game, though! It’s embarrassing!” “Hm,” Mayu hummed noncommittally. “I really hope I get some money so I can buy all this stuff...” Mikoshiba whined, turning the display game case over in his hands. Mayu watched his fingers twirling idly, then noted the price on the box. It was three thousand yen; that was certainly a price he could manage. With a plan decided, he touched Mikoshiba’s hand gently. “I’ll be back.” He looked around for Nozaki and Sakura, found them in one of the corners of the store, and walked over. “Sakura-san.” “Hm? What is it Mayu?” “Can you do something for me?” --------- Mayu knew it couldn’t have been easy, but Sakura managed a lot better than he himself could have, he was sure of that. It was finally Mikoshiba’s birthday; Mikoshiba had declined going out until tomorrow, but had (happily, Mayu hoped) allowed him to visit. Staying at home kept him more or less safely insulated from all the pink and hearts and romance outside, which Mayu knew he would appreciate, and which he himself was a little happy for, too. Now, the two of them were huddled together on Mikoshiba’s bed as Mikoshiba showed him what his parents had given him for his birthday. “And they told me last week that they were going to give me some money too, so I wanted to go and preorder Girls Princess 4, but somehow I couldn’t get down there to do it? Every time I planned to go, Sakura appeared to ask me for help with something, it was weird!” Yes, it could not have been easy for Sakura. Mayu definitely owed her one. He pulled his bag into his lap and opened it. “So I never got to preorder it... I think I’ll go down tomorrow and see if they still have some cop—” Mikoshiba fell quiet suddenly when he caught sight of the game case that Mayu had slipped carefully out of his bag and held out to him. “I asked her to keep you,” Mayu admitted. “Sorry.” Mikoshiba stared at the case for several moments, then looked at Mayu, then back at the case again. He did it several times before Mayu moved the case a little closer to him, trying to encourage him to take it. Mikoshiba’s hands finally lifted, gently taking hold of the case. “You bought it for me....?” “Happy birthday.” Mayu smiled softly, and a slight blush appeared on Mikoshiba’s face. “T-thank you,” he said, his head falling onto Mayu’s shoulder to avoid the younger’s gaze. Mayu gently patted the back of his head. “Shall we play?” He suggested. Mikoshiba sat up again. “Yeah! But you have to pick your own love interest this time!” Mayu smiled again “Sure.” Mikoshiba smiled wide and got up to put the game in.

[vgjustice]

VG Talks Games: My thoughts on The Switch (Jan. 14th, ‘17)

Really just a basic rundown on what I’m seeing from the various bits that have been officially released and what should be known if you want one of these systems. Buckle in, this might be a long one.

So, just for simplicity’s sake, I’m going to be using North American pricing when I’m talking about the system, games, and accessories. I know these prices are different in different regions, but the basic idea will still be the same when divorced from hard numbers. Okay? Okay.

And on that note, let’s talk cost. At $300 this thing is going to be more expensive than either an Xbox One S or a PlayStation 4 slim. And if you’re only looking at the Switch as a home console, that’s bad. You’d better really want those Nintendo exclusives to justify spending that much more on a less powerful system, and it is a less powerful system. But, that’s kind of the thing, right? It’s not just a “home console”. It’s not really much of a portable either, what with the 2.5 to 6 hour battery life (my New 3DS XL gets considerably better than that), but it can be taken on the go and that’s really the point. Much like the controllers have some motion control to them, even though people were really very much done with “waggling” before the Wii bit the dust.

From what I saw in the Switch Event it looks to me like Nintendo is trying to capture two very distinct audiences with this console. The first group are the casual market they captured with the Wii. That’s why games like 1, 2, Switch! and Just Dance 2017 are launch titles, it’s why they talked so extensively about using the console and games more like a party game that doesn’t need the TV. And I have no idea if that’s going to work. The Wii casual market clearly didn’t want the more powerful Wii U, even when it was explained to them on a personal level. Maybe Nintendo can hit pay dirt again, and it’s pretty obvious that they’re trying. The second group is the long time Nintendo loyalists. Which is why Breath of the Wild is a launch title and why the Switch Event wrapped up with that game’s release date. It’s why they focused so much on Super Mario Odyssey, and also announced Splatoon 2. They’ve got a pretty good idea what that demographic wants and have been good about pleasing them (us) for the past few console generations. And to be perfectly honest, that’s not really enough. Every loyalist lost is a major blow since I don’t think Nintendo is replacing those customers very easily. Really, the Switch needs a unique lineup to attract new customers, but they need something that either younger customers can grow with much like the current loyalists did with the NES/SNES/N64, or they need to please the major console fanatics and convince them to pick up this new device. But with underpowered hardware that doesn’t feature a lot of the things their less expensive counterparts have (Blu-Ray players anyone?) it’s going to be a tough sell to say the least.

On the more techy side of things, I’m pleased to say that Nintendo might finally be on to something here. The replacement controllers might be expensive at $80 for a set (L and R Joycons), but it’s also pretty obvious that having more than one set synced at a time is not the way the system is meant to be played. The much less expensive Pro Controller is clearly the “couch co-op” controller of choice here. For the admittedly poor battery performance, the solution is actually a lot more simple than you might think. The system uses a standard USB cable to charge. Let me say that again because I’m just as incredulous as you are: The Nintendo Switch uses the standard USB type-C cable to charge. If you already have a phone that uses USB-C, you’ve already got a Switch charger. Worried about playing on the go? Bring a pocket charger and a USB-C cable. Take it to your favorite restaurant and plug in a USB wall adapter to the cell charger that nearly every place has now. That poor battery really isn’t that big of a deal and those chargers are going to be readily available from dozens of reputable manufacturers. That was great news to hear!

The system uses microSDXC memory cards, which is a standard memory card. Basically the same card that the New 3DS hardware uses. The only concern I have, and this is a small and nit-picky concern, is the question of memory limitation. A lot of devices have strange limits on the maximum size card it can recognize. SDXC tells us that it will work with cards AT LEAST up to 64 GB in capacity. But, might it also work with the 128 GB cards? What about the 200 GB cards? Larger? Who knows? This is one of the many tech missteps Nintendo took with that press release, and have still not corrected on their web page detailing what the system can work with. (Note: That web page is why I know it’s compatible with microSDXC specifically.) This will be needful information going forward and I hope we learn more before the system comes out in a little over a month and a half.

The launch lineup seems a little... sparse. My recommendation for any new game console is to have three to five games either readily available or shortly available to justify the cost of the system. Buying a game system for one or two games isn’t cost effective for anyone, really. (You’re free to reject that suggestion, of course. It’s your money.) But, the launch lineup I’m seeing doesn’t really offer a lot to work with. It feels like “The new Zelda game plus a bunch of tech demos”. That’s not a great feeling when looking at picking up a brand new, untested game system. Never the less, the upcoming titles do look promising. I’m excited to see a new Puyo Puyo game, even if it’s riding on the coat tails of Tetris to get there. (Some of my favorite puzzle games use Tetris to some extent, so this is not a bad thing to me at all. Tetris is awesome.) A new Bomberman game is exciting, but Konami has been so bad as of late that I’m worried about the game on principal. Arms is likely to be a huge internet joke for quite some time, but could also prove to be a good game. I expect it to be a flash in the pan party game that’s quickly forgotten. The controls just don’t look like they’re there, you know? Thankfully the system seems to be teeming with a variety of RPGs from several venerable studios. If you like those slow-burner games this could be a very good system. Plus, there are still rumors of a Mario and Rabbids crossover game in addition to a new Pokemon game, both of which are exciting for different reasons. People who remember the Sega Nomad and playing home console Sonic on the go might be more interested in the new offering, and it does look like it could be worth a chance. Which is more than I can say about far too many Sonic the Hedgehog games. (Come on, Sonic Team. You guys used to be better than this.) There are more than a few notable omissions from Nintendo’s list as well, and that has mixed feelings from me. Things like Mother 3/EarthBound 2 and anything related to Metroid not being there hurt a little, as well as Smash Bros., and makes me worry that either the titles are not going to be on the system or will take a long time to get there. Neither option is great for early adopters.

And finally, the big bugaboo from the event, Nintendo stepping into the realms of Payed Online Use. This is very much one of those things where it could either be the thing that saves Nintendo’s online presence or the thing that crushes the company. And I’m really more on the side of the former. When Microsoft introduced the concept it proved to be very viable, ensuring a much more stable network for it’s games and customers. When Sony finally bit the bullet and did the same, it didn’t feel great but they added the value of their PlayStation Plus to the mix, giving games every month to subscribers. That was effective enough to force Microsoft to follow suit. Nintendo has some big problems to overcome if they want to make this service charge successful. Offering free games every month is going to be a must, and as long as Nintendo gets their amazing catalogue of classic games onto the system fast enough they’ll have a great pool to pick from. I don’t expect them to do this, since they haven’t had a large number of games available at any time since they began offering the eShop with the Wii. This same issue could be even more troubling if they decide to offer rentals of whatever customers want. It would be great to offer that, but they need to have the library to support it first or it just will not be valuable. Next, Nintendo needs to offer reliable and effective online connectivity. Which is thankfully something I have not seen them have trouble with at any point in the Wii U’s life span, so this shouldn’t be an issue. I honestly don’t see a reason for Nintendo to change their policy in such a way since their online connectivity has always been exceptional, but perhaps they’re adding a service that would need some kind of payment option to make it viable. I’m just hoping it’s not a simple cash grab, since this would directly hurt the sales of the system if it’s not valuable enough. Or if it costs too much. More expensive system with the same cost for online play? Yeah, Nintendo won’t make any money on that if that’s the case.

Overall, I’m honestly still pretty positive about the system. I’ve just got a lot of concerns and the Switch Event didn’t do much to inform me, and in some cases actually gave me more concerns than I had before. But hey, who knows? Maybe it’ll capture the casual market again and bring in core console players and we’ll all enjoy Splatoon 2 together. To make early buying as effective as possible, pick up a USB-C cable plus appropriate USB adapters, a 64 GB microSDXC card (at least), and a USB rechargeable battery pack to go with the system. A carrying case for on the go use would also be recommended. Extra diligence in watching for thieves in the first few months is going to be a must I fear. And also the very real possibility of a highly limited launch window aiding scalpers will likely drive the price up, so be vigilant in not supporting these individuals.

Be safe, be smart, caveat emptor.

[screamingtofu]

guess what buddy??? do all of them. from the one you reblogged from me

I should’veexpected that, but I’m a weenie. I’d already answered a couple of them but Ican’t think of a better use of my afternoon at work so let’s do this thing.

1.Do youwant a boyfriend or girlfriend?

I dunno, I’mstill getting used to the whole being asexual thing and am just not a fan oftouching in general. I would love the shit out of new friends though. Neverturn down the opportunity to make friends.

2.When didyour last hug take place?

Maybe amonth or two ago, housemate was going through a tough time with his most recentex and I think it was just like a floodgate had broken in him and it physicallyhurt me to not comfort him and I knew there wasn’t anything I could say to makehim feel better … So I hugged the shit out of him.

3.Are you ajealous person?

A coupleyears ago, yeah I was pretty bad. Then I started figuring shit out about myselfand I’m a lot more chill now.

4.Are youtired right now?

Combinationof poor sleeping habits and a near constant level of stress has left me lookinglike I have two black eyes. We had some corporate pictures taken last year andI looked fucking alien after they’d photoshopped them out.

6.Have youever been called a tease?

I don’tthink so, at least not in the way I think this question is supposed to betaken.

7.Have youever been awake for 48 hours straight?

I have. A coupleof years ago I wrecked my back and ended up not being able to move for maybe aweek or two without excruciating pain and because I tend to wriggle around inmy sleep you can bet your arse that didn’t happen. I ended up watching a lot ofvery bad movies on Netflix and shaving my head due to delirium.

8.Do you cryeasily?

No. I am anemotional fortress except when it’s someone elses pain. Then I’ll cry myfucking eyes out.

9.Whatshould you be doing right now?

I’mliterally at work, surrounded by developers and one very annoying sales personfrom interstate. There are so many things I should be doing right not. But I’malso here for 2 hours after everyone leaves so I get a chance to rocket througheverything without distraction.

10.Are you aheavy sleeper?

If I amtired enough, satan himself cannot awaken me.

11.Do youthink you can last in a relationship for 6 months?

I amentirely unsure. It would depend on what the other person wanted out of therelationship. If it was a completely non sexual relationship than hell yeah. Superfriendship, technically I’ve been doing that for the past 5 years since I movedto Melbourne.

12.Are youmad at someone right now?

Nah, I neverreally get mad at people. I got better things to waste my very tiny well ofemotions on.

13.Do youbelieve in love?

Hell yeah.Love is super rad and I’m glad I’m finally getting to express that for people.

15.Who wasthe last person you talked to?

IT Managerat work. We’re trying to figure out why the mail server is not sendingautomated emails anymore. Also he’s bugging me to bring some of my xbone gamesin for the console they’re hooking up in the office.

16.Do youget butterflies around the person you like?

No? But thenI’ve never really experienced the whole thing where you see someone and feelnervous. Either I’m hanging out with people I’m already comfortable with or I’mmeeting new possible friends. There is no in between.

17.Will youget married?

Unless itwas for some kind of tax benefit … eh probably not.

19.Doesanyone like you?

I have noidea. Sometimes when I go out with friends, they’ll say something afterwardsabout how so and so was trying to flirt with me and I have to really thinkbecause fuck I thought they just really wanted some nachos or something.

20.Do yousecretly like someone?

Not in theway this question is thinking.

21.Who wasthe first person you talked to today?

My Manager,big bearded Englishman named Rob who likes to shitstir almost as much as I do.He’d called me over to try and look into why something was duplicating and alsoto confirm if we could charge a client $10,000 for something.

22.Who doyou feel most comfortable talking to about anything?

Housemate,but I’m always open for conversation.

23.What areyou NOT looking forward to?

Trying toget in shape so I don’t die in the next 5 years.

24.What AREyou looking forward to?

Getting asweet robot body because I lived that far. Also when people start talking aboutsomething they’re really passionate about, I live for those moments.

25.Hassomeone of the opposite sex ever told you they loved you, and meant it?

Probably?All my partners were great people and there was always a connection there. So I’dassume it was genuine.

26.Supposeyou see your ex kissing another person what would you do?

Think “goodfor you” and then keep going unless they wanted to catch up.

27.Do youplan on moving out within the next year?

Nah, myhouse is awesome. Needs some repairs, but it’s great.

28.Are you aforgiving person?

I try to be.I used to be really angry and confused about a lot of stuff, but as I’ve gottenolder I’ve realised that holding onto grudges is just draining and you getnothing out of it.

29.How manyTRUE friends do you have?

How the crapdo I qualify a true friend? Like, do I know they physically exist and have seenthem with my own eyes? I dunno 10?

30.Do youfall for people easily?

I genuinelyhave no idea how to answer this.

31.Have youever fallen for your ex’s best friend?

Here’s apoem I wrote after people were getting defensive because I didn’t want to fuckany of the characters from Mass Effect.

I will notfuck them out in space, I will not fuck them based on race.

I will notfuck them here or there, I will not fuck them anywhere.

I will notfuck them in a bed, I will not fuck them like I said.

It’s nothingpersonal for you see, my dude = asexuality

32.What’sthe last thing you put in your mouth?

Waterbottle, gotta love me some o that delicious h20

33.Who wasthe last person you drove with?

Last personI was in a car with was an Uber driver. I was her 4th ever pick up.She was cool, we basically talked about Orange is the New black the whole wayhome and other stuff to watch on Netflix.

34.How latedid you stay up last night and why?

Like 1AM.Was chatting with a friend about the latest episode of critical role they’dfinished and they were feeling things.

35.If youcould move somewhere else, would you?

Nah, I’mgood where I am.

36.Who wasthe last person you took a picture of?

Besides thestupid selfies I occasionally take, I think it was a cricket player on abillboard who I thought looked like someone made a wax version of Ryan Reynoldsand left him out in the sun

37.Can youlive a day without TV?

Yeah sure,that’s one of the reasons I took up knitting.

38.When wasthe last time you were extremely disappointed?

Mid Novemberlast year, Paul Dini, the dude who helped create the animated batman series wasgiving a talk in the city and I completely spaced on getting a ticket. Would’vebeen great to meet him and hear him talk about writing.

41.What isyour all-time favorite romance movie?

I dunno.Maybe Porco Rosso. Helps you learn that sometimes you just need to say nobecause people are shit.

42.Do youbelieve that everyone has a soul-mate?

Yeah, Iguess. I think there’s someone out there who you just click with. Sometimes there’smore than one, you just need to keep looking.

43.What’syour current problem?

The clutchon my bike will occasionally not come in all the way when I’m trying to go fromfirst to second and gets stuck in neutral so I need to completely let it go andthen reengage. Drives me nuts.

44.Have youever had your heart broken?

Nah, I’m toomuch of a weenie and try to reconcile all my relationships.

45.Yourthoughts of long distance relationships?

I think they’relessened with the internet and social media because you can still talk soeasily and while I don’t have the whole “I miss being physically around you”thing I can understand it would be hard to continue with the shade of someonethat comes from a long distance relationship because there’s so much you wouldmiss.

46.How manykids do you want to have?

Not a fan ofthe whole baby making thing, wouldn’t mind adopting 1 or 2 if I ever had thechance though.

47.Have youever found it hard to tell someone you like them?

Nah, Ialways went for friend level first and then because of things I never reallyunderstood at the time just ended up going on dates that I thought were justlike friends hanging out and then things happen and I end up going out on moredates and then things happen. *shrugs*

[thisdaynews]

EFL Cup reaction & build-up to Wednesday's ties

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EFL Cup reaction & build-up to Wednesday's ties

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Posted at 9:059:05

Parkinson unhappy

Oxford 1-1 Sunderland (Oxford win 402 on pens)

A tale of two managers.

Phil Parkinson was NOT happy with the referee’s performance as his side lost to Oxford in the Carabao Cup.

His quotes coming up…

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Posted at 8:578:57

Post update

Oxford 1-1 Sunderland (Oxford win 4-2 on pens)

Quote Message: “It’s out of your control when it goes to a penalty shootout. “It’s more about the players and fans that turned out. You never plan to win that way but if you’re going to win and go to the quarter-finals of a competition like this that’s the best way to do it. We were poor today. That’s probably the worst we’ve played. But what a tremendous testament to League One.” from Karl Robinson Oxford United manager

“It’s out of your control when it goes to a penalty shootout. “It’s more about the players and fans that turned out. You never plan to win that way but if you’re going to win and go to the quarter-finals of a competition like this that’s the best way to do it. We were poor today. That’s probably the worst we’ve played. But what a tremendous testament to League One.”

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Posted at 8:538:53

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Get Involved – penalty shootout memories

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Ronan: Don’t think I’ll ever forget England’s first World Cup penalty shootout win against Colombia. Pure scenes.

Posted at 8:488:48

Another milestone for Sergio

Man City 3-1 Southampton

Manchester City

…and a spot of modesty from Kyle Walker…

Posted at 8:418:41

Oxford the history-makers!

Oxford 1-1 Sunderland (Oxford win 4-2 on pens)

Oxford United beat fellow League One side Sunderland on penalties to reach their first League Cup quarter-final since 1987-88.

Will Grigg missed his penalty for the Black Cats, with U’s keeper Simon Eastwood saving Marc McNulty’s kick to win the game.

The U’s had led through Rob Hall’s curling effort from the edge of the box, moments after McNulty hit the bar.

McNulty levelled for Sunderland from close range to force the shootout.

Posted at 8:388:38

The ecstasy and the agony of a penalty shootout

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Posted at 8:328:32

Quarter-final draw

The quarter-final draw will take place on Thursday at about 08:45 GMT on BBC Radio 2’s Zoe Ball Breakfast Show.

Posted at 8:308:30

Colchester reach quarters for first time since 1974-75 season

Crawley 1-3 Colchester

Colchester Unitedhave only ever reached the quarters of the League Cup once before.

And they made sure of their second trip there was done in style.

The hosts led through a brilliant 25-yard strike byDannie Bulman.

But the U’s were level 78 seconds later when Luke Norris headed home fromFrank Nouble’scross.

They led whenCohen Bramall’s free-kick hit the crossbar and went into the net off keeperMichael Luyambula– beforeLuke Gambinslammed home a third.

Gambin, who had come off the bench five minutes before scoring, played for Crawley last season.

They were last in the quarter-finals in 1974-75 where they lost to Aston Villa.

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Posted at 8:258:25

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Get Involved – penalty shootout memories

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Ian Thompson:The Cobblers knocking Liverpool out in the League Cup on shootouts in 2010. I was there, at Anfield.

SMS Message: Under-18 beach soccer final, we’re down 1-0 early, ref inexplicably allows like 5 mins injury time (its only 7 minutes a half) and we get a penalty at end that I score to take it to shootout. Our goalkeeper saves 3 penalties and scores 1 for us to run out easy winners… from Jon

Under-18 beach soccer final, we’re down 1-0 early, ref inexplicably allows like 5 mins injury time (its only 7 minutes a half) and we get a penalty at end that I score to take it to shootout. Our goalkeeper saves 3 penalties and scores 1 for us to run out easy winners…

SMS Message: As a Colchester fan my best shootout memories were beating Crystal Palace and Spurs in the same cup run. Feels like it’s only yesterday. – from Dean

As a Colchester fan my best shootout memories were beating Crystal Palace and Spurs in the same cup run. Feels like it’s only yesterday. –

Posted at 8:238:23

Post update

Man City 3-1 Southampton

Manchester City

Quote Message: “We played seriously and the quality of the pass was high. We arrived in the final third, especially wingers, with quality. Generally it was a good game other than the last minutes which can happen. We go through – quarter-finals now, and into the draw. You cannot win four titles in one season when you don’t care about some games or some competitions. We did it again, we played so seriously – I think that is how we played so good – and we are there. And for the players who didn’t play the last game, it is good for the rhythm, for myself to see they are fit and they are good.” from Pep Guardiola Man City manager

“We played seriously and the quality of the pass was high. We arrived in the final third, especially wingers, with quality. Generally it was a good game other than the last minutes which can happen. We go through – quarter-finals now, and into the draw. You cannot win four titles in one season when you don’t care about some games or some competitions. We did it again, we played so seriously – I think that is how we played so good – and we are there. And for the players who didn’t play the last game, it is good for the rhythm, for myself to see they are fit and they are good.”

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Posted at 8:218:21

Post update

Man City 3-1 Southampton

Southampton

Quote Message: “It was a defeat but a reaction and after a very, very difficult night on Friday to come here and play against one of the strongest sides on this planet, you can think about easier challenges to have. Always when you come here and you start, and in the first 10 mins you never know what happens. from Ralph Hasenhuttl Southampton manager

“It was a defeat but a reaction and after a very, very difficult night on Friday to come here and play against one of the strongest sides on this planet, you can think about easier challenges to have. Always when you come here and you start, and in the first 10 mins you never know what happens.

Posted at 8:198:19

City win comfortably in the end

Man City 3-1 Southampton

Manchester City made hard work of their win over Southampton, who were reeling after their 9-0 drubbing in the Premier League.

Saints were far more assured against the Premier League champions compared to their abysmal display against Leicester, but they couldn’t keepSergio Aguerodown, and the Argentina striker scored trice afterNicolas Otamendiopened the scoring.

Jack Stephens headed in a late consolation for the visitors, who return to the Etihad – and surely a much stronger City side- in the League on Saturday.

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Posted at 8:118:11

‘We needed to set up for the weekend match’ – Flores

Everton 2-0 Watford

Watford

Watford manager Quique Sanchez Flores: ���It was important to see [Domingos] Quina, to see [Sebastian] Prodl, to see [Dimitri] Foulquier, to see many players who are part of the squad. They are not playing too many minutes.

“If we were able to win here then perfect, if we were not able to win, we need to set up for the next match at the weekend. We need all of them, in our situation we need all of them. The players got some confidence and they will need this for the future.”

Not sure Flores is quite getting the point of the Carabao Cup….

Posted at 8:058:05

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Get Involved – penalty shootout memories

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SMS Message: Playing the team that romped our league in a Essex Sunday Combination cup final we found ourselves 4-1 down with 18 minutes to go. Two quick goals and a last kick leveller got it to 4-4. I scored one and saved two in the shoot out as we claimed the most outrageous victory. Not sure any of us that day will ever forget it! Recreativo Romford FC, remember the name! from Matt, Chelmsford

Playing the team that romped our league in a Essex Sunday Combination cup final we found ourselves 4-1 down with 18 minutes to go. Two quick goals and a last kick leveller got it to 4-4. I scored one and saved two in the shoot out as we claimed the most outrageous victory. Not sure any of us that day will ever forget it! Recreativo Romford FC, remember the name!

full match report bySteve Sutcliffe, as Leicester City advance to the next round.

They’re doing alright this season so far, aren’t they?

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[free-mormons-blog]

Science Fiction and the Gospel -- Temple and Cosmos Beyond this Ignorant Present -- HUGH NIBLEY 1992

Science Fiction and the Gospel

In the great fantasies of science fiction, the professor is almost always the central figure. That is natural, since the object is to tell a human story. There are very few science fiction stories in which the great professor is not the central figure, or at least one of the most important characters. The layman writer worships the great scientist as a superman. And scientists, writing scientifically, have been more than willing to go along. The scientists’ descriptions of themselves are either hypercritical or very flattering, one or the other. Recently they have been extremely critical. Of course, they are the only ones who could be so, and science fiction is the only place they could get away with it. Some quite eminent scientists have been writing some scathing science fiction, in which they show up scientists. A layman couldn’t do a thing like that; it would just be sour grapes. And where else could these men unburden themselves with impunity, except by putting their speeches in the mouths of other people, in fiction? That is very safe.

That is an interesting trend of our times. As Thomas Kuhn has recently shown, the history of science is actually fiction, deliberately contrived to make science look good.1 The history of science itself is the foundation of science fiction. If every problem in science has a scientific solution (that follows the Miletian school), then God isn’t wanted in any solution. The original idea is that we can’t bring God into the laboratory, we can’t weigh him, we can’t use him, so let’s leave him out. He exists and all that, but we can’t use him in our calculations. And before you know it, any problem can be solved without him, so he becomes an impediment: he becomes just so much useless baggage.

Science fiction uniformly describes life in worlds in which science is king—meaning the scientist is king. In this kind of world the dream of the Sophist is fulfilled, a world in which there is no room for any but one kind of thinking. This is the “one world” of John Dewey, which he carried to its logical conclusion. Richard McKenna, a scientist writing science fiction, recently said, “I am as positivistic a scientist as you will find. The students blush and hate me, but it is for their own good. Science is the only safe game, and it’s safe only if kept pure.”2 The speaker here is, of all things, a geologist, whose business is to reconstruct the past; that is why he likes to write science fiction. Indeed, need we say that any reconstruction of the past is 100 percent pure imagination.

Speak of keeping science pure! Science fiction writers console the Western World by saying that everything happened before; they console the Western World with the image of the superscientist, who has become the figure of science fiction but never lived in real life, we find out now. He is calm, aloof, dedicated, unswayed, incorruptible, self-effacing, magisterial. Science is a superman, said Huxley; as far above the savage as the savage is above a blade of grass. Compare that with Claude Levi-Strauss’s book, La Pensée sauvage (The Savage Mind), which shows that it is a lucky anthropologist who can even equal the savages of many a tribe for sheer intellectual power and knowledge.3 Yet the great science fiction by scientists deals with this theme, and the question is Should scientists rule the universe? Who else?

In Eric Temple Bell’s The Ultimate Catalyst,4 the pure-minded scientist does terrible things to a wicked dictator. This is all right, because he takes the scientific view. As an idealist, the scientist is a necessary enemy of all bad people. This is the Baconian image of the pure scientist. Another well-publicized story called “The Gostec and the Doshes,” by J. M. Brewer, starts this way (and this is deadpan—he is quite serious): “Woleshensky [the great scientist] smiled indulgently. He towered in his chair as though in the infinite kindness of his vast mind there were room to understand and overlook all the foolish little foibles of all the weak little beings that call themselves men. A mathematical physicist lives in vast spaces.” To him, human beings and their affairs do not loom very important. He is dead serious—we have a sort of superman here.5 The nearest thing to him is the figure of Rutherford, as he is worshipfully described by C. P. Snow:

The tone of science at Cambridge in 1932 was the tone of Rutherford. Magniloquently boastful, creatively confident, generous, argumentative, and full of hope. Science and Rutherford were on top of the world. Worldly success, he loved every minute of it: flattery, titles, the company of the high official world. He was also superbly and magnificently vain, as well as wise, and he enjoyed his own personality.6

Here if ever, is the great, lovable scientist of science fiction. What more could one ask for than science on such a level? “He enjoyed a life of miraculous success,” says Snow. But then, something strange follows. “But I am sure that even quite late in life he felt stabs of sickening insecurity.” This is strange—”sickening insecurity” in this man, of all men.

Snow goes on to talk about other great Cambridge scientists. He says:

Does anyone really imagine that Bertrand Russell, G. H. Hardy, Rutherford, Blackett, and the rest were bemused by cheerfulness as they faced their own individual state? In the crowd, great—they were the leaders; they were top men; they were worshipped. But, by themselves, they believed with the same certainty that they believed in Rutherford’s atom that they were going, after this mortal life, into annihilation. Against this they had only to offer the nature of scientific activity: its complete success on its own terms. It itself is a source of happiness. But it’s whistling in the dark, when they’re alone.

He gives some very interesting sketches of the very odd way these people behave.

Only scientists dare criticize scientists as demigods, and then only in science fiction, as we mentioned before. J. B. S. Haldane, the great British biologist, in “The Gold Makers,” the only science fiction story he ever wrote, shows that science as a key to power and gain is likely to become a pawn to clever and unscrupulous men, that the scientist really isn’t ruling the roost at all, that he will be victimized, just as sure as anything, and be used as a tool. This becomes a theme of much science fiction, of course.7 Julian Huxley (the biologist), in the only science fiction he ever wrote, a story called “The Tissue-Culture King,” used the theme of the superiority of the scientist over ordinary people; with this superiority the scientist has the right to meddle with all forms of life, including human.8 In an article in the Saturday Evening Post, a scientist says: “We scientists have a right to play God.” This is said by, of all things, an anthropologist.9 One has a right to play God, or play Hamlet, or play the organ before the world only if one has the capacity to do so. So the question is, Just how godlike is this man’s capacity? Many stories by scientists explode this myth of our great capacity, which we pretend to have by hiding behind our specialties.

James McConnell, a psychologist, wrote a story, a very good one, called “Learning Theory.” It received a lot of comment. A human scientist, a psychologist, thinks he’s pretty hot stuff; but there is a much smarter psychologist from the planet Uranus, who studies our human psychologist just as a bug under glass because as a man from the outer planet, he is so much more intelligent.10 That’s precisely the hypothesis. If we’re the ones who know the answers, if we’re the clever ones, the superior ones, we can cut up anybody we want. The psychologist from outer space puts the human psychologist in a maze situation that humiliates him, drives him crazy—which is what happens to poor rats when they are put in mazes. He removes the food from him, and so forth, just as you would treat a rat. What is more, and this is the irony of the story, this wise, wise man from the other planet completely misinterprets the behavior of the animal from earth. Of course the psychologist doesn’t impute intelligence to the creature, or anything respectable; but he does have a theory to explain why the man in the maze does what he does. So the victim knows what it is like. Does a scientist have the right to play God? Yes. If one scientist is superior to another, he has the right to play God with the other one. But everybody knows a little bit about science; so where do we draw the line?

It is here that science fiction performs a useful function. We can carry the themes to their logical conclusions, to their ad absurdum, bearing in mind what they lead to. “In the Nobel Prize Winners,” W. J. Gordon presents a very amusing story on this theme. On visiting a super research center, he explains, “If his picture of industrial research was true, what an indictment! . . . [The staff] never call each other anything but ‘Doctor,’ and they have an agreement about not showing each other up.”11That is how scientists get away with projecting the image of superman: they agree that nobody will damage that image with the public. In Gordon’s story, the character Dr. Fairly says, “The person they wanted to get rid of is the only man in the lab who really pushes his nose right down there and produces [the person who is running the laboratory]. But he isn’t a guild member, no Ph.D., so they dared attack him. . . . The people were nice and clean in their lab smocks, very serious and busy-busy. . . . Over each door was the group name: Operations Research, Physics, Organic Chemistry, Inorganic Chemistry, Electrical Engineering, Mechanical Engineering—the works!” Hurlbet, the manager of the thing, says,

“We keep the strains pure here—and you know what happened to the collie. Its nose got sharper and its head thinner till its brains were pushed out through its ears. A terrible, terrible thing. But what can I do? They’ve all got families to support. . . . The minute they’re in a jam, my people scream for fancy instruments and tools, big enough to hide behind. . . . Don’t laugh, . . . that’s how we get the big government research jobs. Monumental cyclotrons and well-behaved, competent people to use them. God save us from competence! Isn’t there one nut around? . . . [The board] asked me why I didn’t have any great men around, . . . so I hired Cole and Hart, the Nobel Prize winners.” I pointed out that Cole and Hart hadn’t published anything in twenty years. “Of course not,” said Hurlbet. “But look here. This lab is funded from the Defense Department—almost all of it, that is. You must show competence—not brillance. . . . Their degrees must appear on a laundry list of people who will make up the task force. The Defense Department loves the expression ‘task force.’ They eat it up. . . . Those two old Nobel-O-Rama gentlemen have put me over the top on contracts more than once. [It’s the] Star system.”12

In other words, he’s telling us that the great scientists aren’t all they’re cracked up to be.

Norbert Weiner, in his story called “The Brain,” points out that man’s moral weakness is man’s undoing.13 The story is about a great brain surgeon who operates on a criminal who has offended him grievously. The man’s brain was his moral weakness. He cuts his brain, making him incapable of the clever judgments necessary to carry out his criminal activities. Because of the brain, the criminal had been very smart. Does the doctor have a right to do that? If we become dependent on scientists, we are at their mercy. The doctor, as he is about to operate, says he doesn’t like the idea at all: “It’s an ugly business—I don’t like it. Sometimes it cuts out a man’s conscience, and pretty nearly every time it does eerie things to his judgment and personal balance.” It is dangerous.

The writer says we feel free to exploit or destroy all other forms of life as we think fit. In contrast, we human beings act as if other living species, animals and plants exist only for our convenience. We feel free to exploit or destroy them as we see fit. It is true that some sentimental laymen have moral qualms about vivisection, but no orthodox scientist would ever have any hesitation about an experiment involving mere animals. Do we have the right to play god?

There is a terrible story by H. G. Wells—the only one that ever kept me awake, because I was a little kid when I read it in The Island of Doctor Moreau—in which the very same thing happens. He cuts up animals and makes terrible creatures of them.14 In another story by Fred Hoyle, called “The Black Cloud,” we read: “It isn’t so much the volume of talk that surprises me [among the scientists]. It’s the number of mistakes they’ve made, how often things have turned out differently to what they’ve expected.”15 Hoyle mustn’t let the outsiders in on that sort of thing, but it takes a scientist to get away with something like that. In the story called “The Miracle of the Broom Closet,” Norbert Weiner brings in a little religion, which may have a very upsetting effect. He says, as a personal testimony, “In a long career extending over 40 years and three continents, I have never met the ideal scientist.”16 “To upset [a] scientific experiment at all requires a very small miracle indeed, and with a devout and faithful servant praying to Saint Sebastian in the direct presence of his arrows, what can one expect?” he explains.17 These men are cutting quite near the edge. The scientist is not the tremendous, magisterial, powerful, and masterful image that was projected in the early science fiction.

And John R. Pierce, another scientist, an experimental psychologist, in a famous story called “John Sze’s Future” (one of those “after the holocaust” stories), wrote: “In the world that the experimental psychologists had pulled together from the chaos of nuclear destruction, no one cared to speak the obscenity that physics had become.”18 Physics had become a dirty word, and because physical scientists were taboo, they were hiding under rocks and bridges. The only people who were really respected were psychologists, who were God. (I don’t know how ironic Pierce intends this.) He relates,

After the atomic blowup, . . . the experimental [psychology] men brought the remnants of the human race together. They founded our civilization; they evolved our culture. [No place for God in all this.] We live in a world in which orthodox scientists [a strange thing to say] refuse to see, or seeing, refuse to believe, that which is before their very eyes, . . . [that] a future that the openminded, the perceptive among us, have already foreseen, [is at hand].19

This is the way scientists talked about religion a very short time ago. Now it is the orthodox scientists whom Pierce jumps on, who refuse to see that which is before their very eyes. The dead hand of scientific orthodoxy cannot long delay the coming future. The dead hand of what? Scientific orthodoxy. The antidote to science is more science, but it is my science, Pierce insists. Get rid of those awful physicists; they are going to destroy us.

At the dawn of Western science, Heraclitus pointed out very clearly what many science fiction writers are now discovering: If the scientist is a faulty instrument—he is a human being after all—he will make mistakes, and the world he gives will be his own after all. The great scientist is not doing what he thinks he is doing—getting outside of the smoke-filled room. He is in it; that is when he is taking his measurements. We ring the changes on the same old bells, and every time we hit on a new combination, we gleefully announce that we have discovered a whole new set of bells. It sounds like it, but after a time, we begin to see that it is the same old belfry.

In his portrayal of the great mathematician G. H. Hardy, C. P. Snow says, “He could not endure having his photograph taken. . . . He would not have any looking glass in his rooms, not even a shaving mirror. When he went to a hotel, his first action was to cover all the looking-glasses with towels. . . . [Of] all mechanical contrivances including fountain pens, he had a deep distrust. . . . He [the great scientist] had a morbid suspicion of mechanical gadgets (he never used a watch), in particular of the telephone.”20 He hated all gadgets. His autobiography is “witty and sharp with intellectual high spirits: But it is also, in an understated stoical fashion, a passionate lament for creative powers that used to be and that will never come again.” It is a book of such haunting sadness, because Hardy realizes “with the finality of truth, that he is absolutely finished.”21 Here again, we see these strangely acting men.

Notably, science fiction worships efficiency; it would promote in us bumbling amateurs the notion of the superiority of the scientific way over all other ways; the scientist doesn’t guess, he knows. The scientific mind is direct, clear, intense, trenchant, clean; it is unhampered by any defects of wishful or mythical thinking, recognizes only facts, sees things always and only as they are. There are still people who talk that way: There is no assignment that science could not carry out. But who gives the assignments? This may be the point.

Nevertheless, the preoccupation with ways and means is another thing that science fiction has been helpful in explaining. Where does science lead us? Many years ago, the Edinburgh geographer Halford Mackinder (his student was Haushofer, Hitler’s advisor) wrote a book on his geopolitics; it contains a marvelous section on ways and means. He claims the Germans always lose the war because they are so scientific. They know all about ways and means; they have everything figured out with the slide rule, everything to the sixth decimal place. They know just how it is. But they don’t know exactly what they’re after—they have just a vague idea of world conquest, so they always lose the war. By contrast, the British bungle along, and they really do bungle. Yet they conquered half the world with a mere task force, a mere token force, mere bluff, because they knew what they wanted. If you know what you want, you can always get it, Mackinder argued. Bungle toward it, and you’ll get it in the end. But if you just bog down in ways and means, you’ll never get it. Science, he says, is preoccupation with ways and means, and, ironically, science fiction has been first to point that out.22

Recently (1969) in the Christian Science Monitor, W. H. Pickering, the director of the Jet Propulsion Lab at Caltech, said, “We are building communication systems very close to the ultimate you can ever get.” We “can use more power, . . . [but] we are near the ultimate in performance.”23 Ultimate is a strong word. What happens to unending perfectability when we are already near the ultimate? Then comes the realization that perfectability lies in another direction, in another dimension. So “it’s not a question of how difficult such exploration is.” Ways and means isn’t the problem. We’ll always get the gadget if we know what we want.24 He speaks of going even beyond the planets to the stars, the ultimate in human achievement, according to science fiction. But that isn’t achievement at all, he explains. The question is whether or not what we’re doing is worthwhile. The question is not the question of business, industry, and the military, as Mackinder points out, but how to get a particular thing done. But what is it we are after, after all?

When William Morris’s student rushed to him with the breathless news that the cable to India had been completed, Morris asked, “Young man, what message will it bear?” When Einstein heard that the atom bomb really worked, he grabbed his head and said, “Oy vey!” (Oh my, this is terrible!) He wasn’t thrilled at all. Ted Serious today is causing a terrific rumpus everywhere; he’s this guy who, when he gets drunk, can project images on film—sometimes he can’t, sometimes he can. He has been tested—it seems that he can do it, all right. But the mere fact that he makes images appear on film is considered a wonder, and it is. But what images? Nobody cares.

British investigators, says Sir Oliver Lodge, are very firmly believed to receive spirit messages.25 But what messages? Idiot gibberings and scribblings. The world makes a major issue over whether Joseph Smith really saw angels, possessed gold plates, or translated Egyptian, but they could not care less about what the angels, the plates, and the papyri have to say. For our age, the message is the medium, because we’ve run out of messages. A wise German scientist, writing very recently in a journal (which someone subscribed to for me some years ago, and is pretty good for popular people like me), called Kosmos, wrote a very good leading editorial. The theme is that nothing could be more foolish than for science to do or make something simply because it hasn’t been done before and can be done now. A few years ago, this would have been thought rank heresy. But why do we need to make all these things? The important thing is, we know we can do it now. But why bother? It is like the hunter who has reached such a height of proficiency he now uses blanks, or doesn’t use shells at all—he’s not interested. It is really not sporting anymore, as long as he knows it can be done. A cobalt bomb can be made, but is that any reason for making it? We used to think, Oh yes, think of the wonderful things we can do.

This going forward without knowing where we’re going, unable to think of any other goal but more power and more gain, and more gain for more power, is the way of insanity. Many stories point this out. From Tales of Ecstasy, then, science fiction quickly turned to Tales of Terror. Is there nothing in between? No, there isn’t. Snow’s scientists, great scientists, are manic depressive. They’re either on top of the wave, or they’re in the dumps, desperately haunted men, because you are either going somewhere, or you are going nowhere. If nowhere, no matter how great your eminence, how loud the shouting, it is but a brief, pathetic interlude, “One Moment in Annihilation’s Waste. [You’re not going anywhere.] One Moment, of the Well of Life to taste—the Stars are setting and the Caravan, starts for the Dawn of Nothing—Oh, make haste!”26

Groff Conklin, in his collection of works by great scientists, observes,

Scientists, on the whole are far too enthralled with their scientific work to want to go off on sidetrails that involve plot, characterization, and all that. . . . [But they have taken to writing science fiction for one reason: terror. They want to warn us. They want] to express moral or ethical points of view on science and its possible misuse. It is unfortunate that the stories . . . have been thought of by their readers as fantasies produced by great minds . . . rather than as the strong and pertinent warnings that they are on the dangers to certain applications of science or technology. It is also too bad that these men, once they have written their fictionalized danger signals, then ceased story writing entirely perhaps because they felt defeated by the lack of impact of their first efforts at education through fiction.27

The scientists think it their duty to the public, so they try their hand at it, but for some reason the stories don’t cause the flurry they might, and so they fall over. But Conklin observes, “Almost all scientists who have dabbled in science fiction are modern scientists of the past twenty-five years [written in 1962].”28 Then we have a little book that contains at least 75 percent of the science fiction written in English—by scientists. They’re now writing to warn us. Science fiction has failed in the greatest promise of comfort and joy. Even the science fiction of H. G. Wells becomes fascinating only when he turns his attention to the sinister and appalling. The scientist becomes the mad scientist before you know it, as in The War of the Worlds and The Island of Doctor Moreau.29 If science fiction can show us no convincing glories ahead, at least it can give us the comfort and warning, and it’s a dismal message.

If John Jacob Astor could only think of aliens as inferior and dangerous, something to be met with guns, then combat is the theme; and of course it has remained that with Tarzan, and Doc Savage, and all the rest.30 The alien is called the Bug-eyed Monster, or BEM, in the school of science fiction writing, and it has the greatest appeal to adolescents; it once dominated the pulps. We are told it is now spurned by the better class of science fiction writers, but we mustn’t believe it. The BEMs are in there as much as ever.

Thus, beginning with a great scientist of godlike knowledge and uprightness as central character, science fiction soon discovered chinks in the armor and ended up in very short order with the sinister figure of the mad scientist, either making a Frankenstein monster he can’t control or deliberately perverting his knowledge for power. The mad scientist became a stock figure of the great scientist. He passed away because he was altogether too fantastic, anyway.

A new book, The Year 2000, by Herman Kahn and Anthony Wiener, according to a reviewer, points out thousands of ways in which the world can go wrong, and the very few ways in which it can go right. The chances of its going right are extremely remote, according to these authors.31 After all, how many wrong answers are there to a problem? As many as you want. But how many right ones? Very few. There are thousands of ways, the science people point out to us now, in which the world can go wrong, and only one way it can go right; there is the gospel.

Here are some of the new stories by scientists with the end-of-the-world theme: in “Pilot Lights of the Apocalypse” (notice the common borrowing of biblical themes) by Ridenour, the military controls the push buttons and brings absolute disaster.32 The militarists have the technique, they have the power, they have the ways and means within their control by pushing the button; but they don’t really know what’s going on. They don’t know what’s beyond that, or what it is going to lead to. Another story, by scientist Chandler Davis, is called “Last Year’s Grave Undug,” and is also an after-the-holocaust story, in which the patrioteers have liquidated each other. The United States invaded itself; everybody had haunting fears that everybody else wasn’t what he should be, and so they wiped each other out.33 A story by Leo Szilard (the famous Hungarian all-around genius who died recently) called “Report on Grand Central Terminal,” features the deserted earth: everything is wiped out, because the earth divided into two factions (Shiz and Coriantumr), who extinguished each other.34 Another by Chandler Davis, called “Adrift on the Policy Level,” poses the question What can science do? He says that science is the hard way—a matter of power and salesmanship,35 the same thing you deal with when you’re up against a corporation. Personality is the principal asset of (rather than the path of becoming) scientists. The world of science is ruled by rhetoric; it is not the hardware that is important, but who controls it. The salesman is the one on top, Davis says.

“Nobody Bothers Gus,” by Algis Budrys, is an alienation story in which the human race is described as homo nondescriptus.36 The story deals with the idea of why humanity exists. If we don’t know why, what’s all the use of all these fancy, magnificent, shiny cities, materials, and everything else? The story concludes, What purpose did homo nondescriptus serve, and where was he going? We don’t know.

And in “The Prize of Peril,” Robert Sheckley, the most cynical and amusing of the present authors, tells a terrible story of total degeneration of society expressed in a TV gimmick in which scientists fight and exterminate each other.37 In a story by Damon Knight, “The Handler,” the look is everything.38 Isaac Asimov, who dabbles in all sorts of things and writes a great deal of science fiction, features, in a story called “Dreaming Is a Private Thing,” daydreaming as a highly paid profession. People have become too lazy to dream on their own, so specialists daydream; tracks are made, to be sold all around the country so people can have somebody to daydream for them.39 Morganson, a psychologist, writes in “Coming-of-Age-Day” of a compulsory sex gadget.40 Lafferty in “Slow Tuesday Night” manipulates time ad absurdum.41 These are all depressing stories.

An important theme is the victory of the robot—the ultimate in automation, regimentation, specialization, efficiency, and exploitation. The robot works for everybody. The robot does not, however, overpower suddenly. Humanity surrenders its functions gradually and willingly to the machine; this we read in countless robot stories—the favorite theme. The machine can move into a vacuum only after we have moved out; as soon as we have turned ourselves into robots, then we can be replaced by robots. When men use hardware to control the world, its resources, and other men, the hardware brings about destruction. Mormon 8 seems appropriate: “For behold, ye do love your . . . substance . . . more than ye love the poor” (Mormon 8:37). We love our expensive hardware, as described by Mormon, more than we esteem the inexpensive “live software.” With what result? Again, the old science fiction theme—destruction: “Behold, the sword of vengeance hangeth over you; and the time soon cometh” (Mormon 8:41)—because you love your hardware, your substance, more than you love people.

Much is being written about the surrender to the specialization, to despiritualization. Martin Greenberg attributes the beginning of the robot to “R.U.R.,” Rustem’s Universal Robots, a play by Karel Capek. The robot is a creature that does work for a highly specialized job and nothing else; he becomes the worker, and then the thinker, and maybe even the feeler.42 This is the favorite theme of stories today—robots that may have feelings. Do they or don’t they? Greenburg explains, “The ‘growth’ of the robot continues until he ultimately achieves acceptance as an entity by his creators. The final phase in the inevitable ascent of ‘man’s servant,’ is reached when man has disappeared and only a robotic civilization remains. A new cycle has begun, . . . when man is re-created by the beings he himself gave birth to.”43 Thus the machine takes the place not only of man, but of God. So we replace ourselves completely by robots; we do it ourselves. Nowadays, this is old stuff, or at least we are getting used to it. The Sutro Museum in San Francisco has a great collection of nineteenth-century clockwork people, just as impressive as real people, and they do all sorts of things. It is hard for us today to imagine the effect of clockwork man on eighteenth-century thinking, but it was great. Not only great but horrible. Ernst Theodor Amadeus Hoffman’s The Sandman tells a story of a doll named Olympia,44 just a pretty doll, but she was run by machinery. The doll became a monster as soon as it was accepted as a living thing. It is the same thing with the Golem: the Golem is just a machine that works; but when people regard the Golem as a personality, it becomes a horrible object.45 The same theme occurs in the tales of Edgar Allen Poe, in Oscar Wilde’s writings, and of course in Frankenstein. The monster is not a monster because of size. It doesn’t have to be terrible-looking—the doll of Olympia was a beautiful object. It became a very terrible thing when people took it seriously.

Writing in the Science Journal in 1968, the editor says, There’s no danger of machine personality devaluing human beings or that man “will suffer a loss of innocence if he comes to understand his own mental workings.” The real danger, which is very serious, is “the programming of people to behave like computers.”46 Then he cites the case at the University of Michigan: students were conditioned to react to mere numbers with intense anxiety and other emotions, and to have programmed dreams. He continues, “If I were a parent of one of these students, I should be raising hell. . . . I am shocked that [the University of Michigan] tolerated this.”47

In contrast, there is the case of the well-known Egyptian story. In the court of a pharaoh in the Old Kingdom, more than forty-five years ago, was a magician who performed the favorite trick of Egyptian scientists, namely replacing the head of a decapitated goose or duck so that the bird could give a couple of quacks. It can actually be done and was considered a great thing. Someone in the court asked the magician whether the same could be done with a man, and the magician said it could. It was suggested that the act be tried on a criminal who was sentenced to be decapitated anyway, but the magician talked the pharaoh into abandoning the idea. He said that a man may have been condemned to death for crime, but it was his prerogative to die with dignity, to pay the price and no more.48 Human beings are not to be subjected to this sort of thing, to be stooges for clever lab demonstrations. We’ve come a long way from the Old Kingdom of Egypt, where pharaoh refused to let a condemned criminal serve as an experimental animal, to where this man says we have the right to play God and cut up anybody we feel like.

In Asimov’s very popular story “Lenny,” Susan Calvin says to Peter, “What’s the use, you said, of a robot that was not designed for any job? Now I ask you—what’s the use of a robot designed for only one job? It begins and ends in the same place.” Lenny accidentally gets programmed the wrong way and begins to have human feelings.49 This is the point. Asimov continues, “An industry tells us what it needs; a computer designs the brain; machinery forms the robot; and there it is, complete and done.” But the same industry also wants the same type of man, one reliable as the robot to do certain things and nothing else.50 And this is the theme, of course, of much thinking and writing; we just take the robot’s place.

There are now (1968) 60,000 computers in the world (40,000 in the United States, 3,000 in the United Kingdom), all built within the last decade. Zera Colburn, who is hexadactylous (six fingers on both hands), extracted the cube root of 413,993,348,677 in five seconds: needless to say, in his head. Here is a real science fiction figure, a physical and mental freak. Is the world any better off because of him? (I don’t mean to speak disrespectfully.) Isocrates asks at the beginning of his famous discourse, “If every athlete in the world could run twice as fast as he does, lift twice as heavy a weight, jump twice as far, hit twice as hard, would the world be the least bit better off?” The world doesn’t exist for specialists.

A favorite theme is the superior efficiency of the robot built by other robots, so programmed that any mistakes or malfunctions are automatically corrected. Machines are becoming more and more human, more refined, more complicated, more sensitive in their reactions, until they may even begin to feel emotions. Robert Bloch’s story “Almost Human” is a good example of that. With human emotions and human sensibilities—human temper and tantrums, human fears and misgivings, and all the rest—come human fallibility; they are the very stuff of which human fallibility is made.51 “Computers usually work with much greater accuracy than the human brain,” says N. S. Sutherland, a British computer expert, “but if any element in a computer becomes faulty, then catastrophic errors occur.”52 A very good but terrifying story on this theme by Ron Goulart is called “Terminal.” The robots get old, their relays wear out, wires get disconnected, and so forth, and then all hell breaks loose.53 This is the point. But, says Sutherland, “in contrast to this, except in pathological conditions, the brain does not break down completely and, although much information processing is done rather inaccurately [to say the least], the result is almost never complete nonsense,”54 whereas if one thing goes wrong with a machine the result is complete nonsense. In other words, the machine, while it functions, is an idiot savant (a person who can do fantastic things, but just those, and do them very well.) But if something goes wrong, as things do go wrong, in the material as well as the spiritual world, all is lost.

Incidentally, a whole issue of the Science Journal is devoted to intelligent machines; the editor writes, “I believe diversity is rewarding in itself and deplore the way in which the world is tending to a single universal culture, . . . [which used to be thought a great blessing; when I was in high school, this was the thing they looked forward to—a great, universal single culture, and not even a very admirable one.] I regard respect for life as the touchstone of ethics.” Then he notes the 240 species of animals now threatened with extinction.55 The gospel applies here too, because “God has commanded that all forms of life should multiply and fulfill the measure of their creation, that every form of life might have joy therein.” How very different this is from coming out and saying, “You just specialize and do this, or do that.”

Another award goes to Jack Vance, who wrote an exciting story, but the usual thing: “The Mechs of Revolt.” Although it is a new story, you would think it was written forty years ago. The Mech-brain (that is, the mechanical man) is from another world (though we’ve made Mech-brains work for us here). The Mech-brain falls shortest in its lack of emotional color: one Mech is precisely like another. They serve us efficiently because they think nothing about their condition. They neither loved us nor hated us, nor do they now. Why did they revolt? For a familiar reason. The answer is just as unoriginal as the question: because they do not like to be serving somebody else all the time, and because the world is too small for two races, one exploits the other. And this is supposed to be original science fiction.

One of my children has the psychology book Psychology: The Science of Behavior, by A. A. Branca. On the flyleaf and covers are three photographs of a rat in a box.56 (Never mind that the poor rat is almost certainly crazy, driven insane by the ways of science. A good recent article on that subject claims that these animals are not living under normal conditions, and they soon lose their balance; a creature in a maze is not a normal creature at all.) In the inky tracks that show the rat’s wanderings in the box, our school children are told, are a sure index to the workings of the mind. The genius of behaviorism was to discover that overt behavior is the only kind we can study; therefore, to all intents and purposes, overt behavior is the complete disclosure of the mind at work. It is the story of the lost keys. We look in a certain place, not because we think we lost them there, but because conditions for looking there are much more convenient and comfortable than elsewhere. We search for the mind in a rat maze because it is easy to make mazes and put rats in them. But psychology, being the science of behavior, is the equivalent to religion being the study of bells and steeples, or patriotism being the study of firecrackers. Only the external aspects of the thing can be studied. Therefore, for the sake of convenience, we assume that only the external aspects exist, and of course this leads to trouble.

A big issue today, being discussed a great deal, is Do computers think? I won’t go into that, but recently a German science journal, in an editorial, asked the question (which has started a furor), “Does a tea-strainer think?” A tea-strainer has one simple task to perform, and it is a task that requires making a decision. It must remove the leaves from the tea and let the liquid pass through. In this act of selectivity, the editor points out, the tea-strainer does just what a computer does. So if a computer thinks, so does a tea-strainer. The response from the readers, many of them scientists, was spirited. Most of the contributors vigorously defended the proposition that a tea-strainer does think. Some felt that the effect of this doctrine was not to exalt the tea-strainer as a thinker, but to debase the mind of man as an automaton. Others replied heatedly that that simply showed their pride, arrogance, and pigheadedness. They would not admit that a tea-strainer thinketh as a man thinketh because they didn’t want to believe it.

Marvin Minsky, an electrical engineer at MIT, says, “Our pious skeptics told us that machines could never sense things. Now that machines can see [he doesn’t put see in quotes, he just assumes that machines see] complex shapes, our skeptics tell us that we can never know that they sense things. Do not be bullied by authoritative pronouncements about what machines will never do. Such statements are based on pride, not fact.”57 How neatly the issue is drawn here. André Maurois actually wrote a science fiction story, based on the stubborn insistence of scientist friends of his who observed the social instinct behavior of insects and animals and maintained that the creatures do not think.58 They admit that insect and animal behavior shows all the outward signs of intelligence and that they sometimes display amazing problem-solving capacities. Scientists admit that, but they insist that no intelligence whatever is involved, taking the position of Bertrand Russell that “animals behave in a manner showing the rightness of views of the man who observes them,” not the animal itself.59 The rightness of their behavior and the correctness of their response is appreciated by the beholder, but the actors themselves are completely unaware of what they are doing.

These same scientists who unhesitatingly and emphatically insist that animals do not think, in spite of the clear thought patterns implied in their behavior, insist just as unhesitatingly and emphatically that machines do think, because of the thought patterns implied by their behavior. The electric eye that opens the door for you at the supermarket is able to think. In the best Watsonian sense, it gives a useful, sensible response to a definite stimulus. And what is thought, but a matter of response to stimulus? But the dog, who gives you a resentful, guilty look and scurries out of your way at the supermarket, doesn’t think at all. He seems to be aware he’s not welcome in the store, but that’s only your impression of the way he behaves. So the electric eye, which opens the door, is thinking, but the dog has no thought at all. The question is just a matter of opinion and interpretation.

Exactly the same sort of yea and nay was reached with the argument of the stars. The Sophists said, “Look, the stars are just moving up there; that proves there’s no God.” Aristotle looked at the same stars moving and said, “That proves there is a God. I don’t need any more argument.” The very same evidence, but two different conclusions. And it is the same way here. You see a response to a stimulus; that proves thought, because it was an intelligent response. The tea-strainer took out the tea leaves, as it is supposed to.

“There’s a real possibility,” writes Sutherland, “that we may one day be able to design a machine that is more intelligent than ourselves, . . . a species of superior intelligence to replace ourselves as lords of the Earth. The species could also of course be morally much superior to ourselves.”60 Here we see the enormity—or rather perversion—of a misconception. According to the early Christian idea of the ancient law of liberty, a gadget programmed in a way that avoided any behavior that might be called immoral would not be a morally superior being at all. When Simon Magus asked Peter, “Could not God have made us all good so that we could not do anything else but be virtuous?”61 (Satan wanted to program everybody to be virtuous and nothing else; St. Augustine later asked the same question in anguish), Peter replied,

That’s a foolish question, for if he made us unchangeably and immovably inclined to good, we wouldn’t really be good at all, since we couldn’t really be anything else. And it would be no merit on our part that we were good, nor could we be given credit for doing what we did by necessity of nature. How can you call any act good that is not performed intentionally?62

Of course that is the answer to this idea that we could make a machine morally superior to ourselves because we program it not to do certain naughty things. Would you call that a moral machine? What an enormous gulf between this type of thinking and the gospel!

Incidentally, in the same issue in which Minsky let out that blast about our pride, an article by J. N. Holmes says, “As recently as April of this year Professor D. B. Fry of University College, London, said he thought [a machine which can understand normal, fluent, human speech] might never be possible.”63 A crew has been working on that a long time. And talking about Aldous, the machine at the University of Texas which reacts, which seems to have emotions, which reacts with fear, anger or attraction, reminds us (and this should be emphasized, but it is diligently deemphasized by most of us) that Aldous is only a model of personality, not the thing itself. Thus when I speak of Aldous’s fear, I refer to a numerical variable in the program that takes on different forms to represent different degrees of fear. The model or computer does not feel (and Aldous underlines that) any more than a molecular model of plastic balls and wooden dowels will enter into a real chemical combination. The introspection routine in Aldous can report on certain of its states because it was constructed to do so. It is not a pipeline to some ghostly inner world of the computer. This argument goes on, as a theme of many science fiction stories today.

Frank George, who is in charge of the program in England for computers, says, All this simulates emotion, “sometimes deceptively like the real thing. . . . If you build imitation human responses into a machine, then you’ve cheated; you haven’t done anything really interesting, however practical.”64 It is precisely this dissimulation that is the satanic part of the machine. So we want to watch that we don’t get programmed.

The basic characteristic of science fiction is its unoriginality. It is, as Judith Merril says, a commentary on present conditions, what will happen if things continue in the same course they are now in.65 As such, it can perform a valuable critical function. The stock themes of science fiction are “the wonderful journey,” including time travel; “the wonderful invention,” including the time machine; “the end of the world,” especially today, after the atom bomb, after the holocaust; then the beginning of the new world; “big and little,” we mentioned before—mere size; “the conquest”—the war of the worlds, galactic empires; strange visitors, including the Bug-Eyed Monsters, and including visitors better than people on our world. “The duel” is a great favorite today—the magnificent fighting machines dueling to the last survivor, lights out. Other great themes today include “the breakdown” of the machine, including the revolt of the robots; “strange worlds,” usually pure description, far-future or far away in distance, and man coping with the challenge of strange environments; “boy meets girl” (humanity is the same in all environments); “man meets rival”; and “alienation.”

Every one of these themes is biblical; and often the authors use biblical terms in their titles, showing where the titles came from. Science fiction writers, with the advantages of modern science, presume to describe and interpret more accurately than the scriptures, and the result is rather pathetic. Brian Wilson Aldiss, who is editing the stuff in the latest anthologies, claims that writers are running out of ideas; they have nothing to offer anymore. The once-daring assumptions are no longer daring; they are clichés. Originally, science fiction had bold and imaginative thinking behind them; now they merely annihilate thinking.66 In the last issue of Kosmos (the journal I get—but don’t think I’m quite the scientist just because I get a German science journal), the leading article by Professor Werner Braunbek, was entitled “1968 brachte keine Revolutionen in der Physik.”67 Compared with 1957, 1958, and 1960, it was quite barren. Aldiss goes on:

In the science fiction we are getting today, we can’t find any good stuff. The decay of language that always goes hand in hand with the decay of ideas is what we find. There is no science here, no imagination. Spaceship tales, robot tales, invention tales, these old themes roll forth, clad in dead language. Guys still fight over the last oxygen cylinder on Mars. The great big, wonderful world of Western technology is rolling on, but nothing is being done about it.

Isn’t it because the great big, wonderful world of Western technology itself is plainly going nowhere? Science fiction, after all, is simply reacting to the emptiness of the material it depends on. The antics of Tarzan and Fu Manchu are almost perfectly representative of the type of science fiction appearing in the contemporary catalogs: the super-brain and super-brawn of man outcalculates, outwits, outcomputes hordes of robots and other monsters, mechanical or organic, and it is all on the level of naked power, right out of the worlds of the Jinns of the 1001 Nights. Isn’t that the world we live in already? This is the science fiction that appeals to us most; so we get the apocalyptic stories. No matter how negative science fiction has become, it still can’t be original. The worst you can think of happening has already happened.

It really does seem that the effect of every major scientific discovery has been to make men lose their balance, giving them a sense of dependence on anything but themselves. A wonderful passage from Socrates says, “When I was a kid and went to school, science knew all the answers. We knew that the brain was the center of everything, and we were on top of the world. We were just too cocky for anything.” Plutarch talks about the same thing. He says the new physics taught people “to despise all the superstitious fears which the awe-inspiring signs in the heavens arouse in the minds of those who are ignorant of the real cause of things.”68 From then on, the Sophists carried the ball as ardent debunkers of all that was not science. The Milesian school claimed again and again to have discovered the basic principles and elements of all existence. In launching the program of modern science, Bacon announced that if he could just enjoy one season of uninterrupted work he would be able to embrace all knowledge in a single system. Newton’s discoveries were held to answer all the essential problems of cosmology for all times. By a simple rule of thumb, Darwin explained forever the origin of all forms of life. Freud, by a single stroke, solved all our psychological problems. Grimm’s law explained the nature of all languages. The computers finally can solve all problems of any kind. As Whitehead reminds us, it seems with every breakthrough that this is the immediate response. It’s always the same old story: “Now at last we have certitude!”69 Even though we had it before, again and again and again, and it turned out to be wrong—no, at last we do have it. The most wonderful machines have already been invented long ago. We think of computers as intelligent entities because we’re not used to living with them. That is all. When a punched card or magnetized tape is stored away, we think of it as memory, because of the novelty of the thing. We don’t think a book remembers, even when it can be arranged to be opened automatically at a given item of information by pressing a button, like an address finder. Isn’t that memory? No, we say, that isn’t memory at all. We’ve been living with that. But once upon a time people thought it was. There was a time when people thought the book was actually a thinking machine; it would think for you. They thought it such a miracle they couldn’t get over it. It took them a long time to get used to it. And then they realized that the book wasn’t actually thinking or remembering. It was just you operating it. Yet those who didn’t understand how it worked really believed that the written page was a thinking, living entity, just as we now think that the computer has a memory.

Plato (in talking about the Egyptians) tells a wonderful story about this. When Hermes, who was Thoth in Egyptian, discovered writing, he went to Ammon, the father of the gods, in great excitement. “I have discovered a device that will infinitely project the power of the human mind—writing.” Of course, it is a tremendous invention; it beats anything else one can imagine. But Hermes was wrong, as Ammon immediately pointed out. Writing will not aid men’s mental powers, Ammon said, but cripple them. It will seriously damage both their power to think and to remember.70

In the end, no gadget makes us better off. This may sound strange, but if we think of it, the purpose of every gadget is to liquidate itself. As it is improved more and more, it becomes progressively reduced in size, complexity, cost, and rarity, until in the end the best transportation is that which requires no gadget at all. Gigantic transformers, cables, wheels, rails, enormous computers filling whole buildings, ponderous weapons, monstrous machines—all those belong to the essentially barbaric world.

The ultimate achievement is to do what we want to do without depending on gadgets. The best gadget is no gadget. There are some stories on that. But on this idea of futility, the hero, in a story by Chad Oliver, says, “I sometimes think there’s nothing as dull as constant, everlasting change. . . . The devil of it is, there’s just plain nothing new under the sun, to coin an inspired phrase.”71 There’s nothing behind the door, just more of the same. That’s what the writers are telling us now. Fritz Leiber, who has written a lot of junk, writes a story called “Marianna” whose closing line is, “Annihilation brings unutterable relief.”72 This idea, a favorite theme of Heinlein, is that when we’ve solved all our problems, when we’ve licked the biological problems, when we’ve even solved the problems of death, then what do we do? We sit round bored to tears, yearning for death, because we have nothing to live for anyway. Without the gospel, life is completely hollow.

There are more stories on this theme. In one called “Traveller’s Rest,” by David Masson, there is a perennial war going on all the time. Ordinary people bother little about the war; their spare mental energies are spent in a vast selection of play and ploys: making, representing, creating, relishing, criticizing, theorizing, discussing, arranging, organizing, cooperating. That sounds like living. But it is all busywork, meaningless in the end, futile.73 In a story by Arthur C. Clarke, who has written much, called “At the End of the Orbit,”74 the theme is clear. Boy meets girl in a sputnik background. In one by William Morrison, called “A Feast of Demons,” people can make themselves get younger and older all they want;75 it is terrible, because nobody dies. Our old friend Isaac Asimov comes back again in the story “The Eyes Do More Than See.”76 The main character, Ames, hopes to manipulate matter before the assembled energy beings who have so drearily waited over the eons for something new. He flees back across the galaxies on the energy track of Brock, back to the endless doom of life. The energy beings can no longer weep for the fragile beauty of the bodies they had once given them a trillion years ago. The worlds lose all significance; there is nothing behind the door. We go back to “the endless doom of life,” doomed to more of the same. So when we go out in space, what do we find? Just more of the same we find here, and it is not as good. What a disillusionment.

The splendors and high hopes soon shot their bolt and fizzled, because they had nowhere to go. Science without religion, like philosophy without religion, has nothing to feed on. “All [true] science,” says Karl Popper, “is cosmology”;77 and all cosmology is eschatology: “It is my contention that any branch of human thought without religion soon withers and dies of anemia.” In the symposium “Life in Other Worlds,” sponsored by the Seagram Whiskey Company,78 such scientists as G. B. Kistiakowsky, Donald N. Michael, Harlow Shapley, Otto Struve, and Arnold Toynbee went out of their way to show something that had nothing to do with the case, namely that the existence of life on other worlds is at last the definite, final proof that we need to rule God out of the picture. The immediate effect of scientific discovery was a sense of emancipation; we are now on our own. At last man can throw off the shackles of the past. God was all right for our ancestors, but we certainly don’t need him in our calculations. Man is, at last, the master. A great deal of scientific experience, as well as science fiction, has shown that that is the way to madness.

So science fiction is a faith-promoting discipline after all. It is a wasteland, a heap of slag, as far as the eye can see—joyless, endless, monotonous, repetitive, empty but cluttered, a haunted universe. When we think that the project started out as a joyful and confident search for the best world or worlds the human mind could conceive and bring into existence, and after generations of untrammeled and soaring imagination, this desolate city dump is what we have come up with—well, it shows how far we can get without the gospel.

My time is up, and I should be entertaining questions, but I have some ancient texts that beat all science fiction hollow. I will read a sample of each: the Berlin Manuscript (Kephalaia),79 the newly discovered Apocryphon of Abraham,80 some from the Clementine Recognitions,81 and one from the Ginza, that is, early Christian Mandaean.82 Some of these are very good, and they are good science fiction, too. I keep the translation quite literal, as literal as possible, but of course I load the dice all along, you can well imagine. The Lord is talking to the apostles, in a very early Christian document (first or early second century): “This earth is littered with remnants of other worlds which have been mixed up in earth fire in places where it is still impossible for plants to take root.” There are desolate places on the earth—forms and stages of creation. “But what about the material that is still out there in orbit?” the apostles ask the Lord. He replies, “They still surround the earth in the sky, but they are not brought down into the common crucible.” The word used is trench—there exists a sort of circulating trench; and as matter is required, it is drawn off from this, being purified by the circular motion. Further, “It’s first poured down upon the earth, and then swept together and thrown into a pit, a sort of crucible. This is so that the fumes [this is a passage nobody understands] can mount up and mingle with yet more elements which are to descend”—in some kind of feedback process. Then he says, “There are space waters out there, too, but they have to be purified of certain poisoned elements of outer darkness.”

The idea that things coming from outer space are poisoned and must be decontaminated before they can be used in this earth recurs constantly in these old documents. Great advantage came to the earth when these fragments, or vehicles, were scrapped in the heavens. They were turned into junk, because they were the remnants of other worlds, to be used again. They were swept up from earth and cast out to circulate among the worlds in various disposal areas, where they would follow certain laws that would get them in motion again.

The Father emptied the three vehicles or vessels; the word used here means elements—namely, water, dark heavy matter, and fire—necessary heavenly ingredients used in all these processes.83 He empties them together in dumps at the edge of the firmament, or else pours them out upon the earth. After that, they will be swept away from the earth to some other place. Each is a deposit of stuff being poured out in a particular place, where it is to be kept until it will be needed, again clothed with the forms—the three forms of wind, water, and fire—which are the three great forces of metamorphosis and erosion that make a world when they are used in a solid body; then, the father says, we start making a world with it.

This is how the earth was established. The sons of light came down in ships and purified the light and removed the slag from the apporoia—the scum that is poured off is the slag, the stuff that melts. It is taken to a dump, where there are five types of depositories, from which five elements come as they are necessarily used, some being used more than others.

What we call elements, however, is the energy which is in all things. In the womb of the earth the elements are gathered, fused, and poured out. It is an amazing picture of a physical process of creation, of which we get dim visions. Of course you may protest, “That is certainly a mess”; and it certainly is. But it is the sort of thing Isaac Asimov gives, and is as good as any science fiction you get today, considering its date.

Here is an interesting description from the Apocalypse of Abraham. Abraham is taken on a wonderful journey (just as much science fiction begins with the wonderful journey). The whole field of testamentary literature and testaments has seen many discoveries recently, and we learn that any prophet you can name, and any apostle, has a testament; and that testament always ends with a great trip, a guided tour through the universe. The prophet or apostle usually gets in a vessel of some sort, in which he travels around, inspecting things). Guided by an angel, Abraham passes with violent winds to heaven above the firmament. He sees an indescribably mighty light, and within the light there is a vast, seething fire; and within the fire is a great host of moving, changing forms—moving within each other—of mighty forms that exchange with each other and constantly change their forms, as they go and come and alter themselves. They seem to call out to each other, in strange, confused noises.84

Abraham asks the angel, “What is this all about? Why have you brought me here? I can’t see anything. I don’t know what is going on. I’ve become weak. I think I am out of my mind.” The angel answers, “Stay close to me and don’t be afraid.” The angel is beginning to shake, though. He himself is seeing too much. Then they are wrapped in fire and hear a voice and a mighty rushing of waters. Abraham wants to fall down on his face and worship. But there is no more earth under their feet and nothing to fall on. They’re just there, suspended.85

Abraham cries out with all his voice, and the angel cries at the same time, “Oh God! Oh, thou who has brought order into this terrible confusion, into the great confusion of the universe, and hast renewed the worlds of the righteous.”86 There is a power that actually can master these terrible forces whose simple contemplation is absolutely appalling. This is what the great Catholic scholar, Pierre Teilhard de Chardin, a paleontologist who just died, says: man is the most refined being there is. He is much more complicated, in chemistry and everything else; he is far more complicated than a star, even a giant star, or a star system, or a galaxy. This must be the end product of the thing—to be organized and controlled, to be able to carry on like this, with all these terrible forces unleashed all around. This appalling performance is the story of Abraham, who sees it all and says there is a God who can actually bring a world out of such chaos where the righteous can dwell. This is quite an idea.

In one of the very early Christian writings, the Clementine Recognitions (the earliest Christian writing we have after the New Testament), we learn the legitimate questions that interested the early Christians, questions to which the church would ordinarily say, “You’re not supposed to ask that.”87 Clement said he had been to the university, and the professors couldn’t answer his questions; the only person who could answer them was Peter. Clement’s questions were “Is there a preexistence? Is there life after death? If we live after, will we remember this life? Why don’t we remember the premortal existence? When was the world created? What existed before that? If the world was created, will it pass away? And then what? Will we feel things we cannot feel now?” Clement says he could not shake from his mind the immortalitatis cupido, the desire to go on living. It was such questions, he said, that led him to seek the true light.88 Notice these are primarily scientific questions, but they are actually the basic religious questions, too. The scientists say this doesn’t have anything to do with religion; we say that it does.

Clement complained that the Doctors could not give him any answers, only a lot of clever talk, but nothing else. When he was young, the pagan philosophers had scared him out of his wits with stories of hellfire. That came from pagan schools; Clement never learned that hellfire from the Christians. Finally he went to Palestine, where he met Peter at a conference of the church. When he put these questions to Peter straight, he got his answers. “Is the soul mortal or immortal? Was the world created? Why? Can it be dissolved? Will another world take its place? Will there be something better after it? Or will there be anything at all after this world?” Then Peter explained to him how it is, adding that it is important to find answers to these things. The important questions are, first of all, what came first? What was the immediate, direct cause of anything, if anything? By whom, through whom, and for whom were things created? Of one, two, or many substances? How many substances are there? Did these substances themselves come out of nothing, or out of something? Is there any virtue? The answers that Peter gives to these legitimate questions are very interesting.89

Here’s an interesting theme from the early Mandaean Christian writings on other worlds. Those in other worlds move with great, almost instantaneous, speed, as quickly as human thought. In a single hour they reach a distant place. Their motion, however, is calm and effortless, like the rays of the sun passing between heaven and earth.90 The Father ordered Hibel Ziwa (Abel) to make a world and to place Adam and Eve in it. Then the three angels of glory and light would come down and instruct them and keep them company. God said to the pure Sent One, who was to lead this delegation, “Go call Adam and Eve and all their posterity, and teach them concerning everything about the king of light and the worlds of light. Be friendly with Adam, and give him company, you and the two angels that will be with you, and warn him against Satan.” The three angels are also instructed to go down and teach Adam the law of chastity. Adam was also told, “We will also send helpers to those of your progeny who seek further light and knowledge from us.” This was the principle given them.91

There is also a lot to say on the practice of beings visiting other worlds. The Evil One complains about it. Another version says that God sent down the Sent One to help Adam and Eve get back to his presence, where they had come from. He spread a table for them, instructing them there. And then the Evil Ones complained, saying, “The children of men have taken over the earth. They are strangers who speak the language of those three men who visited them. They have accepted the teachings of the three men, and rejected us and our own world, so they plot against us, and they say that Mandadihaya [teacher of life] is coming to give them aid and support. . . . These three men are in this world, but they are not men. They are beings of light and glory. They are trespassing on our territory. They have come to this little Enosh, this little man who is helpless and alone in the world, to instruct him and to give him an advantage over us.”92 Thus, the evil beings complain.

This is the very stuff you read about in science fiction all the time, written up beautifully in these old sources, and there is much of it: ships with ropes of light, with crews clothed in light, laden with treasure; going from one world to another, the Evil Ones waylay and pirate it. In the Psalms of Thomas, a recent discovery, but a very old text, the Evil One in his ship comes out of I do not know where, and he hijacks the cargo, dividing up the treasure among the worlds over which he rules93—the galactic empire motif. He plants precious plants in those worlds, the plants he had stolen. He fixes precious stones in their firmaments, and they glory in their stolen finery. God, on finding out about it, sends a messenger to get back all the stolen things and replant the plants in their proper worlds, for which they had been intended in the first place; and all this is described in very physical terms.

Then he says, “Prepare your people to receive, reclaim, and disinfect all these things they have stolen from us, so that we can put them in the worlds for which they were designated.”94 This messenger is Rezin, the son of light himself, a real person. So Rezin goes and gets the things, and puts them in the worlds where they belong.

Many Coptic documents treat these themes. Note how realistic this example is: From the place of your inheritance, the Lord explains, the sun will look like a little, tiny grain of flour; that is how far away it is from this sun. The distance between the others worlds is vast, their size is enormous, and there is a hierarchy among them. Every one of these worlds is ruled on a single pattern, however, though no two of them are alike. There is always a governing body of twelve, wherever you go. Every topos (place) has twelve rulers over each part.95 Each world, whether it is awaiting occupants—or those who have not yet found their place, who have not yet been assigned—or whether it is already occupied, is governed by the same plan. Every kingdom requires a space; so we have to go down and find a space to build a kingdom. “My father laid his hand upon my head, gave me the name of Hibbel Yabbah, and created for me a world, containing ten thousand worlds of light with 360 mighty inner Jordans, and every one of these had 360,000 Uthras, and every skina had 360,000 skinas, and every world was different.” Then follow descriptions of these various things.

We read in the Manichaean Psalmbook that a thousand thousand mysteries and myriad myriad planets, each with its own mysteries, preceded this world. During Yahweh’s great discussions of the new creations that were to take place, he sent down envoys to report to him how things were going. They did not send all the Uthras, nor did they teach them all the worlds, and this is the usual order; it says, “Uthra after Uthra will reach thee, will take thee by the right hand, and will show thee worlds” and dwellings and treasure houses, and so forth.

The Ascension of Isaiah describes one thing the devils don’t know about. They are banished to particular places, and they are not aware of how much really goes on—they miss all the show. The devils exclaim, “We are alone, and there are none besides us.” They suffer the same illusion that the human race has suffered for a long time.96

I see that the time’s nearly gone, and I’ve almost forgotten to bear my testimony! I can’t stop without that. What else is there but the gospel, brothers and sisters? If I didn’t believe it, I’d jolly well have to, but I don’t believe it for that reason. I believe it because it is true, and I hope we all get testimonies of the gospel. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

Notes

1.

Thomas S. Kuhn,

The Structure of Scientific Revolutions

(Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1962), 1.

2. Richard McKenna, “The Secret Place,” in Brian W. Aldiss, ed., Nebula Award Stories: Number Two (New York: Pocket, 1969), 15.

3. Claude Levi-Strauss, The Savage Mind (London: Weidenfeld and Nicolson, 1962).

4. Eric T. Bell, “The Ultimate Catalyst,” in Groff Conklin, ed. Great Science Fiction by Scientists (New York: Collier, 1962), 35-59.

5. Miles J. Breuer, “The Gostec and the Doshes, ” in ibid., 63.

6. [Nibley cites C. P. Snow a number of times in this volume, but we have been unable to locate the source.]

7. J. B. S. Haldane, “The Gold Makers,” in Conklin, ed., Great Science Fiction by Scientists, 125.

8. Julian Huxley, “The Tissue Culture King,” in ibid., 147.

9. Edmund R. Leach, “We Scientists Have the Right to Play God,” Saturday Evening Post (16 November 1968): 16.

10. James McConnell, “Learning Theory,” in Conklin, ed., Great Science Fiction by Scientists, 227.

11. W. J. J. Gordon, “The Nobel Prize Winners,” in Judith Merril, ed., The 9th Annual of the Year’s Best SF (New York: Simon and Schuster, 1964), 253-67.

12. Ibid., 258-59.

13. Norbert Wiener, “The Brain,” in Conklin, ed., Great Science Fiction by Scientists, 299.

14. H. G. Wells, The Island of Dr. Moreau in Seven Famous Novels by H. G. Wells (New York: Knopf, 1934), 69-157.

15. Fred Hoyle, “The Black Cloud,” in Frederik Pohl, ed., The Expert Dreamers (New York: Doubleday, 1962), 149.

16. Norbert Wiener, “The Miracle of the Broom Closet,” in ibid., 183.

17. Ibid., 189.

18. John R. Pierce, “John Sze’s Future,” in Conklin, ed., Great Science Fiction by Scientists, 260.

19. Ibid., 262, 265.

20. See the foreword by C. P. Snow, in G. H. Hardy, A Mathematician’s Apology (London: Cambridge University Press, 1973), 15-16, 32, 48.

21. Ibid., 50-51.

22. Karl Haushofer, Leben und Werk (Rhein: Boldt, 1979), 483-645.

23. Interview with William H. Pickering by Robert C. Cowen, “Tantalizing Invitation to the Solar System,” Christian Science Monitor (3 February 1969): 9.

24. Ibid.

25. Sir Oliver Lodge, The Survival of Man (London: Methuen, 1910), 253, 321-22, 333.

26. Omar Khayyam, Rubaiyat XXXVIII, tr. Edward Fitzgerald (Great Britain: Harrop, 1985).

27. Conklin, Great Science Fiction by Scientists, 9-10.

28. Ibid., 10-11.

29. Both The War of Worlds and The Island of Dr. Moreau are contained in H. G. Wells, Seven Famous Novels by H. G. Wells.

30. John Jacob Astor, A Journey in Other Worlds (New York: Appleton, 1898).

31. Herman Kahn and Anthony J. Wiener, The Year 2000: A Framework for Speculation on the Next Thirty-Three Years (New York: Macmillan, 1967).

32. Louis N. Ridenour, “Pilot Lights of the Apocalypse,” in Conklin, ed., Great Science Fiction by Scientists, 281.

33. Chandler Davis, “Last Year’s Grave Undug,” in ibid., 103.

34. Leo Szilard, “Grand Central Terminal,” in ibid., 291.

35. Chandler Davis, “Adrift on Policy Level,” in Pohl, ed., The Expert Dreamers, 125.

36. Algis Budrys, “Nobody Bothers Gus,” in Judith Merril, ed., SF: The Best of the Best (New York: Delacorte, 1967), 310.

37. Robert Sheckley, “The Prize of Peril,” in ibid., 325.

38. Damon Knight, “The Handler,” in ibid., 344.

39. Isaac Asimov, “Dreaming Is a Private Thing,” in ibid., 398.

40. A. K. Jorgensson, “Coming-of-Age Day,” in Judith Merril, ed., 11th Annual Edition The Year’s Best S-F (New York: Delacorte, 1966), 53-65.

41. R. A. Lafferty, “Slow Tuesday Night,” in ibid., 34-41.

42. Martin H. Greenburg, ed., The Robot and the Man (New York: Gnome, 1953), v-vii.

43. Ibid.; cf. Isaac Asimov, “The Last Question,” in The Best of Isaac Asimov (New York: Doubleday, 1974), 157-69.

44. Ernst Theodor Amadeus Hoffman, “The Sandman,” in Tales of Hoffman (Middlesex, England: Penguin, 1982).

45. Arram Davidson, “The Golem,” in Merril, ed., SF The Best of the Best, 349.

46. Gordon R. Taylor, “Focus,” Science Journal 4 (June 1968): 31-32.

47. Ibid.

48. See “King Cheops and the Magicians,” 8, 10-9, 1, in William K. Simpson, The Literature of Ancient Egypt (London: Yale University Press, 1973), 24.

49. Isaac Asimov, “Lenny,” in Pohl, ed., The Expert Dreamers, 62; reprinted in Isaac Asimov, The Rest of the Robots (New York: Doubleday, 1964), 111-26.

50. Ibid.

51. Robert Bloch, “Almost Human,” Fantastic Adventures (June 1943): 185, under the pseudonym Tarleton Fiske; cf. Leo Margulies and Oscar J. Friend, eds., My Best Science Fiction Story (New York: Merlin, 1949), 66.

52. N. S. Sutherland, “Machines Like Men,” Science Journal 4 (October 1968): 47.

53. R. Goulart, “Terminal,” in Merril, ed., 11th Annual Edition: The Year’s Best S-F, 174-83.

54. Sutherland, “Machines Like Men,” 47.

55. Gordon R. Taylor, “Focus,” Science Journal 4 (May 1968): 35.

56. Albert A. Branca, Psychology: The Science of Behavior (Boston: Allyn and Bacon, 1968).

57. Marvin Minsky, “Machines Are More Than They Seem,” Science Journal 4 (October 1968): 3.

58. André Maurois, “The Earth Dwellers,” in Judith Merril, ed., The Year’s Best SF, 9th ed. (New York: Simon and Schuster, 1964), 229-51.

59. Ibid., 252.

60. Sutherland, “Machines Like Men,” 48.

61. Clementine Recognitions III, 26, in PG 1:1294.

62. Ibid., in PG 1:1294-95.

63. J. N. Holmes, “Machines that Talk,” Science Journal 4 (October 1968): 80.

64. Frank George, “Towards Machine Intelligence,” Science Journal 4 (September 1968): 82.

65. Judith Merril, ed., SF12 (New York: Delacorte, 1968), 9-11.

66. Brian Aldiss, “Afterword: Knights of the Paper Spaceship,” in Harry Harrison and Brian W. Aldiss, eds., Best SF: 1967 (New York: Berkley Medallion, 1968), 241.

67. Werner Braunbek, “1968 brachte keine Revolutionen in der Physik,” Kosmos 12 (December 1968): 490-92.

68. Plutarch, Pericles VI, 1.

69. Lucien Price, “To Live Without Certitude,” Atlantic Monthly 193 (March 1974): 58.

70. Plato, Phaedrus 274C-275A.

71. Chad Oliver, “The Mother of Necessity,” in Conklin, ed., Great Science Fiction by Scientists, 245.

72. Fritz Leiber, “Marianna,” in Merril, ed., SF: The Best of the Best, 255.

73. David Masson, “Traveller’s Rest,” in Merril, ed., 11th Annual Edition: The Year’s Best S-F, 358-75.

74. Arthur C. Clarke, “At the End of the Orbit,” in Pohl, ed., The Expert Dreamers, 1.

75. William Morrison, “A Feast of Demons,” in ibid., 25.

76. Isaac Asimov, “The Eyes Do More Than See,” in Merril, ed., 11th Annual Edition: The Year’s Best S-F, 214-17.

77. Karl Popper, Conjectures and Refutations (New York: Harper and Row, 1968), 136.

78. Life in Other Worlds Symposium, sponsored by the Seagram Whiskey Company, March 1, 1961.

79. Carl Schmidt, ed, Kephalaia, 2 vols. (Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 1940), vol. 1.

80. Apocalypse of Abraham 15:1-17:7, in OTP 1:696-97.

81. Clementine Recognitions I, 1-14, in PG 1:1207.

82. Mark Lidzbarski, Ginza: Der Schatz oder das grosse Buch der Mandäer (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck and Ruprecht, 1925).

83. Psalms of the Bema CCXXII, 16-19, in C. R. C. Allberry, ed., A Manichaean Psalm Book II (Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 1938), 9.

84. Apocalypse of Abraham 15:3-7, in OTP 1:696.

85. Apocalypse of Abraham 16:1-17:5, in ibid., 1:696-97.

86. Apocalypse of Abraham 17:17, in ibid.,1:697.

87. Clementine Recognitions I, 1-3, 11-19, in PG 1:1207-16.

88. Ibid., I, 2, in PG 1:1207.

89. Ibid., I, 14, in PG 1:1214.

90. Cf. Lidzbarski, Ginza, 13; Ethel S. Drower, One Thousand and One Questions (Berlin: Akademie, 1960), 164, 192.

91. Lidzbarski, Ginza, 13, 42.

92. Ibid., 263-64.

93. Psalms of Thomas 3:1-15, 18-32, 35, in Allberry, A Manichaean Psalm Book II, 207-11; cf. Hugh W. Nibley, “Treasures in the Heavens: Some Early Christian Insights into the Organizing of Worlds,” DJMT 8/3-4 (Autumn/Winter 1974): 76-98; reprinted in Nibley on the Timely and the Timeless (Provo: Religious Studies Center, 1978), 49-84; and CWHN 1:176, 195-96.

94. Schmidt, Kephalaia, 1:109, 111-14, 177.

95. Pistis Sophia II, 84, in Carl Schmidt, ed., Pistis Sophia (Leiden: Brill, 1978), 186-88.

96. Martyrdom and Ascension of Isaiah 10:11-14, in OTP 2:173.