#something about like. imogen hates reading thoughts she hates knowing the worst of people she hates being so invasive | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

conditionaljewel · 2 years

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Imagine if Imogen begins to interpret herself as being the opposite of Laudna upon hearing Dusk's compliment: warm hands, cold heart. And the worst part being that she cannot deny that due to how upset she is... while she is forcing herself to not dwell too much on it, screaming inside all the while.

Yet she tries to keep her walls up nonetheless because it's easier for her to blame Laudna for something beyond her control than to own up and admit that they both need to talk.

She called Laudna a liar, yet can't be honest about her own feelings... it hurts so much, and I really hope that his cold distance falls apart like the unsustainable front that it is, lest she end up with her powers, say, going berserk due to the strain, or to put it in simpler terms, lest she end up the Scarlet Witch or Dark Phoenix.

They can't go back to how things used to be, but they also can't afford to lose each other to their own demons, be they ruddy stormy dreams or a widowed ghost that just won't go away.

I will be totally honest, I am not a really big Marvel girl so I haven't watched Wanda, and I never was one for X-men, but I know enough about each to know what you're referring to lol superheroes were just never my thing but anyway

I've been trying to respond to this for the last like three hours (and even longer after last night when I first saw this) and I just have so many thoughts that I'm going to put them all here, because this was a fascinating message to receive and it opened up some portals and thought pathways that I just wanted to extrapolate upon a bit here, so I apologize that this got extremely lengthy. I'm gonna slap it under a read more because of length, spoilers, etc. for those who haven't seen it yet.

"cold hands, warm heart." This whole ask is a really interesting way of framing that particular moment, and it's one that I'd been trying to ruminate on for the past 24 hours or so now, and I'll come back to it in a second. I want to revisit it after I espouse something else, because I think it's indicative of something and I'm glad you brought it up, because it's also a thought that occurred to me could happen - this whole saga between them becoming a sort of catalyst for the evolution of her powers, but the catalyst specifically being her ability (or inability in certain respects) to communicate and open up.

She may be able to block people out mentally and physically, but she's also shown that she can't do it forever, or in heavier crowds - she's almost certainly keeping one up between her and Laudna if no one else, now that we're back in the city - and I feel as though if she were to let herself reach out and just get Laudna's surface thoughts, she'd see that Laudna were equally as distraught, as we saw while they were together in the air. Laudna's trying, timing being shite as it is when she did, but Imogen would see that Laudna were worried all the same.

I don't think that we'll end up with a Phoenix/Scarlet Witch sort of situation, at least not as far as becoming villainous - I'll be honest, and this is me metagaming it a little, I'm only a little surprised that there was not a conversation had between Matt and Laura/Imogen where her alignment was changed after she scorched The Verdict - but rather I think there'll be a shift in her energy and powers and (moon related or otherwise) she'll continue to learn more of the abilities she has and harness and control them. Sometimes, you've got to go through hell to get stronger, and to her, hell is Laudna seemingly breaking a promise.

And I know this was Imogen-centric but I want to touch on Laudna for just a moment. I can only help but imagine that Laudna's thinking, after "the worst thing that has ever happened to me has already happened," that surely, this is the worst thing that has ever happened to her (and now possibly, so far; Matt is a bastard and I love and hate him for this). She's unsure of what the rock was, what just happened, what Delilah did, what that feeling was, and now on top of that she's unsure of what Imogen thinks of her. Imogen called her a liar. Laudna's likely been called a lot of things but I am willing to bet she's never been called a liar before, not by someone she loves. So when she does try to reach out to her and Imogen gives the cold shoulder or that sharp "no" in response, she's really feeling that wall not just mentally but physically as well, and she's really not sure how to deal with that, on top of everything else.

I really don't know what Imogen is thinking with regards to calling her a liar though. (Edit: I misspoke, I know why she called Laudna a liar; I am extrapolating and simply am just following the thoughts thereafter.) Part of me wonders if she's not convinced it was Delilah controlling Laudna in that moment, and Laudna just did something with her rock after she promised not to? Part of me wonders if she thinks it was Delilah controlling her all along, and Laudna acted under her control and lied to her so she could use the rock for her? Is she thinking

So now going to Dusk saying Laudna may have "cold hands, warm heart," and the idea of Imogen perceiving herself as the opposite now, it's a peculiar phrase and thought process but it's absolutely indicative of the ability and inability to communicate that Imogen possesses. Yeah sure, she has the capability to touch others and warm them and comfort them, but she can also keep up walls and shut someone out very quickly, and hurt someone when she really wants to. This lines up with the aforementioned roasting of The Verdict. That was cold hearted if I ever saw it.

And being someone who is such a people person the way that she is, unique as it be, she would not ever accept herself to be someone like that. She may not be the bubbly happy-go-lucky type of people-person that Laudna is, but that's what makes her so lovely and unique and special to Imogen, and is all the more of a reason to open up and communicate with her so that she can get back to hearing that symphony from her. Imogen may be a bit stern, a bit rough around the edges, but when she cares, she cares deep and hard, and when she hurts, it's just as emphatic. She's just so caught up in her own maze of emotions that she can't see that Laudna is hurting just as badly, just as intensely, and perceives the interaction between Dusk and Laudna to be more than just Laudna putting on a happy face.

Now for the last thing I'll say, I know this is also a bit metagamey, but I'm just throwing this out there because I feel like it needs to be said: I don't think there's much of a way (read: it's barely a not-0% chance) that Erika would have known what happened at the end of the prior episode that would have prompted Dusk to have said something about a "warm heart" to Laudna, so I am trying very hard to just take this as a cordial compliment and greeting that she's giving to her just to simply say it matters not what you are but what's in your heart... Even if I fully expect Matt to take that line and twist it into something more in the next few days (episodes)

So that being said, it absolutely makes sense that Imogen could be feeling this way, and having that self-perception that could further impede her ability (or enhance her abilities). I do think that they could get back to where they were, any real relationship can if the time and effort and work is put into it -- that's what makes it so special -- but even in the realm of D&D and Exandria, and for our Southern Gothic belles, the possibility is there, they both just need to open up at the right time and be truthful to one another about everything.

And hell, just as a bonus after-thought to entertain the idea, I googled Dark Phoneix and Scarlet Witch... I'd love to see a PC go completely rogue and turn villainous a la Scarlet Witch or Dark Phoenix, that would be some pretty dope shit if Laura continued to control her while the rest of them had to subdue/etc., very Molly-esque but without the NPC part lol. I think it'd be an interesting angle to take in a game, certainly isn't without it's own plot hooks and twists, and I could honestly see both of them doing it in some form -- Delilah assuming full control over Laudna, and Imogen going full glowing-eyed-floating-hair-flying Dark Phoenix. That'd actually be kind of fun.

Wait, Jean Grey was in space, huh... and was hit with some cosmic energy... you don't say... hmm... so, we're getting Dark Phoenix in Exandria, aren't we?

#cr spoilers #critical role spoilers #campaign 3 spoilers #campaign 3 #critical role #bell's hells #laudna #imogen #word vomit #text post #ramblings of a southern gothic shipper #i hope some of this made sense #but at any rate #i just want my loves to be back together #thanks for the ask!

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hellitwasyoufirstsergeant · 3 years

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Hi everyone! I’m not really sure why I’m posting this here, I suppose because I’m not ready for people I know ‘irl’ to see this, and this is the only account I have anywhere where none of my irl friends follow it. As to why I’m posting this at all, I’m not so sure either. I suppose largely for myself, in the hope that it will exorcise some demons, and partly for other people, because eating disorders just are not discussed enough and perhaps by posting this I can show someone else that they’re not alone.

There may be mistakes in this and it may not all be 100% coherent, I found it hard to write and I didn’t wish to read it back over.

WARNING: The following post contains discussions of eating disorders and mental health issues. Please do not read if this is a trigger for you, and please not not read if you’re only here to pass judgement

Looking back now, it’s so easy to realise why I felt the way I did, and to see my descent into mental illness. At the time, it was confusing as hell. I wasn’t diagnosed with generalised anxiety disorder and clinical depression until I was 17, although I had been suffering from both for six years already, I just didn’t realise it, because I just didn’t know they existed. I didn’t know there were medical conditions to describe how I felt, perhaps if I did I wouldn’t have felt so alone and so alienated. It wasn’t until last year that I realised I’d suffered from an eating disorder. Before that, I didn’t know that binge eating was an eating disorder.

The words ‘eating disorder’ to me conjured up images of skeletal bodies, of people making themselves sick. I wish that preteen and teen me knew that I was suffering from an actual condition, that other people suffered from too.

I don’t recall specifically the first time I binged on food, but over autumn (fall) of 2011 it became a regular occurrence, a habit. It was my way of coping with the changes in my life - starting a new school, my mum being diagnosed with a clinical illness and an increasingly fractured relationship with my dad - and my feelings of loneliness. I was also self conscious about my body, I was in a more advanced stage of puberty than most of my peers and I was aware of the fact that I was a little overweight. Bingeing became an outlet for feelings that I couldn’t understand, and therefore that I couldn’t process.

It was a process that I repeated regularly for six years. It was like a paradox, the more I looked at myself in the mirror and hated what I saw, the more I binged, the very thing that made me carry on putting on weight. I was overweight, I still am today, but I wish that I could have seen myself the way others saw me - slightly chubby but not the ugly monster I thought myself at the time. I ate my feelings away, it was the only coping mechanism I knew. Even when in some ways my life improved - when I was 14 I finally fell in with a group of friends who were kind and who made me feel accepted - my mental state continued to decline and I continued to eat to cope. I was also feeling confused about my sexuality, something that increased my sense of alienation and otherness. It was often the only thing that got me through the day, the only thing that made life bearable to me.

I never confided the way I felt or my problem with food to anyone during this period. My mum knew that I had issues with food, twice she found hidden stashes in my bedroom. She has been a good parent to me, but I so wish she’d handled it differently. She made me feel ashamed, something that made me more determined to hide my problem and therefore to not confront it. I think perhaps that she would’ve been a lot more understanding had she known the feelings behind the problem, but I didn’t know how to go about telling her.

I can’t remember how old I was exactly when I shoplifted food for the first time, I think around 14. The £10 a week pocket money was no longer enough to fund my problem, even though I always chose the cheapest food so that I could buy as much as possible. I shoplifted semi regularly from the local supermarkets for around 18 months, I still don’t know how I was never caught.

In September 2016, I started sixth form college. It was a fresh start that I so badly needed, my five years at secondary school having been so unhappy. It was hard to begin with, only my oldest friend went to the same college as me and old feelings of loneliness resurfaced. A part of me had hoped that the change of school would allow me to leave my bingeing habit behind, but it wasn’t to be. Even when I settled in and began making friends, I continued bingeing.

New friends at college told me of their mental health issues, and I finally felt understood - there were other people who felt the way I did, other people who wanted to die. These feelings may not be normal, but I’m not alone anymore. Despite feeling accepted properly for the first time in my life, I continued to eat. Perhaps it was the stress of A levels (my fellow Brits know how fucking hard these are), or my mum’s decline in health, or my increasingly worsening relationship with my dad.

In May/June time of 2017, my oldest friend, Imogen, who was one of a few friends now aware of my poor mental state, told me that I should go to the doctor. After a little persuading, I agreed. She came with me, but the appointment achieved nothing. I tried a few more GPs at my local surgery and eventually found one who made me feel listened to, and who was kind and sympathetic. I don’t recall the exact time I was diagnosed (to be honest this period in my life is a bit of a blur), but after some months I was finally diagnosed with GAD and clinical depression. I still continued to stay silent about my problem with food.

Ironically, it was actually the further decline of my mental state that allowed me to break my old habit. My mental health had declined fairly slowly over the past few years, but the decline accelerated over autumn and winter of 2017. I don’t know if there was a trigger behind that, I guess mental health doesn’t need a reason. I didn’t know how to deal with the way I felt, I lashed out and fell out with Imogen, which hit me hard. We didn’t talk at all for three months. Before this period, I had often thought that things would be so much easier if I was dead, but my thoughts had never progressed beyond that. Now, it became more active. I actually wanted to die. I stopped looking when I crossed the road, I stopped looking after my physical health at all. Fears about hurting my mum were the only thing stopping me from taking it further. But, I finally stopped binge eating, so disinterested in life that even the that no longer made me feel better.

My mental state didn’t take a turn for the better, but I grew used to these new feelings and started to process them properly. I got better at pushing them out, but I did eventually decide to tell my parents about my diagnoses. My mum was very supportive, she still is, my dad not so (although I probably should’ve expected that). I made up with Imogen, my behaviour started to normalise. I felt so free from my old bingeing habit, it had only been a few months but it felt like a lifetime ago.

In February 2018, my mum told me that she’d be moving to Yorkshire. She’d been forced by her job to take early retirement due to ill health, she was only 50 at the time, and wanted to live somewhere cheaper so she could save on living costs and pay off her mortgage. I was scared, and considered for a time moving in with my grandparents so that I could stay in a place where I knew people, but eventually decided that I’d move with my mum. Still, despite the biggest change ever to happen in my life, I managed to avoid a return to my binge eating habit. I’m still not sure how. Perhaps now that the habit was broken it no longer had the hold over me that it once did.

And then, around March 2018, my dad gave me £500. To this day I still have no idea why, I guess guilt. But it was so much more money than I’d ever had. The temptation not to spend any of it on food was too great. I decided to treat myself, I’d spend £100 on food and put the rest in my savings.

By the time I finished college at the beginning of June, the entire £500 was gone, at least £450 of it spent on food. I still remember the binge I had the day after me and mum moved out of our old home and in with my grandparents, who we lived with for seven weeks before going to Yorkshire. My mental state declined still further, and I wasted most of those weeks in bed, not having the energy to do anything. I kicked myself later for not using it to spend time with the friends I was leaving behind.

After we moved to Yorkshire in August, I spent two of the worst months of my life. My old feelings of loneliness resurfaced, not helped by the fact that one of my closest friends just stopped talking to me. I seemed to alternate between binge eating, my binges even bigger than they ever had been, and hardly eating at all.

But, eventually, I managed to settle in. I got a job, I made new friends. I didn’t make a conscious decision to stop binge eating again, it just happened. I wasn’t lonely anymore, but my mental state didn’t seem to get any better. But, I had healthier ways of coping and I didn’t need to binge as an outlet for my feelings anymore. In September 2019, I started uni, and I finally felt like my life had a purpose.

Now, I have more and better friends than I ever had. I’m glad I made the move to Yorkshire, where I live now is much nicer where I grew up and if I hadn’t made the move there are so many amazing people I wouldn’t have met. Most of my friends are aware of my mental health issues, although I rarely discuss them in detail.

However, only one of my friends is aware of my eating disorder. I didn’t realise until last year that binge eating was classified as an eating disorder. I’m not quite sure why, but this discovery prompted me to finally confide in my oldest friend, Imogen. She was very supportive and understanding, and I know my other friends would be, but it’s still something where I look back and I’m like ‘woah that actually happened’. Putting it out of my mind as much as possible has been my way of coping with the fact that it did happen. I have been slightly more open online that I have irl about the fact that I had an eating disorder, but this is the first time I have discussed it this in depth with anyone.

I’m going to say now what I wish preteen and teen me had known: you are not alone. Whether you’re suffering from an eating disorder, from mental health issues, or from something else, you are not alone. I can’t say truthfully that I have never regretted confiding in someone, but the majority of the time it has helped me, even in a small way. Please talk to someone if you have an eating disorder, be it a friend, a family member, a GP, a teacher, even me. It is nothing to be ashamed of.

I stopped binge eating as a regular habit at the start of winter 2018. Although I relapsed a couple times last year, it’s been twelve months and counting since my last binge.

#shut up ange #please everyone remember that no matter what you’re going through #you are not alone #find later

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radioromantic-moved · 3 years

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it's the final livebloooog (doo doo doo doo, doo doo doo doo doo) this baby's extra long, because the episode is twice the average length. also big time spoilers. you know.

-"no place in the universe can compare with our past. our burned, ashy past." a statement about david's place and also about the earth which i'm pretty sure died from global warming in the stellarverse. not scary at all.

-HARTRO'S‏‏‎ ‎BOYS....ONE MORE TIME FOR THE ROAD <33333

-"do you know what this means???" "that‏‏‎‏‏‎‏‏‎ ‎trexel‏‏‎‏‏‎ ‎‎‏‏‎has no taste." "that we're all getting slushies."

-hartro's‏‏‎‏‏‎ ‎little excited snuffles that sound like she's about to have a breakdown but, like, the good kind are basically exactly how i feel right now too.

-"what have i always told you??" "shut up! shut up! shut up!"

-HEY THEY MENTIONED FRANKENSTEIN!!!

-long time viewers of the Blog may remember that one of cyril's special books is‏‏‎ ‎frankenstein.‏‏‎‏‏‎ ‎trexel‏‏‎‏‏‎ ‎knows what‏‏‎ ‎frankenstein's monster is (kind of). you know what that means. at least one cute little reading time.

-i was going to make a joke about 'three neurodivergents argue about social rules' but that's kind of the entire podcast. with the number of neurodivergents differing by episode.

-THE TWO OF THEM BOWING TO DAVID...hartro‏‏‎ ‎genuinely getting into it and sounding like she's about to cry and‏‏‎ ‎trexel‏‏‎ ‎sounding so deadpan

-oh i Hate this conversation! i hate the conversation they're having about killing off everyone who's ever met a board member!

-hartro‏‏‎ ‎and‏‏‎ ‎trexel‏‏‎ ‎as david's pa's <3

-IS THE BOARD ALL DEAD. DID THEY NEVER EXIST IN THE FIRST PLACE. BECAUSE IF SO THAT ALL CHECKS OUT

-"the...secret loss?" "yeah, you idiot, the secret loss where the board all died, have you been living under a rock??"

-CALLED IT, BABY

-yesssss go OFF imogen!!

-DON'T BE MEAN TO HER STANDARDS!!!!!!

-"hello, and welcome to 'so you've discovered that the board is dead,' with me,‏‏‎‏‏‎ ‎sigmund‏‏‏‏‎ ‎‎shankeray.'"‏‏‎‏‏‎ ‎trexel--"ugh, this guy again?"

-context:

-ughhhhh tasty tasty worldbuilding!!!! the board all dying in an incident....security was destroyed in a coup.....standards wants to replace imogen with new board.....

-HOLY SHIT

-IT'S A "NO MAN CAN KILL ME" RULE

-NO PERSON CAN ALTER IMOGEN'S CORE FUNCTIONS....BUT CLONES DON'T COUNT AS PEOPLE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

-OH MY GOD THIS IS SO TASTY

-IMOGEN WAS TRYING TO GET DAVID ONTO THE BOARD FOR HER OWN REASONS!!! AND THAT'S WHY HE'S SUCH A FUCKED UP LITTLE ANARCHY BOY!!!!!

-angry beyond belief that something that‏‏‎‏‏‎ ‎‎trexel‏‏‎‏‏‎ ‎‎could figure out confused me badly enough that i had to relisten to the same part twice and reread the transcript to figure out why the plan wouldn't work.

-in case of a deadlock....

-one of the ORIGINAL FOUNDING FAMILIES

-CAN BE NOMINATED -TO BREAK THE TIE

-AND GUESS WHOSE BITCH ASS IS FROM A FOUNDING FAMILY?????

-ugh you big big dummy...even your big moment is just reduced to who can take you to the better bar. but he does call david his favorite clone. and he DOES vote with them.

-"well--aheh-hah."

-oh my god. david's smug little laugh is my new favorite noise in the ENTIRE WORLD.

-number 48's maniacal laugh is Very fun. but don't shoot david please.

-"trust me! i'm a‏‏‎‏‏‎ ‎geistman."

-the WAY HE SAYS THAT LINE IS FUCKING

-HMDGKDGDMHODHGGRGRRRRHHH.

-OH HE COMES THROUGH IN THE END

-DAVID'S CHAIR IS THE ONLY ONE NOT HOOKED UP TO AN ESCAPE POD SO HE HITS THE EMERGENCY EVACUATION AND

-GOD. FUCK.

-obsessed with the group's enraged "TREXELLLLLLLL!" as they get launched out of the airlock in the pod. that's absolutely cartoon levels of sillydumb and i love it.

-"can we....get them? we can't just leave them out there. it's inhumane." "they wouldn't do the same for you." "i don't know, i think...i think that maybe he would have."

-HI, BAWLING MY FUCKING EYES OUT

-THIS IS GONNA BE THE LAST TIME THEY SEE EACH OTHER ISN'T IT. THEY AREN'T GONNA GET THE POD BACK ARE THEY.

-YEAH. CHECKS OUT.

-okay so they're alive but in any number of thousands of habitable locations across the galaxy. that's not so bad! i can write fix-it for that easy! these motherfuckers are gonna be friends forever whether they like it or not! the worst found family may be free of the everpresent fear of death but they will never be free from the status quo.‏‏‎ ‎trexel‏‏‎ ‎finds out the planet they land on doesn't have a bar and he figures out a way to access a communications system from scratch so he can call david in tears.

-the little trumpet when david gets voted in....HELL YEAH, HAIL DAVID!!!!!

-"well, you do have the power to destroy‏‏‎‏‏‎ ‎stellar‏‏‎‏‏‎ ‎firma‏‏‎ ‎now. i'd never allow another ai to take over, but i'd quite happily...burn this all to the ground."

-YESSSSS KILL VIOLENCE DEATH KILL KILL

-imogen sounds so hurt when david starts asking alex to make copies to run functions...."explain away! i can both listen and plot my revenge at the same time."

-"...but that was before the population crash, so the escape shuttles should be able to contain everyone!" "and the clones!" "oh, right, the clones! recalculating and the clones too! wouldn't forget them! :)"

-oh i have too many thoughts about this conversation i'm just gonna post it and let it sit

-DAVID AND IMOGEN ON A PLEASURE CRUISE TO‏‏‎ ‎GALACTONIUM!!!!! FUCK YEAH BABY!!!!!! GOOD FOR THEM!!!!!

-after credits‏‏‎ ‎enola‏‏‎‏‏‎ ‎scene!!! my beloved!!!!

-okay okay okay okay okay okay okay. hoooooooooooh boy.

-THAT WAS!!! REALLY GOOD!!!!! AND EVERYONE MORE OR LESS TURNED OUT OKAY....WE GOT OUR ANTICAPITALIST MESSAGE....the only thing we didn't get was the main four's theater troupe and i think i'll forever be a littttttle bitter about that but nobody's stopping me from writing about (or just imagining)‏‏‎‏‏‎ ‎hartro‏‏‏‏‎ ‎‎and‏‏‎‏‏‎ ‎trexel‏‏‎‏‏‎ ‎eventually tracking down a working communications system and finding david and imogen so they can all yell at each other forevermore. i'm gonna miss these stupid little dorks so much but i'm so glad i got to be here for the ride. now to figure out whether cyril went with david and imogen or‏‏‎‏‏‎ ‎trexel‏‏‎‏‏‎ ‎and‏‏‎‏‏‎ ‎hartro‏‏‎‏‏‎ ‎‎and how it changes their fake little storyline.

#congratulations to all of you! you never have to see another one of these.#but you May have to deal with me getting my questions answered in next week's q + a which may be worse.#nyx's sf spam

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enchanted-prose · 4 years

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#13 Feall’s Deadly Dance

I just-

this is chOnky im sorry

Word count: 6, 991

Characters: Imogen, Jaron, Mott, Harlowe, Tobias, Commander Regar (Original character), Feall Cormeach (original character), the Faola (original character)

Notes: my beautiful editing beta fish said this one was a blast so you have that to look forward to as you read 25 pages worth of ascendance content.

Enjoy!

"I brought you something, Jaron."

Oh, did she now?

His interest was captured. Jaron sat up from where he was lying on the floor. "Imogen, I'm-"

"It's alright, we all have bad days," Imogen said, she handed him a mug, and sat down beside him.

Did he have a good enough excuse for what he did? Probably not. Too much energy pulsed through Jaron's body. It was time to escape. Time to get out.

Taking it out on Roden was all too easy.

It was easier to throw a punch than discuss tender topics.

He was coming to terms with his anxiety by ignoring it. His palms were always sweaty, and his stomach was constantly being squeezed. Something was staring at him right in the face. Jaron scratched the back of his head.

Imogen's hand was on his shoulder, she was there to listen.

"I'll be meeting with Lord Row this afternoon," Jaron muttered. "I have a plan for whatever he asks. A way to help Avenia in any way we can."

"Good, a plan is always good," said Imogen, a tiny smile fluttering across her face.

Jaron lived for those tiny butterfly smiles.

"There's too much waiting in the future. I don't like that I've once again had to bargain with a criminal and I don't like all of this pressure to find Mireldis Thay. I know how it feels to be the lost

royal, and even if she's alive, I'd rather respect her choice to remain hidden. Her name is being

used as a scapegoat, and it's not fair."

Silence settled in. Jaron sipped from his mug; Imogen had brought him some sour tasting tea. The warmth spread through his throat, threatening to overtake the chilling anxiety that hadn’t quite left since he’d returned to court so long ago.

Even if he couldn’t save everyone, he could do what he could to help.

“Do you think I should apologize to Roden for what I did last night?” Jaron mumbled.

A dark curl fell across Imogen’s nose as she shook her head. “I think you might make him mad. Give him a little space, and then apologize.”

An apology was due this time. Jaron had been the one to start their fight.

Uncomfortable emotions tugged at his false sense of normalcy.

He chose to run from what he felt. “Did you know that Jolly has quite the network of people?”

“I did, actually. Amarinda was a little upset when she found out he’d be staying in Drylliad,” Imogen squeezed Jaron’s shoulder. “She fears that many of the people we’ve met aren’t who they say they are.”

“Nobody is who they say they are. We tell people what we want them to think and only show our true faces when we’re alone.”

“That’s not quite true.”

“Oh yes it is, Imogen.”

Anger was rising up in his lungs. Drink the tea, drink the tea. Jaron tipped his head back and didn’t stop drinking the scalding liquid even as it seared down his throat.

It was still hard to accept that no matter how hard he tried to hide, Imogen was there. She was always there with a kind word, and always there with a biting word if he did something dangerous.

But she was welcome.

Everyone’s filled with holes.

When he was removed from his family a decade ago, a Mother sized hole tore through his heart, followed by a Father shaped hole, and a Darius shaped hole.

No, no. It wasn’t a hole, it was a hollow. Hollows could be filled, but not every hole could.

Jaron had a family hollow in his heart for too long.

He was still getting used to having that hollow filled. Still getting used to how Imogen had stepped into his hollow, hollow heart and filled him with warmth.

Sometimes that warmth burst, and he always gave into it.

Emotion was a curse that plagued his family. Too much sympathy, too much energy, too much of everything.

It wasn’t very often that he lost control. In fact, Jaron prided himself on his ability to hold his head high in the face of condescending nobles. They tried their best to use his unorthodox tendencies against him, and he responded with a ferocity that his father, King Eckbert, had lacked.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean what I said,” Jaron dragged his hand over his face. “I haven’t been feeling as prepared as I’d like to be.”

Imogen was silent for several moments, then leaned over, and smoothed down Jaron’s hair. “Is there anything I can do to help? As your friend, and your wife, I want to support you however I can.”

There were so many things he needed, but the second somebody asked, he didn’t want to speak of them.

With Imogen, it was different.

She’d seen him at his very best and very worst, there was nothing he could willingly hide from her.

“I, ah, I’m having trouble picking my battles.”

“Which battles? We’ll go through them together.”

Go through battle together. With Imogen at his side, Jaron could do anything. He set down the mug, and reached for her hand. “I’ve been considering my deal with Ayvar, about catching the patched Faola who nearly butchered Feall. There’s too many things I can’t figure out, too many details are missing, and I can’t make a gamble without them.”

“Are there connections you’ve made?” Imogen asked, her head tilting ever so slightly. “There’s more to this than just an attack on a military leader. It reeks of something worse. I think the attack on Feall was very much on purpose; I think it was an assassination attempt.”

“But the motive? What was the motive? Feall has charmed everyone at court, he’s very well liked. It’s very difficult to get a large group of people in on an assassination attempt, and Ayvar’s resistance only proves that.”

“Are we ruling out money as a motive?”

Jaron drummed his fingers against the back of Imogen’s hand. “I think so. Too expensive for a group that large to attack one man. I’m also ruling out robbery, as Tobias, Renlyn, and Mott weren’t harmed on purpose. Any injuries that came were because they fought back.”

The most obvious remaining motive held the lowest moral ground.

Perhaps Feall had been attacked because somebody wanted his head on a pike, because somebody hated him with a fire that could only be put out with Feall’s death.

An attacker thinking like this would find a way to take their revenge, or die trying.

“I’m sorry, I have to stand, it’s hard to-” Jaron began, but Imogen had already sprung to her feet.

She’d extended her hand. “You don’t have to apologize. We’ll walk to the atrium.”

His heart was going to burst.

Imogen didn’t need to hear his excuse. She just knew. She’d grown to accept that his mind worked best while he moved.

There were times when he questioned why he prayed to the Saints, as it was very clear that he was married to one of them.

Arm in arm, Jaron and Imogen left the office, their pace gradually quickening. Fast walking made for fast thinking.

Who on earth would want Feall dead enough to follow him to Carthya?

Memories, memories. Jaron wrinkled his nose as he thought back to when Feall first arrived so many weeks ago.

The Faola had attacked him then too, called Feall by name, who responded in turn. Jaron hadn’t noticed it then. Hadn’t notice how casual the exchange was despite lives being on the line.

Feall knew who his attacker was.

"What are they calling you here? Shrike? The Black Knight?"

"Fight me like a man, Feall. There's a score to be settled."

"Many people want to settle scores with me, you'll have to tell me your name first.”

"Rot in Hell."

“You know that I’m not the one who’ll be rotting with the Devils.”

“Feall insists that the attacker was Mireldis Thay, but I didn’t think it was true. People take powerful names all the time,” Jaron mused, shifting his hand to the small of Imogen’s back. “I’m beginning to wonder if maybe I was wrong.”

The movement was subtle, but Jaron had a trained eye. He saw the tiny flicker of Imogen’s hand as it brushed her left collarbone.

Though her wound had healed long ago, Imogen’s shoulder could never quite forget the pain of an arrow wound. Her ghost pains made the occasional appearance. Jaron trained himself to catch the signs of their return.

He guided her away from the busy hallway, and kissed her fingertips, “Are you alright?”

The smile on Imogen’s face was sharp and bitter, nothing like the shy butterfly smiles she’d been flashing not long ago.

She paused for a moment, her hand hovering over her collarbone. Her hand fell to her side. “I can think of quite a few reasons why- if Feall’s claims are right -Thay would want him dead by her own hand.”

Was it wrong that Jaron nodded his head?

Was it wrong that he knew what that lust for revenge tasted like?

Revenge was easy to justify, it was easy to die for, and it was easy to spiral down the wrong path because of it.

Jaron touched Imogen’s face.

“I don’t want to be coddled, Jaron, I want to continue this conversation,” Imogen rolled her shoulders back. “If Feall is right, then we have to consider where Mireldis is coming from.”

“Mireldis might not be alive, too,” Jaron noted, taking great care to keep his pace slow and even.

“Then we find somebody who’s seen her. Who knows her.”

“I, ah, I can think of somebody who might have our answers.”

“Are we thinking of the same person?” Imogen arched her eyebrows.

He made a face, desperate to distract Imogen from feeling her ghost pains again.“Possibly, but just in case, you say your answer first so I can agree with you.”

“Jolly may have what we’re looking for. He seems to know everyone who ever lived.”

“That’s exactly what I was going to say,” Jaron grinned. He looped an arm around Imogen’s waist. “Perhaps we could pay him a visit. With a list of ballads, of course, I have no intention of listening to Ingrithay ever again.”

“Catchy ballad?” asked Imogen, her hand settling atop Jaron’s.

“Catchy and creepy.”

There was blood in the kitchen,

There was-

No! Not again!

There was a time from long, long ago when Jaron’s father would let him play in the corner of his study. . . If Jaron agreed to be quiet. Eckbert had a fondness for yellow citrus in his tea, and Jaron had a fondness for biting into whatever food he could. There would be no forgetting the way that slice of lemon tore through Jaron’s child mouth.

The expression he wore was the equivalent to the face he’d made after realizing how big of a mistake it was to bite into a lemon.

“Careful dear, your face will freeze that way,” Imogen said, patting Jaron’s cheek.

“But would you still love me if my face looked that way? That’s my real concern,” countered Jaron.

“I’d still love you no matter what way your face freezes.”

“Imogen, you’re implying that my face is going to freeze.”

“I’ve seen the expressions you make while explaining what the nobles request.”

Jaron chuckled, he couldn’t deny that. He’d considered becoming a model for gargoyle expressions. They could learn from the deep grimaces he made when reading over suggested policies.

“Would you still love me if I were a miniscule beetle?” He stepped ahead of Imogen, and held open the door to the massive atrium.

She nodded, “I would, in fact. I’d take care of you and make you a little beetle house and give you little crumbs of cake.”

“Promise me you won’t give me lentils. They’re disgusting and bad for beetles.”

“I didn’t realize beetles had specific diets.”

“They don’t, I just don’t want you to feed beetle me any lentils.”

Imogen set her hand over her heart, “I swear I won’t feed you any lentils in the event that you are magically turned into a bug.”

“A beetle Imogen. There’s a difference.”

---------------------------------------------------

Gold sunset light saturated the entire castle. It almost lifted Jaron’s spirits as he looked over each of his regents.

They all stood as he walked into the throne room, flanked by Mott and Harlowe. He held out his hand, prompting them to sit, and sat down in his cushioned chair. Gold sunset light saturated the throne room. One man remained standing. He flashed a small grin at Jaron.

Lord Thomas Row was wearing a splendid hook, but aside from that, wore almost the same clothing that he’d worn the day before. His braided black hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and adorned with a series of elegant beads.

He stood out among the richly dressed regents.

“Your Majesty, I once again must thank you on behalf of Avenia for assisting us during this time,” Row said, bowing deeply.

Jaron dipped his head, “It’s what anyone would do for an ally; for a friend. I’m prepared to hear what you’ve come to say, and I’m prepared to give Avenia aid in any way possible.”

With some exceptions, of course. Jaron refused to turn to dishonesty for as long as he could, he’d seen what happened when somebody was afraid to face the truth.

He’d been a victim of what happened when somebody was afraid to face the truth.

“We pray that all is well in Avenia,” Harlowe said. “Please, tell us of Avenia.”

The regents leaned forward in their chairs; Row rolled his shoulders back. “Your Majesty, regents, Sir Mott, I bring news of mixed success. I am proud to say that the southern region is doing well, we’ve allowed everyone an opportunity to learn to read, and in turn, our now literate farmers have been able to bring us economic success with their imports and exports.

“We’ve seen this pattern throughout the entire country, although this progress hasn’t spread easily through the northern regions. This is where we come for Carthyan aid, King Jaron. There are rumors of revolution in Isel. We haven’t found the cause of these rumors, though we suggest they were put into Iseli heads by an outside source, likely Gelynian or another outside source.

“King Aranscot has long envied Isel and its value. King Kippenger’s reign is still much like an unsteady colt stumbling through its first day, it wouldn’t take much for King Aranscot to topple the entire regime, and plunge Avenia into darkness once again.”

“Are you requesting military assistance, Lord Row?” Jaron asked, his hands clasped in his lap.

Row shook his head, “Not to that extent, your Highness. King Kippenger would feel much better knowing there is at least a small Carthyan presence in Isel.”

Ah, yes, Carthyan influence.

If Jaron played his cards right, he’d be able to fulfill Kippenger’s request without causing any offense. He wouldn’t be able to send Roden, his reputation preceded him, and Roden’s presence would likely invoke more fear than peace.

But if he placed a noble there, one with enough popularity, that could bring Kippenger a new sense of ease.

Renlyn Karise’s name bounced around in his head.

She’d be a valuable asset to Isel, she had property there, and enough power to hire her own army if needed.

However, Renlyn was a good friend to Imogen, and Jaron didn’t have the heart to sever that relationship.

Jaron felt a frown tug at his lips. He scanned the regents, trying to find Tobias for support. “Could you see this unease growing into a call to arms against King Kippenger?”

Tobias gave the slightest nod of his head.

“Perhaps, although we’d rather be safe than sorry, Avenia’s armies would be able to handle the insurgents should any fighting arise,” explained Row. “We hope that Carthya’s presence would be enough to stifle any more talk of revolution.”

“Hope might not be enough, but I am willing to take that risk in order to keep the peace.”

“Your Majesty, please understand that Avenia wants no more war, we fear bloodshed, and we fear the implications it would bring to every realm near the Eranbole sea.”

“I see your concern, Lord Row, and I will do my best to ease this fear,” Jaron held his hand over his heart. “I sense there’s more you have to say?”

Row shifted on his feet. “We’ve heard rumors that Mireldis Thay is in your custody, and though King Kippenger finds chasing rumors the work of a child, he does like to be informed. Is this true?”

Now it was the regents’ turn to all shift in their seats. Harlowe looked to Jaron for permission to speak, “I’m afraid we have only rumors about Lady Thay. There is nothing to fear, the young woman in Carthya’s protection is a bandit named Ayvar.”

“Ah, what a pity, I suppose,” Row sighed, and he held his hook in his hand.

Mott frowned, “Your reaction is vastly different from what’s common.”

“I’ve never been one to accept information without picking it apart.”

“If only more people were like you then, Lord Row,” Jaron said. “However, we are here for Avenia’s sake, not Mireldis Thay’s.”

“You are correct, your Majesty.” Once again, Lord Row bowed. “I shall leave you to discuss my nation’s matters with your regents, but I must ask that you do so with speed. I will not see my people suffer and a nation overthrown because of bureaucratic loopholes.”

Jaron didn’t bother hiding his smirk. It was no secret that Carthyan kings rarely got along with their regents. “My word is final, and my regents understand that.”

“I trust your judgement, King Jaron. If you would wish to speak with me, you know how and where to find me.”

“We will send for you the minute the King’s council has come to an agreement,” Harlowe promised. “Thank you for your time, Lord Row, and take care.”

“Your concern is reassuring, Lord Harlowe. I eagerly await the King’s response.”

The throne room remained silent as every pair of eyes watched Row walk away from them. He might not have been born into his title, but he carried himself with pride.

He carried himself with dignity.

“Your Majesty, I know we have an agreement with Avenia, but-,” began the infamous Mistress Orlaine, who would’ve lost her position as regent ages ago if Jaron didn’t care for his public image. She had the means to turn people against him, and Jaron couldn’t have that.

“But nothing, they are our ally, and if they need help, we will help them,” Jaron cut in. “If my father had been more willing to take action, we wouldn’t be in this mess in the first place. We will stand united in kindness and honesty, not through going back on our word.”

“We can’t send military aid, not without angering King Aranscot, he would think that we are preparing to rise against him,” Harlowe mused. He stroked his salt-and-pepper beard, obviously thinking of a solution.

Jaron drummed his fingers on his knee, “I will think of something, but whatever we do, we must do what we can to help King Kippenger.”

“Why be kind to them? They’re a nation of thieves,” spat another regent, Master Termouthe. “We must honor tradition, your Majesty. Without tradition, we are nothing.”

“And I acknowledge that, Lord Termouthe, I do, but traditions and times change. A nation of thieves cannot change on its own, King Kippenger deserves our support, and it would be selfish of us not to share what we have.”

The regents were becoming fussy. Another elderly mistress grunted. “We could be sharing what we have with our people. Your disregard for royal luxury is fuel for gossip.”

“And yet, I find that facing gossip is much better than leaving men and women to starve in the streets,” Tobias butted in. “This is a matter of Avenian policy, not an opportunity to scrutinize personal choices.”

“Bold words coming from-,” Termouthe’s sentence never finished.

People rarely finished insulting statements when Mott fixed a glare on them.

“Then it’s settled,” Jaron stood up from his chair. ��We are sending somebody to Isel to keep the peace. I will call another meeting when I have made my choice.”

Termouthe, Orlaine, and the other dissenters kept their eyes glued to the ground.

“Lord Harlowe, Lord Branch, Sir Mott,” said Jaron, clasping his hands behind his back. “I would very much like to discuss our options in private.”

“You are dismissed,” Harlowe gestured from the regents to the wide, open doors.

Each regent stood, bowed, and walked out a little too slowly for Jaron’s taste. They were trying to stay and hear what he had to say.

But they would hear nothing that would advance their agendas.

“Mott, do you know anything about Commander Regar? Did you talk to him at all?” Jaron asked, pacing from his throne to Tobias’s chair, to Harlowe, and back to his throne. “Is he still here?”

Mott set his ankle on his knee, leaning back into his charge in the process. “I spoke with him as best I could, but I know him, Jaron. He’s clean.”

No matter how much time Jaron spent with Mott, there were still so many things he didn’t know about him.

“Don’t you find it odd that Lord Row asked about Mireldis Thay?” Tobias pointed out. He was sitting almost as straight as the back of his chair. “I doubt Row has ever met her.”

Commander Regar.

Regar, Regar, Regar.

Saints be cursed, something was staring at him right in the face. Jaron was smart, why was he still struggling with this puzzle?

“I’ll have to add that to my list of questions,” Jaron grunted.

Tobias shifted, “List of questions?”

“Imogen and I have an idea that a mutual friend of ours may know more than we’d expect. We’re going to pay him a visit.”

“He plays a lute and wears colors that murder the eyes, doesn’t he?”

Jaron nodded, “You’re correct, and I will come back with answers, or I won’t come back at all.”

A bold promise, but Jaron knew what he was capable of. His mind was beginning to get ahead of him, he was dreaming of all the possibilities awaiting him.

Perhaps he was wrong about everything, and there was no need to have an entire gang of morally grey thieves be thrown into the dungeon.

Or maybe he and Imogen were right. Maybe Mireldis Thay had come to Carthya with every intention to slaughter Feall, or die trying.

A crime punishable by death.

“Jaron, I do hate to backtrack,” Harlowe inhaled. “But I would propose that we station a small company of soldiers in Libeth, just in case the situation in Avenia goes wrong. It would be much easier to mobilize forces from there than from here.”

“That-, that’s not a half bad idea, actually. Ah, Harlowe, you’re far too brilliant to be working with these regents.”

“As are you, my king.”

Jaron waved the comment away, “I’ll speak with Roden about moving soldiers. Aranscot will likely figure our movements out, but he has nothing to do with the unrest in Isel, then he’ll leave us alone. If he does have something to do with the unrest, then we have our answer.”

“Isn’t it nice when things are straightforward?” Hummed Tobias, who’d begun rubbing his temples. “We’ll be able to move onto our next item of business once the troops are placed, there won’t be any secrets about it.”

Any secrets.

Several of Jaron’s policies were ridiculed by many of the regents. They mocked the way he kept things in the open. But it was because of honesty that Carthya was beginning to thrive.

“Is the castle going to be involved in this year’s Blackberry Night?” Tobias was chipping away at every detail he could.

“I’ll think about it,” Jaron shrugged. “We’ve had a festival already, and Blackberry Night gets a little too wild for my taste.”

“The festival was weeks ago, Amarinda and I could coordinate it, and maybe it’ll draw in-“

“I said I’d think about it, Tobias.”

There were grander things to worry about than a party. Things with more benefits than gaining favor with regents who’d hate Jaron til either he died, or they died.

Mott accompanied him as he excused himself from the tiny meeting. They’d formed a pact in the dead of night not long ago to check in on Feall after the recent attack. They’d also both agreed to keeping Tobias indoors for a few days. Both Mott and Jaron clung to their promises for as long as they could, but eventually Amarinda left with Queen Danika’s investigators to search for Mireldis Thay, and nothing on earth could keep Tobias from going with her.

Mystic and Mott’s mare were already saddled and waiting to be ridden.

“Market day is going to happen shortly before the Morning of the Saints,” Mott said as he and Jaron stepped into the castle courtyard.

“Are you trying to start a debate about my church attendance with me?” Jaron countered. He had enough on his mind. Mystic stamped his foot as Jaron swung into the saddle. “You’re just like Imogen.”

“On the contrary, I’m only stating a fact. Market day technically is starting before the Morning of the Saints.”

“Too many holidays, too little time. I’d like to take a nap for a month or two.”

Mott clicked at his mare, leading the way out of the courtyard. “You’re doing a good job, Jaron. There’s a lot to deal with, and you’re doing your best.”

“Thanks,” he mumbled.

He didn’t want to admit how much he valued Mott’s approval.

Jaron uttered a silent prayer of thanks; he’d left his circlet behind, which meant he didn’t need to nod at each person who bowed to him. The streets were almost crammed, but not enough to render travel useless.

“You know, I’ve been thinking about all of these holidays,” Jaron grinned. “Maybe I should set aside a day where I can forget about my duties and remain calm.”

“There’s nothing stopping you from doing that now,” Mott guided his horse a few steps closer to Jaron. A carriage thundered past.

They were nearing the middle level of Drylliad, it wouldn’t be long until they were at the lower levels. Feall would have to be there somewhere.

“You know what, you’re absolutely right.”

“I typically am, people don’t like listening.”

“That’s because your version of ‘right’ isn’t nearly as fun as mine.”

“Strange, I’d thought my version of ‘right’ was better than yours because it typically means you don’t return to the castle with a black eye.”

Jaron inhaled deeply and leaned as far back as he could, his face turned to the sky. He couldn’t think of a response, as Mott’s argument couldn’t be countered without sounding like a blithering fool. Instead, he groaned.

“That’s what I thought,” Mott chuckled.

Children with bandages on their feet darted across the cobblestones, chasing after a striped lizard. A woman’s fashionable right boot flew through the air, caught by a pair of grubby child’s hands. Girls in tattered red rags waved from shattered windows. Lower Drylliad was often forgotten by nobles.

They didn’t want to get their hands dirty.

Didn’t want to help those born into a pigpen.

Mott sat a little straighter in his saddle. “This seems more like Roden’s route.”

“I think they switched patrol times,” Jaron racked his brain as he struggled to remember the last time Roden had told him about what he was up to. “With Feall patrolling during the day, it keeps him safe from his attacker. And Roden was very keen on being able to spend his afternoons either beating me at sparring or teaching Nila how to properly use a sword.”

“Probably makes it easier to avoid you, too.”

“Very true, which isn’t really that great, as I’ve been meaning to-,” Jaron gagged, “-apologize to him.”

“Consider me impressed, I know how much you hate doing that.”

Feall wasn’t far ahead, his jacket rested on his shoulders, dirt stained his white shirt. He waved. A large man with a full scarlet beard was gently tossing some of the children into the air. Jaron recognized him; Commander Regar was too massive to forget

“Have you come to visit me?” Feall joked. “Commander, show some respect to the king.”

Regar nodded his head to Jaron and Mott, nodded to the children he’d been throwing, and stood by Feall.

A man sized like Regar would have no problems holding his own against three men.

“We did, but unfortunately, I forgot to bring you flowers,” Jaron wiped away an imaginary tear. “Have you had any trouble, Feall?”

He shook his head, “Not exactly, I did have to separate a pair of urchins as they fought over a shoe.”

Regar gave no comment, which annoyed Jaron to no end.

What was it with people and not reacting to anything?

“Was it a woman’s shoe?” asked Mott, gesturing to the howling children several steps away.

“Yes, yes it was. I suppose if they aren’t bashing heads into the ground over it, they can play with it. Did you really come to check in on me, or is there something wrong?”

Jaron frowned, “Have you done something wrong?”

Ha! Regar coughed! That was almost as good as a biting comment!

“Not that I can think of,” a strand of long, dark hair fell across Feall’s forehead.

“Then we came strictly to check in on you, I’d hate to see a friend of mine come to harm. Again.”

Mott scoffed something about friends and harm, but his statement was almost too quiet to hear.

Feall raised his eyebrows, “Is that true?”

“Is what true?”

“Am I your friend, King Jaron?”

“I suppose so. Be careful, though, I do have bold requests of my friends. Mott thinks they’re ‘a danger to everyone’, and that I’m ‘going to chip somebody’s tooth’,” Jaron made sure to look Mott in the eye as he said so. “Consider yourself invited the next time I try to use a shield as a sled.”

“I’ll make sure to be-,” Feall stood straight, his sentence trailing off.

“Your Majesty, you may want to get away from here,” Regar muttered.

There were no more children shrieks.

His hand was resting on his sword hilt seconds after he recognized the unnatural quiet. Jaron squinted at the alley nearest to him, struggling to decide if the shadow he saw was because of a pile of trash or a lurking person.

“Where’s your horse, Feall?” Jaron murmured, his eyes locked on the shadow.

“Tied up in a stable, wasn’t in the mood to have her stolen from me,” Feall slowly unsheathed his sword. “I’m sure there’s a reason for the sudden silence.”

Jaron rolled his shoulders back, “I’ll dismount, Mystic won’t fit both of us.”

His feet hit the solid cobblestones, the sound echoing across the street. The only sound accompanying them through the streets was the constant clip-clop of horses’ hooves.

What a foolish idea, riding out to lower Drylliad.

What an even more foolish idea, letting Feall continue to patrol the streets despite having a target on his back.

A familiar sensation bubbled in his stomach. He’d grown up on tales of witches and their poisonous brews. Perhaps there was a tiny witch hiding inside him, using his insides as ingredients for her malicious magics.

Every so often, Jaron glanced back over his shoulder. There were too many things that could’ve caused the sudden wave of silence. Too many reasons why the street was suddenly lifeless. There were no girls in red waving from their windows, no children throwing discarded boots at each other, and no men with dirty blindfolds begging for money.

It was bad news when children hid.

It was even worse when the beggars vanished.

Mott scanned each alley. Jaron looked over his shoulder. Feall checked both sides of the street.

But nobody looked ahead to see the patched bandit in front of them.

“A pity, you should’ve told me there was a gathering!” Called out the patched Faola. His voice was rougher than before, and his saber looked a little worse for wear. “I’ve been told I’m the life of the party!”

Jaron’s hand shot out, gripping Feall’s upper arm as hard as he could.“Don’t do anything stupid.”

“I know it’s you, Mireldis Thay!” Feall stepped forward, breaking out of Jaron’s grasp. “I had my doubts, but your foolish note to Oberson confirmed my suspicions!”

“I wear only my name, and nobody else’s.”

Feall’s face fell.

The Faola bowed, “Your Majesty, Sir Mott, I humbly ask that you step away. This is, well, a matter of personal business. Don’t take offense when I say I don’t know you well enough to clash swords with the pair of you two.”

“I have to humbly ask you to step away,” Jaron countered. “It’s rude that you haven’t told me your name yet, I’m reduced to calling you Patches as your friend Ayvar does. Patches is the name for a household cat, not a sadistic murderer.”

“Sadistic? You’d see things differently if you asked the right questions.”

Mott dismounted as the banter continued, he too had drawn his sword. “What right questions?”

“Questions like-,” the Faola shrugged, his hood drawn low over his face. “Questions like why- ah, they don’t matter. Nothing will distract me from my chosen path.”

“Disappointing, I do love to talk,” Jaron frowned.

“Coincidentally, I do too when the cards are right.”

“Then maybe we should deal out new hands.”

It was unnerving, watching the Faola press a hand to his stomach and cackle. “You can’t get a new hand in this game.”

“Says who?” Jaron dug his foot into the cobblestones, risking a tiny glance at Mott.

The Faola only appeared to be one person, it was all too likely that there were multiple hiding in the alleys. There was a tiny chance that Roden had begun patrol early, and would come galloping to the sounds of a sword fight.

However, that had already worked once, and it was unlikely that the Devils wanted to play the same trick.

“Buy time,” Mott hissed.

Jaron stepped forwards again, “I don’t know your quarrel with Lord Feall, but I won’t let you shed any more blood in my city.”

Was it a coincidence that the Faola took a step back each time Jaron took one forward?

“You’re no king of mine,” barked the bandit.

“Then why are you retreating?”

He knew he shouldn’t have mentioned the Faola’s subtle retreat. The Faola roared, and flung himself forward, his saber moving with blinding speed. Jaron bellowed back and parried one of the Faola’s blows.

Though the saber was a slimmer weapon, the Faola’s tendency to leap out of the way kept Jaron from landing any debilitating blows. He lunged forward, and the Faola scurried backwards. With his sword raised, Jaron gathered his strength, preparing to sweep across the Faola’s middle.

That would put an end to things.

Feall and Mott were rushing to assist him. Regar, however, stood by Mystic and Mott’s horse, watching the fight from afar.

He wasn’t expecting it when the Faola pressed the inner curve of his saber to his leather gauntlet, and charged forward.

Jaron brought his sword crashing down on the Faola’s saber, locking both of their blades together. Mott and Feall were almost near enough to land a-

The world around him turned to pudding. Where was Commander Regar? Where was his mighty longsword and his skull crushing hands?

The Faola had delivered a sharp kick to Jaron’s upper right leg, sending stars across his vision. Where was Commander Regar? Where was his mighty longsword and his skull crushing hands?

“The King!” Feall shouted. “Mott! Regar! Get the King!”

“I can hold-!” Jaron tried standing on his right leg, but the overwhelming urge to vomit his entire day’s worth of food forced him into a loss.

Regar bounded away from the horses, his longsword in both of his huge hands. The Faola only ducked under his mighty arms, and did his best to strike a blow at Feall.

The Faola froze at the sight of Regar, the tip of his saber clinked against the ground.

Mott held his sword extended as he dragged Jaron back to Mystic, “We have to get you out of here!”

“Let me go!”

“You hold priority!”

“That doesn’t mean anything!” Jaron roared, shoving himself away from Mott. If he just stood with all of his weight on his left leg, he could still fight!

All it took was a step closer to Feall and the Faola to make his vision burst with white lights.

The world had turned to jelly, to pudding, to sludge. All Jaron knew was that he no longer retained a crisp sense of the air around him. Everything was too warm, too sticky.

His hair was sticking to his forehead. His insides were sticking to each other. His hands were sticking to his sword.

Was he going to be sick all over Mott?

The sword fell from his hands; Mott was shoving him onto Mystic. Bits of conversation drifted through his cotton hearing. He could sometimes see Feall and the Faola’s outlines against his holy-white vision.

It was almost like they were dancing together.

Feall was ever the gentleman, allowing the Faola to always strike at his head. He always returned the gesture with a hard swipe to the Faola’s middle.

“This is a bit-!” Feall ducked. “Below the-!”

The Faola jabbed his sword low, and sadly, Jaron didn’t catch the last part of Feall’s witty retort.

He clung to Mystic’s reigns, his eyes searching for Mott. The whiteness was fading, replaced with unnatural blues.

Mott would guide him to safety. Mott would keep him safe.

“Jaron, ride ahead,” Mott urged. “Keep it slow, I’m going to get Feall out of his mess. Blink if you-”

Jaron didn’t need to blink, he only urged Mystic forward and tried not to vomit into his own lap.

Horse hooves clattered against the pavement in an odd compliment to clashing swords. Somebody was ordering Mott away; ordering him to consider himself and that he’d only make the close fighting quarters even tighter.

The Faola ducked beneath feall’s blade, twirling away from both Mott and Feall like a little girl in a new dress. Sounds of battle were dying. The fight was a music box, twinkling down to its last plink of a note.

Mystic tottered forward.

Straining, Jaron peered over his shoulder, looking just in time to see the music box’s final plink.

The Faola swiped the saber across Feall’s chest, missed, and kicked him in the stomach. Feall went tumbling to the ground. The Faola stood above his opponent, gloating words lost to Jaron’s pudding hearing.

But it was Regar who earned the last plink.

Tossing his sword to the side, Regar barrelled into the Faola. “Get them to safety! I’ll cover you!”

“Let me go!” The Faola shrieked, pounding his fists against Regar’s back

Regar let the Faola slide down his back. The Faola anticipated the fall, and rolled to his sword. He swung as hard as he could, but Regar caught the saber blade with his gloved hand.

Mott tugged Feall onto his saddle, leaving the Faola to his fate.

A sad finale to a short dance between Feall and his lethal partner. Jaron leaned over and vomited. He didn’t hear whatever it was that Mott was saying as he limped them all back to the castle.

All he could think about was that dance of life and death. It was a dance he’d performed himself. He’d seen somebody dance that way before- all jumping and twirling. The dancer’s name was just out of his reach. Knowing that the name was there was enough.

They were strange musings, but it was worth it to avoid vomiting again.

It was the musings of a man in too much pain to see straight.

#its real Mott Saves the Day Hours #and bully Jaron hours #sorry kiddo #this was #uh #too fun sorry #regar is just the dad from brave except hes a grumpy man who likes throwing humans #the ascendance series #mott #prince jaron #imogen #harlowe #tobias #ocs #chaotic #fic friday #fic Friday except its a tuesday #time isn't real

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judememories · 6 years

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#001 CHARACTER SHEET:

Full Name: Jude Bellamy Hayward Meaning of Name: Jude means ‘praise’ in Hebrew and was chosen by his parents as an ironic joke about the fact that they’re adamantly Atheist. Nickname: Judas. Birth Date: November 29th, 1994. Astrological Sign and Details: Sagittarius. Known as the most independent and flighty of the star signs, as well as being philosophically geared. Birth Place: Saint Francis Memorial Hospital, San Francisco. Age: 23.

Nationality: American. Race: White. Hair Color: Brown. Hair Style: Short, messy, always in his eyes or mussed up. Distinct Features of Face: Full lips and prominently defined jawline. Glasses or Contacts: Wears glasses when he’s reading, in spite of the fact that he despises them. They’re old fashioned and vintage looking to keep up his Indie Soft Boy aesthetic. Eye Color: Hazel. Skin Tone: Fair. Scars or Distinguishing Marks: A thin scar, predominantly hidden, that laces through his left eyebrow from an ill healed split he got there when he was fifteen. He got into a fight with a boy being pushy to a drunk girl at a party and since he was much bigger than Jude, it was a quick and ugly loss. He ended up having his head smacked into a kitchen sink and needing stitches. He also has a cigarette burn on his arm from when a drunken poet laureate staying at his parents place disagreed with Jude’s take on his recently published anthology. Jude had to go and knock on the neighbouring apartment door in the building and sleep on a pull out sofa because he was too scared to stay at home alone again with him around when he’d been drinking. Disabilities: None. Build or Body Type: Broad shoulders, somewhat gangly. He has subtly defined muscles in his arms from years of playing guitar but nothing too obnoxious or over the top. Height: 6″1′. Weight: 170 lbs. Speech Patterns: Talks reasonably slowly, mostly as a result of being high and sleep deprived a lot of the time, therefore it takes him a while to string his thoughts together. Tag Words: Says “uh” and “you know” a lot. Also refers to most people, gender irrelevant, as “man” or “handsome”. Gestures: Rubs at his jaw a lot when he’s sketching or trying to think of something. He also frequently nods and chews at the corner of his thumbnail.

FAMILY AND CHILDHOOD

Mother: Bethany Hayward. Father: Jack Hayward. Mother’s Occupation: Trust fund baby, currently co-owns an art gallery with her husband that she travels the world to buy pieces for. Father’s Occupation: Amateur photographer. He used to be a bartender to support his art and has had four collections of his photos showcased in popular galleries. Ever since he met and fell in love with Bethany, he gave up working as a bartender and pursued the arts full time, opening up a gallery using her parents money. Family Finances: Reasonably wealthy but not in the millions by any means. Brothers: None. Sisters: None. Other Close Family: Jude has a handful of cousins he knows only vaguely, although he’s actually close with Elias Elliot. Best Friend: Teddy Lawrence. Other Friends: Blake Knox, Ophelia Knox, Gabe Leitner, Frankie Vigo, Wesley Costa, Imogen Bauer, Anastasia Costa, Jesse Harmon, Lana Jameson. Enemies: None. Pets: None. Home Life During Childhood: Jude was always treated like a distant acquaintance growing up rather than a child. His parents would leave him for weeks on end to live in their loft apartment alone, surrounded by numerous mid thirties adults all smoking pot and using the place as a glorified sort of squatter den. He grew up seeing and hearing things that no child should particularly have to, always walking in on drunken hook-ups and hearing lewd and suggestive comments that made him feel uncomfortable. He gets on with his parents in the respect that he can always make them laugh and vice versa, but they don’t particularly care about what he gets up to or how he’s doing. He’s merely a conversational piece and a tick off a checklist, a failed science experiment that they long since grew bored of. What Did His, Her or Their Bedroom Look Like: Mostly bare. Jude was too paranoid to keep anything of sentimental value in his room because of how many strangers were always sleeping in his loft and nosing around in there. He had a few sketches tacked up onto the wall above his bed with scotch tape and a lock box beneath it that he kept his actual valuables in. Very minimal. Very impersonal. To Jude, his house had never once looked or felt like a home. Any Sports or Clubs: He used to be on a baseball team until he got drunk one night and was spotted using his bat to beat up a dingy Volkswagen parked just off school campus belonging to one of his parent’s friends. She was actually a teacher’s assistant at the school and therefore they took it extremely seriously. He got pulled from the team and put in detention for six weeks. Nobody ever asked why he did it. Schooling: He went to high school in downtown San Francisco before moving to New York in order to pursue his higher education. Favorite Subject: A tie between art and music. Popular or Loner: Unwillingly and begrudgingly popular. He tries his best to shake people and can never seem to manage it. Important Experiences or Events: The second time he had sex, it was with his girlfriend of the time at sixteen. He only got maybe two minutes through until he started having an anxiety attack, something that he still finds hideously embarrassing to recall, even to this day. She’d insisted that it was fine, that she didn’t mind and he’d blamed it on the fact that he’d smoked two joints prior to it and it had triggered some sort of weird reaction. The fact that there might still be some sort of underlying issue and baggage there from his first time dare’n't even cross his mind. Health Problems: Anxiety, insomnia and severe depression. Religion and beliefs: Atheist.

PERSONAL

Bad Habits: Smoking weed instead of coping with his problems in a healthy and rational manner, repressing things rather than confronting them, trying to save everyone. Good Habits: Writing out odd snippets of poem lines on napkins when he’s bored in restaurants and leaving them for the waiters to find and blink at in confusion, keeping a secret sketchbook where he draws the profiles of all his favourite people, investing his all into people in spite of how many times he’s been hurt before. Best Characteristic: His dry and sometimes absurd sense of humour. Worst Characteristic: His proneness to acting pretentious or condescending when someone has different interests to his. Worst Memory: At a small party when he was sixteen, they decided to go around in a circle and play truth or dare. He chose truth and everyone waited with baited breath for someone to cook up the kind of question that would get even Jude Hayward, master of playing it cool, squirming with embarrassment. “Are you a virgin? If not, how’d you lose it?” A dozen crinkle cornered eyes had all curiously blinked back at him mid broad grins as he offered a limp shrug, face glazed over with something that looked like an oddly forced attempt at pride. It was only after he’d told them and the room had fallen quiet that he realised it perhaps wasn’t quite something to be proud of, but for parents to anxiously whisper in the corner over and worriedly shake their heads. The fact that it had been with his mother’s best friend while she was out of town had never truly struck him as strange until he saw the dawning horror on all of those faces staring back at him. Needless to say, he never went to one of their parties or mentioned it to anyone ever again. Best Memory: The old lady down the hall from his parent’s loft used to make homemade cherry pie and cut him a slither to eat after school. One sun soaked afternoon they sat in front of her dingy television set, chomping silently during a leaked new episode of Mad Men, and when she ruffled his hair after he finished in a record breaking five minutes, he found himself pretending and believing for those set few seconds that she was actually his family. Proud of: His artwork. Embarrassed by: Ever speaking honestly about his emotions. Driving Style: Fairly regulation. Bumps up onto the sidewalk a lot, chuckles under his breath and calmly recites the Harry Potter floating head that says “it’s gonna be a bumpy ride” in a Jamaican accent. Strong Points: Charismatic, witty, laid-back, easygoing, independent and undemanding. Temperament: Fairly neutral unless you give him reason not to be. Weakness: People that seem just as sad and lonely as he is deep down. Fears: Being left alone in a room with strangers, eating bad chicken and getting salmonella, heights. Phobias: Moths and horses. Secrets: How bad his relationship with his parents actually is. How he lost his virginity. Regrets: Not trying harder to grow into someone his parents would find interesting enough to stay. Feels Vulnerable When: People notice how often he pretends to be something he isn’t. Pet Peeves: Chart music, chino pants, modern art. Sexuality: Heterosexual. He tried to experiment once and just couldn’t get into it. Exercise Routine: None in particular. Day or Night Person: Night. Introvert or Extrovert: Introvert. Optimist or Pessimist: Pessimist.

LIKES AND PREFERENCES

Music: Indie rock, mod rock -- any shade of rock, really. He loves The Smiths and any kind of broody sad boy music, too. Books: Anything classic and old, he loves. He’s a huge Kerouac fan as well as Kurt Vonnegut and Chuck Palahniuk. Foods: Hates to admit it but he loves Chipotle. He also loves sushi and any kind of noodle soup. Drinks: He tends to mainly drink beer or cider but most of the time at parties he’ll just drink whatever someone gives to him. He isn’t fussy. Animals: Doesn’t care much about any of them. He’s pretty neutral. Sports: N/A. Social Issues: Democrat. Walked in the women’s march and got black out drunk before waking up on a public bench with a pair of bachelorette party antlers where they’re dick themed instead of deer. Favorite Saying: “In the land of gods and monsters I was a fella. Lookin’ to just hang out.” Color: Blue. Clothing: Wears a lot of thrifted shirts over thin white t-shirts. Dr. Martens and cuffed jeans. Almost always has some sort of charcoal smudge on his sleeve. Band t-shirts and t-shirts with a scan of obscure and unknown artworks also feature heavily in his wardrobe. Games: Once he played Red Dead Redemption for three days straight and the first time he tried mushrooms, he hallucinated that he was riding along on a donkey besides a river with a strand of wheat chewed in his mouth like a lone ranger on the run from the law. In reality he was just sat on a swing at the local park. Websites: Vine and PornHub. TV Shows: Breaking Bad and Mad Men. Movies: American Beauty and Trainspotting. Greatest Want: To flee civilisation and abandon his responsibilities by moving to a remote goat farm in Cambodia. Greatest Need: Therapy.

LIFESTYLE

Home: Currently lives in college dormitories. Household furnishings: Very minimal. Pinstriped duvet and an obnoxiously bright desk lamp for when he wants to do his sketches there. He has stacks of lined up, overflowing sketchbooks by the wall beneath his window and he’s plonked a cushion onto the sill so he can sit there and draw while he smokes some mornings. That aside, the only other stand out piece of furniture is his acoustic guitar. Favorite Possession: His oil paints. They were a departing gift from his elderly neighbour before he moved to Rochester. She saved up for months to afford them and they mean a great deal to him, sentimentally. Significant Other Before: He’s had three ex-girlfriends. His first meant a lot to him and he was head-over-heels in love with her, but the second was more of a fling to get over the one before her. His most recent was Saskia Cohen, who he still hasn’t managed to get over just yet, particularly so given that she cheated on him and the breakup was hideously messy. Children: N/A. Relationship with Family: He texts them every so often and receives an updated photo from their travels. It’s very impersonal and more like having a long distance pen pal than a family. Car: None. Pets: None. Career: Student. Salary: N/A. Other Income: N/A. Dream Career: Photographic journalist. Love Life: A board certified mess. Sexual Turn Ons: Dirty talk that is subtle and not over-the-top, prolonged foreplay, confidence. Sexual Turn Offs: Pushiness, foot fetishists, people who try too hard to sound appealing. Hobbies: Drawing, reading up on philosophical theory, collecting dollar store vinyls from thrift shops, practising his guitar, writing short stories and poems that he deletes after reading them back. Guilty Pleasure: Watching Spanish soap operas and making up what they’re saying as he goes along. Almost always occurs when he’s hideously high. Talents or Skills: Drawing, photography, playing guitar. Intelligence Level: Jude has an impressively high IQ, although this isn’t something he ever boasts about or makes a point of asserting.

#lockwoodtask001 #lockwood:points #statutory rape tw #rape tw #not explicitly bt its alluded to #abuse tw #this prob has typos bt its Late here ok forgiv me

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renatedagmarmilada · 7 years

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LONDON MET POLICE SUPERINTENDENT

Top POLICE SUPERINTENDENT London, was shown heavy porn film of JOAHNNA a friend of ANNA jun sec min of health /porn starlet/ made at BBC with director Sydney-- and told that was me /?/ mother of five 46 yrs old mature University student and artist, and it was a sex therapy using the whole country, killing throughout the country permitted by UNO -- to whom lab st barths Human Research did not give any true facts...

it is called maximising extreme therapy and is all unworkable stuff piled on and on.. ANNA jun sec Min of Health-- I always wanted to throw every offence at one person and see what they could do about it.. The horror of the british concentration camp..silent and unseen. Tory:== when the british government damages an innocent person, it is either very expensive for the government or very expensive for the person, in family's your cases , it is unfortunately terrible wipe-out expensive for you and yours.

Let's be honest - who doesn't love them!

quote-I don't have enough-- oh thank you .. emneti Syrian Thief family -Longley broke into my home again Thursday..I had a shipping order for her stuff..it was my chance to make some spare cash, at her age, what the hell does she know.. teachers and painters...

sweat smell we fed into Sheffield Somalians brains was from the lab jewesses, Margit sweats and they have their menopause-- so ... Fekete did not have one, as she took hormones. also Margit's vaginal smells as she sweats heavily. //these super rich, greedy jewish bitches can afford to have menopauses, I couldn't.. /

tv2pm-- after we have EQUALISED YOU..ah another British word for racketeering, organised theft, and remote torture of the worst kind.. by lab jews so cannot be admitted... hm

Quote --Parkwood school, Sheffield, KIRSHAN Hussein is a thief and a bad thief, /loiters outside of my home hours on end waiting for me to go out..as is his sister MIRAM Hussein... ALI off Rock street was a pretty bad thief, but this mob are much worse.. Nemeti-- Longley st is over here in Upperthorpe all the while looking to break in and thieve.. so called Syrian refugee.. with his friend Abdul and Neseria and her family and step son, in Upperthorpe .. Suleiman is a thief..and fence snitch.

Prince Charles was in the lab st barths Hum Res and on the scanner remote for treatment, that is why we rob /called reducing by lab Jews/ Fekete none stop using west indians and Syrians, who do not know anything about remote --

Guiana black woman Upperthorpe Roman catholic who sends her 20 yr old son robbing for stuff for the children as she spends all £360 weekly on herself on BRAND NEW DRESSES etc-- /saw her/ prostitutes a fair bit, well ok we all know that group all do../ pn scanner permanently---if they catch me for cheating we will just go back to Africa or somewhere else in Europe..

quote - lab st barths hum Res IMOGEN-- in the last 3 weeks, 7 men have wandered round your bedroom robbing stuff, clothes, in your wardrobes, everywhere.. robbing your front room-- all of them blacks and arabs.. living near by.. Wednesday Pakistani from Pagehall broke in and robbed /my UKRAINIAN dad's German Army Sollbuch and several other items/ BECAUSE HE HATES SLOVAKS???????????????????????? THEN GAVE SOME GYPSIES MY ITEMS? GYPSIES DON'T READ GERMAN VERY WELL AND THOUGHT IT WAS HER MAN'S...... MY DAD WAS UKRAINIAN????????????WHY??????????

Fish and Chips shop-- Upperthorpe.Sheffield. Abdul and Neseria, flats Upperthorpe.. tried to sell us your goods there, clothes, paintings etc..I WENT INTO FEKETE'S HOUSE UPPERTHORPE ON THURSDAY-- watched. these thieves are SO stupid that they do not seem to realise that if the door just opens remote, someone is watching them on a scanner and they stay on a scanner...for future use. THEY ARE TRULY STUPID gone silk jacket and sailing shirts from Spain /orig German/ white chines...

Bethany- lab st barths Hum Res. John's illeg daughter-- I sold 6 of Fekete's stolen shirts to a kitch shop, because I opened the doors of her home remote for local thieves.. I also sold 7 other items, art stuff mainly, artists blocks, paints etc

from lectures by Rabbi Rothchild and my mother's stories from home- we lived in the jewish quarter of Poszon, Milealska Uc -Paintings were to illustrate my numerous 'jewish poems' which have all been stolen along with the paintings--there are quite a few more illustrations on that topic, painted in Sheffield, London and Leipzig.

''what write it all again?'' Anna insists that all is shared out of Fekete's work repeatedly, as they sat on her for years, throughout University etc and halved her marks whilst adding sexual innuendos to everything, also all lecturers at all Unis and Colleges were on their scanner /cancers activated?/ Alyson, I have to do it for her- John Fielding board of Lab st barths Human Research, asked us to tear up these 70 paintings, as his daughter Faye used them for her MA ..and sold some of them to the jewish community.. rob some of her glasses, as she sees very badly--again

Minister Prendergast told -- as soon as Fekete dies, all work copied from her work will disappear. But the cheats will have made their names by then.. so they will be the winners.. it is all on a satellite- //flying over Niagara Falls.. Canada by helicopter -my present to myself on my 66th birthday- I don't treat myself with things, this is my sort of present.Canada is very cold in the winter by the way../

From Len Krawchuk: an article about Kupala. The title below is wrong; it should say June 24 (July 7).

Alyson- I asked them to write a sitcom.. it is just slightly different to Fekete's story there, but only slightly. The Minister of health nor the State Minister Prendegast stops us. it was illegal to keep them in our prison and mess with them day and night since 1984//photo Writers Gp

IMOGEN operative-- yes it is very painful what we do to Fekete remote.It is like a truck sitting on your leg.. We have used it on the simples and they scream in pain. ANNA said that is why we should use the population, they just grin and bear it and the doctors cannot help. We have killed about 300 people in the population now.//happer times in China a few years ago

quote 8 am It is embarrassing a foreigner who can paint and write better than we can..and teach us our language, with hardly any schools, and with such a foreign name Plashet Rd back in 1995 macrosound-quote : look at you, small but perfectly formed. No bent anythings, even with your refugee background, you haven't seen us, with your clean living. --- ANNA time and again.. this is not unusual for the Brits, usually unsaid- at school, I came top in English very quickly /mothe...

quote- we have destroyed your total arteries in your body, by pressing remote. It squashes them ./now=top inner right leg-- last weeks left leg-- Meyer pressed arms endlessly, - John Fieldings dog Mohammad pressed chest arteries for months till I fled to China, pain horrendous// It flattens the artery. I am taking part so I have no need to talk. It is a remote concentration camp. Total destruction of healthy human beings by Human Research.

From Richard Woloschuk comes this neo-pagan article about the Ukrainian vinok (floral garland), apropos for Kupala. The term "wreath" is used, but a vinok is a ...

the ladies who looked after the students were lovely..

Beijing-

Your arteries are the system within your body that continually transport the essential nutrients and oxygen that you need to survive, from your heart to the rest of your body. A massive part of staying healthy and keeping your arteries clear and clean has to do with your diet. It is very true when you are told “You are what you eat.” It is also true that what you put into your body will determine your overall health including your cardiovascular health. Adjusting your diet to...

quote--Goldsmiths-- there is some good stuff coming out of the lab.. . No it is not their work, they have stolen thousands and thousands of the small Austrian teacher's art work and from years and years of writing, creatively and from several literature degrees, from her home, taken out of the post office, and in any way they could steal it.. it is Fekete's work, not theirs. They get a job for life with St barths Human research and will be placed into managerial positions immediately for tracing Fekete's work. Not one is college educated, not even GCSE- but all have a jewish father who was a lab staff member- or an unqualified doctor at the lab. it is the biggest rip off ever known to mankind.

sketch book round the city

walking round the city with a sketch book

Peter Ponsonby illeg son of Dr Meyer Edgeware Rd London, who was not really a doctor at all, only passed one exam, copied all SHEFFIELD PAINTINGS-- took cheque for +++++ I sent to China Bank januar 2016 out of post and gave it to him. Stuart, illeg son of Irwin Harry and Blanche of Finchley, I took one off lap top file and others, all originals stolen from home..part of our training is to hack into private laptops and bank accounts, council accounts, electricity accounts etc all companies .. we cannot be stopped.. State Minister Prendergast permits it.

ANGELINA, one of the 4 Poles used to copy Fekete work, given sketch books, join us and you are well paid and lots of benefits, otherwise you will be watched for life..Declined..//Polish contingent of Leipzig Uni Students..1993/

bethnal green London, Margit, mother of John Fielding, board of St barths Hospital, brings a Fielding cousin in to the lab-- two old jewesses, to pass on all my work to.. Dora, liberal jewess, /as Lauren Fielding, nee lara goldstein--//Golders Green-takes it to use.the other jewess Reform, declines. Eleanor30, illeg daughter of John- I have 400 Fekete's sketches, paintings and writings.. Fekete's saved jews from Hitler, it is called turning it all round, instead of being grateful, we destroy her and her family.

Addis Str Upperthorpe 200 something.. black woman Guiana-- sends sons out to thieve. Roman Catholic family gets over £350 per week../I get £95./ watched by lab, mother spends it all on herself so sends 20 yr old son out to thieve for the smaller children-- he took my navy tee-shirts, navy is he school colour, so she asks him to rob all navy clothes, 2 navy sweaters, my best ones- 3 artists blocks etc He went through my freezer.. mother told him off for bringing real food, fr...

when will RF come together.. she won't it is a phase out. They are trying to beggar her, we went too far. nothing will be made good. Anna fixed Princess Di's death and a few others, so she wanted her on a prison. There was nothing wrong with her or her sons. they just messed with them. Everyone knows now what the process is it is just lies and theft to feather their own nests, the lot of them.

we hold the rights to Fekete's work.. I thought you said we had the Rights to her work Anna.. No one cares a damn as long as they get benefits.. Tristran, queen's cousin here, I didn't know they were sending in thieves to rob your work, paid for by the tax payer... they said they had rights to it and you were acting or something.. I have forgotten which lie I told him about Fekete.......

quote --shall I kitsch this, I have been drawing into Fekete's drawings, well they are all stolen from her so what does it matter, at her age, she can only exhibit and now she wont and cant, we have robbed every item of work she had.. Do Fekete's legs hurt now, I have been putting bloater on them, and pressing all arteries, twisting the muscles and burning the skin- we have been told to destroy every body part on her..part of destroying and using her work wholesale.. When we british destroy, we destroy only the innocent and weak but we destroy totally..

quote- lab we have them here, we are beginning to trace and copy them as ours to make ourselves some sort of name... illegitimate children of lab members..

one year at Leipzig Uni-- visiting Berlin too..

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