#supposedly because they dealt with demonic activities or things like that

[i-bring-crack]

The foreshadowing was there and I was BLIND

[braindeacl]

Into the Thick of It (Ugh) | Eilidh & Nicole

SETTING: White Crest National Park. TIMING: Recent. Late at night. PARTIES: @nicsalazar & @braindeacl SUMMARY: Eilidh and Nicole go on a search to find Bigfoot. They run into his weird cousin.  WARNINGS: N/A

With the light of the moon to guide her way, Eilidh trekked further and further within the wood. The cosmic luminescence looked gently down upon her, but with each step, it grew weaker and weaker. Trees blended with the sky until nothing separated the two. Before the darkness could fully engulf her, claim her in its wide embrace, she stopped. And waited. The only indication she was there was her flashlight—a beacon.

Typically, Eilidh wasn’t one for the night shift. Personally, she’d rather be snuggling with Tulip. Especially for something so trivial. What was this, the fourth case of boy-who-cried-bigfoot? What first caused excitement and wonder, now caused a scoff. Not that she was a skeptic. Anything was possible, and Bigfoot was not beyond the limits of her imaginations. But, with that fear locked into everyone’s mind, anything lurking in the corner of your eye could be a ‘monster’. So it very well could be a bear. The past three times it was a bear or something else of the sort. But there had been multiple sightings of this specific ‘Bigfoot.’ A part of her dared to hope that finally, finally she’d be able to see it. Regardless of its name, it had been seen earlier heading the very same direction Eilidh stood now. It was her job to help investigate the whatever-it-was, give it a name and show what it truly was—just another creature, supernatural or not. Or, at the very least, make sure whatever-it-was wasn’t causing any harm to the local flora and fauna. As of yet, she hadn’t seen anything out of the ordinary. Especially by White Crest’s low standards.

The sudden return of light caught her eye, and she directed her own at the source. “Hey, Nic!” Eilidh offered a brief wave. “Would’ve waited for you further back. But got bored.” With her flashlight, she motioned forward. Enveloped in illumination, the forest was almost inviting. “Let’s go check on this B-b-b-biiigfoot.”

Nicole thought going back to work would fix most of her problems. Less time sitting at home with nothing to do, meant less time to deal with the demons in her head. So work? A pretty fucking good distraction— in theory. But in reality, it didn’t turn out that way. She was doing terribly at her job too. But she was still adjusting, right? She was still adjusting, she kept telling herself, despite being back for weeks now. It didn’t help that the Park was nothing but chaos after the news of a Bigfoot sighting broke out. The same reports that happened every couple of months or so, Nicole had learned after the first few the dozens of briefings she had attended over the years. Yet the bastard was never found. And they were left to deal with the chaos that was dealing with the increase in visitors flocking to the park in hopes of catching the monster with their cameras, putting themselves in danger in the process. 

 Apparently the Park wanted a more hands on approach this time, and Nicole ended up getting roped into the investigation the foresters were supposed to do. Her first field activity since coming back to work. The night shift was always dangerous, but never as terrifying as the office hours, so to walk around the woods searching for a non-existent beast looked like a fine alternative. Finally being back on the trails would be a good thing. 

 Nicole ventured deep into the forest,  swaying her flashlight lazily. She had no use for it when she had other senses to pick up on anything strange. And soon enough, she found her companion for the night. She liked Eilidh, even if her very tense demeanor didn’t read that way. “Hey…” her lips pressed into a thin smile, unsure how to feel about the nickname. But that ship sailed the first time they met. “Right” she nodded, following the woman a few steps behind. “You know...this is the first time they’ve wanted us to see what the fuck is out there. I’m not sure if that’s— you haven’t heard any rumors...right?”  

Eilidh quirked an eyebrow. “Rumors?” The location this supposed creature kept frequenting was a bit concerning, or a bit intriguing, depending on your mindset. It was in one of the many parts of the forest that seemed to attract supernatural creatures like flies to a corpse. And it was peculiar its classification had yet to be determined. The Park was typically so quick, so determined, so desperate to uncover the source of odd activities. Activities they would only be publicly hinted at—only enough to maintain safety. So, talk of the truth was discouraged. Having too many noses sticking themselves into where they didn’t belong always led to issues. Curiosity may kill the cat. Or exposure of the supernatural community, and with the popularity that Bigfoot carried, such publicity would be far and wide and deadly. Either way, death could be found at the conclusion.

Despite the concerns, tales still circulated around the town, as they always did. She couldn’t help a chuckle as she recalled one. “Aye. Supposedly some guy saw this ‘Bigfoot’ digging up flowers near here. Maybe he fucked up. Needs a bouquet for Mrs. Bigfoot.” The scenario played in the back of her mind, and that chuckle twinkled again in the back of her throat. Without breaking her stride, she fished out a handful of wildflowers from her backpack. “So, I brought this as a peace offering.” There was a pause, and it was here that her stride did falter for a moment, as she replayed the conversation in her head. “Or, wait. You mean this place?” The two found themselves heading into a part of the Park shrouded in mystery, especially to regular citizens. And mystery always gave birth to hearsay. 

Nicole already assumed that anyone who worked at the National Park knew about the supernatural. One way or the other. It was just the way the job went. Every now and then, weird shit was bound to happen. People died. Rangers died. So she didn’t second guess herself, the usual apprehension gone from her voice as she caught up to Eilidh. “Rumors...” she repeated, redirecting her flashlight to the ground. Wasn’t Bigfoot supposed to leave giant footprints? “Before—  the last couple of times this happened… I don’t know if you—” she trailed off. The other woman was newer at the job, she couldn’t recall if she had dealt with it before. “The park used to ignore the whole Bigfoot shit”. Their plan always entailed warning people about bears to keep them away. And add more patrolling, so much more patrolling. It hadn’t been exactly successful. So she couldn’t fault the Park for wanting to try a new approach. “So I was thinking— I don’t know, maybe... they really do think there's a monster out there this time. And it’s not just… a wild animal”. 

Nicole couldn’t remember being so deep into that side of the park before. Perks of the job. She was never done discovering things. Her partner's joke felt out of place, considering the danger they could be dealing with, but somehow it managed to ease the tension she had been carrying for most of the day.  She made sure to keep her chuckle quiet enough. It was a good thing that Eilidh seemed in good spirits at least. It would make the night shift more bearable. “And we’re about to walk into them having a fight? Ah shit... it’s not too late to go back” she mumbled, eyes darting quickly around the dark. She had to keep her senses open if she wanted them to stay safe. She was ready to run at the first sign of the beast. No more playing hero for her. A branch snapped at the distance, and Nicole tensed immediately. “Heard something move” she held her arm up to stop Eilidh. “I think…” she added, because fuck, she couldn’t be sure of anything in her life anymore. She nudged the flashlight in the direction of the sound, but took no steps. “Probably just an animal, but...” she hated that she couldn’t go ahead and investigate. She was scared of many things, but it had never interfered with her job before.

Monster. Unless she meant some great evil decided to spend its free time spooking and inconveniencing tourists, Eilidh assumed what Nicole meant was something supernatural. Eilidh hated when it was used that way. To describe a creature beyond normal human comprehension; to look at a living being’s nature and condone it for something it couldn’t control. “It wouldn’t be a monster.” Her voice was suddenly curt. “Just another animal. Supernatural or not.” Hopefully, whatever it may be, it was something they could handle. 

Eilidh perked at the continuation of her quip. It was still exciting when Nicole decided to play along, indulge her, so she wouldn’t waste this moment. “If we don’t help, how will they save their marriage?” But as Nicole’s hand rose, her brief return to good humor was cut short. She stopped, perplexed. Her head began to swivel, trying to pick up anything on her end, but her ears only perceived the typical ebb and flow of a forest at rest. Even when the direction was pointed out to her, nothing new became apparent. So, she sought help from her secret friend. With the slightest of motions, she jerked her chin forward—a signal, a command. After a tense moment, answers were brought, but they weren’t very enlightening. It was very dark, after all, and James had trouble seeing much of anything. But he still could hear. Eyes locked on the invisible figure, Eilidh’s expression became even more confused as he laid out what he heard. “Oom oom?” She mouthed. 

Ooooooom ooooooom answered. Within seconds, some of the distant trees illuminated by Nicole’s light began to shake, overwhelmed with a sudden weight. Eilidh looked up. Something looked back. 

“Yeah, you don’t know that…” Nicole mumbled to herself, aware of how unconvincing she sounded. Maybe Eilidh did have more knowledge, but she didn’t want to have the monster argument with anyone else. She couldn’t see herself changing her opinion on that. “Just hope you’re right” she let out a weary sigh, knowing hope hadn’t been on her side lately.  “I don’t think they’re paying us enough for that” a laugh caught in her throat. The atmosphere changed so quickly between them that she had no time to wipe the grin off her face. “Shit...shit” The forest floor shook under them, and the rustling of the trees was followed by an ominous—  Voice? Nicole wasn’t sure. A few months ago, the noise wouldn’t have stopped her. The noise would’ve been an invitation to go on and get more answers. Meet the mysterious creature in the heart of the woods. God she used to be stupid. The realization wasn’t new, but it was good to add more proof to it. 

“Back up” Nicole tried to grab Eilidh’s shirt, but she was out of her reach. “Hey!” she called again, the ground shaking made it hard to keep her balance. She lowered her flashlight. She could make out the tall shadow — much taller than both of them— pacing between trees. The thought of switching to her night vision briefly crossed her mind. No, no. There was no point in doing that. She’d draw more attention glowing in the dark. The creature, monster...whatever it was continued to approach, coming to a sudden stop right when Nicole was ready to pick up Eilidh and bolt. “Whatever that is— we should fuck off” words spilled out of her mouth with urgency. Fuck that. She had learned her lesson. But the giant figure didn’t seem interested in them, instead lowered its body to the ground and poked with a giant hand something she couldn’t make out. Her nostrils flared, hoping a scent would clue her in. It was something familiar. Something she had been close to recently. Something she could smell on her partner’s clothes sometimes. “Eilidh” she whispered, and for once she didn’t think about how uncomfortable it was to call someone by their first name. Shivers ran down her spine when she finally processed the smell. “Uh, do we— you know of any missing people reports around the area?”

Like the first sight of the sun after a storm, the scent overcame Eilidh—blinding. Flesh spiced with death. Oozing sweet liquids she wished to lick. Her teeth gave an involuntary chatter before it was cut short as she dug her nails into her hands, threatening to puncture. If Nicole weren’t around, she’d be tempted to play tug-of-war with the meal, test this creature’s might. Or perhaps even share. She only really wanted one part, anyhow. But eating a corpse in front of a coworker would doubtfully result in anything positive. Damn. Instincts were gripped tight and dampened—the action made part of her feel hollow. Doubt that’s the infamous Bigfoot. She couldn’t recall ‘eating hikers’ being mentioned in that Bigfoot conspiracy documentary James made her watch. Double damn. But, this was still turning into a fascinating mystery, because the question still remained: what the fuck was that? Captivated by the mystique of the unknown, eyes wide in wonder, she almost was left unaware of her companion’s high nerves. The use of her first name brought her back. Momentarily she felt exposed, anger arriving as a defense. But distraction soon came. Missing people. Right. Where did the body come from? It seemed like this creature was scavenging, not hunting. Where was the hunter? “Nothing specific,” she lied, though she truthfully had no idea who the corpse once was, “but people disappear all the time. There’s plenty options.”

Eilidh wanted, needed, to get a closer look. At least a small peek. What was the cause of death? Could this be chalked up to a creature or being that couldn’t finish a meal. A freak accident. Or something unneeded, something out of passion rather than survival. Something human. Ignoring Nicole’s signals to retreat, she took a step forward. Craning her neck, trying to see the body without notice. As the creature whipped its head back, it was evident she failed. She froze. It simply flared its nostrils in response: a sniff. Then, it stood. She bared her teeth, a hiss whistled passed her exposed canines. It sniffed again. Disregarding its previous engagement, the creature inched closer. It was only then she began to back up, to the best of her ability as the ground shivered below her under its might. Despite that, she remained focused on the creature. Her hand quickly moved to the dagger hidden under her skirt. Though unsheathed, she kept the weapon close to her hip. She did not want a fight. 

Nicole let out a grumble in agreement. People disappeared all the time. There was a reason everyone signed the waiver at the entrance. The bodies they were able to find were the lucky ones. “Right,” like the one in front of them, about to become food for a mysterious creature. Yeah, so fucking lucky. They remained quiet, watching the beast poke the body. Maybe it wasn’t that good of a meal. She swallowed, considering the very real possibility that maybe, it prefered fresher food. She reached for Eilidh's arm again, not taking her eyes off the danger. Only then she noticed her partner had gone and moved closer. Her hands balled into fists, resisting the urge to yell at her. She hated the small part of her that couldn’t blame the woman for her curiosity. Not long ago, she would’ve loved to be close to what was one of the biggest mysteries in the world. If it was Bigfoot at all. But she wasn’t sure how willing she was to risk her life at the park after everything she had gone through. 

The thought of not fitting the job she loved so much anymore wasn’t something Nicole wanted to deal with yet. She couldn't consider it. She gripped the flashlight tighter, forcing herself to step forward to meet Eilidh.

The creature picked up on their presence, but it wasn’t until Nicole heard Eilidh’s hissing that she dared to say anything. And— she really had to wonder if she heard that right. “Are you... out of your fucking mind?” she scoffed, eyes wide as she looked between the monster and the woman. “Macleod” she called, her voice colder. She was addressing a coworker, not the person who made her feel more comfortable than anyone at the Park. The beast examined them for a moment. Or rather, it examined Eilidh. It was as if Nicole didn’t exist. She held her breath until the beast lost interest and started munching on the dead body’s...hair?  It was a nasty sight. 

She couldn’t be the person who stood behind and let other people take the lead anymore. Nicole grabbed Eilidh’s cold hand, giving it a forceful pull.”That’s it, we came—  we saw — we can go back a-and warn everybody else. Let’s just get the fuck away. Or— or we’re gonna be the fucking main course!”. Her sudden movement alerted the creature once again. It discarded the rest of the body, eyes glowing with new interest at the sight of Eilidh. That was it, they were about to be eaten. It was safe to say she didn’t think what she did next. Blurting out a quick apology, she swiftly wrapped her arm around Eilidh’s mid section and lifted her off the ground. The flashlight shaking in her hand pointed everywhere but ahead, but Nicole knew to just get one step in front of the other as fast as possible.

Glowing eyes locked onto ones of the dead. Eilidh met that gaze in full, unbreaking—I’m a threat, leave me alone. Perhaps taking the hint or perhaps finding the action as a bluff, the creature returned to its half-finished meal. But instead of flesh, hair was the food of choice. Interesting. The large and impressive figure, the hair covering every inch, the selective diet. Why did this feel familiar? While the reciprocity was lost, she continued to stare, to watch. A thought started to form, a forgotten memory. Wiggling its way to the surface.

A grasping hand broke the recollection, slamming her back into reality, as the memory returned to the back of her mind. The sudden change left her momentarily disoriented; she moved to slap the offending hand on instinct. But a familiar voice came to her ears. Worry was clear in Nicole’s words, and for a moment a small pang of guilt rested in Eilidh’s chest for keeping her in this situation. Guilt quickly boiled into anger as her world turned topsy-turvy, body hoisted—unwillingly—onto Nicole’s shoulder. “Hey!” But the heated yell was cut short by the sight before her. The creature had entirely disregarded the body, choosing to pursue them instead. Usually if an animal discarded a meal, it was due to surrounding dangers, realization of spoiled parts, or a tastier option presented itself. The way the creature stared, as if trying to find her soul and judging her acceptable, at her and only her—it looked to be the third option. Sensation prickled down her spine. Maybe it was fear. But it was mostly excitement.

Feet crashed down onto the helpless ground. Hands reached out for her. Almost touching the strands of hair that whisked into view by the moving air. Before it could grab hold, the knife that still sat gripped in her hand struck out, hitting the creature on the palm. “No.” It let out a bellow. The other enlarged hand shot out, quicker this time. Tension riddling the fingers, whether preparing for an attack or preparing to attack. But instead of striking again, Eilidh slashed at her own hair. A few pieces detached, floated in the hair for just a moment. Until they were swallowed whole. Momentarily stalled by the action, the two were able to gain some distance from the pursuing animal. But the moment passed, and it snapped its attention back to her. In turn, she craned her neck back to look at Nicole. “‘Preciate the help but let me down.” There was no reason to drag Nicole into this. So, she started to wiggle out of the grip, but found the hold stronger than anticipated. Huh? Another attempt was made; more force was applied, but not much changed. A growl escaped her: a pinned animal. Kicking and scratching wasn’t off the table. 

The monster decided to follow them. Of course it did. Why would anything be easy when it could be a shitshow? Navigating an unknown part of the woods was never simple, even for Nicole who always seemed to find her way around the trickiest of forests. Doing so while giant feet made the floor shake underneath them sure added difficulty to the experience. “Stop! Moving!” Carrying Eilidh on her shoulder while she tried to fight the beast? really pushing it. And— why was she trying to fight the creature? Nicole didn’t know. Being stupidly reckless had to be a requirement for the job. The monster was hot on their tails, and judging by Eilidh’s roar it had managed to touch her. Why was it obsessed with her? She just squeezed the woman tightly and focused all her energy on not taking a false step, because it would be the end of them if she did. For some reason, the giant steps halted briefly and Nicole didn’t hesitate to twist between trees, making it harder for it to follow. Blood pounding in her ears, all she knew was that she had to keep going, until they reached ground even enough to run at full speed. Then she’d find the jeep she left at the entrance of the trail and they’d be safe. 

Initially she didn’t hear Eilidh’s complaint, her attention narrowed to one particular goal: escaping. It was only when she to wiggle her way out of her grip that her focus shifted. She huffed. Fuck that, if she was gonna run back to fight the beast, she wasn’t letting her touch the ground again. But as Eilidh twisted with more persistence she relented, forgoing any gentleness before she put her back down. She gripped Eilidh by the shoulders, standing tall to shield her in case the beast pounced again. “What the fuck were you thinking?” she panted harshly, but worried eyes scanned the woman’s hair. What kind of beast had that fucked up diet? “We need to warn—” at the distance, it was hard to miss that the creature was on the move again. What were they going to do? Wait and attack now prepared with a plan, or retreat? Her mind was made up, she wanted to go, but she was not going to leave Eilidh behind. She had the means to outrun the beast again if it came down to it. She met the woman’s gaze, regretting the words already forming in her head. “Whatever it is that you’re— that’s already going through your fucking head... it’s gonna include me, no matter how insane. So... all I’m saying is— really think about it”.

Wish granted, Eilidh was plopped onto the ground. But before she could turn attentions back to the pursuing beast, hands were placed firmly upon her shoulders. Pinned again. But a growl did not escape like before. It was tempted to, as Nicole’s sharp words greeted her ears, making herself sharp, prickly as well. “How ‘bout you–” But when she looked up, saw the worry in Nicole’s eyes, she couldn’t fuel the irritation for much longer. She paused for a moment—not sure how to answer the question. She had just been… reacting. And it was no time to try and come up with any form of reason. Thud, thud, thud, the creature’s feet banged against the helpless floor, tremors underfoot growing stronger as it closed the distance. Thuds like the tick of a watch, each sound indicating their time was running out.

Legs itched to run, to act, to no longer be stuck waiting and pondering, but that hold on her shoulder still remained. But it no longer acted as an anchor; with Nicole’s words, it became a link, binding the two together. Acting on the first thought that moved to the forefront—since Nicole insisted on involving herself—she placed the blade back against her hair. It cut into her braid, severing the end from the rest. With the secured ribbon removed, her hair unfurled, wild and untamed against her neck, and several inches shorter than earlier that day. She handed the detached braid to Nicole. “I’ll go left. You go right. Lead the fucker so far into the woods no one will see ‘em again.” She smacked her lips. “Hopefully.” The creature was reaching out for her again, two meters away, then one, then none. Before it gained a hold of her, she leapt back. In its momentum it stumbled forward, trying to make that sharp corner but long limbs prevented such agility. Not waiting for it to regain its footing, she turned to run, back amongst trees. “Keep ‘em off me and I’ll keep ‘em off you!” Her yell bounced off the trees, the only reminder of her presence as she disappeared into the darkness. 

Nicole was firm on her decision. She was not going to play hero again. She was not. She was n— except, even in the dim light she could tell that Eilidh was absolutely thinking about going back. Fuck. She flinched at her swift move, not expecting the woman to lift her blade again and slash her own hair. “Jesus, what—” she raised her hands to stop her, but she ended up grabbing her braid instead. Nicole stared at it with a blank expression, unsure on how to feel.  Thanks? She didn’t have time to process any of it, because Eilidh was talking again, this time to explain her plan. “You—you want me to…” brows furrowed, she waited in silence for more details, until she realized there was nothing more to the plan. It was short and straightforward. Confuse the fuck out of the beast. She would be doing her job, really. Keeping visitors safe by running the creature off. She understood then, the meaning of Eilidh’s hair in her hand: the scent would attract the creature to her, while her partner did the same on the other side. It was smart enough. At least they wouldn’t be trying to fight against it. 

She let out an exasperated sigh, realizing she was already convinced. There wasn’t certainty that the creature wouldn’t come back, lured by the scent of corpses, but if they could do their part to keep it as far away from the trails and the visitors’ cameras, it was worth a shot. The floor shook again and Nicole knew there was no time to discuss anything else. She watched Eilidh escape the creature’s grasp and take off in the opposite direction, following her part of the plan. All by herself, she wondered what was it about Eilidh's hair that made her so irresistible compared to her own. As they predicted, the giant monster went with its favorite. “Hey!” she called, lifting her hand and waving the braid. She took a few steps, preparing for a run, hoping it would be enough to get the beasts attention. Luckily for them, the creature stumbled and turned in her direction. Nicole had to keep the surprise to herself, jogging through the trees to keep the beast away from her colleague.  

Darkness began to envelop them again, the trees shielding the moonlight as they entered unknown territory. Even when Nicole could hardly see anymore, Eilidh’s light steps were easy to pick up in comparison to the rumbling caused by the beast. They just had to keep going— for how long? she wasn’t sure.

The creature was in pursuit, mirroring Eilidh’s pace step for step. But its gait was wider, legs a great pine to her samplings. The space between shortened with each thud of its feet, shortened even further as those desperate arms reached out. Just as fingertips grazed the hairs on the nape of her neck—threatening to close, caught in its trap—her own trap sprung. Nicole baited the creature her way, the same enticing hairs, her hairs, waving in the air. The creature followed. As the same fate began to fall upon Nicole, Eilidh beckoned it her way. It followed again. Back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth. Delicious hairs always so close and yet so far. Equally compelled to chase both, it found itself somewhere in the middle: never able to meet, never able to feed. Eilidh stifled an amused snort as it came and failed once more to secure a hold on her. 

The darkness grew thicker, tighter. Sometimes it felt like she was stuck in an abandoned realm. A single dot in a sea of black expanse. The periodic calls of Nicole and the shake of the earth and the heavy breath from behind the only reminder there was more than just that small circle of trees her light illuminated ahead. Kept the darkness from becoming suffocating. That heavy breath grew labored, strained. The creature was growing tired of their game. It growled and snapped and barked out that strange call. But these sounds slowly grew distant. The space between them grew wider. Stubbornness and hunger forced it to continue, but feverish interest began to wane with its stamina. It would settle for anything. Now was their chance. “Throw the braid and let’s go!” Her direction turned, circling back to the beginning. Back to the light. 

It was pitch black. Nicole’s eyes darting in the dark desperate for any light. It was like running blindfolded and she wasn’t calm enough to use her other senses at best capacity. Not when they had a giant beast chasing them.  Blood pounded in her ears, knowing there was a solution. She could see in the dark, why wasn’t she doing it? Fueled by the adrenaline, she didn't have time for measured thinking, her temples burned demanding a switch. Amber eyes glowed in the dark forest, exposing the path in front of her. So much easier.  

Eilidh’s command reached her ears clearly, and Nicole didn't need to be told twice. She searched around, considering her options. She couldn’t imagine a braid traveling a long distance, instead she swung it upwards and prayed it would land on the top of the trees. The monster’s attention changed again, but she didn’t stay to see the results, as soon as the braid was released she turned, circling around the beast and heading back to where they came from. At least, the ground had stopped shaking. It was a good sign. She spared one last look behind her, just to confirm the beast was reaching for the top of the trees. Good. Maybe after the braid snack, the beast would settle for the corpses in the area, instead of following them back. She could only hope. 

With the threat gone, Nicole’s first thought was to switch back to her human vision. Eyes on the ground, she blinked fast and hoped for the best. The switch back was always a gamble. Sometimes she could get it down in seconds, other times required a lot more concentration. The fear she’d get stuck with those eyes was always present. That it would start with the eyes, and then the teeth, and then— fuck, now it wasn’t the time. She breathed out deeply, contracting the muscles her eye muscles. Only when it was pitch dark again, she slowed her pace, catching up with Eilidh on the other side. “Good plan...good plan” She breathed out, stopping herself in time before she did something stupid, like hug her. She really was relieved her colleague was in one piece. “Can’t complain about surprise cardio but—  enough for the night... I think. Can we... stick to the trails... from now on?”

Eilidh could hear footsteps approaching. But these did not shake the ground in their wake. These were fainter, friendlier, familiar. Her head turned, attention split between the trek onward and that steady advance. After a few moments, Nicole broke out of the darkness, into that circle of light. She smiled at the sight. “Good game!” She clapped an affectionate hand onto Nicole’s shoulder. Chuckle whistled out at her statement. “Sure thing.” As the excitement subsided, cravings twisted her stomach. And she noted the hints of exhaustion painted on Nicole’s movements, too. It was time for their departure. “Sounds like that Kera–” She blinked. Feet hesitated. “Kerashag.” Her hand now clapped against her face. While her conscious mind had been at work keeping her safe, her subconscious finally let that elusive memory slip out. Return to the surface. Sharing some enlightenment. It had been decades ago. It hadn’t even been her own tale. But she recalled a conversation with a zombie; one where she relayed her own incident with such a beast. A hair eater. A moth for death. It had harassed her just the same as the one Eilidh just faced. While the other woman was left with a bald head from the ordeal—she remembered how it glistened in the sunlight—Eilidh had managed to retain some of her hair.

“Fucking figures.” Eilidh mumbled under her breath. “Anyway. Sounds like they’re distracted. Let’s go before they want dessert.” Flashlight aimed at the ground, she scanned the surface for that change in texture. The light traveled across the grass, until the grass stopped, revealing dirt. Dirt that stretched onward into that darkness, until the darkness stopped too. Leading them back. She beckoned Nicole to follow as she hopped onto that trail, letting it return them to civilization.

It was reflex to smile back at Eilidh. The adrenaline was still coursing through her veins, she could bask in their success for a brief moment. It was nice, being helpful again. Even if the stakes were a lot higher than guiding someone through a trail. Nicole picked up on the hesitation, on the word that was uttered, but she kept her head down. She wasn’t going to ask. Not until they were back on the trail. She didn’t object as Eilidh voiced her exact thoughts. Better get the fuck away when their legs could still go.

The road back was understandably more quiet. Eilidh didn’t have time or energy for funny quips. And well, that was never Nicole’s thing. She did notice how her companion’s heart didn’t seem to be pounding like her own, though. Undetectable. It reminded her of her friend Griffin. She wished to be as cool under pressure as them. 

There were no more surprises for them on the way back, and soon enough they were back on the original path. Their vehicle had to be close. Nicole couldn’t wait to be back at the station. It was hard to erase the monster from her mind. She would’ve liked to shrug the experience off. Like she had in the past with other strange beasts. Just call them quirky White Crest things and roll with it. But she had to know, didn't she? She had to learn. Because the town was a dangerous place, and she couldn’t keep turning a blind eye. She didn’t want to get hurt again. She didn't want to lose more things. “So… kera what?” her voice broke the silence. She nudged back to the forest, where she first heard her utter that word. She decided to give the woman the option to pass on the question, giving a one shoulder shrug. “Sounded like you knew what the fuck that was, that’s all”.

The thrill of the chase waned, and in lieu of an ache—such a rare thing for Eilidh to feel—her legs grew heavy under her own weight. Hunger pricked at her stomach. The smell of that corpse like a phantom in her nose, calling her back with its intoxicating memory. But turning around would lead her all the way back to that and repeat the cycle all over again. Despite the logic, the temptation still bubbled inside her, and if Nicole weren’t near, she might’ve tried her luck. Who cares about being bald if it meant scoring an easy meal—perhaps meals considering the creature’s proclivities. But it was less fun utilizing such a method, and with that deciding thought, the urge went away. Her focus returned to the trail, to the station that waited for them at the end.

Eilidh chuckled into the crisp night air. “Kerashag. They eat–” Dead almost slithered from her lips, but she quickly bit into the word before it could manage. “–hair and nails. Don’t know much else ‘bout them. Beyond the nice example we just got.” Her head motioned to the darkness, to where the forest was ever vast, to where that creature still lurked. “Glad to be back on the force?” There was a genuine, albeit playful, curiosity in her question. But it also served as a distraction. 

The moonlight filtered through the trees with more intensity as they began approaching their starting point. It was a testament to how deep they ventured, that they still couldn’t see the lights from surrounding camping sites. Nicole glanced at her partner, noticing the exhaustion on her face with more clarity. Then, she noticed the mismatched length of her hair. For a blade cut it was pretty decent, she almost said out loud. “Kerashag” she repeated awkwardly, word foreign in her tongue. Her face wrinkled with disgust. So she wasn’t imagining the weird diet then. Why go for corpses then, and why was Eilidh’s hair more alluring? Should she be offended? “No Bigfoot... fucking knew it” she added, letting out a huff. She decided to ignore the rest of the questions forming in her head. She had a name, and that was enough for now. 

A laugh caught in her throat when Eilidh broke the silence. Her smile grew. The woman’s tone made her feel welcome. But as she processed the meaning behind the words, her expression began to falter. Nicole considered the doubts that filled her the moment the beast appeared. Her reluctance to investigate. The fear coursing through her at the thought of Eilidh getting hurt. She bit the inside of her cheek, stomach sinking with dread. It was probably too soon. Maybe she should’ve stayed doing office hours. That was it. That’s why she still felt shaky in the legs, right? It would probably take her some time to feel like herself again. “Yeah, yeah—” she cleared her throat, voicing her own conclusion. “Hoping for less action next time, though...still rusty” she spotted their vehicle at the distance, nodding her head towards it. They’d be back at the station soon, safe from what lurked in the woods. Safe from the questions she had to start asking herself.

[sallowhillshq]

EVENT 002: my bloody valentine CLUE DROP 003: suspect information

official suspect list:  abby anderson, adrian tepes,  armitage hux, baz grimm-pitch, link faron, michael langdon, sam giddings, victor zsasz

trigger warning for this clue drop: various criminal activities mentioned, such as murder. 

This wasn’t the worst this day could go. There could be multiple bodies across multiple streets, or all of Market Street could be blown to bits of cobblestone and wiring. They had been lucky, incredibly lucky, to only end up with one tiny, fairly contained disaster. Yet Armes was doubting how long they could continue to contain this disaster, with the clamoring of upset townsfolk directly outside her office window. 

Soon, this would no longer be her problem. Soon, this would entirely become  Ms. Kane and Ms. Brown’s problem. Armes would let them do the job they were created for as she dealt with the more clandestine issues of the town that required her direct supervision. 

Speaking of Ms. Kane and Ms. Brown,  the two sat in her office now.   They were professional,  clearly.   If they thought they could hide their training,  they were clearly mistaken.  Which is why they would be perfect for taking over the disaster.

“I’ve created a starting point of sorts, for our suspects,” Armes passed two identical lists to her newly crowned investigators. “Those I didn’t see at the dance who have violent proclivities in their pasts.”

“Arthur didn’t do it. He wouldn’t- get off me, Kate-” The blonde one, Ms. Brown, shrugged off Ms. Kane’s hand that had been placed lightly on her shoulder. “I get he had to do some bad shit in his past. Trust me, I get it. But he was a king in a time people were killing each other left and right for fun. He’s not like that anymore.”

“He was what?”  Ms. Kane interrupted her younger companion.

“A king, Kate. I thought I told you?”

“This is the first time I’m hearing about this,  but we can talk about it later.”

It seems, Ms. Brown is in trouble with her elder. 

“And anyways,” Ms. Brown’s face turned smug in a way Armes had only seen cats look before. “Arthur was passed out on our couch this morning with Merlin on top of him. I bet they haven’t moved, if you want to go check.”

“Ah, no. I’ll take your word for it. Arthur Pendragon is no longer a suspect,” Armes slashed through his name with red ink. “Abby Anderson, then?”

“I ran into her in the park recently.  If she did this,  it wasn’t her intent but rather her instinct protecting her.  I say we check,  but if it was her - we proceed gently,” Ms. Kane said.   An intelligent response.   They’ll be good for the investigation.  

“Seconded! And same with Sam Giddings. She’s kinda rough around the edges but I know her friend and it wouldn’t be because of any maliciousness,” Ms. Brown practically shrieked. 

Armes was starting to wish this list was far smaller, just so Ms. Brown could leave her office sooner. She was too old to be dealing with overgrown teenagers like this. 

“For our local vampires, every single one is a suspect. We haven’t had the best of luck with them, I’m sure you both remember how Halloween turned out,” Armes fixed them both with a look that had sent her best researchers running for the hills. Best to strike the fear of the gods into them, especially the young one. 

“It’s hard to forget,” Ms. Kane muttered under her breath.

“Baz Grimm-Pitch and Adrian Tepes are the two vampires we should look out for, they both have people in town willing to lie for them,” Armes continued. 

Ms. Brown, as always, decided to chime in at an inopportune moment. “Isn’t Adrian Tepes the weird guy who lives in a creepy log cabin out in the woods?” 

“No, Mr. Tepes lives in a castle out in the woods,” Armes said. “Link Faron is the one in the log cabin, who is also on our list. He has a violent history, starting at as young as ten years of age. Slaughter, trauma-”

“I don’t think we need his entire resume, Ms. Sallow,”  Ms. Kane interjected.   I suppose I’ll forgive it this once.

Ms. Brown made a small “oh” sound, suddenly very interested in the sheet of paper in her hands. Good. Perhaps now the blonde would allow them all to carry on with the investigation uninterrupted.”

“Armitage Hux.  Sounds like a rogue name, but who is he?”  Ms. Kane,  good with moving the conversation along clearly.

“A trouble-maker,” Armes had no patience for those of Mr. Hux’s background. She’d seen the effect his kind had on the world and was not keen to see one of them wreck havoc on her town. 

“He works for the Research Center, correct?” Ms. Kane asked,  though it seemed like she already knew the answer to that and was satisfied with it.

“Yes. One of the few there I could never get a handle on.” 

Armes let her eyes trail down the list again. If it were up to her, none of them would even be in Sallow Hills. They were all trouble-makers, even the two in front of her. Pulled from their different worlds to be a direct cause of Armes’ migraines. She had her own issues to deal with, with the original townspeople. Until her researchers discovered the secret to the barrier, Armes was slated to deal with all of the newcomers and all the disasters they brought with them. 

“And Damien Thorn? Why is he clumped together with Michael Langdon and Lucifer Morningstar?” Ms. Brown asked, voice finally at a reasonable volume. 

“Lucifer, while an annoyance, I doubt would pull something like this.  He’s smarter than leaving a dead body where anyone could see,” Ms. Kane said.

“While Mr. Morningstar is a hindrance at his worst, we can’t deny the… demonic parentage of the former two. And how that parentage may be Mr. Morningstar,” Armes coughed. She never did like talking about their kind either. 

“You’re kidding right? The actual Antichrist exists and there might just be two of them walking around?! Was anyone going to say anything about that?” And there it was, Ms. Brown back to her usual, screeching volume. “And you think Damien Thorn, the same Damien Thorn who was cleaning up broken beer bottles in the Community Center, is one of them? I don’t think he would even kill a fly with his own life on the line.”

“We can take Mr. Thorn off if it upsets you so dearly. Mr. Morningstar too, however I fear he may take that as an insult.” Pick your battles, Armes. 

“Well I agree with the Langdon kid.  He looks like the cult type.”  The way it was bit out by Ms. Kane,  Armes suspected there was some … resentment between the vigilante and cults.  Ms. Brown nodded along,  clearly also having some experience with cult things.

“If he didn’t want us to think he was a cult leader, he wouldn’t look so much like a cult leader.” Such a bitter statement, for one as young as Ms. Brown. “And with how specific some of the vic’s wounds are, it could be an initiation killing.” 

Oh joy, a cult. This would have never happened had all the newcomers not been here.  Cults! In her town!

“Speaking of cults,” Ms. Brown piped up again. “The Winchester guy, doesn’t he feel a little ex-culty to you? Very secretive, ‘we protect our own’, and the sheer amount of supposedly hidden weapons I’ve seen them carry. I don’t know, they seem like cult members.”

“I’ve seen him, Sam?, at the library.  He seems focused on that - and on the head librarian Will.   Troubled past, maybe, but not the ‘murder right now’ type,” Ms. Kane added in.  “But didn’t he hang around at Zsasz’s shop?”

“He did, which doesn’t help him in the slightest. Victor Zsasz was actually one of the first I put on that list, along with Michael Myers. Along with Oswald Cobblepot, all of them are-”

“It’s not Oswald!” And now Ms. Brown was standing, hands slammed down on Armes’ desk. There was a hostility to her, one that Armes found she did not like one bit. “He doesn’t even remember Gotham, there’s no way he could still remember how to be a professional killer. I can’t believe you would try and bring up a past he doesn’t even know about against him!”

Was this depth coming from Ms. Brown? The blonde was holding back tears, face contorted into something twisted and tense. It was clear she had a history with Mr. Cobblepot, a familial bond even. Armes had struck a nerve that ran deep. She was about to speak, but decided that a thinly veiled, scathing remark was not the proper response. 

“We’re taking the Bird off the list.  Michael - he’s done nothing more than creep some people out around town.  And you have here that the fingerprints were cut off.  Do you think he knew how to do that?”  Ms. Kane stopped the younger one from going off again,  which was a blessing really.

“Take Oswald off. Or Kate and I leave. Have fun figuring out how to deal with a potential serial killer on your own,” Ms. Brown said through gritted teeth. 

Armes gave a sigh that spoke of her long, long years of life. Hand reaching to scratch out two more names in brilliant red ink, she couldn’t believe she was bending before someone who was only a few years out of childhood. 

“Mr. Cobblepot and Mr. Myers are off. Are we done here, or is there going to be another tantrum over a criminal?” 

Ms. Kane stood at that,  tucking her list into a case she had brought with her.  “I think we’re done, Ms. Sallow.  And I’d prefer if you not insult either of us if you want us to help you.  Steph, ready?”

Armes watched as Ms. Brown gathered up the crime scene photographs and suspect lists into a folder, eyes hard. Daring Armes to pick a fight. What a child. Armes waved the two off, watching as the younger closed her office door with a slam that rattled the hinges. If those two were ever in her office again, it would be too soon. 

Her hands reorganized the mess littering her desk, reaching out for the latest report on the barrier. Finally, she could focus on the issues plaguing the real townspeople.

[postmodernmulticoloredcloak]

Hi. I need ur help. Is Dean mad at Cas, at God for making Cas "responsible for a failed mission that ended with a sad brother/kind of kid to Dean, bc he questions reality and his love for Cas ... or rather both? I'm a little bit confused after having read so much meta all at once.

Hi! I think you are confused because... it’s everything at once! I think Dean is feeling many things right now, and not all of those things have a good outlet or way to be dealt with, so they are directed somewhere else and become messy.

Dean is, at any given moment of his life since he was a child, angry at himself. That’s the inevitable result of a father that made him feel inadequate, by dropping responsibilities on his little shoulders that were too big for him and inevitably he couldn’t live up to. He has made important steps to deal with those issues--that’s the point of the scene with him saying that it wasn’t fair that he had to be mother and father to Sam--but a lifetime of being made feel inadequate don’t disappear with a snap of your fingers. Especially because it wasn’t just his father dropping huge responsibility after huge responsibility on him (remember when he literally dropped the responsibility of possibly having to kill Sam, the kid he raised as his own child, and then died?) but it was a much bigger game. God dropped the responsibility of the entire world on him over and over. Apocalypse after apocalypse, Lucifer, Eve, Leviathan, Michael, soulless Jack, but also the regular monsters, a never-ending string of situations where the responsibility for the lives of many other people, strangers and loved ones both (in fact sometimes it’s a Sophie’s choice!).

It’s not surprising that he developed feelings of inadequacy and self-loathing so big you can see them from space. The poor guy feels that he’s not good enough for anything, especially not good enough to be loved, not good enough for someone to stay with him. He feels that everyone will inevitably abandon him because why would they stick around? He’s trash. Even worse, he’s poison, he ruins everything he touches, everyone he gets close to.

The intensity of these feelings vary depending on how hard the circumstances are on his mental state, sometimes it’s better sometimes it’s worse. I think some fans expect him to “get better” in a linear fashion, but mental health does not work as a straight line; there are ups and downs, and when sometimes renews your trauma, you just fall back in the mechanisms of your trauma. It’s unreasonable to say things like “he should have learnt by now”--that’s not how trauma works. You get better when you are not actively exposed to trauma. Renewed trauma means going back.

So we have identified the first thing Dean is angry at, himself. Of course, hating yourself is very vexing on your mental health, and it is in fact healthier to transfer the anger and disappointment from yourself to someone else, as it prevent you from being crushed under the weight of self-loathing and guilt.

Then there’s the figures in position of power that have dropped the various responsibilities on Dean’s shoulders. First, John and Mary. Mary is a particular case because of course Dean never actually blamed her for dying, and even when he learnt about her deal with Azazel he knew that she was just a pawn in a cosmic-level game, and of course it’s not like she decided to make the deal and die for fun. But when Mary returned and her behavior shattered Dean’s life-long image of her, feeding his feelings of inadequacy and self-loathing because it felt like he wasn’t even worth for his own mother to stay with him, that fused together with an irrational sense of abandonment that came with the loss and forever left a mark in his little four-year-old brain.

I think the scene where Dean confronted Mary at the end of the season was about this: a need to outsource the blame and self-hatred, and Mary was the figure that catalyzed so many emotions since his early childhood, love and loss and joy that was robbed away from him and such profound pain that came with her disappearance from his life, to the point that when she returned and shattered his image of her, he found himself with so many extreme emotions about her.

And now John. Alright, I’m digressing big time so I’ll keep John short, everyone and their grandmother have written essays on Dean’s relationship with John and it’s not particularly relevant here, save for the fact that John is dead and Dean has never really had the chance to confront him. Even when he temporarily came back thanks to the magic pearl, circumstances were... suspiciously too apt for Dean to approach the father figure in a positive way (I’m convinced that it was all a very precise machination by Chuck to make Dean well-disposed towards him, basically). Dean was in a high, and he was in a mental state where he did not need to make that emotional outsourcing on John. Mary and John met again, then trouble happened, that they had to say goodbye and it was highly emotional and obviously left no space for emotional outsourcing. Result, Dean has no way to really bounce all that negative stuff back on John. John was just a ghost from the past, really, and ghosts from the past don’t really serve any substantial purpose.

And now to the juicy part--Chuck. Dean started out his journey believing that God didn’t exist. His reasoning was a classic argument of atheism: a lot of terrible evil exists, and if God exists he either isn’t omnipotent (then what kind of God is he??) or doesn’t care, or he’s malevolent, and those options don’t go well with the idea of God Dean would have been exposed to as a person growing in a primarily Christian environment like the US.

Then he learns that God exists, but he doesn’t care. He’s left, and now everyone else--angels, humans, demons--is supposedly left dealing with a godless world. That doesn’t really come as a shock to Dean; for Cas it’s shocking, because he believed that God cared. For Dean, the jump is just from a non-existing God to an absent God, and that doesn’t change much for him. Furthermore, he’s not exactly foreign to the concept of shitty father figures who dump you on your own in a shitty world.

The shock comes now. For Cas, ironically, there’s no shock now, because he experienced that shock of being angry and disappointed towards God years ago. Now he makes the jump from a shitty disappointing God to... a shitty disappointing God, just in a different way.

Dean goes from a God that isn’t around, that leaves you alone dealing with the shittiness of the world... to a God that has been there all along, manipulating everything. Dean could deal with a God that is what Chuck pretended to be when he reappeared in season 11, when Chuck gave him the speech about leaving his creatures find their own way, parenting-versus-enabling; that was a painful perspective but it made sense, and Dean could accept it. But when Chuck revealed himself to be the mastermind behind everything, an actual capricious author who uses them as pawns for his entertainment... that’s a blow. A very, very big blow.

Chuck had played a very specific game on Dean. He presented himself as a father who did the right thing for his “baby”, albeit the difficult one. He explained that he realized that a hands-off parenting was healthier for his creatures, that being present in their lives wasn’t parenting but enabling... He sold Dean a picture where being an absent father does the child good. (And later had Dean briefly meet John again to feed him a romanticized impression of his figure and his relationship with his family... talk about yikes!)

Dean had fought tooth-and-nail to affirm his free will against the machinations of angels, he strongly believed in that against the idea of destiny. And Chuck presented himself as the good guy, who gave them their free will, while his bad, bad sister Amara wanted to take that away from them. And now the truth comes out. Chuck was never the hands-off parent that distanced himself for the good of his creatures. He was an author (authors lie...) who just played with them for his selfish reasons.

Dean’s own sense of what reality is has shattered. That is generally not good on a person’s mental health. So, yeah, Dean is not in a good mental place.

So Dean now is angry at God. Rightly so. But God, by definition, is not there to confront. (Dean thought he had confronted him once and God just fed him manipulative lies, so it’s not like he hopes to have a nice honest chat with him). Furthermore, Dean, Sam and Cas currently believe that Chuck has actually left the building this time. They think that Chuck’s “welcome to the end” meant that he just slapped an ending on this iteration of the story and fucked off to write another one, create another universe. They are convinced that they are actually living in a post-Chuck world, like the apocalyptic wasteland universe.

I also think that Dean hasn’t realized that Chuck’s ending isn’t really the ghostpocalypse, but also, and especially, ruining their relationships, and their mental health basically. The ghostpocalypse is just the smokescreen (c’mon, like the Winchesters would perish against a bunch of ghosts and demons from hell, been there done that) and the true ending he’s orchestrated out of pettiness and spite is breaking them, breaking their relationships. Sam loses Rowena; Jack’s death and all that jazz definitively drives Cas and Dean apart.

But let’s go back to Dean’s anger and shock and frustration. He could drive it all towards himself, and just get crushed under the weight of it all; he can’t drive it all at God, because he bailed; so he directs it towards the one person closest to him that he truly feels like an equal.

Dean has been directing anger towards Cas since Mary’s death, in my opinion, because Cas is the safest outlet for the horrifying vortex of guilt, self-loathing and abysmal self-worth that something as traumatic as losing Mary (again--remember what I said about renewed trauma not being something you learn to deal with but something that reopens wounds and possibly makes them worse?) and seeing Jack no longer himself, essentially losing him to an even more terrifying destiny than mere death, must have caused.

It’s like Dean trusts Cas so much that he subconsciously feels safe using him as an emotional outlet/scapegoat... and now that safety gets shattered again because Cas rightly puts some distance between them (as I believe it’s a healthy choice given the situation, although not dictated by the right motivations in Cas--I guess it’s something like using the wrong formula but getting the right result, because right now staying together is not healthy... like, the healthiest thing would be getting a fuckton of therapy, but that’s not in the cards I guess) but Dean’s traumatized psyche will register it as a confirmation of that lifetime-long conviction that he’s not worth to be loved, that he’s not worth for anyone to stay.

Cas’ biggest fear is that Dean won’t ask him to stay with him, Dean’s biggest fear is that Cas will leave him--ta-da, their worst fears just became true! Of course, Dean doesn’t insist Cas stays not because he doesn’t care but basically because he cares too much, and Cas leaves because he thinks Dean doesn’t care...

But let’s get back on track. Is Dean angry at Cas? Yes. Is Dean really angry at Cas? Eh. What is this anger really? It’s a defense mechanism. It’s pretty much the alternative to just shatter. It’s a survival mechanism, shattering would be really bad for his survival perspectives. So he uses a trusted, close figure as a scapegoat for what is a huge mess of emotions. (Not Sam, he goes into parental mode with Sam, it’s known, it’s safe, it works.)

Rowena’s death just adds more meat to the fire, because she meant something to Dean himself and also because Sam is truly heartbroken about it. I don’t think that Dean doesn’t understand the circumstances of Cas’ choices, but rationality here has very little grip. It’s been just a few days since Mary’s death, and not really much longer since Michael escaped and Jack sacrificed his soul, and let’s not forget that Dean has basically been in a state of severe ongoing trauma ever since Michael possessed him, tricked him into believing he was free (Chuck mirror alert!) and violated his mind repeatedly, completely manipulated his perceptions, and then pretty much destroyed his family.

Dean’s mind has been tortured by Michael and immediately next, with zero time to breathe, tortured again by Chuck’s manipulations and revelation that shattered Dean’s sense of reality--a sense of reality that had already been shaken because of Michael’s tricks, and now he just finds out that the reality he anchored himself to... is also a manipulation. There’s no reality he can anchor himself to, or at least that is how he feels right now. His psyche has suffered some heavy blows, and no speech from Cas about them being “real” can currently heal the damage. For Dean, this isn’t a matter of what Chuck has done or not; it’s just an aggravation of a state of attack his mind was already in.

This post has gotten a bit long XD I hope it could help you get a better idea of Dean’s mental state (granted that this is merely the way I see what the show is doing, no one is forced to agree with me!) and feel free to ask for any further clarification or argument!

[wanna-b-poet31]

Crowley’s Truth and Aziraphale’s Lies (A 3-part series) Part 2: Aziraphale’s Fears, Fallacies, and Fictions

Welcome to another entry of incoherent ramblings of a Good Omens Junkie.  

TLDR for Part 1: Crowley’s capable of lying, and is actually great at it. However, he refuses to lie to Aziraphale because together, they are equals. 

In this addition, I will continue to argue that their relationship establishes a place in-between Heaven and Hell.  They are hybrids, whose supposed “flaws” to shine, and enable them to form their own side.  

Abuse, Anxiety, and Aziraphale

So I have already done a longer break down of Aziraphale’s Abuse and Coping Mechanisms.  But, I think the key considerations is that Heaven is abusive and that Aziraphale is constantly coping with the trauma. Heaven, as a place, is a cold, removed space, ultimately filled with dangerous ideology. The angels there are not concerned with the welfare of humanity, nor is it concerned with the welfare of their own angels, as long as everything conforms to the “Great Plan”. 

Aziraphale is not cut from the same cloth as the rest of Heaven, and he’s certainly not aligned with Hell. We can see from his first scene (with Crowley on the wall of Eden) that Aziraphale in impulsive, and generally speaking, he has good, protective instincts. He willingly gives his sword away without contemplating the ramifications of his actions to himself. He does not lie, or plot against, or condemn Adam and Eve. He simply acts. His central focus is on Humanity. Not just that, but he demonstrates an active love for humanity in a way that none (save Crowley) have been seen doing in the series. 

He loves humans so earnestly. It’s not just their food, which he consumes, or their literature, which he treasures, or their lives, which he bears witness to. No, it’s more than just the sum of their parts. He also loves humanity when it’s inconvenient (like during the apocalypse), when it’s scary (like meeting the Anti-Christ), and when it’s truly harmful to his wellbeing (like the French Revolution). Sure he’s put out during these instances, but never does he condemn them. Even his attempt at Adam was symptomatic of his desperation to preserve humanity than his hatred or dispassion against them.  He loves humanity and their cleverness (like Crowley), he loves them despite their flaws, and he loves them simply for existing.

Unconditionally. 

His love, however, is belittled by his fellow angels. The emotional abuse and physical intimidation he suffers at the hands of the Angels conditions him to repress his love.  The constant threat of falling (coupled with a steady stream of reprimands for “frivolous” miracles) are repeatedly discouraging him to love humanity in favor of a “Great Plan”. Further, his concerns are not consulted for policy decisions and his beloved humanity suffers. This extends to his feelings for Crowley, because loving humanity is discouraged (and repressed), but loving Crowley is not an option.

Nevertheless, he persists.

Lying to Heaven

Like I said, Aziraphale is not cut from the same cloth as the other angels. While he is conditioned to believe Heaven’s “there’s nothing to see here” abuse, and he has witnessed many travesties at the hand of Heaven, he has difficulty reconciling the two beliefs. Regardless, he persists in loving Humanity. So, he chooses to lie.  

But, Aziraphale is a terrible liar. I don’t feel that it’s a terribly controversial statement, but, where Crowley can come up with lies with ease, Aziraphale is typically a nervous wreck.

Lying is meant to be a fallen angel Trait. No one thinks twice about a Demon lying or humans for that matter but, angels are not supposed to lie. This doesn’t mean that other angel’s don’t. Throughout the series we examples of lies of omission (Like from Gabriel who never intends to support Aziraphale’s attempts in foiling the Anti-Christ but allows Aziraphale to believe he supports it), lies of commission (look at Gabriel’s painful attempts at lying about what he intends to buy at the bookshop), and character lies (like when Heaven purposefully misrepresents Aziraphale’s motivations in the apocalypse to “try” him for treason).  However, it’s not something they are seen to do particularly often, which lends to the idea that Aziraphale is somehow flawed or broken to Heaven. He’s not, but having him believe this to be true, it helps maintain the dogmatic hive-mind they’re supposedly meant to uphold. 

However, Aziraphale defies this norm. His ultimate rebellion is his choice to lie. He goes out of his way for humanity so that the things he loves can be rescued by oncoming war. 

Although it would be disingenuous to say he is doing it solely to protect others; It’s also to protect himself. More cutting than a flaming sword, Aziraphale’s skill is with words. Crafting them just so, so that no one would assume a fib. Or, if that fails, make a plausible excuse that won’t reveal the love he harbors (whether it be for humanity or Crowley), beneath his facade.

One of his “biggest” lies is to God. After confessing his actions to Crawley and is comforted by the demon, he is confronted by the voice of God herself.  And, he is pretty damn terrified. The voice who literally just cast out angels for asking questions knocks on his door and asks him a pointed question and he lies. I can see how on one level he could be protecting humanity, but he’s also protecting himself. He is terrified of falling, and the trauma associated with that fear motivates Aziraphale. He has seen his siblings fall, he has seen war, he has seen the lack of love, and he can not take it. Losing love, or worse, doing the wrong thing, clashes with his identity as an Angel. Based on the emotional manipulation going on in Heaven, I think it’s safe to say that he’s not getting much support from them for this anxiety, so he has to ignore his feelings.  There’s safety in lying. 

He also lies to Heaven about loving (or at least being around) Crowley. Not always an outright lie of commission like he does with the sword, but he hides and protects the one relationship that isn’t one-sided in his life.  Just like his lie to God, he is not doing it necessarily to protect Crowley (yes, it’s an added component, but he’s also protecting himself). His lies aren’t for vanity’s sake, but safety’s sake. Since he’s constantly, and currently, being abused by Heaven, he has to develop mechanisms for deterring their wrath against him for loving unabashedly. It’s not a healthy environment for him to be in, and it shapes how he interacts with Crowley and humanity. To survive, he has to lie about his interests, his loves, his humanity, because to be anything but the hive mind results in more trauma. It allows for his safeguards to remain intact. 

Lying to Himself

This isn’t to say there aren’t any consequences to his lies. Here, we get to talk about the implications of his lies to himself. Lies, for Aziraphale, is protection. And against Heaven, it’s a tool to cope and resist the abuses he’s dealt. And these become different kinds of lies. 

Lie type 1: Lying to an abusive force to protect your safety and/or the safety of others? Good, I support and see you, you’re doing your best. 

Lie type 2: Lying to yourself that the said abusive force is not as abusive or telling yourself you don’t love your interests and that you don’t matter? No, please, seek help. You do matter and deserve all the hugs!

Aziraphale is squarely in camp 2. He’s having difficulties coming to terms with his own abuse, and so he does, on several levels repress his instinct for action. He lies to himself about his motivations for stopping the end of the world. The gif above shows a very drunk Aziraphale telling Crowley he can’t disobey. Although, he doesn’t quite get his words out. He clearly wants to help Crowley, he loves Earth after all, and more than that he loves his life on Earth. He loves having space away from his abusive “home” life where yes, he’s not exactly free, but he’s certainly not the captive he would be in Heaven. 

Despite his little rebellions, he has internalized many of the behaviors Heaven has taught him.  For example, in the series we see him explicitly or implicitly state:

That Angel’s and Demons are sworn enemies, and under no circumstances should they interact

That Heaven is unquestionable 

That Heaven is unquestionably good

Asking questions will make you fall

Being critical of Heaven is the same as betraying Heaven

The Great Plan is unquestionable

He is soft and soft is bad

His loves/interests are unimportant

Heaven's side is the only “good” side

Heaven loves him unconditionally

And many more. While we, the audience, can tell that these behaviors are wrong, just propaganda designed to help maintain the presumed “goodness” of Heaven. But Aziraphale? He’s not able to let go of the safety in these lies. He so badly needs to be loved unconditionally, to feel he’s doing good, and fulfilling his role of the Ineffable Plan. He tells himself these lives, hoping for deliverance from his “side”. Heaven, unfortunately, never delivers once. Instead, his internalized thoughts lead him to be unwilling to question if what he’s doing is good or bad, when earlier he would simply act out of compassion. 

I think it is fair to say then, that his repression is a byproduct of the lies he’s feeding himself in order to survive Heaven. However, with real consequences to his relationship with Crowley.

Lying to Crowley

Crowley refuses to taint his relationship with Aziraphale with lies. He won’t treat Aziraphale like he does every other Angel or Demon because he does not (and really can not) repress his feelings. Sure, he hides them, but that’s usually from prying eyes, and never Aziraphale.  

Aziraphale, in contrast, lies his ass off. Constantly. And, to Crowley.  This is not to say Aziraphale is incapable of telling the truth, in fact, he is more honest with Crowley than any other character in the series, but he still feels he has to lie to protect himself and humanity.  As the apocalypse grows near, and shit hits the fan, Aziraphale’s endurance faulters. His lies, that he’s internalized reach the surface, and he feels like he has no choice but to protect himself from the oncoming dangers. 

Look at the below gif and have your hearts broken with me. As a direct result of the lies he tells himself, he’s unable to come to terms with the fact Heaven is not just questionable, it’s wrong. He’s on the wrong side, and instead, he needs to be with Crowley. 

This gif is a great example of how him lying to himself negatively harms Crowley. He’s not, in this instance, telling himself they’re on opposite sides as some kinda “Gotcha” moment for Crowley. No, he’s trying to remind himself of the kind of safety he’d be risking in telling Crowley the truth that he wants to work together. It’s a plea, an act of desperation because his greatest fears are culminating all at once and making a decision could cost him his “home”, his identity as an angel, and Crowley if they’re unsuccessful. We witness at the beginning of Episode 3 how deep the ineffable husband’s bond really is, so to contrast against this moment, we see that this is not the rejection he’s hoping it would be. It’s a clear lie. It puts off decision making. It reaffirms a status quo that, while very abusive, feigns stability.  

In this gif, he’s pleading with Crowley. He’s scared shitless because his two lives are crashing before him.  He’s done a good job repressing his love while finding a way around Heaven’s orders so far. But, now he’s got to make a choice. And it’s clear the choice he wants to take. He WANTS to go with Crowley. Go back and listen to how he says “run away together?” on the street.  It’s pure unadulterated want. He wants to go off with Crowley somewhere only they know and never return. But he physically can’t until he is truthful for himself. 

So he lies. Again. And it looks like he’s being stabbed by an invisible knife. 

Now Look at Gif 2. More! Internalized! Pain! He’s telling the ultimate lie here. This is not a distressed Aziraphale trying to get rid of an annoying business partner. This is a mourning man, forcing himself to lie to protect humanity and Crowley. At this moment, Aziraphale is denying their relationship and not treating their bond as something shared by equals. He can’t be sure that Crowley will be there to catch him if he loses everything, and he simply can’t lose humanity.  

Lying, that they’re not friends is not true at this moment, nor any other moment in the series. He loves Crowley so badly, that he’s hurting both of them with his lies. And Crowley has had enough of the lies and slander against their partnership. Normally, Crowley would be the most patient creature on the planet, ready to wait almost forever for Aziraphale to come around. But, he can’t if there isn’t any more Earth. He can’t be himself if he doesn’t go through the channels he’s told himself are “good”, because questioning those channels is too much like falling. 

So he lies. Again. And in the process, hurts the only healthy relationship he’s ever known. The only caring relationship he’s ever known. The only loving relationship he’s ever known. The only unconditional relationship he’s ever known. 

He lies because he needs to begin coping with his trauma, and not lie to himself that everything is alright. Once he comes reaches his breaking point -- a world where no matter what he would be unable to be WITH Crowley -- he confronts his issues. Only then does he begin to come to terms with Heaven’s abuses and dishonesty towards him, then he can finally stop lying to himself and Crowley about how he feels and about what he needs to begin healing.

Lying to Hell

There’s a narrative shift between his heartbreaking lies to Crowley and his deception in Hell. Unlike lying to Heaven, there is a wholly selfless goal in mind. Saving Crowley. 

Before, protecting himself and his love of Humanity was the motivating factor for lying through his teeth. The unfortunate effect of that is that he’d also be lying through his teeth to Crowley. Here in Hell, however, he’s finally accepted Crowley has his equal, his partner. Just in time to help stop Armageddon’t. 

This lie is a damn good one. He does crack every now and then, but he’s committed to a cause that provides him the safety net he’s had to provide for himself this whole time. Unlike being a soldier of Heaven, belittled or abused for his presumed faults, he is beginning to heal.  Having this partnership with Crowley is paramount to his ability to grow and change as a person. He no longer has to lie as a means of protection, but a means of attack.

Masquerading as Crowley is the ultimate selfless deception that doesn’t rely on his words to be conveyed. Instead, it relies on his intimate knowledge of Crowley and deep love of the demon to remain believable and because please let the 6000-year slow burn end. He knows who his side is by the time he’s in hell and once he commits, he commits for good. 

And Now, A Word From Aziraphale

Angel’s aren’t supposed to lie. 

They’re not supposed to be selfish, or gluttonous, or slothful, and yet, we have an angel so very much in love with humanity that he’s begun picking up some of their mannerisms. Thus making him a terrible angel, but also a very human one. It’s because of this that Aziraphale’s lies are not forced upon him by a higher power. It’s a choice. 

Just like how Crowley chooses to be heartbreakingly honest with Aziraphale, Aziraphale needed to choose to lie. But, it’s a choice that stems from not fitting in exactly how others want him to act in Heaven. Once he’s away from the abuses of Heaven, and the threat of losing all that he cared about subsided, he becomes very aware of his need to treat Crowley with the same kindness Crowley has shared with him. 

There isn’t a single soul in Heaven who loves humanity like Aziraphale does, and for loving them, he is forced to lie. However, once the threat that Heaven holds over his head is gone, and he has jumped away from heaven, (but still not to hell) he’s free, to tell the truth as he pleases. He can drop the shield protecting him, hiding him from reality, and finally be honest with himself, and Crowley. 

Their “side” helps both the virtuous demon and Angel with vices a third option. They’re not stuck in the useless binary of Heaven/Hell, Good/Bad, or Light/Dark. Instead, they get to be nuanced individuals who are not the epitome of evil nor the epitome of good. They simply are. No strings attached or threat of violence, no abandonment nor ends of the world. 

They are able to enjoy their unconditional love together.

Thanks for coming to my Ted Talk

[airlock]

airlock grades the Conqueror archetype

and this one will wrap up the series! or, perhaps, trample it with iron boots -- because this is the realm of the ones who declare the wars, control the huge empires, storm the protagonistic homelands!

(do note: under cut are spoilers for… everything, and also a significant amount of me criticizing or blamming characters that you might like. you’ve been warned! but all hope is lost; whether you read on or not, I will post this and you can’t stop me. ahahahahaaaa!!)

the scourge of akaneia

(8/10)

Medeus is the launcher of some sort of an archetype of his own, in the sense of the big honking draconic/demonic being whose defeat seals up the plot, but he also distinguishes himself very much from that pack -- in that he’s never really idly awaiting for the endgame to come, but instead, he’s pushing the buttons and making things happen, even if his signature pose is the lazy villain slouch.

he’s easily one of the stronger villains in the Akaneia saga -- active, intense, and, quite rarely for this point in technology, a splendid realization of the motivations that drove him to villainy. it’s hard to disagree that he did the “as long as there’s evil” clincher better than Loptyr.

the scourge of valentia

(6.5/10)

the remakes have breathed much of the good and the bad of the series’ modern instances into the man who knocked Mycen up.

there’s a frequent criticism of Rudolf in that the convoluted plots he weaves, leading up to his death, make no sense and feel like deliberate plot behavior; I’d say Shadows of Valentia does good on clarifying the need for all of his scheming, though, as he has to contend with a decadent church that steadily eclipses his crown’s influence and has the furthest possible goals from his.

the problem, of course, is that all of this clarification comes about in the fashion that these things tend to on this side of Awakening: past the point when it’d have fang. why only have the red-armored reindeer start acting like Alm’s father right at the time of the final showdown? there was plenty of time to build him up in the cutscenes before that, but we waste all of that time on him bullying his nephew instead. and that particular thing ends up making no sense at all!

it sucks not only for making Rudolf weaker as a villain, but also for how much it cheapens Alm’s subsequent drama. we’re really supposed to buy that he’s all torn up about committing patricide, when the father he killed was no father to him at all except for a half minute before croaking? and seriously, this time, all the people being like “don’t judge him too harshly” after Alm went and killed him just end up sounding fiercely insensitive to him.

and last but definitely least, seriously, his older sprite was better lookin’.

the scourge of akaneia, book II

(6/10)

what, you give me a chance to use that gif, I use it, plain and simple-

ahem! so what to make of our here fallen hero? his tragic downfall is quite compelling, truly striking as a situation that no particular individual can be blamed for but was merely the sad result of the trappings of the system. alas, that much is cheapened quite a bit when the result of it in actions tends to run the gamut of arbitrary villainy; it feels like the last real character-informed action in his arc is when he finally gives in to the Darksphere, and from there, it’s all because plot.

still, having a formerly playable character turn crooked as a main plot point is a player punch that other titles have rarely shown similar bravery to pull off, and that’s very much to merit. Shadow Dragon even goes the distance in trying to strengthen the punch by giving Marth and Hardin one or two tidbits of extra dialogue with each other, but those sadly end up landing quite stifled and fail to contribute to the buildup.

it has to be said, though, I really hate how this side of the remake makes his evil self look like a lunkering zombie when old Mystery of the Emblem dodged the gonk and gave him some kind of sexy vampire look instead. that was working better. so I guess that makes Medeus the only one of the list here who didn’t strike the remake fortune with a worse character design?

the scourge of jugdral

(11/10)

Arvis is my favorite Fire Emblem villain bar none. he’s the full package, and should be zenith to with any antagonist in this series aspires to.

starting off, he boasts an extensive backstory that not only establishes his motivations, but even his personality, his neuroses. but what’s better yet is that he’s such a good villain, he carries himself perfectly in the game proper despite most of the detail of what made him who he is falling to the wayside of additional material. none of that text exists to make right the deeds that he gets up to, too; it’s hard to blame him in the end, but he’s not to be absolved, anyway.

he’s also masterfully crafty, and unlike certain toadies I’ve covered earlier who dip into his pool and pretend to be the real mastermind, he’s out there doing exactly what needs to be done in order to turn the bickerings of his continent into a cycle of mutual destruction that naturally pulls him all the way to the top. you know how, if you get enough of the gang killed, you can have an ending where Seliph ends up having to take over the whole continent, leaving him stuck being Arvis 2.0? folks sometimes call that a “wtf seliph” moment, but I’d call it the crowning excellence of Arvis’s schemes -- his M.O. is never to take over the empire, but ever to undermine the existing leadership so thorougly as to make himself the only option left.

and what’s more: although the zenith of his arc is the stuff of late-term plot twists, this is that rare occasion when the plot twist is done well and doesn’t just ruin the rest of the story because of the secrecy required. the tipping point is built up to very well, with Arvis’s uncertain allegiances and sketchy character -- masterfully played so that he’s suspect, but hard to instantly point fingers at. the cherry on top is when he fakes coming to your aid at the very end, making it so look like that’s his place in the plot, until it isn’t and he betrayed you and murdered everyone. what magnificent brutality!

my god, is this long enough yet? because seriously, I could keep going. I’ll spare you all since we’re not even halfway done with this list yet, but I think I’ve made this much abundantly clear: Arvis is a master class in how to write a primary villain, and nothing less.

the scourge of leonster specifically

(5.5/10)

technically, a conqueror per se he isn’t, but he’s very much occupying a similar role in Thracia 776, as the one who directly made possible the imperial occupation of Manster and also the one who actively pursues Leif.

as far as villains in that particular game goes, Raydrik is one of the better inserted, having been given a place in the story of Jugdral that doesn’t encroach on anyone else’s but still makes him more than relevant enough of an enemy to Leif. it’s unfortunate, however, that having to play second fiddle to a stooge like Veld dials down the extent to which he can seize on that in full.

the scourge of elibe

(4.5/10)

the world’s sharpest fidget spinner has a fairly interesting concept going, specially with how it fits into the grand scheme of Binding Blade -- is it easy to disagree with the misanthropic antagonist, when the majority of the enemies you’ve faced up to that point were the assholes that were supposed to be on your side?

unfortunately, it’s still pretty easy to disagree with Zephiel in the end. I might be thinking of the earlier and more stifled fanslation, but he’s far too stoic to sell the bread that he’s supposedly growing. were that he ever really showed the sorrow and anger he feels at the lot he’s been dealt, and how it compels him to such drastic lenghts as attempting to erradicate humanity itself, he’d have made for a far more convincing villain; alas, depressive emotionless doesn’t really mesh all that great with the sort of arc he’s trying to build.

in fact, it weakens his impact quite a bit that so much of his backstory only ever goes through in the form of his sister lengthily expositing about it; he only gives his own words on the matter obliquely, and the thing ends up landing like it’s a sob story intended to drum up cheap sympathy, even though it actually explains what he’s doing.

Blazing Blade puts in the valiant effort of showing you in actions not words what led him down the path of villainy, but your prequel should not be tasked with the work of establishing you as the villain you are in your actual game.

credit where credit is due, though, this guy’s theme song slaps so hard, you end up in a dungeon with Sophia. in terms of audibly announcing how fucked you are when he’s in the neighborhood, he’s second only to Arvis.

the scourge of caelin specifically

(5/10)

Blazing Blade is mostly about preventing conquests from taking place to begin with, but this guy fits the bill neatly enough, as someone who sparks the conflict of Lyn’s story by making moves on his ambitions.

I can’t help but feel like he could have been written to be more interesting and compelling -- like, if he didn’t look like he’s roughly as close to death’s doorstep as his brother is anyway, and/or if he’d mentioned having heirs of his own that he wished to pass Caelin down to instead of Lyn... or maybe if he dropped the cacklevillainy for a moment to seize on what a genuinely frustrating feeling it’d have to be, being all but the designated heir for 15-odd years and THEN some random granddaughter appears out of nonwhere.

that said, he wasn’t intended to be a particularly complex villain; he’s the tutorial villain, with the tutorial villainy. I ultimately can’t grade him higher than such a role merits, but it’s ultimately understandable that he wasn’t written better.

the wooden scourge of magvel

(7.5/10)

although he’s not actually there at any point of Sacred Stones, it’s not for no reason that Lyon put his undead inflatable doll self to work -- and I mean that both in the pragmatic sense and in the character sense.

Vigarde’s presence is palpable, echoing through the backstories of a great deal of characters and informing their actions and choices for the greater part of the game; that’s a very impressive thing to accomplish without being there in the first place, and it builds him up to quite the solid character.

the scourge of tellius

(8.5/10)

so, this guy’s motivations are kind of wack; the clear intention there to mirror and contrast the protagonist ultimately lands flat, and his ideology does little to impress meaning upon his actions. also, it’s pretty lame that he has all the cool battle quotes he has when only Ike is special enough to actually hurt him. I’m getting the criticism out of the way now because the rest of this is going to be nothing but gushing.

what an incredibly entertaining villain! his great crooked grin never feels like an affectation -- he may be theatrical and cruel, but he has his firm reasons for doing everything he does. and the plot doesn’t tell him what to do; he tells the plot what to do, with flair. and his master plan, if hard to conciliate as an entirely human thing -- again, his ideology doesn’t land that well as an explanation for the things he does -- shimmers in its sheer audacity: provoking a world war in order to intentionally enrage the gods! holy shit. and he almost succeeds, at that.

his backstory is also a point-for: it’s not the sort of backstory that explains things, per se, but it serves instead to establish that Ashnard has been Ashnard for as long as there has been Ashnard, and that’s splendid. not everything has to go all the way to the egg!

right, right, again I’m going to try not to go on forever, but I’d be remiss in not closing with one of Ashnard’s greatest strengths: the banter. this guy has the guillotine-sharp tongue to match the extent to which he doesn’t give a shit about anyone, and it makes for magnificent lines. the part where he tears Bryce a new one and still gets to deploy him to the final battle is easily one of Path of Radiance’s standout moments, in my opinion.

the scourge of valm and good arcs

(1/10)

this guy gets quite compelling dialogue for what’s easily one of the most batshit villains in the whole franchise, and even Awakening itself.

as usual, the game elects to make the parts of his motivation that makes sense a secret for after you kill him -- which not only makes them irrelevant by the time they land, but also make him sound like he’s bonkers while he’s still around. all of his playing at being Rudolf 2.0 lands seriously flat in a story that has otherwise not really established the gods he keeps talking about breaking free from. and once the cards are down, well, he succeeds in being Rudolf 2.0, in that, as far as I hear, Rudolf made a lot less sense before Shadows of Valentia came about; his M.O. of imperialism to prevent the apocalypse is just one big honking what the fuck??. how hard can it be to just tell people about that? who’s going to stop you, Excellus?

and I will also never forgive him for directly influencing his ancestor’s weaker design in the remakes-

the scourgoo

(??/10)

so from where I’m standing, his plot twist also sounds pretty lame, but hey, I’m not going to start rating Fates people now, right

so, how are you all enjoying your brutal subjugation under The Empire (TM)? do you welcome your new militaristic overlords, or are you already mounting the resistance? the ins and outs of what sort of catastrophe we’ll be facing in the upcoming Three Houses are yet to be revealed, but before we set about blaming the crests, what would you expect from the sort of figure who’d be pushing the lances to make it happen? comment what you will through replies and reblogs, but rest assured that you’ll never figure out the master plan behind this invasion... ahahahahahahaaaa!!

[voulezvous-rpg]

Congratulations, Rhine! You’ve been accepted as your original character, The Kingpin — Lysander Seo, with a face claim of Lee Jong Suk!

A man of god, with a god complex, who’s actually the devil himself. I’m in absolute awe of Lysander — his ruthlessness, his insatiability. He’s exactly the kind of villain I love seeing around, and I’m thrilled to have another antagonistic character joining us on the dash. This club is already breeding ground to a handful of dangerous players, so I’m very excited to watch how Lysander interacts with those who might be gunning for similar thrones. Whether he does end up building that network of his, or if you veer him straight off the deep end, I can’t wait to watch what happens. Welcome, both of you!

OOC name: rhine pronouns: she/her age: 20 timezone/activity: est & pretty active! I can usually do all my replies once or twice a week if I’m not too busy that week and I’m generally always lurking to plot and whatnot :)

IC character group: patrons character title: the kingpin name: lysander seo fcs: lee jong suk pronouns: he/him age: 29 occupation: drug lord how long has your character been at the moulin rouge? – as a patron, probably for about 1-2 years? though he might’ve passed by or dealt to people in the moulin rouge since he was about 18. how did the fire impact your character? – he mostly uses the moulin rouge as half-business, half-leisure – it’s a place where he doesn’t necessarily actively work, but where he builds connections with other patrons and gathers information on what’s happening throughout the city that could impact him. the fire would’ve deprived him of such networking and intel for a short period of time, but it likely isn’t his only source for such things – it would’ve been a nuisance at most, though its re-emergence has him both curious and weary of how its aftermath could help or hinder him.

biography – tw mention of drugs, killing, death, blood perhaps it is not fitting for the boy to wear a cross around his neck.

(for all the bodies fallen to the ground, for all the widowed women and fatherless children, all the life sunken out of cheeks and tears from eyes, how he barely bats an eye on bad days and smiles on worse; son of god, he’ll say, cold metal hanging around necks, returning angels to heaven dusted with powder like snow)

(for all the prayers he has kneeled in respect towards, for all the sunday masses and weekly liturgies, all the remnants of holy water on fingertips from a childhood of repentance for things that have not yet been done, how he bows his head in confession but does so in silence. forgive me father, he’ll say, communion still under his tongue, for I will sin again tonight)

(and priests can say nothing about the packages hidden in donation boxes, about guns between the pews and boy-devils who wear silver crosses around necks, as if mocking, eyes unblinking and smile as sharp as a knife when he genuflects towards the cross behind the altar, when he leaves with a promise to be back again next sunday)

he never misses a mass. somewhere there is a priest still behind the grates of the confessional, trembling.

-

when we are unsure of where the boy hails from, it is easy to give the answer of hell.

perhaps he was born from the underworld itself, he likes to joke. says that’s why he came back to rule it. to take it as his own.

but that comes later, of course. in the beginning, there was just a baby in the snow, cheeks red and silent despite the cold, features built from cities far, far away from paris – another land he does not know, no one has to say, for the boy has never fit in with the other blue-eyed blonde-haired little boys at the orphanage. skin like snow and hair like ink and far-travelling merchants would say the boy was carried from the silk road itself. doting nuns will say god has carried him over seas for reasons not yet known. one day, the spirit, the light, will show you a purpose for being here with us, mon lis. god will help you understand. 

shaking priests will say the devil carried their demons here, for another city already lies in ruins. god save our souls. 

but you must know that if we trace history to the only origins we know, the boy is perhaps not born, but raised in a church. it is as close as we can get when his blood does not hail from the parisian soil. 

a quiet, bright thing, nuns and caretakers would say. a handful of trouble with his skinned knees and crooked smile, twigs in hair and dirt on cheeks at the age of eight, smoke on tongue and smile that even god could forgive by eighteen.

devious, they have said since the beginning. how could we not see this coming?

he is a quick-fingered, straight-spine thing that never misses mass, that always comes in with his best sunday wear perfectly ironed, never a minute late. the boy carries trouble like a middle name, fond nuns tut after morning prayers. but he is a good son, still.

(here is where people will say only one of those things is true. here is where we must emphasize that both statements still hold, near eighteen years later)

(for all his sins, the boy is still devout, even if it is mocking)

the lines between good son and troubled thing are blurred still, and we won’t know exactly how it began, only that it did.

that there is a boy whose long fingers and easy grin make it easy to pass small packages between quick brushes of gloved hands in dark alleyways, that there is a boy who grows into a tall man whose calloused palms makes it easy to press skulls up to brick walls when payments aren’t made. that there is a boy who has no problem dipping his fingers into holy water as he leaves the church before coating them in blood when uncooperative customers hiss filthy orphan on blood-cut lips.

(we are not sure, we are not sure. perhaps they saw him in the corner of the streets one midnight, boy of fifteen and beat for merely being a tossed-out thing from countries away, eyes red and knees knocking. perhaps they pitied him, or perhaps they saw how he fights back, all teeth and elbow, all howled rage on bruised mouths, taking hits to break bones afterwards)

(likely the latter, one can guess. either way, there are men who offer him ice and teach him how to pull thread and needle through skin, who tell him that they’re looking for boys who can take hits but throw punches better, boys who know back-alley shadows and daylight-patrols equally well. boys like him, street things the closest we’ll get to the wild in the city. street things with nothing to lose)

they offer him a job. he takes it.

(it is a mistake, it’s too late to say. the boy will end up killing these men in a few year’s time, rip them open so that their needles and threads can’t hold spilling guts in – )

(but that comes later. for now, they clap him on the back and cheer as he nods in agreement, not knowing they let the devil in)

-

we will skip past this for your sake.

we do not remember the days of when the boy was nothing but a runner, a dealer, a guard, growing lean and scarred from fists thrown and bloodstained money collected. we do not remember the day he left the church and had a place of his own in the heart of the underworld, where he could feel the city bleed itself dry every night only to revive itself again in the morning.

(we do not remember the day he returned to the church and claimed it as his own, some five years later, guns and sealed bags in tow, asking for a place of mercy, looking into horrified eyes and saying how he remembers the house of god is not to deny anyone of shelter should they come seeking it)

(you monster, holy men half-sob, half-scream. you dare defile a place of worship like this?)

(you foolish man, devil-born boys smile back. you dare go against the word of a god like this?)

we do not speak of how there are multiple hells in this city, that there is not only one king, that he is not the only man who plays judge, jury, and executioner with a single word.

but there is only one who controls no nightclubs, no bars, no back alleys. there is only one who has ownership of the docks the day he gutted a man like a fish and left him hanging after a late shipment from the lands and the seas that the boy supposedly came from. there is only one who has claimed churches as his holy ground, as his base, threading packages through a system of donation boxes and confessional grates.

(mon lis, nuns weep. what happened to you?)

(I understand now, boy-turned-king whispers behind stained glass windows. god’s call for me. is that not what you wanted?)

we skip past the days where the boy learns the power of addiction and turns it into worship. how ports start to turn their favour from old bosses when new bosses appear with an allegiance that is forged from days of running; how he runs no more. how blood is just as adequate as handshakes when signing contract deals.

(boy rises, dethrones old kings with their severed heads in his hands. they had called him a traitor, a bastard boy for betraying a system that has took him in, taught him all he knew since he was a scrawny teen. do you forget that we own this city, own you just because a boat or two has turned to your favour?)

(boy dressed in red from the men he called fathers and brothers, exhales smoke and smiles to terrified new runners, tells them to spread the news that old kings have fallen, that a bastard boy now sits on the throne. tell them to get used to it)

and so, we skip to this:

orphan boy turned troubled thing turned street-wild runner turned suit-wearing monster in between pews.

boy turned king. turned god, even.

(there is enough of a blood sacrifice on his hands to consider it so)

we wait for gods to fall, cheer when they stumble three times with their crosses.

we forget that some are born below the ground. that in such cases, there is only space for them to rise.

-

potential plot points – !!! I would love to see him actually have some character regression?? he’s cautious but ruthless but if there was a chance for him to somehow keep on pushing himself & get stuck in his god complex and just end up destroying everything for himself by trying to be/do too much, and lose sight of the carefulness and completely veer off into the deep end – I’m here for it??

+ alternatively, him growing more refined & expanding his business and working with a lot more different people would be interesting? he’s not good with working under orders but has never played with partnership or comradery and I think that’d be something interesting to explore for him too!

[myaekingheart]

62. The Night the Nine-Tails Attacked

               It had been almost a year since Rei had last seen Kakashi. Or at least since she had really seen him. There were times when she thought she caught sight of him in passing in the village, but then she would turn around and he would be gone. Maybe he was actively avoiding her, or maybe he was just so constantly on her mind that she was hallucinating. In that year, not a day passed when she did not think of him.

               The truth of the matter was that Kakashi was busy. The ANBU had hardened his heart even further, reinforcing his cold and dark understanding of the shinobi world. Day in and day out, he dealt with the worst of the worst. How could he find any faith in humanity whatsoever when humanity was so useless and idiotic? And yet he felt as though he had no purpose if he wasn’t working. The ANBU was molding him into a machine and he didn’t even protest.

               As such, Kakashi’s social circle dwindled further and futher until the only person he still really kept in touch with was Guy. It wasn’t so much that he sought out the Blue Beast’s company, however, but that Might Guy was far too scrappy and determined to let Kakashi purge him from his life.

               “This is getting excessive” Sekkachi groaned, shoving Rei off of her. Supposedly that was the downside to Guy’s intel. It gave Rei a connection. She wasn’t very close with Might Guy herself, but Sekkachi was. Rei would beg her for information every chance she got, much to Sekkachi’s dismay. “You’re fucking obsessed.”

               Naru clasped her hands together and grinned, replying in sing-song, “She’s not obsessed, just in love!” Rei’s face turned bright red and she whipped around to smack the blonde in the forearm. It didn’t matter if it was true or not. Not that her feelings made much of a difference, anyway.

               From high above, a pair of mismatched eyes fell on the girls and a strange sensation welled up inside of him. For the past nine months, Kakashi had been tasked with keeping watch on Minato-sensei’s wife, Kushina, during her pregnancy. The expectant jinchuriki wife of the fourth hokage needed ample protection, a prime target for enemies. And yet in those three trimesters, no threats ever arose. As such, Kakashi had a lot of time to sit around and think. He never let his guard down, of course, but his mind found it so easy to wander. He didn’t particularly like all the islands of thought it landed on.

               When he looked at Kushina, sometimes, for a fleeting moment, he thought of Rei. The mere prospect of it made his skin squirm. Deep down, he ached for her. With her, everything was simple and bright. She was nostalgic. His heart would leap into his throat every time he caught sight of her around the village, always ducking deep into an alleyway or leaping up on top of storefront awnings to avoid contact with her. He tried to remind himself he was doing this for her own good. That things were better this way. He hated that no matter what he tried, he couldn’t stop her from becoming a shinobi, but this was the least he could do in light of that. The further away from her he stayed, the safer she would be. Or so he hoped.

               Kushina’s current state did not help Kakashi’s wandering mind. It was the first time he had ever been truly present during a pregnancy and it was causing some rather terrifying realizations. He had distinct memories of seeing Hana pregnant when he was a toddler, but back then it didn’t mean the same thing. Her bulging belly was just a strange affliction. He wasn’t paying close enough attention. Now, however, he monitored Kushina around the clock, surveyed the everyday struggles of involved with bearing a child. He gained a greater appreciation for the human body, women’s in particular, and wondered what it must feel like to carry a human being inside of you like that. He wondered if he would ever know such panicked joy with his own future wife. Which is where the subject of Rei always arose.

               He didn’t want to think about it, but oftentimes he had no control. The visions would come to him in his brief moments of sleep, flashing vignettes of a future he was never promised. He would see himself, an adult, and Rei, a ring upon her finger. He would brush the hair out of her face and kiss the tip of her nose, wrap his arms around her and feel life beneath his palm. It was sappy and pathetic and he would always snap awake hating himself afterward, and yet there would be a strange feeling rising up in his chest all the while and a smile forcefully tugging at the corner of his lips. He was far too young to be thinking about things like this, far too stoic to be secretly wanting something so plain.

               At least, fortunately for him, he was not married to the idea. Realistically, Kakashi was well aware that a family was never in the cards. He would never get married, never fall in love. It was not his destiny. He wasn’t fit for the life of a husband and father. Sleep-drunken imaginings were safe and sterile. They required no work or worry. It was all fake. The reality was too much to bear.

               One afternoon, as he sat perched on the balcony of Minato’s home, a pained gasp reached Kakashi’s ears. He whipped around, immediately expecting the worst, to find Kushina bent forward gasping for breath. He leapt down and rushed to her aide, scanning every avenue of potential attack. “Where does it hurt?” he asked, looking to see if he could find any injuries.

               Kushina shook her head and brushed a stray strand of hair from her face. “It’s okay, Kakashi” she insisted, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. “I’m not hurt.”

               “But you—”

               “I know” she replied, “But it’s nothing to worry about. The doctors said false labor near the end is normal.”

               False labor. Kakashi nodded slowly, pretending like he understood. If these were false contractions, then what was supposed to happen when the real ones started? He hadn’t thought that far ahead. When he returned to his post, his mind couldn’t shake the subject. It chanted, as if from a choir: childbirth, childbirth, childbirth.

               Was he meant to be present for the delivery? He assumed so. After all, this was a package deal. Birth was merely the finale to pregnancy, and as he understood it, he was meant to watch over Kushina for her entire gestation. He had never witnessed a birth before. Would he even be able to handle it? What was he supposed to expect?

               During the last month of his assignment, he thought of this often. A part of him wished his mother was still alive not because he particularly missed her but because maybe then he would be able to ask her all of the questions swirling in his mind.

               Kakashi wasn’t entirely sure how to react when Minato called him into his office one afternoon and relieved him of his duties. Had he done something wrong?

               “It’s standard for the ANBU directly under Lord Third to take over the guard during the birthing period” Minato explained. Standard or not, he assumed it was better this way, anyway. Biwako ensured Minato was well-prepared for what he was bound to witness when his wife gave birth, detailing that delivery was a gritty and bloody endeavor the likes of which could not possibly compare to anything seen on the battlefield. Kakashi was only fourteen. He was far too young and impressionable for something like that.

               Despite his expectations, Minato insisted Kakashi take a break before returning to his usual ANBU duties. He wasn’t particularly fond of the idea but was not about to protest. A break meant fewer things to distract him from his nagging thoughts, but he would simply find a way to deal with it.

               Kakashi considered, for a fleeting moment, reconnecting with Rei. Those nine months protecting Kushina had completely changed him and he was overcome with a strong sense of desperation. He wanted to wrap his arms around her and hear her laugh. He even wanted to apologize for all these years of ignorance. But then he thought better of himself. He could not afford to put her in danger. He could not afford to put himself in danger. Should he return to her, his already wavering sanity would be at stake. There was a perfect balance here that he had to maintain. He didn’t dare tip the scales.

               Rei just couldn’t get the hand signs right. She had been sitting cross-legged in the park for hours practicing, but it was no use. Groaning, she fell back into the grass and looked skyward. It was dark but the full moon shone brightly overhead. It illuminated the world in an ethereal glow, the kind with a tinge of magic that hinted that maybe something extraordinary was about to happen.

               She thought of Kakashi. She then scorned herself for thinking about him again. This was exactly how the rest of her life was going to go, wasn’t it? No matter what she did, she would never be able to escape him. She dug her nails into her palms and squeezed her eyes shut tight. No matter what she did, it was never going to amount to anything. Kakashi didn’t think about her. Kakashi didn’t care. Why did she constantly give away so much of herself to someone who would never do the same? It made her sick. Maybe Sekkachi was right. Maybe she truly was obsessed. Kakashi was a bad habit she needed to break as soon as possible if she ever wanted any hope of truly living. With a scream, she slammed her fists against the ground and for a moment, she swore she felt the world shake beneath her force.

               It took her all of five seconds to realize the quake beneath her was not, in fact, an imagined manifestation of her rage. The clear night sky grew hazy and when she looked out across the village, she saw the beginnings of absolute destruction. A low growl reverberated through the air and then, through the smoke, she saw him: the nine-tailed demon fox.

               No amount of ninja training could possibly prepare her for anything like this. Without a second thought, she leapt to her feet and ran. She didn’t know where she was going or what she was going to do when she got there, all she knew was that she needed to keep moving no matter what.

               Shinku Yuhi addressed the group of determined young shinobi with a grave face. Among them was Kakashi, who didn’t think he really belonged there. He was on an entirely different level, an ANBU, and therefore had separate responsibilities. If anything, he should be diving into the fray. He thought kindly for a moment on the prospect of death, but then shoved those thoughts out of his mind completely. Rather, his thoughts then shifted to Kushina. He hoped everything was okay.

               The nine-tails destroyed everything in its path with devastating force. In retrospect, Rei couldn’t remember much of the night except that she had to keep running. Her heart pounded faster than it ever had before, so fast that she thought it would overload and burst. Her vision started to grow hazy, and then her balance faltered. When she tripped and fell, she looked to her hand trembling against the ground and was convinced this was the end. The nine-tails was going to charge forth and slaughter her once and for all. She squeezed her eyes shut and gasped for breath, as if each inhale would be her last, but then—

               Kakashi raced through the village streets with only one thing on his mind. If he couldn’t join the rest of the adults against the Nine-Tails, the least he could do was ensure the safety of the civilians. The past nine months flickered through his mind, memories of Kushina interspersed with thoughts of Rei. All caution was thrown to the wind, at least for tonight. For once there was something far more dangerous at risk than himself.

               A strong pair of arms swooped down and lifted Rei off the ground. She buried her face in her hands and wailed, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Any minute she was expecting the Nine-Tails to dig right in, to rip her every limb apart, but grew suspicious when all she felt was the wind whipping against her skin. She slowly pulled her hands away and blinked to adjust her blurred vision. All she could manage was a hoarse whisper. “Kakashi…”

               He barely looked at her but she felt his grip tighten at the sound of his name. This had to be a dream. This all had to be one massive nightmare. The Kakashi she knew would never dive in and save her like that. None of this could be real.  

               Kakashi raced all the way to the shelter with Rei in tow, holding her close. She buried her face in his chest and gasped, tightly gripping his ANBU vest. A stern looking man stood guard at the shelter, eyeing Kakashi and this unfamiliar girl in his arms.

               “Who is this one?” he asked.

               “Rei Natsuki” Kakashi replied. “I expect her to be taken good care of.” The man scoffed and motioned for her to step inside. Kakashi looked to her, fully prepared to part ways with her, but her eyes visibly tuned in and out of focus and he knew he couldn’t trust her to be alright on her own. He carried her inside, weaving through the crowd.

               “Kakashi…” she whispered as he set her on the ground. He knelt beside her and brushed the hair out of her face.

               “It’s alright, you’re safe now” he whispered back.

               Rei shook her head minutely, clenching her fists at her sides in anxiety. She was beginning to slip out of consciousness. “Why…? Why did you…save me?”

               Kakashi lifted his gaze to somewhere unknown. “You already know” he said bluntly. What he added next echoed in Rei’s mind for the rest of the night, ethereal and strange. She couldn’t shake it. It didn’t seem real. And if it was, then perhaps everything she had believed thus far about Kakashi was completely untrue. The world around her began to darken, and she slipped out of consciousness just as he said it. A long-forgotten promise, the red string that bound them.

               I will always protect you.

[rosemaryshrub]

The (Opinions of) Man, The(ir) Myth(s), (and) The(ir Urban) Legend(s)

     Societies spanning the globe have always made use of a law of some sort. Whether or not the lawmakers write their ideas down is irrelevant; people habitually govern each other based on what they value and what morals and beliefs they wish to promote. The thing about people is that they are notoriously difficult to sway. When change is desired or necessary, history has proven the difficulty of altering the ingrained beliefs of a culture. Over the ages, humans have found a solution in folklore, stories that are today more commonly known as urban legends.

     Urban legends are classified as anecdotal morality tales that involve an element of humiliation, even horror. Their fear tactics are used to convince people to behave in certain ways, to avoid certain lifestyles, even to affect their moral compasses. Particularly in the western world, some of the more common urban legends emphasize the expectations a society might have for the important roles within it, the main concern of their narratives being competent mothers and innocent children versus their more malignant and corrupt counterparts.

     These fears and cultural ideas are gently woven into a person’s psyche from a young age. The bedtime stories children are raised with teach them guidelines for how not to behave, usually detailing a few consequences for disobeying Mommy and Daddy, usually in a fantastical way. Fairy tales are a good example of this, with clear role models for the children to relate to fighting with obvious villains dressed in black and cackling wickedly. The message there is rather overt: Why should a little girl strive to be an ugly witch when she grows up when she could be a rich princess instead?

     Beyond the year-round ritual of fairy tale bedtime stories, which serve as a nightly reiteration of a child’s behavioral expectations, there is, of course, the culturally widespread and well-known figure of Santa Claus—Or Father Christmas, or Papa Noël, or Pai Natal, etc. Santa is an effective incentive for children to act like perfect angels, lest they receive coal instead of their Christmas presents. This is a good example of the introduction of the concepts of right and wrong and the respective rewards and punishments that come with making a choice between the two. In Germany, there is the added threat of Krampus, sort of an evil iteration of Santa Claus (which, by the way, is Wiehnachtsmann in German) who is somewhat similar to the Scottish Bogeyman.

     The Bogeyman walks the night, hunting bad children and stealing them away from their parents. The focus here on fear and punishment is evident. In the hope of preventing misbehavior and promoting servility, kindness, and obedience in their children, parents issue warnings and reminders of the Bogeyman during reprimands. Already, supposedly “true” stories are affecting the children of a culture, and, as children mature, so do the stories they’re told. It is this “coming of age” period in a child’s life that encourages the creation and spread of darker morality tales to impress upon these young adults that their actions will now have greater and more serious consequences.

     The term “urban legend,” was officially coined by Jan Harold Brunvand in his book, The Vanishing Hitchhiker: American Urban Legends and Their Meanings. Since then, more and more stories have flourished and taken on a life of their own, often explained as horrific mishaps that happened to a friend of a friend’s cousin’s wife’s sister’s niece’s son, or something of that ilk. A popular example/archetype of such tales is that of the Babysitter. A recognizable adaptation of this particular legend opens Simon West’s 2006 film, When A Stranger Calls. As the story goes, a babysitter, having put the children to bed, receives a mysterious call from someone asking if she’s checked on them. This event repeats, until she finally relents and calls the police, who determine that the call is coming from inside the house. The shock and horror the audience experiences at this revelation is tied to an attitude and expectation that is emphasized repeatedly in every stage of life; that of maternal (and sometimes, though significantly less often in these stories, paternal) responsibility. A babysitting job is, whether consciously or not, viewed as practice motherhood. Children are constantly shown examples of loving, caring mothers in the media, and there are clear societal standards of how a mother should behave towards her children. When the girl in the story fails to prioritize the children’s safety, even though the lapse in security may not necessarily be her fault, she is, by extension, failing in her first trial in a maternal role. Because she is not completely vigilant, because she perhaps has not fully committed to the responsibilities she has agreed take on, it is implied (some versions of the story are far more blatant) that the children, and sometimes she herself, are killed. The babysitter faces the gravest possible punishment for her inattentiveness, a fair showcase of the expectations to not only become a mother, but to be wary of and not make any mistakes, that women are placed under by the society they grow up in.

     While the media constantly paints the picture of the ideal mother, there are plenty of counter-examples available as well: those of the witch or the evil stepmother, especially common in fairy tales. Within this genre of female archetype is the sorrowful Spanish fable of La Llorona. La Llorona (The Weeping Woman)  is the moniker given to the ghost of a woman who, driven mad in an attempt to enact revenge on her cheating husband, drowns her children. Her spectral figure wanders riverbeds in search of their spirits, weeping as she does so. Although this is a story of a mother who is cruel towards her offspring, La Llorona herself does not fit into the category of mothers who are simply plain evil. She feels remorse for her crimes and actively tries to make them right. Her disposition makes her story an especially effective cautionary tale: Here, young women are presented with a failed mother who is suffering from her guilt and the unbearable pain of the punishment she has been dealt in response to her actions. Because of this, not only is she a good example of how a mother should not behave, she is also a martyr who is burning with the consequences of her decisions. She is both a clear diagram of motherhood-gone-wrong and a notable case of the destruction that any “respectable” mother in society would go through should they act as she did. In this way, La Llorona’s penalties are a metaphor for the ostracization and demonization that parents are confronted with when the world they live in has different ideas about how children should be brought up. Tragically, the tale of La Llorona is based on more truth than lies.

     Every year during October, local news stations report segment after segment of safety tips that parents should note before sending their children off to trick-or-treat. Nightmarish stories of apples harboring razor-blades and poison-injected candies bombard the public consciousness. In most cases, these warnings are just that: overly cautious warnings meant to ensure the safety of today’s youth. However, there is at least one instance of this urban legend becoming a factual occurrence.

     On Halloween, 1974, Robert Clark O’Bryan poisoned his son with Pixy Stix that he himself had laced with cyanide in an attempt to solve his financial issues with the life insurance money he would receive. O’Bryan’s story emerged as fodder for the existing urban legend, the additional nicknames he earned, The Candy Man and The Man Who Killed Halloween, only serving to fuel the fires of fear that erupted among parents who were now aware that childhood innocence would someday be corrupted—and that, for some families, that day would come sooner than for others.

     Myths like these can aid in the explanation of some well-known phobias, for instance, coulrophobia, or, the fear of clowns. In early childhood, clowns are usually perceived as benevolent, funny characters. Their goal is to make families and friends laugh and enjoy themselves at birthday parties and other gatherings. As children grow, however, clowns begin to be seen as unsettling, malicious, and downright threatening. This change in attitude begs the question: Why? What causes adolescents and young adults to look at a once-safe image reminiscent of childhood and recoil in fear? When do they stop laughing?

     Some, quite reasonably, have noticed that this kind of fear is connected to the concept of the loss of innocence. One could argue that, because clowns are supposedly symbolic of childhood naïveté, age lends a new perspective on the idea of clowns. Once it is understood that a clown is just a middle-aged man with a painted face wearing colorful clothes, an outlandish wig, and a round, red nose, the figure of the clown not only loses any magic it previously boasted, but it starts to gain more sinister attributes that stem from learned prejudices and assumptions. Once people examine the question of why a man in his fifties is spending his time trying to entertain and amuse children, clowns begin to seem repellant. No one is ever that genuinely joyful in real life.

     While these arguments are based in logic, it’s important to note the agitating effect that these myths have on their corresponding phobias. Consider the recent outbreak of clown sightings that occurred in late 2016. Reports flooded news networks and social media outlets of people dressed as clowns assaulting random victims. While it is important to note that the attackers were only dressed as clowns and did not consider themselves true clowns, it is certainly interesting that the image they chose to associate themselves with was the clown. This not only contributes to the disturbing mythic status of terror that clowns have received in past works within the horror genre, it reflects the western world’s collective view of the clown as a malicious archetype, as well as emphasizing the horrific consequences of the inevitable loss of innocence that everyone undergoes. Though it is universal, it is shamed.

     The base themes of innocence and responsibility that provide a foundation for these legends have not only been enforced on specific roles in society (mothers, children, etc.). Sometimes, a whole demographic is policed with similar expectations and opinions about group morality. In the event of Satanic Panic, this demographic is the rebellious adolescent. The worry here is that children, in the process of growing up, will end up with the “wrong” crowd. Every parent’s nightmare lies in the idea that, as their beloved babies gain independence and autonomy, they will make dangerous choices, whether whilst creating their personal identity, trying to impress peers, or simply because they don’t want to follow the rules. Such nonconformity is warned against from an early age. Edgy-looking outcasts are pointed out in public, an action often accompanied by a parent’s hushed tones advising their children to stay away. The only thing worse than a malicious force facilitating the corruption of a child is when the child corrupts themselves.

     The legend of the Satanic Panic is, like the lore of the poisoned Halloween candy and the universal fear of clowns, not entirely fictional. Rather, it is a term used to describe the fanatical hysteria that is stirred up every couple of decades. The Salem witch hunts are a good example of this. A more modern instance of Satanic Panic centered on the McMartin Preschool Trial in the 1980s, in which parents reacted drastically to suspicions that their toddlers were being used for, and being made to participate in, occult rituals by their teachers.

     Religion is a glaringly obvious motivator and source of bias here. The name of the myth clearly illustrates that. From this detail, an interesting parallel can be drawn between the ideal of innocence and purity and religions branching off of Christianity. Besides the rose-tinted lenses parents see their kids through, they are also influenced by the morals preached to them every Sunday. In the case of this, ironically, almost ritualistic happening, the incentive to protect a child’s innocence is more than just that. Parents are also seeking to protect their child’s soul, to ensure safe passage into Heaven while preventing eternal damnation.

     An act that most religions agree will earn someone a ticket to Hell is the sin of premarital sex. As Satanic rituals often reportedly involve some sort of sexual element, and the myth of virginity is closely tied to ideas of purity, it’s natural that an urban legend was formulated to enforce the expectation of monogamy and waiting until marriage. The story goes that, late one night, a young woman arrived at her apartment, that she shared with another young woman. Both of their beds were situated in one room, so when she entered said room and heard noise coming from her roommate’s bed, she decided it was best to leave the lights off and try to go to sleep, maintaining as inconspicuous a manner as was possible. Upon waking, she finds her roommate dead with the words, “Aren’t you glad you didn’t turn on the light?” scrawled on the wall above her in what appears to be her blood. Because the woman did not interrupt what she thought was a sexual act, both she and her friend were punished severely.

     There are a lot of moral elements implied here. If the killer had been disrupted, would both girls have survived or would they both have become victims? Was the intruder intentionally planting a lesson above the woman’s bed? Not necessarily, though it could be interpreted as such. Seeing as the story is just a story, it was either likely created with the enforcement of that value in mind, or the moral of the story was woven in incidentally, unintentionally included as a consequence of the personal fears of the creator and those who continually passed the story along.

     The seemingly ritualistic aspects of the murder in the story relates to the ideas propelling the Satanic Panic, this time implying that participation in sinful and impure activities will result in being used in occult-like practices. In this story, the child has unwittingly corrupted herself and paid the ultimate price in return. The question, therefore, remains: Does western culture find it worse to have your childhood taken from you, or to give it willingly and prematurely to horrendous consequences?

     As published in the American Journal of Psychology:

          “...people retold truthful and scary stories. But people also retold well-known stories. This contrasts with the expectation that people would not pass on a story that everyone already knew. Also as predicted by prior work, repeating a story increased its credibility. But repeating also increased a story's importance, scariness, and likelihood of retelling. In general, contextualizing a story and increasing the number of details did not affect the likelihood of retelling a story. The exception was that details increased the likelihood of retelling a newly heard story. However, if people read a story with context or details, more contextual elements and details were included in their retellings. At the same time, people confabulated details to an equal degree no matter what type of embellishments they had read.” (Tree, Fox, Weldon)

     Urban legends are a staple of societal insight and serve as a description of the collective subconscious of a population. A thorough examination of the themes of innocence, gender roles, preservation of life and loved ones, and how they relate to the expectations varying roles are faced with are shorthand for the widespread, universal truths and beliefs that people within a society subscribe to. Besides being a fascinating subject, simple bedtime stories, or fear-mongering techniques, urban legends are the often-overlooked windows into the soul of a group of people. They deserve to be taken more seriously than they are, just not in the way their creators expect them to be.

By Emmy Christopherson

Works Cited

Hand, Richard J. "The Wonderful and Surprising History of Sweeney Todd: The Life and Times of an Urban Legend." Gothic Studies, vol. 11, no. 1, 2009, p. 139+. Student Resources in Context, Accessed 2 Feb. 2017.

Lebas, Jacob and Samantha. Audio Blog. Just A Story.

"Modern Mythology." Myths and Legends of the World, edited by John M. Wickersham,

Macmillan Reference USA, 2000. Student Resources in Context, Accessed 2 Feb. 2017.

Stephen P. Davis. "Urban Legends." St. James Encyclopedia of Popular Culture, Gale, 2013

Student Resources in Context, Accessed 31 Jan. 2017

Tree, Jean E. Fox, and Mary Susan Weldon. "Retelling urban legends." American Journal of

Psychology, Fall 2007, p. 459+. Student Resources in Context, Accessed 2 Feb. 2017.

[dreadmoniker]

Pandora Spero, chapter 2

PANDORA…

“Who-what—?”

I was stone cold awake, without a hangover, and I was standing in the middle of a grassy plain, the smell of heather invaded my nostrils as the wind blew gently over me.

WE NEED TO TALK, PANDORA.

The voice was coming from everywhere, and then I figured it out:  I was in a dream.  If this was the real world, I’d be nursing a mild headache with the fact that I finished off the bottle of brandy.  That…and like one of those more personal nightmares, I was bare-assed naked.  At least I wasn’t in public this time—that’s where this kind of dream seemed to usually go.

“So talk,” I said.  “Start with who the hell you are.”

AALIYAH.

That answer was a big one, and what this talk might involve:  I was being contacted by the Witch Queen…well, one of the servants she worked through.  A jinn in this case.

A jinn, sometimes known as a genie.  They were powerful, full on supernaturals—a few steps above obscuras like me, in the league of angels and demons, supposedly.  Among their powers, besides being able to twist reality around their little finger, was the ability to enter the dreams of others.

How the Witch Queen had managed to gain the service of this creature was beyond me.  Rumor said that she had the Jinn’s hat, and legend says if you have their hat, they have to obey you.

“Okay, I’m assuming her Majesty wants something,” I said.  “Can we change the scene?  I really don’t care about standing here in the middle of nowhere talking to the air.”

And so the scene changed.  I was back in a dueling circle—a time in my youth.  The large sword in my hand responded more like a rapier, given my absurd strength level.  My sparring partner wasn’t so fortunate; he handled his with both hands.  My hard learned skills were showing, turning my supernatural strength and speed to my advantage.  This would end up being the last day I’d spar with my teacher.

“We have an assignment for you,” came Aaliyah’s voice from my sparring teacher (duck/parry/strike—damnheparriedme).  “Are you available for hire?”

“That depends,” I answered (parry/lock/kick instep).  “Can she afford me?”

That was a rhetorical question.  Of course she could afford to pay me.  The only problem I had with taking jobs from the Crown was that the missions were often harder than usual—not to mention frustrating.

“You’ll be compensated, of course,” she answered (knock/lunge/duck).  “But we need an answer before we go further.  You’ll be representing the Witch Queen in an official manner.”

Uh-oh.  Representing the Witch Queen.  That meant actual authority figures behind this, which meant dealing with something sensitive, and would probably entangle me in something political.  I hated shit like that.  The smart thing in this case was to to turn them down…

“Okay…sure.”

Some folks would accuse me of not being too bright.  On the other hand, I beat my dueling teacher.  Again.

The scene changed once more.  We were in my old office—the one I had before the Vampire Mafia blew it up.  I was sitting behind a desk with too much paperwork on it, while Aaliyah was a dark skinned looker who was parking her gorgeous ass on the other end of it.

“The job involves the Leviathan Group,” she explained, taking a puff of a ridiculously long silver plated cigarette holder.  “The Witch Queen suspects that they aren’t living up to their promises, and needs you to find the truth.”

Leviathan Group…large technomancer outfit out of Motor City.  They dealt almost exclusively with the various governments of the city states, or the Central Powers on occasion.

“I’ll need information on the case,” I told her, “and a writ from the Witch Queen.  I strongly doubt they’ll just let me walk through the door to ask questions.”

“You’ll have everything you require, dear,” she said with a smile.  “Time to wake up, now.  You’re on the clock.”

The scene changed to a blur, and—oh Gods…there was a cannon firing off in my head.  Why…why did I have to down the whole damned bottle (again)?  I buried my head in the sofa’s pillow, and waited for the pain to subside to a tolerable level.  Thankfully the lights were off, and the curtains were drawn, so that didn’t add to my headache.

As I righted myself, I noticed that there was something in my hand.  A manilla envelope.  I opened it up, and found a sheaf of papers, and one single, separate paper with the Mark of the Witch Queen on it.

It was a writ from the Witch Queen, which meant the rest of the paperwork involved my case.  Everything I had requested in my dream was here, and then some.  How the hell did she do that?

Jinns…

* * *

In the four or five centuries since Bedlam happened, mankind had slowly crawled back from its precipitous fall from grace to the point they were at now.  A lot of things helped along the way; heroes of ages past who stood against the demon haunted places, scholars who brought either the knowledge of magic to us or rediscovered the wonders of the Old World, and of course big organizations like the Leviathan Company came into being, showing that good old fashioned greed could act as a driver of progress.

If their name didn’t spell it out, the Leviathan Company was responsible for the making of the very large, whether it’s the walls of a city, glass and concrete towers and the like, but what they were making waves with for the last 50 years was in transportation—the Colossus Trains.

Based on the concept of artifice from mankind’s past, the Colossus Train was the largest piece of moving machinery in the known world.  The engine that drove it alone was the size of a freighter, making the engineers’ cab more like a bridge, and it towed a line of equally massive cars which, once linked together, were miles in length.  Armored and armed to the teeth, these iron beasts could conduct people and goods on a massive scale from one city to another, with little fear of the wild places in between.

There was already one line running from Salem to Beervana in the North.  Now the goal was to go south, and connect with Sactown and ultimately the powerful alliance of Cities known as Golden Gate.  The outlay of gold and resources was massive, but the promised exponential rise in trade opened up between the north and south made it more than worth it in the eyes of those involved.

It was one of the most ambitious projects in the known world to date, but such ambition didn’t come easily or without hassle.  This much I had gathered reading through the sheaf of paperwork Aliyah had left me.  Cost overruns, production delays, labor problems of every sort…this project read like a goddamn tragedy.

I wondered how they were still managing to get paid?  I guessed I would find that out when I asked (one way or another).

The drive from the West Wall neighborhood to Salem’s Central Area was a leisurely one, allowing me to keep the top down on my red Merkur Super 8.  It was an older model, but unlike the Chev I took down last night, it had actual horsepower, not to mention a sense of style that never went out of date.  Before I knew it, I was among the shiny concrete towers of downtown, and parked near the distinctive Leviathan Company building—an edifice of concrete, steel, and stained glass reaching into the sky, which made up Downtown’s skyline.

I received more than a few lingering stares as I passed into the lobby, half of them looking because of my looks, and the other half for the way I looked.  Most folks who passed through here were in business suits, while I looked like someone who might just mug you as look at you.

“Um…excuse me, ma’am,” said one nervous secretary.  “Can I help—“

“I’m here on business of the Queen,” I said, showing her the Writ of the Crown.  “I need to speak with Director Castor.”

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but Mr Castor—“

“Now.”

“I…I can’t just take you to him,” she said weakly.  “I’m sorry, but my job…”

At this point, I had two options.  The first was to keep pushing until she cracked, but that could end badly; she might break down too far and start bawling.  That’d get me nowhere.  The second way was the soft approach, which went something like this…

“Just tell me where he is,” I said softly.  “If anyone asks, I won’t say who welched on them.”

“31st floor,” she said in a hushed voice.  “The Arbor Room.  He’s in a meeting, but the floor requires a key to get to.”

“Don’t worry about it,” I said.  “And thanks.”

I made my way to a row of elevators, where I entered the nearest open car.  When the doors closed, I looked over the elevator controls—a set of polished white buttons numbered 1 through 40, with the last ten floors on a separate board.  And true to her words, the buttons wouldn’t activate unless you put in a key.

Too bad that’s all it required.

I wasn’t much of a subtle B & E person, but I had a shortcut for situations like this.  I pulled out a small, intricately carved lead crystal bottle, and popped it open.  A brief whiff of sulphur, and out poured a heavy black smoke that collected in my open hand, and condensed into a slumbering little bugger—a bottle imp. It stirred to life and stretched its spindly little body as it yawned and rubbed the sleep out of its absurdly large eyes.

“Hey boss,” it said in a tiny squeaky voice.  “What’s up?”

“I need a lock picked,” I answered, gesturing to the elevator panel.  “I have a party to crash.”

“That’s it,” it whined.  “You wake me up to open one stupid lock?  Aw geez…that’s all I rate these days?”

“You complain too much,” I responded.  “It’s worth a coffin nail.”

“Really!?”

“As long as you smoke it in your bottle,” I amended.  “I don’t like the smell.”

“Oh, alright…”

The little imp stood up in my hand, and turned back into a thick puff of swirling black oily smoke, which made its way into the keyhole as if it was sucked right into it.  A few seconds later, the lock turned, and I was able to press for floor 31.

My tiny helper returned, floating in front of me.  “Okay, now give!”

A deal was a deal.  I handed the cigarette over, and the imp went back into its bottle to take a puff.  A moment after I pocketed the bottle, the doors opened up.  31st floor.  Arbor room.  

The halls were of alabaster, broken by images of massive edifices of human progress, ones that were done by Leviathan or groups related to them.  The second rise of humanity after Bedlam was faster than the first, they say, surrounded by the remains of the old world, and at least some of its original knowledge—knowledge that the Leviathan Group and its predecessors were able to exploit.  Now it was an enormous powerhouse, which courted citystate leaders and even the Central Powers.  They employed thousands…

Including the ugly brute in front of me.  He couldn’t help it though.  Ogres were just born that way.

“Where d’ya think yer goin’, missey,” he inquired somewhat harshly.  “You don’t look like you belong here!”

The ogre wasn’t too surprising.  A lot of companies, big and small, hired them.  This particular obscura didn’t have a lot upstairs, but they were nearly bulletproof, and incredibly strong.  Physically, they were hairy, long-armed, and barrel-chested, with a face even most mothers couldn’t love.  The only saving grace:  If they wanted a job in modern society, they had to at least bathe.

“I have a meeting with Mr Castor,” I said.  “He’s in the Arbor Room, isn’t he?”

“Right behind me, as a matter o’ fact,” he answered, his beady eyes looking in the direction of the dark wooden doors behind him.  “But I don’t know nothin’ ‘bout no broad comin’ here.”

“I’m on business of the—“

“I don’t care what’cher here for,” he interrupted.  “You ain’t gettiin’ in…unless ya wanna sharpen my pencil, if ya get my meanin’.”

I scowled.  “Excuse me?”

“You clearly don’t work here,” he smirked.  “So I’m guessin ya ‘work’ here.  Mebbe you can gimmie somethin’ on the side?”

This bastard thought I was one of the local “working girls”.  I supposed a place like this had its share of sex workers coming and going (because throwing money worked better than trying to persuade someone with your lack-of-charm, right?), but this ogre was being more than a little rude.

“If you’d shut up for a moment, you might—“

“I don’t care, sugar tits.”

“That’s it…”

Ogres were known for their sheer level of brute strength, with few things out there short of giantkind being stronger than they were…so I’m sure it came as quite a shock to find out that I was one of those few things.

He discovered this when I open palmed him in the chest, and sent him crashing through the heavy wooden doors that led into the Arbor Room.  This had two additional benefits.  The first one being that the ogre was completely laid out.  The second, I now had the attention of everyone in the room.

Always make an unforgettable entrance.

“As I tried to tell your man there,” I said, walking in the room.  “I’m Pandora Spero, and I’m here on behalf of the Queen.”

After a brief pause, where the ogre security guard was shown the way out, I received some proper introductions to those assembled.  Most were the average shareholders, some engineers and whatnot.  There were two that I interacted with the most.

There was one Walter Plotznik, who seemed to be everything from a bean counter to a mouthpiece.  His clean shaven head wore the face of someone who seemed irritated at everyone else around him—constantly frowning, eyes that pierced through people, and eyebrows almost constantly furrowed, as if he was cross with you.  Of course, it could just be that he didn’t like the fact that I was here (I get that a lot).

And then there was William Castor, Senior Director of Leviathan Group’s Northwest Operations.  He was an older gentleman, complete with silver hair, and a worn, somewhat wrinkled face.  Unlike Plotznik, he maintained a calm, sometimes charming, demeanor for the most part.

Between Mr. Castor and Mr. Plotznik, however, I had to wonder who was really in charge of things around here.  After I explained what I was doing here, we got into the meat of things almost immediately.

“I hardly see why the Queen insisted on hiring you,” Mr. Plotznik objected.  “True, we’ve had some delays—goblin banditry, the untamed environment, and whatnot, but those are all in the past.  We’ll meet our deadline.  You can go and tell her that.”

“Why,” I asked.

“Why what?”

“Why should I take your word for it?”

Walter Plotznik looked like I just slapped him across his face.  “And just what kind of question is that??”

“Pretty straightforward, all things considered,” I responded casually.  “From what I understand, you’ve been given an exclusive contract by the Witch Queen to connect Salem with the Golden Gate (and places in between), with the proviso that you’d have it done in the next two years.  The latest reports that I’ve been handed talk about more than a little ‘goblin banditry’.  Your original estimate said you’d be through the Shasta Mountains by now and connected to Red City in the South.  You haven’t even gotten to the halfway mark for that.

“Given that you’ve asked—and received—no less than a hundred tons of bronzium recently—double again from the last quarter, Her Majesty would like a more…accurate picture of the situation.”

“You have a lot of gall, Ms…what’s your name again,” inquired Plotznik.

“Spero…Pandora Spero,” I answered.  “And I’ll take that as a compliment.”

It looked like I was going to be doing circles with this Plotznik character, but then Mr. Castor spoke up.

“What would it take to help clear things up?” the senior director asked.

“Well, to start with, I’d like to see the operation myself,” I said.  “I have questions that those at the site would be better able to answer, I think.”

“There’s a flat-top leaving in the morning,” he said.  “We have some new workers leaving for the build, weekly mail drop, and some equipment to bring on sight.  I don’t think it’ll be a problem to add one more. Ms. Spero.  Would that work?”

“That’ll work just fine,” I answered.  “Thank you.”

“Just be at the station at 5 AM sharp,” he cautioned.  “They have a schedule to keep.”

“5 AM…got it.”

The rail station was easy to find:  It was just outside the Eastern Wall of Salem.  There were plans to extend the wall and make a gate system, but that was years away at best.  The station itself was a set of smaller buildings next to a tangle of steel rails, as railcars the size of small buildings on their sides cruised by.  There were near constant metallic sounds—grinding, colliding, squealing, the works  The smell of engine oil and essence pervaded the air.  Gouts of smoke hung over the entire area and never seemed to disappear.

Nice neighborhood.  I made my way to the south of the station—where Leviathan was gathering its people and equipment to make the trip south by flat-top

A flat-top was just as it sounded:  It was a motorized railcar with an open bed—no roof, no protection from the elements, just you, the open world, and whatever was tied down on top of it.  Workers along for the ride found wherever they could to sit, and were often bundled up against the cold (which I rarely ever felt).

It was easy enough to get aboard; they were expecting me (really neighborly of Mr. Castor to let them know).  Soon enough, the “all aboard” was announced, and an acre-sized slab of wood and steel started to move.  In about 10 minutes, we were hurtling down the tracks at about 40 mph, eventually passing through the first of two tunnels, carved right through the rock

I took the time to break the ice with the workers, and see what I could learn.  It didn’t hurt that I was female, but what really broke the ice were the free cigarettes.  Turned out that this was pretty standard; once a week, they’d ship out about 40 or so workers, and they’d stay for about 4 weeks, while another 40 or so would take the return trip—fairly standard rotation stuff.

Most of what they needed for working on the rails was already on sight—brought by Colossus train, naturally.  All the big equipment, much of the raw materials, and even stuff to manufacture the rails on sight, with the engine powering it all.

The flat-top, aside from shipping workers, brought in stuff that they needed regular supplies of, including a fuel run every two weeks—these suckers sucked down a lot of essence.  There were also regular shipments of food, bags of mail, stuff to stock in the camp store—nothing that initially stood out.

The only curiosity was the inclusion of a two-way marconi set.

Normally, most communication was done by phone.  There was even a specialized construction car on the Colossus that did nothing but plant phone poles and string new cable.  The problem they had was that someone (probably goblins), were regularly cutting the lines.

Marconis weren’t new.  It was a piece of ancient technology that pre-dated the Bedlam.  It was rediscovered over a couple of decades ago.  Most people used them to listen to music or the latest current events from their local marconi station.

A two-way marconi was fairly new, and it would allow the camp to communicate with home, even when the phone cables weren’t available.  One of the workers was even talking about the idea of having every Colossus train equipped with them, so engineers could keep up to date with each other.

Sounded pretty smart.  It kind of made me wonder why no one thought of it before.

We passed through the second tunnel, and I thought I noticed a flash of light on the tunnel wall as we passed.  I asked about it, and a freckle-faced rail worker smiled as he explained.

“Oh yeah, happens all the time,” Freckles said.  “We bore through the rock and sometimes we run into veins of minerals—just some low quality quartz, nothing special.”

“And if it was…special,” I inquired.

“Well, I guess I’d be a miner instead of a rail worker,” he laughed.

I guess.

As the hours went by, and it started to pass Noon, I saw some billowing black smoke rising over the forest, and I assumed we were nearly there.  The looks on the faces of the workers said another story; they murmured between each other, voices filled with concern.

“What’s up,” I asked one of the older workers.  “I’m assuming the smoke means we’re getting close to the work camp, right?”

“Yeah, but somethin’s not right,” the old-timer said.  “Smoke’s all wrong.”

“How so?”

“If’n it was the engine, it’d be a reg’lar plum o’ smoke,” he told me.  single line, nice n’ steady.  This here?  This ain’t right.”

A cold feeling crept over me—the kind that said we were going into something bad (the only kind I get).  I double-checked my hand cannon, just in case.

The sight before us wasn’t a work camp.  It was a disaster area.

Quonset huts were either flattened, scorched, or flattened and scorched.  Heavy equipment had been ripped apart or, in a few cases, thrown across the forest like a discarded toy.  The massive cars of the colossus train looked to be all derailed, and in some cases totally ripped open.  Some were still on fire due to what they held.

The workers on the flat-top debarked as soon as they came to a halt, and I joined the throng.  Everywhere there were dead and wounded, and attempts to help shelter the latter.

Questions were followed by confused answers.  Whatever had happened went down in the dead of night, and those that were able were giving all sorts of answers.

But I knew the sight all too well, even if we were deep in a forest instead of a city:  This place got hit, and hit hard.

[kristellebatchelor-blog]

Imminent worry and distress: how I’ve been dealing with anxiety

*Note: The objective of this post is to discuss how I’ve dealt and still dealing with anxiety. This is me gradually learning more of it and my own emotions. I do not intend to speak negatively about any one or any matter.

I’ve been dealing with anxiety even before I knew of the condition. I had a teacher back in the 6th grade who, I believe, had bad blood towards me. I was around 11 and can’t exactly recall anymore what transpired but I remember how she used to say unpleasant things about me, both directly and behind my back. This stretched through most of the school year. I intentionally skipped a handful of school days because I dreaded seeing her and it derailed me from performing normal functions, even academically. What made matters even worse is how she would speak-ill about me in front of the entire class whenever I’m away. I particularly carried this through high school, college, and even now that I’m working. I always feel people are talking behind me or something bad’s going to happen in my absence. I make up scenarios in my head and can’t relax until I go back and prove nothing bad happened.

In retrospect, my anxiety probably stemmed from how I can’t accept negative judgment from people.  For a time, I blamed myself for feeling that way, thinking if only I were more careful with my movements or what I say, people would accept me more. Few researches prior writing this post led me to discover the term social anxiety. 

Socialphobia.org defines social anxiety as the fear of social situations that involve interaction with other people. You could say social anxiety is the fear and anxiety of being negatively judged and evaluated by other people. It is a pervasive disorder and causes anxiety and fear in most all areas of a person's life. It is chronic because it does not go away on its own. Only direct cognitive-behavioral therapy can change the brain, and help people overcome social anxiety.

Come high school, I transferred to a new school and had to take mandatory summer classes as required for newcomers. In the beginning, I was slightly bullied (although now that I think of it, it was all too petty and quite funny) and I remember crying at home, thinking I'd rather not push through. I was this close from running back to my old school instead. Again, I refused to be okay with the fact that people can’t accept me.

I wasn’t that anxious in the latter years, mainly because I chose to kept my circle small. Ironically, I don’t have any problem dealing with large groups of people or performing in front of a crowd. In fact, I was pretty active in extra-curricular and even made a budding career out of hosting school events.

The early years of college were also fine. I went through a brief phase of apathy for most things where I was passive and just went with the flow. But I reached the peak of my social anxiety when I started courtside reporting on TV in my junior year.

Don’t get me wrong. It was the best and still the best part of my life so far. But such overwhelming experience also entails backlashes. With the obvious price that comes with fame, my anxiety reached a whole new high. At least for my first few games, I would tremble to check social media, always, always anticipating that people would have something bad to say about me. While this was true at times, I overthought the idea and it carried on for a while, robbing me off the chance to enjoy the experience to the fullest. I loved being in front of the camera and being able to do what I love the most but sadly, my anxiety was pulling me down.

I was able to relax come my second year of courtside reporting. After one too many pep talk, from people and with myself, I’ve learned to accept that you really just can’t please everybody and if I want to continue the job, I have to ignore the background noise. It was the best decision I made back then for I got to relish the job more than before.

Post-college, my social anxiety relapsed in a microlevel, this time with personal relationships with the people around me. I would be uneasy while I’m out and supposedly having a good time with whoever because of this ridiculous idea that I am needed somewhere else or that I need to fix an unknown problem. It was weird and even now, I couldn’t make sense out of it.

Now the whole inner state of turmoil prolonged when I migrated to the US. Oh, boy. I wouldn’t even dare narrate vividly how bad it was my first few months. Let’s just say I had a difficult time sleeping, eating, and interacting with people. I acted queer and very unlike me. I would skip events and even things I usually enjoy. Depression played a part but anxiety didn’t leave the picture. I should know because I had these recurring symptoms especially with how I felt detached from myself and reality.

My anxiety also resulted in paranoia. I would always assume people would be angry with every single thing that I do so I have to be extra careful. If I don’t, I’d beat myself so bad about it. The palpitations, sweating, chest pains, and tingling sensations choked me.

I had a little relief when I decided to go home to Manila and regroup my migrating decisions. I worked in corpo for a while and somehow got anxious with the tight working cycle, too. But the good news is, I’ve overturned it in the late part of 2016.

Unconsciously, I made an effort to avoid anxiety this whole year and I’ve successfully did so. I also noticed I rarely overthink now. It’s probably distancing myself away from some things that make me anxious. I admit it’s playing safe but I owe it to myself and for my own inner peace.

However, just recently, something unfortunate happened and triggered my anxiety again. It’s as if it’s a strange, new feeling after several months of not experiencing it. I racked my brain for previous coping mechanisms and tried my best to relax but the anxiety wouldn’t easily go away. I messaged a dear friend and told her I feel like I’m drowning and that I don’t want to be myself at that point. 

A couple of nights ago, I prayed to my patron St. Jude before going to sleep, asking him to pacify me. St. Jude answers hopeless cases and I have proven his mercy many times before. Living alone in some place far away from home is moreover making this anxiety harder than usual and I know I can’t just eradicate it easily. Still, I prayed that I can manage it and I can rise above it.

Yesterday, I also messaged our pastor from church and opened up about my anxiety. I think it’s the first time I truly ever painted a picture of how bad anxiety gnaws me and how I want to get rid of the feeling. She called me over the phone and we prayed together. By the end of the conversation, I felt more at ease.

I’d like to share this bible verse for anyone going through the same:

Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus. Finally, brothers and sisters, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things. Whatever you have learned or received or heard from me, or seen in me—put it into practice. And the God of peace will be with you. - Philippians 4:6-9

Even while writing this, I still have this lump in my chest and gibberish running in my head but I’m hoping this would turn out to be therapeutic. I haven’t given my anxiety much regard in the past and I realized it is also important to embrace the ugly characteristics of ourselves because it can ultimately help us prevail through. I recall a conversation I had with a friend early this year, on how he went through anxiety disorder and had to take some medications. As he was explaining it to me, I was trying to put myself in his shoes albeit knowing I can’t grasp the entirety of his condition. Some people always have it worse, they say. The best way to aid anyone undergoing anxiety is to be supportive and not brush it off. There’s a stigma that if only we “relax” or not “overthink,” anxiety would easily die down. I wish that’s how things work but really, it’s beyond that.

Ending this post, I can’t impart any solution because I’m still going through it myself. The only thing I would say, though, is to help yourself because healing starts within us. Finding a support group and seeking medical help should you think it’s necessary would also do.

Here’s to hoping we could win over the demons in our heads.

[strangetalesofnumenera]

Partoss

A light fog rolled off of the river in the cool morning air as Arkwiss checked the straps holding the exploratory party’s supplies to the top of the crawler one final time. He reached out telepathically to Id, the mechanical man who operated the vehicles’ engine as he hopped down into the hatch.

Hey, Id, are you about ready?

Affirmative boss. Refueling is complete. We can now run for approximately one full solar year without interruption if we need to.

Arkwiss looked to Almsqu. sitting at the very rear of the vehicle. Any time they got off, she would be the first one out, checking the area and ensuring it would be a safe spot for the group of villagers they had brought. Every time they climbed back on, she would be the last one to board, providing security until everyone was safe. She was fiddling with her cyphers, checking and rechecking that everything in her tool belt was exactly where she wanted it, adjusting the placement of her pouches, searching for that ever-illusive balance of perfect accessibility and comfort in their placement. He smiled at her, though she didn’t see.

Nir, you’re our pilot today. The call is yours.

The response from the eager adolescent was quick, enthusiastic. A bit more then Arkwiss was comfortable with. Alright. Id, fire it up, let’s do this.

As the engine spun up to a whine beyond the limits of human hearing, Arkwiss admonished his daughter. This isn’t training, and it isn’t for fun. Your primary concern needs to be the safety of our guests. Take it slow, take it smooth. You know how to do this, and I trust you, but don’t let your eagerness take over.

Okay, father. You can count on me.

The six people in the rear of the vehicle were all thrown together as it lurched to a start. The visitors had never been in anything like the crawler before and let out whoops and squeals of delight. As the rolled toward the supposedly accursed valley, Arkwiss let them take turns standing up out of the hatch, watching the land roll by at a speed none of them even knew was possible.

Eventually, after a circuitous route forced on them by the nature of the crawler (one of the passengers joked that it should be called the runner because it moved so fast), they arrived at the Valley of Sins.

Arkwiss had Nir stop for a moment so that they group could climb atop the vehicle and get a better view. Almsqu pulled a flat, square object made of some form of transparent synth slightly larger than her hand from her pack. She swiped a single finger across its surface very carefully before tossing it into the air, where it flew off down into the valley.

Nir, are you getting the view from the cartographer?

I see it.

Good, chart us a course into the base of the valley. We’re looking for anything that looks like it might contain anything useful. In particular, keep your eyes open for any caves or ruins.

Will do.

Arkwiss let the group marvel at the sight for another moment, during which Almsqu sidled up to him.

“It is quite the romantic view, isn’t it?”

He looked into her eyes for a moment, then leaned over and kissed her lightly, drawing “ooh” noises from the other four members of the expedition.

“Okay, guys, I think that’s enough ogling. Let’s hop back in and get going. We’ve got a long day ahead of us and I want to be done and on our way back before the sun is halfway to the other horizon.”

Arkwiss and Almsqu smiled at each other like lovestruck juveniles while the group returned to their seats. When everyone was back in, the crawler set off again. They had made it a little more than halfway down the side of the valley when Arkwiss spotted a cave through the trees and had Nir bring it to a halt.

Nir, Id, wait here and keep the crawler running. We want to be able to leave in a hurry if necessary.

Got it, boss.

Will do, dad.

A low mist clung to the ground as the six numenera hunters dismounted. The entrance to the cave loomed, a disembodied maw among the trees.

As they grew closer, Almsqu moved out ahead of the group. “Halt,” she hissed, her voice barely above a whisper. “I smell something.” She closed her eyes and tilted her head. “Arkwiss, I’m going to go in, wait here until I get back.”

“Okay, I’ll be ready if you need help. Just let me know.”

The seeker nodded and stepped into the opening as Arkwiss got the rest of the group organized. The air inside was damp, warmer than the season would indicate. A rancid smell assaulted her nose, prompting Almsqu to wrap a piece of cloth around her mouth and nose. Not far inside, the cave dog-legged left, cutting off the light from outside. As she pulled a torch from her pack, she noticed a faint amber glow that seemed to emanate from behind the rocks in the wall.

She grabbed a small pick from a sheath on her belt and chiseled away a small chunk of stone. Behind it, the wall appeared to be made of synth, with strange symbols glowing in amber on it. Hammering away at the stone revealed a small panel in the wall. Almsqu carefully removed it, slipping it into her pack and putting the pick away.

The stench grew more powerful the further she delved into the tunnel. A few hundred feet and another bend in the tunnel brought her to a dead end.

A loud thump spun her around.

Tusks framed an eyeless face towering about her. The ravage bear sniffed at the air, then lowered its head and roared, lumbering into a charge.

Almsqu ducked at the last minute, diving between the monster’s massive legs. It slid into the wall as it tried to turn to follow her. She ran as fast as she could, trying and failing to grab a cypher from her belt. It’s breath was hot on the back of her neck as she exited the cave, shouting a warning to her companions outside. She cut sharp to the left with a tuck and roll, twisting herself back toward the beast as she did.

The maneuver confused the animal long enough for Almsqu to take stock of the situation and pull out the detonation cypher she had tried to grab earlier.. Arkwiss was already engaged with another ravage bear, and a third lay dead on the ground.

She activated the cypher as the animal bore down upon her, throwing it at it’s face and leaping behind a tree. The explosion pushed her across the ground until she slammed into a root. By the time she picked herself up, the final ravage bear had been dealt with. She walked back to the group to survey the damage.

One man was dead, impaled on the tusk of the first dead beast, another was bleeding profusely from a horrific gash in his abdomen. The woman, Axiri, lay unconscious where she had been thrown into a tree, but appeared otherwise unhurt. The final member of the team appeared unhurt.

Arkwiss was tired, but aside from a few minor scrapes and bruises, fine.

Id, Nir, we have wounded, bring the crawler, that explosion cleared a path for you to back up over here.

On our way, father.

The crawler pulled around to where they were as Almsqu provided aid to the wounded man and Arkwiss woke the unconscious woman and helped her back to her feet. They loaded the two casualties onto the vehicle, then turned back toward the cave.

“There are cyphers in there, we just have to work for them,” Almsqu stated, pulling the panel from her pack. “If there were any more ravage bears in there, they would have come out during the fight. It will be clear now, and we need those devices.”

Arkwiss nodded his agreement. “Okay, guys, let’s get to work grab as many as you can carry.”

Reluctantly, the other two followed. They spent several otherwise uneventful hours digging, chipping away the the stone, and peeling numenera from the underlying machinery. When their packs were full, the group went back to the crawler.

The ride back to Ellomyr that afternoon was quiet, everybody very conscious of the dead man on the floor, and the second man who might not make it.

Their return was met with cheers and celebration that quickly turned to grief and fear as the body was off-loaded from the crawler. As soon as it was clear, Id emerged from his place in the engine to help the dying man as much as possible, and Nir crawled into the back to assist. A few of the newcomers to Ellomyr were trained as chirurgeons and medics; a runner went to round them up.

Id worked into the evening with the others in what was ultimately a failing effort to save the wounded man. The automaton didn’t know the exhaustion evident on the faces of the others, but he recognized their grief, even if his machine parts didn’t allow him to express it visually.

After parting way with the other healers, he went to get himself clean of the blood. He hated death. It was always such an unnecessary, messy thing. He’d heard of different ways that humans had come up with over the years to avoid it. One of the most fascinating was the story of a man in a nation to the East who called himself the Changing God. Most such stories were only that, little more than rumor, but he would never understand why flesh-and-blood beings didn’t just figure out how to stop dying.

That’s why he made medicines and other useful cyphers.

By the time he had finished cleaning himself, Arkwiss and Almsqu had gone to sleep, but not before thanking him for his efforts. They would figure out what everything that they had found was in the morning. Nir should also have been in bed, but she complained to him that she couldn’t sleep because she kept seeing the dead men every time she closed her eyes.

Id invited her to sit with him in the cool night air, where he regaled her with stories of gods and demons, heroes and villains. He told the stories of the constellations and the myths about them. All stories he had learned from the Datasphere.

As the first glow of morning started to tinge the horizon, Id realized Nir was snoring lightly, leaning against him. Gently he carried her to her bed, careful not to wake her, then grabbed the packs from the previous day.

There was no time to wait to identify the cyphers. The margr horde was coming.

A few days after the fateful journey to the Valley of Sin, the town gathered before the Trilling Shard to hold a memorial for their fallen residents. It seemed like all of the village’s almost 200 original residents had turned out to pay their respects. Arkwiss felt like everybody was watching him—judging him—as speaker after speaker stood up and said their piece about the dead. He didn’t blame them. They had taken him in, welcomed him and his strange family, and given him their trust, and he’d failed them. A few of the newcomers offered kind words to him and Almsqu, mostly those who had experienced this kind of thing before.

Nir had disappeared somewhere with her new friend, the curious little mutant who’d arrived with the self-proclaimed knight, but he didn’t mind. The nano knew that she understood death from a logical perspective, but this was the first time she had really had to deal with it, and it had been a brutal experience for her first time.

When the last speaker had finished—one of the men’s wives—he looked over at Almsqu, who gave his hand a squeeze, silently encouraging him to face the crowd.

Pushing his way to the front, Arkwiss stoically climbed onto the hurriedly assembled stage. The crowd grew silent as he gathered his thoughts, staring down at the elaborate woodcarving that Dora Redmire had made to honor the two men. At long last, he looked out at the crowd. He scanned their faces, many of which he knew from those peaceful first couple of months after his arrival here. There were plenty more that he didn’t know, however. Newcomers who had been drawn here, called to this place serendipitously at the same time, arriving just when the aldeia needed them the most. He had worked with a few of them on the towns defenses, but most were still strangers. He spotted his daughter with Ro and one of Dora’s boys—her oldest? She had so many it was hard to keep track—sitting on the roof of the Redmire home.

He cleared his throat. “I’ve been trying to think of the proper words to say, but I really don’t have any that wouldn’t tell you anything about these two men that you don’t already know. My family and I have only been a part of this community a few short months, but in that time, we have been welcomed into this community with open arms. From the moment Kyrn said ‘Welcome to Ellomyr’ this community has shown us what that word meant.

“In return, we promised to use our skills and abilities to help where we could. At first, that meant hunting, working the fields, making medicine, and fixing roofs. But than Nieten returned from a hunt, and with her came more newcomers, and word of a demon army massing near the town.

“Suddenly, our skills became much more relevant.

“We’ve tried to do what we can to protect this community and help it prepare, but that comes as little consolation to those of you who lost your friends, husbands, sons. So what I will offer is this: their sacrifice was not in vain. The devices that we recovered during the expedition are already being put to use bolstering our defenses. They’ve allowed us to increase the range that the watchtowers can see, set up remote communications between defensive locations, and create energy fields to protect the shelters being constructed as refuge for those who cannot fight. So now it is up to us to honor that sacrifice by doing what people have done since time immemorial, through the rise and fall of the eight worlds that came before, and survive, live, and tell our children of the heroes who bravely gave their lives that we might continue.”

Arkwiss didn’t know how to finish, so he let those final words hang in the air as he stepped down from the stage to find Almsqu waiting for him. As the lovers embraced, another of the newcomers took the stage, the strange mechanical man who had taken it upon himself to be the town’s hero. Arkwiss was tempted to try to prevent him from speaking, but that wasn’t his place, so he deferred to the democracy of mob rule. The crowd would decide if they wanted to listen to what Hiero Sol had to say.

As for them, Arkwiss and Almsqu decided to take the opportunity to break free of the crowd and return home.

A short, sharp whistle brought Almsqu to a stop, raising a hand to signal the others. She looked up, searching for her daughter amongst the branches. Nothing but the soft rustling of branches as the girl climbed higher. She knocked an arrow to her bow and took a knee, indicating to the others that they should do the same.

Nieten duck-walked up beside her. “What’s going on?”

“I’m not sure. Nir whistled to stop. She’s gone higher to get a better view.”

“Okay, I’m going to relay to the others. Let me know when she gets back.”

Nir returned after a few minutes, dropping silently from the tree next to her mother. Almsqu signalled to the others, who circled around the small mound of dirt and twigs the girl was making.

“This is us,” she said, pointing with a knife at a spot near the edge of the twigs. “The trees end about here.” The knife indicated another spot, not far away. “There’s a group of margr just inside the treeline. The way they were moving made it hard to get a count, but it is definitely more than we can handle. A couple of dozen at least.”

“That’s what I saw.” Nir looked at the group. “What’s worse is what I heard. The land looks like it just drops off, probably into a valley, right about here.” She indicated a spot not far beyond the treeline. “I couldn’t see down into it from where I was, but it sounded like the entire horde might be down there.”

Nieten nodded, thinking. “Gilthk, do you think you can burrow your way there and see what’s what?” The diruk nodded. “Good. Just in and out. Poke your head out, see what’s in the valley, come back. Don’t be a hero; don’t be seen. We’re going to take hide up in the branches, but we’ll only wait an hour. If you aren’t back by then, we have to assume the worst, understand?”

Gilthk gave another nod and a hand gesture that he understood before disappearing. Nieten gestured to the trees towering above them. “Let’s climb up. The margr won’t be able to get us up there if they come this way.”

Nir and Almsqu led the way, followed by Biris, Dora Redmire’s son, Cacer, the strange visitant explorer, and Nieten, who went last. As the motley group settled in, Nir scouted ahead, her extra arms providing her an advantage as she moved from one tree to the next.

Almsqu took up a perch next to Nieten. “Things have changed quite a bit since we arrived in the crawler and you warned us of the Iron Wind, haven’t they?”

“Yes. I should have listened to Dora and Brucha. They knew what they were talking about and I called them fools. At least I suppose people will stop asking me to lead to town.”

“Perhaps. If that is what you want, I am sure that you could allow yourself to become just another face in the crowd with the number of newcomers who’ve arrived. Eventually, I am sure Arkwiss and I will move on, and we would be happy to have you, should you choose to join us. But I don’t think so. Over the past months, we’ve seen you accept where you were wrong. We’ve seen you grow and become the leader that your people always knew you could be. You’ve been leading the town’s defense efforts since the moment you saw the first group of margr and jumped in to help battle them off. I think you’re exactly what this town needs in a leader, and I just wanted to let you know that I’m grateful for everything you do.”

With a smirk, she added one final thought. “Besides, the Iron Wind is still out there. It is still a threat.”

Nieten chuckled and hugged her friend. The two had become close in the past months, spending many days scouting and hunting, and Nieten had been teaching Nir how to use a sword, something neither of the girl’s parents knew how to do.

It wasn’t much longer before Nir returned, followed shortly by Gilthk. The group climbed down from where they had been perched when the rock-man emerged from the ground, forming a circle around him and the impromptu diagram Nir had made earlier.

The diruk grabbed six pebbles, indicating to the group that the small stones represented them. He placed the rocks in a small circle near one edge of the dirt hill Nir had constructed, then reached down, scooping out a deep trench that circled half way around the mound. Into the trench he began to pour small rocks, until it was filled with hundreds, if not thousands, of pebbles, and still they fell from his hand.

Nieten nodded. “This can only mean that the margr are upon us. Diruk, you are our best bet for warning the village. I need you to tunnel back to them. Do not stop for anything until you have reached the watchtower. Let them know what you saw, and that we are coming as fast as we can.”

Gilthk nodded and disappeared once more into the ground. “Okay, everyone, weapons ready, we run until we reach the town, but we stick together.”

Everyone drew their weapons, recognizing what was at stake, and what failure could mean.

And they ran.

The margr seemed to come from nowhere. Ten of the towering, hairy abhumans emerged from the trees ahead of the group as they ran.

Wasting no time, Cacer fired a bolt from her crossbow that caught one of the beasts in the throat, nearly tearing its head off. as Almsqu fired an arrow that flew clean through one to embed itself in the face of the one behind it. At the same time, Nir brought her hands together, loosing a flash of energy. It seemed to have no effect until a third just stopped where it was, eyes rolling into the back of its head and blood trickling from its nose, ears, and eyes, and crumpled to the ground.

Six on five were much favorable odds as the creatures closed the distance, but Nieten was the only true fighter with Gilthk travelling ahead.

The lead abhuman lifted a nasty-looking spear and roared something in a choking, guttural language that sounded more animal than human. The rest of the group spread out, surrounding the small band of scouts.

It was a short-lived victory, however, as the other brought around the bone club it carried to hit her in the side. She felt ribs crack from the force, and the wind was blasted out of her. Coughing and gasping for breath, she expected to die.

Nir charged the nearest, deftly dodging the things spear as she grabbed it’s legs. She only came up to its stomach, but height only mattered when an opponent was on its feet, and her four limbs made quick work of toppling it. The thing swatted at her as she climbed atop it, sending her flying, her ears ringing, but not before she managed to bury her knife in it’s chest and leaving it to choke as its lungs filled with blood.

Cacer slung her crossbow and drew a sword. It wasn’t her preferred weapon, but she didn’t have time just now to spend reloading as one of the smaller—relatively speaking—of the margr charged, spear out, in an attempt to impale the Outsider. She stepped deftly to the side at the last minute, swatting the hideous-looking weapon away as she drew her opponent’s measure. Enraged at the maneuver, it spun, quickly changing its momentum to follow the spear. Coming around in a long, sweeping arc, Cacer was surprised by its speed and agility, and took the weapon through and arm as she tried to dodge. Thinking itself victorious, the margr let go of the spear to try and grab it’s prey, but Cacer, recognizing her opportunity was ready, cutting the things arms off when it got too close.

Almsqu quickly fitted another arrow to her bowstring and let fly, not even taking the time to aim. It grazed one of the margr, who howled with pain and surprise as two of the beast-men closed in on her. She dove between the two, twisting her body as she did to come up facing them, already nocking another arrow. The surprise move worked, and the two stopped where they were until they realized she was behind them. It didn’t take long, but it was more than long enough for her to fire the arrow up into the chest of one. The arrow impacted with such force that it lifted the abhuman to its toes and sent it tumbling into the other, throwing that one off balance. The explorer wasted no time flipping the bow around and smacking the second one across the face with all of her might. It made a wet popping noise as it connected, and the creature fell over, half of its skull caved in.

Nieten found herself face-to-face with the largest of their enemies. It stood nearly a head taller than she, and was covered head to toe in tawny, matted fur. It lifted its spear cautiously as the experienced warrior fell into a fighting stance. The hunter recognized her danger; this margr was smarter than the others and would not be easily taken down, and knew she had to finish the fight quickly. A quick feint to the left failed to fool it, and she quickly realized that it was following her weapon and not her, giving her an idea. It was a stupid idea—a really, really stupid idea, she had to admit—but it was her only one against an opponent so much larger and faster than her.

Nieten threw her prized, glass sword into the air.

The gamble paid off as the margr’s attention followed it up. Quickly, the warrior drew a long hunting knife and plunged it under the creature’s chin.

Biris was the least experienced of the group. Truth was, he’d never fought anything bigger than his siblings. He’d done some training with Hiero and a few of the other newcomers, but it became quickly apparent that he was out of his league as one of the margr approached him. He wondered for a moment if the beast wasn’t laughing at him as it approached. He raised his spear defensively and fell into a fighting stance like Hiero had taught, but the thing deftly avoided his strike as he stabbed at it and grabbed the tip of the weapon. The boy tried to pull his weapon from the monster’s grasp, but it held firm, and used the inexperienced fighter’s momentum to send him flying into a tree close to where Nir was just standing back up.

Biris watched in horror as the thing flipped the weapon around let fly at the four-armed visitant. Without thinking, he pushed himself up, leaping for the projectile. His inexperience cost him as he missed his target, instead taking the spear through his chest for his efforts.

Nieten pulled the knife from her opponent just in time to watch Biris go down. Screaming in fury, she charged at the  unprepared abhuman, grabbing her sword as it came back down. The vicious creature spun around with surprising speed to face her, but not fast enough as she brought her sword down in an overhand chop that cleaved its head in two, killing it before it had time to register that it was dead.

Nir was the closest to their fallen comrade and dropped to a knee next to him. Thankfully, the spear had missed his heart, and he was still alive. She could hear the blood filling his lungs with every breath. Before she could call to the others for help, though, another horrifying sound filled the air, accompanied by a vision none of them would ever forget: dozens more margr, making a strange clicking, popping noise, were coming over the hill that the group had just come from like an approaching flood.

The companions tightened up together and waited for the same death that would surely destroy their town.

A strange tugging sensation and a shout of pain from Nir drew their attention away from the approaching horde. Nir was on the ground hunched over, her face inches from the dirt. One of her arms supported her off the ground, while two clutched her head as though she had a nasty headache. It was the fourth arm, however, that was interesting outstretched toward a strange image of a grey field under a swirling sky just hanging there, suspended in the air like a painting. The image was one of the strangest sights any of them had ever seen. Any but one, however. Cacer recognized the Door immediately for what it was.

“Hurry everybody,” urged the strange woman, “our young companion has provided us a means of escape, I suggest we take it.” The others looked dubious. She urged them to hurry and stepped through, not entirely sure what she would find on the other side.

Almsqu and Nieten looked at each other for just a moment before moving. The warrior reached down and grabbed the wounded Biris as she stepped through, while Almsqu grabbed her daughter.

From the other side, they looked back at the oncoming horde as the portal closed behind them, sealing them into the strange place. Nir had lost consciousness, blood trickling from her ears and nose, and Almsqu laid her gently on the soft, grey ground, as Nieten did her best to help Biris.

“Cacen, where are we? You know what it was that just happened, don’t you?” Almsqu moved to stand next to Cacen. The landscape ahead of them was flat and a uniform grey color. Each step felt like walking on a think carpet of moss, or a firm mattress filled with feathers. Their sky was manifest chaos; just swirling eddies absent even the nothingness of the darkest black. Even the two seasoned adventurers felt like that death at the hands of the margr was a preferable fate to whatever waited for them in the chaos above their heads.

“I don’t know. Outside, somewhere, I believe.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because it was an opening like that one that brought me to your world.”

Almsqu looked at her sideways, “you mean you come from another world?”

“Yes, one outside of your understanding of reality. I have been searching for a way to return, but it eludes me.”

“But it didn’t have anything to do with Nir, right?”

“No, I have been on your world for quite some time.”

Almsqu nodded. “So you don’t know how to get us home?” Nieten joined the conversation as she stepped over to them.

“No. I would guess that Nir is the only way that to happen.”

“I see. Well, I’ve made the boy as comfortable as I can. It will be a miracle if he lives.”

“Don’t disregard the power of the people still in Ellomyr. I don’t doubt that someone could save his life.” The group grew silent at the mention of the town, unsure if it would even still be there when they returned.

Eventually, the group managed to get a bit of sleep.

It was Nir’s voice that woke everybody. She was panicked, trying to scream but unable to make enough noise as she looked at the sky. Almsqu, Nieten, and Cacer followed her gaze upward, recoiling in horror at what they saw.

The sky was alive. Some sort of creatures, either too small or too far to make out any detail, swarmed like a cloud boiling in from the horizon. Deep in their midst, something lay hidden, just beyond the edge of perception, more of an impression which their minds could not comprehend than an actual observable thing. All they knew, gazing at it’s terrifying approach, was that it was hungry.

Almsqu grabbed Nir by the shoulders as the things grew ever closer, spinning her daughter to face her instead of the oncoming doom. “Nir, love, don’t look. What we need is for you to help get us out of here, okay?” The girl nodded in understanding. “Good, do you remember what you did to bring us here?” Another nod. “Can you do it again to get us home?”

Nir nodded a third time, closing her eyes and stepping away from her mother. “Okay, I can do this, mother. Just give me a minute to find the right Key.”

Almsqu looked at her quizzically, not understanding what she meant, but stepped aside anyway, trusting her daughter’s ability. When blood started trickling from the visitant’s ears and nose, Almsqu had to sublimate her urge to  protect her child by making her stop doing…whatever it was she was doing. Her trust paid off though, when the girl reached out with two hands, as though she were gripping a pair of door handles. It might have been their imaginations, or the sound of the oncoming swarm, but they almost swore they heard an audible click as Nir turned her hands and gave a slight push, opening another portal.

This time, they were looking at home.

Almsqu turned to her companions. The creatures were nearly upon them now; she could make them out, like hideous insects, all legs, fluttering wings, and chittering mandibles. “The way is open! Hurry!”

Nieten and Cacer grabbed Biris as they rushed toward the exit, pulling each other along in their stumbling panic as they fled. Once they were through the location, Almsqu put an arm around Nir.

“Okay, they’re through. Time for us to go.”

The girl seemed impervious to outside events, like she had become unaware of anything that was not the portal. Almsqu pushed and forced her through the opening as the things grew ever nearer, finally tripping through it to fall flat on her face in the shade of the Trilling Shard.

The group only had a few moments to relish the fact that the town still stood before realizing that they didn’t make it through alone. One of the creatures flew through immediately after the mother and daughter team. Almsqu, Nieten, and Cacer each drew their weapons, forming a tight ring as the thing flew in circles around them, looking for an opportunity to move in for a killing blow. A couple of times it tried to make a move toward one of the children lying prone, but each time the three warrior women moved to intercept.

After a few moments, Nir pushed herself up to her hands and knees, and shot a look of pure hatred at the beast. She screamed a stream of obscenities her mother wasn’t even aware that she knew as she pushed herself to her feet. Then, with an evil look on her face, she screamed at it, reached up a hand, and twisted.

The front half of the insectoid thing didn’t appear to register for a moment that it’s rear half was gone. After a moment, though, it’s brain caught up to the rest of it, and the part that was still flying fell dead to the ground. Nir followed it down, falling drained to a kneeling position.

Dora Redmire came rushing out of her house, screaming at the sight of her son.

“Dora. Dora!” Nieten yelled into her face, getting her to pay attention. “Hey, we need to get some help for Biris or he is going to die. Run and fetch a healer and bring them back here. We have to go report in, so it’s up to you.” When Dora didn’t move Nieten put her face just inches from the older woman’s and screamed, “Go! Now!”

That seemed to sink in, and the woman turned and fled in search of a healer for her son. Nieten turned to the others. “Something is off. We’ve been gone hours. The attack should have happened by now. We need to go find the defense and figure out what is going on here.” The woman turned and headed off in the direction of the watchtower.

Cacer looked down at Nir inscrutably, “When the danger has passed, we shall speak more of your power, should we both still live.” She followed Nieten in the direction of the watchtower.

“Nir,” the young visitant looked up at her mother, “I need you to listen to me.” Almsqu moved to a discolored brick in the low wall surrounding the obelisk. Removing it revealed a steel and synth rope connected at the other end to a hidden door in the ground. When she had pulled it open to reveal a ladder descending into the darkness, she continued. “There’s shelter and safety in the tunnels under the city. When the attack begins, Gurner Fron is going to be bringing the children, the sick, and the old to hide down here until its over. They’re going to need you to protect them if the margr get in.”

“But I’m supposed to help you on the walls.” “I know that’s where you want to be, but this is where we need you. Please, there is nobody else who do this., Hiero said he’s going to send Ro to help you, okay?”

Nir started to protest, but stopped herself. Protesting would accomplish nothing, and if this were the plan, then she was needed here. “Okay. I’ll do it. We need to wait for everyone else to get in before we send Biris down, though. We don’t want any of the other children stepping on him when they go down.”

Almsqu nodded. “You’re going to have to get Ro or one of the others to help you, then. I have to get to the walls. Can you handle that? Are you good?”

Nir nodded, looking up at her mother with tears in her eyes. As the strange girl held back the terror, Almsqu thought about just what it was what was asking of her daughter. There was no time to get sentimental as the two embraced, but the older woman kissed the younger on the forehead and stepped away.

“I will find you when the fighting is over. I promise. Just stay in the tunnels and you should be safe.”

With that, Almsqu followed their previous companions, unable to bring herself to look back.

As she departed, Nir made her way to Id’s store, just on the other side of the square.

He could hear them coming from his position atop the rampart. The clicking, chittering noise sent a shiver of discomfort down his spine. Scouts had reported first hearing the noise the day before, but it had become audible on the outskirts near his home that night, and by morning it was echoing through the town, sending the people into a frenzy of hurried, last-minute preparations, expecting an attack to come at any moment. For the first time, Arkwiss was grateful that Kelem and his group had left; the last thing anyone needed right now was someone causing a panic.

The nano-wizard stood near the massive numenera weapon that had been found in the Valley of Sin by one intrepid expedition. They, like his own voyage, had suffered losses, as had most of the journeys into the accursed place, but the thing they had found had validated the sacrifices of all those who had perished in the valley. He and a pair of the other sorcerers had figured out how to make it spit fire, ice, and lightning to great effect, and they would take turns operating it during the battle, ensuring that it saw continual use until it stopped working altogether.

One of the glaives, a promising young man who had proven himself a more than capable warrior and an even better strategist, had had the genius idea of mounting it atop the crawler, giving it both mobility and range. He had even volunteered to pilot the thing—he and Almsqu had agreed that Nir wouldn’t be anywhere near the fighting unless the battle went poorly, much less piloting the vehicle—and a few of the wrights had given it armor and a system that would allow it to run without Id at the controls, freeing his mechanical friend to put his own skills to use elsewhere.

It pained him that the battle would likely be the last time either of the machines would be useable, and he hated to see them used for such purposes, but it was a small price to pay to protect the lives of those he had grown close to over the past several months.

He reflected on everything he had seen and experienced in the time he had been in the village as he awaited the return of Almsqu and Nir with increasing anxiety. They had departed before the sun crested the eastern hills with a small team to try and determine how long they had before the margr horde fell upon the city in all of its horror. That was several hours ago, and he knew it might be several more before they returned, but that knowledge did nothing to allay his fear.

At one point, somebody brought him a few bits of gallen jerky, his allotted ration as the town braced itself for the worst, should it survive the coming days. He forced the food down, knowing he would need his energy for the battle to come, even though he was not hungry.

It was shortly after the sun had reached its zenith when the rumble of earth just inside the gate alerted him to the return of Gilthk. Not making any assumptions, but fearing the worst as the reason the diruk would return without the others, Arkwiss rushed to the stairs that led down from the palisade. He took them several at a time with his long, bounding strides, eager for news.

Using a combination of waving hand gestures, a pile of dirt covered in twigs, and pebbles, the alien explained what he had seen. The margr force was on the move, not far now from the town. Arkwiss let out the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding when the rock-person informed them that the rest of the reconnaissance party was on their way back, but that they had sent him ahead in case anything happened, so that the town would at least get the information.

When the debriefing had finished, runners were sent to alert the town to drop what they were doing and assume their assigned battle positions. Arkwiss had just returned to his position when Nieten and Cacer came from the direction of the Trilling Shard, followed a short distance behind by Almsqu.

Arkwiss rushed back down the stairs, again.

“What’s going on? Why have the margr not attacked?” Nieten’s query came as something of a surprise.

“Umm, because it hasn’t been that long. You guys haven’t been gone very long. It’s just past lunch, you were only out a few hours. Now, why are you coming from that way? I’ve been waiting for your return all morning.”

“That’s not possible, we were gone for nearly a full day. Your daughter seemed to open a door to another world, we rested there for several hours alone.”

Almsqu interrupted them. “Okay, it doesn’t matter. All that’s important is that we’ve arrived in time to warn you. Has Gilthk returned yet? We sent him ahead in case anything happened.

“Yes, he was just here, we’ve sent runners to spread word for everyone to get ready.”

Almsqu and Nieten nodded. while Cacer walked off in the direction of her position. Atop the wall, a young man whistled down at them; when they looked up, he was waving a signal torch.

Almsqu, Nieten, and Arkwiss ran up the steps as fast as they could and looked out at what had once been peaceful fields surrounding the aldeia, What they saw this time was one of the most terrifying things any of them had ever witnessed. In the distance still, but clearly visible now and drawing ever closer, was a teeming mass of fur, teeth, and crudely fashioned weapons.

The horde had arrived.

There had to be some extra medicine somewhere. Over the past couple of days, everything in Id’s little shop had been moved to strategic points in the defenses where it would be useful, but surely something remained. Nir searched every nook and cranny that she could think of to no avail. Finally, just as she was headed back to the square, she saw something poking out from behind a workbench.

Not worrying about breaking anything, she grabbed the table and tossed it aside, revealing the small spray emitter. It wasn’t exactly what she was looking for, but it would have to do.

Rushing back to where Biris lay, Nir wondered where in the world the healers were. Surely Dara had been able to find one by now?

Then she saw them. Gurner Fron and a small team of assisstants were leading a small army of children, the elderly, and those incapable of fighting right to where she was waiting.

“Nir! Than’ th’ numenera, you’re alive, chil’!” As the children began climbing down into the darkness, Gurner swept her up in a hug so fierce she almost dropped the device.

“It’s good to see you, too.” Nir returned the embrace, then pushed herself from his grasp and gestured to her fallen comrade. “Biris is hurt. Dara went to find a healer, but she hasn’t returned.”

“I’m sorry, girl, but there won’ be a healer. Th’ mar’r are here. All of th’ healers are takin’ there place with th’ defen’ers.”

“Skist,” muttered the girl, drawing a surprised look from the old man. “Fine, I suppose if that’s how it has to be. Once everyone is below, can you help me get him down?”

“Sure, we’ll do what it takes to keep him alive.”

“Thanks.” She turned and looked about at the commotion as people rushed to their positions. “Have you seen Ro? My mother said she was going to be coming to help.”

“No, I can’ say that I have. She’ll be here though, Hiero promis’ to sen’ her, an’ there are few men I trus’ to keep a promise more than that robot.”

Nir nodded at the old man, knowing that, if there was anyone she could trust absolutely to keep their word, it was Hiero Sol, Champion of Starlight and Defender of Humanity and Ro, the indomitable little mutant girl who had become  her closest friend.

When the last of the line had disappeared into the blackness of the tunnels, Nir grabbed Biris under the arms, while Gurner grabbed his legs. Together they dragged the young man to the hole and somehow managed to lower him down the ladder, pulling the door shut behind them with one last look around for Ro. The bottom of the tunnel smelled foul, and there was some sort of muck clinging to the bottom. Even the walls glistened a putrid green color in the light of the glow-globe someone had lit. Gathering the shirts from several of the older boys in the group, Nir improvised a matress and laid Biris down on his side the way Nieten had done, careful to keep him off of the slime that seemed to coat everything. She pulled out the little sprayer she had found in Id’s shop.

“Okay, Biris, I can’t promise this will work, and it will probably hurt, but it’s our best hope of keeping you alive until the fighting is done, okay?”

He nodded, barely conscious through the pain. Nir pulled back the bandage that Nieten had improvised. The wound underneath was an angry red, streaked through with ugly black bolts of lightning shooting out from the center. Almost immediately, thick black blood began to ooze out, and she could hear in his breathing as fluid began to pour into his punctured lung. The girl had seen medicine like what was in the device used before. It would emit a fine cloud of tiny machines that would  cover the wound and begin the healing process, all she had to do was spray it in the general vicinity of the injury and depress the trigger.

She shoved the tip into the wound as deep as she could and squeezed.

The response was nearly instant; the sound that came from Biris’ mouth could not accurately be described as a scream. Nir wondered if any human voice had ever made quite such a horrible sound before as she tried to hold the screeching, squirming boy steady with her four arms.

A couple of the other children—she thought they might be his siblings, but it was hard to tell in the dim light— offered to help. Together, they held him still long enough for her to finish administering the treatment. He passed out as she withdrew the tip of the sprayer and reapplied the bandage.

A few moments later, the creak of the door drew her attention up the ladder. Nir fell into a fighting stance as a small silhouette filled the opening.

“Wow, it is really dark down there. Are you there, Nir? Hiero sent me to help.”

Nir sighed with relief. “By the Shard, Ro! You terrified me, you beautiful slying seskii.”

The younger girl laughed as she climbed down, hugging her friend upon reaching the bottom. “I was beginning to get worried until I saw Cacer and Nieten. I knew that they wouldn’t just leave you behind.” “I’m fine,” replied Nir, pulling away and gesturing toward the wounded boy. “Biris is hurt, though. I gave him some medicine, but he needs a real healer.”

Ro nodded as Gurner Fron made his way back from somewhere down the tunnel. “Come on, everybody. There’s a safe room ahead for us t’ hide in. We got supplies aplen’y there.”

The pair gestured for him to lead, and Ro went with him, while Nir followed at the rear, carrying Biris and making sure none of the children fell behind. The tunnels seemed to wind for an impossibly long time, with other tunnels feeding more refugees into their group. Finally, the tunnels emerged out into a large underground cavern. The smooth walls and floor of the massive space were lined with synth; the roof held up by massive stone pillars. A constant low rumbling noise echoed in the space that someone identified as water flowing behind one of the walls in the back.

When everybody had made it inside, Gurner showed Ro and Nir how to close and seal the heavy metal door, then showed them to the cache of cyphers that had been hidden there in anticipation of their needs. Among the devices were a case of explosive devices, weapons including spears, daggers, clubs, and slings, even a handful of crossbows, a pair of large-scale shield generators, and even a pair of simple automata wielding nasty looking solid light swords and spears. The real prize, however, was a small, square piece of synth with a piece of glass covering one side. As soon as Nir picked it up, several projected images appeared in the air above it, revealing views of several different places where access to the tunnels could be obtained. By reaching out and twisting the image, she discovered that she could change the view between several different options showing different views of the tunnels. The weapons were passed out to the people hiding in the underground space. Few had ever held more than a knife, but Nir and Ro insisted anybody who could lift one received a weapon; any defense was better than no defense if the margr made it this far. Ro placed the shield generators where they would be able to block the doorway and prevent entry, giving two of the oldest children quick instructions on how to use them, and strict orders to activate them without question if they were told to do so—even if it meant trapping her and her friends outside.

After that, all there was to do was wait. Nir was tempted to tell Ro about the expedition, and the strange, horrible insects they had discovered in the strange place they had wound up, but it didn’t seem like the time. Instead, the two sat in silence just outside the door to the cavern, leaning on each other. The irony was not lost on either of them that the two had both been ostracized by the other youths, and were now likely their greatest hope for survival.

It didn’t take long for the sounds of battle to reach them. Dull, thudding explosions shook the tunnels and sent goopy chunks of dirt falling on the heads of those taking refuge. Not long after, it seemed, a more audible explosion echoed its way to them, followed by a snapping, popping noise. Nir and Ro readied themselves, waiting for the inevitable.

The first margr to come around the final corner caught an explosive cypher to its face. The thing’s head simply disappeared in a spray of blood and bone, and the energy from the blast set the two trailing it on fire. The flailing beastmen managed to set more of their brethren ablaze, stalling the onslaught long enough for the pair to activate the blade-wielding robots that someone had left for them, just in time for them to engage the rearmost members of the group, who had simply pushed the ones ahead of them on fire into the muck and trampled them in their drive to destroy.

The machines went about their work to great effect in the narrow passage. Nearly a score of the margr came over the tops of the smoldering corpses of their companions, but the automata cut them all down. The pair of machines ran out of power shortly after the last of their opponents was shut down, and simply stopped moving with weapons still outstretched. Nir attempted to dislodge the weapons they carried to no avail, but together, the pair  managed to position them where they thought it might create the biggest impediment to any more enemies that might be coming.

The young team barely had a moment to catch their breath when more of the creatures could be heard coming down the tunnels. Warning those inside the cavern to raise the shields if the margr arrived before they returned, they grabbed the case of explosives and set off toward the noise. As soon as the creatures saw them, they broke into a snarling charge. Blindly, they threw the weapons behind them as the ran back toward the cavern, knowing that every one was bound to hit the seething horde.

Helping each other along, the two mutants managed to put some distance between themselves and their foes by the time they reached the cavern, screaming ahead to alert those who were waiting for them. Moments after they made it through the opening, someone raised one of the energy shields, cutting one of the creatures neatly in half. The rest piled up against the barrier futilely, and everyone watched in horror as those closest to it were crushed to death by the pressing mob.

Nir turned to Ro, kneeling next to her small friend and looking her square in the eyes. “Ro, do you remember what I was doing when we first met?”

“You were practicing opening your Doors.”

“That’s right, it seems so long ago now, doesn’t it?” Ro nodded. “Do you remember why I was practicing with my Doors?”

“Of course, you wanted to use them to save the village.”

“Yeah. I can’t do that, but I can try to save the people in this cavern. In order to do that, though, I’m going you to help, okay?”

“What do you need?”

“I’m going to have to open a bigger door than I ever have before, and I’m going to need a much different key than before to do what I’m going to try to do, so I don’t know how long I’ll be able to keep it open. I need you to get everybody ready; as soon as it’s open you get them through as quickly as possible.”

“Okay, I can do that.” The younger girl set off, alerting the others to be ready and enlisting the help of those she thought would be of assistance.

Nir came running as the boy operating the shield generator hollered at her. The device was almost out of power and wouldn’t last much longer. She had him leave it and helped move the other device to the center of the room where Ro was gathering everybody. A pair of the older members of the group grabbed up weapons and what remained of the explosives and stood by the entrance, promising to do their best to hold back the swarm for as long as possible.

Thanking them for their sacrifice, Nir activated the second shield generator, raising a bubble of protective energy around the group. As the group watched, the first barrier collapsed, and the old couple immediately began hurling explosives through the portal.

Nir hugged Ro tightly. “Whatever happens, protect them, Ro. I trust you.”

Ro hugged her back, equally as hard, “we’re going to be fine. We have a plan, and if we stick to it, everything will be okay. It’s a good plan.”

Nir nodded as she took a step back and closed her eyes. Blood began to trickle from her nose and ears, even her eyes, as her forehead furled in concentration. After a few moments in which the group watched with horror the way the margr overtook the elderly couple, savagely ripping them apart, Nir raised her hands together. The whole cavern shook, bits of stone and muck falling from the ceiling, and the girl spread her hands, opening a hole in reality like a large set of double doors. Nir opened her eyes to see where she was sending them, giving a nod to her friend when she found herself looking down at the aldeia in the distance, a twisting spire rising up near its center. Flames burned in many parts of the town, but it was too far to make out any real details.

The cavern trembled, making it hard to stand for beast and refugee alike, as Ro wasted no time ushering the group through the opening. Children and elder ran screaming through as the shield generator collapsed. Rocks fell on the group as they pushed their way into the portal. Last through was Ro, pulling on one of Nir’s four arms.

The older girl had not yet made it through the portal when it vanished, leaving the young mutant holding no more than a severed hand.

Almsqu ran to the watchtower. The structure soared into the air. On a clear day, the most eagle-eyed of watchers said they could see out to where the world curved below the horizon. Her sight wasn’t that good, but she was perceptive in other ways, with almost an extra sense for danger and tactics that would prove useful.

When she reached the top, the veteran explorer fit the strange helmet over her head, buckling the strange mouthpiece over the lower half of her face and lowering the synth-glass visor. Someone had found the item in the Valley of Sins. The device contained some sorcery that would allow her to focus her senses on distant parts of the battlefield, allowing her to monitor anywhere she saw a need for the town’s forces to focus their energies. One of the wrights had even built a small attachment that would allow her to project her voice to anyone she could see.

Getting used to it had been strange, but she had been practicing fairly consistently, and was now good enough that she could quickly switch her focus, or just use her normal senses if she needed to defend herself. So it was as the margr crested the last hill.

She leaned her bow against the wall of the watchtower and looked at her two companions.

“Look, guys, I know I should probably say something…inspirational? But I’m not very good with words. I’m sure Hiero would have a speech prepared,” they chuckled at the thought of the odd mechanical knight giving a rousing speech, “but I’m not some great hero. All I can say is that, if we all do our jobs well, and don’t let fear get the better of us, we’ll win, okay?” Both of them agreed.

Marik couldn’t have been more than 16, but she had proven herself to be a deadshot with a crossbow and wielded a specially designed weapon that would allow her to fire at great distances. Her goal would be to try and pinpoint the margr leaders and take them out. If enough of their leadership were decimated, one of the glaives had said the horde would likely disolve into infighting as they tried to establish new command, tearing itself apart.

Ramben, on the other hand, was nearly useless with a weapon in his hands, but had a way of keeping machines runnning longer than they should otherwise. His skills would be invaluable in manning the strange, self-firing weapons—someone had called them “turrets”—that had been mounted in the tower.

She pulled out the new explosive devices that Id had designed, with their strange, long tail and tiny motor, and grabbed one in each hand. “Okay, guys, here they come.”

They crashed against the palisade below like a living tide, flowing over everything outside of the wall.

Marik began firing into the mass, taking careful aim before each shot, while Ramben got the turrets firing. Almsqu started throwing explosives with little regard for aim; there were so many targets that each bomb was sure to hit one.

Every time she witnessed a change in the margr horde’s movements, she relayed the information to the squad most readily positioned to respond. With hope, she watched as the strange, towering numenera weapon that one determined group had brought back was put to effective use, carried around the battlefield on top of the crawler with Arkwiss and a pair of his fellow wizards using it to blast fire, ice, and lightning at any who came too close to the gate.

So it went for what felt like an eternity, until a large explosion from the west drew her attention that way. She watched in horror as a section of the wall collapsed. Defenders rushed to fill the gap, but she dozens slipped past into the town. There were not enough defenders available to respond, so she prayed silently that they didn’t find the tunnels.

She was just asking Ramben to focus the turrets on the gap in the wall when she felt the tower shake violently. As the structure collapsed below her, she had time for a single prayer, that her family would be safe.

Then she hit the ground, and everything went black.

Id had seen things most people wouldn’t believe as he traveled all across the Steadfast and Beyond with his friend and maker. He’d been to the Lands of Dawn, where he had encountered the Emerald Magus of Bruul, climbed the Ghost Mountain to visit the Lily Queen, and met one of the most amazing humans he knew. In the Rayskel Cays, he’d witnessed the ascension and retreat of the Slavering Falls. Once, deep inside of an old world ruin, he and his companions had activated some sort of a lift that had descended into the planet’s core, a beautiful sight unto itself.

In all, he was satisfied with the life he had led in his few short years. He knew he probably didn’t have a soul, not that he’d ever been particularly interested in religion before that moment, but he was okay with that. In fact, the only thing he regretted, as he watched the margr horde descend on the aldeia that had become his home, was that he had never recorded his experiences anywhere outside of his own memory. The things he had done that many would have thought impossible. The things he had seen that most people wouldn’t believe.

Yes, he reflected, the Ninth World was an amazing, beautiful, wonderful place. It was a shame that all of those moments would be lost.

It was a selfish, thought, he knew, but he couldn’t help it. He supposed that, faced with their impending destruction, all creatures must be a bit selfish. That was the nature of evolution, after all, was it not?

He pulled himself out of his reverie and watched the clicking, popping mob of goat-men approach the wall.

As soon as they were in range, he started firing his modified explosives into their ranks. He watched in mild horror as bodies were exploded, limbs destroyed, heads removed, and still they came. Archers slaughtered them in scores, firing at a frenzied pace thanks to the lack of a need for real aiming, and windriders overhead dropped even more explosives into their midst, and still they came.

Near the main gate, Id saw the crawler rumble into action. He barely recognized the thing that he had once been a part of. Heavy plates of synth armor clung to its sides, studded with spikes and blades. The front had been fitted with s scooping device of sorts, designed to funnel any soul unfortunate to find itself  caught in front of the oncoming vehicle underneath its wheels. The strangest sight was the towering weapon that had been mounted atop it, however. The ancient weapon—it clearly was a weapon, regardless of what Arkwiss might say—stood atop its back, one of the nanos charged with operating it frantically working the controls. Arkwiss and the other sorcerer hurled bolts of energy and ancient numenera devices into the horde that did everything from summon strange creatures to ravage their numbers, to create holes in reality through which the abhumans disappeared by the score.

He had just applied a tourniquet to a young woman who had just lost her arm to a rather vile-looking spear when a snarl from behind him drew his attention. A rather small margr was just cresting the top of the pallisade, pulling itself up and over with a growl. The goat-headed thing was naked except for tufts of coarse fur scattered about its body, and dragging a spear nearly twice as long as it was tall.

The margr charged at him with a howl, swinging the weapon in a long arc around its head. The haft of the weapon caught him in the side, nearly sending him tumbling from the wall. When he tried to grab ahold of it, his opponent pulled it back with surprising speed. He sidestepped the stabbing thrust, but heard a sickening squishing noise from behind him. He knew what had happened even before he turned to look at the spear sticking through the head of the woman he had just saved, bits of bone and brain matter clinging to its serrated tip.

It’s just a child, he thought. How vile are these creatures that even the little ones are possessed of such viciousness?

As the margr struggled to pull its weapon from the corpse, Id ran, slamming into it with all of his weight. It tumbled from the wall, but not before managing to find a grip on the machine man’s armor and pulling him over the side with it.

One of Id’s arms was severely damaged when he landed on it, mangled to the point of uselessness.

A squad of defenders came to his aid, helping him back to his feet and offering to escort him to wherever he needed to go. It was a moot point, however, as an explosion from the west rocked their position. A report came from Almsqu that a section of wall had collapsed and the margr were pouring through. Their group linked up with others as they headed to the breach, hoping to intercept the invaders before too much damage had been done.

As the group of defenders rounded a corner, they found themselves face to face with a small army of the enemy. Still, there was something to be said for the ferocity with which humans would defend their homes. The group, nearly 50 strong by that point, charged right into their enemy’s ranks, felling three of the creatures for every one of their number that fell. Still, it wasn’t enough, and their numbers dwindled.

Id wasn’t much of a fighter, but he was able to throw explosives and other weapons over their heads and into the crowd streaming into the breach. Someone else saw what he was doing and joined in, then another. He knew that there were margr in the city, past their lines of defenders, but he and the others somehow managed to hold out long enough for a couple of nanos to arrive and begin using their magic to seal the opening in the wall.

Confident that the tide had been stemmed, Id set off on a new mission, leaving the still-fighting defenders behind. He made his way cautiously toward the Trilling Shard at the center of town. The towering pillar was singing, he thought. with a voice like a beautiful chorus. It reminded him of a choir he had once seen on a visit to Nihliesh. The funeral for Arkwiss’ mother had been a beautiful, sad affair for the popular, beloved woman, and a group of mutants wearing strange helmets had sang as her body was fed back into a machine that would convert it into fuel for the ancient machines at the city’s heart.

He found the door that led down into the tunnels below the village; the ones where Nir was supposed to be guarding the aldeia’s children and infirm. His only goal now was to prevent the creatures from finding their way down.

A small group of abhumans entered the town square and were blown into the air when Id tossed an explosive into their midst. He only had a handful left, so he had to make them count. His hopes disappeared, however, as he as he misjudged a toss into another approaching group, and it sailed over their heads to explode near the back of their ranks. He didn’t even have time to throw the next one before they were upon him; he just activated it in his hand.

He thought he could hear the Trilling Shard grow louder, inviting whatever passed as his soul to join it, as the world disappeared in a flash of light.

The crawler rumbled to life. To his ears, so familiar with its inner workings for so long, it sounded like a sick, dying thing, not the great machine he had helped build all those years ago. It didn’t even look the same, all covered in armor and weapons. He hated any time machines were twisted into instruments of death. There was something twisted about human nature that, once that event horizon was crossed, all they seemed to see was a weapon. Perhaps it was for the best that this was likely to be the end of the vehicle.

Once the others were on board—a young nano-sorceress who called herself simply Void and the half-man, half-machine Staram—he closed the rear door. The trio climbed atop the vehicle, where their charge awaited operation as he signaled to the pilot of the vehicle that they were all on board.

The numenera device stood nearly five feet in height. It’s reflective octagonal shape seemed to be one solid piece that always showed a perfect chromatic negative of whatever reflected in its surface. A strange, flanged nozzle of some sort stretched the entire height of the device, giving the impression that it had maybe been designed to affix to another piece of some much larger machine.

Together, the three mages had figured out how to operate the device. There was a small, circular section on the top, and one on the rear of the device, that reflected a normal image of whatever was in front of it. They had discovered that, by touching it in specific ways, they could get it to discharge fire, ice, or electricity—or any combination of the three—from the opening on the other side. It was capable of other functions, but none were as useful to their purposes as the discharge function they had discovered.

The nano-sorcerers wrapped themselves in the harnesses that would hold them fast to the top of the crawler no matter how rough the ride got. The plan was to move about the battlefield, hurtling their magical energies, small numenera devices that had been salvaged from the Valley of Sin, and the arcane energies of the ancient device in to the margr horde as they saw needed. Almsqu would be in the watchtower, as well, monitoring the ever-changing battlefield and directing them where they might be most helpful.

The press of the margr horde was mind-numbing. The group watched in horror as the gate opened just enough for the crawler to drive through, revealing several ranks of the abhumans already crushed to death in the press against the walls. As their corpses fell through the opening, dozens more were met with an immediate and deadly barrage of magic and arrows while they scrambled over the bodies of their fallen with little or no regard for the dead. Even more fell with the sickening noise of bones being crushed under the wheels of the crawler as the glaive who had been given the task of operating it—an older man named Kryashka—forced a path through the tidal force of the creatures.

Outside the walls, the margr were so thick that Arkwiss questioned if the crawler ever actually touched the ground. The weapon spewed death into the horde, and the crawler rolled over both the living and the dead, but still they came. Quick work was made of the goat-men in the immediate vicinity of the gate, and those nearby learned quickly to avoid the rumbling death machine, which allowed the defenders within to begin sending our sorties to try and strike back, but as soon as they moved off in search of a new target the mob closed in behind them.

The margr might have been yovok. For all the resistance they mustered, the three nanos were death-gods, leaving nothing but bodies in their wake.

Void tapped him on the shoulder; it was his turn to man the weapon. He threw the singularity bead he had prepared, pausing just long enough to watch it disappear, warping reality around itself. Half a dozen margr simply vanished, and all of those around them looked like they had been pulled apart in the aftermath.

Arkwiss felt unclean as he manned the weapon, putting it to use killing margr by the score. People tended to think he was just some ignorant moralist, but nothing could be further from the truth. He recognized the necessity of what he was being forced to do, he just hated it. This particular device didn’t have any real intelligence that he could detect above anything he would expect from an animal, but he knew—he Knew—that it was not meant for this purpose. What he was doing with it now was a corruption of its true purpose, even if he didn’t know exactly what that was supposed to be.

The explosion echoed across the battlefield. Even from his position at nearly to opposite end of the battlefield it was impossible to miss the section of wall that had just fallen. He looked at the other two, and all three had the same thought.

Void hollered down into the hatch. “Kryashka? Darling?”

A gravelly voice responded. “I see it. Brace yourselves.”

The vehicle rumbled and growled as the old warrior pushed it to the limit of its capabilities. Arkwiss didn’t know what happened, or why, but he suddenly found himself floating, weightless. Time seemed to slow as the weapon spun around, bathing his companions in deadly energy. Both fell before it’s fury, and then something struck him in the side of the head, and he knew nothing more.

Arkwiss came to to the rumble of the engine, gradually growing aware of the fact that he was in the crawler. He couldn’t move very much, but that was because he was strapped down. Why was he strapped down? The answer became obvious when he suddenly found himself weightless. The vehicle slammed back into the ground, and everything came rushing back to him.

The battle.

The wall had fallen.

The weapon.

His companions, awash in killing energy.

He could hear the sounds of battle from outside.

He managed to free himself from the straps that held him in place. Carefully, he pushed himself into a sitting position. Hid head hurt, and there was something sticky in his eyes. When he put his hands to them, they came away covered in blood. That explained that. He pushed his head up through the hatch to get a look around.

Staram manned the weapon, firing blasts of energy into the margr horde. His flesh parts were seared and melted in places, but the machine half seemed to be holding him together. Void, too, stood firing into the mass of goat-men. From his angle, she at first seemed relatively unscathed, but then she turned, revealing horrible burns, flesh sloughed off in places revealing the muscle and sinew beneath, clothes melted onto her skin. He didn’t know how either of them were still standing, but was grateful that they were.

Arkwiss could sense that something was different about the battle. It took him a moment to figure out what, exactly, it was, but then he realized; they weren’t firing indiscriminately into the horde any more. No, they were now loosing bursts of energy more carefully, deliberately. Pushing himself fully onto the roof, he buckled himself into position again as he stood, uncertain of his footing through the pain in his head.

Void put a hand on his shoulder to steady him.

He looked across the battlefield. Countless margr lay dead or dying, and the ones that lived were in full route. The reason why was evident to the north when he saw the reinforcements that were even now pushing through the margr ranks. Somehow, someone had managed to get through to Kelem and his group.

Nobody had seriously blamed them for leaving; everyone understood their reasons, though the resentment and bitterness were real. Still, here they were, returned at the 13th hour to aid their kin.

The crawler itself was bolstering the ranks of the defenders, who had now come out onto the battlefield en masse. Still outnumbered nearly two-to-one, the seasoned warriors and townsfolk alike fought with a renewed vigor, inspired to save their home from the vile invaders.

Before long, the two groups had come together, splitting the enemy force into two parts: those with a fairly clear path to run away, and those caught between the army and the wall. Nieten climbed aboard the crawler to get a better vantage and started shouting orders. Arkwiss wondered why Almsqu wasn’t directing troops and looked back toward the aldeia to see the awful truth: the watchtower was gone.

By the time the two forces met, the margr numbers had been decimated, their leadership destroyed, and the remnants of the horde in full route. It was quick work to crush the ones who had been caught between the Ellomyr army—and it was indeed an army now, with Nieten and Kelem at its head, giving orders and directing squad movements— and the wall.

Small detachments were sent after the remnants who fled, but Arkwiss declined to join them. The watchtower lay in ruins, the bodies of defenders scattered about the crater that had once been its foundation. The upper portion lay some distance away, a pile of rubble and synth containing the body of the young woman that had been assigned to man the structure with Almsqu.

It took another hour of searching before Arkwiss found his beloved, lying broken amongst the remains of what had once been a storage shed. It appeared as though she had landed on its synth roof hard enough to punch through the top of the structure, weakening it enough for it to collapse on top of her.

The explorer was alive, but barely. Her body was twisted at an extreme angle, and bones protruded from her leg.

The nano screamed for help as he picked up her limp form, desperately searching for a chirurgeon.

At long last he found someone to help, and he waited impatiently as they gave the woman a quick once-over. He needed to get her taken care of, but he also knew he needed to find Nir and Id. This long after the battle, he should have already at least heard something, and then he did. While the healer worked on Almsqu, he overheard a report that there had been some sort of explosion near the Trilling Shard.

They had found pieces of what seemed to be a synthetic person, but it would take some time to figure out how they were put together to know for sure. Additionally, while there were dead margr piled up around what seemed to be the center of the explosion, it had also collapsed the entrance to the tunnels. There were reportedly scores more margr dead in the confined spaces, but a few were still alive and putting up a fierce resistance.

Arkwiss just sat there, listening in shock, when a cheer rose up from outside. Gurner Fron had been spotted coming down out of the hills with the ones who had been hiding under the city.

Making sure that Almsqu would be okay, he rushed outside to meet the survivors. The look that Gurner gave him when they saw each other spoke volumes, then Ro showed him the bloody thing in her hands.

At first, his brain refused to process the thing in her hands. He stared at it, disbelieving, until the girl spoke up.

“Don’t worry, I’m sure she’s still alive, and she’s going to need this.” He just looked at her, dumfounded. “Just because she didn’t make it through the Door doesn’t mean she’s dead. She is Nir after all.”

The nano just nodded and thanked her, taking the severed arm and made his way back to the makeshift hospital, leaving it behind. He found the bed that Almsqu had been moved to and leaned over her still form, watching the rise and fall of her chest just to confirm to himself that she was still alive. He closed his eyes, composing himself for a moment, before leaning over and kissing her on the forehead.

“I don’t know if you can hear me,” he whispered into her ear, “but I have to go find Nir and Id. I fear the worst, but I have to make sure. I’ll be back before you know it.”

Before leaving, Arkwiss found the healer who had helped Almsqu leaning against a wall on the outside of the structure. The middle-aged man looked older than his years and ready to collapse from exhaustion, clearly haunted by what he’d seen. He hated to interrupt the man’s brief respite, but he had to.

“You know,” began Arkwiss, “I don’t think I caught your name before.” He offered the other man his hand.

“Siylias,” replied the doctor, taking it. “You brought the woman who fell from the watchtower, right?”

“Yes. Thank you for everything you did for her. I lost Almsqu once, I don’t know what I would do if I lost her again.”

“Well, we all have our role to fulfill. I’m just glad I could help.”

Arkwiss nodded. “I suppose that is true, but I need your help one more time.”

“Let me know and I’ll see what I can do.”

“My daughter and my friend are missing. I have to go find them, but I don’t want Almsqu to wake up and be alone. Could you sit with her while I’m gone?”

“I suppose I could do that. I don’t think I’m going to be of much use to anyone else today, anyways.”

“Thank you, it means more than you know.”

“Be careful out there. There are still a lot of hazards, and they say there are a few margr left somewhere.”

Arkwiss nodded and waved as he walked away.

It didn’t take long to identify Id’s remains. Parts of the machine man were scattered about the square, testimony to his tragic fate. A small crater at the center of the ring of destruction led down into the tunnels under the town.

The bodies of the margr were beginning to smell, adding to the pungency of the slimy tunnels. The sound of fighting drifted back to Arkwiss as he picked his way through the bodies.

The small group of abhumans had made it into the large chamber where Nir was supposed to be. A handful of the town’s defenders were preventing them from breaking out, but the group was neither skilled enough nor equipped to enter the room and fight them properly.

Arkwiss, exhausted from the days fighting, opened himself up to the nano spirits. He had expended too much of his magic and needed a rest; the tiny machines that permeated the air flitted just outside the edges of his ability to reach. He did, however, sense the devices scattered about the feet of the invaders. With the last of his energy, he activated them, then dove behind the wall, signaling to the others to find cover, as well.

The explosion shook the tunnels, raining dirt and chunks of the already damaged walls and ceiling down on their heads. Elsewhere, the sounds of collapsing tunnels came racing back to their position. It accomplished their goal, though. All of the remaining margr were dead.

Entering the chamber, Arkwiss surveyed the damage. Large chucks of stone and slabs of synth littered the room. Near the door, the bodies of an elderly man and woman lay shredded, viciously torn apart. The pair had gotten theirs, though; both still clutched weapons slick with blood, and several margr lay dead about them from nasty wounds.

One of the others called his attention to the center of the room.

Nir lay pinned beneath a large piece of synth, bleeding from where it had struck her in the head. One of her fine wings was extended from her body at an awkward angle, and another was bent in two. One arm ended in a bloody stump. It took three of them to move the piece from her, but she groaned when they did, proof that she was still alive.

Tired nearly to the point of collapsing, the group carried the girl from the tunnels.

[realityofrealism-blog]

Brush Strokes of Pain and Love

Did you think I was your "How to be a Man” guide?

 The way that I've proven to be for so many men before you.

 The one that would come into your life and show you what to love about yourself. The one that would show you what it means to accept the parts about yourself that aren't perfect that add to your character, and to change the parts that are harmful to your own well being and the people around you.

Because I did show you these things, and that I've taken pride in... but with that pride, now also comes slight resentment since you’ve cut me out of your life.

This is where I feel conflicted... because when you love someone, you're supposed to do so outside of your own needs and wants... but is that philosophy actually one of loving someone and being in love with them? Or does it just mean that you have a love FOR someone?

 There’s a fine line.

 [Fuck. Maybe I'm just as confused during this period as you claim to be... Maybe it's been awhile since I took an introspective view on myself, and how my emotions influence my views on what i deserve. Supposedly we accept the love we think we deserve. Do I deserve this though? Do I deserve to keep investing my time and emotions into people that don’t return that effort?   I used to feel like a badass bitch that was motivated with goals... now I honestly just feel like a straight bitch half of the time, lacking the badass qualities I once possessed. I feel jaded, and bitter because of it; I hate that I feel this way. I (subconsciously) carried all the dead weight in this relationship, which took my focus away from the things that I loved to do… which ironically probably made me less desirable for you. What a fucking joke.]

 I'm more than just a mirror that reflects the most realist version of you. You, just like so many other men, play it cool. You have this easy going facade up to fool everyone around you. But the people that actually know you, see beneath the surface.

 I see beneath the distracting glare of your glossy surface.

 I didn't just see beneath the surface... I scratched it... revealing underlying demons that needed to be dealt with. I excavated your soul. I bet that scares the shit out of you. Honestly, it scares the shit out of me too. It all scares me, because you picked scabs of mine that never fully healed... leaving me alone with deeper emotional scars than what I had before. I’m now left with thoughts like: how could you do this to me? Letting me think that I could trust this part of myself in your hands, just for you to abandon me? I lent you strength to approach the skeletons in your closet, and you left before ever returning that strength to me to deal with my own issues. We could’ve grown together. Why are you okay with seeing me this way? I’m a fucking wreck… will I be the artist that created this “new and improved” painting of you, that won’t get recognition for all the grueling late nights, blood, sweat, and mostly tears that were spent together? I was there too, you know. I put in the time too. Did I just make you really great for someone else, at my expense? Is this where I send you an invoice for my time and investment? [I’m obviously joking with that last question; don’t mind me. Just trying to keep my sanity here, people!!!!! Okay, back to the heavy.]

 I knew you.

 Or I suppose I thought that I did, though lately you've been full of surprises. Surprises that leave me both confused and disabled all at once. How did something that felt so right and natural go so wrong somewhere along the line? Maybe that's part of my issue? My inability to accept the way that things are between us right now. I met you and genuinely felt like I had met my best friend; my soul mate. Everything just fit together effortlessly to make this puzzle picture of this beautiful image I had dreamt up in my head.

 [I suppose it was also my mistake to build a vision based off teasers that you fed my imagination about our possible future together. Another question… how was I supposed to know how confused you were, when you seemed so sure about me? Remove everyone from the group discussion that is “us”, and just leave you and me. From what you have told ME, how am I supposed to think?]

 I saw into the deepest, darkest, untouched corners of your soul... and I made myself at home, offering my time and help to unpack your baggage WITH YOU. I suppose that was my mistake, huh? To make myself too available to you...I mean, where was the fun in that for you? Where was the challenge? Once you knew you had me wrapped around your finger, why continue to try… right? It's not your fault I got attached and allowed myself to be a fool for you. Maybe "fool" isn’t the right word... you didn't intentionally fool me... but I definitely made myself oblivious to the extent of where you were (are... you're not dead... just no longer an active part of my life.) in your journey, and what that would mean for you... for us... and in turn me...

 [To my dismay, you're one of the most genuine, honest people I've ever encountered in my life... which has been not only a blessing to my life and shown me how amazing love can feel, but also a burden to my heart now that I've lost you to the black abyss that is known as the "unforeseeable future". How do you un-taste the sweetest of fruit that fed your soul? I can’t ask myself this question without also begging the question of “How do you un-taste the most sour of fruit that left a scowl on your face?” ]

 But I also need to take my “graduation goggles” off and be honest with myself… I love(d) you fiercely. With my words and my actions. I made a point to make sure a day never went by without you knowing how much I loved you, and I chose to do so even when it wasn’t being reciprocated. It was my choice to stay and ride it out. This doesn’t pardon you for your actions, but I do share the burden of where this relationship failed.

 I don’t hate you- as much as I fucking wish I could, because I know that none of your actions were done with malicious intent (Even though, ghosting my ass was super uncool. Hopefully one day we can clear the air regarding that because, my heart, ego, and trust took a pretty big hit from that.)... but if I’m being real with you right now, I’m pretty upset with you [but still love you deeply]. You still have my a huge chunk of my heart, which is partially why the hurt runs so deep.

 Bone shakingly deep.

 If you were to call me and say that you needed me, I would still drop everything and be there for you. Even after everything is all said and done. And that’s honest.. And probably not healthy. hah.I can’t just sit here on this plane and pretend to myself or anyone else that I wouldn’t.  

 As much as we may think our curious minds may be up to the task of trying to understand emotions, we’re not always. Some things are out of your control and you can only control how you respond to the circumstances that find you. Shitty. I know. Trust me, I’m definitely not happy about it either...

 Suspended in air and time.

 Flying is such a beautiful thing. There's something romantic about the idea of soaring above everything and stopping time almost. Whenever I fly anywhere, it's like time freezes. Maybe that's why flights can be so emotional? Because for even those few hours, you're floating above all of the commotion and distractions, and for those moments that you’re suspended in the air, you can't run from the way you feel. I'm writing this right now as I'm on a plane ride home from LA, and had to take a break to allow myself to cry. Shit's intense, and luckily I'm on this flight that is only half full. Hah. I’ve gotten really good at crying in public. In the past 6 weeks it’s kinda become my thing.

 The moral here, after all this drawn out writing and me trying to purge myself of all my anger, hurt, frustration, and ultimately love IS: I was fine before you. I’m currently not… but I know that I will be again. You may never re-enter my life, but then again you might. Either way, I need to move on. And I’m making my peace with that.

Now listen to this song.