#unfortunately no one has any images of further up the trail where I took reference pics for the clan camp

[rileys-battlecats]

guys google earth has photospheres captured of the waterfall I based micaclan's territory around. this is amazing

[vexedtonightmares]

hi! @cheloueliott & i think that you’re a genious at writing comedy, so we have a lil prompt. an au where eliott’s in the police force with a b99 vibe; lighthearted & kinda dumb, & he keeps fake arresting lucas for silly things to balance out his struggles with the actual job. example: ”lucas..... i told you to stop torturing me by being so cute...... i can’t keep arresting you for assault against an officer seventeen times a day.” or something like that afjdksdks we’d literally pay to read it ✨

i am SO sorry this has taken ages, but i hope that the result is worth it ;) i hope you enjoy eliott’s shitty pickup lines as much as i do 

read it on ao3 here

_________________

no shame

Lucas knew he was in trouble when the megaphone came out. In his defense, he wasn’t even doing anything wrong, or anything at all. He was simply walking down the sidewalk, grocery bags in hand. There was nothing illegal or attention worthy about what he was doing, but he should have known the detective would find him regardless.

Detective Demaury, referred to in Lucas’ mind simply as ‘the detective’ because he was annoying and therefore unworthy of Lucas using his actual name. Lucas could never tell if it was a good or a bad thing they were never around other people when the detective found him. On the good side, it was embarrassing most of the time, but on the bad side, maybe if other people witnessed it Lucas wouldn’t have to deal with the detective anymore. 

The first time Lucas had seen the detective, he’d been worried he was actually in trouble for a crime he couldn’t remember committing. By now, he knew better. 

“Lucas,” the detective sighed through his megaphone. Lucas regretted giving him his name. “I’m afraid I have to take you down to the station.”

Lucas paused on the sidewalk, rolling his eyes and turning to face where the detective’s car was following beside him. He was pretty sure the megaphone wasn’t even police mandated. “What is it this time, Demaury?” 

(He never called him the detective to his face, because he wasn’t rude, but he also didn’t call him Eliott, which the detective had told Lucas to call him many times.)

“Theft,” the detective said with a cheesy grin. Lucas rolled his eyes again and started to walk away. This was a waste of his time. Unfortunately, the detective still had a speaker, and Lucas hadn’t walked away fast enough. 

“Because you stole my heart,” the detective said through the speaker, and it was enough for Lucas to halt and turn around, stomping his way over to the cop car. 

As he leaned down to the window, Lucas jeered, “Good one, did you come up with that on your own?”

“I did,” the detective said, setting the megaphone down, eyes bright and blue. It really was a shame to waste eyes like that on someone like this. 

“You need to stop. Seriously,” Lucas said, more adamantly. “Maybe your other conquests thought the whole stalkery cop thing was hot, but if you don’t stop this I’m filing a restraining order against you.”

The detective’s bright eyed dimmed slightly. “Two things. One, I’m a detective, not just any old cop, and two, you’re not a conquest, and I’m sorry if I ever made you feel like you were.”

Lucas snorted. That was rich. How could he not be, when the detective looked like that. (Demaury may have been annoying, but Lucas wasn’t blind.) He also didn’t care what the detective thought of him, he’d had enough of pretty men making pretty promises to love him and leaving.

“I don’t care about your apologies,” Lucas said, “I just want you to leave me alone.”

The detective’s eyes dimmed further as he opened his mouth, looking like he was going to argue, then stopped. After a moment, he said, “I’m sorry.”

Lucas was surprised enough by this that he stepped back from the car, barely registering as the detective pulled away from the curb and off into the streets without another word. He felt bad, for a moment, wondering if he’d gone too far before mentally slapping himself. If anything, the detective had gone too far. Cornering civilians in the street was hardly the way to win their hearts. Whatever, maybe this meant he’d never see the detective again.

He saw the detective again, but this time the detective didn’t see him. He wasn’t in his uniform, so he must not have been on the job, or he was undercover or something. Lucas was visiting his mom in the institution she was housed at, something he’d been meaning to do for a while but hadn’t quite gotten around to because he wasn’t the best son in the world. 

When he went back into the lobby to schedule his next visit, the detective was sitting in the waiting room, casually flipping through pages of a book he must have brought with him. Lucas wondered if he was visiting someone too, or maybe he was just there following a lead on some case. He didn’t really know how being a detective worked, didn’t really care. 

His body language looked different, his whole demeanor did, really. He didn’t look half confident, half cocky, he looked human. He looked like the type of person Lucas could envision himself coming home to after a long day, melting into his arms and wondering how he’d gotten so lucky. 

Lucas blinked the image out of his mind as quickly as it had come. What was he doing fantasizing about domestic life with the man that consistently embarrassed him on the street for no reason? What was he doing fantasizing about anyone at all? He had no time or want for romance in his life, he’d been burned enough in the past to know that it wasn’t worth it. 

Still, Lucas waited there in the lobby, even though he’d already had his visiting time with his mom. The detective hadn’t looked up once, but if he had he would have seen Lucas across the room, watching him but pretending like he wasn’t. Lucas busied himself with his phone, trying not to look so obvious. 

After a few long minutes, someone walked out, calling the detective’s name, and he stood, passing Lucas by without so much as a glance. Lucas watched him go, then chided himself for watching him go, then chided himself for even being there to watch him go. 

Much more time must have passed, because soon enough Lucas heard a confused voice saying, “Lucas?”

This time, the detective did see him. Lucas tried not to look flustered. “Not you again,” he said, rolling his eyes. 

The detective ignored him. “What are you doing here?”

“Visiting my mom,” he said swiftly, not really caring what the detective might think about that. The detective’s eyebrows shot up very briefly, but he simply nodded. He still didn’t look like himself, at least the version Lucas was used to seeing. “You?” he asked, when the detective said nothing further.

“Just… stuff,” the detective said inarticulately. 

“Stuff?”

“Detective… stuff.”

Lucas nodded. “Right. Well, I’d better be going, so—”

The detective blinked a few times and took a step back. “Right, sorry.”

Lucas looked up at him, not moving, not saying a word. The detective bit the inside of his cheek, looking up at the ceiling, and Lucas finally regained control over his body, walking to the door. 

“Lucas wait!” 

He felt a hand on his arm, and for some reason he didn’t pull away. The detective was looking at him hesitantly. “Can I walk you out?”

Lucas sighed, finally wrenching his arm from the detective’s gentle grip. “What do you want now, Demaury?” He pushed open the door, knowing the detective would follow.  

“I wanted to apologize,” the detective said, catching up with him, and Lucas stopped abruptly. 

“You what?”

“I wanted to apologize,” the detective said, voice timid but genuine. “If I ever made you feel uncomfortable or anything like that… I’m really sorry. I just see you a lot, and you always look like you could use some cheering up, and with my job a lot of times I need cheering up, so I figured…” he trailed off, shaking his head, “But I went about it in the wrong way. I’m sorry, I’m really not a dick, I swear.”

Lucas didn’t know what to say. The detective shook his head again. “You don’t have to say anything, or forgive me, but I just wanted you to know.”

With that, Demaury walked off, leaving Lucas standing there stricken. Demaury had thought he needed cheering up… It was true, for the most part, but how had he seen Lucas more deeply than most of his close friends?

It wasn’t that his life was bad, but it wasn’t good either. Every day was every day, and Lucas just did the best he could to pretend that maybe someday it would be better. That there would be something to look forward to when he woke up in the morning. He’d had no idea that Demaury might have been feeling the same way. 

Lucas went to visit his mother again the same time the week after, for no particular reason at all. It was extremely likely Demaury would never be there again, but on the off chance that he was… Well, Lucas didn’t totally know what he would say, why he suddenly cared so much. He wanted to tell Demaury that he’d accepted his apology, that was all. 

His mother was surprised to see him again so soon, and he felt a little awful for having stretched his visits out so much that seeing her twice in two weeks was jarring for her. They had a good time, a nice talk, and Lucas left in high spirits, forgetting his ulterior motives entirely. 

This time, Demaury was the one waiting. 

Their eyes met across the waiting room, and suddenly Lucas found his feet carrying him to a stop in front of Demaury, who stood from his chair as Lucas approached. 

“More detective stuff?” Lucas asked. 

Demaury eyed him carefully. “Something like that.”

“Walk me out?” Lucas asked further, taking in Demaury’s surprise. He knew, then, why Demaury had seen him and wanted to cheer him up. He thought Demaury might have been as sad on the inside as he was. 

They maintained a respectable distance apart as they walked out, Demaury’s hands in his pockets, Lucas’ hands swinging by his sides. 

“How’s your mother?” Demaury asked, looking at him sidelong. 

“She’s alright. Better than a few weeks ago, but not her best,” Lucas answered honestly, not sure why he was trusting Demaury with that information. 

Demaury nodded, looking back at the ground. “I know the feeling,” he said, with no further explanation. 

“I forgive you, you know,” Lucas said, “For all the stuff I got so pissed off about… I didn’t consider that you might have been trying to make me laugh.”

Demaury smiled sadly. “I’ve never been very good at comedy.”

Lucas shook his head, arguing, “I’ve never been very good at seeing the best in people.”

They dropped again into silence, steps in line with one another. It was true, Lucas always looked for the worst in people. He didn’t used to be that way, but that was one of the things about growing up, wasn’t it? Losing your idealism, your faith in the world and the people in it? 

“I’ve never been very good at seeing people’s worst,” Demaury said after a while, “Either that, or I don’t want to.”

Lucas had the overwhelming sense that he and Demaury were two sides of the same coin, one hurt by the people they’d mistakenly let in, the other hurt by the people who didn’t even want to try. Lucas said, “I don’t think that’s a bad thing, if that’s what makes you, you.”

“And what’s so great about me?” Coming from Demaury at any other time, Lucas would have scoffed in his face, told him that there was nothing great about him, and that he should just be on his way, but this wasn’t any other time.

“I don’t know,” Lucas admitted, because he didn’t, “But I’m sure there’s more great things there than either of us will ever know.”

Demaury stopped walking abruptly, and Lucas turned back curiously, hoping he didn’t say something wrong. Demaury looked at him with those piercing eyes of his, crease between his brows. “That’s one of the nicest things anyone’s ever said to me.”

And see, when things got too close, too intimate, Lucas ran, shielded himself with wit and nonchalance. “How dare you accuse me of being nice, Mr. Demaury, I’m wholly offended. I work so hard, and this is what my reputation has come to?”

A few emotions flitted across Demaury’s face, looking a bit troubled, but then he melted into an easy smile. “Me, call you nice? I would never. The only nice thing about you is that ass.”

A laugh bubbled its way out of Lucas’ mouth before he had a chance to stop it. Demaury looked pleased with himself, but Lucas wasn’t going to let him off the hook for that one easily.

“That all you got?” he taunted, sighing dramatically through his nose. “No playing the bad cop telling me how naughty I’ve been?”

Now it was Demaury’s turn for a scandalized laugh. “I think you’re confusing me with Santa Claus,” he giggled, a light, childish sound, that warmed Lucas’ insides. He wanted to bottle it and listen to it whenever he wasn’t feeling his best. 

Lucas simply raised his eyebrows and shrugged. “Fine, then, show me your best. God knows you have a lot more where that one came from.”

Demaury cocked his head to one side, lost in thought, and Lucas briefly thought that he was going to refuse, but then he grinned to himself, shaking his head like whatever he was about to say would be the death of him. 

Demaury frowned, looking at Lucas sternly, “Lucas Lallemant, you’re under arrest,” he said.

“Oh yeah?” Lucas said, walking backwards as Demaury walked a few paces behind him. “Why am I under arrest?”

“Assault against an officer,” Demaury said matter-of-factly, and Lucas halted his pace. 

“Wha— I—” he began, and Demaury cut him off.

“You’re torturing me, you see.” He took a step closer to Lucas, bringing them toe to toe. “You’re so cute it’s physically painful.”

Lucas stopped his stammering, melting into a partially relieved, partially exasperated grin. He poked Demaury’s chest, shaking his head dazedly. “Ridiculous. That’s what you are.”

“You asked for it,” Demaury said, picking up his pace once again, passing Lucas by. And, well, Lucas supposed he had. 

“You’re not too bad yourself, you know,” Lucas said, falling back into step beside him. “If you weren’t a detective, you’d make a great Disney prince.”

Demaury put one hand to his chest, stretching the other out to Lucas. “Only if you were my princess.”

Lucas swatted the hand away, trying not to notice the electricity when their fingers touched, even if only briefly. “You think you’re smooth, huh?”

Demaury retracted his hand scrunching his nose and holding his fingers millimeters apart. “Little bit.”

Lucas laughed, loud and clear. They were nearly at the subway station, and Lucas knew this was where they would have to part. He didn’t want them to part, and he didn’t think Demaury wanted that either. But he was scared, at the end of the day, he was always scared. 

“So this is where we say goodbye, then,” Demaury said, nodding to the stairs leading underground. 

Lucas merely looked up at him, thinking that if Demaury told him not to go, he wouldn’t. But Demaury did no such thing, ruffling Lucas’ hair slightly instead and sharing a soft smile. “See you around, Lucas.”

“See you, Eliott,” Lucas said, watching as Eliott’s soft smile turned into a larger one. He wasn’t sure why, all he’d said was goodbye. Eliott took a few steps back, still looking at Lucas, and then he was gone, lost to the masses of people in the city. 

Lucas didn’t make it down to the subway for quite some time.

Lucas wasn’t actively trying to get arrested, but he wasn’t not trying to get arrested. He’d gone back to visit his mom the same time the next week, and the week after, but Eliott hadn’t been there either time. He hadn’t really expected him to be, it was surprising enough two weeks in a row, but a part of Lucas was really hoping he would have been there. Against his better judgement, he wanted to see Eliott again, and he wanted Eliott to see him.

He hadn’t resorted to calling the police, because that would have been insane, but he didn’t have any better ideas. His little dog, Ouba, started yapping in the corner of his apartment, probably needing to go out, and he had an epiphany. This would be, without a doubt, the stupidest thing he’d ever done, but he was past the point of caring.

By the time he went to the police station, flyers had been printed and friends had been called, warned to go along with whatever story he came up with should anyone ask. 

Idriss Bakhellal was at the front desk when he walked in, and he greeted Lucas with a wide grin. Somehow, Lucas had forgotten Idriss was on the force as well, and now his idea was looking even more stupid. 

“Lucas! Long time no see, what brings you here?” Idriss asked, reaching out to give him a high five. 

Lucas bit his lip, hiding the single flyer he was holding behind his back discreetly. “Um, is detective Demaury in?”

Idriss furrowed his brows. “Eliott? You know Eliott?”

“Not really,” Lucas said quickly, lying through his teeth, “But I spoke to him on the phone earlier, and he said he’d meet me when I got here…”

“Is everything all right?” Idriss looked concerned, and while Lucas appreciated it, he hadn’t planned for this. 

Lucas nodded fervently. “Yeah, yeah, all good, just a missing dog.” He figured if he spoke fast enough, Idriss wouldn’t make out his words. 

“Ouba’s missing?!” 

Then again, when were things known to go his way.

“Yeah, but it’s fine, detective Demaury said he’d help me find her and whatnot so… is he here?” Lucas smiled weakly, and Idriss frowned deeper. 

“Does Imane know? She’d help too,” Idriss said. 

Lucas sighed impatiently, regretting being born. “She does, yeah. She’s helping already with the girls. Detective Demaury?”

“Yes?” a voice said behind Lucas, and he turned around, met with the sight of Eliott in a pair of slacks and a dress shirt, badge hanging around his neck on a chain. His eyes brightened infinitesimally when he saw that it was Lucas.

“Yo, Eliott, this is Lucas, he said you guys spoke on the phone earlier about Ouba?” Idriss interrupted, and Lucas widened his eyes, begging Eliott to play along. 

“Yeah, I was just coming to find him,” Eliott lied swiftly, bright grin making its way onto his face. “Follow me?”

Lucas nodded, thanking Idriss and following Eliott around the precinct. Eliott looked at him with one eyebrow raised. “You know Idriss?”

That wasn’t the question Lucas had been expecting, so he was taken off guard a moment. “Yeah, I’m good friends with his sister,” he answered. Then, as an afterthought, “I forgot he worked here, actually.” 

“Who’s Ouba?” Eliott asked, ignoring the last part of his statement.

Thankfully, Lucas was prepared. He thrust his flyer into Eliott’s hands. “My dog. She’s missing.”

Eliott frowned slightly. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

Lucas gave a tight smile and a shrug, taking the seat Eliott offered to him beside his desk. Eliott continued, “Why, um, did you come here, then?”

“I figured the police could help better than random neighbors I’ve never spoken to,” Lucas said, answers prepared beforehand. They all sounded stupid now, but oh well.

Eliott cracked a soft smile. “Detectives don’t usually handle this sort of thing, you know. A little below our pay grade.”

Lucas reddened furiously. How was he supposed to know what matters were handled by different levels of police workers? He snatched his flyer back. “Yeah, you’re right, it’s stupid, I’ll just—”

“Woah, woah, woah,” Eliott cut him off, laughing. “I didn’t say it was stupid. Ouba means a lot to you?”

Lucas nodded. She really did, he didn’t know what he’d do if she ever actually went missing. 

“Well then of course I’ll help,” Eliott said, like it was the simplest thing in the world.

“Yeah?” Lucas confirmed with a hesitant smile. 

“Yeah.”

Eliott took the flyer back from Lucas, hanging it on the wall of the precinct. “This is a good place to start, a lot of people cycle in and out of here.”

Lucas nodded like it made a difference. He knew none of these people would find Ouba, because she didn’t actually have to be found. Eliott grabbed his keys off his desk and gestured to Lucas. “Come on, I’ll take you home. Maybe we’ll find her on the way!”

“Oh, no it’s no trouble, really—” Lucas began, but Eliott was already out the door. 

The ride wasn’t awkward, not in the slightest. It felt like they would never run out of things to say to one another. Lucas almost forgot that he was only with Eliott because he’d lied about his dog going missing, then wondered what other dumb excuse he’d have to come up with next time. 

Eliott parked illegally on the curb in front of Lucas’ apartment building, and Lucas teased him about abusing his power, making Eliott laugh that beautiful, joyous laugh of his. 

“I’ll walk you up,” Eliott said, and Lucas froze. If he did that, he’d know Lucas had lied about Ouba, and he’d definitely have questions. 

“No, that’s ok,” Lucas said hurriedly, nearly catapulting himself from the car and rushing to the door. He should have expected Eliott would follow as he fumbled with his keys. 

Eliott looked amused, not put off in the slightest. “Everything ok?”

“Perfect. See you around,” Lucas said, trying to slip through the door without Eliott noticing. Eliott did notice, and he caught the door before it could close. He held up his badge to Lucas apologetically.

“NYPD, I need to take you back to your apartment,” he said, grinning cheekily.    

There were two problems in this situation, the first being that Lucas couldn’t call the police, or even threaten to because Eliott was the police, and the second being that secretly, he didn’t want to. Even if it meant he was caught in a lie. He didn’t know when that had changed.

Still, he did try to run, hoping he’d get on the elevator before Eliott had time to catch up. Of course, the stupid outdated elevators failed him, because life hated him, and Eliott stepped on beside him. “Nice try,” he said, then laughed. “What are you hiding up there, a secret collection of beanie babies?”

“If only,” Lucas said to himself, leaning against the wall. Neither one of them said a word as Lucas made his way down the long hallway to his apartment, number 2027. He prayed to any god who would listen that Ouba was asleep in his room and wouldn’t come out to try to impress a visitor. 

The door unlocked and Lucas was met with silence. He let out a sigh of relief. Eliott looked around the otherwise normal apartment in confusion. “This is what you didn’t want me to see?”

“I thought it was messier,” Lucas lied lamely, and Eliott just laughed.

“And here I was thinking you made up a story about your dog going missing to hang out with me,” Eliott joked and Lucas tried not to give himself away. 

“Ha. That would be ridiculous.”

Right on cue, there was a jingle, and that jingle was Ouba’s dog collar as she ran from Lucas’ room to greet the voices she heard. Eliott froze, looking from Lucas, to the dog, then back to Lucas. 

He burst into near maniacal laughter. “Shut the fuck up,” Lucas warned, but Eliott ignored him.

“You pretended your dog went missing to hang out with me.”

“I did not.”

“Really? Because…”

“My friend Yann must have found her and brought her home, he has a key.”

“Why don’t I believe you?”

“Guess you have bad lie detecting skills.”

“Or maybe you’re just a bad liar.”

“Hmm.”

“Hmm.”

Lucas didn’t realize how close they were standing until there was no more than a breath between the two of them. “And what if I did do what you think I did?” Lucas asked, voice a breathy whisper.

“I would say you didn’t need to,” Eliott answered at an equal tone, “I would say that you could have told me anything and I would have run to you regardless.”

Lucas swallowed, noticing the way Eliott’s eyes watched the motion. “Why is that?”

“Because I like you Lucas, I like you an awful lot. And I think you like me too.” Eliott’s eyes were piercing, but steady, as he waited on a response.

Lucas breathed in and out deeply, eyes dropping to the floor, then back up to Eliott’s gaze. “I don’t know how you did it, but I think I like you too,” he admitted, “And if you don’t kiss me in the next five seconds, I think I might explode.”

Eliott obliged him willingly, lips meeting in perfect harmony. Lucas was a lonely soul, but Eliott’s kiss told him that he wasn’t alone anymore. He hoped that his kiss said the same in return. Eliott’s arms wrapped around his neck as their kiss deepened, and Lucas ran a single hand through the beautiful disaster of Eliott’s hair. 

When they broke apart, Eliott was smiling so brightly Lucas thought the sun had made its way into his small living room, lighting up the world anew. “Would you like to go out with me sometime, Eliott Demaury?” Lucas asked. Do you feel it too? he meant, The magnetic pull between us? 

“Nothing would make me happier,” Eliott said, and Lucas kissed him again. Kissed him because he wanted to, because he could. 

“You probably have to get back to work?” Lucas asked a bit grumpily, letting Eliott rest their foreheads together gently. 

Eliott raised one eyebrow. “Oh? Didn’t you hear I have a lost dog to find?”

Lucas raised one back. “Is that so? In that case, you should definitely work on that.”

“Oh trust me, I am,” Eliott said, “I think we should check in your bedroom.”

Lucas narrowed his eyes appreciatively. “You’re absolutely right, we should definitely check there.”

Lucas pulled Eliott by the hand, giggling like a giddy school child. He was ridiculous, absolutely ridiculous. 

“Hey Lucas?” Eliott said, and Lucas glanced up at him “I almost forgot, I need to give you a ticket.”

Lucas paused. “Wait what? You were the one who parked illegally!”

Eliott shook his head, small smirk playing across his face. “You’ve got fine written all over you.”

“Oh my god shut up. I hate you.”

Eliott smiled innocently. “I don’t think you do.”

“Nah, I don’t think I do,” Lucas agreed.

[scaredofheroin]

Captain N - Chapter 5: Lavancha the Unlikely

"Wake up, Peter Lavancha."

Captain N shot awake in his bed, alarmed by the sudden voice inside his head. He could immediately place whose it was: Princess Zelda. But after turning on the light and looking around the room, he couldn't see her anywhere. Rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, he got out of bed and glanced out the window. Unfortunately, he was still in his hotel room in New Leaf Town on the brave new world of Yamajiro, and not in his bedroom back on Earth. His small hope for everything going back to normal dashed, Captain N glanced at the nearby clock. The ornate yet refurbished clock read 7:24, reminding him of what's on the agenda for today. In a little more than half an hour, he'll meet with legendary vampire hunter Simon Belmont to get some training on how to be an awesome world-savior. Pacing around the comfortably-decorated hotel room, his mind wandered to the possibilities of today. Apart from two months of Karate classes when he was ten, Captain N never received any formal training of this nature. On one hand, if Simon Belmont is as incredible as he's made out to be, which is more than likely the case, he could hardly ask for a better tutor in the art of combat, especially when he needs to learn how to effectively fight now more than ever. On the other hand, Simon's sheer size intimidated him. The mere thought of what intense, rigorous training got him to that shape sent a cold feeling down Captain N's spine. It is fortunate that he'll be receiving training away from the prying eyes of the townspeople. These decent people need hope in these times of darkness, and seeing their predestined savior embarrass himself in a training exercise could make plant the seeds of despair.

Fake it 'til you make it, Cap.

Captain N's attention was drawn back to the present with the sensation of his stomach rumbling, reminding him that a hearty breakfast is essential in getting a good start on the day. Not wanting to keep Pit, Falco or Zelda waiting, Captain N quickly dressed himself in his now-dry clothes and stuck his Zapper in his right pocket before exiting his room and making his way down to the lobby. The three teammates were already there, immediately noticing Captain N against the other small, anthropomorphic townspeople. "Morning, sunshine." Falco greeted, leaning against the wall. "Cut him some slack, Falco. He had a really hectic day yesterday and needed his rest." Pit reminded him. Falco nodded nonchalantly in response. "I see you got my little wake-up call." Zelda smirked. Captain N nodded, rubbing his head. "I never knew you could do that kind of magic stuff." Captain N replied. "There's plenty of things you don't know about me." Came Zelda's voice, once again inside Captain N's head. This strange sensation threw him off, eliciting some light chuckling from the three. "You'll get used to it." Pit assured him. Nodding, Captain N laughed a bit. "I'll take your word for it, man."

Breakfast was shared between the four. Upon receiving the plates of fried eggs and bacon alongside glasses of water. Captain N nervously glanced over at Falco, assessing his response to the food. Falco casually cut apart the egg and ate a small portion of it, chewing the food in his beak and noticing Captain N assessing him.

"What?" Falco asked him.

Captain N shifted his jaw, trying to figure how best to word his question.

"Well... I, uh... aren't you... a bird?" He finally asked, referring to Falco's blue, anthropomorphic bird physique.

Falco's eyes squinted in confusion, then realized what he's referring to.

"Don't worry, this stuff might as well be a different species to me." Falco assured, turning his attention back to the fried eggs.

"You had to have known that concern was inevitable." Zelda spoke up, gently placing her utensils to the side as she took a sip of water. Falco simply shrugged, more focused on breakfast. Figuring now's a good time to ask some questions, Captain N turned to Pit. "So... Palutena is an actual Goddess?" He asked.

"Yup! The Goddess of light!" Pit confirmed.

"And Raiden is the God of thunder?"

"That's right!"

Captain N paused for a moment.

"Like, people actually worship them? And they live forever?"

"That's part of what being a God is."

"...Should I worship them?"

"I don't think they'll mind."

"Are there... other deities?"

"Totally! There's Viridi, Fujin, Dyntos, Shinnok, Din, Nayru, Farore, and... some others." Pit trailed off, his mood souring somewhat. "But they've all got their own duties as Gods and Goddesses, so we can really only rely on Raiden and Lady Palutena for whatever divine intervention we can get."

Captain N turned his attention back to his breakfast. Taking a bite, he was pleasantly surprised by how delicious the eggs were. A mixture of salt, pepper and other ingredients he couldn't place makes for possibly the best eggs he has ever eaten. The hunger in his stomach grew much more apparent, which he was quick to remedy. Greedily wolfing down the delectable meal, Captain N found himself finished with his breakfast sooner than everyone else. Pit came in second, followed by Falco, with Zelda being the last to finish her breakfast, delicately placing her fork and knife on her carefully folded napkin. "Mind if I take these?" Asked a blue/white male cat wearing a checkered sweater. The four shook their heads, and the newcomer bowed gracefully before skillfully stacked the cleared plates on top of each other, along with the used forks and knives. "We should get going, Simon isn't known for his patience." Zelda reminded the group. "Yeah, let's go." Captain N agreed, getting up and making his way to the hotel door. Looking back to wave goodbye to the hotel's host. Noticing a large amount of townspeople's eyes glued to the illustrious team, Captain N left before his awkwardness could be made too apparent.

The fresh, crisp air of a new morning helped invigorate Captain N. The air tasted the same as yesterday, that is to say slightly different from the air he's breathed for 18 years on Earth. Foot traffic in New Leaf Town was light, it still being early in the morning. He waved to a couple of nearby townspeople, who happily waved back. "Looks like you slept well." Falco remarked, joining Captain N. "Sure did, yesterday was a lot. How about you?" He asked back. Falco shrugged slightly before answering with "Eh, it wasn't the best sleeping situation." Pit and Zelda joined the two in their conversation. "Well, you don't hear Princess Zelda complaining. If it's good enough for her, it's good enough for you." Captain N pointed out. Zelda smirked slightly. "Come on, time's a-wasting!" Pit interrupted, leading the path to the entrance of New Leaf Town.

---

Outside town, one of the Kremlings managed to escape the scuffle that occurred between the Kremlings and Captain N and company. Rummaging around inside the bag of tools they brought, he eventually found a communicator device. Opening it up, the Kremling punched in the communications codes and waited for a response. After a few moments of nervously waiting, the screen lit up with the images of Bowser, King K. Rool and King Dedede sitting at a large table facing the screen. The large crocodillian wearing a red cape known as King K. Rool had his face turn sour upon seeing him, the large, turtle-like Koopa king with spikes all over his shell named Bowser snarled upon receiving this interruption, and the large, blue penguin donned in regal attire that is King Dedede rolled his eyes and leaned back in his chair. "What is it, minion?" King K. Rool snarled, making the Kremling shrink back a bit. "Well, yesterday, on the way to collect your "taxes" from New Leaf Town, we were ambushed." The Kremling explained to his superiors. "And I assume you were victorious? Because the only possible reason I can imagine you would interrupt our meeting is to bring us GOOD news, correct?" Bowser asked, making the Kremling even more nervous. "Actually... we... I'm the... only survivor." He meekly admitted. "WHAT!?" King K. Rool roared, shooting up from his chair, almost knocking King Dedede off his own chair. "I trained only the bravest and the best of you simpletons! Who could possibly have defeated an entire group of you morons!?" King K. Rool demanded. The Kremling's mind raced, trying to recall who exactly opposed his team yesterday. "Th-th-there was that pipsqueak that runs Palutena's Royal Guard, the blue bird who skipped out on Star Fox, that Princess from Hyrule, and... uh... someone else." The Kremling trailed off, not knowing who the fourth assailant was. King Dedede drew closer to the screen. "What do you mean, 'you don't know'?" King Dedede interrogated, raising his large mallet for intimidation. "I mean I don't know! He didn't have ears like a Hylian, but he had on a red and white jacket and was using an orange laser pistol!" The Kremling defended.

The last detail caught the attention of the three kings. A silent exchange was had between Bowser and King Dedede, realizing what this could mean. "Where did the group come from?" King K. Rool demanded, whereupon the Kremling racked his brain from some kind of answer they would accept. "Uh... th-the north?" Was the answer the henchmen eventually gave.

"Did they come from the warp pipe to the Mushroom Kingdom?" King Dedede asked further.

"I-I-I think so."

King Dedede grew much more concerned, this emotion hidden from his two cohorts. Bowser slammed his fist down on the table, nearly shattering it. "If this mystery nuisance is the one who was said to come in this world's hour of greatest need, then everything we've worked for will have been for nothing!". King K. Rool growled at the Kremling, immensely displeased with the news. "Is he still in New Leaf town?" King K. Rool asked, earning a shaky nod from the Kremling. "Ensure he stays there! I shall send another deployment of you miserable creatures to take care of him. Do not fail me again!" King K. Rool warned. "We continue with our plan, this is only a temporary setback." Bowser assured, earning a quick nod of agreement from King Dedede. "Of course! Soon this entire planet will be mine-ours! Yamajiro will be ours!" King Dedede quickly corrected himself. The Kremling shakily saluted the three kings before ending the call. Once he was confident that no one was listening in, the Kremling let out a heavy sigh, easing a large amount of tension that had been building up. This will be taken care of soon, and nobody will be able to stop Bowser, Dedede and K. Rool... right?

---

Upon reaching the front gates of New Leaf Town, Captain N and company quickly found Simon Belmont standing by a small thorn bush. "Hey, we're here." Captain N spoke up, grabbing Simon's attention. Looking to the clouds, Simon nodded approvingly. "You're on time. That's good." He noted. Captain N stepped forward, away from Zelda, Pit and Falco and towards Simon. "So... when do we start?" He nervously asked. "Now." Simon bluntly responded, suddenly taking out his whip and lashing Captain N across the forearm. The action happened inside the blink of an eye, and Captain N fell over after yelping in surprise and pain, clutching his now stinging arm. "If you're gonna be the hero these people need, you need to be ready for anything." Simon stated bluntly as Captain N regained his footing. Zelda and Pit wanted to intervene, but were stopped by Falco. "This is his battle, not ours." He reminded them. Pit reluctantly stepped back, while Zelda remained right beside Falco.

"Alright, lesson one: be ready for anything. What's next?" Captain N asked Simon. In response, Simon wordlessly motioned for him to follow, which Captain N obliged with. After a brief walk around the outside of New Leaf Town, Simon stopped at a grass clearing, turning to face Captain N, whose arm was still in more pain than it had ever been in before. He unsheathed his whip, but tossed it aside to Captain N's relief. "Disarm yourself, Captain. You need to learn how to not have to rely on weapons." Simon ordered. With some reluctance, as if expecting another trap, Captain N slowly removed the Zapper from his pocket and tossed it right next to Simon's whip. Pit, Zelda and Falco stood in the shade of a nearby tree, the heat of the day arriving with the sun rising in the sky. Pit stood ready to intervene if necessary, regardless of what Falco might say. Simon crouched in a fighting stance, seemingly ready to attack. With much less confidence, Captain N matched Simon's posture, closing and raising his fists. "Your goal of the day is to hit me." Simon instructed. "...That's it?" Captain N asked, easing his stance in slight confusion. "Just one hit and you win." Simon reinforced, his posture just as intense. "If you feel ready for this challenge, step forward and strike me."

Captain N closed his eyes, took a few deep breaths, opened his eyes, and approached Simon after slight mental deliberation. Zelda held her breath, not looking forward to what's to come. His steps became much lighter, being ready to dodge out of the way if necessary. Simon stood rigid, eyeing Captain N as he waited for him to make the first move. Captain N targeted Simon's lower torso, and attempted a swift jab. Simon was anticipating this, and quickly intercepted Captain N's incoming fist, knocking it out of the way. The counter strike almost knocked Captain N off his feet, but he recovered before he could fall. Deciding that taking too much time makes his target too obvious, he swung his right leg out to strike the back of Simon's knee. Again, Simon anticipated this, and kicked his leg out to knock Captain N off balance. The indignity of falling on his rear was short-lived, as Captain N knew he needed to persist to get better. Still in fighting stance, Captain N backed away from Simon carefully assessing the situation. "Just one hit and you're done." Simon reminded him. Pit shook his head, knowing Captain N couldn't win. Falco leered at Pit, wordlessly reminding him to not intervene. Zelda was still watching with her breath held, paying no mind to Falco or Pit.

This continued for a period of time shorter than what Captain N would have assumed. Despite his best efforts, he was unable to land a single hit on Simon. His frustration and exhaustion were mixing to something volatile, almost boiling over at the unfairness of this "training" session and how sore his body is becoming from Simon's counter strikes. Simon remained as stoic as before, undeterred by Captain N slowing down. "Shouldn't he take a break or something?" Pit spoke up. Simon shook his head, not taking his eyes off Captain N. "You don't get breaks in real situations. You should know that, Pit." Simon bluntly answered. Falco shot Pit a silent "told you so" and Zelda forced herself to not intervene. As painful as it was to watch Captain N get beaten again and again, it's the only way he'll get stronger. Captain N tried to fake Simon out by throwing a fake punch to distract from the intended strike that was to get Simon's torso. But Simon was a step ahead, and blocked both the fake and real punch at once. Knocked off his feet, Captain N took a moment to get himself together before getting back up. Then he got an idea. Slowly getting up, Captain N wound up as powerful a punch as he could muster, but again, Simon intercepted and knocked Captain N on the ground, but he didn't get back up. Simon looked over Captain N, unimpressed. "There's his break." Simon said to Pit, finally taking his eyes off his trainee. Captain N seized this opportunity, and quickly shot his leg out to land a strike on the back of Simon's knee, almost knocking him off his balance.

Surprised, Simon looked back to see Captain N with a smug grin plastered across his face. "Lesson one: be ready for anything." Captain N teased him, almost immediately regretting his smug attitude. He recoiled in advance, expecting Simon to yell at him for improper behavior. Instead, Simon chuckled at his inventiveness. "Correct, Captain." Simon agreed, holding out a hand to help Captain N up. He took his hand, and was suddenly hoisted onto his feet. "Yeah! Go, Captain N!" Pit cheered. Pride swelling in his chest, Captain N looked over to the three, seeing Falco nod approvingly and Zelda offering a gentle, polite applause at his display. Simon tossed Captain N an apple and stated "Fifteen minute break starts now.". He gratefully bit into the crisp apple, savoring the added taste of his small victory.

[chronicparagon]

Free Verse

I decided to move this to its own post to keep verses better organized and make Harmony’s information versatile. 

The profile for Harmony’s Free verse is below.

NAME: Harmony Halcyon NICKNAMES: Harm, Har, Harmy, Ha-chan, Har-chan, Mato Ciqana (by her family, which means Little Bear).

Her nickname in her family changes to Mato when she inherits her grandfather’s Lakota name in honor of graduating from high school. AGE: Varies by verse between 18 years to 26 years. Default age is 19-20. POSITION: Default verse is a university student majoring in nursing and member of the swim club. Becomes a certified midwife nurse later on. RESIDENCE: Grew up on the Black Hawk Reservation in Montana, United States. Her current location depends on the verse. FAMILY: Destiny Halcyon (mother), Lucas Halcyon (father), Issac “Mato” Halcyon (grandfather, deceased). NOTE: Mato means bear or fiercely angry in the Lakota language. Harmony’s relatives are found here: LINK

ETHNICITY: Native American (enrolled member of the Lakota) Note: She’s half Lakota Sioux, a quarter Crow (the Crow Nation), and a quarter Euro-American (Irish and British). SEXUALITY: Pansexual

RESIDENCE: Grew up on the Black Hawk Reservation in Montana, United States. She moves to Yokota Air Force Base near Tokyo before relocating to Iwatobi when her father retired from the Air Force.

IMAGE COLOR: Turquoise MOTIF ANIMAL: Grizzly bear SWIMMING STYLE: Butterfly, breaststroke, freestyle (crawl)

Reference

Art made by Yohao88

Appearance: Her long hair is dark brown, sometimes mistaken as black with long bangs and gray eyes. Harmony stands about 5 foot 4 inches (162.5 cm) who is toned due to working out with a pear-shaped figure. Her weight fluctuates between 135-140 pounds (61.2- 63.5 kg). 

Her style varies. Compared to many girls in Iwatobi, Harmony is deemed to be a bigger girl due to her figure and musculature. Harmony is a member of the Lakota tribe from her father’s side. It was a goodbye present from her grandfather before leaving Black Hawk. 

Harmony has three piercings. One on each ear lobe and she has a piercing on her tongue. When she swims, the piercings are replaced with retainers.

She also has features indicating her motif. Harmony has sharper canines to resemble a grizzly bear’s teeth. Hidden beneath her clothing are ghastly scars over her body. Her upper back, right shoulder from childhood. Growing up, there’s a reason why she opts to wear long sleeves. By the time she turned eighteen, Harmony received a tattoo on her upper back of an eagle.  

Note: Due to cultural norms, Harmony would conceal the tattoo in public in Japan. in other verses where she is located elsewhere, she would be more likely to reveal her tattoo and scars.

More information for it can be found here: Link

PERSONALITY: Generally, Harmony a shy girl who can get excited on occasion. This can be off-putting to other people, especially if she just met them. It makes her come off as socially awkward. Most of the time, she’s more reserved, often in the background. She fears that people won’t like her because of the color of her skin, her name, or the scars she hides. This makes her have little confidence in herself. It will take time for Harmony to warm up to someone. Once she does, she’s sweet, even affectionate. Her most noticeable traits are her kindness, being polite, and quiet nature. Much like a grizzly bear, she can be fierce, which may be a bit scary. It occurs when she witnesses injustice or when her friends are in trouble. This is a little bit of a contrast to what she was like living in Tokyo prior to moving to Iwatobi. She was more belligerent and had a habit of getting herself into trouble. This is explained more in detail to what brought this on in her full backstory, which is further down the profile. She’s stubborn, sometimes this can do more harm than good. Harmony means well, but even after living in Japan for several years, she still has much to learn and a lot to adjust to. Harmony is dedicated, sticking to her tasks to the end. The last thing she wants to do is let anyone down.

BASIC MEDICAL INFORMATION BLOOD TYPE O+ MENTAL DISORDERS: Depression, anxiety, insomnia MEDICAL PROBLEMS: Scars, family history of Type II diabetes, heart disease, and kidney disorders (tied to diabetes). More information can be found here: LINK

STATUSES  CURRENT STATUS: Stamina: 4/5 Body: 4/5 Mental strength: 2/5 Water repellency: 3/5 Logic: 3/5 Courage: 4/5 EXPECTED STATUS: Stamina: 5/5 Body: 5/5 Mental strength: 5/5 Water repellency: 5/5 Logic: 5/5 Courage: 6/5 

FULL BACKGROUND INFORMATION

Triggers: Fire, racism, xenophobia, death

Harmony Halcyon was born and raised in  Montana. Her parents owned a small bison ranch, and she used to spend her days helping her parents and riding her horse to endless plains. She loved the mountains that stand in the distance and the sky was open, limitless. As a child, she spent time with her paternal grandfather. He often told her various stories from legends passed down between generations and humorous misadventures of himself and his sisters as children. 

She had a Karelian bear dog named Sedona and a paint mare, Mojave. She used to take long horseback riding through the trails in the neighboring forest. Harmony was a happy child.

.Unfortunately, her life would dramatically change. Harmony was a child when her parents lost everything. It all started with fire. It grew and ravaged the wilderness, stretching far and wide. The Halcyons couldn’t save their home. The fire surrounded Harmony who was riding Mojave on their way home with Sedona in tow. The raging fire scared the horse, and the girl fell from Mojave’s back. She was trapped in the fire. A burning tree strikes her down, pinning her to the scorched ground. A desperate attempt to free herself burned her right hand and arm. Burning debris fell upon the girl. 

She couldn’t escape.But she wasn’t alone. Sedona desperately dug at the pile of fallen branches and ash. The dog pulled Harmony out and to the edge of a lake away from the smoke. Sedona left her, only to return with a rescue team following her. If it wasn’t for her Sedona, Harmony wouldn’t have survived. Mojave’s return without Harmony warned her parents and they acted quickly, only to find that rescuers found their daughter and was transported for burn treatments. The burns would remain as scars on her skin. Harmony struggled when she became ill from infections, a result of the burns. In the end, Harmony would pull through. But the same could not be said for the stability her family had.

The wildfire took everything. The herd was killed by the flames and stifling fumes. Harmony’s home engulfed by flames. It almost claimed her life.All that was left was her family, Mojave, Sedona, and a few of their belongings.

.The Halcyons had nowhere to go and the hospital bill was high, Indian Health Service couldn’t help cover all the costs. Employment was difficult to come by in Black Hawk.  No one in their small town would hire them, except two Air Force recruiters who met Harmony’s father, Lucas.  He took a chance that day. He enlisted and soon found out he must go to Yokota Base near Tokyo, Japan. The family made sacrifices before leaving the United States. Harmony’s heart broke when her parents sold Mojave. They couldn’t take her with them. The little girl could only watch when a strange man drove away with Mojave in a trailer behind his truck. Harmony wouldn’t ever see her again. 

 Thankfully, the family kept Sedona, and the family relocated when Harmony was ten years old. They lived modestly, just like always while sending some money back to help Mato make ends meet. She struggled in a new country. New expectations, new people, new language. She was rebellious as a child, not adjusting well to the culture shock. Children made fun of her trying to speak in Japanese and her appearance. She was darker compared to the other children. The children often question whether “Indians” still scalp people or live in tipis like in the old movies. They teased with war cries and left her out in most of their activities.Fitting in society was just part of the problem. Harmony couldn’t stand the sense of claustrophobia with the city enclosing around her. She stayed in the large city, almost forgetting what the stars looked like and it’s as though the sky that she once loved is imprisoned by towering skyscrapers.  She missed the mountains and valleys, and the sky that could go on for thousands of miles.

Yet, Harmony soon got used to it. Slowly adjusting to the life on the base and in an urban setting. The family learned to speak Japanese and blend in the best they could. Unfortunately, there would be another tragedy inflicted on Harmony when she turned thirteen. Her grandfather passed away, succumbing to his long battle for hsi health.

First her home, Mojave, and now her grandfather.  Harmony felt isolated, hurt, and yet she couldn’t do anything. Kids made fun of her for not looking the same, her necklace, and although she became more fluent in Japanese, she still stuck out. She tried to make the most of it but wished things were different. Isolation has left her longing for friends, becoming withdrawn and unsure of herself. This led her to get into trouble for any sort of attention. This included getting into fights.After several years, Harmony’s father went into retirement from the Air Force. 

Her parents grew to love Japan, but missed the quiet life in the country. They were also afraid of Harmony getting into trouble, such as joining gangs that were rampant in the city. They thought Iwatobi would be the perfect place and relocated there. Harmony’s mother, Destiny, received an education from Yokota and gets a job as an elementary school teacher in Iwatobi. Lucas got a job as a security guard at Samezuka Academy, and Harmony transferred to Iwatobi High School.

After moving from the city to the quiet town, Harmony must acclimate to another dramatic change of environment. This time, it was easier because Iwatobi is closer to nature, just the way she likes it. However, making friends isn’t easy, which led her to wonder if joining a club would help in achieving that goal. After searching for all the options, Harmony discovered the Iwatobi Swim Club. A chance to challenge herself, make a name for herself, and make friends.

[drtanstravels]

When I finished my previous post we had wrapped up the Midwest Ocular Angiography Conference at the Four Seasons Resort and Residences in Jackson, Wyoming the previous night and were just about to begin the holiday leg of our trip through the Pacific Northwest of the USA.

Wednesday, July 10, 2019 We had our lunch at the Four Seasons with Tony, the pharmaceutical representative from Chicago we had met at the conference, and now it was time for us to hit the road. We got in our white, rental Toyota Corolla and it needs to be said, Anna does a great job of driving on the opposite side of the road and there were some confusing roads and intersections to deal with in this area. Wifi was almost nonexistent so we had to either try and make the most of the one bar of connection we had while in a town to find our destination on Google Maps or simply resort to paper maps, something I would have to do a lot over the coming days in order to navigate, making me sometimes feel more than a little carsick. In fact things were so remote we couldn’t even get a radio reception and it looked like we’d just be listening to static for the next couple of hours until I was finally able to get my phone to pair with the car’s stereo via bluetooth, allowing us to listen to the music I had saved on iTunes. If we had to rely on Spotify, we would’ve been screwed. It really didn’t take that long to make our way deeper into Grand Teton National Park, where we would be spending that night:

Grand Teton National Park is an American national park in northwestern Wyoming. At approximately 310,000 acres (480 sq mi; 130,000 ha; 1,300 km2), the park includes the major peaks of the 40-mile-long (64 km) Teton Range as well as most of the northern sections of the valley known as Jackson Hole. Along with surrounding national forests, these three protected areas constitute the almost 18,000,000-acre (7,300,000 ha) Greater Yellowstone Ecosystem, one of the world’s largest intact mid-latitude temperate ecosystems.

The human history of the Grand Teton region dates back at least 11,000  years, when the first nomadic hunter-gatherer Paleo-Indians began migrating into the region during warmer months pursuing food and supplies. In the early 19th century, the first white explorers encountered the eastern Shoshone natives.

Grand Teton National Park is an almost pristine ecosystem and the same species of flora and fauna that have existed since prehistoric times can still be found there. More than 1,000 species of vascular plants, dozens of species of mammals, 300 species of birds, more than a dozen fish species and a few species of reptiles and amphibians inhabit the park.

One of many meese in the area

To be honest, neither Anna nor myself is particularly interested in fly-fishing, which is extremely popular there, but we do like the outdoors, hiking, and checking out the wildlife so we would be doing plenty of that over the coming days. In fact, we learnt an easy way for spotting animals almost immediately; if you see a whole heap of cars pulled over on the side of the road and a bunch of people staring and pointing into the distance, there is usually something worth pulling over and seeing. On the first occasion it was a female moose (above, right) grazing in a small body of water. It was obviously female, because it didn’t have antlers, but this got us immediately wondering if there might be more moose around, particularly male ones. Then I got a little irritated when it occured to me that the moose is a member of the deer family so the name is an invariant, the plural form still being “moose”, not “meese.” It seemed like such a wasted opportunity, but never mind, that wouldn’t stop me from referring to them as “meese.” Nothing could.

Another stop en route to our destination would be Jenny Lake, a popular hiking area through some of the tallest peaks in the Teton Range, in order to trek a portion of the Cascade Canyon Trail. We would take a boat, the humorously named “Beaver Dick Leigh” (which I later discovered was named after Richard “Beaver Dick” Leigh), from South Jenny Lake across to the the entrance of Cascade Canyon and hike up to the well-signposted Hidden Falls, then past the Jaw and the Rock of Ages, down to Lake Solitude, along the way passing that family from Oregon with whom we went whitewater rafting the previous day and Anna having to keep the sole attached to a busted hiking shoe with a hair-tie, before finally making our way back down to Jenny Lake and catching the “Beaver Dick Leigh” back across to our car. Besides squirrels, we didn’t really see any wildlife, but the scenery was pretty spectacular. See for yourself:

Entering Grand Teton National Park

Token panoramic shot

Our ride across the lake

And we’re off

It looks cold but it surprisingly wasn’t

I guess that’s one way to stop lake pirates

Almost there

following the river

Hidden Falls isn’t all that hidden

I’m dressed like I work there

The beginning of the trail

Still going

Anna getting a bit ahead of me

Not a bad way of spending an afternoon

One of many squirrels we would see

Looking down on some trees

Teton Range

We didn’t encounter any bears… yet!

To say the water is clear would be like saying it is also damp

Now that we were done with the hiking we had to find our way to the ranch where we were staying. That’s right, ranch. We were staying at the Heart Six Guest Ranch, which claims to be “One of the oldest dude ranches in America,” located just outside Grand Teton National Park and right near the south gate of Yellowstone National Park. Another fact to add was that the ranch stunk strongly of horse manure, an odour that you could almost taste, one that never disappeared, but also one that permeated everything until you just became acclimatised to it. One good thing about staying in this region is that it stays light until about 9:30pm each night so we didn’t have to worry about locating the ranch in the dark, but when we eventually found it, we were surprised to also see covered wagons and teepees on the grounds. We would definitely have to explore them a bit more in the morning, because I want to know how Native Americans could tolerate the cold nights here in just a teepee! When we arrived we checked in, noting the wildly swinging ceiling fan in the ranch’s reception, along with the multitude of mosquitoes and other insects in the general vicinity. Once done we didn’t go to our room, instead opting to drive down to a nearby river in the hope of seeing some animals, as dusk is apparently the prime time for spotting wildlife. Unfortunately, we didn’t encounter a whole lot, just a couple of female deer enthusiastically spotted in the distance by some fellow tourists, a large, slowly moving mound on the opposite bank of the river that was apparently a beaver (but realistically it could’ve been almost anything), and some spiders. I did, however, manage to snap the photo of the mountains with the purple sky that I used for the featured image for this post while we were there.

We returned to the “Dude Ranch” and asked the guy working in reception where there was to eat. There were apparently two options, one of which the receptionist said in no uncertain terms was “shit.” We walked outside and there was a man in a cowboy hat passing us so we asked him for his recommendation, to which he replied the other option out of the two was “shit.” We weren’t expecting to find ourselves in a culinary hotspot, but in our experience there people were more willing to tell you which was the worst out of the two restaurants, as opposed to which one they preferred, and thus far the consensus was split 50/50. Not a good sign so we opted for the closest which was on the grounds of the ranch — It was shit. There was probably only about 15 minutes until the kitchen closed and there was a family on a table behind us where the mother, similar in appearance to what you see in ‘Karen’ memes, was going to snap. She was constantly complaining to our waiter and bitching at her kids, but it was the waiter that I felt bad for. This tall, gangly guy with long, blonde hair in a ponytail with a fringe, a curly moustache, and suspenders over a t-shirt was frazzled — It can’t be easy being the only hipster in a tiny town, as well as the only employee in the town’s restaurant. When the family was ordering, the mother asked if there were any gluten-free options, to which the waiter replied that nothing they serve would be truly gluten-free, because they cook everything on the same grill and don’t really clean it. She just let out an audible, dissatisfied sigh and ordered a random dish. I’m not sure if he was cooking the food too, but it took quite a while to come out and it most likely wasn’t because they were busy cleaning in the kitchen. That family were there first so their food arrived before ours and the mother still wasn’t happy, going on a rant about the poor quality of their dinner. Ours eventually arrived and it was pretty bad too; a tough steak each and french fries that weren’t just crunchy, but hard as if they had kept all of the leftover, uneaten fries aside over the course of the evening and then refried them all at the end for our meals — It’s pretty hard to screw up fries, but they managed somehow. Still, we just smiled and gnawed on our steaks and crunched our fries, because we didn’t want to ruin the waiter’s night any further, he seemed close to tears.

Once we had got through the bulk of our dinner we decided to have a look around this part of the ranch, including the lounge area and the bar. As had been the case in Jackson and is probably a theme running through all ranches, there was a heap more taxidermy within those walls. Inside the lounge there was a kid being shown how to play pool by an older man, people sitting around reading books, and a stoned-looking guy admiring a stuffed animal head mounted on the wall, looking at it in the same way that a person takes in a renaissance masterpiece in a European museum. He giggled and pointed out to me that it had a weird horn in the middle of its head that would block its vision when it looked to the side. I mentioned that its eyes were on the sides of it head so it probably wouldn’t have had true peripheral vision anyway and the horn could just be the result of poor taxidermy. He seemed to take this onboard and continued to study this felled beast. Anna and I decided to take in other areas of the building such as the small bar with incredibly uncomfortable looking saddles on top of the barstools, when the guy staring at the head came running up, appearing relieved to have finally located me. “It’s a caribou!” he yelled while laughing hysterically, obviously having asked someone else, because he wouldn’t have been able to Google it unless he could get on one of the two occupied computers in the lounge.

We weren’t going to be staying in a teepee or a covered wagon, we just went up to our ugly room and hit the sack for the night. We were told when we checked in that the rooms in the part we were staying had only just been completed and when we got up there we saw that it was really basic; the walls were just plywood and everything appeared to be unfinished and really cheaply done so we could hear everything happening in the neighbouring rooms, all the while trying to make contact with as few surfaces as possible in order to avoid getting splinters. It also smelled of turpentine and there wasn’t a TV or wifi for a distraction so we just showered and went to sleep. A look around the ranch and our room:

Part of the outside area of our ranch at dusk

Me in the ranch’s restaurant with the angry mum behind me

Anna from the other side of the restaurant

Inside the lounge area

Some heads on the wall

The caribou with its weird centre horn

Inside the bar

Those stools don’t look comfortable at all

Our bed for the night

Thursday, July 11, 2019  Maybe it was just the jet-lag catching up with me, but I had a mild epileptic seizure that morning in my sleep. It wasn’t anything major, I still remember waking up immediately afterward and snoring heavily while trying to get back to sleep, but it would leave me feeling kind of lethargic, however, I wasn’t going to let it prevent me from making the most of the day. We also couldn’t sleep much, because there was construction going on outside our room from the early morning onward, as well as people speaking loudly just outside.

We knew that the restaurant in the ranch was terrible and we hadn’t heard sparkling reviews about our only other option so we didn’t bother with breakfast, we just went down to a convenience store, breathing in the fragrance of horse shit the entire way and passing our waiter from the previous night, a defeated-looking man now hanging out towels. We just hoped for better results than the last time we were in a convenience store and we didn’t do too badly, just a couple of average cups of coffee and I grabbed a Hunter’s Reserve Roadkill meat stick. It may sound like a bad double entendre and due to the word “roadkill” being a registered trademark, I have my doubts that it did contain any actual roadkill, however, “meat from feral swine” was one of the listed ingredients. Anyway, I ate the roadkill stick and stuck the wrapper in my pocket, because there were no bins around. We did one last look around, taking in the covered wagons and teepees around Heart Six Ranch and was surprised to see that they were actually quite modern on the inside, almost to the extent of our room, except for the fact that the people staying in them needed to use a communal toilet, something that is kind of a dealbreaker for Anna and I. A better look around the ranch in the light of day:

This doesn’t just apply to cowboys, there is crap EVERYWHERE!

The wagon accommodation

That’s where the smell is coming from

Some of the teepees

I don’t think it would be big enough in one of those for the both of us

So long, poop ranch

About to gnaw on some “Roadkill”

Before long we were back in the car, bound for the world famous Yellowstone National Park (no, not Jellystone):

Yellowstone National Park is an American national park located in Wyoming, Montana, and Idaho. It was established by the U.S. Congress and signed into law by President Ulysses S. Grant on March 1, 1872. Yellowstone was the first national park in the U.S. and is also widely held to be the first national park in the world. The park is known for its wildlife and its many geothermal features, especially Old Faithful geyser, one of its most popular features. It has many types of ecosystems, but the subalpine forest is the most abundant. It is part of the South Central Rockies forests ecoregion.

Yellowstone National Park spans an area of 3,468.4 square miles (8,983 km2), comprising lakes, canyons, rivers and mountain ranges. Yellowstone Lake is one of the largest high-elevation lakes in North America and is centered over the Yellowstone Caldera, the largest supervolcano on the continent. The caldera is considered an active volcano. It has erupted with tremendous force several times in the last two million years. Half of the world’s geysers and hydrothermal features are in Yellowstone, fueled by this ongoing volcanism. Lava flows and rocks from volcanic eruptions cover most of the land area of Yellowstone.

Hundreds of species of mammals, birds, fish, and reptiles have been documented, including several that are either endangered or threatened. The vast forests and grasslands also include unique species of plants. Yellowstone Park is the largest and most famous megafauna location in the contiguous United States. Grizzly bears, wolves, and free-ranging herds of bison and elk live in this park. The Yellowstone Park bison herd is the oldest and largest public bison herd in the United States.

That all sounds pretty cool and if you took the time to read that Yellowstone background information, you would have seen that it mentioned a geyser called Old Faithful, the eruption of which we wanted to witness that day:

Old Faithful is a cone geyser located in Yellowstone National Park in Wyoming, United States. It is a highly predictable geothermal feature, and has erupted every 44 to 125 minutes since 2000.

Eruptions can shoot 3,700 to 8,400 US gallons (14,000 to 32,000 L) of boiling water to a height of 106 to 185 feet (32 to 56 m) lasting from ​11⁄2 to 5 minutes. The average height of an eruption is 145 feet (44 m).

The time between eruptions has a bimodal distribution, with the mean interval being either 65 or 91 minutes, and is dependent on the length of the prior eruption. Within a margin of error of ±10 minutes, Old Faithful will erupt either 65 minutes after an eruption lasting less than ​21⁄2 minutes, or 91 minutes after an eruption lasting more than ​21⁄2 minutes.

The drive to Yellowstone took us through some gorgeous scenery, bringing us within six miles (10 km) of the Idaho state line, through mountains and alongside rivers until we were finally where we needed to be. Old Faithful wasn’t due to erupt for another 30 minutes or so when we arrived, but remember there is a ±10 minute margin of error, meaning it could be anywhere between 20 and 40 minutes. We had a look around the stores nearby, used the bathroom and grabbed a drink, then we went outside and pulled up a seat on the wooden, colosseum-like benches and waited for the show to begin:

Anna killing time

A lot of people show up to see this thing erupt

Once the geyser had finished doing its thing the bulk of people watching began applauding for some reason, however, a lot of people here do that when their plane lands as well and you know for a fact that that pilot has successfully landed every single flight he’s flown. Others complained that the geyser was three minutes early which was kind of amusing, mainly because it doesn’t follow a set schedule, rather people make educated guesses with reasonable accuracy as to when it will erupt and within three minutes is a pretty decent guess.

We then spent the bulk of the day hiking around the grounds, although this left me a little breathless at times, probably a combination of the altitude and the seizure that morning, but we saw some incredible sights. Photos don’t do justice to hydrothermal features so before I post the pictures from around the park, I’ll add some more videos of individual ones we came across:

Anna and a pool

Me on a pathway

A closeup of the pool

Looking over the general vicinity

Another closeup

Something erupting

Overlooking some of the pathways

That’s a really bright flower!

Once we were done in Yellowstone National Park it was time to start driving toward the state of Montana, our home for the next couple of nights, and twice along the way we saw a bunch of cars pulled over to the side and people staring out at something. As I mentioned, that means there is something worth seeing and we wouldn’t be disappointed on either occasion.

First we would be stopping by one of the numerous geyser basins that follow Firehole River to see yet more hydrothermal spots. This area was crowded and the features there were incredible yet again. On this occasion I had a middle-aged guy with a big beard start laughing at my “Let’s Summon Demons” t-shirt, asking his 14-year-old daughter over to admire it. As it would turn out, she and a group of friends had recently got in a bit of trouble with both teachers and police for conducting satanic rituals and dad was more than proud, both him and his daughter wanting to find where they could get the shirt as well. Ultimately just settling for a picture with me.

We ended up stopping further along the river, this time to stop and watch and entire herd of elk that were making their way upstream. At this point we hadn’t seen a whole lot of wildlife so it was a sight for us to behold:

At the geyser basin

Flowing into the river

This shirt got me a bit of love

A panoramic shot of the area

Another part upriver

Just a small portion of the elk from a distance

Some of them feeding

The next stop would be our last one for the day, we would be traveling to Bar N Ranch, but we wouldn’t be staying in their regular accommodation, not by a long shot. From Memorial Day to Labor Day, or May 23 until September 8, when there isn’t too much snow, the ranch opens Under Canvas and Anna had booked for us to go glamping in a tent in the middle of nowhere. That’s no typo, for those unaware of the term, “glamping” is a conjunction of “Glamorous Camping.” I mentioned earlier that Anna doesn’t tend to like roughing it and despite the fact we were going to be staying a tent, she would by no means be getting in touch with nature. We were going to be staying in a Stargazer tent, described on their website as:

Stargazer

The Stargazer has its own viewing window above the king bed to stargaze at night. The ensuite bathroom in your tent includes a shower, sink and toilet. A wood stove keeps the tent warm at night and a private deck allows you to enjoy the outdoors.

Sleeps up to 4

Private bathroom

Key Features

Superior view with night sky viewing window

King size bed with luxurious linens

Private bathroom complete with shower, sink & flushing toilet

Additional camp cots and bedding can be provided for up to 2 people

Definitely an upgrade from staying in a sleeping bag under a tarpaulin, the type of camping that I was used to. Hell, it turned out our tent even had its own indoor fireplace with a sealed flue going outdoors. We drove down there, but there are a lot of cattle surrounding the entrance due to a cattlegrid stopping them exiting the premises so we couldn’t enter until a woman coaxed all of the cows away from the road. Once down the path we checked in and were chauffeur-driven in a golf cart, along with our luggage, to our super-luxurious tent and this wasn’t like anything I was expecting. We got everything arranged, then went to the main area of Bar N Ranch to have dinner, which turned out to be a great meal, and then it was back to our tent. It was a cold night and our shower had hot water, but it took a little while to kick in. Also, the only way to keep the hot water running was to be continually pulling down on a handle, otherwise it it would just cut off, leaving you standing there naked and wet on a freezing night. Anna discovered the best approach was to put soap on the sponge and toothpaste on the brush before getting in, that way you never had to release your grip on that handle. While I was in the shower, she also thought she had found some biscuits on the fireplace, but wasn’t really hungry — It was a good thing, because they turned out to be firelighters. I was pretty tired by the time I got into bed, our tent had a clear panel above the pillow area so I put on an eye-mask and we both went to sleep. This is where we would be spending the next two nights:

Waiting for the cattle to move

Anna out the front of Bar N Ranch

The view from our tent

Inside the restaurant

Another area of the restaurant

…and another

Glamp Montana

Inside our tent

Looking toward the bathroom

Anna ready for bed

Our shower

Pretty luxurious for a tent

Another part of the bathroom

Anna’s biscuits

Friday, July 12, 2019 Anna was already awake and reading by the time I awoke, which was still quite early. She hadn’t worn her eye-mask to sleep so she woke as soon as the sun rose over the clear panel above us in our tent, but no mask could block out the glare, waking me not long after and helping me avoid getting sunburnt. Factor in the jet-lag that was still affecting us and it becomes clear we yet again weren’t really destined for a long sleep.

The plan for the day was to do a little backtracking from Montana into Wyoming to Gallatin National Forest, an area near where we were the previous day, first stopping off at Gibbon Falls and then making our way down into the Mammoth Hot Springs area of Yellowstone National Park for some hiking, hopefully encountering something a little bigger than an elk this time. Before we left we took a look around where we were staying, this time in the broad daylight, me realising as we were walking that the previous day I hadn’t discarded of the wrapper of my roadkill jerky, instead just stuffing it in my pocket. This wasn’t a particularly bright move because, although we were hoping to see some bears from a reasonable distance, I didn’t want the smell of meat attracting any to me directly. I’ve never even really been in a fight before so I don’t like my chances of fending off a grizzly bear, I’d more than likely just instinctively play dead. Probably should pop that wrapper in a bin. The place where we were staying felt bad about some of the food we had been served in the area so far so they allowed us to buy packed lunches from their really good restaurant and we were off. We drove down to Gibbon Falls, a waterfall currently with a drop of approximately 84 feet (26 m) and constantly growing as it erodes the rock below, and we noticed what we had seen time and time again not only the day before, but had also noticed on several previous trips spent exploring the outdoors — That a lot of women traveling from a country that shares its name with the material from which fine teacups and saucers are made choose fashion over function. We particularly noticed it in Turkey where these women would be walking around caves and other geological features wearing high end dresses and heels when hiking attire is far more appropriate, preventing injuries and allowing you to access more areas. Now a lot of them had been wandering around Yellowstone, some even rocking a pair of stilettos, and we hadn’t seen the last of them. Anyway, Gibbon Falls was really nice, here’s a look at our morning up until that point:

Anna waiting outside our tent

Some of the other tents in Under Canvas

An area for outdoor dining

Not the worst heels we saw, but still not appropriate outdoors footware

Gibbon Falls from the side

Looking over the falls

Gibbon Falls from the front

Next we were going to make our way to a kind of unnamed town in the Mammoth Hot Springs Historic District, first to eat our packed lunches, then to go to the Horace Albright Visitor Center to get us some information about where we could go hiking and potentially see some big furry things. A little more about the Mammoth Hot Springs Historic District, an area that looks a hell of a lot like a town, operates like a town, but apparently isn’t a town:

The Mammoth Hot Springs Historic District in Yellowstone National Park comprises the administrative center for the park. It is composed of two major parts: Fort Yellowstone, the military administrative center between 1886-1918, and now a National Historic Landmark, and a concessions district which provides food, shopping, services, and lodging for park visitors and employees.

Fort Yellowstone is a carefully ordered district of substantial buildings that clearly indicate their military origins. The U.S. Army administered the park from 1886 to 1918 when administration was transferred to National Park Service. The park headquarters is now housed in the original double cavalry barracks (constructed in 1909). The Horace Albright Visitor Center is located in the old bachelors’ officers quarters (constructed in 1909).

The concessions district contrasts with the military district, with a less formal arrangement and style and includes the Mammoth Hot Springs Hotel and Dining Room, a gas station, and retail stores. The Yellowstone Main Post Office, itself on the National Register of Historic Places sits just north of Fort Yellowstone. The residential area includes houses designed by architect Robert Reamer.

So despite having a residential area, retail stores, and even a post office, it still doesn’t qualify as a town, just a “Concessions District.” That explains why I was so confused trying to figure out the location when I first started writing this part of this post, even the locations on the photos I took aren’t accurate.

Anyway, as we were driving into the town concessions district our path to the main parking area was obstructed by a couple of deer making their way across in front of us, which was not a bad start. We ate our packed lunches from Under Canvas then, as we were making our way to the Visitor Center we had to walk pass the town concessions district square, a patch of grass between the two main streets that was teeming with female elk, all just hanging around, some laying down, others eating. I took some pictures, but as I went in to get a slightly closer shot I was accosted by a park ranger. “You must remain 25 yards or 22.8 metres away from all wildlife at all times!” he screamed in a well-rehearsed fashion, but you would think that if it were really that important they would put up at least one sign in the town concessions district. In fact, the only place it was even mentioned was on a flyer from the Visitor Center, however, you needed to walk past the animals to get the flyer. Once in the Visitor Center we stocked up on some supplies such as sunblock and insect repellent as the mosquitoes and horseflies in this area are awful! Anna wondered whether we should get some bear spray, but to me it all seemed like a bit of a scam; the stuff is US$50.00 (currently about AU$72.50) per can and we hadn’t even seen any bears! It was also possible to rent bear spray from some places, but the stuff doesn’t act as a repellent, more like a form of mace for use on bears, and I figured if a grizzly bear was intent on attacking you, spraying mace in its face would only piss it off more so we opted against it.

We got ourselves some maps and were soon on our way, hiking on an uphill path, walking for about 15 minutes when we were approached by an excited looking tourist from New Zealand and her two young children coming the opposite direction. She told us that just a bit further up the hill was a female grizzly bear with two young cubs and it was a bit angry, scaring her kids. We asked her if she thought it was safe for us to continue and she replied, “Oh, sure, you’ll be fine as long as you have your bear spray.” Shit. We walked back down into the town concessions district, forked out the US$50.00 and got us some bear spray.

Take two. We started to make our way uphill again, this time equipped with our bear spray in a hip holster, a liquid with its ingredients listed as 2% capsaicin and 98% “Other ingredients”. This stuff must be pretty strong, possibly even working on the power of suggestion, because after over an hour of anticipating encountering a defensive grizzly bear and its cubs we came to the conclusion that there were now three possibilities:

The bears were substantially further away than the woman had led us to believe,

The bears were gone, or

The woman was working for the bear spray company

I even began to wish I had now kept the Roadkill wrapper in my pocket in the hopes of attracting one. Still, we kept going, hiking for about five hours, covering over 15 km (9.3 miles) of rugged terrain, getting caught in the rain and mauled by mosquitoes, just to see a couple of does, which quite possibly could’ve been the same one multiple times, one male deer, plus a couple of squirrels here and there. As our hike continued, I became more and more annoyed at how anticlimactic it had been; I was now exhausted, wet, and extremely itchy, yet we had seen hardly anything, encountering not only more wildlife, but cooler-looking animals in the town concessions district! We stopped off briefly to have a look at the Mammoth Hot Springs and then decided to head back. To add insult to injury, there was a female elk sitting right next to our car, but screw that 25 yard rule, I wasn’t in the mood to let this thing stop me from getting in our car. If I needed to be 25 yards away from the wildlife, it could do its part on this occasion and move away from me. Some scenes from the town concessions district centre and the little we saw on a disappointing, albeit trying, hike:

Parking the car

Interesting name

The centre of the “Concessions District”

A closeup of some elk

Looking over the concessions district as we begin our hike

Heading back to the store

Now equipped with bear spray

Seems like there’s some around

It’s all good, I’ve got bear spray

2% capsaicin, 98% other ingredients

Safety first

How to use our spray

A small portion of the area we hiked

A doe we saw

Possibly the same doe later

Mammoth Hot Springs

A nearby deer

Mammoth Hot Springs from a distance

She can get 25 yards away from me

That night we went into a real town, West Yellowstone, Montana for dinner with the intent of eating a bison or bear steak out of spite, because we sure didn’t encounter any on our hike. Instead, we settled for a ribeye and some damn good devilled eggs, all of which we shared between us, and then we headed back to our tent for a final night before moving on to the next stop.

Initially I was going to try and tell the story of this trip in two parts, but it turns out I will need a third and final post in order to tell it properly. Where would we be staying next? Would we encounter any wildlife worth writing about? And would I have to wear that hideous cowboy shirt again to a rodeo? Stay tuned for the conclusion of our journey through cowboy country!

Embarking on the vacation leg of our trip through Wyoming and Montana When I finished my previous post we had wrapped up the Midwest Ocular Angiography Conference at the Four Seasons Resort and Residences in Jackson, Wyoming the previous night and were just about to begin the holiday leg of our trip through the Pacific Northwest of the USA.

[leonawriter]

Second Chances

Read it on AO3

Fandom: Final Fantasy VII

Characters: Cloud, Shelke, Genesis, various others.

Summary: Following on from First Encounters, Shelke helps bring certain things to light about their new acquaintance. When Cloud finally finds him again, his attempts at getting answers are less than fruitful.

Written for @strifesodosweek, though this one’s mainly platonic again.

...

It happens while Genesis is away, and no one knows where he's gone. It isn't the first time that's happened, and they weren't too bothered about it, because everyone had things they didn't want to talk about, something that Cloud understood more than most.

It's one of those rare occasions when there's more people around than there aren't, too, which he'd be suspicious of if it weren't for how sometimes, that's just how things are. 

Vincent's talking to Tifa, Yuffie's stroking Nanaki's mane, and Cid's taking a drag of a cigarette by the door when Shelke comes walking in, looking vaguely uncomfortable and saying that she had 'information that she believed that everyone present might benefit from'.

...

"The man who is now staying here, I believe that he is the one that Deepground referred to as 'G'," she continues as soon as everyone is settled down. "He introduced himself to Cloud as a SOLDIER First Class, am I correct?"

Cloud nods. He doesn't look her in the eye.

"G... as we now know him, 'Genesis', was the origin of Deepground, in many ways, according to all of the information I was able to obtain on the matter, and the one whose cells were used in order to create the Tsviets. Shinra seems to have made extensive attempts to delete his existence from history, so what I was able to find was... at times inadequate, and often inconclusive, but does point to the indubitable fact that the Genesis we know may be the very same as the SOLDIER who despite Shinra's efforts, will agree caused a considerable amount of damage and loss of life up until some years ago."

It took effort for Cloud to not let the ringing in his ears overtake him, to keep listening to what was being said, to not grip the table so hard that Tifa was going to have to get a new one.

Tifa sighs, and he looks up, to see her sharing a look with Cid, who looks grim, but...

"Yeah, I figured as much," the man says. "I mean, with a name like that? There's only so many in the world, y'know? And damn, but I was around in those days - they can pretend it didn't happen as much as they like, but the Genesis war was a thing, and people tend to talk when there's something going on like a SOLDIER gone rogue. All hush-hush of course, but what wasn't."

His head- his head... 

The world flashed green, just for a split second, enough to put him off balance.

A voice-

You were a test subject in Hojo's new experiment. 

The monster has been harvested, and can be discarded.

"...thought I knew him from somewhere."

Tifa's voice snapped him free, but he still felt the sweat on the back of his neck. Her words registered to him only vaguely, as he tried to remember how to breathe again.

"Cloud?"

He shakes his head. 

"I'm fine," he says. Vincent doesn't look much like he believes him any more than Tifa does, but the last thing he wants right now is for them to start fussing over him, when they have bigger problems at hand than whatever his memories are up to this time. He's thankful when they just let the matter drop.

"Like I was saying, I thought I knew him from somewhere. His face seemed familiar, you know? And his name, somehow."

"So this guy waltzes in here like he doesn't expect anyone's gonna remember him, is that it?"

"I don't know, something about this seems-"

"He saved Raye and Este before I could get to them," Cloud cuts in, his eyes still squarely on the surface of the table and no one and nothing else. It's almost as though he's hearing someone else speak, and doesn't know whether to hate himself for speaking up for the person he didn't know if he could trust any longer, or feel relieved that he was saying it at all. "If all anyone's got is incomplete data and rumours," including me, he added silently, even now, I wouldn't rely on anything I remember from back then unless someone else is able to back it up, "then... even if nothing else... we can't judge him like that until we know everything."

When he eventually looks back up, Shelke's eyes are on her hands, crossed on her lap.

"I merely thought that additional information would be useful," she said. "Especially if something came up where a lack of prior knowledge would have caused further divisions."

...

Genesis doesn't return for several days, and it's long enough for some of the others to start wondering if he'd merely been toying with them, stringing them along, using their hospitality.

Cloud doesn't know what to think, and he doesn't really know what he wants to think, either. The two images in his head - that of the man who saved a couple of kids and their dog just because he was there, and that of someone who'd had a war named after him - clashed, irreconcilable.

He finds that his feet are taking him to the church in Sector Five, and wonders what Aerith would make of all this. What Zack would make of it.

The last thing he expects to find in the church are black feathers. His heart stops, hand going for his sword - the last time he had seen feathers like these... it hadn't been here, but Loz had been here, and fought Tifa, too.

A quick scan of the rest of the church suggested that there hadn't been another fight here, that nothing was out of place, that the pool of water that Aerith had called down that cured Geostigma was still as it should be. 

He finally sees the source of the feathers when he looks up to check that the Buster Sword is still in its place, and he feels himself go cold at the sight.

The wing was on the wrong side. Misshapen, compared to Sephiroth's. 

Instead of silvery-white hair falling straight down, the owner's hair was red, and fell over black and red leather, what little could be seen from behind, and with the way that the winged man was hunched over.

Cloud puts one foot in front of the other, and sees Genesis - because there's no one else it could be, no matter how much he wishes it wasn't - tense at the sound. 

"Shelke told us a few things," he says as he walks. "And we figured out a few other bits by ourselves."

He pauses several feet away, but Genesis still hasn't risen from the pew. He hasn't even turned to face him. A nervous tension pools in Cloud's stomach at the idea of Genesis, who had been unarmed the last he knew, taking Buster Sword and using it to turn on them all.

"What are you even doing here?"

When Loz had come, it was supposedly to find him, although he'd taken to fighting Tifa and stealing their materia. He had no such understanding of this man's motives. Not anymore, at least, if he ever had.

"My soul, corrupted by vengeance, hath endured torment... to find the end of the journey in my own salvation and your eternal slumber." Genesis let the church echo for a few moments before saying anything else, the words ringing familiar to Cloud, but not explaining anything. "I came to pay my respects, of course."

The wing shook itself out slightly, before settling down again.

"You knew Zack," he says, and it isn't a question. It's the only thing that fits.

"I... suppose you could say that."

Genesis says it in such a way that Cloud knows there's more to it, that it's complicated, and he wants to take the man by that stupid coat of his, and shake him until his feathers fall out along with some answers.

But he doesn't. Because Aerith's flowers aren't that far away, and he knew better than any that her presence still hadn't truly left them. There'd already been enough fighting in this place.

"I spoke up for you," Cloud hears himself saying. "I thought you deserved a chance."

Perhaps some part of him had intended it to come out as anything other than confrontational, but if it did, then it failed - it sounds like nothing more than an accusation.

"All in all, a terrible decision, really," Genesis says flatly. "I could list off any number of reasons why you and everyone else I've come into contact with should hate me." Something about the way he said it gave Cloud no doubt about that, either. "Unfortunately for you, however, I have promises to keep, and none of them include dying any time soon."

Genesis stands, and the wing stretches out as the man sorts himself out, head tilting up, as though attempting to judge the size of and distance to the hole in the roof.

"Promises?" Cloud asks, reaching for something, anything, to help him understand. "What sort of promises?"

"Nothing you need to worry yourself over, Cloud."

Genesis' head tilted, and Cloud wondered why hearing this man say his name already felt so different from when Sephiroth had  - there was something similar but off that he couldn't quite put his finger on. 

Then again, that was Genesis all over, it seemed. Full of contradictions, constantly shifting. Like fire.

The wing flaps once, and before Cloud can react to say or do anything else, Genesis is gone, leaving a trail of feathers floating down in his wake. 

He walks over to where the man had been, half expecting to see something there, some kind of trap, but finds nothing.

There is, however, a single Banora White apple sitting on top of a few black feathers in front of the Buster Sword, and Cloud almost thinks that he can feel a memory on the tip of his tongue before it disappears on him, like a whisper on the wind.

Zack... I hope I made the right decision. 

A single feather fell onto the water's surface as he walked back to the open doors, creating ripples as the wind blew it this way and that.

...

AN: I don't often write about 'how do the gang find out about Genesis' past', but I do feel like it should ideally be handled really carefully, and yeah, if people hadn't thought about it and then it comes up later, then there are going to be issues there. 

Timeline-wise, I'd also put this as before 'Spar With Me', which gives an idea that things do indeed get better.

[black-strike-otp]

part 73

You seem to have stumbled upon a collection of cached files. How odd...

Readers may yet decode their own series of messages or day-to-day proceedings if they see fit~ I’d be curious to read any if anyone sees fit to do so. q: But we’re going to move along with this a bit, shall we?

Data Log: Day 3 (Blackout’s Personal Files)

We’ve yet to have any leads on the whereabouts of the Rising Star, or the Revenge II. Infiltrator and Nighthawk gave a few suggestions on where to start our lead when revealing their star charts were far more updated than those we’ve obtained and have on record. We’ll be heading to the nearest hub in hopes of speaking with the resident bots in hopes of information.

Data Log: Day 5 (Novastrike’s Personal Files) ERROR – Data omitted

[MISSING DATA: ERROR]... I pray that Guard is keeping watch over us. We could use all the help we can get.

Data Log: Day 6 (Blackout’s Personal Files)

Much of the Cybertronians residing on Moriturus appear to be suffering from injuries residing from a nearby world they call Centaris Seven. After Nighthawk took some personal samples for reference from the bots, they revealed that the planet contains a highly corrosive secretion upon its surface that eats through a mechs armor and protoform. We will be staying a for more days in hopes of coming across any strangers passing through to refuel at the small station, upon Nighthawk’s insistence to help the wounded as much as he could.

Data Log: Day 10 (Infiltrator’s Personal Files)

Screenings of the bots mentioned prior seem to indeed, replicate as we suspected an unknown parasitic organism in the slime that had coated the bots. Nighthawk has deduced that they are of no threat to us, and we no longer need to use precautionary hazard suits. The organisms do not appear to survive outside of their homeworld. Washing bots whose undercarriage still had residue from the ooze revealed substantial evidence. A thorough cleaning was recommended. Below is noted the chemical compounds and information taken from the cells for record to add to Cybertronian archives.

Data Log: Day 15 (Nighthawk’s Personal Files) ERROR – Data omitted

Its been roughly two full cycles now since we’ve disbanded from Decepticon Lieutenant and Weapons Expert Blackout and Novastrike. [MISSING DATA: ERROR] Infiltrator and I have found no further evidence of the Rising Star’s whereabouts. We’ll be stopping on planet Xetaxxis in about 63 joors. Former information on the planet reveals it’s inhabited by a race of sentient robotic organisms just as Cybertron was. Will induct a study on occupants, if allowed. [MISSING DATA: ERROR] Reviewing this data file later, I realized I had made the error in referring to that arrogant mech as an Officer of the Decepticons. Revoke that statement; data is old and irrelevant now. Rogue Blackout, former Commanding Officer of the Rising Star.

Data Log: Day 18 (Infiltrator’s Personal Files)

Documentation attached below on evidence of possible relation between Xetaxxis species and that of Cybertron. They appear more primitive in function than that of Cybertron, but their CNA suggests a pattern related to that of Cybertronians. Further studies will need to be conducted to be assured of this. If we’re lucky, we’ll get to return one day. Residents appeared friendly, but bitter and hesitant to meet strangers because of their feuding battle with neighboring robotic species on different homeworld. Is it simply in our species’ nature to clash? Requires further analysis.

Data Log: Day 24 (Novastrike’s Personal Files)

There were some rather mysterious looking plants to look at today! Blackout had us stop by each one to scan for Cybertronian lifeforms, but we found no evidence. I took some photos to share with Nighthawk and Infiltrator, specifically the fauna, flora, and creatures we saw on some of the cluster of heavenly bodies. I really enjoyed the large gaseous planet the most; it was mysterious and flying through it scrambled some of Blackout’s instruments, much to his annoyance. We re-calibrated outside of the planet before taking off again. There was no way any Cybertronians would be surviving there with the electromagnetic field it generates. We’ll continue our search.

Data Log: Day 31 (Blackout’s Personal Files)

Received a transmission from Nighthawk. Will be joining up with him and Infiltrator on planet Floron 3. Infiltrator mentioned something about speculating rumors that there was insecticide sold there. Has to be the oddest bit of random information I’ve ever received and from a dragon, of all things.

Data Log: Day 33 (Nighthawk’s Personal Files)

Its been a long flight. I’ll record more information later. For now, going to recharge. Blackout and Novastrike appear to be in one piece. The kind femme transferred some data to my pad that she said I may enjoy looking through. She gives my processor something to muse over, how such an easygoing and docile bot could show interest in someone so opposing in forces than herself.

Data Log: Day 40 (Infiltrator’s Personal Files)

DATA LOST. RECOVERING... DATA FOUND. TRANSLATING... IMAGE RECOVERY IN PROGRESS...

(There appears to be no words here, just photographs taken of alien hieroglyphs. Whatever text there may have been, if any, seems to be lost.)

Data Log: Day 46 (Blackout’s Personal Files)

No progress on our quest. Energon reserves are running a bit thinner than we’d like, so we have decided to ration portions by a marginal fraction per daily units. According to all of our starcharts, there is supposed to be no planetoids for lightyears. However, we got to experience a rare sight: the formation of a star. Novastrike seemed to enjoy it. It was nice to see her smile; it seems like ages since she last did so.

Data Log: Day 52 (Novastrike’s Personal Files)

These are my new favorite pics! Make sure Blackout doesn’t see these, he’ll never forgive me. (There appears to be images after a bit of scrolling. One if of Blackout smiling, another of him laughing, and yet another of him trying to scrub dirt from Scorponok. The next picture is blurry, and shows Nighthawk trying to scale Blackout to avoid a tiny, furry looking quadrapoid creature with large canines in numerous rows as Blackout attempts to step back and is obviously tripping over Infiltrator and Scorponok. Nova appears to have doddled something on this image: “They thought it was a scraplet for a nanoklik!” The final image simply shows Novastrike, taking a selfie holding the fuzzy creature. She’s grinning like an idiot, optics offline, with the faint shadows of Blackout and Nighthawk blurring in the background like they were moving swiftly to remove the creature from Novastrike’s arms.)

Data Log: Day 53 (Nighthawk’s Personal Files) ERROR - Data Omitted

[MISSING DATA: ERROR] I am never going back to that Unicron forsaken planet. [MISSING DATA: ERROR] Infiltrator says he managed to get a scan of that scraplet-look alike monstrosity. As predicted, it’s carnivorous. He witnessed one feeding on the aquatic species in a nearby riverbed. [MISSING DATA: ERROR] I wish I could say that femme was brave, but she doesn’t know the horrors a scraplet can do to a bot. So instead of calling her ‘crazy’, I’ll just go with ‘ill-informed’. As per Blackout’s request, I will not send her the video obtained of a hoard of scraplets feasting on a bot, but I think that some reading education may still be in order.

Data Log: Day 57 (Blackout’s Personal Files)

Nothing of importance to log today. No new discoveries. Nighthawk suggests we split up again to track more space once again. I feel like I’m losing my touch, but even Nighthawk of all bots urged me not to lose hope. Searching all of space is just as daunting as I thought it would be.

Data Log: Day 60 (Nighthawk’s Personal Files)

Infiltrator and I have been headed for the Alpha Centauri region. Will record further data later, as of now trying to avoid a belt of meteors in a field. Not entirely sure if we’ll be able to find out way out of this mess alone.

Data Log: Day 63 (Infiltrator’s Personal Files) ERROR - Data Omitted

Nighthawk and I spent the day patching up the Jaguar. Boss was pretty displeased with the damages, but I’m not even sure the most experienced flyer could have gotten through that mess in one piece. Rocks were smashing against each other and causing a vicious cycle of debris. [MISSING DATA: ERROR] Blackout seems to have received our transmission despite all the interference. Estimated arrival in 7 cycles or more.

Data Log: Day 73 (Novastrike’s Personal Files)

We were intercepted today by a small group of bots. Blackout got a bit battered, but the Jaguar didn’t sustain very much damage. We’ve decided to further investigate the area before we draw more attention to ourselves by sticking around, and moving on as soon as possible.

Data Log: Day 74 (Nighthawk’s Personal Files) ERROR – Data Omitted

Novastrike insisted on Blackout being repaired, despite the mech’s disapproval. Unfortunately for him, he had to be given a little medical suggestive aid from my tranquilizer darts. I don’t think he’ll be willingly coming to me for a while for repairs now. [MISSING DATA: ERROR] The planet appears to have dormant volcano of sorts, fascinating. Infiltrator and Scorponok were sent out to investigate, with the approval of the other bots, and bring me back samples. I very much look forward to studying the geographical landscape later and studying the rock formations. I wonder if single-cell microorganisms may exist here, or fossilized evidence thereof.

Data Log: Day 77 (Novastrike’s Personal Files)

No bot is quite sure, but Nighthawk and Blackout are feeling pretty positive they found a vapor trail left from a ship! Hard to believe; it’s so empty out here. I pray it’s the Rising Star. Primus and Guard be with us all, it would really lift the spirits around here if we could cut a break.

Data Log: Day 83 (Infiltrator’s Personal Files)

Blackmail. (There appears to only be an image left behind of Nighthawk, recharging, with Blackout obviously snickering just barely in frame. Upon closer examination, one can tell that Nighthawk’s frame has been decorated with the paints to give a false illusion of a feminine faceplate and frame.)

Data Log: Day 85 (Novastrike’s Personal Files)

Infiltrator shared with me an equally impressive photo I added to my collection. I still don’t know if Nighthawk’s ever going to try pulling out that dent he put in Blackout’s armor, but I hope he does. I mean, it wasn’t like he was physically hurt by Blackout’s little gag. It’s a bit funny though, that the time these two seem to be on their best behavior around each other is when I’m actually around and awake. I feel like I have magical powers of influence around them!

Data Log: Day 88 (Blackout’s Personal Files) ERROR – Data Omitted

Evidence of a ship has been through this area, recently. We’ll be pursing as soon as Nighthawk and Infiltrator have finished collecting their samples on yet another wayward planet. [MISSING DATA: ERROR]

Data Log: Day 90 (Nighthawk’s Personal Files)

[ERROR: LOG APPEARS TO HAVE BEEN WIPED CLEAN OF DATA... RETRIEVAL IN PROCESS... ACCESS DENIED. PLEASE TRY AGAIN.]

Data Log: Day 95 (Nighthawk’s Personal Files)

(There appears to only be images taken from a planet. They appear to resemble an extinct species glyphs and images depicting their history. The only note at the bottom is a simple state: ‘Process later. No obvious signs of life on this planet any longer. Perhaps gone, went off planet, or hiding underground?’.)

~

Breathing in loudly with excitement, Novastrike pressed her face against Blackout’s viewing panel. He gave a quiet grunt as he had to readjust some of his control panel; knobs moving and levers readjusting carefully.

“Nova, dear, I told you not to touch any of these. They’re sensitive.” he growled softly.

“Oh, sorry!” she squeaked, leaning off of him. She pressed her forehead lightly against the glass as she arched her back to better lean in.

Giving a quiet chuckle, the mech spoke quietly through his alt-mode, “Enjoying the view?”

“Yes!” she gasped. “Look at that planet! Look at it’s rings; they’re glorious!”

Giving a slight chuckle that echoed through his form, Blackout replied lightly, “I’ve seen far more glorious depictions before my optics.”

Sticking her glossia out, the petite femme gave a light swish of her tail to knock lightly against a portion side of his control panel; careful not to touch anything of importance.

Static crackled quietly through the obsidian space vessel as Nighthawk reported over the comm channel, “I have to agree with Novastrike. Absolutely fascinating. It appears that planet is shedding its rings though, sad to say. My scanners indicate that the equator and gravitational pull coming from the epicenter of that planet is pulling its own rings down in the atmosphere.”

“Oh,” Novastrike breathed. “That’s a shame. It’ll lose some of its beauty and charm.”

“Worlds are ever changing, little pupil,” Nighthawk sagely remarked. “That makes them no less beautiful than they are. Planets are constantly in a shift of development; growth and decay.”

“Is that what happened to Cybertron?” Blackout snorted. “We’re just in the decay part of all that scrap you just said?”

“No,” icily responded the seeker. “What happened to Cybertron is a lack of our concern for our own homeworld that damaged it so severely.”

“Cybertron will recover though,” the dragon added on quietly. “So long as we do not meddle in His healing process.”

“You think it’ll be inhabitable again one day soon?” Nova whispered, sighing with longing as she sank down to her knees. Her body flipped over, backstrut pressed into her escort’s control panel as she glanced out at the distant, twinkling lights and blueish toned planet far off in the distance.

There was a quiet silence between all the mechs. The small femme’s ears began to falter, and slowly drop.

“There’s no telling,” admitted the medic. “None of us have exactly seen our homeworld in many, many, many years now. But eventually, Cybertron will be healthy and we’ll be able to return there. Don’t give up hope.”

For Guard’s sake and in his memory, she would not. She remembered just how much he prayed that they would be able to go back one day. It was his dream to bring every bot he could back home, and she wanted to try fulfilling his goals as much as she could.

~

Inside of himself, the dark armored mech dimmed the lights as Novastrike recharged. He managed to get his holoform functional for a brief time, no matter how weird it felt to think about that his nanoties were creating a false impression of himself inside of himself.

Blackout picked her up and sat her into the chair, which unhinged at a point to lean back so she could lay at an angle. She muttered sleepily as she dreamed, curling her limbs into herself. His holoform smirked for a nanoklik as he looked down at her precious face, the soft lines of light bands moving against her before it flickered offline.

“My sensors indicate that the trail we’ve been following is getting stronger,” Nighthawk reported over the comm link.

Speaking in the quietest voice, Blackout huskily responded, “As do mine.”

“Why are we whispering?”

“Novastrike’s recharging.”

“Ah,” the medic murmured in a quieter voice. “My apologies.”

Blackout’s viewing screens shifted around, looking back at the giant orb of a planet and the array of space rocks they’d passed by a while back. His thrusters gave a quiet growl as he arced out wide from the brownish hued planet. Its radius was far smaller than those prior to the intergalactic debris they’d just went soaring through.

The Jaguar, to Blackout’s right, went zipping by him before returning to an idle pace once again. Nighthawk flicked a mocking salute at him as he passed.

“Proud of your little ship, aren’t you?” Blackout sneered.

“Beats your slow aft, that’s for sure.”

“I’m built to withstand blows from much bigger bots and heartier attacks. Your dinky little vessel is meant for what, a stroll around Iacon?”

“More like Crystal City,” teased the medic. “That’s where the majority of the scientific community used to be, anyway.”

“Yawn.”

“Don’t you dare insult the mathematical ingenious of my peers.”

“Your peers?” Blackout snickered. “Like who? Shockwave?”

“Ugh, don’t speak that deplorable name around me,” the mech stated with an obvious sense of distaste. “That mech is mad. Fusing bots together, dismembering them, his war machines and his mutants. There’s no science in that mech. His logic sensors are broken. All he delves in is chaos and revealing in the destruction he creates.”

“Like any good Decepticon would.”

There was a curious hum that came through the comm channel from Nighthawk.

“Do you miss it?”

“Miss what?” Blackout growled, irritated now.

“Being a Decepticon. Do you miss it at all?”

The dark mech went silent. As he thought over the medic’s words carefully, a shadow descended upon his screen, blotting out the light from above.

“Uh... Blackout,” Nighthawk quietly spoke over the comm channel. Whipping his form to the right hard, the former Hound gave a quiet snarl as he pulled out as far from the ship as he could that came upon him out of seemingly nowhere. Novastrike turned over in the seat as he turned, muttering as she slid down somewhat in her seat.

Banking hard, the mech moved his viewers to look at the side of the ship for a sign or identification series on while he climbed up to see the side of the ship.

“I don’t believe it,” he stated with shock, his voice carrying into the Jaguar as Nighthawk stared speechlessly at the vessel before them.

[deadcactuswalking]

REVIEWING THE CHARTS: 1st September 2019

There are four new arrivals this week, evenly split into two categories: Taylor Swift and not Taylor Swift. Now, without further ado...

Top 10

One of the biggest stories this week is the new #1, because thanks to a remix by Sir Spyro, grime producer, featuring verses English rapper Jaykae and a rapper we all know too well on this show, Aitch, “Take Me Back to London” by Ed Sheeran featuring Stormzy (And now I guess I’ll have to credit Jaykae and Aitch) is at #1, up 10 spaces from last week in its fourth week on the charts. Sorry to trail off into a bunch of arbitrary numbers for a second, but it’s Ed Sheeran’s eighth #1 and third from this album alone, Stormzy’s second after “Vossi Bop” this same year, and since we’ve got new remix artists, I guess I can say that this is Aitch’s second top 10 hit in the UK, his fourth top 20 and first ever #1, and also Jaykae’s first ever entry into the UK Top 40, so congratulations. I haven’t heard the remix at all, but Sir Spyro is such a great producer name, and now there is a collaboration between Ed Sheeran, Stormzy, Kenny Beats, Skrillex and Aitch that exists in the world, which is perplexing.

Up two spaces to the runner-up spot is “Higher Love” by Kygo and Whitney Houston taking the video boost up to number-two, and since the remix seems to be carrying “Take Me Back to London”, I have no doubts this will hit #1 soon enough... and that’s all that’s of interest in the top 10.

“Beautiful People” by Ed Sheeran featuring Khalid is down a spot to number-three.

Also down one space is “3 Nights” by Dominic Fike at number-four.

AJ Tracey’s “Ladbroke Grove” hasn’t moved at number-five, keeping pretty steady traction.

Aitch’s “Taste (Make it Shake)” is still at number-six for no good reason.

Joel Corry’s “Sorry” with uncredited vocals from Hayley May has jumped three positions since last week to number-seven.

Also not moving at all is “How Do You Sleep?” by Sam Smith steady at number-eight.

Lil Tecca continues viral success yet still suffers a hit down two spaces to number-nine with “RAN$OM” – you’d think the mixtape release would give this some sort of a boost.

To round off our top 10 we have “So High” by MIST and Fredo down a spot at #10.

Climbers

Despite the four new arrivals, I wouldn’t say this is a busy week per se, but there is definitely some kind of shift going into the Autumn season, and we could be looking at perpetual smash hits rising up this week, like Headie One gaining his third UK top 20 hit with “Both” up four spots to #18 or “Post Malone” by Sam Feldt featuring RANI having a quick and unexpected boost up eight spots to #26, although that’s not exactly appreciated, by me at least, I think that song’s worthless. “Truth Hurts” by Lizzo is also up six positions to #31, 30 spots shy of where it landed on the US’ Hot 100 chart this week, thanks to a DaBaby remix, but I’m unsure if this’ll gain enough traction here in the UK before it fizzles out worldwide.

Fallers

After “Old Town Road” dropped off the #1 spot following its record-breaking streak in the US, anything could get the #1 spot, and I honestly feel that the same is the case with “Senorita” by Shawn Mendes and Camila Cabello collapsing due to streaming cuts down 10 spaces to #11. While I doubt “3 Nights” or “Ladbroke Grove” would have or will ever reach the top, “Higher Love” had that video and could have very much taken it, and it seems even likelier that “Beautiful People” could have just swiped the #1 back, but I guess in 2019, it all comes down to the remix. The fallers here are actually relatively plentiful, the aforementioned “Old Town Road” by Lil Nas X featuring Billy Ray Cyrus, etc. is down five spaces to #22 and I’m honestly quite shocked it’s not off the chart yet, “Motivation” by Normani is unfortunately taking a five-space hit off the debut down to #35 and “I Spy” by Krept & Konan featuring Headie One and K-Trap continues to fall off slowly down five to #37 because of how quickly the remix hype died down.

Dropouts & Returning Entries

There aren’t a lot of dropouts but two out of three of these are actually very notable. While nobody should care about the premature end to the chart run of “Hate Me” by Ellie Goulding and Juice WRLD out from #39, the other dropouts are genuinely pretty important. Out from #21 is “No Guidance” by Chris Brown featuring Drake, even with a video and steady US success, probably due to streaming cuts, which took Stormzy’s “Crown” as a victim this week too, out from #27. Both of these songs peaked in the top 10, just being shy of the top five, so this shows quite an abrupt yet necessary seasonal shift. There aren’t any returning entries, well, not in the top 40 at least, so let’s talk about the elephant in the room that could be a whole lot bigger.

ALBUM BOMB: Taylor Swift – Lover

I’m honestly not shocked at the lack of impact Swift’s new album had here in comparison to the US. Thanks to chart rules, we can only have three songs from Taylor on the chart, and none of the pre-release singles could compete with the new songs, meaning we just have two new arrivals and a boost for fourth single, “Lover”, up nine spaces to #14, becoming Taylor’s fifteenth UK Top 20 single. I’m not complaining about that one, it’s a great song, despite being somewhat Christmassy. Regardless, we have two new Taylor songs to talk about, so let’s go.

#27 – “Cruel Summer” – Taylor Swift

Produced by Jack Antonoff and Taylor Swift – Peaked at #20 in Ireland and New Zealand, and #29 in the US

Our first Taylor Swift song to cover this week is one of many collaborations with Jack Antonoff off of Lover – even if you don’t recognise the name, you’ve definitely heard a song he’s contributed to, whether it be from his old band with Nate Reuss, fun. or Lorde’s Melodrama. Most recently, he’s been working on music with his band Bleachers as well as Lana Del Rey, Kevin Abstract of BROCKHAMPTON and St. Vincent, which brings us to “Cruel Summer”, Taylor Swift’s 27th UK Top 40 hit with additional writing and guitar from Annie Clark of St. Vincent. The album bored me, if I’m going to be completely honest, but there were definite gems that I appreciated throughout and don’t get me wrong, it’s a pretty decent album, but a shortened runtime to mill out the filler records would have definitely helped it achieve greatness. As it is, I’m not disappointed with it and it can definitely go toe to toe with her best at its peaks. This song in particular is pretty great, with blocky 80s-esque production Antonoff is known for, which is immediately cut off by Taylor and her pitch-shifted echo. Her inflections in the pre-chorus especially have a lot of flavour, and that chorus is almost ballad-like, which is somewhat unfitting, but it soon picks up momentum with some more vibrant synths and some rattling hi-hats, admittedly buried in the pretty cloudy mix here, but oh, my god, that bridge is amazing. The combination of the quirky synths, Swift’s vocals building in intensity and, you know, actually being able to hear the percussion for the first time, is incredible, and when it stops for Taylor to just belt into the next chorus, that’s when it wins it for me. Lyrically, it depicts the uncertainty of a new relationship but how exciting that fling is, specifically in this case with Joe Alwyn, who she describes as a “bad boy”, and the music perfectly represents that with how animated Antonoff and Clark’s instrumental is, as well as Taylor herself with some pretty passionate vocal performances I honestly didn’t expect initially. I’ve been listening to the Billboard year-end list for 1984 in the past week for the sake of a Top 10 list, and this would probably fit right in, although I’d question its quality when compared to pop girls at the time like Cyndi Lauper or even Laura Branigan. Admittedly, that year-end list is male-dominated but my point stands. Oh, and this has the same title as a Kanye album from 2012. Sneaky.

#21 – “The Man” – Taylor Swift

Produced by Joel Little and Taylor Swift – Peaked at #15 in New Zealand and #23 in the US

Now this song isn’t one of the first three tracks or even a promoted single but attracted a lot of attention and some controversy for its lyrics, which I’ll only somewhat get into because I don’t get the fuss. In her 28th UK Top 40 hit, Taylor Swift “plays with the ideas of perception”, asking the listener how people would feel about her mistakes, her accomplishments and her public persona and image if she were male, and, well, she has a point, at least on the surface, because people who go through a lot of relationships like Taylor would not be clowned, they would not be mocked for that, they would be “players” as she says. There would not be a focus on her fashion in the press if she was a male, and people would comment on her “Good ideas” and “Power moves”... although I wouldn’t exactly say the debacle with Kanye and Kim Kardashian was a “Power move”. The bridge also seems iffy, commenting less on male musicians but rappers, forgetting that there are indeed so many female rappers talking about the same thing now who are all a lot bigger than they would be years ago when this song might have been written (I assume 2016), and while she has a point that even female rappers (Although this is not directly what she refers to) are seen as subservient and not “Ballers”, I’m not sure if Taylor Swift can comment on that culture, exactly, although I do admit that’s pretty accurate of a comparison. I’m not sure if the press is any kinder to mental health issues in men, either, if that’s what she’s going by when she talks about being okay when you’re “mad” – reminds me of Pitchfork’s Azealia Banks op-ed from 2017 or so. Anyways, I get her overall point – “Women are given less leeway in the industry and harsher press attention than men” - and admittedly, the line, “If I were a man, I’d be the man” is a pretty great wham line for the chorus. This song really sucks, though, there’s no atmospheric intro which works for a “Powerful” song, but Taylor Swift does not sound powerful, she sounds tired. The instrumental is similarly exhausted, with some pretty awful vocal manipulation as a “Drop”, trap percussion because it’s 2019 and some pretty cloudy synths, accentuated by some funny sound effects... I guess? Yeah, no, skip this one, whether it’s for a misguided lyrical attempt, an awful instrumental or Taylor’s odd and unfitting inflections. Honestly, I’m just surprised the song about London didn’t chart this week, featuring an Idris Elba and James Corden sample, but that’s probably a good thing.

NEW ARRIVALS

#40 – “Dance Monkey” – Tones and I

Produced by Konstantine Kersting – Peaked at #1 in Australia, Denmark, Finland, Ireland, Norway and Sweden

Who? What? Where? When? Why? How? Okay, so Tones and I is an Australian singer who immediately came to local success with her debut single and EP, but this new single became a massive European smash, and to my surprise, it’s not even really a sleeper hit; the song was released in May, which isn’t that long ago. I haven’t heard anything about the song, admittedly, but it’s gone #1 in so many countries so I guess we’re just slow to this and the US will never get this to chart because they’re repellent to anything they didn’t make that’s this big in Europe. This is obviously Tones and I’s first ever UK Top 40 hit, and, well, this song is about how musicians are “Puppets” for the industry, or at least pop musicians, and it’s not exactly subtle about that, but I’m really not sure how she’s trying to prove that point when she’s making music just as uninteresting. There’s a couple conflicting synth and piano riffs and none of them are particularly interesting or even nice-sounding, it’s just a lot of cheap presets with a couple finger-snaps and eventually a chorus of people singing back-up with strings, but for the most of the song, we’re supposed to be focused on Tones... and she sure is an interesting singer, which I’m pretty sure is the only reason this has caught on so much, since she’s the only part that stands out and it’s an acquired taste for sure, and she’s definitely putting on the voice for the sake of the music, but honestly I don’t mind it; any attempt at making this boring pop song any interesting is appreciated, and by the end, you don’t notice it that much. Still not a great song, though, it has potential and I’m interested in what she does next.

#33 – “frick, i’m lonely” – LAUV featuring Anne-Marie

Produced by LAUV – Peaked at #9 in Singapore

Do you seriously expect a pre-amble? It’s a song by LAUV and Anne-Marie made for the 13 Reasons Why soundtrack. If that doesn’t scream, “Derivative pop music in 2019 on its last legs”, then I don’t know what doesn’t, it’s LAUV’s second Top 40 hit here in the UK since “i’m so tired” with Troye Sivan and Anne-Marie’s ninth, and it’s bloody awful. It starts with an awfully mixed percussion sample that transitions immediately into a preset beat you can easily find on a school-provided keyboard, with a random kick drum and stray vocal sample. It makes  a really odd contrast between lo-fi preset beat and LAUV’s clean vocals, until the chorus which is just ugly. The actual percussion and a strong 808 comes in, and LAUV’s in his falsetto, and it sounds pathetic. What a “Chorus” that is, oh, yeah, Anne-Marie’s incoherent and barely harmonises with LAUV at all despite an obvious attempt to. Also, “It’s been me, myself and why”? What?! The bridge tries to create non-existent momentum with no groove and instead of any musical coherency, they just ad-lib for a while on dead space until the chorus comes in, and I shouldn’t care anyway, because I don’t want to hear over-processed vocals layered on top of each other to the point of ridiculousness over a beat that I can make in seven minutes or less, with obnoxious ad-libs from Anne-Marie and sickly lyrics. This is lowest common-denominator stuff and it’s not great at all, I’m starting to think “I Like Me Better” was a fluke; if you remember my best list, I really liked that song. Oh, and just when you think the song’s ended for good, you get an extra isolated LAUV vocal riff. Why?!

Conclusion

It should be pretty damn obvious what’s getting Worst of the Week; it’s going to LAUV and Anne-Marie for “frick, i’m lonely” (That is not the true title, by the way, if it wasn’t obvious), which has no redeemable qualities at all; I’m shocked this ever got out to the public. In fact, there’s not much good here at all, so Dishonourable Mention goes to both Tones and I and Taylor Swift for being both uninteresting and completely misguided in “Dance Monkey” and “The Man”. Funnily enough both songs are overly vague commentary on the music industry. Best of the Week also goes to Taylor Swift for “Cruel Summer” though, that song rocks. Follow me on Twitter @cactusinthebank for more musical ramblings and I’ll see you next week!

[readbookywooks]

It was in 1886 that the German pharmacologist, Louis Lewin, published the first systematic study of the cactus, to which his own name was subsequently given. Anhalonium lewinii was new to science. To primitive religion and the Indians of Mexico and the American Southwest it was a friend of immemorially long standing. Indeed, it was much more than a friend. In the words of one of the early Spanish visitors to the New World, “they eat a root which they call peyote, and which they venerate as though it were a deity.”

Why they should have venerated it as a deity became apparent when such eminent psychologists as Jaensch, Havelock Ellis and Weir Mitchell began their experiments with mescalin, the active principle of peyote. True, they stopped short at a point well this side of idolatry; but all concurred in assigning to mescalin a position among drugs of unique distinction. Administered in suitable doses, it changes the quality of consciousness more profoundly and yet is less toxic than any other substance in the pharmacologist’s repertory.

Mescalin research has been going on sporadically ever since the days of Lewin and Havelock Ellis. Chemists have not merely isolated the alkaloid; they have learned how to synthesize it, so that the supply no longer depends on the sparse and intermittent crop of a desert cactus. Alienists have dosed themselves with mescalin in the hope thereby of coming to a better, a first-hand, understanding of their patients’ mental processes. Working unfortunately upon too few subjects within too narrow a range of circumstances, psychologists have observed and catalogued some of the drug’s more striking effects. Neurologists and physiologists have found out something about the mechanism of its action upon the central nervous system. And at least one Professional philosopher has taken mescalin for the light it may throw on such ancient, unsolved riddles as the place of mind in nature and the relationship between brain and consciousness.

There matters rested until, two or three years ago, a new and perhaps highly significant fact was observed.* Actually the fact had been staring everyone in the face for several decades; but nobody, as it happened, had noticed it until a Young English psychiatrist, at present working in Canada, was struck by the close similarity, in chemical composition, between mescalin and adrenalin. Further research revealed that lysergic acid, an extremely potent hallucinogen derived from ergot, has a structural biochemical relationship to the others. Then came the discovery that adrenochrome, which is a product of the decomposition of adrenalin, can produce many of the symptoms observed in mescalin intoxication. But adrenochrome probably occurs spontaneously in the human body. In other words, each one of us may be capable of manufacturing a chemical, minute doses of which are known to cause Profound changes in consciousness. Certain of these changes are similar to those which occur in that most characteristic plague of the twentieth century, schizophrenia. Is the mental disorder due to a chemical disorder? And is the chemical disorder due, in its turn, to psychological distresses affecting the adrenals? It would be rash and premature to affirm it. The most we can say is that some kind of a prima facie case has been made out. Meanwhile the clue is being systematically followed, the sleuths–biochemists , psychiatrists, psychologists–are on the trail.

By a series of, for me, extremely fortunate circumstances I found myself, in the spring of 1953, squarely athwart that trail. One of the sleuths had come on business to California. In spite of seventy years of mescalin research, the psychological material at his disposal was still absurdly inadequate, and he was anxious to add to it. I was on the spot and willing, indeed eager, to be a guinea pig. Thus it came about that, one bright May morning, I swallowed four-tenths of a gram of mescalin dissolved in half a glass of water and sat down to wait for the results.

We live together, we act on, and react to, one another; but always and in all circumstances we are by ourselves. The martyrs go hand in hand into the arena; they are crucified alone. Embraced, the lovers desperately try to fuse their insulated ecstasies into a single self-transcendence; in vain. By its very nature every embodied spirit is doomed to suffer and enjoy in solitude. Sensations, feelings, insights, fancies–all these are private and, except through symbols and at second hand, incommunicable. We can pool information about experiences, but never the experiences themselves. From family to nation, every human group is a society of island universes.

Most island universes are sufficiently like one another to permit of inferential understanding or even of mutual empathy or “feeling into.” Thus, remembering our own bereavements and humiliations, we can condole with others in analogous circumstances, can put ourselves (always, of course, in a slightly Pickwickian sense) in their places. But in certain cases communication between universes is incomplete or even nonexistent. The mind is its own place, and the Places inhabited by the insane and the exceptionally gifted are so different from the places where ordinary men and women live, that there is little or no common ground of memory to serve as a basis for understanding or fellow feeling. Words are uttered, but fail to enlighten. The things and events to which the symbols refer belong to mutually exclusive realms of experience.

To see ourselves as others see us is a most salutary gift. Hardly less important is the capacity to see others as they see themselves. But what if these others belong to a different species and inhabit a radically alien universe? For example, how can the sane get to know what it actually feels like to be mad? Or, short of being born again as a visionary, a medium, or a musical genius, how can we ever visit the worlds which, to Blake, to Swedenborg, to Johann Sebastian Bach, were home? And how can a man at the extreme limits of ectomorphy and cerebrotonia ever put himself in the place of one at the limits of endomorphy and viscerotonia, or, except within certain circumscribed areas, share the feelings of one who stands at the limits of mesomorphy and somatotonia? To the unmitigated behaviorist such questions, I suppose, are meaningless. But for those who theoretically believe what in practice they know to be true–namely, that there is an inside to experience as well as an outside–the problems posed are real problems, all the more grave for being, some completely insoluble, some soluble only in exceptional circumstances and by methods not available to everyone. Thus, it seems virtually certain that I shall never know what it feels like to be Sir John Falstaff or Joe Louis. On the other hand, it had always seemed to me possible that, through hypnosis, for example, or autohypnosis, by means of systematic meditation, or else by taking the appropriate drug, I might so change my ordinary mode of consciousness as to be able to know, from the inside, what the visionary, the medium, even the mystic were talking about.

From what I had read of the mescalin experience I was convinced in advance that the drug would admit me, at least for a few hours, into the kind of inner world described by Blake and AE. But what I had expected did not happen. I had expected to lie with my eyes shut, looking at visions of many-colored geometries, of animated architectures, rich with gems and fabulously lovely, of landscapes with heroic figures, of symbolic dramas trembling perpetually on the verge of the ultimate revelation. But I had not reckoned, it was evident, with the idiosyncrasies of my mental make-up, the facts of my temperament, training and habits.

I am and, for as long as I can remember, I have always been a poor visualizer. Words, even the pregnant words of poets, do not evoke pictures in my mind. No hypnagogic visions greet me on the verge of sleep. When I recall something, the memory does not present itself to me as a vividly seen event or object. By an effort of the will, I can evoke a not very vivid image of what happened yesterday afternoon, of how the Lungarno used to look before the bridges were destroyed, of the Bayswater Road when the only buses were green and tiny and drawn by aged horses at three and a half miles an hour. But such images have little substance and absolutely no autonomous life of their own. They stand to real, perceived objects in the same relation as Homer’s ghosts stood to the men of flesh and blood, who came to visit them in the shades. Only when I have a high temperature do my mental images come to independent life. To those in whom the faculty of visualization is strong my inner world must seem curiously drab, limited and uninteresting. This was the world–a poor thing but my own–which I expected to see transformed into something completely unlike itself.

The change which actually took place in that world was in no sense revolutionary. Half an hour after swallowing the drug I became aware of a slow dance of golden lights. A little later there were sumptuous red surfaces swelling and expanding from bright nodes of energy that vibrated with a continuously changing, patterned life. At another time the closing of my eyes revealed a complex of gray structures, within which pale bluish spheres kept emerging into intense solidity and, having emerged, would slide noiselessly upwards, out of sight. But at no time were there faces or forms of men or animals. I saw no landscapes, no enormous spaces, no magical growth and metamorphosis of buildings, nothing remotely like a drama or a parable. The other world to which mescalin admitted me was not the world of visions; it existed out there, in what I could see with my eyes open. The great change was in the realm of objective fact. What had happened to my subjective universe was relatively unimportant.

I took my pill at eleven. An hour and a half later, I was sitting in my study, looking intently at a small glass vase. The vase contained only three flowers-a full-blown Belie of Portugal rose, shell pink with a hint at every petal’s base of a hotter, flamier hue; a large magenta and cream-colored carnation; and, pale purple at the end of its broken stalk, the bold heraldic blossom of an iris. Fortuitous and provisional, the little nosegay broke all the rules of traditional good taste. At breakfast that morning I had been struck by the lively dissonance of its colors. But that was no longer the point. I was not looking now at an unusual flower arrangement. I was seeing what Adam had seen on the morning of his creation-the miracle, moment by moment, of naked existence.

“Is it agreeable?” somebody asked. (During this Part of the experiment, all conversations were recorded on a dictating machine, and it has been possible for me to refresh my memory of what was said.)

“Neither agreeable nor disagreeable,” I answered. “it just is.”

Istigkeit–wasn’t that the word Meister Eckhart liked to use? “Is-ness.” The Being of Platonic philosophy– except that Plato seems to have made the enormous, the grotesque mistake of separating Being from becoming and identifying it with the mathematical abstraction of the Idea. He could never, poor fellow, have seen a bunch of flowers shining with their own inner light and all but quivering under the pressure of the significance with which they were charged; could never have perceived that what rose and iris and carnation so intensely signified was nothing more, and nothing less, than what they were–a transience that was yet eternal life, a perpetual perishing that was at the same time pure Being, a bundle of minute, unique particulars in which, by some unspeakable and yet self-evident paradox, was to be seen the divine source of all existence.

I continued to look at the flowers, and in their living light I seemed to detect the qualitative equivalent of breathing–but of a breathing without returns to a starting point, with no recurrent ebbs but only a repeated flow from beauty to heightened beauty, from deeper to ever deeper meaning. Words like “grace” and “transfiguration” came to my mind, and this, of course, was what, among other things, they stood for. My eyes traveled from the rose to the carnation, and from that feathery incandescence to the smooth scrolls of sentient amethyst which were the iris. The Beatific Vision, Sat Chit Ananda, Being-Awareness-Bliss-for the first time I understood, not on the verbal level, not by inchoate hints or at a distance, but precisely and completely what those prodigious syllables referred to. And then I remembered a passage I had read in one of Suzuki’s essays. “What is the Dharma-Body of the Buddha?” (‘”the Dharma-Body of the Buddha” is another way of saying Mind, Suchness, the Void, the Godhead.) The question is asked in a Zen monastery by an earnest and bewildered novice. And with the prompt irrelevance of one of the Marx Brothers, the Master answers, “The hedge at the bottom of the garden.” “And the man who realizes this truth,” the novice dubiously inquires, ‘”what, may I ask, is he?” Groucho gives him a whack over the shoulders with his staff and answers, “A golden-haired lion.”

It had been, when I read it, only a vaguely pregnant piece of nonsense. Now it was all as clear as day, as evident as Euclid. Of course the Dharma-Body of the Buddha was the hedge at the bottom of the garden. At the same time, and no less obviously, it was these flowers, it was anything that I–or rather the blessed Not-I, released for a moment from my throttling embrace–cared to look at. The books, for example, with which my study walls were lined. Like the flowers, they glowed, when I looked at them, with brighter colors, a profounder significance. Red books, like rubies; emerald books; books bound in white jade; books of agate; of aquamarine, of yellow topaz; lapis lazuli books whose color was so intense, so intrinsically meaningful, that they seemed to be on the point of leaving the shelves to thrust themselves more insistently on my attention.

“What about spatial relationships?” the investigator inquired, as I was looking at the books.

It was difficult to answer. True, the perspective looked rather odd, and the walls of the room no longer seemed to meet in right angles. But these were not the really important facts. The really important facts were that spatial relationships had ceased to matter very much and that my mind was perceiving the world in terms of other than spatial categories. At ordinary times the eye concerns itself with such problems as Where?–How far? How situated in relation to what? In the mescalin experience the implied questions to which the eye responds are of another order. Place and distance cease to be of much interest. The mind does its Perceiving in terms of intensity of existence, profundity of significance, relationships within a pattern. I saw the books, but was not at all concerned with their positions in space. What I noticed, what impressed itself upon my mind was the fact that all of them glowed with living light and that in some the glory was more manifest than in others. In this context position and the three dimensions were beside the point. Not, of course, that the category of space had been abolished. When I got up and walked about, I could do so quite normally, without misjudging the whereabouts of objects. Space was still there; but it had lost its predominance. The mind was primarily concerned, not with measures and locations, but with being and meaning.

And along with indifference to space there went an even more complete indifference to time.

“There seems to be plenty of it,” was all I would answer, when the investigator asked me to say what I felt about time.

Plenty of it, but exactly how much was entirely irrelevant. I could, of course, have looked at my watch; but my watch, I knew, was in another universe. My actual experience had been, was still, of an indefinite duration or alternatively of a perpetual present made up of one continually changing apocalypse.

From the books the investigator directed my attention to the furniture. A small typing table stood in the center of the room; beyond it, from my point of view, was a wicker chair and beyond that a desk. The three pieces formed an intricate pattern of horizontals, uprights and diagonals–a pattern all the more interesting for not being interpreted in terms of spatial relationships. Table, chair and desk came together in a composition that was like something by Braque or Juan Gris, a still life recognizably related to the objective world, but rendered without depth, without any attempt at photographic realism. I was looking at my furniture, not as the utilitarian who has to sit on chairs, to write at desks and tables, and not as the cameraman or scientific recorder, but as the pure aesthete whose concern is only with forms and their relationships within the field of vision or the picture space. But as I looked, this purely aesthetic, Cubist’s-eye view gave place to what I can only describe as the sacramental vision of reality. I was back where I had been when I was looking at the flowers-back in a world where everything shone with the Inner Light, and was infinite in its significance. The legs, for example, of that chair–how miraculous their tubularity, how supernatural their poilished smoothness! I spent several minutes–or was it several centuries?–not merely gazing at those bamboo legs, but actually being them—or rather being myself in them; or, to be still more accurate (for “I” was not involved in the case, nor in a certain sense were “they”) being my Not-self in the Not-self which was the chair.

+ See the following papers: “Schizophrenia. A New Approach.” By Humphry Osmond and John Smythies. Journal of Mental Science. Vol. XCVIII. April, 1952.

“On Being Mad.” By Humphry Osmond. Saskarchewan Psychiatric Services Journal. Vol. I. No. 2. September. 1952.

“The Mescalin Phenomena.” By John Smythies. The British Journal of the Philosophy of Science. Vol. III. February, 1953.

“Schizophrenia: A New Approach.” By Abeam Hoffer, Humphry Osmond and John Smythies. journal of Mental Science. Vol. C. No. 418. January, 1954.

Numerous other papers on the biochemistry, pharmacology, psychology and neurophysiology of schizophrenia sad the mescalin phenomena are in preparation.