#unsure how i feel about this one but ill get into the groove!

[jackdelroys]

hihi!!! i’d like to request either surprise or seductive for jack delroy or murdoc please, take your pic!! (honestly ive been in a slump with my own dd fics and your prompts have been a joy to read, ty for the lovely content!! 💕)

hi!! ty for the request 🖤 im very glad to hear people are enjoying! i decided to go with murdoc for this one, because as of late hes taken over my brain entirely : (

[ surprise ] a sudden kiss to catch the partner off guard

YOU always kept the bedroom door locked at night.

nestled deep in the covers of your bed, you were already drifting off by the time the darkened figure slipped through the open window -- that was a precaution you'd forgotten to take this particularly warm evening.

you didn't hear the soft thud of boots on the carpet, nor the distress of leather as he flexed his knuckles once, twice, hand gripped tight around the handle of a sharpened blade. he brushed back his hair, it was a long journey to get here. but he'd made it.

it wasn't until he reached the far end of your bed, eyes trailed on your sleeping figure did he even remember to breathe. once in, deep, then out, exhaling the sting of exhaustion with it.

he's on you before you can even wake.

you panic at first, until you recognize the familiar scent of lavender detergent and, much more prominently, gunpowder. you barely whisper his name before he silences you with a feverish kiss, forcing his knee between your legs and pressing his weight against you. he swallows the dazed groan you let out and trails his tongue over your lip, nipping at it. he drinks in the way you shudder underneath his body with a wicked, self-satisfied grin and dark eyes grow wide in intrigue as you squirm under him. he pulls away and allows his coat to drop to the floor, followed quickly by the thick sweater he's wearing underneath, and the gloves that get in his way of removing it.

"anyone could have come through that window," he breathes, mouth still working its way down your neck, hands brushing the ragged shirt you'd worn to bed up, just enough for his fingers to trace your sides, it was a figure he'd committed to memory already, but old habits surely die hard. it was one of his favorite pastimes.

"you're lucky it was me."

"lucky?" you choke out, "you fucking scared me. and then you --" you're cut off again by his lips on yours, one hand tugging gently at your hair, tilting your neck just up enough for him to return to it.

"-- and then you do this."

he pulls away suddenly.

"i can stop, if you'd like, doll."

"god, no, don't."

that shit-eating smile is back on his face, and then it's gone, buried in your skin again. your fingers reach up to weave into his hair, pulling harshly as you feel his teeth sink into the flesh just above your collarbone.

"shit --"

"so sorry, doll. can't help it."

you hiss his name, drawing his attention once more. his head falls slightly to the left as he hovers over you.

"i love you, but i was sleeping, murdoc. i'm tired."

with an inconvenienced roll of his eyes, he's also rolled off of you, and instead into the empty space of his pillow next to yours. his arms stay wrapped around you though, and his larger figure curls in on yours, pressing you close to his chest. you wonder if he's ever really comfortable like that, or if he's just so used to sleeping that way that he can't otherwise while he's home. he's still trailing his hands across your torso, just as he always does, almost as though he was curious, eager to study each and very part of you. and perhaps he was. this idea of permanence was all very new to him too, after all.

you fascinated him. it's why he kept coming back, over and over. it's why he breathes against you and kisses your head once more, and it's why he waits for you to fall asleep again before closing his eyes himself. he looks beyond you, to the now-locked window. he can feel your pulse in your chest as you resign to slumber once more. he almost laughs, knowing how quickly you'd fallen asleep in his arms, knowing full well the capabilities he has and the things he's done. things he was willing to do.

what a curious creature you were to someone like him. perhaps he'll keep you.

[s-creations]

Return the Flames - Chapter 11

All at Dead Bird Studios knew of Amos' (The  Conductor's) ability. How the owl could suddenly erupt into flames if  angered enough. When the studio first opened, Dominic (DJ Grooves) was  told that Amos had his ability under control. Nothing to worry about. No  possible loss of anything from an open flame.

A few years later however, and that control seems to have lessened to a dangerous degree.

It should have just been a simple, week long drive to fix the problem. It really should have been.

Dominic should have asked a lot more questions and should have been prepared for a twist ending.

_________________

Fandom: A Hat in Time         Rating: General Audience         Relationships/Pairings: The ConductorXDJ Grooves       Warnings: Eventual depictions of violence, slow burn relationship, named characters, attempt of an accent, being hunted down, a race against time (sort of).

Author's Note: This was the chapter I've been waiting forever to write. This is what got me to write this story. This deals with backstories for both characters, so I hope you enjoy it! 

Amos was not happy with the pounding headache he woke up. Sure, he was honestly used to it. Still doesn’t mean he liked it.  He let out a groan, silently berating himself for drinking so much once again, and moved to get up. Only to have something hold him in place. It took a while for his mind to put together that he was pressed against Dominic. The penguin snoring softly, hair a bit of a mess and his sunglasses askew on his face. An arm wrapped around the other director, Amos unable to move away. The owl felt his cheek becoming warmer. Realizing he felt the familiar warmth in his chest growing once again. 

 “And how are we feeling this morning?”

 Further awake and startled into action, Amos was able to break free. Feathers puffing up in embarrassment upon seeing the Elder in the doorway. 

 “...What happened last night?”

 “Ah ah, I asked a question first.”

 Amos really did not like this goat.

 “I have a peckin’ headache. But ‘m honestly used to that. The flame is back. So, whatever was put in me is gone. And ‘m ready for this whole thin’ ta be over with.”

 “That’s a fair assessment. As per your question, you became drunk last night after which you shared a rather… ‘intense’ dance with Dominic. And when you couldn’t support your own weight, you both retreated here. Where I’m going to assume you two just went to sleep.”

 Amos groaned, rubbing his forehead. Why did he feel like a teenager being caught by their parents? “Sounds like it was quite the party.” 

 “You certainly made it one. Now, you made mention that the flame has returned.”

 “Aye.”

 “Then you two will need to finish the rest of your journey. It will only be a one to two day treck. I would recommend you leave as soon as possible. Your car will remain here and you can retrieve it after you’ve returned to the village. But walking would be best in order for you to avoid unwanted attention.”

 Amos sat up further at that. “Do you think they’re here? The agents?”

 “I doubt a pursuer who’s done what they have so far would give up at the end of the line. While the jungle will provide coverage, you two will need to move carefully.”

 “Right...right…”

 “I will have a few packs put together for you. Wake Dominic, you will need to leave soon.”

 Amos merely nodded at that. He attempted to wake his companion as soon as they were left alone. The penguin seemed unconcerned at sharing a bed with the owl when he woke up. More upset about supporting his own headache than anything else. It took awhile for them to collect themselves and join the outside world. Bags waiting for them when they finally emerged.

 “Just head straight for the mountain. You can’t miss it and there are no natural obstacles in your way. Be careful you two.”

 Those were the Elder’s final words before they departed.

 The trek was quiet. Amos caught up in his own head to think about conversing with Dominic. It was both a joy and a strange sorrow in the thought that this ordeal was almost over. 

 He was tired of being chased, being hunted down, being in constant pain. To think it was almost over raised his spirits slightly. Only for it to be stomped back down in fear of what was going to come after. Was he going to survive this? Were he and Dominic an ‘item’, as his daughter liked to say. Were these emotions only being created because of the situation? Did he want it to be real? Was he willing to let someone get close again?

 “It’s getting dark.” Dominic’s voice cut through the buzz in Amos’ mind. The owl looked up to see the sky painted in that familiar colors of sunset. 

 “Uh...yeah, it is…”

 “I’m not a huge fan of tromping through the jungle in the dark. We should set up camp.”

 The owl’s ears twitched. Looking between the sinking sun and the mountain. It was a lot closer than before, they could honestly make it there before tonight fully arrived if they wanted to. But if Dominic wanted to sleep, Amos wasn’t going to argue.

 “Sure… One more night of peace?”

 “Yeah, something like that.”

 They fell quiet after that. A small, smokeless fire was soon burning away between the two. The sky a deep purple with stars starting to dot the night sky. With how wide and ever expanding space seemed to be out here, Amos was becoming nervous. There was no coverage of a hotel or a hut to keep the night sky away. The constant reminder just hanging over his head.

 Letting out a sigh, Amos reached over and dug further into his bag. Another sigh, this time of relief, sounded as he pulled out a familiar fermented fruit. “Maybe the old goat wasn’t too bad. Heads up Dominic.”

 The penguin fumbled slightly as he caught the said fruit, voicing his frustration with a deadpan, “Really.”

  “One final hurrah.”

 Dominic frowned as he watched Amos take a large bite of his own fruit. The penguin let out a soft sigh, deciding the owl may have a point, and took a bite as well. While he was able to hold his own and cut himself off when he needed to, Dominic was soon supporting a flushed face and a drunken owl. Laughing and beaming as he joined the other in singing shanties that they both only knew a few words to. Or that their drunken mind was making them forget the words. 

 As they belted out the final note, they collapsed onto the ground. Lying head to head as they laughed, slowly calming down as they stared up at the sky. Even with what felt like impending doom was on the horizon, Dominic was happy at that moment. He wasn’t sure how this was going to end. But, at the moment, he just wanted to enjoy the atmosphere. The calm, the quiet, the false peace with the possibly threat being mere steps away from where they lied. 

 He let out a yawn, feeling himself starting to drift off…

 “Ma couldn’t have kids.”

 Dominic flinched slightly. He rolled his head to the side to look at Amos. “Pardon?”

 “She couldn’t have kids,” Amos repeated, “No matter how many times she tried. Or how badly she wanted it. Nothin’ worked. Married three times. Got the reputation as a bed hopper. ...I think she thought that havin’ a kid would brin’ her some kind of happiness in her life…”

 “In a final desperation, she prayed for a higher power to help. And the Celestial Phoenix appeared… She was pregnant the next day. Ostracized the day after. Who ever heard of a God appearing before a divorced and ‘bed warmer’? She told me she didn’t care because she was so happy ta be carryin’ me. Then I was born and… I honestly think I made everythin’ so much worse.” 

 “Amos…” Dominic frowned, unsure of what he could say.

 “Ya can’t look at this ugly mug and tell me this is a solver of problems. I honestly believe I made things worse. I was the demon child created from wedlock with a mother who’s insane. We had to leave the backwash of a town when our house was burnt down. Ma was mentally broken when I was a teenager and only became worse with her age. ‘M pretty sure she was gone before she finally passed away.”

 “My wife left when Amelia was born. She...the wife...married me in a sort of novelty. A stab at her stuffy family by havin’ a monstrous thing be her husband instead of nobility. But when Amelia held more of my features then was ‘acceptable’, the wife had to leave. She couldn’t handle it. I raised Amelia the best I could. I was hopeful she could have a happier, easier life than what my childhood was.” 

 “Only for her husband to leave. Because Amelia fell ill after givin’ birth to all the kids. It was too much responsibility for him. ...She’s always smilin’. I do wonder sometimes how she turned out so perfectly. When she has a...a curse of a father. Because that’s what I am. ‘M a curse. I shouldn’t even be here! Only divine intervention brought this monster into reality. So the laws of nature themselves had to be broken. And all it produced was a cursed, hideous creature that is me. My own body is even tryin’ to tear itself apart. I’ve been tryin’ to destroy myself since I was born and no one is safe. ‘M a walkin’, tickin’ bomb of destruction.”

 Dominic swallowed weakly, feeling sick as he watched Amos breakdown. What was he supposed to say? What could he say?

 “My father is an ice tycoon.”

 Amos slowly looked over to the flushed penguin. 

 “What?”

 “Ah, so… That largest commodity from the Moon is ice.”

 “I know that.”

 “Right, well, it only comes from three different families. Mine being the top company, run by my father. We’re the typical high brow, snooty people you’d think of. Appearance is everything to us. We have to be as clean as the ice we produce.”

 Amos sat up slowly, swaying slightly. “Ya can’t control the creation of ice that closely. It’s ice.”

 Letting out a small huff and sitting up as well, Dominic laid his hand out flat, palm up. The owl let out a chirp of shock as a chunk of ice was formed. Resting directly in the center of Dominic’s hand. “We can make our own ice. Quite literally.”

 “No peckin’ way… Wait, did ye make that wall of ice before? When those government goons were chasin’ after us?”

 “Uh...yeah. I really only intended to make the road slick and trip them up. I was a little on edge at the moment.”

 “That was peckin’ amazin’.”

 Dominic laughed softly. “It...just comes naturally.”

 Amos laughed this time, almost falling back onto the ground if Dominic hadn’t kept him upright. “Peckin’ amazin’... So, yer loaded right? Ice companies make a lot.”

 “No… I’m disowned,” Dominic’s feathers puffed at the owl’s raised brow, “Parents weren’t happy that I wanted to become a movie director. I’m the oldest of four and the only male. I was supposed to take over the business. But I made it very clear how I wasn’t interested with it in any way. So, I was given a choice. Join the business or never talk to them again. And...here I am…”

 It fell quiet for a moment. Dominic had never told anyone this before. Not even his Moon Penguins knew his full story. They were just aware that the director wasn’t on good terms with his family. But, if Amos was sharing the sacred life’s story, why shouldn’t Dominic?

 “I didn’t know ya had siblings.” Amos eventually voiced. 

 “Well, I didn’t know you were part mystical fire being. So I guess we’re even.” Dominic teased, smiling hearing Amos laugh at that.

 “That’s fair. Ta be fair to myself, however, I never thought I would be in a situation like this.”

 “We were also never on good speaking terms with each other before either.”

 “Aye, another fair point. Did ya ever think how weird it was that we both were given the same studio?”

 “Oh absolutely! We really should have gone to the main office to complain about that.”

 “But then we would have argued about who would be kicked out first.”

 “It would have been you for sure.”

 “As peckin’ if!” They shared another laugh at that. Amos eventually leaned over to rest himself against Dominic. The penguin welcomed the contact. “...Tell me about your siblings.”

 “Three sisters.”

 “Oh, fun.” 

 “Hey, how do you think I came across this amazing sense of fashion?”

 “Thought you were color blind to be honest.”

 “How rude.”

 Amos chuckled before pushing Dominic gently. “Anyway, three sisters?”

 “Abigail is only one year younger than me. We were very close growing up. She had a backbone sturdier than I could ever hope for and stuck up for me when our parents started their ‘talks’. As far as I can tell, she’ll be taking over the business… I hope she’s okay with that.”

 “She sounds like a business woman.”

 “I think you’d get along with her. Shila’s next. If you think I’m a diva, you need to meet her. If attention wasn’t on her at all times, she would throw an absolute fit. She was actually one of my first actresses. Gave me my first headache too.”

 Dominic paused to listen to Amos laugh softly. He really loved that sound. “Last is Bethany. I don’t really remember much of her. She was only two when I left. I do remember she was very quiet. With wide curious eyes. I really hope she was able to keep that curiosity…”

 “Abigail made sure to do so, no doubt in my mind. If she was as determined to keep ya safe, ‘m sure that focus went to Bethany as well.”

 “I hope so… I hope they’re all okay…”

 “‘M sure they are.”

 The penguin hummed softly, attention on the large, luminous sphere that was above them. Amos shuffled closer, his chin resting on Dominic’s shoulder. His attention going to the same place. “...Do you miss them?”

 “Every day.”

 “Have you tried to find them? Talk to them?”

 “I think they’re on the Moon still...and I’m not overly fond with contacting that place.”

 “Honestly, that’s fair.”

 Giving another hum, Dominic reached up and scratched behind Amos’ ear. The owl let out a small chirp as he pressed closer. “...Did you ever think your life would end up like this?”

 “I knew I would eventually have to travel here. Another burden to carry because of my birth right. But I wasn’t expected to be hunted down…or the company… I know I don’t say it. In fact, I’ve said the opposite a lot. But…’m glad you came.”

 “More of I berated you to let me come because you’re so stubborn.”

 Amos laughed. “Ya got me there…”

 “...I’m glad I came along as well. I would have been worrying the entire time.”

 “I’d probably be dead at this point if you hadn’t come.”

 “That’s frightening to think about,” Dominic frowned, wrapping his arm around the other. “Do you think we could call this feud over? I’m...honestly so tired of it.”

 “Yeah… ‘m too. It should have ended a long time ago…”

 “We’re both just two, old, stubborn fools.”

 “Oi, easy on those adjectives.”

 “I’m describing both of us. Calm down… How do you think the crew will react?”

 “Shocked but absolutely thrilled. I think everyone's more over this than we are.”

 Dominic laughed at that. “Yeah, probably. We should make a movie together. After all of this.”

 “Ah...kind of a big step.”

 “But I think it’s an appropriate one.”

 “...Yeah...yeah, I think it is too.”

 They fell quiet once more. A warm, happy buzz falling over them. Dominic’s eyes on the dancing fire while Amos’ remained on the Moon. Both falling asleep curled next to each other as the luminous orb traveled over them.

[callboxkat]

Infinitesimal (part 53)

Author’s note: Have some more quarantine reading! I hope all of you are staying safe and healthy. 

Warnings: injuries, illness, fear/nervousness, food mention

Word count: 4206

Infinitesimal Masterpost!

...

The apartment door swung open with a click. Shopping bags rustled, crinkling and bumping together as they were carried inside. Most of the bags were held by one of the two young men who stepped inside the apartment. Roman always insisted that he could bring everything up in one trip, no matter how many bags’ worth of goods they purchased. It had been amusing for Logan to watch his attempt at the previous year’s Thanksgiving, when they had hosted a dinner for their college friends. Logan had had to step in to save the turkey from toppling down the staircase.

“See? I’ve got it.”

“I’m aware you can carry a frankly ridiculous amount of groceries. I’m simply unsure if it is wise to do so, given your recent bout of asthma.”

“Nonsense! I’m healthy as a noble knight’s steed!”

“…Regardless, you should be careful.”

“Well, you could have taken more bags.”

“Unlike you, I have no irrational need to prove myself by carrying two trips’ worth of groceries at once.”

“But I only had to take the stairs once!” Roman pointed out, grinning his winning smile as he struggled to disentangle the various handles that adorned his arms. “Isn’t that better for my asthmatic lungs?”

Logan sighed, watching Roman struggle to set down his burden of grocery bags. A few cans clacked together as they collided with the counter.

“I do hope you’ll be careful with that one. The bagger really should have double bagged it, or used one of my reusable bags. This is why I prefer the self-checkout lanes.”

“Because you’re a control freak?” Roman set down the rest of his cargo and let out a relieved sigh.

Logan was already pulling out items and putting them away in the cabinets. “If wanting to ensure that our groceries make it back to the apartment without the bags splitting is being a control freak, then I suppose I am.”

Roman cackled, rubbing at the red marks where the plastic bags had bitten into his skin. “He admits it!”

“Are you going to help me put these away or not?”

“Sure, sure. Move over so I can reach the fridge.”

Logan moved aside. Roman helped put things away, but once most of the frozen goods were put away, Roman tried to sneak off, insisting on, quote, “saying hi to our little friends”.

“Not so fast,” said Logan, grabbing his wrist, not about to let his roommate skip out and leave him to put everything else away on his own. “You can greet them when we’re done here.”

…

Where was Patton?

He’d been gone for hours. Yes, a trip to the fourth floor and back would take some time; and, sure, he hadn’t been gone much longer than should be expected for a trip there and back, considering the fact that he needed more breaks than Emile or himself; but Virgil was getting worried. What if something had gone wrong? What if he’d overexerted himself, or gotten hurt somehow?

Virgil shouldn’t have let him go alone.

Maybe he was worried over nothing, but Virgil’s past experiences made him reluctant to brush off his worries. Emile’s current condition was a testament to that.

It only made him worry more, that the humans had beaten Patton back. They hadn’t come into the room where they were yet, but Virgil had wanted his friend back well before the humans returned. He was tempted to go and look for him, to make sure he was okay, but he couldn’t and wouldn’t leave Emile here alone.

So, all he could do was uselessly pace back and forth, between his brother and the edge of the table, and hope that Patton was okay.

“You’re going to wear a groove into the table,” Emile commented, watching him.

“Not my table, not my problem,” Virgil retorted. He reached the edge of the table once more, looked down for a second, searching for any sign of Patton, and failing to see any, started back towards Emile.

His brother watched him approach. “I’m sure he’s fine.”

Virgil shook his head. “You don’t know.”

Emile opened his mouth to reply; but Virgil froze, hearing a sound from behind him, in the direction of the base of the wall. He spun around and hurried over, swinging his crutches in a wide arc to get there as fast as possible.

The door into the wall was open. As Virgil watched, apprehensive, Patton poked his head out. He looked up, found Virgil, and waved, smiling. He was perfectly fine. Virgil let out a heavy sigh of relief.

“Is he there?” Emile asked.

“Yeah,” Virgil said. “Yeah, he’s there.”

“And he’s okay?”

“As far as I can tell, yeah, he’s fine.”

Emile breathed a soft breath, one that Virgil just barely heard. Apparently he hadn’t been as sure of Patton’s well-being as he let on. “Good.”

Virgil glanced back at Emile, who was watching him from his bed, then turned back to look over the edge of the table. Patton had emerged from the wall, carrying….

“What’s that?” Virgil asked aloud, watching as Patton closed the door.

“He did say he was going to get something,” Emile said, with the air of someone who knew exactly what Virgil was talking about. Virgil frowned, perplexed.

Patton, had something large strapped to his back, long enough to reach a couple of inches over his head. Whatever it was was wrapped up in tissue paper, obscuring it from view. Was it fragile? Or did he—and Emile, it seemed—just not want Virgil to know what it was? Were they keeping some kind of secret from him?

Patton came up to the table leg and smiled up at Virgil again, as if to reassure him that he was fine. He looked tired, though, pausing with one hand against the table, clearly intending to take a break before he climbed up to meet them. Virgil wanted to call down to him, but he wasn’t absolutely sure he couldn’t do so without the humans hearing. They seemed to be busy with whatever they were doing, and making plenty of noise; but Virgil wasn’t taking any risks with Patton down on the floor. It didn’t seem likely, at this point, that the humans would be angry simply because of that, but Virgil couldn’t know for sure, and accidents were always a possibility.

He watched apprehensively, looking between Patton and the doorway where the humans could appear at any minute, until Patton seemed to decide he was ready to climb up to meet them.

Virgil pulled him up over the table’s edge, and Patton lay there panting for a moment.

“How’d it go?” Emile asked when Patton had recovered.

Patton  shifted to a crouch, starting to untie the load from his back. “Great!” he said. “Sorry it took a while. I didn’t mean to be gone so long.”

“No—no, you’re fine,” Virgil said. “I’m just glad you’re okay. What did you even get, anyway?” He eyed the parcel, unsure what it could possibly be.

“You’ll see!” Patton said brightly. “Come over here.” He picked up the tissue-wrapped thing, which Virgil realized must have been at least two things, judging by how they shifted, and walked over to Emile. Virgil, growing ever more confused, followed after.

Patton sat down at Emile’s side and gestured for Virgil to do the same.

Virgil glanced between them, then slowly sat down, setting his crutches to the side. “What’s going on?”

“Come on, Virge, did you really think we’d forget, even with everything going on? I know we’re late—I’m sure you understand why—but we’d never forget.”

“Forget what?”

It was Emile’s and Patton’s turn to look confused. They glanced at each other, than back at Virgil.

“Your birthday,” Emile said.

Virgil blinked.

Wait.

His birthday?

Virgil’s mouth opened, and shut again. Had he forgotten his own birthday?

He thought back, counted up to what day it was.

Oh.

He had forgotten. He’d completely missed it. He’d turned 24, and he hadn’t even noticed. Wouldn’t have noticed for who knew how long, if they hadn’t pointed it out.

Virgil felt his face go red.

“You forgot about it, didn’t you?” Patton said softly.

“It’s… We’ve been busy,” he justified.

“It’s okay,” Emile said, reaching for him. Virgil took his hand. “And I’m sorry we missed the actual day, but… we thought we could still celebrate.”

“Do you want to see?” Patton asked, holding up the package.

“I—yeah, of course, guys; of course I want to see.” He swallowed, feeling a bit teary-eyed. With everything that was going on, they still wanted to celebrate Virgil’s birthday.

“Okay.” Patton reached in and pulled out something small: a folded-up piece of paper. “My present first! Because Em’s is really, really good; and I don’t think I could follow that,” he joked.

Emile looked exasperated.

Virgil let go of Emile’s hand and took the paper from Patton. He held it like it was made out of the thinnest glass as he carefully unfolded it.

It was a drawing. Of him, and Patton, and Emile, all holding hands. They were surrounded by a rainbow of hearts, and beneath was written, “FAMILY”.

A moment passed as Virgil took it in.

Patton shifted, and Virgil suddenly realized that he was nervous—about him not liking the drawing, or about his decision to include himself in their family, Virgil didn’t know, but—

He grabbed Patton and pulled him into a tight hug.

“Thank you,” he said into Patton’s shoulder. “I love it. I really freaking love it, Pat.”

Patton gasped softly, but he held onto Virgil just as tightly. The hug lasted for only a few seconds before he let go.

“You’ve gotta see Em’s,” Patton said, smiling shakily as he gently extricated himself from the hug. “It’s amazing.”

“Now he’ll be expecting the moon, Pat,” Emile joked.

“No, the moon’s way too big! And cold, and far away; and we can get rocks anywhere. Your present’s much better.”

“Okay, okay,” Virgil said, almost laughing. “Let me open it.”

Patton passed him the package, and Virgil carefully unfolded the tissue paper, to reveal… a pair of crutches. They were noticeably different than the ones he normally used, precisely sculpted from wire, fabric, and thin metal rods. They had bands to fit around his forearms, rather than being propped under his underarms, and a handle just below the wrist.

Emile watched as he finished freeing them from the paper. “I thought maybe it was time for an upgrade,” he said. “I saw some like this on a tv show, and they looked a lot easier to handle than the ones you have…. I based the size on myself, and I tried to adjust for your height, but we can always adjust them if we need to. What do you think?”

Virgil silently fitted the bands around his forearms, just below his elbows, and grabbed onto the handles. He pushed himself into a standing position and walked a few steps, his brother and Patton watching. He paused, then walked the other way, going faster. He could already tell he had a much better range of motion than before; and these crutches didn’t pinch uncomfortably under his arms. “Perfect,” he said, turning back to Emile. “They’re perfect. How—when did you find the time to make these? How did you hide them from me?”

“I’ve got time. And the same place I hide all your presents,” Emile said. “I can’t give up that secret, can I?”

“But—Em, how long did it take to make these?”

“Not your concern. Happy birthday.”

Virgil adjusted his grip on the handles. “You’re dangerously close to making me hug you,” he warned.

Emile laughed softly. “Rain check?”

“Rain check,” he agreed.

…

Virgil was still trying out his new crutches while Patton and Emile watched fondly (he especially liked stepping up and down off of the box lid, which he could do much more easily now) when they heard a knock at the doorway. Virgil immediately came to a stop, and Patton turned to see Roman standing there, clutching something.

“Good evening!” the human called, smiling warmly at the three of them. “We’re back, as I’m sure you’ve noticed. Sorry I didn’t come see you guys sooner—Mister We-Can’t-Let-the-Frozen-Food-Melt-on-the-Counter made me help him put away all the groceries first. But anyway, hello! How are you all?”

“Fine,” Virgil said slowly, standing very stiffly with his new crutches like he thought Roman might take them away.

Patton shyly waved.

“Oh—Look what I’ve got!” Roman said, holding up the flat, rectangular object in his hands. It was mostly red and blue, but Patton couldn’t tell what it was. “We can keep watching it!”

He received three blank looks in the face of his eagerness. “Avatar!” he elaborated. “The Last Airbender. You know, the disk that stopped working?”

Oh! That thing he was holding let them watch the show? Patton sat up straighter. He’d liked Avatar. He’d like to watch some more of it.

Likewise, Emile visibly brightened at the news.

Roman seemed gratified at their reactions, small though they were.

“We can watch it together after dinner, okay?”

Patton glanced between his two friends. “O-okay,” he agreed.

…

Logan stirred the spoon through the pot of macaroni noodles, making sure that none stuck to the sides or bottom of the pot. Roman stood at his side, watching.

“Oh, so guess what?” Roman said after a few minutes, sighing dramatically and leaning against the counter.

“What?” Logan asked, pausing to adjust the temperature of the stove.

“I got a new manager. Claire’s moving to California, apparently.”

Logan glanced at him, then back at the pasta. “I’m sorry to hear that. I know you liked working with her. What do you think of your new manager?”

“He’s okaayyy, I guess. Not as cool as Claire.”

“I’m sure it will be fine. You will adjust.”

“I guess. Still stinks, though.” He briefly stared off into the distance like he was waiting for his husband to return from the war. Turning back to Logan, he asked, “Anyway, how’s things with you?”

“Well. There hasn’t been any significant change lately in my own employment, which I appreciate. I will probably have to go in early tomorrow, however, to help spread salt in the parking lot. It’s supposed to get colder in the next few days; and if it snows as expected, we must be prepared. The last thing we need is for someone to fall.”

“Don’t they have other people for that?”

“Well, yes, but Marie is on maternity leave, and I wouldn’t want to force Ahmed to do the entire parking lot and sidewalk himself, especially as he has bad knees that the cold will only make worse.”

“Please tell me you’re at least getting overtime.”

Logan shook his head. “No, this would be a favor.”

“Ah, you chivalrous b*stard.”

Logan paused his stirring to hide what was definitely a laugh.

“What happened to winter break? Are you really that bored already?”

“It’s a favor to Ahmed,” Logan reminded him.

“You didn’t answer my question.” Roman frowned at him jokingly, collecting silverware from the drawer.

“It isn’t as if our school break ends the day after tomorrow. There is still plenty of time for relaxation and leisure activity.”

Leisure activity. Roman chuckled to himself. What a Logan way to say “fun”.

“So, do you have Christmas plans?”

“You know my family doesn’t really celebrate. I’ll be staying here, if that’s what you mean to ask. Are you going home?”

“Hm,” Roman shrugged, playing the motion off as casual. “Probably not. It’s a little far, you know. Maybe we’ll get together in January.”

Logan glanced up and nodded, not saying anything. He knew things were somewhat… awkward, in Roman’s family.

Logan added the cheese to the macaroni noodles and began stirring that in while Roman retrieved the plates from the cabinet. He also grabbed the salt and pepper for Logan and the red pepper flakes for himself. He liked to have some spice.

They each spooned out their own portions of the pasta, and then Roman put together dishes for the mouse-men. He included a dish with some extra macaroni, as well, remembering how much Patton liked cheese. He or the other mouse-men might want seconds, he reasoned.

Once that was finished, they each took some of the plates and walked towards the living room.

“Dinner’s ready!” Roman called cheerfully before they entered. They sat down around the table, and Roman put the mouse-men’s portions on the table for them.

“It’s macaroni and cheese,” Logan softly announced as Patton approached the dishes. Patton perked up at the word “cheese”.

Roman smiled to himself.

Patton carried the dishes over in a couple of trips. He didn’t seem to mind that Virgil stayed at his brother’s side rather than helping. Roman knew that Virgil was every-wary and defensive of his brother, something that Patton was surely aware of as well.

Emile himself, meanwhile, while obviously not helping to carry the food over either, had clearly gotten more used to Roman and Logan being around. He didn’t seem nearly as nervous as when he’d first woken up to find himself in their company. While he still didn’t quite seem at ease, he’d come around much more quickly than Patton had. Probably due to a difference in experiences.

Roman shook away the memory of the finger-shaped bruises on Patton’s torso. They were long since gone, even if their influence had not quite yet vanished.

Once the moue-men had gotten settled, Roman reached for the red pepper flakes and shook some over his pasta. He felt eyes on him and glanced up to see Patton looking curiously at the shaker in his hand.

“You wouldn’t like this,” Roman told him. “It’s spicy. Like salsa.”

Patton made a face, obviously reminded of the time he had tried the spicy sauce while staying with the roommates. Roman chuckled.

“It’s okay, I’ll keep it to myself.”

Patton seemed content with that. He tucked into his food along with his companions, clearly enjoying the cheesy noodles. Roman was glad to see that all of them seemed to like it. At first glance, Virgil didn’t appear as overly enthusiastic about the macaroni as Patton, but it didn’t take long before he’d finished his first bowl and gone back for his second. Patton wasn’t far behind, and Emile clearly enjoyed the food as well.

The first part of the meal passed in relative silence, everyone simply enjoying the food. Then, finally, Logan set down his fork.

“So, you seem to be doing well.”

Roman glanced over at his roommate, who was watching Emile with his attempt at a soft, inviting look.

Emile responded with a small, hesitant smile, his own fork pausing over his macaroni.

He really was seeming a lot better, Roman had to agree. He was fully coherent, his bruises were fading, and he was staying awake longer without exhausting himself. The fact that he could eat macaroni and cheese, when he’d started out too nauseated to stomach more than a small amount of soup broth and bits of cracker, was a sign of vast improvement alone. His arm and tail were still broken, of course—it had only been about a week and a half, after all—but he was doing much better. Especially considering the state he’d been in when Logan and Roman had found him.

“He even walked around a little today,” Patton shared, his tone shy, but without an audible stammer.

Virgil, on Emile’s other side, sighed and closed his eyes briefly, as if he hadn’t wanted Roman and Logan to know that.

Roman decided to ignore that, and simply grinned, looking between Patton and Emile. “Really? That’s great!”

Logan nodded, clearly interested in the news as well. “Indeed, I would agree that that is excellent news. The fact that he’s begun to feel restless alone is a clear sign of progress.” He set his fork in his bowl. “I would recommend taking care to not overdo anything, of course. I’m sure you all want to get home as soon as possible, but pushing him is not necessarily the best course of action.”

Virgil scowled up at Logan. “He walked in a circle,” he grumbled. “It’s not like we made him run around the whole freaking building.” He stabbed a noodle with his fork in a way that made Roman think he was pretending it was Logan’s hand. “He wanted to.”

“We know you won’t push him,” Roman interjected soothingly, shooting his roommate a pointed look. “Logan’s just a party pooper sometimes, pointing out stuff like that. He means well.”

Logan sighed, holding up his hands in surrender. “I was simply attempting to be pragmatic.”

Roman ignored him, still addressing the mouse-men. “Anyway, it’s really good that he’s walking! You guys must be so happy! And Emile, I bet it was nice to stretch your legs.”

Roman felt Virgil look him over suspiciously, probably looking for sarcasm or a patronizing tone. But Roman was completely sincere. It was excellent news that Emile was feeling well enough to walk!

Virgil seemed to accept the sincerity of Roman’s statement, going back to his food without a word.

Emile, meanwhile, nodded, looking pleased; but Roman couldn’t help but notice something else in his expression. Dissatisfaction, maybe? Perhaps he had hoped to be doing better by now, or he was just impatient to go home. Roman couldn’t blame him for that, but he was happy for the mouse-man.

“Speaking of progress,” Logan said, “how are you feeling overall? I would assume rather well, given your activity earlier today; but I would appreciate hearing your own impression of your current status.”

Patton reached over and put a hand on Emile’s arm as if to reassure him that it was safe to answer. Virgil set down his macaroni.

Emile hesitated, then very quietly said, “I’m, um… I’m fine.”

“Are you in any pain?”

He swallowed. “…Yes.”

“Perhaps an inquiry with an easily deduced answer. My apologies. I should ask, is your level of pain improving?”

“…Yes,” he repeated.

“Would you mind telling me what still hurts?”

The mouse-man looked uncomfortable. “Um… my arm, I—I guess? A-and my head. And, uh, my ankle, kind of.”

“What about your other symptoms? How is your nausea? It seems improved, from my perspective, given your willingness to eat more.”

Emile nodded awkwardly.

“That’s good to hear. Are you still fatigued? I know you are starting to feel restless, but the two states are not necessarily mutually exclusive.”

“He… he doesn’t sleep as much,” Patton offered, probably wanting to give Emile a break from having to answer all the questions. “He still naps a lot, but… not as much, you know.”

“Yeah,” Emile breathed.

“What about the tinnitus—er, the ringing sound you described? Is it still there? Has the music been helping?”

“…It’s still there,” Emile mumbled.

Logan didn’t look surprised. “Ah. Has the music helped at night?”

The mouse-man nodded, but still looked dissatisfied.

Roman glanced at Logan, who had pursed his lips. “I do know of an exercise that you may attempt that might improve your symptoms. One of your companions will have to help you, at least until your arm heals.”

He waited for an answer, which came in the form of Virgil raising his eyebrows in an expression that clearly said, “Well?” Logan nodded, and then placed the palms of his hands over his ears, letting his fingertips rest on the back of his head.

“If you adopt this pose, and gently drum your fingers against the back of your head for approximately thirty seconds, it might help temporarily quiet the noise.” He demonstrated doing so, turning around to show the mouse-men. Roman meanwhile, let his mind drift, looking around.

“I can do that,” Patton said.

“Excellent. Just remember to be very gentle, as I’m sure you will be.”

“Hold on,” Roman interrupted, staring at Virgil in confusion.. “Are those new crutches?”

The mouse-man tensed, gripping them tightly. “Yeah. So?”

“Um… nothing, I guess.” Roman was just wondering where he had gotten them. He was sure he hadn’t seen them before. Had they somehow made them today? If so, that was very fast.

Logan glanced over to see what they were talking about, and seemed surprised he hadn’t noticed before. “Oh! They’re forearm crutches. That is excellent; I have been meaning to recommend crutches of the sort to you. They’re much better for long-term use than underarm crutches.”

Emile ate another macaroni noodle, looking pleased with himself. Roman had a sneaking suspicion about whose idea these new crutches had been.

…

“Alright! The DVD’s loading now, so we can watch it in just a couple of minutes.” Roman got up from in front of the television and walked over to the couch, where Logan waited with a bowl of popcorn. “Everybody settled in?”

Patton gave him a thumbs up, and Emile’s eyes were already glued to the screen.

(It was hard to tell, but Virgil, sitting on Emile’s other side, might have stuck out his tongue. Roman ignored this.)

Soon, the opening sequence began, and Roman settled himself in for a night of cartoon-bingeing.

[blu-screen]

𝑪𝑯𝑨𝑹𝑨𝑪𝑻𝑬𝑹 𝑺𝑯𝑬𝑬𝑻.

repost, don’t reblog

basics !

FULL NAME. sans the skeleton PRONUNCIATION. sans the skel-e-ton NICKNAME. blu. nebula. roofdog. bonehead. smiley trash bag GENDER. male HEIGHT. 4′5″ in his ‘original’ sprite AGE. well over 300 but resets and memory problems cause issues here, mentally in his mid 30′s or so ZODIAC. cancer SPOKEN LANGUAGES. english, several programming languages, wingdings (monster dialect)

physical characteristics !

HAIR COLOR. bright red when he has it, almost unnaturally so EYE COLOR. generally white or pale blue BODY TYPE.  short and stocky ACCENT.  largely neutral with traces of northern british VOICE. deep and fairly even, waxing a touch lyrical often. generally sounds like he’s in on some joke no one else in the room has worked out, however this is sharply contrasted by the sheer bitter monotone that pops up when he’s coaxed into speaking seriously. DOMINANT HAND. left POSTURE. constant slouching, hands rarely leave pockets TATTOOS. small paper airplane etched on the back of his right scapula BIRTHMARKS. n/a MOST NOTICEABLE FEATURE(S). being a skeleton tends to stand out to most folks, for those more familiar with monsters his shortness tends to be the next item of note. bears a mild scar like ‘groove’ across his ribcage, as well as a tiny tail not seen on the majority of his alternates. the blaster form he most often takes is, of course, rather an entire recognizable feature in it’s own right..

childhood !

PLACE OF BIRTH. underground, kingdom of monsters, origin timeline unknown HOMETOWN. snowdin BIRTH WEIGHT. monsters like blu are less ‘born’ and more formed as SOULs that find the shape that best defines them over time. so basically nothing? BIRTH HEIGHT.  same as above FIRST WORDS. ‘k SIBLINGS. one brother, papyrus, goes by ‘GREEN’, considers ‘dot’/alphys to be as good as his adopted sister at this point PARENTS. unknown, mostly forgotten, and likely all the better for it PARENTAL INVOLVEMENT.  unsupportive - to put it lightly.

adult life !  

OCCUPATION.  former guard and royal scientist turned multiversal errand boy, ‘freelance’ scientist and part time bartender CURRENT RESIDENCE. little between homes right now, spending a lot of time at base B1-H3D in starbound, and hiding out in animal crossing CLOSE FRIENDS. phthalo, dot, lex, bill, don, lee, rud, gigs RELATIONSHIP STATUS. various levels of involvement with various friends, highly and openly poly but lacking the confidence to seek any deeper commitment FINANCIAL STATUS. broke his gold cap while messing with his own code some time ago, technically has infinite gold but prefers not to go spreading that information around.. DRIVER’S LICENSE. nah, prefers teleportation CRIMINAL RECORD. nope. though he is guilty of morally dubious scientific practices, petty theft, murder and quite likely some form of arson VICES. alcohol, smoking, gambling, various clearly self destructive behaviors

sex and romance !

SEXUAL ORIENTATION. grey-asexual ROMANTIC ORIENTATION. andro-romantic/polyromantic PREFERRED EMOTIONAL ROLE. submissive  | dominant |  switch | unsure PREFERRED SEXUAL ROLE. submissive  | dominant  | switch LIBIDO. higher than he likes to let on, particularly given the complication of the missing specific attraction element  TURN ONS.  intimidation/fear, dominance, bondage, being bossed around but also partners who are a little easily flustered and willing to be bossed around (more dominant by nature than he trusts himself to let on, most of the time) TURN OFFS.  as much as he enjoys the threat of pain, actual pain is almost always a nope out, that and being humiliated. LOVE LANGUAGE. absolutely a ‘gift giver’ type, also likes to make himself available to listen to the folks he cares about. tends to think he has little else to offer.. also tends to go from ‘don’t touch me!’ to being an absolute snugglebutt once he cares for someone enough, but sees this more as taking than giving himself. RELATIONSHIP TENDENCIES.  very cautious, in everything from assumption of involvement with someone, to attempting to initiate any form of intimacy. while poly he has a bad habit of checking out once someone else is involved due to self hatred and an assumption he’s never much of a permanent thing to anyone. but if someone can get past that? he’s an incredibly soft guy who’s willing to bend over backwards for the folks he cares about, even if this means breaking his general preference towards pacifism

miscellaneous !

CHARACTER’S THEME SONG. sans. (acoustic cover) - lenich and kirya lithium - nirvana the cold science of supremacy - wildstar online ost digital sea - thrice lost in time - celldweller memories lie - red vox duvet - boa terrible lie - nine inch nails *you can’t understand how this feels - COEURLAMARI a date with demise (it’s raining somewhere else remix) - insaneintherainmusic

HOBBIES TO PASS TIME. gamejumping, code experimentation, making fireworks, multiverse mapping, pretending to be asleep so folks won’t ask him for anything for a bit, dissociating MENTAL ILLNESSES. while i write him with major depression and severe anxiety/active paranoia and ptsd on purpose, he also seems to show signs of bpd, possibly avpd, however i’m not willing to claim those explicitly without considerably more research so. work in progress there.. PHYSICAL ILLNESSES. some kind of chronic pain? a combination of glitching code and the ramifications for the modifications to allow him to carry DT in his SOUL LEFT OR RIGHT BRAINED. left FEARS. abandonment, loss of control, death (outside of certain manically self destructive episodes), being trapped and/or experimented on (again) SELF CONFIDENCE LEVEL.  as low as it gets. the kid beat him far too many times to have faith in his own abilities anymore, from where blu’s standing? he really is the weakest enemy in the game..  VULNERABILITIES. poor physical health, low hp, self destructive tagged by: @avangelical tagging: took so long i’m. p sure everyone’s done it by now? but feel free to nick it and tag me if you want!

[rivers-children]

Chapter 6

    The trek back to camp was somehow quieter than the one going to the gathering. Sprucestar’s head was low, the weight of a new war straining her. Camp was just as quiet, any cats still awake clearly waiting for news of how it went, confusion rising through everyone as their leader simply walked to her nest, not a word spoken. The rest of them did the same, Speckledpaw feeling like she was made of solid stone with how heavy she felt. She dreaded the inevitable announcement of war tomorrow, and the stress it would bring. Sleep didn’t come easily that night to anyone.

    “All cats old enough to catch their own prey, gather below High Point.” Sprucestar’s voice rang out early that morning, and the clan groggily pulled themselves to the center of camp. “As the other cats who went to the gathering with me are already aware.” She hesitated slightly. “Skystar is no longer the leader of Cloudclan, and her usurper, Coldstar, has declared open war.”

    Everyone seemed to suddenly be wide awake now, murmuring and shouts mingling. Speckledpaw could barely make any of it out.

    “But why?” Cinderstream’s voice was clear and easily heard as he stood. “Why was Skystar exiled so soon to the end of the war? And why a new one?” The rest of the clan nodded, it was the question on Speckledpaw’s mind as well.

    “I don’t know for certain. There may not even be a proper reason. Coldstar has always been one of Cloudclan’s most… aggressive warriors, this may just be another way for him to keep the fighting going for his own amusement.” Sprucestar finally responded, her voice tense. “But we can’t focus on the why now. All border patrols must now contain at least four warriors, and the Cloudclan border heavily monitored. I would like hunting parties to be wary as well, and our healers to take at least one warrior with them if they must leave camp. Clan dismissed for now. May our ancestors keep us safe…”

    Speckledpaw’s brow furrowed as she watched her aunt duck into the nursery, presumably to talk her ideas through with Riverback. She padded towards the medicine den, hoping that maybe Elderbark would be able to say something that would calm her nerves. The vines that shielded the opening were still damp with dew. “Leafpaw, is Elderbark awake?”

    “It’s uh… its Leafheart now but yeah, she is. She’s not doing too great though.” The tom’s voice was quiet, concern etched into his face. “Did you need something? Is your eye hurting again? Or, or your head?”

    “I. No, I’m fine I just wanted to talk to her. About… well. A lot actually. What happened to her? Oh and uh. Congrats?” Her voice wavered a little, suddenly nervous about the well being on Elderbark. Was she sick? Dying? Oh ancestors what if she was already gone? What would they do without her? Sprucestar would need her advice!

    “Oh uh, you know how it was pretty cold last night? It didn’t really help her. She’s mostly fine, just feeling a bit ill. Nothing that you could catch though.” Leafheart tried to play it off like everything was fine, but he had never been great at hiding his fears. “You can go talk to her, Briarpaw and I were about to ask Blackfoot to come with us to get a few herbs I wanted to have extras of before Riverback has her kits.” He gestured for her to go ahead, sliding past her out into camp.

    Once he left, the sudden silence of the medicine den set in. Speckledpaw hesitated before stepping further in. The scent of herbs washed over her, and she tried to see if she could pick any out. By the time she reached the deeper part of the den, she hadn’t been able to pick out a single one. She peeked into the dimness, seeing Elderbark’s form resting in a nest, chest slowly rising and falling.

    “Elderbark? Are you alright?” She spoke softly, unsure if she was afraid of making the other mad, or that she would get an unhappy answer. Instead, she got a grunt as Elderbark sat up to look at her. Her eyes were a touch red, and she looked… Tired. It wasn’t a look Speckledpaw ever wanted to see again frankly.

    “Alright? Wouldn’t quite say that, but I’m alive. That’s better than I expected.” Her voice was hoarse, but she tried to give the apprentice a smirk. “So what did you need?” Watching the elderly medicine cat struggle to sit up sent a pang of sorrow through Speckledpaw.

    “I well… The gathering last night went, badly.” She explained, taking the time to let Elderbark calm down when she got riled up, already feeling at least a slight bit better just from talking through it. “And so I… thought maybe you’d have some insight or something. Grandpa always said he heard you stopped the last one from getting really bad.”

    “The last war was started because a deputy ate bad prey on the wrong side of a border, not because of a breaking of an ancestral rule. The best bet of stopping this one from getting bad is hope Skystar or Clifftongue are still alive and if they are, get them back into power.” Elderbark shook her head, coughing slightly. “Coldstar won’t win this though, I can tell you that. The ancestors would never give their blessings to someone so arrogant and cruel.”

    “You really think so? I hope it won’t last long then. I’ll… I’ll tell auntie about possibly finding them and maybe everything can be fixed before you know it!” Speckledpaw shifted, trying to look at it hopefully, turning to leave. “Did um… Did you want me to bring you anything?”

    “Just grab me a poppy seed. My head is killing me.” Speckledpaw hurriedly went to find the poppy flower, she at least knew what it looked like. Shaking out a seed, she carefully carried it to the medicine cat, setting it in front of her. “Alright, rest well.” She waited until Elderbark lapped up the seed and settled back down before she left.

    Looking around, she couldn’t see Sprucestar pacing around, so she headed towards the nursery. She poked her nose through the vine curtain, blinking through the dimness before her eyes adjusted. “-going to deal with this? I could make Thrushpaw and Finchpaw warriors sooner rather than later, but Thrushpaw… He’s still so cocky I fear he’d start fights just to start them.”

    Sprucestar was still pacing in front of Riverback, who laid on her side as she listened to her sister, humming softly in acknowledgement. “You could always make Finchpaw a warrior by herself. It might do her some good to not feel like she Has to always be by her brother. And stop pacing so much, you’re going to wear a groove in the ground.” Her ear twitched as Speckledpaw stepped in, the pregnant molly looking over. “Speckledpaw! How are you doing sweetheart?”

    “O-oh uh. I’m fine Auntie. I wanted to tell Sprucestar something Elderbark said. Is everything ok?” Speckledpaw hurried in further, ear twitching. She settled down to sit close to her aunts. Riverback’s belly was getting big, Leafheart must’ve been right about the big litter thing.

    “Everything… will be fine. What did Elderbark want me to hear?” Sprucestar shifted slightly, clearly not wanting to dwell on whatever Speckledpaw had overheard. Her tail tip flicked quickly, and she didn’t look directly at her niece.

    “She thinks the best thing we can do to, um, deal with Coldstar is to try and find Skystar and or uh, Clifftongue and help them get back into power like they’re supposed to be. And that it’ll end in our favour because the ancestors wouldn’t give their favor to someone like him.” The apprentice shifted, curling her tail around her paws. She was starting to get nervous at the silence in the nursery, 

    “... Yes, that would probably be our best option. I’ll let anyone going towards Cloudclan know they should keep an eye out. I have a request for you though. I want you and Palepelt to take some fish to The Barn to trade. We’ll need all the herbs we can get now.” Sprucestar shifted, sitting further upright. “Redwind should be just about done gathering the ones to trade. Stay safe and Only go to The Barn, alright? I want the two of you in particular to stay away from the border as often as possible.”

    “Of course auntie! I’ll start going right away.” Speckledpaw stood, trying to hide her near stumble over her own tail. She padded out, glancing back at them before pushing her way out. Her nose wrinkled as a cold wind blew past. Looking around, she spotted Springpaw’s tail and followed her cousin. Just outside of camp, Springpaw was helping Rustpaw and Coppereye haul in some large fish while Redwind pulled a few last fish from the river. It looked like the water was starting to freeze over now.

    “Redwind! Are those the fish we’re gonna trade?” The warrior looked up, shaking his paws to warm them. He carefully set the first down, nodding for the other three to keep going. “Yeah, this is them. The ones I’ve got that is. Figured while I was getting these, we could grab a few more. Some cats around here could stand to gain a bit.” He snorted as Springpaw immediately looked over.

    “It’s not my fault I’m skinny! Especially next to Speckledpaw, she’s HUGE! Almost anyone would look skinny next to her! All that fluff.” The grey tom’s cheeks puffed out as he tried to defend his honor, ignoring the barely stifled laughter of Rustpaw next to him. “Redwind sir, if you’re worried about him getting cold this Leaf-Bare, I can promise you none of us will.”

    Springpaw shifted, noticeably flushing a little as he looked away. “Y-yeah! Speckledpaw sleeps so close to the opening she blocks any draft!” Redwind went silent for a moment, before bursting out in laughter, nearly falling over.

    “It seems it runs in the family then! Good to-” He had to stop to breathe, “Good to know when you join the warriors den it’ll be completely draft-free then.” The tom rubbed his face with a paw, taking a few deep breaths. “Alright that should be good. I’ll go get Palepelt so we can go get these fish traded.” He shuffled the fish into a quick pile before padding further into camp to look for the white molly.

    “‘Blocks any draft’? Really?” Speckledpaw practically slugged her cousin in the shoulder. “Couldn’t have found any better wording for ‘I get cold at night so I snuggle with Rustpaw while begging my cousin to switch nests so I’m away from the scary cold’?” She teased lightly as he stuck his tongue out at her.

    “Shut up! You like the cold more anyways! And it is not snuggling! It’s huddling for warmth!” “It’s… It’s definitely snuggling.” Rustpaw piped up, finally managing to fully stifle her giggles.

    “Would you two please keep helping me with these fish? You can keep having your little lover’s quarrel once we’re done.” Coppereye grumbled, a little annoyed at how quickly they stopped helping carry the fish.

    “WE’RE NOT MATES!” Both cats yelped, going bright red and scrambling to drag the catch back into camp. Coppereye just chuckled slightly. “Works every time. Speckledpaw, would you mind telling Daffodil I said hey when you go? And thank her for the advice about training Rustpaw. It’s been real helpful.” She looked over at the remaining apprentice, eye soft.

    “Yeah, no problem! Did you want me to ask for anything special for you? I know some of the stuff they have helps you a lot.” Speckledpaw smiled, having long since gotten used to the scarred mollies appearance, and getting to know the little details.

    “Nah, we should be stocked up enough to get me through the season. Might want to grab something for Redwind, lover boy’s been hyping himself up for something, and ancestors know he’ll need the help just to not trip over his own paws while doing it.” The apprentice snorted and nodded.

   

    Redwind and Palepelt soon arrived, Palepelt carrying a wooden woven basket, they had been given it by Damascus to make travelling with the trade items easier for them. Speckledpaw helped her carefully stack the fish in it, making sure none of them would slip out. No one wanted dirty fish after all. Palepelt then covered the basket with a large leaf, picking it up by the handle. “Let’s go, I don’t want the basket to smell like fish when we put herbs in it. No one wants lavender that smells like carp, much less me.” She started padding out of camp, followed by Speckledpaw.

    The trip to The Barn was tense to say the least, both mollies clearly trying to not think about what had happened last time, and instead, Speckledpaw tried to focus on what she would bring back. She’d ask to look around, maybe she’d find something pretty? They always had a bunch of nice flowers around, that would help Redwind right? One that was the same color as Palepelt’s eyes. She would just have to figure out how to sneak it back without her mentor seeing it.

    The large fence soon came into view, and once again, Speckledpaw was amazed by how gracefully Palepelt leapt up. She decided to finally try that herself, crouching down before springing towards the top of the fence. Her stomach collided with it, causing her to grunt as her back legs scrambled to get her up all the way. Palepelt gave her a slightly amused look as she got up. She just shook her head a little and hopped down, waiting for Daffodil to inevitably materialize to greet them.

    Speckledpaw landed next to her, blinking as she looked at the indentations in the dirt she left under her paws from the landing. She looked up, only to yelp in surprise at a sudden face up close to hers. She scrambled back, getting a better look at the other cat in the process. He was a young tom, maybe a moon or so younger than she was. His wide eyes were a dark blue, and his pelt black with white patches.

    “Uh… are you um… Are you O’Conner?” She asked hesitantly. There weren’t too many black and white cats at The Barn lately, and he did look pretty similar to Damascus and Marianne. The small tom went even more wide eyed and gasped. “How did you know? Are you magical?”

    “Uh, no, You just look a lot like your mom and grandpa is all.” She settled down, calmer now that her brain realized that he wasn’t a threat. She glanced past him to see Daffodil hurrying over, mouth full of twigs.

    “Sorry for the wait! We’ve been busier than a barrel of bees tryna patch up some holes in the old house. Don’t want any folks freezin or nothing. Follow me to the barn so we can get this trade done, yeah?” The yellow molly gestured for them to follow with a flick of her tail, passing by a few cats heading back and forth with various items, preparing for the coming cold season.

    The barn floor was covered with dried grass that crunched under their paws. Speckledpaw took the time to look around, watching O’Conner hopped over to the patch of herbs they grew inside. Everyone inside was bustling about, chattering quietly. Daffodil continued guiding them, leading them up a makeshift ramp made of several planks held up by old hay bales. The upper loft was clean, soft nests gathered in various patches around. At the farthest point, was one of the largest nests, where Damascus was laying, Marianne nearby. Said molly looked up as she heard the creak of the flooring, rushing over to nuzzle Daffodil.

    “I see you came to trade. Father isn’t at his best, so I hope you don’t mind mostly talking with me about it. So what did you need?” Her voice was chipper, but Speckledpaw could hear a tinge of despair and stress underneath.

    Palepelt set down the basket, moving the leaf cover to the side. “Just fish this time, not much else we can spare right now.” She shifted slightly. “We’ve had… quite the moon frankly. Hopefully next time we’ll have more we can part with.” She pulled out the fish one by one, setting them down on the leaf, Marianne’s eyes lighting up more with each fish set down.

    “Oh my! This is still quite a lot! Go ahead and take what you need but… What happened then? Is everything alright in your territory?” Palepelt shifted, gesturing for Speckledpaw to go ahead and start gathering what they needed while she spoke. The apprentice scooped up the basket, a little unwieldy with it as she headed down. She’d get the herbs they needed, and ask someone to help her find some pretty flowers she could choose from. Maybe she’d get something for Springpaw to give Rustpaw too.

    The more she thought about it, even as she got the herbs she needed, with a little help identifying them, the more she thought about just bringing flowers back for everyone. She just had to figure out which ones to get for each cat. She was guided to the flower patch by a helpful brown tom, and she spent a good amount of time searching for good flowers. She grabbed two for Palepelt and Rustpaw each, one from her, and one from Redwind and Springpaw respectively.

    She had just picked the last flower, bundling them all together with a small vine, when she heard Palepelt call out for her. “Are you done there Speckledpaw? I’m finished and ready to go.”

    “Yeah! I just wanted to grab some flowers.” Speckledpaw hurried over, careful to not crush any of them. She adjusted the basket in her grasp, tail swishing. “Did you tell Marianne about everything?”

    “I gave her a shorter version, yes. I figured it best we let our allies here know what’s going on. But now we should head ba-” “Excuse me?” She was interrupted by a molly with the curliest fur Speckledpaw had ever seen. When she looked closer, she noticed that the mollies eyes didn’t exactly go in the same direction. 

    “Yes?” Palepelt seemed slightly confused by the sudden approach. “Can we help you?”

    “I, yes. I heard you two were clan cats and I want to join. My mother always said I was related to clan cats and, as much as I love it here, I want to try and get closer to my family past.” The molly kept shifting, before ducking her head down to groom her yellow chest fur, tail tip twitching anxiously.

    Palepelt blinked in slight surprise, before nodding. “I can’t guarantee Sprucestar will let you join, but there’s no harm in asking. What is your name?”

    “I’m Curly. For obvious reasons. And thank you for giving me the chance!” Curly smiled, a smile that sent warmth through Speckledpaw. She already liked this cat, she seemed very nice already. She even helped move the basket over the fence faster without risking dropping everything.

    On the walk back, Curly happily chatted with Speckledpaw and Palepelt, asking plenty of questions so she could be as prepared to join as possible. “So you’re currently named Speckledpaw but you’ll get a new name soon? That sounds cool! I wonder what my name would be…” Her attitude was so cheery, even Palepelt couldn’t keep her usual calm facade, her face breaking into a smile around the basket handle. The walk back to camp was much warmer than the walk there, that was for sure.

[oozmart]

Here’s another oneshot about Dahlia and the Sawyers!  Hope yall enjoy :)

_______________________________________________________________________

Dahlia plopped down on the couch, took a deep breath, and let out a long sigh.  She just danced like she’d never danced before to her favorite mix tape.  She might as well, she was home alone for once.   The house was her ballroom.

It wasn’t often Dahlia was home alone.  Although no one could ever really be home alone in the Sawyer house, Grandpa was always there.  Fortunately he didn’t say or do much.  He just sat in his chair and watched her go to town on the make-shift dance floor that was the Sawyer’s underground living room.  

Dahlia was grandpa-sitting while the boys went hunting.  Drayton went with them to help spot decent prey.  The pickings have been a bit slim lately, but thats just how it is this time of year.  Its slow season.  Drayton was always the crankiest around this time of year.  “WE’RE LOSING MONEY EVERY DAY,” he’d yell, “IT’S BAD ENOUGH YOU BOYS AREN’T BRINGING HOME ENOUGH GRUB!  NOW I’VE GOTTA DO THE WORK OF 3 MEN!”  It was nothing new to anyone who lived under the same roof as him.

Dahlia may not have been hunting, but she thought she worked hard enough taking care of the house.  She was the only person, besides Drayton, who had a real job and earned any income for this family.  Even on her day off she took the time to clean the house, do the dishes, do the laundry, sort the leftovers in the fridge, feed grandpa, AND bake 2 pies.  Those boys could barely do one chore on a good day, let alone all of them.

These acts weren’t simply out of kindness or obligation, however.  Dahlia was itching to get on Drayton’s good side, because she had some special plans for her and her favorite Sawyer brother, Chop Top.  The tense energy and busy schedule Drayton created left them little to no wiggle room for alone time as a couple, despite their many attempts.  She wouldn’t fail tonight though.  She was feeling extra frisky.  

The small lady wasn’t sure why, but her heart yearned for her lover’s arms more than ever.  She wanted him to hold her, pin her down, tie her up, bite her, cut her…  Nothing was off limits tonight.  Dahlia flustered herself over the nasty thoughts.  She fanned her face, still sweaty from all the dancing.  She thought about how Chop would beg for her when he wanted to have her.  He would do anything just to get in her pants.  She wondered how he would react when the tables were turned.  What would he do if he saw her beg for him?  Would he like it?  She placed her hand on her leg, and slowly slid it up to her pelvic bone, thinking about the night ahead of her.

In the midst of her fantasy, she heard a small moan.  She looked to grandpa, who was wiggling a bit in his chair.  Dahlia sniffed the air.  Smoke?  She gasped, “MY PIES!!!” She leapt from the couch and ran to the kitchen.  She frantically slipped on a pair of oven mitts and opened the oven door.  She sighed from relief, “A bit well-done, but still good!  Phew!  Thanks, grandpa!”  She pulled the tray out of the oven and set it on top of the stove to cool.  

“YOU TWO COON SHITS CAN’T DO ANYTHING RIGHT!!!” The sound of Drayton’s complaining echoed through the dirt walls.  Dahlia turned sharply, realizing they were finally back from a long day’s work.  She threw off her mitts and bolted for a mirror.  She bumped a skeleton sitting at a small vanity to the floor to fix her hair.  She took it down from her ponytail, and shook out all the sweat.  She smiled at her reflection, cute as usual.  A little wet, but it was kinda sexy.

“Aw, come on, bro!  I- It wasn’t that bad!  We got oooooonnnneeee!!!”  

Dahlia’s heart skipped a beat upon hearing her lover’s raspy voice.  

Drayton was the first to enter the living space, “I told you once, I told you a thousand and ten times!  ONE WON’T CUT IT!!!”  Dahlia skipped over to Drayton with a chipper attitude, much to his dismay, “Whatdya want, girly?” he spit out that nickname like it was a disease.

Dahlia gestured to the room, “Notice anything?”  Drayton looked around a moment, as she waited in anticipation for some gratification.  

“You, uh, you knocked over that there skeleton.” He pointed to the skeleton on the floor beside the vanity.  “You oughta pick it up.” he ordered, making his way to the kitchen.  Dahlia rolled her eyes and huffed.  She stomped over to the skeleton and sat it back up on the stool, its head rolling off in the process.  Ignoring the decapitated head, she proceeded to follow behind Drayton.  “I cleaned the house!  In fact, I did all the chores.” she boasted, hoping he might give her just a sliver of praise.  

“You did the dishes?” he asked.  She nodded proudly.  “Well,” he continued, “looks like you’re gonna have to do more once those pies get eaten.”  He continued to go about business as usual, as if she didn’t work her ass off all day for this very moment.  She sighed and shrugged it off, that was the closest to a thank you she would get out of him for today.  His mind was obviously in other places.

Bubba came into the kitchen lugging a chunk of meat he shaved off of some poor idiot who got caught.  Despite being covered in blood, he grabbed Dahlia and pulled her in for a hug.  She cried in disgust, “BUBBAAA!!!  You’re gonna get blood in my hair!!!”  She pushed herself off of him, and gave him a cold stare.  He looked down in shame, wiping his hands on his apron.  As if that did anything, the apron was blood-soaked too.  Dahlia gave another exasperated sigh, “You boys are going to be the death of me…” she muttered, and patted the big-little brother on the arm. 

“H-H-Hey, cook!  Whereya want this???” Chop Top shouted from the entrance holding up a bucket of gouged out eyeballs.  Drayton shouted back, “Where the fuck else would I want them?!?!?  Bring’em here to the kitchen, ya dumbass!!!”  

Dahlia’s eyes became hearts as her man hobbled across the room like a goblin.  She threw herself against a large pipe and struck a seductive pose, only for him to pass her right by.  This girl just about had enough of the Sawyer’s for one evening.  The boys hadn’t even been home for 10 minutes and they seemed to be going out of their way to make a fool out of her.

Chop Top set the bucket on the counter next to Drayton.  Once this small task was complete, he set his sights on Dahlia.  He creeped over to her, and stood over her unnoticed for a moment.  “H-H-Hey lil mama.” he said softly.

A chill went down Dahlia’s spine.  He called her by her pet name.  This set off all those feelings she had when she was sitting on the couch mere moments ago.  She quickly turned and jumped up into his arms, smacking a big kiss on his lips.  

Losing his balance, he fell to the ground with a thud.  “AH!” he shrieked, “You stupid bitch!!! Jumpin’ like a spider monkey all over me!”  Still on top of him, she continued to kiss him all over his face.  The average person may find him grotesque, but she thought he was a hunk.  Chop Top knew better though.  This behavior was weird, even for Dahlia.  “W-W-What’s wrong with you?” he couldn’t help but smile when he asked.  As odd as it was, he did enjoy the physical attention.

“Ooh, I just REALLY wanna listen to the radio tonight, big daddy!  Can we? Can we, please?!?!”  That was their little secret code term for “let’s get our groove on.”  While his pet name for her was Lil Mama, she called him Big Daddy.  She didn’t say it often, but when she did it meant she wanted it bad.

Chop Top’s pale white face turned red like a cherry.  He never saw her so eager before.  It was he who usually initiated everything.  It was very different throwing yourself at a girl than having a girl throw themselves at you.  It made him a bit nervous, he could feel a sweat start under his arms.  All he could mutter out was a small stutter, “Y-Y-Ya?”

Drayton stomped over, and grabbing Dahlia by the arm, yanked her off his lap.  “No one’s gonna listen to nothin if we don’t get any work done!!!”  Still having a grip on her, he tossed her towards the kitchen.  He then proceeded to grab Chop Top by the shirt and lift him onto his feet.  Chop Top didn’t say a word, which was very unlike him.  “Whats the matter with ya boy?” Drayton asked, mildly concerned but mostly annoyed.  Chop Top just stared blankly in Dahlia’s direction, his heart beating like he just ran a marathon.  The old man had no time to waste, so he just shook his head and left him there to stare.  “Well, i’ve got 2 other sets of hands that aren’t completely cuckoo shit yet.” the old man muttered under his breath, but still loud enough that everyone heard.

Bubba continued to haul meat back and forth from the cutting room to the kitchen.  He passed Chop Top with his blank stare and stopped.  He was worried about his big brother.  He was usually loud and obnoxious, but he suddenly seemed dumbfounded.  Bubba tapped his arm as gently as he could.  He continued to give little nudges until Chop Top finally shook out of the trance.  “BUBBA!” he shouted, “You ever feel like your hearts gonna explode and your body is shakin and your mind is goin CRAZY OUT OF THIS WORLD?!?!”  

Unsure how to properly respond, Bubba simply shrugged his shoulders.  He stayed by his side still, worried his brother was falling ill.  The middle Sawyer realized his little bro wouldn’t understand, and quickly brushed him away.  The big man sighed, hoping everything was going to be alright for his favorite brother.

Chop Top moseyed to the kitchen and stood next to his little woman as she began cutting up the pie.  He wanted to speak, but he found himself unable to open his mouth.  Once again frozen in time.  He watched her as she casually worked like a little housewife, enamored by each motion she made.  Her fingertips carefully graced the crust of the pie, as not to crush it inward.  Her eyes, so soft and yet so laser focused on the task at hand.  Her lips at a slight curve, not quite a smile, but still ever as content.  He watched on as she used the knife to scoop up a slice and plop it onto a plate, the berry filling spilling out of the sides.  Dahlia looked up at him, dead in the eyes.  She lifted the knife up to her mouth and licked off the red cherry goo.  

He just couldn’t look away from her, how could this small creature have this much power over him?  What did she have planned?  What was she going to do to him?  Licking that knife got his hopes up that she might slice his neck or stomach.  She usually refused to hurt him like that, despite him being an outspoken masochist.  What changed in her that made her so…… horny?

“Chop Top?  Hello?  Are all the lights on upstairs?” Dahlia tried to get his attention by waving her hands in his face.  “You’re starting to make me worried!”  The tall man blinked himself out of a trance once again, and stammered out a small response, “I-I-I’m ok.”  

She smiled into a sigh of relied, “Well thank goodness!” She picked up the plate of pie and a fork, “You gotta taste some of my delicious cherry pie!  I made it just for you!”  A small blush showed on her cheeks as her smile grew wider.  She scooped up the tip of the slice onto the fork and held it up to her lover’s mouth.  He opened his mouth and the fork slid in.  He took the bite and slowly chewed, enjoying the sweet taste of the berries.  Dahlia was still smiling like a lovestruck fool right up at him.  “If you’re not in the mood to eat right now we could always do something else.” she bobbed her head from side to side to help insinuate her sexual intentions, “If you’re in the mood?  I know I am.” She continued bobbing her head, waiting for a response.

Drayton butted between the two of them to grab two plates and the knife.  “You oughta stop that weird head shit you’re gonna snap your neck.” he shook his own head in frustration before going to the other side of her to cut up some pie for him and Bubba.  Dahlia gave a huff.  Drayton seemed to love getting between the two of them.  He didn’t exactly approve of what Chop Top and Dahlia did behind closed doors, so he pretended like he didn’t know.  Although Dahlia was sure everyone in the house knew based on how loud they’d turn the radio up certain nights.

Chop finally came to and spoke up, “Listen babes, did you- uh, do something different?  With your hair or your eyes or something?”  

“My eyes?”  She tilted her head in confusion.  How does one change their eyes, she wondered.

“I just feel like you’re different today.  Its makin me nervous!”  he admitted.   Dahlia turned on her bedroom eyes, and took a step closer to him, “I think you’re nervous because for once I want you, rather than you wanting me.”  She placed her hands on his chest, rubbing up and down sensually.

A chill went up his spine when she touched him.  Despite the shift in their usual dynamic, he was extremely turned on.  “Oh, I want you!  Don’t make no mistake about that, lil mama!”  He took her hands and wrapped them around his waist.  He rested his arms on her shoulders and began to sway from side to side.  The nerves melted away into his typical horny energy.  She giggled as she followed his rhythm.  He lowered his face down to hers and placed his forehead against hers, with a wild, toothy grin plastered on his face.  

Dahlia was still smiling like an idiot too, as she whispered, “I love you, Bobby.”   

Chop Top chuckled.  He was once again nervous, but he had a better handle on himself now for some reason. “I love you too, lil mama.”  He took a step back and grabbed her by the wrists, letting out a laugh like a deranged hyena, he started to dance to music only he could hear playing in his head.  Dahlia joined in, whipping her head around and letting her hair fly everywhere.  

Drayton and Bubba watched on from the kitchen table.  The eldest Sawyer shook his head disapprovingly, “Buncha idiots….” He turned to his littlest brother, “Bubba, don’t you ever get yourself mixed up in that bullshit.”   Bubba stayed quiet as he watched the couple dance.  All he saw was a happy couple.  He wanted to have something like that.  He wasn’t sure how or why, but it was a nice thing to want.

[momtemplative]

Two Cans and a Very Long String.

(All photos from History.com. Fox photos/Getty images)

<<Author’s note: I’m remembering what happens when I make a commitment to write every week. Sometimes the words flow fluid and without obstacles, and sometimes, well, they really don’t. Such is the case with any new practice; it takes time to find a groove. 

Meanwhile, god-forsaken Caronavirus concern is permeating everything in our day-to-day world system right now, so writing about anything else feels vacuous and out-of-touch. But sitting down to write something on the current pandemic from a ‘unique’ (ha!) perspective (in a way that does NOT inspire the reader, or myself, to want to go and commit suicide) is a challenging task. I know I didn’t nail it, need more time to nail it. But here is a start...>>

I was lying in bed a few nights ago, in the drowsy place between awake and asleep that brims with lucid visuals. I was thinking about mothers, specific mothers from long ago, who lived through their own versions of ruthless and lethal pandemics—Black Plague, Scarlet Fever, Spanish Flu. The Big Ones. I could see these mothers in my mind, one after another, as they held their babies in stained swaddling clothes and rocked them in the dark.

It’s so easy to see these women from the past through the dusty, incompatible lens of time. (The Black Plague took place in the mid-fourteenth century!) But the Spanish Flu took place a mere century ago. There were light bulbs and phones and cars chugging down dusty roads. The Industrial Revolution was over and hygiene and sanitation were understood to prevent illness and disease. These were not the dark ages. My great-grandma, Emma lived through it. 

When I juxtapose her mother-life next to my own, I see that the world I live in may be evolved/evolving in states of everything from gender roles to technology, but does that brand of growth compete with a pandemic? 

If the view-lens we are using is that of simply mother-to-mother, though, I sense that our deepest, most unfeigned thoughts and feelings are universal. To clutch our babies close, to do everything in our power to keep them warm, fed, safe and loved—I bet even a mole rat mother feels those feelings.

So I lie there between my flannel bed sheets, on my right side, shoulder crammed into my ear as per habit, eyes closed like tiny projection screens, thinking of that.

In the time between sleep and morning, those thoughts percolated and wound up rooting someplace deep down. Alongside the catastrophic declarations that scream from every media device —”The coronavirus can't be contained! Are you ready??”— and the images of medical masks and quarantined crowds, I’m experiencing my own version of what-the-hell-is-going-on-here. Trying to keep one’s head on straight in the face of a litany of panic requires a full-time commitment to mindfulness. (Which, as far as I can tell, is a state of mind limited to gurus and saints.)  

The louder the commotion gets about the world’s impending doom, the more I feel a plumbed sense of longing rise from my gut like a military tank from over the horizon line. A yearning—yes, that is the word—to know what it was like for a mother one hundred years ago as she weathered far-worse conditions while continuing to care for her babies and her household. I want to know her. I want her to remind me of resiliency and the uncompromising strength of family and community. As four-year-old Ruthy says when there is something specific she wants to hear, ”SAY THE WORDS!” I want my long-dead great-grandma to tell me those words.

The pandemic we are currently facing feels like a very long string between two extremely far-off cans. (A telephone line though time, the Indigo Girls sang.) I can almost hear Emma’s quiet conversations with her husband while standing over a half-boiling tea kettle. Her middle-of-the-night prayers. Her timid reassurances to her young children, Harriet and Lewis. 

I sat down to do a light bit of research, hoping to fill in the cracked and pencil-sketched images of the landscape of 1918 in my mind. I attempted to time-travel through Google, searching, “Life during the Spanish Flu,” then “Parenting during the Spanish Flu.” I found jaundiced images of hundreds of hospital beds, lined up meticulously like cards in a game of memory. The white sheets rendered the individual bodies in each bed impossible to decipher. I stumbled on some photos of five young boys, in sooty, ill-fitting clothes, wearing camphor bags around their necks to ‘prevent the flu.’ There was one photo of a group of WWI military gurgling salt water in unison at Camp Dix . 

I soon realized that there was very little personal history that the tentacles of internet could reach. Nothing from day-to-day life. It was too far back. 

So I settled for history book-type content—The facts. Un-nuanced. Bone-dry and depressing. Apparently the Spanish Flu affected one-third of the world’s population. It was typical in that the mortality rate was high in children and the elderly, those with more vulnerable systems. What was NOT typical is that it also took down healthy, robust young adults. 

Oh what I would give for Emma’s journal of what it was like to keep her babies safe and alive. I need to know, if they were old enough, how much truth did she tell them? And what about the days, weeks, months held after the panic had cleared and the dust had settled. Had her insides changed at all? Did she retreat inward, become less trusting of the cosmos?

Mercy. From where I watch the panic swell around our current pandemic—COVID19—things look much less tragic than Emma must have had it. Foremost, regarding our flu, it seems children are being spared—only 3% are showing symptoms and, of that, only 2.5% are showing severe symptoms. Thus far, barely a sliver. It seems my Opal and Ruth will be spared this round. (Physically, at least.) I say that to myself like a prayer of gratitude. 

I wonder how many long days and nights Emma had to endure, unsure if Harriet and Lewis would be pardoned from the Spanish Flu. As one of the countless mamas who pioneered hell realms to carry evolution one more generation closer to my own—where I’ve lived quite comfortably and safe for forty-three years, mind you—she certainly warrants a few moments of consideration from her great-granddaughter.

Meanwhile, Ruth continues to pick her nose. (I have tried umpteen times to guide her hand gently from her nostril to the light of day, but it returns the moment I let go, as if spring-loaded.)

Meanwhile, Opal sang Ruth to sleep tonight while gently caressing her little sister’s nose with her pointer finger, the way you would do with the velveteen nose of a puppy.

Meanwhile, three brand-new-baby boys have been born in the last two months to people who are close to me.

Meanwhile, my money plant by the window is outgrowing us all.

Meanwhile, the time changed yesterday, throwing my ten-year-old into a tail-spin of exhaustion this morning.

Meanwhile, the bean seeds we planted last week have shot up, aimed at the window pane, as if attempting to upend their little roots and run free.

Meanwhile, the discord of the winter geese is still my favorite music.

Meanwhile, I have a multiple-week supply of mac and soups and oatmeal and peanut butter stowed downstairs, in case of quarantine. We figured we’d eat it either way.

Meanwhile, the sun still burns upwards. The deep-spring blue of the sky pays no mind to the humans who are hoarding sanitizing wipes below. 

Tonight is the full moon, the same moon that Emma gazed at out her window, a hundred years ago. It will hover on the surface of the nearby goose pond, like a coin that refuses to be pulled to the bottom of a wishing well.

March 9, 2020

[hmel78]

In conversation with Dave Sturt ...

GONG

In September of 2016, ‘GONG’ released their new album “Rejoice! I’m Dead” Some say it couldn’t, or shouldn’t have, be done. How could Gong exist without Daevid Allen? 

For those who are unaware Daevid passed away in March 2015. ‘GONG’ has had many, many line-ups - Formed when Australian beatnik/freak Daevid Allen quit ‘The Soft Machine’ and moved to France at the tail end of the ’60s. Since debuting in 1970 with “Magick Brother”, the band have remained fluid, even playing without their founder from the mid-to-late ’70s; fracturing and reassembling and constantly taking on new shapes and forms: an undeniably amorphous unit. David Bowie told Vanity Fayre in 2003 that Daevid Allen’s “Banana Moon” is one of his favourite albums, and today everyone from indie artists Temples and Ty Segall to hip hop artist Madlib and techno DJ Surgeon are inspired, and borrow, from ‘Gong’s’ music and ideology. The funky grooves, avant-garde flourishes and counter-cultural stance is timeless. So timeless that ‘Gong’ is proving that it can fully exist, even without their creator and guiding light.  “Rejoice! I'm Dead! came together over several weeks in an East London rehearsal studio. It depends on your knowledge of ‘Gong’ history and what you may feel constitutes as a Gong record, but “Rejoice! I'm Dead!” is classified as their 28th album and it would appear that the ‘Gong’ legacy is the strongest it has been since 1974 . In the words of bassist Dave Sturt: “You bet it's a fucking Gong record!” The current line-up features  Kavus Torabi (vocals/guitar), Fabio Golfetti (guitar/vocals), Dave Sturt (bass/vocals), Ian East (sax/flute) and Cheb Nettles (drums/vocals) - and unanimously they have taken on the mantle of “steering the Teapot further into outer space and the inner ear” ... Helen Robinson caught up with Dave Sturt recently, to find out more ...

HR :  ‘GONG’ has had a total of 52 official members in its 50 year history ; 47 past and 5 current.
What is it about ‘Gong’s’ music which compels musicians to continue to hold the band together in some shape or form?

Dave Sturt : An interesting question..... The Gong family is really unlike anything else. It's so much more than the 5 or 6 musicians on the stage. It's a worldwide collective of freaks, mystics or those who just don't quite fit in to the mainstream .... those who are searching for a different way to be.  It's an ongoing adventure- may it never stop. 

HR :   When you first joined in 2009 you were the new guy! Did you jel straight away? Had you been a fan prior to joining? 

DS : I knew of Gong back in the 70s but it wasn't until the 80s when I began to really appreciate what they had created. I had latched on to the Steve Hillage Band first - I really loved “Fish Rising”. So it was a real honour to audition for the band with Steve and Miquette. I felt comfortable right from the start. My personal journey melded with Gong's at just the right time – I had experience of many kinds of music but needed a focus. Gong wanted a creative bass player with something to offer . . . kismet!

HR :    At the time - alongside Daevid Allen - the line-up consisted of original member Gilli Smith who had returned to sing vocals, with two of the 1970’s staple members Miquette Giraudy, and Steve Hillage - what was it like having them all reunited in the same creative space?

DS : It was a privilege but, initially daunting. I had briefly worked with Daevid a few years before but to have them all in the same rehearsal room was something else. 

I began to get to know them properly in the tour bus around Europe - promoting the 2032 album.  They were all incredibly bright, free thinkers- truly inspiring. 

HR :    2012 saw another big shift in the band’s line-up -  you stayed ; was that by choice, or at the request of Daevid?  Who decided on who was going to fill the positions?



DS : Well I was very keen to continue with the band but it was Daevid who chose the line up that best suited his vision of where he wanted ‘Gong’ to go. On tour he spoke many times of his wish for Gong to continue without him and he chose pretty well.

HR :    Have the rotations of band members been essential to keep it fresh for the main body of songwriters ; for something ‘new’ to be brought to the table?  Or was it simply a tough band to exist in?

DS : Daevid never wanted to play safe. He always wanted to be surrounded by creative people so I guess that was the driving force.  Since Ian east and I have been involved the biggest change was when Steve and Miquette left to re focus on System 7.  Daevid was keen on making the band more guitar focused so Fabio was invited to join - and then later Kavus got the call. 

HR :   You’ve been with the band for the longest, out of the new line-up - do you feel that you have the chemistry right this time, to move forward as a unit and stay together?

DS : Absolutely - no question. This band is a perfect mixture of passion, skill and creativity. The gigs are a blast from start to finish – and we also have a great crew including the Fruit Salad lightshow and projections.

It feels slightly odd – being the longest standing member! It has been a bizarre eight years.

HR :    Following Daevid’s passing in 2015, and Gilli’s in 2016 - did you all consider calling it a day, or is it always going to be imperative to keep their spirits alive through the music?

DS : It was Daevid's wish that the band should continue. We were keen to carry on but unsure that it would work without him. We had gigs booked to promote the I See You album but Daevid was too ill to join us from Australia so Kavus took centre stage and we were astonished by the response. Also, previous members of Gong were very supportive.

Gilli's last tour with the band was in 2012 – and her health was failing then. She had to miss some of the concerts because of a broken foot. Our last gigs with her were in Japan and she spent the last few years of her life in a care home where she held court and entertained guests up until the end.

HR :   Cue studio album #28 - “Rejoice! I’m Dead”. 
It features Steve Hillage, Didier Malherbe, and Graham Clark, along with some post-humous vocals from Daevid. 
Did you feel that you needed to include these in order to transition the band from what was always essentially Daevid’s project, to a new stage in it’s development?

DS : That was partly the reason, but it felt completely in keeping with the the direction of the album. I was particularly keen to include the track Beatrix. It was such a lovely moment that I'd captured on my hand held recorder. We were in an apartment in Brazil - Daevid was listening on headphones to a jazzy musical idea of mine - and he began to improvise a poem about a very special woman in his life. It was so sweet and poignant. 

The album is obviously a reflection on Daevid and life and death so it's seemed completely right to have his presence in there . . . . it really felt as though he was in the studio with us as we composed and arranged the tracks

HR :   The album is receiving some rave reviews, and doesn’t seem to have disappointed the loyal following - were you nervous prior to it’s release, or confident that what you had produced was going to hit the proverbial nail?

DS : We were supremely confident that we had created something really special. The process of composing and recording was a joy. We just followed our own inner voice – without any pre-conceived direction - everyone contributed with ideas that we then arranged, juxtaposed and honed into a beautiful shiny thing.

HR :   With the current line-up being a relatively new group when it comes to working together as ‘Gong’ (not essentially new to each other), how difficult was it to write new material in the vein of some 50 years of compositions, which for the first time were not under the creative influence of Daevid, Gilly, or other alumni?

DS : We are all composers as well as players – and four of us wrote or co-wrote most of the tracks on the previous album I See You so we had no problem in continuing the process. The main key difference was the lyrics. We had no intention of pretending to write like Daevid or Gilli – that would have been completely bogus. Instead Kavus developed the main lyrical ideas throughout the time that the tracks came together – and a truly fine job he did! I wrote the lyrics for the track Model Village – the first time that I'd attempted such a thing.

HR :    For anyone who may be unaware of Gong, and their impressive back-catalog - could you describe the new album in a nutshell, and give virgin listeners an idea of what they can expect?

DS : The title – Rejoice! I'm Dead! - is a line from a poem of Daevid Allen's – 'All I Ask'. It completely summed up Daevid's attitude to death and it informed the concept of the album. That transition into the great unknown – something we all will face at some time. So – should we face it with fear and trepidation or embrace it as part of life's great journey? No one gets out alive so let's enjoy life, live it to the full and don't waste it by worrying about something that you can't avoid.So, the album is euphoric, inspirational and slightly ironic, with the occasional social comment. Musically it is, in turns, powerful; beautiful; intricate; and mystical.

I think I've finally achieved my aim of playing on, what may well be recognised eventually as, a classic album.

HR :   And down the line ... The band claim they you will continue to ‘fly the teapot further into outer space, and the inner ear! 
 Is it likely that any past members will be invited back to the fold for future projects?

DS : It's said that once you've been a member of Gong you never leave - so the door is always open. It's a very friendly, co-operative family – so everything is possible.

HR :   Outside the Gong realm, your solo album “Dreams and Absurdities” was released in 2015. Given all your other commitments, how long was it in the making? 

DS : Dreams & Absurdities came together slowly. It would have happened sooner if I hadn't been so busy over the last 10 years. I have a classic bass player mentality – I'm very supportive and unassuming and I give my all to whichever project I'm working on – which has meant that my solo album never became a priority, until, for some reason, everything fell into place.

HR :   It’s a  purely instrumental  record  - a departure perhaps from the music that people are used to hearing you play. Does it reflect your personal musical comfort zone?

DS : Well, some people will be very used to me working on instrumental albums. I recorded two with Jade Warrior and three with Cipher (my duo with Theo Travis). I find great beauty in instrumental music – especially when it evokes emotions of longing and soundscapes of imagined worlds.

HR :    The album features  a number of impressive guests - notably your  Gong colleagues, and Bill Nelson.   
Bill describes you as “an artist of the highest calibre” - coming from him that’s quite a recommendation isn’t it?!

DS : I am still truly astonished that I have been able to work with such great musicians – and to be held in such high regard by them is overwhelming. I've played with Bill for over 10 years now and it's been a joy. I was a big fan of Be Bop Deluxe and Red Noise and I've had the honour to play material from both bands with the man himself.

HR :   You’ve worked with a number of high profile musicians during your career - what was the most challenging project t o be part of?  And if you could collaborate with anyone at all - who would it be?

DS : The most challenging was probably a session early in my career when I was hired to play on an album by a Canadian band called Strange Advance. Also playing on the album were drummer Andy Newmark (John Lennon, Pink Floyd, Roxy Music) and Earl Slick (David Bowie). It was produced by the great composer and arranger Michael Kamen. It was a huge learning curve for me. It was a great experience but I felt that I was hanging on by my fingertips! In the end, things didn't go well with the producer/artist relationship – and the album was re-recorded in Canada with different musicians.

Who would I like to collaborate with? That could be a very long list! Peter Gabriel, Harold Budd, Jan Garbarek, Andy Partridge, Kate Bush, Steve Jansen, Bill Frisell, David Torn, Michael Brook, Zakir Hussein, . . . I could go on . . .

https://www.davesturt.co.uk/

[ver-itas]

Ok, so I have a concept for you

I’m seeing all these posts about the Loki series that Disney/marvel is (? Might be? I am unsure but anyway) making, and some theories regarding the premise of said series. One that caught my eye in particular is where the series turns out to be Loki’s life flashing before his eyes as Thanos kills him in Infinity War. And wow, first of all how dare you... But second, imagine for a moment, if you’ll indulge me, that this is exactly the way the show is set out.

But here’s the twist;

It’s done in the style of The Emperor’s New Groove.

So we open on the scene of Loki trying to trick Thanos. Thanos grabs him, etc etc, we don’t need to rehash that. Aaaaand, just as Loki is dying, freezeframe. We get a voiceover saying:

“Ah. Yes, that looks rather painful, doesn’t it? Certainly a regrettable position for one to find themselves in, wouldn’t you agree. Well, that poor sod is me. How did I get here? It’s actually a rather lengthy tale, one that starts long before this moment. Before my recent infamous misdeeds on both Asgard and Midgard, even. Before that ill fated coronation of Thor’s, when I discovered a secret that sent me down this path that ends here. Before all that pain, back through the years spent at my brothers side. Before I was known as Loki, the silver tongued trickster-god, liesmith and thief. Back when I was simply Loki, prince of Asgard.”

And then the series commences, Loki leading us, Kuzco-style, through the various events of his youth. His adventures and mishaps, Thor at his side, the Warriors Three and Sif accompanying. He shows us how he became know as the God of Mischief and Lies. He shows us how a boy who was promised a throne became twisted and dark, lost in the shadow of his older golden brother. All of this, complete with sarcastic commentary from Loki himself.

I feel like that would be AMAZING.

[feuillyys]

Tbh, what do you think the Les Amemes™ would do for jobs?

(i realized halfway through this that you might have meant for this to be about 100% less serious than it ended up being but)

enjolras becomes a motivational speaker, and it’s something that shocks everyone. he spent a lot of time in college unsure of what he should do that would have the most positive impact on society and on the people in his life, but it all started by accident when he was filmed going off his soapbox and getting emotional and somehow went viral. he becomes really well known for helping inspire people to overcome their temporary situations, for feeling comfortable in their own skin, for coming to terms with and accepting their gender and sexual identities even if no one else does. he gives a TEDtalk once and all his friends make memes out of it but it stays in the top ten most viewed for weeks after it airs. he finds the best way to make an impact is to inspire others to start trying, too.

grantaire is the art teacher at an elementary school. he had a little bit of success selling his own artwork but put it aside when he found out how fun it was to spend day after day with little kids. he found it wasn’t so hard to get up in the mornings when he was doing it for something he loved. (plus he invested in a really good coffee machine. like. a really good one). he loves teaching the young ones because they don’t care about balance or lines or composition, they just want to create and he misses how simple it used to be. he has an entire scrapbook at home filled with every creation he’s ever been given and when he’s feeling particularly low he pulls it out and smiles at all of them and then let’s himself paint for fun, just like them.

courfeyrac spent a lot of his years struggling to decide what he wanted to do with his life. he didn’t decide on purpose to become a teacher, but it seemed like the logical choice as soon as he filled his schedule with education classes. he’s the teacher that everyone loves, eccentric in his fashion tastes and always making the assignments crafts, but his success rate is exceptionally high and he genuinely cares about his students. he teaches them to be kind, and accepting, and helps them come to terms with their passions regardless of what they are.

combeferre becomes a pediatric surgeon. it’s hard at first, and he comes home to his apartment some days during residency and just cries for hours until his phone rings and he has to go back. but he turns out to be exceptional at it, and he turns out to be a phenomenal teacher to all the residents who come after him. kids adore him because he talks to them like regular people, he teaches them about the medicine and space and moths and Star Wars and any other interests they have, and parents love him because he’s the best there is at ensuring that their kid wakes up safe and sound.

feuilly is a social worker, specializing in children, families, and schools. he takes special care in following up on all of his cases, and he always finds the perfect family for a child to stay with. he takes on a lot of pro bono cases—god knows he can afford it with all the random jobs he takes on the weekends. he has an eery sixth sense for knowing when a fit is right or wrong, but he never closes a case unless he’s certain he leaves a family more whole than when he met them.

bahorel tried law school, he really did, but his passion laid elsewhere. as soon as he dropped out, he convinced his family to help him open a youth arts center where he devotes his time helping kids of all ages advance their skills in drawing, painting, acting, singing, dancing, all of it. the kids he sees come and go often tell him they owe their successes to him, and he cries and hangs up copies of their graduation pictures or stage productions on the wall of his office.

joly gets his medical degree and promptly decides to open up a free clinic. he raises awareness for chronic illnesses and specializes in treatments for amputees, he starts a foundation that is constantly raising money, proceeds going to his clinic so that he can continue treating people but also going to research because medicine is about progressing. he doesn’t necessarily want to be the one to do the research, he chose to work as a doctor in a clinic for a reason, but he knows it’s important.

bossuet becomes a therapist. he’s hand rounds and bouts of bad luck but it’s left him with lots of advice and lots of empathy to give. he makes sure to let each of his clients know that their choosing to come must be on their own times and he takes special care getting to know each and every individual one of them. sometimes when their eyes go tight at the mention of money, bossuet will wave them out the door at the end of the session laughing about how the credit card machine is broken, isn’t that silly, it’s just his luck—and his patients come back the next time extra grateful for him.

jehan is a writer; but the kick is they write under a pseudonym and only a few people in the world actually know. when they finished their first official work, the fame wasn’t as important as the message seemed, so they searched for a publisher who would support the pseudonym and has only told a few people outside of that what they actually do for a living. the rest of les amis assume they just work odd jobs whenever they feel like it. but jehan writes, and sells a lot of copies, and they love it endlessly.

marius is a professor of linguistics at a university. he knows so many languages and is so fiercely passionate about the way language is structured and formed and evolving—his classes almost always fill up first, and have waitlists that are pages long. the students love how interesting he finds words, many of them are entranced by the way he always sees the world through rose-colored glasses, and a lot of them are there to giggle at the way he blushes and stutters just so when someone compliments him in any way.

cosette gives music lessons out of her house. there’s literally not an instrument she can’t pick up and have mastered in five minutes, so she teaches it all. piano, guitar, harp, accordion, a didgeridoo one time, a cello, a trumpet once, singing, even dancing. she just cares about music and wants to give everyone the chance to learn. her youngest student is four years old and her oldest is eighty three, and alongside teaching them musical theory she shows them how to use music to always see joy in the world.

éponine models for a while, before she finds her groove more comfortably in designing clothes. she gets a lucky break when a successful model catches sight of one of her designs, and begs her to let him wear it on the next catwalk. when she isn’t designing clothes, she’s helping r out at the school and teaching new techniques to the elementary kids who hang off of every word she says. she’s always dressed to the nines, but unbeknownst to the majority of the fashion industry is the way she spends her free time making clothing to give to people who can’t afford it. she donates a lot of her creations to homeless shelters, and often enlists gavroche to help her find places to give out clothes.

musichetta owns a restaurant chain. it started off as just a small café hidden behind the streets of paris but got really popular for its delicious sandwiches and atmosphere. her shops are social media famous, and many people visit her now just to take aesthetic pictures of the shop and order a panini and a coffee to go. she beams with pride and her creation but still works at the original, wiping counters and greeting guests and, even occasionally, taking pictures when asked.

bonus;gavroche wants to be just like his sister when he grows up. his style in clothes is a lot different from her edgy chic vintage, but he loves how much she loves it and finds his own ways to make his clothing unique and fun.

[angeleyesgilly]

↬ Protector.

● Setting: The Marin Home, June 2013.

●❝It's too cold outside, for angels to fly.❞

●Trigger Warnings: Death of child, mentions of child neglect and abuse.

Gillian usually didn’t get out a lot. Not at all really. It wasn’t because she didn’t like to. She loved going out, seeing people. She didn’t have a lot of friends though. It was hard to hold up friendships when she could never go out anywhere. The only times she really ever got to go out was when her step-mother had her go on grocery runs for her. It was the only real social time she got, and those were brief greetings to strangers she didn’t know, or a few classmates from when she’d been in school.

Mostly her limits for not going out was because she was never allowed to. Sometimes it was a straight up refusal, and other times she was simply made too busy to leave the house. Cleaning, watching the kids, and by the time she’d finished up she was too tired to go out. It kept her from seeing any of her few passing acquaintances at school, and from doing anything truly social.She didn’t mind though. She had Kate and Lola to look after. They were enough company for her. They needed her. It wasn’t as if they got any true care from their mother, or from anyone else in the house. Occasionally Lydia and Rosa would take interest in Lola. Only for the briefest of moments though. Those were the two that were always out. She didn’t blame them entirely for that. Sometimes they suffered the same abuse that Gillian did.

Tonight had been different. She’d been approached by a few of her friends from high school at the grocery store, and they’d asked her if she wanted to go to coffee. At first she hadn’t been entirely sure, but she told them she would ask and get back to them. When she’d gotten home, she asked her step-mother, certain that somehow she’d be turned down. Much to her surprise, she’d been told she was allowed.

Gillian was incredibly eager to get to go out. She’d managed to save up some money from when her father had been around, and that was what she brought along with her. It was a nice night. They mostly talked about what they were doing, and Gillian explained that she was mostly staying at home with her siblings. It was a little saddening to hear that her friends were going to university, but she had kept on her smile, and remained happy for the girls and the lives they had.

After an hour or two, they’d finished up at the coffee shop. One of the girls offered to give her a ride home, but she wanted to walk and enjoy her time out a bit longer. It wasn’t a far walk, nothing too exhausting, but it wasn’t a short one either. She took her time, stopping to take in the surroundings of the town she was living in, and to admire the cloudless sky, and all the stars she could see.It was a beautiful night. Colder, not so much that she felt the need to completely bundle up, but enough so that she could feel the chill. Enough that she had buttoned up her old jacket on the way out. There was one button that was missing, she hadn’t had time to sew it back onto her jacket before she’d left, but she’d get around to it before she’d go out again. She just had to remind herself so she didn’t forget amongst all the chaos of looking after the kids.

Finally, she made her way down the street that she lived on. She was mindful of the grooves and dips in the sidewalk. Once upon a time as a child when she and her mom had been walking home, she remembered tripping up and scraping up her knees. She’d only done it a few more times after that, but it’d been enough to learn to be mindful as she walked.

That was when she saw it, near the end in her view. Flash lights, red and blue. The closer she got she saw squad cars, and what looked like an ambulance, parked right outside her house, almost blocking her from seeing the drive way. Immediately, panic took her over. She saw those flashing lights and ice flooded her veins. For just a few seconds, she froze, her mind spinning with possibilities on what had happened.

Those thoughts were ultimately what snapped her out of it. Whatever it was, whatever had happened she had to be there. She didn’t waste any of the time, and the fear stopped seizing her in place. Almost immediately, she started racing towards her house, no longer being mindful of the grooves in the sidewalk. There were more important things. She crossed the street halfway through, for a split second she wasn’t even mindful of traffic.

She only got as far as the few people lingering outside of her house. Gillian tried to get through them as politely as possible, but everyone was so busy chattering and trying to figure out what was going on she couldn’t manage it without pushing past a few people. She wasn’t running on kindness and polite manners anymore, she was running on adrenaline, and the worse thoughts that ran through her head.There was a break between the wooden blocks, and she made a movement to get through them, but a police officer quickly stopped her. “Miss, you can’t get through here.” He said, almost sounding annoyed with her.“I live here!” She exclaimed, not much evidence of the sweet person she usually was left. She was too driven.

“You still…you can’t get here,” he said slowly, as if he was suddenly saddened. Gillian felt her heart stopped for a few moments. She wasn’t sure what to think, but the sadness in his eyes, in his voice, something was wrong, something was terribly wrong.

“Why not? What’s going on?” She asked quickly, knowing this time what was in her voice was demand and panic.

Gillian looked over his shoulder, desperately searching for any clue of what was happening. She had to know. She hoped she might see Rosa, or Lydia, or Kate or her step-mother. She wanted desperately to see anyone, someone who could explain to her what was happening. What had happened while she’d left? What had gone so wrong? 

She started counting back the last while as she looked over his shoulder, watching the scene behind him. There was only stillness, nothing significant. She couldn’t even see much activity within the house. The sirens blared loudly, but she was too focused trying to figure out how long she’d been gone. With the walk home it couldn’t have been more than three hours.Surely nothing so terrible could happen in such a short time span. Maybe her step-mother had taken ill, or one of her step-sisters had tripped or something. That didn’t explain the police officers, but she was so desperate to cling to a reason that wasn’t drastic enough to bring her world crashing down that she was able to briefly ignore the logical questions that came about. Whatever had happened had drawn some of her neighbors out of their houses.

“There’s a-,” suddenly his words sounded far away. They weren’t the focus of her attention anymore. It all sounded far away, including the sirens. She got her answer though, so his words didn’t matter. She got her answer as the door opened. At first she hoped that it’d be one of her sisters, anyone. But it wasn’t them. It was a uniformed man, wheeling out a stretcher. There wasn’t a body on it, not that she could see at least. The form on the stretcher was encased in a black bag. A body bag.

Her world came crumbling down in that moment. She barely even saw the second man exit the house. She could see because her eyes blurred. The lights in the corners of broke into circles, seen through the filters of watery eyes. She shook her head briefly, quickly finding a way to deny it. It had to be something else. Anything else. This was all a sick joke. It had to be. Or a dream. A nightmare born out of fear of losing one of the two people she cared most about. This was just a sick, twisted creation from the back of her mind. There was no other way to explain it.

Maybe it was her step-mother. Yet that brief glance at the body bag told her the form was too small to be her step-mother. She looked around, desperate to see the face of Kate. Her eyes were already too watery that she wasn’t seeing anything but distorted face after face. Someone she knew, anyone she knew. There had to be someone. They all blurred together as she spun desperate around, hoping to see someone in the crowd. The world slowed around her almost.

Eventually, her desperation turned her back to the officer. “Who? Who was it?” She wasn’t aware she was yelling. She wasn’t aware of what she was doing. She managed to push past the officer, slipping into her drive way and running towards the stretcher. She had to know. She had to see. A part of her didn’t want to know. Or at least didn’t want it to be real, because deep down she already knew. She already knew what frail body lid beneath the bag.

Arms stopped her, gripping onto her upper arms and pulling her back. “Miss! Miss! You have to stay back!” The words were sharp, desperate, but not half as desperate as she was.

“Kate! Kate!” She called desperately, hoping to get a response. She yelled it so loud that she was sure everyone in the area could hear her. She hoped that someone would. She needed someone, anyone to hear her. She needed to see Kate walk out of the house, or separate from the crowd so she could see her.

The men wheeled that stretcher right past her, and she threw herself towards it, desperate to break the hold of the man. “Who is it?” She screamed the words, unsure of who she was yelling at, the men wheeling the stretcher or the officer who held her. “Who?” She demanded, needing the answer, but not wanting it at the same time.

“It was the young girl, Kate,” he sounded so unfamiliar with the name, so unsure of it she almost felt angry. He didn’t have the right to say it like that.

“Please let me go!” She exclaimed, pulling a little harder, using all the strength in her body to try and get away. She had nothing on the man holding her though. He was too strong though, she couldn’t break free, not that she was sure what she would do if she got free. Tears streaked her face. She’d failed. She’d failed.

Soon the strength left her, the adrenaline left her. All she was left with was gut wrenching disappointment, guilt and absolute and utter devastation. She slouched back into the arms of the officer, knowing he wouldn’t let her go now. Not that she had anywhere to go. All she could think about was Kate.

She was in the clutches of her sadness, knowing that whatever happened, it was her fault. She should have been there, she should have protected her. She could have done something. She knew she had to have done something. If she’d been there, if she hadn’t gone out Kate would be alive, she’d be safe. They wouldn’t be wheeling her out in the body bag.

She couldn’t bring herself to ask what happened. That’d make it too real. It was already real. The wrenching pain in her chest, and the sickness in her stomach told her just how real it was. She let out a scream, a scream that ended up in a sob. She fell slack against the officer, her legs weakening beneath her and giving way. It was only then that she was actually let go. His hand still rested on her shoulder, but she didn’t feel much anymore.

Nothing but the emptiness of knowing that of all the people that she’d let down, Kate had been one of them. She couldn’t even grasp at how alone Kate must have felt. She couldn’t feel anything but crushing sadness. It ached, and pulsed through her. Kate was gone. Kate was gone. She was gone. There would be no more watching her come out of her room in the morning looking for whatever breakfast Gillian could throw together.

There’d be no more reading fairytale books to her and Lola at night. She’d never gotten to kiss her forehead after she’d fallen asleep nestled against her side. She’d never get to see her smile, or hear her laugh. She’d never watch her walk back in the door from school. The girl, who’d been her sister but more like a daughter was gone. She was gone, and she had died alone.

Gillian dissolved into a sobbing, broken mess, the entire world around her bleeding away. She was left with nothing but the fierce, burning ache left behind. The guilt, the depression. She was left with the image of what Kate would become if she’d been there, if she’d been able to save her from this fate. Left with the guilt of knowing she would never graduate, her grow old.

She wanted to scream, but she had no energy left. She had no energy left to breathe it felt like, but her body just kept going. She didn’t want it to, not at first. Each sob racked her body, shaking her body. Gillian didn’t feel even the ground beneath her. Just pain. Internal pain. It was so dominating, and so strong, she couldn’t even think properly.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered desperately, as if Kate could hear her. Even speaking was painful. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered and over, her voice broken and withdrawn, only coming out between the frequent sobs.

[andrewrosswatson1987]

REVIEW: SOULSHAKERS SLEEP URBAN DREAMS ON NEW ALBUM

Soulshakers have now reached that third full-length album point.  This brand new album, Urban Dreams, came out Monday (August 5), released via label, Pure Funk Records. All tracks written and produced by Lisbon, Portugal’s Luis Telo.

First, there’s “Urban Dreams”. This shimmers in, indeed, like a dream. Then the patter of drum almost shakes you out of your reverie, yet still quite relaxing and sedate.  Scratching can be heard, the only semblance of vocal. The saxophone a bit rude, but also in synchronicity with the kicked back vibes.  Now, vocal proper.  Indistinct and dreamlike, trepidation of bass the only one thing prodding, keeping grounded. Second track, “Jazz Hop Café”, is as says.  Jazzy industry of drum, an oldschool drum machine beat.  Saxophone evoking city nights in, say, the Big Apple.  Pulsing keys cue some rap vocal, female and a tad sassy.  “Jazz hop café, where you’re always welcome” her closing, inviting remarks. “Walking In The Rain” sounds like the static of rotating vinyl before that song you love kicks in; either that or, indeed, it’s the rain.  This builds to an almost haunting level.  Furthering the weather feel, a splash of cymbal like a streak of lightning or heavy downpour.   Then comes nice and “Cozy”.  This’s quite sexual, at least overtly sensual. Hazy and in a state of sleep, it would seem.  Keys hit like percussion of crystal, ringing out rich and glassy.  Whistling noises aim for the skies whilst the rest remain cozy, rooted on a comfortable sofa or bed.   “Tokyo” blares ethereal, seeming chorus effect embellishing this.  Bass and drum lending a melancholy kind of light swing to proceedings.  Seeming processed guitar competes with keys for what seems an The Isley Brothers homage. Strings play mightily as if to herald grandness to proceedings.  Synth you might hear on the West Coast side of things shyly, gingerly playing, ringing short and intermittent.

“Random” is sleep inducing, ASMR kind of music.  Pleasant to the ear with strings wafting high in the sky, suggesting intrigue but nothing to be overly concerned about.  The track occasionally punctuated with noises akin to sloshing water.  Short but perhaps losing its hypnotising power if made any longer than it currently stands. “Nostalgic” opens with, this time, bubbling, perhaps flowing water.  That plus acoustic guitar and the deep wooden sound of upright bass.  Strings taut like uptight and lending a possibility that current worries make you nostalgic for a more carefree past?  Sounds of water and, aptly, splashing cymbal end the track. Then the “Laidback Groove”. Booming bass and marshalled, clapping drum adjoin with sleek wah-wah guitar.  Lead lines playing so smooth, too.   You’re in “New Orleans”, next. The knifing piano keys plus industrial hitting drum and ominous horn make you ill at ease.  In the urban jungle, relying on your wits.  You try to retrace your steps back home.  You’re not in Los Angeles or New York, for a start. Trudging bass like tired footsteps with now little finesse, feet clomping upon the ground.  The bass gets more animated, if not still unsure of itself. This like racing thoughts.  You panic, you’re lost in New Orleans.

The concluding “I Won’t Beg You” is another exploration.  Synth coming busy, piano sparse and laying the rhythmic foundation.  The drum machine hits hard, though muffled slightly for a more rounded sound.   Ones to look out for are “Urban Dreams”, “Jazz Hop Café”, “Walking In The Rain”, “Tokyo”, “Random”, “Nostalgic”, “Laidback Groove” and “I Won’t Beg For You”.  One particular thing to remark upon looking at this album is how well spread these highlights are.  Highlights right through the album.  The other two are good, but seem to interrupt the sonic story told during the others.  “Random” could’ve been no longer, but maybe that’s its charm. Soulshakers provide a journey into the sound of hip-hop.  It’s got a certain ambience, with soundscapes spanning both coasts, north, south plus anything in between.  The largely instrumental tracks take you on a trip into your own mind and to places you’ve never been, just imagined.  The advent of lyrics would’ve perhaps changed the experience irrevocably.  Soulshakers’ Urban Dreams can be bought on Bandcamp, here.

Also visit their Bandcamp page to keep tabs on Soulshakers.

[oneteacheraz-blog]

Eight Years Later: Why I Still Teach

New Post has been published on https://www.oneteacheraz.com/why-i-still-teach/

Eight Years Later: Why I Still Teach

When I was 21 years old, I had the great fortune & honor to teach a group of men at a minimum security prison outside of Madison, WI. Largely made up of men on their way out of the confines of prison, the course was focused on giving them coping skills and strategies to deal with life back on the outside, in hopes of preventing recidivism.

As most of the men were at least ten years my senior, I went into this experience with a very humble approach and the mindset that I would likely learn more from them than they from me. Because of our age difference, I was somewhat nervous before my first day. I put in a lot of thought as to how best I should introduce myself and explain my presence in front of them. After all, what in the hell could a young guy like me teach them?

On the day of our first class, I decided to arrange our chairs in a circle as if to suggest that we were all among equals and that everyone had as much of a voice as the person next to him. I could almost literally feel a sigh of relief as the men filed in for our first session, as they saw from the structure of the room that they weren’t to be lectured at, but rather engaged in conversation.

Conversation flowed well on that first day and continued from where we left off each week after that. From these conversations, we grew to know and understand each other quite well. Slowly, I began to see these men for what they really were: people that had made mistakes. Increasingly, too, I began to learn just how much each of these men had in common with each other: namely, most of them came from underprivileged backgrounds and were not afforded the same resources as many others. To be clear–and in testament to the character and maturity of each of these men–not one of them blamed their fates on their childhood, but it was apparent that they had all lacked something critical in their formative years. In one way or another, all of these men had been slighted.

7 months later our class was ending and one of my students–Randy–pulled me aside to give me a handmade card, signed by himself and the rest of my class. I’ll never forget that sincere look of respect and appreciation on his face as he gave me what to this day is still the best gift I’ve ever received. The gratefulness and deep respect each man had for the time we had spent together was evident in each of the short notes they had written.

Almost as an aside as I was walking out of the classroom for the last time, Randy quipped: “Y’know; I wish I woulda had a teacher like you back in middle school–ya know; someone who cared and who coulda told me there was more out there. Maybe then I wouldn’t be here.”

More than any particular bit of dialogue we had had throughout our entire time together, Randy’s comment hit me. For its honesty and its genuineness and, most of all, for its truthfulness: if more of these men–if more people from low-income neighborhoods that experience gaps in opportunities from even before the first day they set foot on this planet–had had that type of teacher, maybe they truly wouldn’t have been there.

Because of those men and because of Randy, I applied to Teach For America and, two weeks after college graduation and with two large suitcases stuffed to the gills, I left behind my family, friends and support network and moved to Houston, Texas. Fueled by the boundless energy and passion of youth and driven directly by my experiences with people who were the living embodiment of a fate all too common for those in our lowest socioeconomic brackets, it was my mission to try to be that teacher that Randy talked about. It was my hope to help instill a love for learning in as many children as possible.

Throughout those first two years, I had an incredible amount of eye-opening experiences that, simply, I’d never been privy to in my own life. Like realizing that Bianca was having a hard time learning the English word for “bed,” not because the ability was beyond her, but simply because she’d never seen a bed in real life and thus was struggling to understand the concept. Or that time that I got so frustrated with Demetrio after fielding a phone call about him hanging around the school late at night, only to learn upon calling his mom that her two jobs prevented her from getting him right after school and she was too anxious about communicating in English to ask for help.

Things that I could never have even imagined as a child growing up in a comfortable two-parent home in Suburban, USA, with my stay-at-home-mom, summer camps and after-school sports. Things that were not even in my mental lexicon growing up. Yet my students had to deal with things like this on a regular-enough basis that they weren’t necessarily even always phased by them. Imagine what that does to a developing brain?

Yet despite all of this, my students trudged on–and thrived. Bianca came in with a smile and eager appetite to learn each and every day. Demetrio’s generous nature was always on display–whether in his knowing smile after one of my many ill-fated attempts at humor or the fact that he could always be counted on to help out a classmate in need. My school’s Parent Teacher Association put on marvelous events throughout the year and our community showed up and supported each and every time. It was truly an incredible place and examples abound of the strong spirit of resilience and community displayed by all of my students and every one of their families.

Because of the children and families I met in my first two years teaching, I decided to sign up for a third year in the classroom. Seeking something slightly different, I moved to New York, where I got right to work at a still-founding school in Bed Stuy. Because of the impact I saw and the relationships I built that year, I came back for a fourth year in the classroom. Hitting my groove, years 5, 6 and 7 were a blur of hard work, incredible memories and unforgettable events. During this time, I worked with some incredible colleagues and served some of the most dedicated families and scholars I’ve ever met.

Something about the end of year 7 had me thinking, though. I’m not sure if it was seeing many of my old teacher-friends moving on and moving up in the business world or watching others embark on successful law careers or seeing still others pursue passions more artistic in nature, but I struggled. Was I doing the right thing? Should I be doing something different? Or was there more to be done?

Unsure of any of those answers and without a firm desire to make any drastic changes in my life, I signed up for year 8 this past fall. In many ways, it was my toughest year yet. But I pushed on and–I’m not sure if it was the joy of getting to teach the younger brothers and sisters of my former students, the pleasure of watching my school grow into a vibrant community institution, or the fact that I get to work with the most dedicated and diverse group of professionals each and every day–but I finished the year with a smile.

Now, as I gear up for year 9 in just a few short weeks, I can say with the utmost certainty I’m in the right place. A place where students come to learn every day and where families come to celebrate nearly as often. A place where futures are made brighter. A place, I like to think, that Randy would be proud to call home.

Jake Jung is a TFA Alum (Houston ’09) and will begin his 9th year teaching this fall, taking on the new challenge of founding a Computer Science department at his school in Brooklyn, NY. Jake is a graduate of the University of Wisconsin-Madison and holds a Masters from Relay Graduate School of Education. Additionally, Jake will begin a two-year term as one of two Brooklyn Borough President Appointees on Community Education Council 13, where he will serve the families and students of his neighborhood in an even greater capacity by ensuring their voices are well-represented in NYC DOE policies and practices.

Jake Jung is a guest blogger for OneTeacher whose views and publications on other platforms are his/her own and are not endorsed by or affiliated with OneTeacher.

[alasdairmacpherson14000920-blog]

Band blog - semester 2

Week 1 – Unfortunately one of our singers was only doing the first half of the year so she had to leave the course. As well as this our bassist also decided to no longer be on the course. This is definitely going to be a problem if we are unable to find a decent bass player soon. As we are required to do an entirely new set we began to work on the new songs that we are going to do for this semester. One of these songs was ‘You don’t own me’. This song has got a great feel to it but, as a band, we have not changed it from the original version too much. We have more or less kept it exactly the same. I very much enjoy the style but I am unsure of how this will affect our overall mark as a creative group. We also briefly attempted a Whitney Houston medley. This medley was clearly introduced to the band as a big showstopper for the audience but it’s definitely going to need quite a lot of work to get it to the level that’s been suggested to the band.

 Week 2 – We more or less went over the same songs as the week before this week. The Whitney Medley is really designed to showcase the singers and vocal performance. Because of this, most of the work will need to be done is down to the singers getting their harmonies as tight as they possibly can be. The lack of a singer is definitely a big loss to the band. Although it’s a lot less hassle trying to organise parts for everyone there is definitely a weaker vocal sound without those strong harmonies. You don’t own me is coming along very easily and everyone seems to know their parts fairly well. The only issue is with the large amount of key changes which occur in the chorus of each song but these are minor kinks that everyone will eventually learn.

 Week 3 – This week’s rehearsal went very well due to the fact that we were able to find a bassist from the year below who was willing to help out with our band. We showed him the parts of ‘You don’t own me’ and he was able to pick them up very quickly as the song is not too overly complex. We also tried more of the Whitney Medley this time with a bass and it definitely helped add to the overall sound, especially to the ‘I wanna dance with somebody’ section which we thoroughly rehearsed to make sure everyone is confident in their parts.

We started to look at ‘Lay all your love on me’ by ABBA as one of the singers needs a band performance of this for their final assessment so it makes sense to try and get the band to perform it, killing two birds with one stone. I very much enjoy this song but I can definitely see it’s going to need quite a lot of work if we want to get it to a decent standard. We also attempted ‘Mercy’ by Duffy and, although it started ok, it very quickly fell apart during performance with no one really knowing what they were doing. I do not think this song would be good to perform at the next gig.

 Week 4 – This week we learned another new song very briefly. This was an original written by one of our singers. It’s a very soft song and I personally believe that it doesn’t need any drum kit but I was told that it would help. Finding a part that was stylistically appropriate was quite a challenge and I still do not believe the part that I have prepared is completely appropriate. I will have to think about what I will be playing for the song more. Hopefully after some experimentation I will be able to find a groove that fits the soft tone of the song. Playing was a lot easier for me this week as I have finally acquired hot rods. These are drum sticks which are designed to quieten down your drum playing. This will help create a better mix during rehearsals so that everyone will be able to get a gauge of the overall sound better.

 Week 5 – This week we went over the song that we learned last week, this time with a fuller instrumentation to make sure that everyone knew what to do. We definitely managed to tighten up the overall song and everyone was a lot surer of what they were playing. I was able to find a drum part that I liked and fit in with the tone of the song, playing the song a lot softer and finding a minimalistic groove. We also looked into another original that had been prepared for the band. It is definitely clear that some band members come from vastly different music backgrounds than others. Those who come from a more educational background, performing in choirs and orchestras most likely in school, prefer to have things written down and be prepared and organised. Everyone must stick to their part. Those who have a less formal background in music tend to hear the song and play along judging by feel.

 Week 6 – This week we were able to learn the original song that we briefly touched upon last rehearsal. This song is a lot of fun to play, it is very upbeat. There is a lot of room for improvisation which other songs we have performed up until this point haven’t really allowed for on the drum side of things. It does share similarities with both ‘Baba o Reilly’ and ‘You can call me al’ which was pointed out but overall the song has a great pop feel. After we polished u and learned that song we kept going over the set list on repeat over and over again so that everyone would be able to play their parts to perfection. I am confident that we will be able to perform very well at the upcoming gig. There may be a few minor issues which people need to solve such as endings and harmonies but I believe we will be able to put on a good performance

 Gig – After this performance I was slightly disappointed. For the most part the band did very well but in some parts there were some issues that I found very noticeable. Unfortunately our piano player was absent due to personal issues so we had to have a replacement fill in on the last song. They did very well at picking up the parts with relative ease and there were no issues on their end. The vocalists had quite a number of technical problems which was unfortunate. I think this definitely affected their overall sound as their harmonies sounded peculiar at some points. I do not think anyone is at fault really I think it was just a combination of nerves and unfortunate technical issues which were the cause of the bands mistakes. I have good faith that with some practice and discussion we will be able to perform well in our final assessment.

 Week 7 – This week we really looked into tackling the Whitney Medley. It is clear that the person who suggested this had a clear vision about what they would like the medley to sound like. We mainly focused on the changes between each song sample. I definitely found this a challenge as there were a lot of specific time changes which needed to be bang on. I had very little indication as to where I’m supposed to come in and at what tempo. Most of the time I would try and come in but I kept getting it wrong. Eventually we were able to play through each transition at an ok level but there is definitely a lot of room for improvement.

This week I also properly showed the band a brief Idea for a song I had written a while ago. I had written the riff and sent it, along with quite a simple chorus and bridge to the band page a while ago and this week we finally decided to look at it in more detail. I can’t really write lyrics so I asked some of the vocalists if they’d help out and they agreed. I have written a number of things for my other band, Due To Illness, so it was very refreshing to write something tailored more towards the style of Something Blue. We also changed the key of the upbeat original in our set so that the singers would be able to reach their high notes with a lot more ease.

 Week 9 (off on Week 8) – This week we looked into the Whitney Medley with a lot more precision. I requested that the singers made more of a clear indication as to when each change was. Tis definitely helped as it was a lot easier being conducted and lead into each new song. We also looked into the song which I had written. Though I enjoyed some of the changes and I don’t dislike the song, there were a large amount of changes that had been made. Unfortunately I had been absent the week before so I was not able to oversee these changes. I was asked quite a lot of questions as to where I thought the direction of the song should go. At this point it no longer felt like my song, more of a Frankenstein-esque collaboration of different parts I had written so I wasn’t sure why my input was entirely necessary.

We then went over the set once to make sure we at least know partly what we are doing for our final performance. This went quite well but the Whitney medley still needs a lot of work. We are planning a rehearsal in the eater just to go over everything and make sure everyone knows exactly what to play

 Holiday Week – We decided to come in during the holidays to get a lot of time of some much needed practice. We ran through the song that I had partly written and it is still taking me a lot of time to find a good drum part that I like. I had an idea for the drum part when I wrote the song but the changes that have been made have caused me to have to change my drum part quite a lot. As well as this we worked on the Whitney medley which still needs a lot of work. We were able to get the changes down perfectly after I suggested that the singers conduct the rest of the band in, similar to any jazz band or orchestrated band. It is good to have someone to lead the band just to make sure everyone knows what they are doing, it is better to be as tight as possible. This idea was met with some odd looks but when we tried it seemed to work a lot better.

There was a second idea I had that was met with some hostility for some reason. The singers were still working on the acapella section which closes the song. The harmonies were weak and everyone seemed a little unsure. They all agreed that something needed to be changed. As I liked the idea of just having singers and no instruments for the final section I suggested simplifying the harmony to just one chord on the “how will I know” phrase with a lone singer singing the lyrics in between. While the majority of singers agreed that was a sound idea one of them disagreed very much and, for lack of a better term, went in a sulk. The singers then had a discussion among themselves as to how to approach this. I was later informed that the aforementioned singer suggested exactly what I had. When the others told them that this was identical to my idea she apparently responded “It’s like Aly’s idea, but less idiotic”. Obviously when I found this out I was slightly taken a back and insulted. I don’t think that attitude is appropriate in a creative environment. It is much better for everyone to generate their own ideas and have discussion with everyone’s ideas being treated equally. It is fair to say I will not be in a band with this person again.

 Week 10/Sound check – This week we had our sound check and a final practice before we go on stage. I think everything in general went pretty well. The Whitney medley had definitely improved but still could have used a lot of work. I was able to come up with a drum part for my own song which I was happy with. There were a couple of minor mistakes made on stage but these are small things that will be sorted for the following week. I had not had a lot of sleep the previous night so I was a little tired. I was still a bit put off by last week’s comment but as we are close to final performance I am willing to let it go. I think by this time next week we will be fully ready for the gig and I am confident that we will do well.

 FINAL PERFORMANCE! – This week was our final performance. There were definitely some issues. The bass guitar definitely kept cutting out and I was unsure whether that was the lead or the DI that was causing the issues. There were some iffy chord changes and vocal harmonies. This was most likely down to nerves. I think I played ok but definitely had some slip ups. Mid way through it occurred to me that I was being assessed and that one thought definitely altered my performance as I tried to play more conservatively, making sure I didn’t mess up by taking risks.

Overall looking back at the development of the band I’d say it has been an interesting year. Being in two bands of completely opposite genres and creative environments has shown me what I prefer and look for within a band. There are a couple of members in the band I would gladly work with again. They were a lot of fun and everyone was a great musician. There are other members, however, that I don’t think I could be in a band with again. I believe a band should be more of a democracy, where ideas are all generated through each performer and not dictated by one person.

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[samgrimes01]

Horrific.

Horrible! So dreadfully horrible! The whispers in which it speaks….I am but a man driven mad you see! By madness I’ve known not life but death. It is, for some, a particular interest of the morbid kind and for those who can stomach it, a profession. Though this profession can be said to hold a certain…darkness, it is within myself that I had found my calling and on one  night, an opportunity.

I found myself lying in bed reading another one of my medical journals when I heard a faint knock at the door and a cry. 

“Doctor! I am here!”

I set aside my book and made towards the door.

“Doctor, are you there?” He asked once more.

I opened the front door. A man stood before me. It was Jameson. An aspiring…shall we say “Salesman” in the trade of stolen goods. His most profitable job being grave robbing, a dirty and difficult type of work. One that I have invested much in, in the ways of medical advances of course. 

“Come now, I am here.  What is the commotion?” I asked. “I have something great for you!” He said.

“After last time I had hoped our next encounter would be more dependable.”

“Oh it is! It is!” He replied.

“You see this one is fresh!”

My interest and curiosity had risen, never before have I been brought a fresh soul. 

“Fresh you say?” I asked.

“Oh yes, he is still warm you see, only a few hours short of life.”

“Then I will pay extra, five silver eagles.” I told him.

“Oh but this one is special you see. He is worth 10.”

“Fine. I will pay your 10 and you will take your leave.”

I handed him the coins and as I did he found it difficult to contain his excitement from the glow and silver and the sheen of light that fell upon the coins but the same could be said for myself. A man that had barely gone was the best kind. It was a perfect subject for my medical examination.

“Now be gone! I have much work to do.”  I shouted.

I began to drag him back within my home and shut the door. I let him lie there as I would retreat to the nearest room for a table. I then lifted him from the floor and put him down upon the cold steel slab for closer examination. My eyes peered along the length of the body, looking for anything that could perhaps tell me his story. His clothes neither in poor or in rich. The mans skin was pale, his hair of a darker color and his weight about average. Though in all they appeared normal with the exception of the skin and dirt beneath his nails. An interesting addition that I would later examine. Piece by piece I unclothed the man. 

His body had not a scratch, nor burn or injury. I placed my hands upon his face, examining his eyes- the warmth of his face; and the frailness of his cheeks. I became intrigued by this man. It seemed that he; unlike the others was very peculiar, though I could not place it. I thought best to begin the operation. I needed to see how the man had died. What cause had forsaken the man and how did it happen?

I took a few steps back over to my counter where my tools had been. I would need a scalpel and my lantern as well as a clamp. For a moment I took heed, knowing that I was alone but in this moment catching myself hearing what I thought to have been a breath leaving the lungs and exhaling through the mouth and nostrils. The night was late, only getting later and later but I shook it off. Blaming my delusions upon my fatigues and exhaustion's on the earlier parts of the day. I returned to my tools, gathering them all together.

But here it was again! Faint and subtle, still..i had believed what I heard was true! I collected my things and returned myself to the table from which I started. I put them off to the side and slowly, so very slowly placed my hand outward towards his mouth and nose. I believed what I had heard, but I needed proof! His mouth stayed closed but his nostrils would tell me the truth. With my hands placed under his nose I waited, and though nothing was seen or felt I kept my inquiries and continued on with my examination.

Taking a breath and wiping my forehead I gathered my thoughts of ill deeds and dismay. It was all within myself I had thought, I was obliged to believe it. Many late nights have been spent in this cold room, nearest the morgue. On many of these nights I've been preyed upon by little rest and thoughts I dare not speak of. Though I must look past these dreadful illusions and prepare. From the wall I brought down my gown and mask, my gloves and my headdress. 

It felt as though the room grew unusually colder, so cold that I could almost see my breath. I felt still or I felt that I could not move. An odd feeling but it was as though someone were behind me, my heart took up in pace- as if i were climbing stairs. Slowly I turned and looked beyond my surroundings. Nothing. It was calm, quiet even. Nothing had made a mark, though it were placed and forgotten except one. The body...It had moved but I could not believe it at first.

I felt ill and then curious. Could my apparitions be true? I moved closer, his head slumped to the side. Fallen off the headrest. It was a minor mistake, of my own perhaps that he was not wholly on the pillow. It appeared that he was facing me, looking at me. At first I felt unsure, but i found it within myself to look past and close his eyes. Many times had the dead resurfaced but only for a moment with a spark of life in the jolt of their muscular system. 

I believed the night was getting to me, preying upon my lack of sleep. I proceeded with my utensil and marked the body. First across the stomach and up into the chest dividing into two lanes. I was now to cut into him. Tenderly i pierced the flesh with my blade, following the lines i prepared. Like armoire doors, i opened his chest cavity and peered at what i saw as a thin but opaque veil of blood covering all of his internal organs. I first thought the blood was vibrating, moving in slow stretches up and down and across the cavity. I ignored this immediately as I was weary, this i know and could not allow anymore delusions nor interruptions.

I reached out and pulled for my tools to remain at my side. I put away my scalpel and next to it was my bone saw, forward i pushed the crank- over and over and over and over. I removed his rib cage and exposed his heart and his lungs. Still i had found no ill deeds, I have seen no injuries, nor foul play. Curious as I was, I would take heed and as careful as I might, I would continue with severe caution. I held his lungs within my hand, it was soft, squishable and almost revolting. I moved to his heart. Running my fingers across, ever so gently. My fingers going across the grooves and bumps of his veins. 

I ran them all over, fascinated by the human heart. Almost holding life within my hands, near my grasp yet as far away as possible. I continued examining the heart even more, almost massaging it. It was then that I felt movement, before my eyes I believed that I had seen movement! This...this was something impossible! Though i had seen and felt, I was unsure of the truth. Again I tried, again i ran my fingers across. Though up and down i touched his heart, it appeared normal. I removed my fingers and before me again, i had seen it! Was I going mad? Or was it possible It was all my delusions continuing from before.

I stepped back. I was afraid, so very very frightened. "Be gone my fear!" I thought. I must know the truth...though fear and cowardness are friends, they are my foe and I must prevail. Closer I stepped, looking down upon him. Once more I touched his heart and once more it pumped. I fell to the floor in disbelief! The man gasped for breath and lunged forward. His organs exposed! Unable to speak the mans eyes had grown wide, reaching for any words he could and let out a shriek! Screaming for dear life. "He's alive! By god he's alive!!!"