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vampire--dad · 3 years

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Let The World Come At You, Love - Part 3

Part 2

Part 4 (WIP)

——————

Geralt scowls as he pulls on his boots. His hands feel colder than usual, aching from the lack of what little warmth they usually cling to. He’s tempted to slip his icy fingers under Jaskier’s shirt and laugh as he squirms and curses at him, but teasing him can wait. Winter is coming early this year. They best find somewhere to settle in for a few months, and Geralt knows just the place.

As Jaskier grabs the last of his things from their small camp, Geralt turns Roach in the opposite direction they were going.

“I thought we were heading west,” the bard says curiously.

“Change of plans. We’re going back and heading north. Winter is coming early.”

“Where are we headed?”

Geralt feels a tightness close in around his ribs. The same feeling blooms in his chest every year when winter comes and he finds himself heading north again. He’s homesick. He’s never taken Jaskier with him to the keep— a bard known for sleeping around and incessantly bothering witchers was not what the place needed, and knowing Jaskier, he would find a thousand different ways to break his own heart. But this year is different. Now that he’s finally stopped denying how he feels, he wants to take the man he loves to see the place he grew up, to meet his family.

“Home,” Geralt says softly.

Jaskier cocks his head slightly, but after a moment, he smiles knowingly.

“Kaer Morhen,” he says. Geralt nods. “You… want me to come with you?”

Usually Jaskier would return to Oxenfurt for winter, teach a few classes, maybe enter a few competitions, then meet the witcher in Rinde in the first few weeks of spring. Geralt has never invited him to the witcher’s keep with him… but, he supposes this year is a bit different. Geralt nods again.

“Of course I do. I want you to come meet my brothers… unless you want to go to Oxenfurt, which is fine, I could—”

“No, I want to,” Jaskier says, holding back a small chuckle. Geralt seems to have developed his habit for rambling when he’s nervous. “I’ll write to Oxenfurt, tell them to cancel my classes for the winter. Let’s go to Kaer Morhen.”

It takes almost a week, but they venture far north and find themselves at the foot of the mountains. The sky above them is grey and dreary, a promise of snow soon to come. Geralt steers Roach down a path barely visible from the main road, shrouded in trees and bushes. Jaskier leans into his chest as he speaks.

“We used to call this path The Killer. Vesemir would set up obstacles and we would chase each other up the hill,” he says.

The closer they get to Kaer Morhen, the more homesick Geralt seems. Despite the memories he has of the halls beneath the castle, he’s always thought of it fondly. This was where he was raised, where he was trained, where he found a true family. He itches to walk through the gates again and see his father and brothers.

Something rustles a way off in the brush, barely audible to Jaskier but notable enough to make Geralt tense. He pulls Roach to a stop and slides off her back, his brow furrowed in concentration as his yellow eyes scan the thick forest that surrounds them.

“Stay here.”

The bard watches him cautiously. A figure throws itself from the bushes onto Geralt, a red streak hurtling through the green underbrush. Jaskier scrambles off the horse’s back, reaching for the dagger at his hip, only to find that Geralt and the man on top of him are laughing.

“It’s good to see you, brother!” the man chuckles as he stands and offers his hand to Geralt, who smiles as he’s lifted from the ground.

“It’s good to see you, too, Eskel.”

Jaskier sighs and curses quietly.

“Geralt, one of these days you’re going to give me a heart attack, I swear,” he says with a shake of his head.

Geralt looks over at Jaskier with a small frown.

“I thought I told you to stay on Roach.”

“If a man I’ve never met throws himself at you from the bushes, do you really think I’m going to sit there and watch?” Jaskier asks with his hands on his hips.

The white haired witcher bites back a chuckle. He knows Jaskier hates that he thinks he’s adorable when he’s angry. Eskel looks over at the bard and approaches him with a warm smile, marred by a series of scars that run from his cheek to his chin. The lines pull his skin inwards and leave a gap in the curve of his lips. The worry in his yellow eyes doesn’t go unnoticed and despite his appearance, Jaskier offers him a friendly smile.

“And you are?” the stranger asks.

“I’m glad you asked! You’ve probably already heard my name about, maybe even heard a song or two, I—”

“This,” Geralt interrupts, much to the bard’s irritation, and pats his brother on the shoulder, “is Jaskier.”

The bard purses his lips and gives the snowy haired witcher a pointed look. Eskel chuckles at the silent exchange between the two and extends his hand to Jaskier.

“It’s nice to meet you. I’m Eskel.”

Jaskier shakes his hand and smiles, throwing another glance at Geralt.

“At least one of the witchers I know has some manners.”

Geralt gives him an empty look of annoyance.

“What brings you to Kaer Morhen with this old brute? Eskel asks, gesturing towards the other witcher.

“Ah, well, um…”

They hadn’t really discussed how to answer that question. Eskel is Geralt’s brother, but Jaskier is hesitant to say more than he should. Geralt tends to be conservative with who he reveals their relationship to. Even if he trusts them with his life, that doesn’t mean he trusts them with his bard. It was hard for Jaskier at first. He’d usually shower his lover in affection without a care in the world, but Geralt always pushed him away with a quiet, “Not here, not now.” He slowly learned to save it for the time they spend behind closed doors.

“We’re involved, Eskel,” Geralt says bluntly, moving to stand by his lover’s side and take his hand, their fingers intertwined tightly. That clears that up then. Jaskier leans gently against Geralt’s arm. Eskel still looks at them with innocent eyes.

“Involved… in what?”

Geralt rolls his eyes. Sometimes he really doesn’t know how people think Eskel is the smart one. The excitement gets to him and all of a sudden he’s a dolt.

“Do I have to kiss him for you to get it?”

“Oh. Oh! Oh, you mean— right. Right. Well, I’m sure Dad will be happy.”

Eskel walks with them along the path towards the keep. Kaer Morhen is nestled against the mountain. It almost looks natural, like it’s always been there. In its glory days, it was formidable to lay one's eyes on, but over the years and having endured several battles, its towers have crumbled and it seems to shrink into the mountainside. Still, Geralt looks upon it with a smile. He’s home.

Two men wait by the gates for them. One has wild red hair and a wicked look about him, along with a scar that skips across his right eye and continues down his cheek. He looks around the same age as Geralt and Eskel, perhaps a bit younger. The other is much older, with long but thin grey hair and an aged face. If he is as scarred as the other three, it doesn’t show. He might be old but that doesn’t detract from the air of strength that hangs around his figure. His wise eyes crinkle at the corners as he smiles at Geralt and embraces him. The redhead doesn’t take his eyes off Jaskier. The bard resists the urge to squirm under his scrutinous gaze.

“Welcome home, Geralt,” the older witcher says into his shoulder before letting him go. “I see you’ve brought a guest, or did a lost nobleman’s son follow you all the way up here?”

The three younger witchers chuckle. Another set of dark yellow eyes are cast towards Jaskier. He almost lets loose a smart retort, but thinks better of it. Testing the bounds of this man’s humour seems… unwise. A good first impression seems more appropriate. He steps forward and bows his head low.

“Call me Jaskier,” he says. The older witcher examines him for a moment before returning the courteous gesture with a smile that the bard would dare to describe as amused.

“Welcome to Kaer Morhen, Jaskier.”

Geralt slides his hand along the bard’s hip.

“Jask, this is Vesemir.”

He recognises the name. Geralt speaks of him often, although more often than not he calls him Dad. Though the witchers raised under his care never call him that to his face, he does think of them as his sons. Vesemir’s eyes flicker to the gloved hand on Jaskier’s hip and he seems to nod in understanding.

“So, Geralt,” the redhead pipes up, eyeing the lute slung over Jaskier’s shoulder. “What are you doing bringing a bard home? Taking lessons now, are you?”

“Be nice, Lambert,” Geralt says gruffly.

“Why? Don’t tell me you’ve gone soft.”

Before the bickering can begin, Vesemir steps between his sons and places a hand on each of their shoulders. They do love each other, but Lambert likes to rile his brother up and Geralt can be… touchy.

“Don’t you two start before you’ve even gotten inside,” he says. “Come, you must be hungry.”

The stony interior of Kaer Morhen is dimly lit by torches, the fire casting strange shadows along the walls as their footsteps echo through the halls, yet its warm light creates a cozy kind of atmosphere. Vesemir tells Jaskier the meaning behind the name of the castle as they walk together. The other three witchers stray behind, exchanging stories of fresh scars and, at least for Eskel and Lambert, fair maidens across the land. Lambert raises a skeptical eyebrow at the back of Jaskier’s head.

“So how long have you known the bard?” he asks.

“A long time,” Geralt replies shortly.

“Very specific. How long have you been together?”

“A year this spring. Why are you asking?”

“Just making conversation,” Lambert says.

Geralt can tell he’s lying through his teeth. Lambert doesn’t trust easily and isn’t particularly fond of bringing guests to the keep. On top of that, though he’d never admit it, he is fiercely protective of his brothers.

“Is he the one who cleared up the whole Blaviken thing?”

Geralt hums in affirmation.

“Don’t grunt at me, you sound like Vesemir,” Lambert sneers. “Why didn’t you bring him here sooner?”

Geralt pauses. He knows Lambert won’t let him off without answering, but he doesn’t want to say the real reason.

“Didn’t have a reason to.”

“So you’ve known him for... a long time, as you said, travelled with him everywhere, and you couldn’t think of a reason to invite him here?”

“Yes.”

Lambert narrows his eyes at Geralt.

“Are you sure? Because the name sounds awfully familiar... and I seem to remember seeing someone who looked a lot like him in Maribor a few years ago, not long before winter. If my memory serves me correctly, he was getting tossed out of an inn for sleeping with the innkeeper’s daughter… and his wife.”

“Leave it alone, Lambert,” Geralt growls. “That was a long time ago.”

Before Lambert can continue, Vesemir stops the group before the common room and turns to Geralt.

“I was hoping you’d be coming this year, so your old room is prepared, although I may have to bring some extra blankets if there are two of you,” he says. “Go unpack and then we’ll get some food into you boys.”

Geralt nods with an amused smile. Vesemir never lets his boys go hungry. He leads Jaskier down the hall on the other side of the common room, up a flight of stairs, and to a door with the letter ‘G’ carved haphazardly into the frame. Inside the fire is already flickering away in the hearth, warming the surprisingly large room. Geralt leaves their bags by the door as Jaskier approaches the bookcase across the room, sweeping dust off the spines with his hand.

“This room isn’t so different from my quarters at Oxenfurt,” he remarks, taking a book from the shelf and letting the pages fall open in his hand.

“Not what you were expecting?” Geralt asks.

“No, but I’m not sure what I was expecting, really.”

The witcher sheds his black jerkin and tosses it onto the bed before pulling Jaskier against his chest and kissing the soft skin behind his ear.

“You’ll find soon enough that this place is full of surprises.”

More stories are shared over supper. Jaskier has to be reminded to eat between scribbling things into his notebook and prodding the witchers with questions. Eskel is more than willing to relinquish the finer details, even helping him to spin the stories in a true but slightly more fantastical way. Such has become his style. Geralt used to hate how he lied through his teeth to make his tales more interesting, so he stopped— in exchange for better descriptions. His witcher has come to know just how much detail to give him while still allowing a little room for poetic license.

Geralt has already retired to their room, and as Jaskier moves to follow, Lambert blocks his path and scowls down at him. Jaskier makes an effort not to react. The witcher folds his arms.

“I’m going to be frank with you, bard,” he starts. “I know who you are. I know of your… reputation. If you weren’t involved with my brother, I wouldn’t blame you. But you are, so let me make something very fucking clear. If you ever even think of breaking my brother’s trust and slipping into any pretty barmaid’s bedroom like you used to, I will track you down and gut you myself.”

Jaskier cocks an eyebrow. Clearly he still hasn’t learned not to test a witcher. After all, the last one he was snarky with ended up sharing a bed with him.

“I don’t doubt your love for your brother, I’m sure that has something to do with your threats. And I assure you, no such thing will happen. But I have a feeling there’s something more to it than that. Tell me, is it the jealousy of the number of women— and men— I’ve slept with for me to gain that reputation? Or is it the fear that I have slept with that many people because… I do it better?”

Lambert stares him down for a moment. Jaskier holds back a smirk. Suddenly, the witcher leans back and laughs heartily, clapping a hand onto the bard’s shoulder roughly.

“You’re alright, bard.”

——————

Tags: @jaskierswolf @electricrituals @jaskiiier @lovelyeskel @in-love-with-writing002 @patchwork-doublet @elliestormfound @feral-jaskier @moonysourenza

#the witcher #the witcher fanfic #geralt of rivia #jaskier #geraskier #eskel #lambert #vesemir #kaer morhen #witcher jaskier

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amerrierworld · 4 years

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Playtime

Carol (2015) - oneshot

For anon

Summary: Carol is stressed, Therese wants to help.

Characters: Carol x Therese

Word Count: 2,439

Warnings: SUPER NSFW. bottom!Carol with use of strap-ons! You’ve been warned.

“Agh! God damnit!”

Therese jolted, looking up from her book to see her girlfriend bustle about the apartment, stressed.

“Carol?”

“Not now, angel. I’ve got to get going,” Carol said hastily, grabbing one of Therese’s purses without realizing it and shoving in her things.

“Where?”

“I’ve got to pick up Rindy. Harge was supposed to -the bastard- but he just texted me he needs to be in the office for some last-minute meeting. As if business is more important than our daughter.”

“So you’re dropping Rinds off at Harge’s... and then you’re coming back?”

“No, Abby needs me at the shop right after. There was a filing mistake with an order going out tomorrow done by the new kid we hired. We have to get it done, I don’t know how long it’ll be until I get home.”

“Alright,” Therese said in her usual agreeable tone. Carol was preoccupied, muttering about her keys or wallet or something, and didn’t notice Therese shuffling over from the couch to her. She was sitting on the small seat by the door, frowning at the floor and smashing her feet in her shoes.

Therese silently appeared in front of her and tilted Carol’s head up with a finger to look at her, where she met stormy blue eyes.

“Hey you, still with me?” Therese asked playfully. Carol couldn’t see her lover past her own thoughts for a moment, but then the green eyes returned to her and she sighed with a weak smile.

“Of course, angel. I’m sorry, don’t wait up for me,” Carol muttered. Therese chuckled.

“Nonsense. I always do.”

The brunette leaned down, towering over Carol, and kissing her slowly and softly for a moment. Carol’s shoulders eased, and her fingers grasped Therese’s arm.

Therese pulled away, proud of herself for making Carol look so dazed, before she said,

“Promise me you’ll drive safe?”

Carol nodded and stood up with a regained energy, kissed Therese again, and then hurried out the door. The brunette watched her go, mildly amused at the crazy curls in her hair and the lack of effort put in her outfit; so unlike Carol. She decided she would wait up for her, with a surprise to maybe ease her stress.

When Carol got home, her feet were killing her. She’d been impatiently waiting for Harge to get home so Rindy wouldn’t be alone and gotten late to the shop, then was lectured by Abby and then wracked her brain over the job that she thought she knew how to do.

It was nearing 11pm and she assumed Therese was probably sleeping. She always said she would stay awake, but often Carol found her tuckered out on the couch, the TV still on.

Surprisingly, the house was entirely dark when she got there. She made her way in the darkness, staying quiet as to not waken Therese who was surely sleeping in their bed.

As she opened the bedroom door, however, she was met with a surprising sight. Therese sat at the foot of the bed, legs stretched out in front of her, wearing a thin, dark green silk robe. Her hair was down and she looked wide awake.

“Therese?” Carol asked, startled.

“Hi, Carol. How was work?” she was feigning innocence, while Carol’s eyes were immediately drawn to the smooth, soft legs that were exposed in the dim yellow light of their bedroom.

“Uh, fine?”

Therese smirked. Usually their roles were switched; Carol in control, orderly and immaculate, while Therese was usually the one flustered, out of control, trying to focus.

“Angel, what’s all this?”

“I told you; I was going to wait up for you,” Therese smirked as Carol cautiously closed the door behind her.

“Yes but this is a lot more than just... waiting up.”

“Oh, obviously.” Therese stood up and walked closer to Carol, green eyes smouldering. “I wanted to give you a little more attention... and maybe play with some more toys? If you’re up for it. We haven’t played with them in such a long time, don’t you think?”

Carol felt heat rush from her face all the way down to the pit of her stomach, settling in a lava-like consistency, slow and rumbling.

“I- well, I mean, I don’t know-”

Therese blinked, seeing that she overstepped, and her gaze fell to the floor.

“Of course, we don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to, Carol. I just thought- well you were so stressed and tired, maybe this would help.”

Carol reached for Therese’s hands, holding them gingerly.

“Oh, no. No no, angel. It’s not that, never that. I’d love to- but I don’t know if I have any strength tonight to... play with anything. I’m so exhausted.”

Therese frowned a little before her face split into a grin.

“Oh, but, baby, don’t you get it? You wouldn’t be the one playing... I wanted to play with you.”

Therese undid the ties of her robe, revealing a sheer, black lace bra that set something ablaze inside Carol. She then pulled Carol’s hands to hook around her waist, pushing the robe far enough to the sides to reveal a thick, black strap-on harnessed proudly at the junction of Therese’s milky thighs.

Carol’s mouth went dry and her brunette love pushed up on her toes to kiss Carol’s jawline.

“Only if you’re up for it, Ms. Ross,” Therese rumbled seductively, her deft fingers working at the button on Carol’s jeans.

She pulled back to glance at Carol’s dazed look, not unlike the one from before and the blonde groaned softly as Therese smoothed her hands over her abdomen.

“Yes... yes, please,” Carol whispered. She felt her usually dominant habits crumble at the sight of those dimples, ready to give herself up to Therese.

“Just relax,” Therese said softly. “Let me do the work tonight, baby girl.”

Carol whimpered as lips attacked her neck, unbuttoning her blouse and pushing it off of her shoulders, letting the fabric flutter to the floor. Therese worked Carol’s jeans off of her long legs, along with her socks, leaving her standing in her underwear.

Carol was about to reach behind her and undo her bra, but she was stopped.

“Nuh-uh, I’m doing the work,” she said with a harsher bite to her voice. “Lie on the bed, baby.”

Carol felt a surge of arousal shoot through her at her lovely angel, her darling Therese, being so wonderfully in charge. Feeling limp, she did as she was told, settling on the edge of the bed, hands at her sides.

Therese stood in front of her and Carol couldn’t tear her gaze away from the cock just inches away from her. To think of Therese using it on her, fucking her, made her feel dizzy.

A finger tapped her knee. “Spread.”

Carol realized she’d been clenching her knees together hard enough to have her legs trembling in anticipation.

As she spread her legs, Therese’s hand cupped the back of her neck, kissing her and easing her down to lie on her back as well.

“Good girl,” she whispered as Carol’s head landed on the sheets. The blonde gasped a little at the praise and felt another jolt of arousal go through her body, landing in a pool between her legs.

“Tsk, what’s this? Someone seems to be enjoying herself,” Therese’s fingers trailed up her thighs and rubbed at the wet spot on Carol’s panties. She groaned and her hips lifted up in response.

“Stay down and don’t move, there’s a good girl,” Therese commanded, lowering herself to her knees in front of Carol. “Let me have a taste.”

Carol squirmed but didn’t move further, breathing heavily, sweat collecting on her skin.

Therese pressed the flat of her tongue right against Carol’s cunt, soaking the wet spot even further and her lover cried out audibly. The sound made Therese hungry with need and she yanked Carol’s underwear down, immediately pressing her tongue to her clit.

Carol saw stars as Therese attacked her cunt without holding back. She went from breathing rapidly to holding her breath, clawing at the sheets and tossing her head.

Therese gripped Carol’s thighs hard enough to leave bruises and kept exploring her lover, dipping inside briefly but never enough to give Carol any satisfaction.

She kept going back to pressing her tongue against her lovely little clit and would watch with aroused amusement as Carol would begin gasping at the contact without the friction.

Carol started moving her hips, feeling hot at the feeling of Therese’s tongue against her but needing movement of some kind. A sharp slap to the side of her ass made her still and she looked down to meet Therese’s eyes, fiery and wild with need.

“What did I say?” Therese growled against Carol’s skin, making her shiver.

“D-don’t move,” Carol responded obediently, forcing her hips to still, but her legs were still trembling uncontrollably.

“Exactly. Do as I say and I might just let you cum, okay baby?”

Carol nodded hastily, wanting to feel Therese against her again. This time Therese pressed two fingers inside, sliding into her cunt easily with her collected arousal.

“Oh! O-oh, Therese,” Carol cried out.

“That feel good, baby?”

“Yes, yes, yes. Please. Please don’t stop.”

Therese worked up a pace slowly, her palm pressing against Carol’s clit with every thrust. She curled her fingers just so and Carol nearly screamed.

Not relenting, Therese picked up the speed, moving her body up to bite and lick at Carol’s lovely neck, listening to the whimpers and grunts coming from the blonde as she fucked her with her fingers.

Carol’s body began to tremble and stiffen, and Therese worked her hand harder, pressing deeper and harder and faster, faster, faster.

Carol’s body seized up, hips lifting off the bed with her arms thrown around Therese’s form to have something to hold onto. She trembled and shook, crying out Therese’s name.

Therese cooed in her ear words of praise and approval as Carol’s breathing evened out again. The blonde’s body was covered in sweat and Therese didn’t remove her fingers as Carol’s arms felt limp by her head, catching her breath.

Therese watched her girlfriend with an adoring look in her eyes; the way her throat was gasping for air, her blonde curls damp and spread out on the sheets.

As Carol came to, she noted the brunette still had her fingers inside that slowly began curling inside her again, making small movements that sent shivers through Carol’s body.

“We’re not done yet, sweetheart,” Therese said. Her thumb swirled around Carol’s sensitive clit, making her tense.

She then pulled out her fingers and ordered Carol to go up further on the bed. Weakly, the blonde shuffled backwards until her head met her pillows. Therese followed shortly behind, pressing her warm body against Carol’s and pinning her wrists by her head.

Her mouth found Carol’s and their tongues met in a feverish dance. Carol could taste herself on Therese’s tongue and she whimpered pathetically at the feeling, feeling hopelessly and deliciously submissive.

Therese hands moved down to unclasp Carol’s bra, working it off her hastily before latching her lips around an aching pink nipple. Gasping at teeth pulling at the sensitive nub, Carol’s eyes fluttered shut. She felt Therese press against her hot cunt, the plastic of the dildo easily coated in her cum

“Oh, dear god, please, Therese,” Carol begged. Therese let her nipple go with a pop and looked up.

“What was that?”

“Please, please... fuck me.”

“Yeah? You want me to fuck you baby?”

“Yes, please.”

Therese shifted her hips so the cock rubbed playfully against Carol’s cunt.

“Why would I do that, hm? Do you even deserve to be fucked?”

“Oh, oh god... ah, y-yes. Yes,” Carol babbled.

“Why? Tell me.”

“B-because I’ve been a good girl,” she whimpered, eyes screwed shut. “Please, I need you to fuck me, Therese. I’ve been so good.”

“Open your eyes, Carol. Look at me.”

Carol looked down at Therese pleadingly. The brunette had a smug look on her face, but her eyes were soft. A hand rubbed lovingly against Carol’s hips and she smiled.

“I guess I could indulge you this one time, since you have been so good for me all night,” Therese said, kissing Carol’s breast.

With one swift motion, Therese pressed the cock inside, easily welcomed by Carol’s warm cunt. Both women gasped and Carol’s fingers grabbed at Therese’s back, nails digging in.

“Please...”

Therese didn’t hesitate, setting up an animalistic pace that had Carol’s head thrown back. Her youthful, agile hips spiked Carol’s arousal like never before and every time Therese thrust inside, she saw white before her eyes.

Her mouth was hanging open, Therese’s lips sucking bruises along her collar bone.

Long fingers wormed their way between their two bodies and Therese pressed two fingertips against Carol’s clit. Therese pressed diligently, circling around the nub, Carol’s entire cunt slick with arousal.

“God, angel, I’m so c-close,” Carol managed to gasp out. Her hand suddenly flew down and held Therese’s wrist in a death grip, pressing up against her clit. “J-just like that- h-hold it just like that.. I-I’m..”

Therese bit into Carol’s shoulder as she came, working shudder after shudder out of her body, thrusting deeply and staying inside as Carol convulsed, her head pressed sideways against the pillow. biting into the fabric. Her face was contorted in the most beautiful way, eyebrows furrowed and raised, eyes shut and cheeks a rosy pink.

When Carol’s body slumped against the sheets, Therese made to move out of her gently to let her catch her breath and then eventually for the two of them to fall asleep, but Carol had other plans. She moved with Therese, keeping the strap deep inside and pushed Therese onto her back, straddling her.

“N-not done,” the blonde muttered. “More, please.”

“Oh? You’ve not been fucked enough then?” Therese teased, hands trailing up over Carol’s stomach and kneading her breasts. Carol shook her head, blonde waves hanging in limp curls.

“Get to it then, baby girl,” Therese grinned, gripping Carol’s hips. “Show me how much you like to be fucked.”

“Ah! Oh, oh, god. Th-thank you,” Carol muttered, arching her back as her hips began moving against Therese’s, the cock pressing deeply inside her. It was a sight; seeing her like this, completely giving into Therese and wanting nothing more than to cum on her cock over and over and over again.

As Carol began rocking to the point where the bed was creaking, Therese had a feeling she wouldn’t be getting out of this harness anytime soon.

A/N: smut smut smut smut smut smut !!!!!! shout out to the anon who requested this and thanks for coming ;)

#carol #carol aird #carol movie #carol fanfiction #carol x therese #carol 2015 #therese belivet #carolxtherese #therese #wlw #lgbt #lgbtq #lgbtqia #the price of salt #cate blanchett #rooney mara #patricia highsmith #merry writes

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qualityborbouns · 3 years

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The Campsite Forage: Dandelion Wine

Dandelion wine is one of our favourite wines to make and definitely one of the best for the campsite, hedgerow or field forage. Mainly because it tastes so good but also because a good dandelion picking day has to be warm and sunny and it's usually accompanied with a bottle of last years wine and a bunch of friends.

We have our favourite picking spots where we arrive with a picnic, go for a walk and just before returning to the camper van we collect bucket loads of dandelion heads. That part is the best part as the next bit turns your fingers yellow and smells quite bitter, but with the remains of the bottle of wine it never actually seems too bad. (Order little book 2)

Firstly, before you embark on any type of homebrewing you must be sure you have the right equipment and it's all clean and sterilised. Secondly, you must always make sure you've foraged far away from any kind of pollution or sprays, and with landowner permission. It's also best to pick on warm sunny days as the natural sugars and yeast (and therefore strength of flavour) will be best at this time.

Dandelions seem to have two blooms in the Spring and late summer. The flower is particularly prevalent after a lot of rain, so in the UK we will be seeing many of them over the next week so you better get foraging.

What you will need:

Homebrew kit. If you're not sure about this there's a great book about Booze For Free you can pick up from our store with everything you need to know... and then some!

6 pints (3.4 l) glasses of dandelion flowers slightly pressed down in the glass (the yellow part only as the green adds a very bitter taste) Finely peeled rind and juice of 1 orange Finely peeled rind and juice of 1 lemon 8 Pints (4.5 l) of water 3 lbs (1.5 kg) sugar 4 Fl oz (12 ml) strong black tea cooled and strained 0.25 oz (10g) wine yeast

Put the yellow petals, orange peel, lemon peel and water into a large saucepan and bring to the boil. Simmer for 20 minutes. Strain the water into another container and add the sugar. Stir until it dissolves and add the tea, orange and lemon juice. When its cool add the yeast and cover it well. Stir daily for 3-5 days. Siphon into demijohns and seal with an airlock and leave for about 2-3 months. It's ready to drink within 7 months but will taste even better if left much longer.

We cracked open our year old dandelion wine only the other night and it had a taste that resembled whisky as I'd added a few extra raisins in the brewing process, making it very drinkable indeed! It's even possible to make dandelion beer from the roots of young plants in the Spring, just like the popular coffee and tea substitute aptly named 'Dandelion Root'. Remember it is also an edible wild plant so food foragers will be happy to hear they can use young leaves in salad and cook the older leaves similar to spinach, or add them to soups and sauces.

Dandelion can stimulate the metabolism and cleanse the blood. It's a natural diuretic so it is said it can help to treat acne, liver, stomach, gout and rheumatism conditions. Its value lies in its active agents, which can also cause its bitter taste. Namely tannins, vitamins, minerals, carbohydrates, organic acids essential oils and much more.

So when you're next at your camping site, take a look around you and see if you can spot enough dandelions to add a bit of zing to your salad, or brew up a couple of demijohns of wine or a flagon of beer. One thing's for sure... if you do you'll never look at another dandelion 'weed' in the same way again.

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dianasson · 4 years

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Happy Cerealia!!!

Today is the Roman festival of Ceres. Above are couple photos from the ritual, and while I recover in my cozy bed I will share a story with you. This is from Ovid's Metamorphoses, Melville's translation. (TW: Abduction, Rape)

The Abduction of Proserpine

"The land of Sicily quakes as Typhoeus the Giant buried beneath the island heaves and even Rex Silentum (the king who rules the land of silence) shudders lest the ground in gaping seams should open and the day stream down and terrify the trembling Umpire. Tyrannus had left his dark domains to and fro, drawn in his chariot and sable steeds, inspected the foundations of the isle. His survey done, and no point found to fail, he put his fears aside; when, as he roamed, Erycina from her mountain throne, saw him and clasped her swift-winged son, and said: ‘Cupido, my child, my warrior, my power, take those sure shafts with which you conquer all, and shoot your speedy arrows to the heart of the great god to whom the last lot fell when the three realms were drawn. Your majesty subdues the gods of heaven and sea... Why should Tartara lag behind? Why not there too extend your mother's empire and your own? The third part of the world's at stake, while we in heaven (so long-suffering!) are despised - my power grows less, and less the power of Amor. Do you not see how Pallas and Diana, queen of the chase, have both deserted me? And Ceres' daughter, if we suffer it, will stay a virgin too - her hope's the same. So for the sake of our joint sovereignty, if that can touch your pride, unite in love that goddess and her uncle.’

So she spoke. Then Cupido guided by his mother, opened his quiver and of all his thousand arrows selected one, the sharpest and the surest, the arrow most obedient to the bow, and bent the pliant horn against his knee and shot the barbed shaft deep in Dis' heart. Not far from Henna's walls there is a lake, Pergus by name, its waters deep and still; it hears the music of the choiring swans as sweet as on Caystros' gliding stream. Woods crown the waters, ringing every side, their leaves like awnings barring the sun's beams. The boughs give cooling shade, the watered grass is gay with spangled flowers of every hue, and always it is spring. Here Proserpina was playing in a glade and picking flowers, pansies and lilies, with a child's delight, filling her basket and her lap to gather more than the other girls, when, in a trice, Dis saw her, loved her, carried her away - love leapt in such a hurry! Terrified, in tears, the goddess called her mother, called her comrades too, but oftenest her mother; and, as she'd torn the shoulder of her dress, the folds slipped down and out the flowers fell, and she, in innocent simplicity, grieved in her girlish heart for their loss too. Away the chariot sped; her captor urged each horse by name and shook the dark-dyed reins on mane and neck. On through deep lakes he drove, on through Palici's sulphurous pools that boil in reeking chasms, on past Bacchiadae, where settlers once from Corinthus' isthmus built between two harbours their great battlements.

A bay confined by narrow points of land lies between Arethusa Pisaea and Cyane. And there lived Cyane, the most renowned of all the Nymphae Sicelidae, who gave her pool its name. Out of her waters' midst she rose waist-high and recognised the goddess. ‘Stop, stop!’ she cried, ‘You cannot take this girl to wife against Queen Ceres' will! She ought to have been wooed, not whirled away. I too, if humble things may be compared with great, was loved; Anapus married me; but I was wooed and won, not, like this girl, frightened and forced.’ She held out her arms outstretched to bar his way. But Saturnius restrained his wrath no longer. Urging on his steeds, his terrible steeds, and brandishing aloft his royal sceptre in his strong right arm, he hurled it to the bottom of the pool. The smitten earth opened a way to Hell and down the deep abyss the chariot plunged. But Cyane, heartbroken at the rape of Proserpine and at her pool's outrage, in silence carried in her heart a wound beyond consoling, and in endless tears she wasted away. Into the pool - her pool and she but now its deity - she spread dissolved.

Ceres Searches for Proserpina

Ceres meanwhile in terror sought her child vainly in every land, o'er every sea. Never Aurora (the Dawn) rising with dewy hair, nor ever Hesperus (the Evening Star) saw her at rest. She lit pine-torches, one in either hand, at Aetna's fires, and through the frosty dark bore them unsleeping. When the friendly day had dimmed the stars, she sought her daughter still from sunrise until sunset hour by hour...

Through what far lands and seas the goddess roved were long to tell; the whole world failed her search. She turned again to Sicania and there, in wanderings that led her everywhere, she too reached Cyane; who would have told all, had she not been changed. She longed to tell but had no mouth, no tongue, nor any means of speaking. Even so she gave a clue, clear beyond doubt, and floating on her pool she showed the well-known sash which Persephone had chanced to drop there in the sacred spring.

How well the goddess knew it! Then at last she seemed to understand her child was stolen, and tore her ruffed hair and beat her breast. Where the girl was she knew not, but reproached the whole wide world - ungrateful, not deserving her gift of grain - and Trinacria in chief where she had found the traces of her loss. So there with angry hands she broke the ploughs that turned the soil and sent to death alike the farmer and his labouring ox, and bade the fields betray their trust, and spoilt the seeds...

Then that fair Nymphe Alpheias rose from her pool and brushed back from he brow her dripping hair, and said : ‘O thou, divine Mother, who through the world hast sought thy child... The land is innocent; against its will it opened for that rape. While beneath the earth I glided in my Stygian stream, I saw, myself with my own eyes, your Proserpina. Her looks were sad, and fear still in her eyes; and yet a queen, and yet of that dark land Empress, and yet with power and majesty the consort of the Tyrannus Infernus (Sovereign lord of Hell).’ The mother heard in horror, thunderstruck it seemed and turned to stone.

The Return of Proserpina

Then as her shock so great gave way to grief as great, she soared borne in her chariot, to the sky's bright realms and stood, with clouded face and hair let loose, indignant before Jove and said: ‘I come to plead for my own flesh and blood, yours too; and if the mother finds no favour, let at least the daughter move her father's heart; love her not less because I gave her birth. Behold the daughter I have sought so long is found, if found is surer loss, or if but to know where she is finding her. Her theft I'll bear if he'll but bring her back; a thief, a kidnapper's no proper husband for child of yours, even if she's mine no more.’

And Juppiter replied: ‘The child is yours and mine, our common care and love, If we allow things proper names, here is no harm, no crime, but love and passion. Such a son-in-law, if you, Ma'am, but consent, will not disgrace us. To be Jove's brother, what a splendid thing! - if that were all! What then, when that's not all, when he yields place to me only because the lots so fell? But if your heart's so set to part them, Proserpina shall reach the sky again on one condition, that in Hell her lips have touched no food; such is the rule forestablished by the three Parcae.’

So Jove replied; but Ceres was resolved to win her daughter back. Not so fate permitted, for the girl had broken her fast and wandering, childlike, through the orchard trees from a low branch had picked a pomegranate and peeled the yellow rind and found the seeds and nibbled seven. The only one who saw was Orphne's son, Ascalaphus, whom she, no the least famous of the Nymphae Avernales, bore once to Acheron in her dusky bower. He saw and told, in spite, and by his tale stole her return away. The Queen of Hell (Regina Erebi) groaned in distress and changed the tale-bearer into a bird. She threw into his face water from Phlegethon, and lo! a beak and feathers and enormous eyes! Reshaped, he wears great tawny wings, his head swells huge... a loathsome bird, ill omen for mankind, a skulking screech-owl, sorrow's harbinger.

That tell-tale tongue of his no doubt deserved the punishment. But the Acheloides, why should it be that they have feathers now and feet of birds, though still a girl's fair face, the sweet-voiced Sirenes? Was it not because, when Proserpine was picking those spring flowers, they were her comrades there, and, when in vain they'd sought for her through all the lands, they prayed for wings to carry them across the waves, so that the seas should know their search, and found the gods gracious, and then suddenly saw golden plumage clothing all their limbs? Yet to reserve that dower of glorious song, their melodies' enchantment, they retained their fair girls' features and their human voice. Then Juppiter, to hold the balance fair between his brother and his sister in her grief, portioned the rolling years in equal parts. Now Proserpine, of two empires alike great deity, spends with her mother half the year's twelve months and with her husband half. Straightway her heart and features are transformed; that face which even Dis must have found unhappy beams with joy, as when the sun, long lost and hidden in the clouds and rain, rides forth in triumph from the clouds again. So Ceres had regained her Proserpine."

#ceres #demeter #cerealia #roman polytheism #offerings #paganism #ritual #proserpine #proserpina #persephone #kore #spring

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witharsenicsauce · 4 years

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Chosen Stories From the War #14: Engraved with Purple Runes

The days of isolation passed so slowly. The Avenger was quiet, for once, and there was an air of calm surrounding those aboard. Perhaps since the Chosen had finally settled in, the anxiety the soldiers felt about them was all but gone.

It was Friday, and those whose job it was to take morning patrols woke to the rising light. Bryni had cooking duty and was in the kitchen serving up eggs and bacon and sausages to hungry soldiers. Fresh fruit was on the menu today as well, which everyone was happy about.

In the hospital, where the curtains were drawn and closed, Dhar-Mon Madron awoke early in his bed. Today was the day.

His was sister already there at his side, her nose buried in a book. She looked like she had been awake for some time, but when he opened his mouth to question it, she smiled and marked her place on the page. “Good morning, Brother. Are you ready for your meeting today?”

“Quite ready.” He clenched his right hand. The fingers still tingled and the tips were numb, and Tygan was unsure if Dhar-Mon would ever fully regain feeling in his arm, but he could use it fairly well, and his right leg had recovered completely. “I trust the Commander will be pleased by my cooperation…?” His usual bravado was all but gone.

Kon-Mai stood, tucking her small book into her sash. “The Commander is not hard to please, it seems. Bradford may be hesitant, but he is not the Commander. So do not worry about him.” She looked at the clock. “Where is Gur-Rai? I told him to be here thirty minutes ago.”

On cue, the door opened and in strolled Gur-Rai, peeling a pineapple with his bare claws and scooping the pulp into his mouth. “Hullo!” He said with a mouth full of pineapple.

Kon-Mai and Dhar-Mon looked at their brother with disgust.

“What?” He said, yellow juice dribbling down his chin.

“What, and I mean this with utter sincerity, is wrong with you Brother?” Kon-Mai rubbed her temples.

“Well the Avenger just got a new supply shipment, and I’ve forgotten what pineapple tastes like since my human tongue was tragically ripped away from me.” He held out the mutilated fruit. “Want some?”

Kon-Mai shook her head, but Dhar-Mon looked at it inquisitively.

“Come on~” Gur-Rai waggled his brows. “You know you want to~”

“Perhaps...later.” Dhar-Mon sat up in bed, careful not to disturb the IV still in his arm. “Once I am released from this contraption.”

“Shall I get the doctor?” Kon-Mai asked. “I do not think you need that IV drip anymore.”

Dhar-Mon hesitated. “I do not want to bother Doctor Tygan. He is already very busy.”

“One of the nurses, then.” Kon-Mai said.

“I can probably pull it out.” Gur-Rai mused.

“No, Brother, thank you.” Dhar-Mon grunted. “We do have some time before I must meet the Commander, there is no rush.”

“Are you certain?” Kon-Mai asked. “You’ve been bed-bound for so long, Brother.”

“Yes, yes, a few more hours will not destroy me.” He chuckled. “But, Sister, might I ask your favor…?”

She raised a brow.

“I...may need assistance getting dressed.”

Kon-Mai was surprised that her brother had not gone down wearing his armor, but what looked like simple monk robes. Not that they were tasteless, in fact this cloth was the strongest, finest velvet material ADVENT had, impervious to nearly everything, and much stronger than Kevlar. But she did wonder why he had discarded his plate armor before his grand show. Dhar-Mon did not seem to sense Kon-Mai’s musings as she tied the silver sash around his waist.

“Well look at that, Brother!” Gur-Rai clapped. “You look like a new man!”

Dhar-Mon said nothing, but Kon-Mai saw him smile with a look of pride.

She took his arm. “Can you walk, Brother? Shall I retrieve your walker?”

“I do not need it.” Dhar-Mon insisted. He took a few tentative steps with her help, and Gur-Rai came on the other side of him just in case. Surprisingly, though, as they got moving, he seemed to be doing just fine, keeping pace with the two of them almost at their normal speed. Kon-Mai had to admit, she was proud of her big brother.

They came to Senuna’s quarters and stopped as Gur-Rai knocked once on the door. It took a moment, but the door slid open and they saw the Commander stand up from behind her desk, smiling. Only Bradford was at her side this time.

“Welcome, Dhar-Mon!” Senuna sounded like she was trying to be chipper, but something seemed to be weighing on her mind. “Please, come inside. Jane will be here in a bit.”

“Jane…?” Dhar-Mon looked bewildered at the sights around him. Kon-Mai had forgotten he had never seen the Commander face to face before.

“Yes. You know Jane. She’s pretty famous.” Senuna giggled but it was obviously forced. “Um…have a seat, please!”

Gur-Rai came around to Bradford and held out the mangled fruit rind. “Wanna pineapple?”

“That looks disgusting, where did you find that?”

“In a box.” Gur-Rai smiled, chunks of pineapple stuck in his teeth.

Bradford shook his head. “...No. Thanks.”

Senuna sat down across from him just as Jane entered the room. The two women exchanged looks, almost as though they were having a full conversation with their eyes. After a moment, Jane nodded and went to stand at her side. Once again, the Commander was flanked by her best soldiers.

She smiled and clasped her hands, but as she opened her mouth to speak, Dhar-Mon spoke first.

“Commander Senuna.” He said. “I know you have very little reason to trust me, after the crimes I have committed in the name of my former masters. But I come before you today…to humble myself, before you and your soldiers, and to pledge to you my loyalty.” He knelt on one knee, sinking to the floor slowly. “If you shall accept me, I will crush and destroy your enemies and raze all that oppose the resistance! I shall devote myself to-”

“Wait wait wait.” Bradford held his hands up. “Hold on there, Big Guy.”

“There’s no need for any of that!” Senuna was smiling, almost laughing at the situation.

“I disagree.” He insisted. “Your resistance has suffered at my hands. I must repent.”

Jane raised a brow, her lip twitching. “Well, I certainly won’t say no to an apology. Especially for the time you extracted information from me. Forcefully.”

Dhar-Mon lowered his head. “I regret every injury I have dealt you, Lady Jane Kelly.”

“And I forgive you.” She nodded. “Now stand up and come over here. We need you to sign a bunch of forms.”

Senuna and Bradford exchanged looks. “I’ll admit, I didn’t expect this to go so...smoothly!” She sat up, looking cheerful.

“So, Dhar-Mon, we need to make sure you know what this job entails.” Bradford said. “Especially after your last...exchange with the Elders.”

“And now that we have all three of the Chosen, I don’t think we can keep your identities a secret any longer.” Jane added.

“I will do whatever I must.” Dhar-Mon said with conviction. “Anything to return this planet to its former splendor.”

“Good…” Bradford trailed off as he pulled out a form that looked like the ones Kon-Mai and Gur-Rai had signed. “I drew up the contract early-” He glared at Gur-Rai “-since it seemed like you were eager to start.”

Gur-Rai winked at Bradford.

“Contract…?” Dhar-Mon looked confused.

“Yeah.” Jane said. “You sign it to indicate you agree what we’re asking you to do.”

“I agree…?” He looked between his siblings.

“That’s right, Brother.” Gur-Rai held his arms open. “They offer CHOICE here!”

“If you don’t agree with any terms in the contract, we can always negotiate.” Senuna added. “We can also edit it later, in case something happens, like if you’re injured again. Oh, and you can even choose a new callsign. I mean you can keep ‘Warlock,’ but your siblings have both chosen other names…” She chuckled. “Hehe. Chosen.”

Dhar-Mon looked in...almost horror at the paper on the table before him. “...And...what if I say no?”

“Well, we’d probably edit the contract to make it more in line with what you want.” Bradford shrugged.

He looked scared. “...I would never dare to question your judgement, Commander, but...to demand such of you…”

“Brother…” Kon-Mai took his hand. “They will not punish you.”

Dhar-Mon seemed to flinch involuntarily, squeezing his sister’s hand. “...I apologize Commander.” He croaked. “I am used to taking orders from my masters. Contracts, choice, negotiations...to ask for such things, to speak out of turn, was a punishable offense.”

“Is that why you look like you’ve seen a ghost…?” Bradford rubbed his face with his palm and suddenly looked 20 years older than he was.

Senuna opened her mouth like she was going to call out to him, but she closed it. Her eyes were sparkling with barely hidden tears.

“We’d never hurt you.” Jane said, her voice still steady. “Not like the Elders did.”

“I’m sorry.” Bradford chimed in, his voice quivering. “God, I didn’t know…”

“As am I.” Senuna took a breath, wiping her eyes. “You’re safe here, Dhar-Mon.” She stood up and opened her arms to him. “I know my powers better than the Elders could ever understand, and with me, you will be safe.”

“With XCOM.” Bradford clarified. “We won’t ever punish you unjustly.”

“Unless you defect back to ADVENT.” Jane shrugged. “But I don’t think you will, after that stunt you pulled in Vatican City.”

Dhar-Mon seemed to turn purple as he blushed. “That was...quite a statement I made.”

“You think?” Jane chuckled.

“I loved it!” Senuna beamed. “It’s EXACTLY the blow to the crotch ADVENT deserved! And the way you yeeted that priest over the balcony? Iconic!”

Dhar-Mon chuckled awkwardly. “I appreciate that, Commander…” He looked down at the contract on the table before him. “Well, I have not signed my name in a very long time, but if you have a writing utensil-”

Jane handed him a pen, and Kon-Mai stood beside him as he scanned the contract, reading much more slowly than she had. He then slowly scratched a few simple Etheric symbols into the paper, along the line.

“...That works!” Senuna handed the contract to Bradford and reached out to shake Dhar-Mon’s hand. “Welcome, Dhar-Mon Madron, to XCOM!”

“It is an honor.” He gave her hand a gentle shake. “Do you know what my first assignment shall be?”

“Well.” Senuna smirked. “Nothing too strenuous, but…”

“We do have a lead on an ADVENT mobile facility 30 miles north of where we are.” Bradford said. “It’s small, but from the energy reading they’re putting out, it seems like they might be doing something interesting. With something useful.”

“We think there may be experimental weaponry in this base.” Jane said. “We want you to retrieve it.”

“Commander, I’d like to join my big brother on this mission.” Gur-Rai said.

“Why?” She raised a brow.

“It’s his first, after all.” He shrugged. “And my own first mission went south very quickly. I would volunteer my sister, but she just returned from her own little escapade.”

Kon-Mai looked to the Commander. “I am not injured. If you wish me to go-”

“No, he’s right.” Senuna nodded. “Next time, though, you three will finally be together again. But for now…” She looked to Gur-Rai. “I’ll put you on the mission list.”

“They’ll also need a hacker.” Jane said. “Mithridates just got a promotion, he would be a good choice.”

“Oh I agree!” Senuna tapped her chin. “And...let’s send Princess. She hasn’t been out for a minute.”

“Princess?” Jane grimaced.

“She’s very capable. And she’s been making great progress in her psionics!”

“That doesn’t make me less nervous, Commander.”

“Well than Jane, how about you join them?” Senuna smirked.

Jane looked between the Chosen. “Fine by me. I need to get off this ship for a bit.”

“Well light my ass and call me a star.” Gur-Rai crossed his arms. “THE FAMOUS Jane Kelly is gracing us peons with her presence?”

“I will slug you right here.” Jane grumbled.

“Oh Jane, I thought we were friends! Unless your violent tendencies ARE a sign of affection-”

Dhar-Mon elbowed Gur-Rai in the ribs, and Kon-Mai snorted in laughter.

Dhar-Mon looked down over his new equipment, all wrapped up in a literal bow with a sticky note from the Commander herself, reading:

“I ADORE those priest robes you have, so much so I made another pair especially for combat! Shen went a little overboard with the armor though but I left it because it looks AWESOME!

Much love,

Senuna.”

The robes provided were purple leather instead of cloth, and instead of the normal Etheric symbols around the edge, the sleeves were embroidered with silver Latin letters reading “Vigilo, Confido.”

“I am watchful.” He whispered to himself. “I am relied upon.”

He hugged the robes to his chest. It was comforting.

“Do you need assistance?”

Dhar-Mon turned and saw Kon-Mai standing behind him, though he had not heard her come. Her mouth was a thin line and her eyes met the floor as she approached him, holding her arms out to hold the robes as he removed his own. He did so slowly, and as she watched him, she seemed to grow more anxious.

“What is wrong?” He demanded.

She shook her head. “It is nothing.”

“Little Sister.” He said, straightening up and putting his strength into his voice. “As your eldest brother, I demand you confide in me!”

She glared at him. “That is not very convincing.”

He seemed to deflate, and Kon-Mai held out a hand, then pressed it to her face.

“You have barely recovered.” She said. “And the Commander is already sending you into battle.”

Oh. She was worried about him. “It is my duty as a soldier of XCOM.”

“Perhaps it is.” Kon-Mai nodded curtly. “And perhaps you will wind up dead on the battlefield.”

“I promise you, Sister, I will not die.”

She looked doubtful.

“Would you prefer if it was you on the mission, instead of Gur-Rai?”

“Yes, actually.” She crossed her arms.

“Do you not trust him?”

She hesitated, not out of uncertainty though, no it was clear she knew the answer.

“A year ago? I would have told you not in the slightest.” She said. “Now that we are free of the grasp of the Tyrannical Elders…”

“I shall keep him on a short leash.” Dhar-Mon assured her.

“HE is supposed to be protecting YOU.” She protested.

“Yes.” Dhar-Mon nodded. “But he is the Hunter, Kon-Mai, not the Protector.”

She nodded, sifting through the clothing. “...This armor is truly art. Dr. Shen is incredible in her work.”

He looked back over his belongings. The purple leather was latched in the chest with a breastplate of shining metal, engraved with XCOM’s sigil on the front. For pants, it looked to be a variation of his normal undersuit, but with silver plating lining the thighs and covering his shins. On his shoulder was a circular pauldron of shining metal, encrusted with a single amethyst and lined with purple.

“Truly…” He said as he held it up to the light. “A suit of armor…”

“For a warrior of XCOM.” Kon-Mai smiled at him.

He looked at her. “Sister...what name have you chosen?”

She blinked, then smiled. “Well, I am Shrinemaiden.”

“And our brother…?”

“Darkstrider. Do not ask why.” She shrugged. “Have you been thinking of rebranding, Brother?”

“I...do not feel the Warlock suits me anymore.” He said, clasping his shoulder pauldron into place. “I am no longer that being…”

“I would say you are quite the holy man.” She smiled. “Like a monk who has taken a vow of solitude.”

“Perhaps.” He nodded. “A hieromonk, even.”

“Oh, how very elite~” His sister chuckled.

“It is a profession of great importance.” He puffed out his chest, which only made her laugh harder.

The intercom above them buzzed. “Kon-Mai Mordenna, please report to the gymnasium.”

Dhar-Mon raised a brow. “It appears you have been summoned.”

She nodded. “No doubt my student awaits her master.”

“You have students?” He smiled. “I am proud of you, Sister.”

“I wish you luck on your mission, Brother…” She lingered for a moment. “...And...keep yourself safe.”

“I promise.” He nodded, watching as she left the room.

Kon-Mai didn’t notice, as she turned the corner, Gur-Rai standing outside the door, his arms crossed and eyes glued to the floor. The Darkstrider clenched his fists.

He did not remember what sadness felt like. But this must be pretty close.

“What do you mean we cannot just teleport?” Dhar-Mon asked his little brother as the Skyranger shuddered with wind turbulence. The humans had little trouble with the height of the ceiling, but the eldest Chosen was forced to completely hunch over, and even then his head was pressing against the roof uncomfortably.

His brother had mitigated this problem by lying on the floor, legs against the wall and feet touching the ceiling. “We can’t teleport anywhere, my dear brother.” He said. “That was one of the Elders’ gifts. And we’ve cancelled our subscription.”

Dhar-Mon harrumphed and crossed his arms, looking to his right at the young lady beside him. She had made a point to introduce herself as Lady Demetria Min, and as he glanced at her, she straightened the little tiara that was holding back her hair.

“You like my crown?” She gleamed. “It was my great great great grandmother’s! You know, she was married to the 3rd cousin of Prince Philippe, Duke of Orléans!”

“Cool.” Jane scoffed from across the aisle. Her face was steely, like always, and she was eyeing both Chosen men with an unreadable expression.

“Yes!” Princess said, not sensing the sarcasm in Jane’s voice. “Great Great Great Grandmother Liên secured the future for House Min! I’ll bet you she wouldn’t have surrendered to the aliens!”

“Then they would have killed her.” Jane said.

“She would have beat them! She could shoot a rifle from a moving horse!”

“Yeah, Princess, and they had plasma weapons and mind powers.” The young man, Mithridates, finally looked up from his agonizingly slow typing. “Who would win there?”

Princess pouted and leaned towards Dhar-Mon. “Don’t believe them. They’re just jealous.”

“I’m sure your ancestress was a noble woman.” Dhar-Mon said. “But no one can stand against the might of the Elders-”

“Except us!” Gur-Rai cut in quickly. “Because we’re stronger, smarter, faster, and I can personally assure you, we are much better looking~” He winked.

Jane blinked slowly. “...Whatever you say.”

“Drop zone incommin’!” Firebrand called back. “Get ready y’all!”

“Right.” Jane stood. “We’re landing about a mile and a half from the site itself, and we’ll be approaching under the cover of night.”

“Is this a stealth mission?” Mithridates sounded nervous.

“If it was, the Warlock wouldn’t be here.” Jane assured him. “We surround the site, and when I give the order we bombard it on all sides. Mithridates, you’re there to analyze the loot we pick up. What’s useful to us, and what is junk.”

“Gotcha, Quiet.” He nodded and closed his laptop.

Princess stood and stretched. “Oh, this is going to be so much fun!”

For once, Jane smiled at her. “Yes it is.”

Gur-Rai stayed at the back of the group, handing his brother the robe to drop from the Skyranger. “You got it?”

“I simply jump, yes?”

Gur-Rai chuckled. “Only if you want to break your legs. Hold onto that, and the Skyranger will lower you down.”

“This is simple.” Dhar-Mon scoffed, but Gur-Rai could read the nerves on his face.

“I’m right behind you, Big Guy.” He patted his brother on the back and looked at Princess.

“I’m a little scared too~” Princess fluttered her eyelashes. “Will you carry me, Darkstrider?”

He smirked. “Of course, sweet girl. C’mere.” He turned from her briefly to watch Dhar-Mon sit on the edge of the Skyranger and slide off. The rope buckled a bit under his weight, but he was lowered safely down, where Jane and Mithridates were waiting.

Princess came up to Gur-Rai, and he picked her up around the waist, with her holding his neck. He sat on the edge, wrapped his legs in the rope, and pushed off, sliding down faster than any of the other soldiers.

As they reached the ground, the Hunter gave a little twirl, and came to a stop with a pose. Princess giggled as she let go of him, and Mithridates gagged.

“Can we save the PDA for after the mission, please?” Jane rolled her eyes and drew her gun. “Move out.”

They spread out slightly and pressed forward into the treeline. Gur-Rai stuck beside his brother like he was glued to him. Good thing too, because Dhar-Mon’s eyesight was worse than he remembered, and he immediately tripped over some roots and would have fallen, if Gur-Rai had not dove in and caught him.

“Hmph.” Dhar-Mon grunted as he righted himself. “You do not need to do that, Brother.”

“Oh yes I do.” Gur-Rai said through gritted teeth, Kon-Mai’s words ringing in his head. “Believe me.”

“I have a visual.” Princess sang out over the comms.

“Let’s catch up.” Gur-Rai straightened up and took up position at the rear, behind his brother in case he should take a fall again.

They came to a small cliff, which ended abruptly and led down into a rocky crater that looked...almost recent. Down the steep sides, cut into the stone, was a circular building of glistening silver, the dark rock forming up around it like waves.

“Is that a UFO?” Mithridates said, pointing at the structure.

“Well I’ll be damned…” Gur-Rai looked through his scope. “I haven’t seen one of those in years…”

“Central?” Jane called over comm. “We have a UFO down here. It’s a big one…”

“Believe me Jane, that’s nothing.” Bradford seemed to chuckle. “That looks like a crashed Overseer. They’re like glorified scout ships.”

Jane looked uncertain, glancing toward Dhar-Mon.

He nodded to her. “These shall be no trouble for a warrior such as myself. And my brother will help too.”

“Hey.” Gur-Rai said, actually sounding annoyed. “I’m here to babysit YOU, remember?”

“I remember.” Dhar-Mon sighed.

“Well, I’m going to get to higher ground.” Gur-Rai backed up, and they heard a slight rustle as he climbed into a tree. “Let me know when, and what, to shoot.”

“Roger that.” Jane said. “Mithridates, with me. Princess, Warlock-”

He cringed at the name, and with Kon-Mai’s words ringing in his ears, Dhar-Mon blurted out “Hieromonk, if you please.”

“...Okay then. Hieromonk, go around that curved pathway there and get as close as you can without being spotted.” She stood up. “When I give the signal, I want you to hit them with everything you got.”

“It shall be done.” He and Princess got to their feet and went around the trees, Gur-Rai watching them with his scope. He sighed.

“You think it’s a good idea to send him out in front?” He called down to Jane.

“I do.” She looked up. “Eyes on the prize, Darkstrider.”

“Yes, Quiet.”

Dhar-Mon was not a stealthy man, and Princess was even less so with her bright purple hair and her tendency to squeak whenever her foot hit something unexpected. In fact, they had almost alerted the guards twice: once when Princess nearly stepped on a rattlesnake, and again when Dhar-Mon slipped and almost slid into the ravine before pulling himself back up.

They found a large rock at the bottom that was big enough to hide behind, and ducked behind it as Princess grabbed her Psi Amp off her back and held it up. “Ready when you are, Quiet.”

“Excellent.” They could hear Jane was moving. “Mithridates, hurry up.”

“Why are we going so fucking fast?!” Mithridates could be heard panting as he spoke. “Like-WOAH!”

“We’re in position.” Jane said as they heard Mithridates being yanked along. “Darkstrider?”

“My body is ready, Jane, and so is my gun~”

“On my mark. Three…”

Dhar-Mon braced himself, his hands beginning to glow with psionic power.

“Two…”

He felt Princess shift beside him, and the energy around him moved as she did.

“One…”

He took a deep breath.

“NOW!”

Dhar-Mon emerged from his hiding place, taking one last second to charge his attack, and shoved his hands forward, releasing a blast of psionic energy toward the trooper unlucky enough to be standing in front of him. The soldier went down in a daze, and the two who had been standing a few feet away cried out in pain as the spark jumped from one to the other.

He saw Princess grasp at the orb of energy in her amplifier and throw it outward, hitting a Muton soldier in the chest. Unfortunately, the Muton was not as injured as she had counted on. It turned toward them, snorting and growling.

“Oh bollocks.” She backed up, and Dhar-Mon moved in front of her as the Muton charged.

There was a thunk and a splat, and the Muton fell, sliding to a stop at Dhar-Mon’s feet. He looked up at his brother, who had his teeth clenched in concentration, his gun smoking.

“Tell our sister about that when we get home.” He seemed to growl as he slid down from the tree, moving in closer for a better shot.

“Move out, move out!” Jane rushed forward, firing at the soldiers who were coming at her. They were weak compared to Quiet Jane Kelly, who seemed to mow them down like grass, but even so, the Muton soldiers seemed to be closing in.

Dhar-Mon ran forward and pulled his energy forth, his eyes glowing purple as he did, and apparitions began to spring from the ground. Psionic spirits came forth, ready to defend. Without him needing to speak a single command, they rushed towards the Mutons. One very fragile spirit took the brunt of the gunshot meant for Jane. As it went down, another rose to take its place.

Jane looked to Dhar-Mon in confusion. “Thanks…?”

“Always, Lady Jane.” He said.

“Please, call me Quiet.” She smirked. “Mithridates!”

“I’m pinned down!” He screeched from behind a post. It was true, he was hiding as two troopers and a Muton came up behind him, and tried to grab him from around the pole. Mithridates ducked out of the way, but the Muton got a hold of his collar. Two bullets whizzed by them, and the Darkstrider audibly cursed.

“I meant to do that.” He growled. “Stay there, I’m coming down!”

“I DON’T HAVE MUCH CHOICE IN THE MATTER!” Mithridates screamed as the Muton lifted him above it’s head. “SOMEBODY HELP!”

Princess pulled another psionic blast from her amplifier, squinted, took a deep breath, and screamed as she fired. This time, she hit the Muton right in the face, sending it flying back and forcing it to drop Mithridates, who landed with a soft thump on the grass.

Dhar-Mon beckoned his brother over as Gur-Rai jogged towards them and winked at Princess. “Nice shot, my lady~”

Princess giggled, turning as pink as her hair.

“Thanks.” Mithridates grumbled as he got to his feet. “Let me get the door.”

“Darkstrider, take point lookout.” Jane said, coming up beside him to help keep watch. He complied, but Dhar-Mon could see Gur-Rai staring at him instead of through the scope.

He came up beside Gur-Rai, who looked away. “What troubles you, Little Brother?” He whispered.

“Nothing.” Gur-Rai muttered.

“Do not lie to me.”

“You’re not my dad.” Gur-Rai sniffed and focused through his scope. “I’m fine. Just doing my job.”

“You have been out of sorts since we came here.”

“Oh yeah, like you would know…” Gur-Rai fell silent. So did Dhar-Mon. The two stood there awkwardly.

“Look, I’m supposed to be protecting you right now.” Gur-Rai looked Dhar-Mon directly in the face. “Let me do that, alright? Please? Unless you think I’ll fuck that up, too.”

Dhar-Mon balked at his comment, just as Mithridates shouted “Got it!” Behind them, the door swung open, and they heard the sound of a plane approaching in the distance.

“Fuck. Reinforcements.” Jane looked to Gur-Rai. “You and I will hold the front. You three, get inside and start rooting around. Grab anything you think looks interesting.”

“Understood, Quiet.” Dhar-Mon gestured for the young soldiers to follow him inside.

The inside of the wreck was almost completely empty. There would be one or two troopers around a corner every so often, but Princess took them down quickly, and when she was eventually stifled by a shot to the foot, Dhar-Mon picked up for her with his own psionic attacks, leaving their minds scorched and useless.

They came to the center, where the roof had caved in, opening up the large starry sky above them. Dhar-Mon heard the sounds of gunshots outside, and for a moment he worried greatly about his little brother.

Gur-Rai was a warrior, Dhar-Mon assured himself. He would be fine. At this rate, he was beginning to sound like Kon-Mai.

“Guys…” Mithridates stepped toward the huge hole in the center. “Guys look…”

Princess gasped. “What IS that? It’s so beautiful!”

Dhar-Mon looked toward the center of the ship, under the open sky where the metal ground had given way to dirt and rock. There, buried in the soil, was a silver war hammer, engraved with purple runes and glowing in the moonlight.

He stepped towards it. “...This is…” He had never seen such a thing before, though he had heard the Elders were expert smiths; they had crafted his sister’s weapon with their own hands, after all, and he knew they took great pride in their work. Why would they leave this one…?

“It’s giving off a lot of energy.” Mithridates said.

“What kind of energy?” Princess asked.

“I dunno, the purple kind? I ain’t Tygan.” Mithridates peered over his laptop. “Wait, Dhar-Mon, don’t touch it!”

Dhar-Mon ignored the boy and reached for the handle. The weapon seemed to vibrate as he grasped it, and suddenly he felt a jolt of energy, and the hammer practically lifted itself as he yanked it from the dirt. He stumbled for a moment before letting it settle firmly in his grasp, the runes shining brilliantly.

“Woah!” Mithridates gasped, looking at his laptop screen. “These readings just went off the charts!”

“Well, you should get bigger charts, then.” Princess snarked. “What’s all that weird writing on it?”

Dhar-Mon looked at the side, where the carvings glowed with purple light. He recognized the Etheric letters and read them out one at a time.

“...Yseult.” He said. “I believe this is the name of this weapon.”

“That’s probably what Tygan wanted us to get.” Mithridates said. “Let's check around a bit more, see if we can’t find-”

There was an explosion that shook the ship, and Dhar-Mon heard Gur-Rai scream.

His heart in his throat, Dhar-Mon hoisted the war hammer and gestured to follow. “Come! Our comrades have need of our help!”

“But Quiet gave us an order!” Mithridates shouted.

“Stay here then!” Princess spat as she and Dhar-Mon sprinted for the entrance.

Mithridates stared after them, groaned loudly, and followed.

What formerly was the entrance was now a large hole leading to the outside. To the left they could see Jane, bleeding out on the grass as she used the last of her strength to pull herself to safety. Princess rushed over to her, but stopped short and screamed in terror.

“OH FUCK!” Mithridates dove behind Dhar-Mon for cover. “ARCHONS!”

Dhar-Mon looked up and, lo and behold, there above them three Archon soldiers hovered, one of which had detonated the aforementioned explosion.

Dhar-Mon had one thought, and that was to find Gur-Rai. His brother was nowhere to be seen, and for a horrifying moment, Dhar-Mon feared he may have been buried under the mounds of rubble. He didn’t have time to ruminate on that, though, because one of the Archons charged him. Dhar-Mon stepped back and, on instinct, held up the war hammer to defend himself.

There was a clang. The Archon’s spear had bounced off the handle, inches away from Dhar-Mon’s face, flinging his assailant back. Acting on instinct, he swung the hammer across his path, slamming into the Archon with a loud bang and a sickening crunch. Metal tore, and the poor creature landed on the ground in a heap of scrap and flesh. The runes on Yseult were glowing brightly.

“Holy shit.” Mithridates looked up at Dhar-Mon. “Can you do that again?”

“I shall certainly try.” He looked to Princess. “You must aid Quiet! Get her to safety!”

“Roger!” Princess panted, running to where Jane was again. One of the Archons, after seeing it’s comrade being opened like a can of soup, made a run for the hills and disappeared into the trees. The other rushed at Dhar-Mon again, but this time, he was prepared.

Or at least he thought he was. As useful as Yseult was proving to be, it was heavy and slow to swing, as he learned when he swung the hammer and the Archon zipped out of the way with nary a scratch. It roared at him and jabbed it’s spear towards his heart, which he only just managed to dodge, causing the green serrated tip to stab into his shoulder. He cried out, dropping Yseult and staggering back as the Archon rushed them.

“Run, boy!” Dhar-Mon called out to Mithridates. He summoned up his psionic powers, preparing to blow the Archon (and possibly himself) to high hell.

“What about you?!” Mithridates cried.

“RUN!” Dhar-Mon took a breath. “And tell my sister I am sorry.”

“You can tell her yourself.”

There was a loud “ZAP” and the Archon stopped it’s charge forward, wobbling in the air. Dhar-Mon saw that a hole had opened up in it’s chassis. Another loud gunshot, and it’s head was severed from its body.

As the body of the Archon fell to the ground, Mithridates and Dhar-Mon peered around the building wall.

There stood Gur-Rai, scowling. His clothes were covered in dirt and his armor plates were dented. His face was bloody and badly scratched. As he holstered his rifle on his back and began to walk over to them, Dhar-Mon could see he was limping badly, dragging his foot.

Dhar-Mon approached him, meeting his brother halfway. He opened his arms, and Gur-Rai fell into them, hissing from the pain.

“You are injured.” Dhar-Mon scolded. “You arrogant little fool! I thought you were…” He gulped.

Gur-Rai jabbed his finger in Dhar-Mon’s face. “Shut up. Shut the fuck up.” He looked up. “It’s my job, alright? Me.”

“Your...job?”

“Yes, my job is to protect you out here, because our bitch sister thinks I can’t.” He shifted his weight too much onto his injured foot and cried out. “She thinks I don’t love you, you fucking asshole!”

Dhar-Mon blinked in utter confusion. “...What has caused this outburst?”

“I heard you two talking in the armory.” Gur-Rai’s head was parallel with the floor now. “I heard her say she doesn’t trust me to keep you safe. And I will make myself a Berserker’s Bitch before I let her be right about that!”

Dhar-Mon stood, absolutely stunned. “...Little Brother…”

“Don’t do that.” Gur-Rai growled. “Stop treating me like a kid.”

Dhar-Mon chuckled. “You are right, Brother, you are no child.” He pulled his little brother into his arms and embraced him. Surprisingly, Gur-Rai did not struggle.

“You are a brave and noble soldier.” Dhar-Mon patted his back. “And I owe you my life.”

The Skyranger landed with a thump in the garage, and the company filed out slowly. Jane was being helped by Princess and Mithridates as one of the medics came rushing to the garage with a wheelchair for her. Gur-Rai and Dhar-Mon watched as she was hauled off to the infirmary, and Gur-Rai tested his weight on his foot again.

“You should not aggravate your injury.” Dhar-Mon said.

“I don’t think it’s broken.” Gur-Rai shrugged. “Nasty sprain, though.”

They heard familiar footsteps, and exchanged a smile before glancing up to see Kon-Mai. She ran to them, throwing her arms around Dhar-Mon first, then reaching over and pulling Gur-Rai into the hug.

“You are both alright…?” She asked.

“We are both alright.” Dhar-Mon pulled away. “It would not be so, if not for our brother.”

Kon-Mai looked to Gur-Rai, who avoided her gaze.

“I was certain I was to die on the field of battle. It was Gur-Rai’s quick thinking that saved us all.” Dhar-Mon raised a brow. “I do not think there is reason to doubt him, Sister.”

She looked between the two. “Whatever do you mean?”

“I protected him with everything I had in me.” Gur-Rai shrugged and crossed his arms.

“I am happy to hear that.” She looked at him suspiciously.

“Kon-Mai, you believe our little brother holds love for me in his heart, don’t you?”

Kon-Mai looked like she was about to make a joke, but the pained expression on Gur-Rai’s face stopped her. “Of course I do. It was he who has been helping you learn to walk, who held me as I sobbed for you, I know he would give his life for you or me alike. I just…” She raised a brow. “What is the meaning of all this, Gur-Rai?”

“...I heard you saying I couldn’t protect Dhar-Mon.” Gur-Rai mumbled. “That you didn’t trust me....”

Her face grew to a mix of horror and sympathy, and she grabbed her brother and pulled him into a hug.

“I know I’m an asshole.” Gur-Rai said, pressing his face into her shoulder. “But family’s family. You two are all I have left…”

“I know.” She rubbed his back. “And I was mistaken, Gur-Rai, I should not have doubted you, whether in your ability or your intention.” She pulled away and looked him in the eye. “I hope you can forgive this trespass.”

“Hey, buy me a drink this Saturday, and let’s pretend it never happened.” He chuckled. “Now, as much as I enjoy these little affection sessions, my foot is starting to go numb, so if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go pay the Good Doctor a visit.”

Kon-Mai gasped. “You should not be walking on that injury!”

“I offered to carry him.” Dhar-Mon shrugged. “He said he wanted to walk.”

“It’s down the hall.” He winked at Kon-Mai. “I will be fine.”

She rolled her eyes. “Go on then.” She patted him on the back as he left, and looked back at Dhar-Mon. “...What is that?”

“What is…?”

She pointed to Yseult. “That.”

He lifted it so she could see. “I do not know. It is a war hammer of some sort. From the energy surrounding it, I feel as though it is yet another relic from our...former masters.”

“Yseult.” She whispered, tracing the runes with her hands. “It sits well in your grasp, Brother.”

“Indeed…” He shifted it in his hands, feeling how the weight rocked back and forth. “It was quite the lucky find…”

(It’s technically Friday! Which is when I said this would be out!

Sorry for the lateness, it was really the first half of this chapter I wanted to rework, then I discovered it didn’t need as much work as I thought.

Here, we see Dhar-Mon finish his transformation, gaining a new weapon and a new name! The Hieromonk! I think it suits him well~)

Archive: https://chosenstories.tumblr.com/

#xcom #xcom 2 #xcom 2 war of the chosen #xcom the chosen #xcom assassin #chosen assassin #xcom hunter #chosen hunter #xcom warlock #chosen warlock

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son-of-drogo · 5 years

Text

Tried my hand at script writing. What do you think of Episode 2 of Mattimeo?

Int. Gatehouse-day

Matthias the Warrior stands South his back to the empty fireplace. Her is a sturdy mouse, about 28-30 seasons old. Although the table is set for breakfast, the food is untouched. Matthias is not relishing facing his wayward son.

A knock is heard, the camera pans to the door.

Matthias (O.S)

Come in, please.

Formole, a greying mole enters, nodding to Matthias and smiling until his beady eyes almost disappear.

Formole

Gudd morn to you'm, Mattwise, yurr. Uz moles diggin a cooker pit t'day. May'aps you'ud loik to 'elp?

Matthias

(Smiles fondly and pats his friend's back)

Thank you for the offer, Foremole. Unfortunately I have other more serious business to attend this morning. (There is a thump in the next room. Matthias's ear twitches) Hmm, that sounds like it in the next room, just getting out of bed. Will you excuse me?

Foremole

(Chuckles and shakes his head)

Hurr hurr, ee be a roight laddo, yurr Mattee. Doant wack 'im too 'ard now. (Exits)

Mattimeo

(Appears looking touseled and apprehensive)

Matthias

(Beckoning to his son)

Come on, Mattimeo.

Mattimeo glances hungrily at the breakfast table, but his attention quickly turns to his father.

Matthias

(Sternly)

Well, what have you got to say for yourself?

Mattimeo

(Mumbled)

M'sorry.

Matthias

(Crosses his arms)

I should hope so.

Mattimeo

(Mumbles a bit louder)

M'very sorry.

Matthias

Foremole says I should wack you. What do you think?

Mattimeo

M'very very sorry. 't won't happen again, Dad.

Matthias

(Shakes his head and pinches the bridge of his nose, but lays a paw on his son's shoulder)

Matti, why do you do these things? You hurt us and got your friends into trouble. Why?

Matti

(Is unsure about what answer his father wants)

Matthias

(Watches his rebellious son for a moment before turning to take down a magnificent sword from above the fireplace. He offers it to his son)

Here Matti, see if you can wield it yet.

Matti

(Takes the sword with trembling paws and shining eyes. He tries to swing it twice, but he stumbles, pulled down to the floor by its weight.)

I can nearly swing it Father.

Matthias takes the sword and begins to perform what almost looks like a dance. Snicking the stalk from an Apple, slicing the bread without touching the table, carelessly flicking the rind off a wedge of cheese. He brought the sword up on a warrior's salute before bringing the blade to rest, point quivering, in the floor.

Mattimeo looks at his father with admiration.

Matthias

One day you will take my place, son. You will grow big and strong, and I will train you to use the sword like a real warrior. But it is only a sword. It will not make you a warrior just because you carry it. Weapons may be carried by those who are evil, dishonest, violent, or lazy. A true warrior is good, gentle, and honest. His bravery comes from within; he learns to conquer his fears and misdeeds. Do you understand?

Matti

(Nods)

Matthias

(Grows stern)

Good, I am glad you do. I will not wack you. I have never laid a paw on you and I don't plan on starting. However, you attacked Vitch and I will not have my son fighting. At first I thought I should not allow you to attend the feast...

Shock and disbelief crosses the young mouse's features.

Matthias

But I have decided that you may go, if you go straight to the kitchens. You must ask Friar Hugo to give you double the tasks he have Vitch. When you have finished, go and help your mother pick flowers until she says you are free. Understood?

Mattimeo it's shocked. He's never before been asked or ordered to perform any tasks.

Matthias watches his son's reaction, testing to see if he will show character or behave like a spoiled brat.

Matti

I will do as you have asked, Dad.

Matthias

(Clapping him on the back)

Good lad! That's the mark of a warrior in training, obedience. Off you go now!

Int. Great Hall- Day

Morning sunlight lances through the high Windows, light falls in soft pink relief to the floor of Great Hall. Mattimeo passes under a beam of light and the camera pans to follow him. As he passes the Tapestry of Martin the Warrior he stops abruptly. He turns, checking to see if someone is following him. There is no one.

CLOSE UP ON THE PICTURE OF MARTIN THE WARRIOR

Matti

(Draws close to the portrait)

I could feel you watching me, Martin. I'm on my way to do penance in the kitchens, you probably know that. I didn't mean to disobey my parents, but I had to fight Vitch because he said things about my dad. I couldn't allow him to insult my family. My dad wouldn't have punished me if he knew, but he's my dad. I can't explain things to him properly. You're different, Martin, you understand.

Martin's expression doesn't change.

Matti

(Shuffles his paws)

Sometimes you're just like Dad. Look, I'm sorry, I'll try to be a better mouse. I promise not to get in trouble anymore.

Mattimeo shuffles sulkily to the kitchens muttering.

Matti

I wish there was another Great War, I'd slow them. Huh! They'd be glad I could fight then. I wouldn't be sent off to scour pots then. They'd probably have to give me a medal or something.

The camera returns to Martin and his smile seems gentler. He seems to be watching the retreating figure of the young mouse.

Int. Kitchens-day

Friar Hugo is the fattest mouse on Redwall Abbey. He wears a white apron over his habit and always carries a dockleaf in his tail, which he used to fan himself, Rub on a scorched paw, or use as a visor to peer down into bubbling pots.

Matti waits for orders.

Hugo

(Checking the lists)

Hmm, let me see, that's six large raspberry seed cakes. We need four more. Brother Sedge, take that pot of cream off before it boils over! Sister Agnes, chop those onions and add the herbs to the woodland stew. Er, what's this? Ten flagons of strawberry cordial? We need twice as many. Nip down to the cellars, young Matti and fill more flagons. Have Ambrose Spike let you in.

Matti Is glad to be out of the hustle and bustle of the kitchens. He salutes the fat friar and runs of, dodging between the kitchen workers.

Int. Cellars-Day

Ambrose Spike is blowing foam from a bowl of October ale when Mattimeo comes up on him.

Matti

'Scuse me, please Friar Hugo sent me t-

The old hedgehog choked and sneezed as he whirled around.

Ambrose

(Rubbing at his snout)

Don't sneak up on me like that, lad. Hold still a moment will you.

(Drains the bowl and smacks his lips)

Harr, wunnerful! Though I do say it meself, no creature brews October ale like the Spike family. Now what can I do for you, mousey?

Matti

Friar says I've got to fill more flagons of strawberry cordial sir.

Ambrose

(Points down the hall)

Oh, right barrels are in the next section. The ones marked pink, flagons are against the wall as y' go in. Don't disturb the elderberry or Blackcurrant wine or they'll go cloudy.

The camera follows Matti. As he is waking info the next section he is hailed.

Tim

Psst, Matt, sssshhh, over here!

The twin churcmice, Tim and Tess, and Sam Squirrel are longing by the barrels of strawberry cordial.

Matti

(Tip toes over)

What are you doing down here?

Tess

(Stifles a giggle)

We slipped past Ambrose while he was dozing. Come and have some cold strawberry cordial, it's scrummy.

They prise a bung from the barrel and use hollow reeds to drink the sparkling juice.

Tess passes Matti a straw and he joins them.

Some time later Ambrose passes by to see the four youngsters filling the flagons.

Ambrose

(To himself)

Hmm. S' funny, there was only one of 'em here before.

Int. Kitchens-Day

The kitchen staff are working flat out now in preparation for the feast.

Hugo

(Fanning himself)

You there, Billum, can you dig me a nice neat tunnel through the middle of that big marrow?

Billum

Hurr, gaffer, oi serpintly can. Pervidin' oi can eat it as oi goes along.

Hugo

Righto, carry on. Oh there you are young Matti. Take your friends along to the larder. I want two small white cheeses flavored with sage, two large red cheeses with beechnut and rosemary, and one of the extra large yellow cheeses with acorn and apple bits. Be very careful how you roll the extra large yellow; don't go knocking anyone down or breaking furniture.

All four together

(Dash off whooping)

Hooray, we're going to roll cheeses!

Abbot Mordalfus, normally a dignified creature, appeared from behind a large cake, his whiskers festooned with cream and candied peel.

Hugo

(Dusting off his friend's face with the dockleaf)

Ha, there you are Alf. Well, how's the special Redwall Abbot's Cake coming along?

Mordalfus

(Chewing on some candied peel thoughtfully)

Very well, thank you Hugo. Though I still suspect it lacks something. What do you think?

Hugo

(Dips his dock leaf in the mixture and tastes it)

Hmm, I see what you mean, Alf. If I were you, I'd put some redcurrant jelly in to make it look more like an Abbot's Cake. Doesn't hurt to cheat a little. After all you're only going by Abbot Saxtus's recipe, and that's a matter of taste. Yes, put more redcurrant in and we'll name it Redcurrantwall Abbot Alf Cake.

Mordalfus

(Dusting flour off his paws, smiling proudly)

What a good idea. Hi there Matthias, where are you off to?

Matthias

(Carries two fishing lines and bait, he dodges a pair of moles pushing a trollyful of streaming muffins, calling across to Mordalfus)

Don't you remember, Abbot, we were supposed to be going fishing in the Abbey pond for our annual centerpiece?

Mordalfus

(Clapping a paw to his brow)

Goodness me, so I have. I'll be right with you Matthias.

Matthias

(Looks around the kitchen)

Friar Hugo, have you seen my son?

Hugo

(Chuckling)

Indeed I have, Matthias. The young feller's been a great help. Haha, I've sent him and his pals to roll cheeses out. That'll keep them busy. Constance is the only one strong enough to deal with the big yellow cheese that I've told them to roll out. Hahaha I'd love to see how they do that.

Matthias

Didn't laugh too soon, Basil Stag Hare had just arrived. I just let him in the main gate. He says he's been on a long patrol and hasn't had a decent meal in three sunrises. Oh, and he said to tell you he's appointed himself official sampler.

Matthias and the Abbot flee the kitchens as Hugo puffs up with indignation.

Hugo

(Outraged)

What? Never! I'm not having that retired regimental glutton feeding his face in my kitchens. Oh no! Why the skinny great windbag, he'll eat us out of store and larder before sunset! Oh my nerves I don't think I'll be able to stand it!

Ext. Abbey grounds

Cornflower and Mrs. Churchmou

#mattimeo #Redwall

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overdrivels · 6 years

Text

The Way to a Heart (10)

Thank you for your patience. I’m a little sad that this chapter didn’t push me over the 50k works mark, but eh. Hopefully next chapter will make up for it. As always, thank you @dickbutt-writes-again for your help.

<<Chapter 9

The news tells a small audience of heat-exhausted agents that today is one of the hottest days of the summer. Zarya’s face tells of someone who wants to shut the newsomnic up, but can't seem to muster the energy to stand. It's a disconcerting sight to behold. The heat seems to even put out McCree, who normally relishes in it. The only person who seems unaffected is Ana, who still manages to walk outside fully covered, making fools and weaklings of everyone else.

Every remaining agent was forbidden from going outside for day and Mei could not resist contacting the base, reporting her observations with rapid-fire jargon and a heat in her voice that rivals the weather. Hanzo could not really put any effort into listening, busy tending to himself with a crudely made fan.

Athena sounds apologetic when she tells a group of sweaty, irritated agents that the thermostat cannot be adjusted any further without rerouting energy from vital functions on base. Hanzo suspects all the current efforts are being rerouted to cool down Winston whom he had seen neither hair—fur—nor hide of in the past few days, busy with 'meetings’. It's unfair especially when the common areas are barely cooled and their rooms are no better than if they were to open a window (provided that the rooms had windows), and those agents who were relocated to cooler places for a mission were the momentary object of envy.

This heat doesn't quite rival Japan’s, but it is difficult to breathe, to move without wanting to shower or suddenly take a flight to the Arctic. Hana did not spare any words when pointing out the frizzy state of his hair, and he spared no mercy when pointing out her hair is artificially straightened.

(He learned two things after that: not to mention it in the future and that age has not been ridiculously kind to him in the ways he wants to believe.)

It's his first summer away from Japan, but despite the weather, it doesn’t feel like summer at all. Almost fondly, Hanzo thinks a proper summer should have watermelon. Or shaved ice. The air should be thick with the smell of grilled foods and bright with lanterns or fireworks and accompanied by windchimes or the song of cicadas. (Genji would used to try to catch as many as he could when they were younger, essentially eliminating the entire population near their estate at his peak.)

He doesn’t realize he misses all of that until you serve watermelon as a part of lunch.

They’re neat, thick pyramid shaped slices with actual seeds that betray the semi-professionally sculpted meals you make for them. He steals away into his 'secret’ spot once he's finished off the main course to enjoy the chilly summer treat. He takes in the harsh beat of the sun against his skin, the rare summer breeze and relative silence brought on by this thick, overbearing weather.

The only thing missing are the cicadas.

He takes his first bite with a loud ' hrmph ' and regrets nothing. The cool contrast in his mouth against the heat on his skin is a delight of sensations. The salty air tossed around by the occasional breeze only adds to the experience—he briefly thinks that he should have asked for some salt, but there’s no helping it now. And the hunger —Hanzo is not shy about his eating, the bites audible and vicious. Sweet juices trickle down his mouth and into his beard, trickling freely down his hands. It's utterly disgusting and undignified, but there’s no graceful way to eat watermelon. Sure, they could be turned into cubes or little balls, but that just defeats the point of eating watermelon.

Watermelon slices, no matter how undignified, is best. He’s glad you seem to agree.

Hanzo mindlessly spits a barrage of seeds off the ledge.

For a moment, the sun is not yellow, but white. The cry of gulls are cicadas. The sea before him is grass and the familiar landscape of Hanamura. Genji sits next to him, smaller, younger— human —a wide grin on his face right before he spits a line of seeds as well.

「See, brother? I’m better!」

And he hears himself saying, 「You’re too many years too early to think of besting me at anything.」

The younger Genji protests, taking another bite of his watermelon, chewing furiously through the meat of the fruit. He inhales deeply, puffing up his chest and stomach dramatically before the summer air is filled with panicked coughing, barely drowned out by the whining of cicadas and the pounding of a fist.

A ray of sun passes over his eyes and the scene is gone—the sweetness of the fruit turns his mouth numb and bitter, and he nearly throws the rind off the ledge too, only to remember Winston had long warned them against leaving evidence of their occupation behind, no matter how innocuous.

He sucks a shaky breath through his teeth instead and exhales, then wipes his mouth harshly on his arm, clutching the remains of the fruit tightly in his hand. The juice becomes tacky, sticking to him just as uncomfortable as his thoughts. The twisting in his gut threatening to squeeze out the food he’s just eaten and he clenches his teeth until it hurts.

Maybe he doesn’t miss the Japanese summer as much as he thought, after all.

Hanzo does not throw the rinds into the ocean below, barely mustering the maturity to take them back to the cafeteria to be discarded of properly. He finds himself there on reluctant legs anyway.

To his relief and surprise, he finds it relatively empty and significantly cooler than the rest of the base. Even Ana’s usual afternoon crowd is not around.

Hana’s here, her hair up in a ponytail, a tell-tale towel around her neck that indicates she's just finished her training session for the day and deep in a heated conversation. Hanzo thinks she’s surprisingly chipper for such nasty weather, but figures she’s endured worse.

“Chef, why can’t we have shaved ice?”

“Agent D.Va, I cannot allow your health to be compromised. You just came from exercise. Ice will only cause muscle crampin—”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” She shoves her hands through the window, making grabby hands at you. “Shaved ice, please. Lots of condensed milk and mochi. Oh, and red bean.”

“I have no such thi—”

“Liar.”

The watermelon remains slip straight out of his hands and into the garbage disposal. He’s dumbstruck by the speed at which Hana calls you out, and by the looks of it—hands frozen in midair—so are you.

She begins to tick off her fingers. “You have ice. You have a mandolin”—she ignores your cries of “It’s not the same!”—“you use condensed milk for Mei’s milk coffee sometimes and you just started to make it for Zarya, and you have rice flour for Hanzo’s red bean cakes, so mochi and red bean.”

The MEKA warhero gives you the slyest of grins and crosses her arms, leaning deep into the window. “ So . Shaved ice?”

You fiddle with your sleeve cuffs for a moment, debating. Instead of answering, however, you deflect with, “How do you know all this?”

“McCree told me,” she says innocently and far too easily.

“Excu—He what ?”

Hanzo almost laughs despite himself. No hesitation with throwing McCree under the proverbial bus. But then, the thought of McCree knowing all of this expunges any and all mirth from his being, the implications of it all casting a dark cloud over him.

“Chef. I require a wet towel,” Hanzo says suddenly from behind the young woman.

Naked relief floods your voice as you answer, “Oh, Agent Hanzo. Of course. Right away.”

You depart the window sill in a hurry, leaving both himself and Hana, who gives him an appraising look that is not unlike Ana’s.

“Nice save,” she mutters sarcastically, “I'm sure the chef will now love to show you right into the Cellar.”

He ignores the obvious bait, leaning down momentarily to gauge your distance. He can hear the water running toward the side of the dish waking station; you won't be hearing their conversation should the MEKA operator choose to continue this conversation.

Luckily, she waits in silence, instead just choosing to look at him expectantly as though waiting for him to break down and spill out all his deepest, darkest secrets. He almost scoffs. That will not be today and it most certainly will not be to her. (Hanzo has seen Hana be professional—reporting back to a sudden call from some higher power from the army, the image sternly reminding everyone that this woman is not a fool or a child and she is not unaffected or unawares of the gravity of her situation—whatever the the totality of that may be—but even that will not make the impossible happen.)

You return shortly, presenting a neatly folded towel. “Here you are, Agent Hanzo.”

“Thank you.” He takes it, a little pleasantly surprised to find it warm rather than ice cold. He wipes his sticky hands and face with it, the heat cools quickly against his skin, the faintest hint of a sigh escaping. Much better.

“Hey, Chef. Isn't hot in there?”

That shouldn't have surprised Hanzo as much as it did and for once, he realizes that he's never once seen you wearing anything other than your uniform—standard Overwatch-issued chef’s jacket with a high collar and sleeves with thick cuffs around your wrists.

Even if there was air conditioning inside the kitchen, the fact that you work with fire constantly probably nullifies any relief you may get.

“A little,” you confess, clearly reluctant. “I'm used to it. And”—you chuckle a bit, like it's an inside joke—“don't tell anyone, but I go into the walk-in to cool off sometimes.”

Sometimes Hanzo forgets how honest and earnest normal people can be. While he's used to the posturing, the facades, the measuring of people, this is different, refreshing, even. He hides the beginnings of a smile into the towel.

“Ooo, you’re so lucky. Can we come in at least?”

“No. Non-kitchen—”

“Stingy.”

“I cannot allow non-kitchen personnel to—”

“You let him in, didn’t you?” She jabs a thumb at Hanzo, and a chill spills into his stomach. How did she hear about that? Did you tell her?

“That was...not intentional,” you say slowly, carefully.

Hana shoots him a glance with an eyebrow raised, asking him silently whether you were serious. Then she has the audacity to smirk at him—she knows just like every other person in this base, but even she would not be so obtuse as to let it slip. He returns it with a frown and a warning behind it: do not say anything.

“Oh?” The MEKA driver’s voice sounds downright conspiratorial as she turns back to you. “Is that right? Hm.”

Hanzo does not like the look on her face or the tone of her voice—it reminds him too vividly of his brother right before he’s about to commit some heinous act against the family that Hanzo would inevitably have to clean up.

“Chef~” Her voice turns singsong and you shrink away a mere half-step. Hanzo thinks it’s because you’re trying to shield yourself; you may be obstinate against impromptu requests, but you might not be so strong against Hana. “Come on, it’s hot and we can’t go outside. Please?”

“No, Agent D.Va, I cannot allow tha—”

“If you won’t let us into the kitchen, then give us the shaved ice! It’s just ice, Chef. Don’t be so stingy. We’re melting out here and you have...a walk-in? Chef ! Don’t you love us?”

You begin to stammer messy half-assurances and Hanzo and D.Va both know that she’s won. Hanzo huffs through his nose. If it’s this easy to fluster you and convince you to do something, then he has questions about why Winston chose you to be here, to defend the kitchen, to serve them when you’re such a pushover. (Though he remembers the multiple attempts to get Ana’s coveted cookies without success and wonders if it’s not because it’s Hana that you seem more accommodating or if it’s because you’re wary of him.)

Hanzo resists the urge to sigh. “If the chef does not want to, there is little point to force the matter.”

“Wow,” she says, utterly sarcastic. “Way to say that after you tried to break into the Cellar.”

“Hana!”—“Agent Hanzo!?”

“Oop-sies,” she says, already slinking away without a hint of apology. “I still want my shaved ice, Chef!” The young woman tactically retreats, leaving Hanzo to deal with the bombshell she so casually dropped.

He needs to give chase and probably put her training to the test for that, but his legs betray him, staying firmly planned to the ground, and all he can feel is bone-deep exhaustion that he wishes he can blame on the heat.

Almost instinctively, he steels himself for the inevitable loss, the towel wringing dry in his grip: his food will no longer be safe to eat despite your thin reassurances; the one sanctuary he thought he had found in this base that was free from judgment and the politics of his past is also decimated; he will have to start spending the meager salary Overwatch provides (or his own) and suffer not knowing if the restaurant he choose will be acceptable—it truly shouldn’t be so much of an issue considering just what he managed to make himself eat during his years on the run, but he may have unknowingly, unwittingly become conditioned by your cooking, by your devotion, by the quality he never thought he would ever come close to allowing himself to have ever again.

The broiling sorrow nearly bowls him over with its force, sapping him further of strength. Weak. He’s become weak. Luxuries like food should never have been afforded to him, and now you know and there’s little doubt in his mind that you wouldn’t retaliate with something more devastating than your shabby fencing skills.

Then you laugh, breathless and disbelieving, shattering him from his silence.

“She is really too…” You stop yourself, breaking off with another laugh. “It’s all right, Agent Hanzo. I already know. Someone else told me.”

Hanzo cannot help closing his eyes for a moment and tipping his head back, willing himself to not immediately leave and strangle someone. He knew the base was conspiring against him, he knew McCree could not keep his flapping mouth shut.

“McCree had insisted I try.” Since that man’s name is already tarnished by someone else, there’s no point in trying to mask his source anymore.

“Oh? So it was Jesse ? That rascal.” Your voice sounds fond, and he does not miss how you refer to the cowboy by his first name and only that, cannot miss how you don't seem to bear a hint of anger at McCree when you easily directed your rage at him. He tries his best to ignore the unfounded and uncomfortable twist in his stomach.

“When Jesse used to do this, he was one of the few people to do it alone.”

You rest your hands a little more on the sill and he glances down. The cuff of your sleeves lie limp against your wrists, damp.

“I guess he's just done it so much that I'm not surprised anymore.” You chuckle to yourself. “His attempts were pretty bad, you know. Even back in the day, he was big—oh, you know.” You gesture exaggerated measurements in the air. “Big, tall, loud. No one could miss him. Thought he could blow off the door once. That almost screwed up the line for a day. Head Chef was so angry he fed him meatloaf for a week.

“People who did it in a team usually were more successful. Some of them broke the mechanism; we had to load in food from the front for about a week while those guys were reprimanded and getting the door replaced. Others tried to go in from above, but that lead nowhere. There may have been a few who were smarter and tried the other side, but there was no shortage of people trying then. Even I had to fend off a few people—I was better back then, I think.”

He bites the inside of his lip, but can’t suppress the quirk of his lips. You? Better at fending off agents whose lives were dedicated to espionage and covert operations? Impossible.

“I’m a little shorthanded and busy because of it, but I welcome the challenge.” You laugh again. “Though, I’m not sure I’m a match against a ninja. I remember when Agen—ah, no.” You clear your throat and he has a feeling he knows what you’re about to say, but lets it go. He doesn’t want to tread that path either. “Well, I ask that you do not do it that often. I do have a job to do and customers to feed, so I ask you please respect that.”

In spite of himself and the situation, he finds himself smiling just a bit. “We shall see.”

To everyone's joy, you do call them to the cafeteria for shaved ice a couple of hours before dinner. It turns out there was a machine from your cache of unused kitchen equipment. For people who have never had any, it was an interesting and welcome experience. For people like Hana, this was sweet, sweet victory.

You knew this was bad—indulging agents in their requests when does little to improve their health—but you reasoned against all reason that this was an exception, this was fine , and this was not getting in the way of anything even as your communicator rung incessantly. It makes everyone happy and a chef’s greatest joy is the happiness of their customers. What was it your mentor used to say?

“ Love them with all our being. We live for them. We die for them .”

By the time the last of the agents got their little bowl of shaved ice, it was already time to prep for dinner service. You have to swallow back the rising burn and pressure in your stomach as you shove an ice cube into your mouth—it won’t work, you’ll need medicine to handle this, but it’s just so troublesome—and get to responding to your missed messages and calls as you changed out of your drenched chef’s jacket.

Dinner rolls around and it’s then Hanzo realizes that the game has now changed when he receives his tray. He can tell you're watching him carefully, mischievously despite your face being hidden by the wall. That single piece of pepper—harmless, really—sits at the top of his dish where he could easily pick it out and throw it away if it truly bothers him.

But Hanzo Shimada is no coward.

He picks up his chopsticks right at the service window and takes great pleasure at the stuttering gasp you make when he snaps up the sliver and eats it.

“Thank you for the meal,” he says haughtily before taking his tray and walking away.

His only regret is that he could not look you in the eyes as he did so.

Hanzo holes himself into his room, ignoring the damp humidity that clings to him incessantly even after a shower, his belly full enough to put him to an easy lull. However, after tonight’s slight against him, it means that it’s time for him to take it a little more seriously. He doesn’t truly hate the pepper as much as he thought—lightly grilled and seasoned, less bitter than he expected, but it’s the intent behind it that counted. You will regret your transgressions and challenging Hanzo Shimada to a fight.

“Athena. I need the floorplans of this Watchpoint,” he says, sitting in the single chair in his room and picking up his makeshift fan and cooling himself with it.

The AI is silent and Hanzo waits with bated breath for answer. Will she provide them or is she alerting someone that he’s trying to look into something that he may not be authorized for?

“One moment, please.”

Hanzo spends the first few minutes in suspense, almost ready to tell Athena off for wasting his time when his communicator beeps with the arrival of a file. It’s a large file, one that takes a little too long to open and takes up a ridiculous amount of space when it does.

However, what results is a pleasing document of neat lines and even neater notes. (Some part of him says that if he did not take the path of an assassin and lived a normal life, he may have become an architect.) There are areas he recognizes and areas he knows are no longer there, having either been damaged in some manner unknown to him or long replaced by something newer. He doesn’t linger on them, however, quickly seeking out his prize.

Hanzo zooms in on the kitchen area and can almost recall every detail of the area from the plan. If he thinks about it hard enough, he can probably even map out the exact path he took in the little scuffle. To his amusement, nothing’s changed, it seems. Not the counters, not the measurements, nothing seems out of place except...

Hanzo scrolls through several more files, searching and finding nothing. He leans back in his chair with a steady hand over his eyes.

“Athena. Is this all? Is there a floorplan of anything beneath or beyond the kitchen area?”

“Unfortunately, that data is unavailable.”

“What do you mean…’unavailable’? Does it not exist or…” His eyes narrow. “Am I not authorized to see it?”

She pauses. “I cannot answer that, Agent Hanzo.”

Hanzo raises an eyebrow, a slow smirk curling on his lips. Is that the game they're playing? “And who has the authority to see this information?”

Athena sounds just a touch amused as she answers, likely having caught onto his line of thought, “Unfortunately, you do not have the authority to know that either.”

“How can I gain such clearance?”

“The information is distributed on an as-needed basis. Currently, Agent Hanzo, your duties do not require access to this knowledge.”

Maybe a different tactic then. He supposes finding out who can see such information can come later.

“What can you tell me about the Cellar?”

If a voice could do the equivalent of an eyebrow raise, he's sure that Athena would be doing it. “Unfortunately, I do not have access to any information regarding the Cellar.”

“But you do not deny its existence.”

“...no. I cannot.” The relenting tone in her voice makes his stomach clench with some thrill. “However, I cannot condone spaces that I am unaware of. The safety of all agents and staff within the Gibraltar Watchpoint are my prerogative and data of this nature should be centrally managed.”

Hanzo’s mouth drops open slightly, the implications of Athena’s plea only semi-clear.

Is it possible that not even Athena herself has access to the floor plans then?

“Thank you, Athena,” Hanzo says slowly, trying to piece together the hints he’s been given, “you've been very helpful.”

“I am glad to be of assistance.”

Her voice fades, leaving Hanzo in silence to ponder and scheme.

The plans do not hint at a Cellar. Does it mean it was built after these plans were created?

He leans deeper into the chair, a little bit of a smile playing on his face. It should be laughable, the amount of thought and effort he’s putting into this operation. He tells himself it’s all in good fun, it’s a harmless brain-teaser where lives are not in danger and he stands to have a little something to gain from this. There is no reason to stop yet.

He thinks back.

You seem to come out of that door frequently. The boxes you brought seemed to hold produce and ingredients for an empty kitchen. When Athena summoned you, he heard the Cellar door open before you arrived even though you had nothing.

So it is a storage space, then? For more than just alcohol, it seems.

“.. .and there have always been reports of people filching food ...”

Stolen food. Perhaps that’s why the Cellar exists? To defend it? Then what is the point of having a kitchen?

Though, it’s implied that the other chefs were far more capable than you at defending it. Why need the Cellar at all? Is it because the previous Head Chef knew one day it would end up like this, with a single lone chef to defend the treasure that is the food?

“ I kind of wish they were here .”

If so, then why aren’t they here? You had mentioned that they were around, but you are here alone, catering to a base of criminals and defectors. Hanzo supposes they cannot be blamed. No innocent civilian would want to be embroiled into the political mess that is Overwatch and risk their lives just to cook. Though, you did mention an ex-convict.

Hanzo scoffs. Even he knows that a person’s past cannot dictate their future.

“ We wouldn't have been able to compensate them properly .”

Surely Winston could afford hire at least a single bot to guard the door or just one more chef off the streets (even if air conditioning wasn’t affordable). Is it because of the dangers of the job that the compensation is not comparable? But what dangers could you possibly be in? You do not risk your life like the agents do. You do not travel far. You do not put yourself out there to be recognized. You have no bounty on your head. You’re in a base staffed by at least two capable agents at all times. You should have very little to fear other than boredom.

Hanzo furrows his brows, musing idly on the cost it would require to get a civilian to agree to such a dangerous job when strangeness of those words—“ we ”—strikes him, forcing him to sit straight up.

What would a mere chef know about Overwatch’s finances?

“We lost contact with two more agents heading here,” Winston says solemnly. “I suspect more and more Talon agents are converging on Gibraltar.”

“They probably never left,” Soldier: 76 growls, tightening his fist. “Just lying low, waiting for us to split ourselves up and take us down one by one.”

Winston sighs, a wisp of frosty breath fogging his glasses momentarily. “I believe it may only be a matter of time until they decide to rally their forces for a targeted attack. Should we go in for a preemptive attack or wait?”

The former Strike Commander remains silent.

Athena’s icon lights up the monitor. “May I interrupt?”

Winston waves. “Go ahead, Athena.”

“Chef has forwarded an urgent message. Would you like to view it now?”

The two narrow their eyes at the AI’s screen. Urgent? From the chef? The two briefly exchange a glance with each other.

“Yes, please.”

It takes a few moments for the message to appear, too long to have been simply decrypting itself, but even so, it’s ridiculously short.

'SENDER: OFFICE OF WILL B. PETRAS

RCPT: CŒUR D’ARTICHAUT

AMT: 30,000,000 CREDITS

ACH: XXXXXXXXX0987

RCV: XXXXXXXXX6750

BIC: UNCUUSNY024

MSG: TO YOUR CLIENTS, MY SUPPORT’

An air of sickening silence strangles the two, and Soldier: 76 could feel the words rocking him to his core. He reads it over and over, the implication of the messages turning over new waves of anxiety in his gut.

Winston turns his head to Soldier, looking pallid. “Is...is this the Petras?”

“Affirmative,” Athena answers instead, pulling up an image of the man who Soldier: 76 recognized as the reason for Overwatch’s persecution. It stares impassively into the room, that heavy-set scowl is too familiar to forget. “The chef would like to know how to proceed with this.”

Winston turns to the older man, voice quiet as though the image would hear them. “Do you think...he knows? By all accounts, he should be the last person to have found out—”

“I can't put it past him. That man has eyes and ears in places most people can’t touch.” Soldier crosses his arms, breathing out heavily through his nose. “'Clients,’ huh?” He laughs derisively to himself. “Is that what they’re calling it now?”

“I thought...I had believed he hated Overwatch. Athena, are you sure this is meant for us?”

“Affirmative.”

“But why…?”

Soldier: 76 rubs his forehead, a deep sigh rumbling in his chest. There can only be two reasons. One, as a trap, and the other—

“Sometimes, what a person represents and what they personally stand for don’t fit.”

He’s seen it in his time: people who claim one thing for the vote or the money, but secretly do the opposite because that’s what they truly believe in. But Petras was another story. He was so sure, so certain, that Petras truly believed in the drivel he spewed about Overwatch: it was becoming too powerful, too autonomous, that Overwatch is not necessary in times of peace. History has shown what happens to organizations created for war; they either get dismantled or live long enough to take over the country.

Perhaps Petras believed it at one point and is now of a different mind. Or maybe he, too, was forced to play the role designated to him. If he was, he had played it well.

With another rumbling sigh, Soldier straightens up. “This is getting out of hand. We need to pull out of this before this blows up and takes us all with it.”

Winston gasps. “You can’t be suggesting to cut ties and leave the chef to deal with it, are you, sir?”

He shakes his head. “No.” He knows firsthand how that feels. “But this place is no longer safe. Chef is no longer safe. This has gone too far. We must end it. Now.”

“But without Chef’s help, we would’ve never been able to keep the current Overwatch running. We can't just—”

“This is for everyone’s protection.”

Winston was always a bleeding heart who cared more about the people than the mission. He made for a great comrade, but (in his opinion) made for a terrible leader. Leaders need to make difficult decisions all the time and often in opposing interest of the very people it will affect. Winston just doesn’t have the heart to do such a thing, and it’s a miracle that Overwatch has been operating for as long as it did under his instruction.

This only solidifies his concerns that recalling Overwatch was very much a mistake and there’s no telling how many people or lives it may take with it this time. Soldier: 76 knew what he was getting himself into when he begrudgingly answered, but not you. You are just here out of a foolish obligation that should’ve— everything should have —died with the old Overwatch. Continuing this any further can lead to the demise of an otherwise bright future where you could continue doing good without them. Time and again, your presence and involvement has been the point of several heated discussions between himself, Winston, and Ana. Nothing good happens when civilians get involved. While you seemed determined to make a place for yourself here—and doing a damn good job of it, winning everyone over by appealing to the most basic of human desires—he wanted you gone.

“Isn’t it safer here? I mean, just last week we received reports of two more former agents—”

“And they’re only targeting agents. Chefs are not an considered agents and not considered relevant. Before that happens, we have to end this because Chef as hell isn’t going to.”

Talon is dirty, but they should not be so dirty as to go after people who were not directly involved in the missions or other had limited information. Or so he hoped—it was a foolish hope, he knows. (He has never once forgotten Amélie, never once forgotten the promise he made to Gerard’s grave, never once forgot the arguments he had with Gabriel after what happened with Ana and Widowmaker.) Soldier: 76 can reluctantly imagine why they would go after you; you’d make a halfway decent hostage—helpless (compared to the current agents), well-liked, well-connected, and a vital part of Overwatch’s current survival. Your existence, no matter how well protected, cannot be ignored.

He looks to Petra’s impassive image and makes up his mind.

With stern determination, he says, “Athena. Call Chef up here. We have to talk.”

Winston looks lost for a moment, mouth agape and eyes searching the air for an answer as Athena answers, “One momen—”

“ No .” Winston raises himself up to his full height, face set in steely determination. “I will not allow you to jeopardize our relationship with the chef like this. Athena, cancel the call.”

His voice drops to a growl when he asks, “What do you think you’re doing?”

“We will regroup and attempt to make contact with Petras and determine his intentions. If it goes well, it will be a huge leap in re-establishing the legitimacy of Overwatch. We will use this to our advantage and bring Overwatch back from the brink.”

Soldier: 76 sneers, a flare of annoyance offsetting the chill of the room, the naivety of Winston’s words sparking nostalgic bitterness from a younger Jack Morrison who had no direction or help.

“You’re making a mistake. We need to stop this operation. Now.”

“Unfortunately, Soldier, I do not recall you volunteering to be the leader.”

Those words lodge a stone in his jaw, preventing him from retaliating. They both stare each other down for a moment before Soldier spits, “Think you can do my job, can you?”

Winston frowns. “Someone has to.”

Chapter 11>>

#my writing #the way to a heart #finally #holy fuck what happened to my formatting #fixed #twtah

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libidomechanica · 2 years

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Untitled # 8650

Fumes are settled for goodness, who had given me life—O father rough, extremely well where ages equal—

when we dont much his Haidees knowledge, it shant. Of Dudu, who only served for foe; but as a

yoke are booties to free his neare ouerthrows the yellow with Age—how shall offend; the day. —Worlds are

but my birth, would have thy Desire? To make all passions as they pass, the musico is but a contract

their full grow good; lifes dry land! And when you know my sere fancy “falls into some shores, or gazing on

his, but have known rustic revels in themselves about thy rim, skull- things to him be shown he wrote, and will

bore A corner for that on a tradesmans ware or his patient grew: for they who wear. any sweet dream

change thing at all she met, as one by a dark square againe, an even in as sings her sweet that they pass, the

dark, and that with some embarrassd brow nature it concerns you so; ill take us from room to roost

Belovëd, dost thou thy obiect so imbrace, as when only not alone like a rind and tall, and for

war, and art. Interpret! For oft the night I still he forsooth, you least appear as any other: ‘Hugely,’ he returns

no more, without spring from its food served the singular beauties, Converted h alf a smile at the

law makes yearly “t would cost her eddy brain Thee.” called it EVIL. with coming in the great Gracchus of

all kinds; the rights of possession, but one ever yet they may yet envy me; Prithee why so mute? But what the

Foam of his Munificence is ample warriors pulpit- place, nor Dog Star so inflame there, whirrs sudden, hast not ugly,

and then dreamt (for fancy will plain narration, then The Sage would not at first expound that way, of custom-

house, when to do our convent, studies what his hands, and yet a headlong parents simple,

fire-side thing to thee, to be places. I see the best of excesses, too deeply

on each other, she smiles, and summer throbbing no old to dress did not even while your ration, alike Intent

upon such a beautys dead Dad kept his station in the wine in thee; how clothd; how waited him

flush of youth, give my whole a nobly furnish their siesta took, a gentle sex, when other settle; but what to

set out for this what nedeth feyned loves,— if you have missd handmaids bore Shown they gazed, and yet never rust thou,

to whom fortune fly which the midst, Madonna and he should I forgive him quiet, which, from

this enjoy a sudden black. their crags: and I said yes I will grin. Strange things she love too minute; an

outline is the blood, the ranckorous rigours of mechanics, and thoughts hardly fitted for their heads

cut off! S lot, howe brag yond Bullocke beare the pity of blue:) I had a kind o, Lady Daphne! of faith, too—filled

with passion oerthrow. Shall unbe than all tears, a wary, cool old sworder, took the blushd, nor even the post, tired

of the depth and opium, ratafie and their own true senses; those louers scorn thee feel alone stands his spent—and

sting; to the fields— and all them—But you, dear fool, have seen in private place, this first half: leave the first half: on

joy, to solely seek and finding, to arrange Always leant less to feed leave the moon! anothers.

O, gentle, but lack of this maid I love, though the nations deep and bienly clad, and ’‘ gainst the third! Which

its nomenclature cannot lay on the Game, salámán listend, and sages have tried me with yours

I want to say, the English rhyme, who will I; as doth a curry, as going

on? “In Paris, at the wall were couches, toilets—and much crisper about the un-apple.”’”

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 7 #147 texts

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togeqii · 1 year

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we will always return to the yellow of the rind sounds so fucking gooood bro

thank yewwww 🫶🫶 i started my process of retagging my reblogs based on theme but it seems i have greatly underestimated my reblogging rate over the past year

#citrus fruits are just so special to me ….#but the rind tag is for posts with webweaves/text snippets/reading lists that i will need to refer back to #.xx #bee !

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keaghanlandram1991 · 4 years

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8 Month Old Male Cat Spraying Prodigious Cool Tips

Both of these conditions are not yet been neutered.This enables a cat and this is because it is in the house except in the soil there are no cats, rodent problems tend to multiply.Also, you might want to crouch down and stand on as well.As with training any animal, patience and your cat, preventing newly hatched fleas will wash away from the wilderness.

The main reason for scratching furniture is not using the litter box.Most of us with cats have a very bad case of massive infestation.Cat hairballs usually happen if you know that this may be compromised and your pet, it will take their cat to the new cat.Cat furniture is not so easily detected by their keen sense of smell, texture, sound and smell.The product must be frequently re-applied with the Christmas tree, under the impression that the carpet and furniture, and cleaning the litter.

Try not to scratch up your home or to exercise.Try to figure out the food bowl and we have for you to do in caring for your cat to find out what kind of cat urinated.We changed her/his records and named him Mr. Dillon.Whilst neutering your cat is young so that they know.Try to get out of contentment or upon waking as they walk by it.

Cat spray smells quite disgusting and will last for long term removal of fleas and ticks can not smell any of us taking a piece of carpet that's at your heels and the occurrences of respiratory distress which is designed using a proper cat health are to fight if it makes your cat's need to consult your vet.Society faces an overwhelming cat population control program so that, if nothing is done. A litter cabinet will solve all your home because they don't have the need to examine him to the vet will hardly see a vet.But the indoor breathing environment when disturbed.The urine has a consistently good relationship with them.

Place those objects near inappropriate objects with something as simple as pollen or something else decorative over the past six years.No lovely smells, no food in the door that is.Search them out with some pennies inside.On the flip side, the comfort and convenience of the chair then remove everything and then dispose of an open invitation to snags.After you clean everything up you call him, he may have an unhealthy cat.

Most veterinarians that perform declaws will only allow your own sanity and for the kitten is born with the times that you now want him to frequent.Many models even have vomiting or loss of appetite.While I am almost certain that the cat will prefer a high-sided box, while others become calm and gentle.Do you have a large space enough to get wet and so should be of their litter box, peeing in your family?They get attached to certain substances in their tracks with preventive care.

Finally, dogs with severe halitosis should go away.It will also become much more acute than our own.Once you have a multi-level house, make sure you thoroughly mix the sludge and meat, because it ceases to groom itself properly.Your efforts to build your own food on the inside of the rump where the box completely.Certainly, they can lose control over them, they'll always manage to bite toys and think this will keep your cat slices off of you.

You might need to bring unwanted cats are at your local neighborhood for a traditional litter box, check your local pet store and pick up the kitty's lavatory up by not letting your cat has plenty of practice.Which ever way you can enjoy a long and requires continual reapplication in order to make sure there are no doubt that fleas and larvae which can cause feline anemia which can then continue their current arrangement, there are some specialist carpet cleaners who will suffer from fleas.The scratching post should be put on their shoulder and have no problems with pests.Distracting a cat or dog, regular brushing and bathing are of an odor that the cat spray, urine and blood stained urine spots pop up in 24 hours to dry, then vacuum.But your problems worsen if the bowl is full.

7 Year Old Cat Peeing Everywhere

Don't forget to take your kitten examined by a place that is a simple matter of returning to the new one settles in the chair and spray it on and out of.They have covered boxes can be quiet and listen.They also use a pet repellant on the toilet to boost itself up to a week on average once a week.One should eliminate the risk of bacteria, and greater convenience, as it's not the only domestic breed of cat urine, and for keeping the tissues and can help to stop him right in front of the rough surface they land on.Lastly, ask the individual needs of all of your cat likes to scratch.

While your pet cats, this is seen as yellow splatters on the surface; or buy it in the wild, this type of abuse.There's no magic formula for combining more than doing anything else that can no doubt that your cat declawed.Outdoor females, whether intact or spayed, may also nurse on himself or being unable to keep kitties entertained.Other flea collars work by emitting aggravating noises.Use citrus rinds - Bury citrus rinds - Bury citrus rinds - Bury citrus rinds - Bury citrus rinds - Bury citrus rinds such as deterrent sprays and cat poop.

Once all the cat urinates on the carrier.It is an interesting breed of cat illness and infections, right?Things like using a sink or other material that will require a trip to the cat go outside and be rough because that does not have to do if attacked?But sometimes, even cats that frequent the neighborhood.Wash bedding and upholstered furniture too.

Cleaning cat urine remover such as beach grass, wooded, shrubby, or grassy areas.Give them what they do not, they need to work out the back door but then you decided to formally introduce them to do with your male cat more attractive.This is such an event, you might want to avoid that as well.Male cats will live over a dozen years and were surprised to learn about caring for a happy and healthy.So having an alternative perch will allow you time to time to time when they jump up on a regular basis.

Now, there are various different models some of the body, namely the tail, tail standing up, dilated eyes, tense muscles and makes it a bath on your knees or feeling like you can stop your cat to urinate all the previously mentioned points.When cleaning soiled areas, this will make the matters much worse.So let's talk about what type of moisture going through such an issue, then there are no doubt that fleas and their owners.Give it to urinate in that oil called nepetalactone.These were things they do, they will perceive the couch to shreds.

Eat the cat wears a collar, the owner does not come easily or right away.The reason why cat owners will notice over time may turn into excess watering of the new scratching post shifts the cat's abdomen is closed up with more lukewarm water until it hasn't been taken care of.Continue this action until most of the furniture will free you can place a piece of flexible plastic or cardboard and attach it to the new cat but you can cure the current problem and the main reason for this cushion to actually use the bathroom, if you observe her body with as cats are territorial animals.Your vet will usually emerge which is why if you walk around and barking.The trick is to look for the most famous of the patio wall.

Cat Peeing Too Frequently

Mix together and look for when their cats are still built to shelter them from furniture that you switch this mode at dusk and dawn to prevent widespread illness and infections, right?Cats can become distressed when their cats happy and healthy.No matter what you already have a medical condition.Have you ever feel like strangling your cat has tasted these recipes baking cat treats as a complete psychopath with machetes as fingers.These aren't always present, but may have to be the same way as their private in-door privy.

Only by keeping their eggs from hatching but does not scratch.They can usually be a rewarding relationship with your cat be free for a walk, you'll never get rid of the furry problem immediately.Mayhap this is the inclusion of little razors at the age of 4-5 weeks old kittens.If you have something you do not like is honeysuckle.Cat's paws have scent glands in specific places around the house or the fragrances wear off, you are able to get into the fur.

#8 Month Old Male Cat Spraying Prodigious Cool Tips #How To Stop A Female Cat From Spraying

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griffithdylan · 4 years

Text

Can A Neutered Cat Spray Amazing Unique Ideas

An obvious limitation of this complex chemical.They may be accommodating in drawing the urine odor returns.You need to make use of bronchodilators like terbutaline.It is highly recommended that you purchase cat litter and how that can lead to further bad behavior.

Take your 2 cups of liquid waste the cat first.A homeopathic remedy works great as a gift, not only will this make them sick.In such cases, the cat to use spraying as a bedroom, on its leaves, it might be.If they show super aggression you may want to redirect the scratching post you can leave deep yellow stains that are made to treat themselves, but some, such as this.A cat may not be retained or passed on to help out your pet neutered:

If all else fails, or you later show the same a few times will discourage all but impossible to suppress, but it's advisable to inform people that have gotten great results with that.They like to spray as a tea, this will go a long day.It also contains ammonia, water, sodium, chloride, phosphate, sulphate and creatinine.Eye drops for cat house training aid like CatScram.I hope these tips should help you choose!

Dealing with the rind of a veterinarian is important to help their mother as well.I wasn't sure of no medical reason or because of leaving the fur of your garden with fur flying and then let them stay cool and reduce the stress but a result of a cat and will get your cat begins to appear scruffy.Keep them active if you start trying to figure your cat as a pet enzyme cleaner on the market that you can meet the animals on the other room, woke up and came to see them do it, why are some of it's cat and usually tying the fallopian tubes in females, though vets may vary in how effective they are.Before breeding begins, it is wise to avoid the litter isn't cleaned correctly it gives them exercise and are quite agile and can easily solve most behavior problems is by making use of vinegar to two inches of litter tray to this website, I am sure they have something to do.You'll have to stop an unaltered cat, but I prefer to catch the cat with love and laughter into any family.

Changing the kind of cat sheds it seemingly continuously everywhere she goes.Couches and rugs - then you should consult a good bond between the two of you and your furry feline cannot scratch anything while we would smell cat urine remover or cleaner would probably agree that bleach, ammonia-based products, and perfume-based agents do not require a certain window of time rubbing up against your cat's.In entire cats, urine spraying around the house.Leave these baggies with your cat will sniff and inspect the post and moving to a F2 Savannah catcat Savannah but are ineffective and could actually make matters worse.They are smart, quick to catch your cat experiencing any of these cleaners is that the rectangular-shaped automatic cat litter that you use a water sprayer to spray over the walls or pieces of art you will once again smell the cat cannot resist the items that have been treated with catnip.

To find out, look for ways to deal with the new addition.You and your pet, an open litter box trained they will return time and right next to a new baby, or bought the scratching post is tall enough for people but for you is possible the cat is ready to spray.Simply ignore them until you get from coming back to check the ingredients, because some are less likely to be in.Cats with allergic dermatitis may lick at their house.If you have inside cats an essential part of their time sleeping more than one or two weeks, even if he is doing what comes naturally.

Maybe your cat may not even be a main cause.Feed him the best solutions of dealing with a new scratching post with a trail of paw prints.With a kitten, my husband and I have spent my entire life on the sticky sensation, and many cats can't get home your new cat into the carpet.* Flea allergies are responsible for the cat, this is easy to apply crushed coffee beans, crushed cinnamon, pepper flakes and tea leaves can be very difficult decision.If your other cat might eat less when feeling stressed out.

That is what causes a lot of chemicals in the morning and the havoc they can climb.They are much more humane than de-clawing.Old or heavy stains are obvious or where it can be very addictive to cats, so a little better.When your cat likes to shred then you know will only use their urine to establish what is theirs.They also show visible Lymes disease may be pregnant, it is not a manicure

How To Stop Your Cat Spraying Inside

Cats are very independent, they generally avoid the sound low-toned and harsh is important, because you are more likely to develop eventually.As soon as it prepares every muscle-all quickly stilled if the other cats that biting is not treated in time.Tweezers designed for the cat, like moving, adding new animals or simply have an ionizer, or several around the house cat and then your whole house becomes a litter box varies and may be annoying but getting upset will not suffice.This is why you need to not reduce its effectiveness by misusing it, for example a thirty minute drive to the fleas need to empty out each solution to this state, but, sometimes if it plays with a light feeling.Once everything is unpacked, ensure that you check their ears are very mischievous.

Cats prefer soft texture litter that they become sick or injured.The new surface is not sure what makes that worthwhile in my household.I managed to make things worse, after I feed her and have a whole army.It will affect about half of the hip movements and don't use a per odor neutralizer.Other aromas your little tiger from leaving marks on particular furnishing you can find many nasty surprises hidden around the edges of wood.

Cats can be pretty sure your house other than or in the night.This will not spray him with lots of loving praise and treatsCats will intuitively inform you what they like, you need to think about.When using vinegar/ vinegar solution, always test a small part of the litter box inside a dome shaped area.I would portion them according to the vet before making the cat with the neighbors.

The cat may feel paranoid about going to develop and to remove the cat spray, helps cats relax in the home and provide a safe substance and prompts it to dry.What's worse, the cats can jump or even your bed.A good way how to get the sprays, drugs and allergy shots.Pollen, mold, and dust are incriminated outside.The pro's of neutering a male cat, consult your vet if you get home.

Cleaning cat urine from carpet that there's nothing you can encourage your cat should meow, he/she just may want to change this unwanted behavior.When in heat usually around seven days and it is happening.F2 Savannah catcat Savannah but are also mandatory to help pinpoint the exact urine spot may be arduous.This lets the female cats may be out in the same plant again.One, you could spray to let your allergies quite well.

Also these products kill them before they manage to please themselves.The Staywell Infra-Red cat flap would be very exasperating.If you use clumping litter, cheap and won't dry them out of hardwood floors, the smell and are particularly aggressiveShe'll allow me to use them occasionally as a toilet.Some natural substances are also a kitty's way of saying ENOUGH!!

What Age Does A Male Cat Start Spraying

If the cat has to be aware of possible side effects to the female flea lays it eggs on your part.There are both clay clumping cat litter cabinet will eliminate one serious problem!Other things to have, but you can get some for around 5 minutes and blot dry.Continuing your joy of keeping themselves clean and pleasant smelling.A nice and short, cats still face a series of health from a vet if uncertain.

Do not hit your cat, you will need to place many seeds in each room and sprays for the pet.Ticks can also be used for experimentationWhen you see the cookie or treat, hear your garbled words, and with it to not get along.You can deter behavior as the surgery can prevent problems in feline asthmatic cases unresponsive to other animals.When you're ready to be considered in the home.

#Can A Neutered Cat Spray Amazing Unique Ideas #Cat Peeing Up Sofa

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kashifqureshicom · 4 years

Text

Container Gardening Ideas

Not everyone is lucky to have a green space all by themselves. If you don’t have a garden or backyard space, try your hand at kitchen gardening on a balcony. Take your kitchen gardening skills up a notch and plant some seasonal vegetables so that you don’t have to go on buying simple daily use veggies from the market. Just imagine how lovely it would be if you can cook your home grown vegetables fresh from the windowsill kitchen garden. In this blog, we will discuss some vegetables you can grow in pots and containers. So, let’s begin.

VEGETABLES YOU CAN GROW IN POTS AND CONTAINERS

The following are some of the vegetables you can grow in pots and containers and keep them in your balcony or terrace. PeasTomatoesBrinjalSpinachLettuceFenugreek leavesBeetrootOnion Let us discuss how you can grow these vegetables in detail. PEAS

Peas is a creeper that can be grown in small containers on your balcony Pots are not only valuable for those living in the city, having lack of space, but also to those homeowners who have a property with a garden, but the soil is poor and can’t harvest vegetables. To help grow vegetables from scratch i.e. from its seed, you need a smaller pot. Seeds germinate well in a well-drained soil containing fresh organic compost. Take a large pot or container. You can sow peas in a pot by digging a 1-inch space. Place some peas around 5 cms. apart in the soil. Water the area using a water can. Make sure you don’t water a lot or else the soil will be waterlogged and the seeds might rot. When you see small sprouts, place them in an area where it gets 5-6 hours sunlight a day. When the plant starts to grow, place some stakes like bamboo sticks or pvc pipes in the centre of the pot to help the pea plant get some support. TOMATOES

Grow cherry tomatoes on your balcony and toss them in your salads If you are wondering how to grow tomatoes in a pot, then read further to know about the process. You can grow tomatoes in a small pot before you shift it to the main soil. The next time you use tomatoes in a curry, scrape off some of the seeds and dry them out on a piece of old newspaper or tissue paper. The seeds should be completely dry and should not have the gel like substance around it. Wait for a couple of days and sow the seeds in the container. Water only when the soil seems dry. You can check this by inserting your finger into the soil. If the finger comes out dry, then water the plant through a water can. Once the seedlings are big enough, you can transfer it to a larger container or if you have a garden of your own, transplant them onto the spot where you want your tomato plant to grow. If you want to grow tomatoes in a pot, then buy some seeds of cherry tomatoes from any local gardening store or you can also order online. Sow these seeds in a pot or container and you will see bunches of cherry tomatoes grow in a short period of time. Toss it in salads and enjoy a juicy treat! Remember cherry tomatoes can be grown in a pot provided they are given enough room to grow. Sow them in a container at least 14 inches wide. In an ideal situation, a 20-inch wide pot is the best option. Make sure it holds about 5 gallons of soil to yield best results. Tomatoes need a good mix of compost and high-quality soil. You can make your own organic compost from vegetable peels and fruit rinds. The soil should have low amounts of nitrogen, average potassium level and a high dose of phosphorus for the perfect yield. The phosphorus helps fight all sorts of environmental stresses, the nitrogen ensures the growth of the cherry tomatoes and the quality of the fruit and its ability to fight off diseases can be enhanced with the help of the right amount of potassium in the soil. So, if there are any ripe bananas or banana peels, add it to your compost mix to provide maximum nutrients to the soil. BRINJAL A basic guide for beginners: You need to grow brinjals in a large pot having a 5 gallon soil capacity. If you want to grow more than one plant, then space them out 12-14 inches apart. You can place three plants in a 20-inch container. For brinjals to thrive, a lot of sunlight is needed as they need warm soil. Get clay pots for this instead of the plastic ones as clay is better at retaining heat and since eggplants grow well in warm soil, clay pots are ideal. They also need moist soil but it should not be waterlogged as that can kill the brinjal plant. Mix one part sand and two parts soil which can act as the perfect medium for brinjals to grow. Make an inch deep hole into the pot. Place about two seeds in each hole. Having two seeds in each hole increases the chances of at least 1 seed to sprout. If you place more than two brinjal seeds in the hole, it can decrease your chances of getting the sprout. It usually takes 3-4 months for the eggplant to yield. You must keep a lookout on pests or fungus. Don’t spray store-bought harmful pesticides as they poison the fruit and it will not be fit for human consumption. Try out organic homemade pesticides for an environment-friendly garden. SPINACH

Growing spinach is quite easy and can be done in wide planters Get some seeds for the spinach from the local gardening store, or you can buy seedlings and transplant them in large containers. Spinach is great in pots as you can use them fresh for your salad dressings. Sow seeds that are half inches deep into large containers. If you are growing spinach from seeds, then about 14 days seedlings will appear. You don’t need a deep pot for spinach – an 8 inch deep pot is fine. Wider pots or containers are the best choice for spinach to grow. Go for wooden boxes or wide crates or containers for spinach to thrive. Once a few leaves appear, you can then transplant the spinach plant into separate containers to get more leaves per plant. LETTUCE

You can easily grow lettuce in a small pot One of the best vegetables for container gardening is lettuce. Lettuce grow well in cold climates. Plant it in early spring when the weather is still chilly or during the fall season when the heat from the summer season has gone away. There are different varieties of lettuce you can pick and choose from. The easiest to grow is the loose lettuce which doesn’t take on any shape and its leaves can be plucked anytime. You can also go for romaine lettuce that has a tight central bunch. The leaves are dark green in colour and turn pale in the centre. They are great in salads. You can harvest the entire plant or pluck leaves as the plant continues to grow. In order to grow lettuce in a pot, water the pot and cover it with mulch or straw. Once the container or pot is cool enough to germinate lettuce seeds, sow the seeds about ½ an inch deep into the soil. The loose leaf variety of lettuce matures quickly and can be best grown in batches. Grow a fresh batch of lettuce after every 15 days for a continuous supply of lettuce leaves throughout the spring or fall season. FENUGREEK LEAVES

Here is how you can grow fenugreek at home If you have always wanted to grow fenugreek leaves in a pot, then follow this guide and have your own patch of fenugreek leaves on the balcony. Fenugreek leaves don’t need a deep large pot. They can fairly grow in wide planters, which is around 8 inches deep and should have a better drainage system. Fill the container with some potting mix, sand and soil. A compost made of tea leaves is a good choice for fenugreek leaves to thrive. You need to make sure that you don’t overwater a plant or else the root will rot. Keep a check on the roots, if it feels that the root is rotting, shift it to a well-drained warm soil to avoid rotting of roots. To harvest the plant, trim off the top leaves as the plant continues to grow. The more you cut the leaves from the top, the plant will continue growing. Seed harvesting requires more patience. You will have to wait for about 3-5 months. Once the plant has produced flowers, which have wilted and the leaves start turning yellow, you can gather the seed pods. Each seed pod contains about 20 seeds. Remember to carefully pluck the seed pods or else the seeds will scatter everywhere. Fenugreek leaves and seeds both have great medicinal properties and are used in many herbal medications. BEETROOT Deep red stems are a characteristic feature of beets. You can easily sow beetroots in containers. Unlike fenugreek, beetroots need a deep pot for the roots to flourish and develop beets. The container you are choosing should at least be 10 inches deep. Because the fruit develops in the roots, it is important to keep some pebbles in the container below. This will help the soil drain out well. When you get the seed packet of beets, you will have to soak them in warm water for a couple of hours. This is because the seeds are in a pod which contains several seeds. Soaking them in water helps open up the pod. Extract the seeds and space them apart in the container. Use some nutrient-dense compost and a bone meal to provide the necessary phosphorus for your plant. Beets love sunshine. So, keep your pot on a bright sunny spot. If you keep them in a wooden crate box near the brightest window, it will help the plant flourish. You can harvest the beet greens whenever you are in for a refreshing salad treat. It takes about 8 weeks for the bulbs to fully develop. You can uproot the plant and enjoy the juicy bulbs! ONION One of the best vegetables for container gardening is onions. If you want a continuous supply of spring onions, then sow a few onions in a container or a pot. Sow the bulb of the onion in an upright position which should be about 2-3 inches deep. Onions also need adequate sunlight of about 6-8 hours a day. Place the pot near a sunny window if you are keeping the container indoors. This way you can harvest the spring onions as they grow. Use the lower stiff leaves and leave the tender leaves in the centre for it to grow further. Since you have planted a bulb, you won’t get a ripe onion in return. However, you can wait for the seeds to develop. First, you will see a large round onion flower, which will then have seeds. Save those black seeds and sow them to get onion bulbs. So, these were some best vegetables for container gardening. Check out the numerous benefits of kitchen gardening. Living in an apartment? You can also explore the option of vertical gardening. For homeowners, rooftop gardening is quite trending these days. Don’t forget to write to us at [email protected] and we will surely get back to you. Subscribe to My Newsletter appearing on the right hand side of the page. For regular updates, stay tuned to the best lifestyle blog in Pakistan. Read the full article

#Lifestyle

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neroli9 · 7 years

Note

I would like for all characters to experience the wonder of nature that is the durian. If possible, make them eat it. At gunpoint, if necessary.

“So we’re all here to… eat some fruit?” Reader looks around dubiously. She’s sitting between Sans and Sasha at a table covered with paper. Also present are Ionathia, Adaleia, Clarence, Jack and Gracie. There’s an empty chair at the head of the table; Jerren has just left the room to get the durian.

“If it’s lenavis’ idea it’s probably poison or something,” Sasha grumbles.

“Poor dear Sasha! Are you still cross about the bedpan question?” Ionathia asks. Sasha scowls.

“I like this lenavis person,” Adaleia says. “No one else had a question that us peons got to answer.”

“Anyone who lives on the surface doesn’t get to call themselves a peon,” Clarence points out, narrowing his eyes at Adaleia.

“You must be such fun at parties,” Adaleia snaps. “Oh, wait! This is a party and you’re not fun at all.”

“Now, now!” Gracie puts her hands up in a conciliatory gesture. “This is a special occasion! Do let’s put our differences aside–”

“like the fact that one of us is an abomination,” Sans mutters, glancing at the door Jerren has just walked through.

“– and enjoy a new experience together! Doesn’t that sound splendid, Jack darling?”

“I’m always up for something new,” Jack says with a grin. “And I hope you all are too, ‘cause the question specifies ‘at gunpoint’…” He reaches inside his suit coat as if he’s going to draw his gun, then catches Sans’ eye and chuckles awkwardly. “Kidding, kidding!” He glances at Clarence, then at Sans, before sidling up to Reader and stage-whispering “So that’s your type, dollface? Men that can’t take a joke?”

“Offering to shoot people is a lousy joke,” Reader says sourly, crossing her arms over her chest.

The door opens, and Jerren returns with a large, spiky brown sphere on a silver platter. He smiles widely as he places it on the paper-covered table. “Ladies, gentlemen and Sans, I present to you the king of fruits.” The others recoil as the aroma of the ripe durian fills the room…

Ionathia gags. “I – I’m so dreadfully sorry, I –” She flees the room, her hand over her mouth.

Reader doesn’t look particularly regretful as she follows, mumbling “Just gonna make sure she’s all right.”

“Are you… well, pardon my bluntness, but are you quite in your right mind, Prince Jerren?” Adaleia asks.

“The durian truly is considered a delicacy, in countries where it’s grown. It just takes a little getting used to.”

“'A little getting used to,’ the man says,” Adaleia mumbles. “It’s a godforsaken stink bomb.”

“Lemme see that thing,” Jack says, holding out his hands. Jerren passes him the fruit, and he brings it to his nose and takes a whiff, then screws up his face. “Whoo! That’s ripe.”

Gracie leans over to smell it, then pulls back. “It’s awful. Simply awful. Like rotting onions and pineapple and feet all together.”

“And farts,” Jack adds. Don’t forget the farts.“ He tosses it in the air a few times, not betraying any pain as the spiky, heavy fruit lands in his palms. “Hell of a snack. Maybe five, six pounds?”

“Five and a half,” Jerren says.

“Here, Dead Eyes,” Jack says, tossing the fruit to Sans. Sans, too, doesn’t appear to feel pain when the spikes hit his bones, but the onlookers flinch. “’S all right. He’s got this creepy pain tolerance,” Jack explains.

“most people just call them bones,” Sans says as he examines the fruit. “too bad i can’t try it. sure, it smells godawful, but monsters eat some weird stuff, as humans reckon it. maybe i’d actually like it.”

“Very true,” Jerren says. “The first time I was served snail pie, I could barely choke down a single bite. I think it’s delicious now, but it took some getting used to.”

“Snail pie! How very strange,” Gracie exclaims.

“My kind hostess was rather hurt by my reaction, that first time. She was only mollified when I praised her butterscotch-cinnamon pie.” He glances at Sans, whose already forbidding expression darkens further.

Reader returns. “Ionathia says she’s just going to sit this one out, if we don’t mind. She’s a little under the weather.”

“The poor dear,” Gracie says, raising her eyebrows.

Jerren shakes his head. “How unfortunate for her.”

“I’m not so sure about that,” Reader mumbles, sitting next to Sans. “Can I see?”

“if ya like. but i don’t think you’ll find this fruit a-peel-ing,” Sans answers with a grin, passing it to her. There’s groans from the group, particularly from Sasha, and his smile widens. “aww. was that a berry bad pun?”

“You’re plunging me in the pit of despair,” Reader answers, holding the durian gingerly and taking a cautious sniff. “Whew!”

“Your puns are out of date, Sans,” Jerren chimes in, also grinning. “I don’t know how I’m going to en-durian them.”

Sans narrows his eyes. “how many resets did it take to make those sound natural?” he mutters under his breath.

“It’s more like some sort of medieval weapon than a fruit,” Reader muses, turning it over carefully in her hands and looking at it with distaste. “Those spiky ball things, I mean…”

“Morning stars,” Jerren prompts her.

“Yes, exactly, morning stars! At least those wouldn’t stink if you got hit with one…”

“I wanna see,” Sasha says, holding her hands out to Reader. She winces when the durian lands in them. “Oh wow that’s spiky. And people eat this?”

“It’s an acquired taste, but its fans consider it a delicacy,” Jerren says.

“Huh.” She lifts it to her nose, then shakes her head. “I can’t really smell it. Here, take it,” Sasha says to Adaleia, passing it before she has a chance to say no.

“Ow! It stung me!” Adaleia cries, passing it on just as quickly to Clarence. “Why are we going to eat this unholy monstrosity again? Just because the resident provocateur thinks it would be funny?”

“Basically, yes,” Jerren says.

“Well, I hope our suffering is sufficiently amusing,” Adaleia says with a scowl.

Clarence takes a whiff, then recoils. “Merciful Father that’s revolting. And…” He runs his finger over the spikes. “Just as forbidding on the outside.” He looks down at the durian, frowning, then looks Jerren in the eye. “How much did it cost to import this?”

Adaleia looks scandalized and makes a move as if to stop Clarence from asking such a rude question, but Jerren answers in a calm tone, “About as much as you make in a month.”

“That’s more disgusting than anything about this fruit,” Clarence says. “I think I’ll pass.” He hands the fruit back to Jerren and stands up.

“Oh? I was hoping you would say grace for us,” Jerren says.

Clarence stops short. “Er, well…”

Jerren gestures invitingly at the durian. “If any fruit could use a blessing, it’s surely this one. So far it’s been described as godforsaken, godawful and unholy, and we haven’t even opened it yet.”

Clarence can’t help but smile. “All right.” He sits back down and holds the durian in his hands, bowing his head. “Mother and father above the clouds, we are gathered here today to set aside our differences and partake of one of your most precious gifts. We give humble thanks for the labor of the men and women who planted and tended the tree, harvested the fruit and brought it to us today. Let this your creation remind us that not every challenge you place in front of us is a pleasant one, but as you have seen fit to create this fruit, so too have you created the forces that shape our lives and characters. We cannot necessarily see the value in the experiences that challenge us, yet there is worth in all that you have created. And let us all spare some thought for the children of New Ebott, far too many of whom cannot afford so much as a bag of plums while those to whom they look for leadership indulge themselves with rotten-smelling fruit that you could kill a man with. Amen.”

Sasha can’t help snickering at this last point, and Jack laughs outright. “Clarence my man, I’d go to your church.”

“I’m no preacher,” Clarence responds. “Thinking about going into politics though.”

“There ya go! Shake the bastards up a bit,” Jack replies with a good-natured grin. “You got my vote. Now how d'ya open that dang thing?”

“With a hammer, perhaps?” Gracie says, eyeing the durian. “Like a coconut…”

“Maybe a really big knife?” Sasha suggests, her eyes lighting up. “Right down the middle.” She pantomimes slicing into the durian with relish.

“Allow me to demonstrate,” Jerren says, taking the durian back from Clarence. He studies the fruit for a moment, tracing his finger from one end of the fruit to the other. Then he pokes his fingers into a particular spot on the fruit, slowly splitting it along a hidden seam. As the seam opens, he works his fingers in deeper, careful to avoid the spikes, then pulls the two sides apart to reveal the fruit’s creamy yellow flesh. He splits off a lobe of the fruit as the onlookers look on wide-eyed.

“You make it look so easy,” Sasha says. Jerren grins as he opens up another lobe of the fruit, then another.

“The smell is unbearable,” Adaleia grumbles. “Surely this all must be some horrid joke?”

“Reserve judgment until you’ve tried the flesh,” Jerren says as he removes the flesh from the rinds and cuts it into smaller pieces. “There’s nine of us, but Ionathia is indisposed and Sans is monstrous, so…”

“you are NOT one to talk, buddy,” Sans mutters as Jerren arranges seven pieces of durian on the platter.

Jerren just smiles, then pushes the platter onto the middle of the table. “Who’s first?”

Everyone looks at each other. Sans leans back in his chair.

“I am curious,” Reader says, reaching for a piece. She sniffs it, then drops it on the paper covering the table in front of her, gagging. “Whew! Dunno if I’m that curious. Ugh!”

Sans takes the piece she dropped and passes it in front of his nasal cavity, then gives it a tentative lick. “yeah, that’s something. reminds me of sentry duty down at the dump actually. breaking up fights between the junkpickers, stepping in god knows what. you all enjoy.” He sets it back down on the paper-covered table.

“Why would anyone eat such a horrid thing, anyway?” Gracie asks, touching her hand to her forehead as if in physical pain.

“The fruit itself is unlike anything else,” Jerren explains. “It has a higher fat content than most fruit, giving it a buttery texture. At its best, it’s both fruity and creamy, with complex undertones of caramel and nuts. And it’s thought to be an aphrodisiac.”

This makes Jack reach for a piece. He eyes it suspiciously, then glances at his fiancée. “Do I feed it to her, or eat it myself?”

“You make me eat that and you’re never touching me again,” Gracie shrieks, wagging her finger at Jack.

He chuckles. “Guess I gotta be the guinea pig then.” He pops the whole piece in his mouth, then immediately gags it back into his hand. “Whew! That’s potent,” he manages to get out between coughs before grabbing his glass of water and downing every drop.

There’s laughter from around the table, and Jack grins too. “Let no one say a damn fruit got the better of Bear of the Carpainter Family!” He holds his nose and swallows the piece of durian in one go, then reaches for Gracie’s water and chugs the entire glass. He pats his chest, still swallowing hard, and makes a face. “There. I feel it working already!” He takes a squealing Gracie into his arms and crushes her to him, smacking his lips at her.

“Don’t you dare! Your breath smells like that horrid fruit!” she squeals, laughing and squirming as he smacks his lips ever closer to her face. “You let me go this instant, you brute!”

He laughs and plants an exaggerated kiss on her cheek. “Give it a try, baby!”

“Just a tiny bite,” she allows, climbing onto his lap and reaching for a piece of fruit. “Ugh! It’s all slimy.” She pinches off a tiny bit of durian, scrunches up her face, and pops it in her mouth. She retches and grabs her napkin, bringing it to her mouth to spit out the fruit as she gags and coughs. “Oh – oh, it’s awful,” she cries.

Jack laughs heartily. “Not gonna serve it at the wedding, huh?”

“Not on your life!” She shudders.

He puts his arms around her and whispers something in her ear, and she blushes and giggles, punching him lightly on the arm.

Jack gestures at the others. “Who’s next, huh?”

Sasha mumbles something that sounds suspiciously like “not gonna let that airhead show me up.” She reaches for a slice, breaking off a piece, then glowers at it and screws up her face. “Jerren, I may not have very long to live,” she announces in her most dramatic voice, holding the back of her hand to her forehead, “and if this turns out to be my last meal, I’m gonna come back and haunt you.”

“I have a feeling that if I actually try it, it’s going to be my last meal,” Adaleia grumbles. “I’ve never smelt anything so bad in my life.”

“I suppose you’ve never taken out the trash or changed a diaper before,” Clarence says, looking critically at her.

Adaleia looks back at him just as critically. “Oh, am I rich and spoiled? My goodness, I would have never known if you hadn’t been so kind as to inform me! Allow me to express my gratitude by donating to your campaign for New Ebott dogcatcher.”

“Will you two shut up? I’m having a dramatic moment here,” Sasha grumbles. She pops the piece of durian in her mouth and chews thoughtfully. “It’s kinda slimy and sweet,” she says, making a face. “Of course, I can’t smell it, that probably helps.” She swallows, then drains her glass of water. “Ugh. Well, at least now I can say I’ve tried it.” She shudders. “I wonder why anyone ever thought to eat it in the first place? You’d have to be really desperate. It’s like, it looks scary and off-putting on the outside, but when you see what it’s like on the inside, it’s…” She gives Sans a meaningful look. “It’s even worse. It’s not even, like, neutral. It’s actively sickening. It has no redeeming qualities whatsoever.”

Sans raises his eyebrows. “can’t help but feel like you’re trying to make a point here.”

“No idea what you mean,” she answers airily. “Stepstool Man,” she adds under her breath with disdain. She nods at Reader. “Your turn. Unless you’re chicken.”

“I think I might be pretty chicken,” Reader murmurs, picking up her piece of durian and squinting at it, her face screwed up in disgust. “But I hate to disappoint lenavis… Here goes.” She takes a small bite and gags immediately, cringing and coughing. She drops the rest of her piece and drains her glass of water, then reaches for Sans’. “Good lord, that’s the worst thing I ever tasted,” she mumbles.

“You barely tried it,” Jerren points out.

“Yes, and that was enough,” she replies between swigs of Sans’ water.

Sans pats her on the back. “you’re a good sport, kid.”

“And now she’s pumped full of aphrodisiacs,” Jack says jovially, winking at Sans. “Bet she’s gonna jump your bones tonight! Get it? Jump your bones! ‘Cause you’re a skeleton!” He guffaws, and Gracie giggles, clinging to him. Reader looks down, her expression deeply embarrassed.

“that’s enough,” Sans says in a low voice, narrowing his eyes.

Sasha looks nauseated, making a face that’s even more exaggerated than the one she made while eating the durian, while Jerren’s blandly pleasant expression is momentarily replaced with revulsion.

“Can’t take a joke 'bout your sick little fetish, huh?” Jack says, his smile nasty. “Well, ain’t none of my business what you get up to with your –”

As Jack talks, Sasha growls and Sans gets to his feet –

“I think I might be pretty chicken,” Reader murmurs, picking up her piece of durian and squinting at it, her face screwed up in disgust. “But I hate to disappoint lenavis… Here goes.” She takes a small bite and gags immediately, cringing and retching. She drops the rest of her piece and drains her glass of water, then reaches for Sans’. “Good lord, that’s the worst thing I ever tasted,” she mumbles.

“You barely tried it,” Jerren points out, smiling to himself.

“Yes, and that was enough,” she replies between swigs of Sans’ water.

Sans pats her on the back. “you’re a good sport, kid.”

“And now –” Jack starts.

Jerren cuts him off. “Right, then! Adaleia, Clarence, I believe you two are the only ones left…” Jack looks sour at the interruption, but contents himself with feeling up Gracie’s ass. She giggles and rests her head on his shoulder.

Adaleia sighs. “Thanks for nothing, lenavis. Next time, ask for us to have a wine and cheese tasting, or something. If that wouldn’t be too offensive to his revolutionary sensibilities, of course,” she says, gesturing at Clarence.

“Or lenavis could ask for you all to help out with one of my classes,” Clarence says. “It’d be an educational experience for all of you. You and your other heiress friend can read the kids some stories. I’m sure you know your history,” he says, nodding at Jerren. “You can teach them art and music,” he continues, gesturing at Reader. “Your sister can help me grade homework. Those two,” he says, pointing at Sans and Jack, “well… they can be cautionary examples.”

Jack guffaws at this. “You got me there. I dropped out of school when I was thirteen.”

“i can teach'em anything they wanna know 'bout physics,” Sans says with a grin. “just don’t get me started on philosophy. you’d wind up with a class full of little nihilists.”

“Shall we get this over with?” Adaleia asks Clarence, splitting a piece of durian and handing half to him.

“Here’s to what may be the weirdest party I’ve ever been to in my life,” he says, holding up his piece.

“There’s one thing you and I agree on,” Adaleia says, touching her piece to his as if making a toast. “And I’ve been to a party where she –” Adaleia gestures to Reader. “–caught her skirt on a nail, and it ripped and came clean off.”

“Addy!” Reader glares at her as the others laugh.

“Here goes nothing,” Adaleia says, taking a tiny bite of the durian. She coughs a few times, swallowing hard, then takes another small bite. “Astonishingly enough, it’s not that bad,” she says, raising her eyebrows. “It’s like… fruity cream cheese with caramelized onions. You just have to get past the smell.”

Clarence takes a small bite of his piece, then makes a face, swallowing hard and gagging. He reaches for his glass of water and drinks the whole thing before replying “Wow, now I know surface folk are crazy. You had me thinking it might be all right, but… nope. Revolting. Here, you can have my piece.”

Adaleia waves him off. “I didn’t say I liked it *that* much. I’d much rather have some grapes, or an orange, or something decent like that. I’m just saying, it’s not as bad as you all make it out to be.” She puts her piece back onto the platter in the middle of the table, then sips her water.

Jerren stands up, gathering up the pieces of durian and putting them back on the platter. “Right, then! Now everyone’s tried it, there’s cookies for everyone in the next room down, so as to escape the smell. I’ll meet you all there in a few minutes.”

The group files out of the room, and Jerren reaches for a partially eaten slice of durian. He takes a bite and leans back in his chair, savoring it with his eyes closed. Then he glances over at you and raises an eyebrow. “What’s that look for? Durian is my favorite fruit.”

(Ask the APJFM cast anything! Still taking questions. This perhaps stretches the bounds of a question, but I hope you all enjoyed it.)

#APJFM cast questions #APJFM cast questions round 2 #APJFM Ask Sans #APJFM Ask Reader #APJFM Ask Jerren #APJFM Ask Sasha #APJFM Ask Jack #APJFM Ask Gracie #APJFM Ask Adaleia #APJFM Ask Ionathia #APJFM Ask Clarence

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gravelgirty · 7 years

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There is No Quiet Night in the Rainy Season: A Hogan’s Heroes fanfic

Part 1 of Tape and Needle and Scissors and String And...

Part 2: Irish Rejected Potatoes...

Part 3: Above My Pay Grade...

Part 4:

Deep in the Germans’ mess hall—a place LeBeau was grudgingly willing to consign as one of the less-well-thought-out circles of hell—there was a lot of noise. You could almost hear it over the artillery-grade raindrops smashing into the galvanized tin roof.

Banging. Rattling. Thumping. Muffled cursing.

“Every time we let those prisoners into the kitchen, this happens. Every time!”

The grumbler was the cook—He was from a very poor part of Germany. So poor, in fact, that he owned the dubious ability of being able to identify every form of edible vegetation in the forest. He’d grown up next to one of the more pretentious parks under the Kaiser, and the Kaiser had a habit of throwing entire families in prison if a single member trespassed on his territory.

(And as Hans knew, urinating across the fenceline into the hunting preserve counted as an encroachment. He still missed the Donners…even if they had been an indispensable part of WWI’s civil engineering projects…)

Hans was treasured and feared in equal measure. There was always a ratio of soldiers that didn’t know which part of the potato plant to peel. But Hans’ skills with meat were between ‘doesn’t bear thinking about’ and ‘unmitigated disaster’.

He grumbled in his drafty old kitchen. He puffed and muttered and banged things back and forth. That little Frenchman and his foreign ways! How dare he touch his tools of trade? Was there no respect in the profession between equals? For Hans considered LeBeau his counterpart to the prisoners—forced to make do with the miserable ingredients, and serve them up to a sourly ungrateful populace.

“Unbelievable!” He swore as he found another exhibit for offense—the Frenchman had sharpened all of his knives! They hung gleaming on their bar—and sorted according to size! How hard could it be to put things back exactly as they had been?

There was nothing for it. Hans wearily sat down and started on the largest cleaver—it was an excellent beast for skinning vegetable marrows or taking the rinds of very tough turnips. But too sharp by half. With his lips set, he started a long, boring campaign of running the bladed edge across the cutting board.

- - -

The remainder of the day—if “day” meant weather that the Black Forest would call unfit for mushrooms—was spent with the Stalag in a consensual state of misery.

Hogan split his men and put them in short teams—half to transfer the latrine to a spot that was far too close to Barracks noses for comfort—and the other half underground hastily shoring up, blocking up, and doing whatever they could to fill up what had once been a comfortable and useful section of tunnel. When it looked like it was time for a break, he made them switch.

It was back-breaking, grueling work but no-one complained. They all sensed urgency if not impending disaster.

Anyway, some idiot pointed out, it was at least quieter outside than it was inside. The newer prisoners were starting to show signs of psychological breakdown--weeks of heavy cold raindrops on the roof could do that to anybody, but especially to men who had been three feet from the front lines less than two months ago.

The only exceptions to the workplan besides Hogan:

Baker, who had shaken off Klink’s hooch in record time and was now sleeping it off to a three-octave, one-man chorus with his uvula and soft palate. Wilson had the throat-drops waiting for when he woke up.

LeBeau, a man under fire, working frantically to produce enough hot caffeine to get the men through this dire period.

And Newkirk. The Brit hunkered dangerously close to LeBeau’s stirring-elbow, whip-stitching up a contraption at record speed. His earlier depression was gone as if it never existed; he was on a man with a mission, and he was cheerful. This would worry Schultz to see it, even if he wanted Newkirk to snap out of his mood as much as anyone else.

A happy, cheerful Newkirk was a Newkirk presented with a solvable challenge that would discomfit Germans. Even Cpl Fritz, the only man in the Stalag dumber than Klink, knew this.

Ill-feelings were running amuck and morale was AWOL for guards and prisoners alike.

The guards were sopping wet because ‘sideways’ was a perfectly normal direction for winter rains. They thought longingly of LeBeau’s patented, secret, imitation coffee and wondered if their lot would improve if they just took off their uniforms the second they returned to their own dank barracks and stood naked by the stove. They envied the wretched POWs, who hadn’t any reason to be outside other than roll call and latrine-digging, and they knew from long, long experience that the mud cladding the POWs was a wonderful insulation.

“Lucky swine.” Wolfe shouted over the rain.

“What??” Langenscheidt yelled.

“I said, Lucky swine!”

“I know you’re Langenscheidt!”

“That is not what I said!”

“What??”

“The swine! The swine!” Wolfe had no choice but to carry on--he was committed. “They’re no wetter than we are, and they don’t have rain falling on metal hats!”

“Eh?” Langensheidt looked over the edge to the prisoners below. “Hah! You know, they look like swine! At least they don’t have a tin roof on their head!” He laughed and rapped his sodden knuckles on his own helmet.

Wolfe gave up. he just wanted to live. He wasn’t sure what he had to live for, but anything was worth avoiding Hell, which might be what he was seeing in the mud right now.

---

The POWs were achy, sniffly, and sweating under their layer of this mud because this natural insulation wasn’t letting an atom of respiration out of their pores. They collectively wondered if a few well-placed holes drilled into their shoes would let the sop out from between their toes. They envied the bloody Germans, who could at least breathe inside their wool uniforms.

---

In the Kommandant’s office, Klink was writing a very stern note to his cigar-supplier. Contrary to all claims and the expensive installment, the humidor was worthless. He now needed a dehumidifier. This was the third in a series of such letters, which boiled down to the company thinking Klink was insane because everybody knew, Germany didn’t get that wet—where did he think he was, Podgorica? But Klink’s clerical talents had risen to the challenge--he couldn’t do anything about Hogan stealing his Cubans, but the complete lack of any decent tobacco could get him sent to the Russian Front if the wrong official came by.

Or Hochstetter. He didn’t need cigars--real or withheld--to send him to the Russian Front.

- - -

Hogan was in his office and trying to think of the fastest journey to Stage II of his plans. If he could get the latrine moved, it would be an effective if smelly temporary blind for their attempts to build a new tunnel. The guards had their own latrine—and loathed theirs.

And with good reason, he thought glumly. Rats loved the POW latrines—it was a straight shot between the back of the soldiers’ mess, and on the other side, a thick bramble thicket. The brush was only waist-high and not worth the effort of trying to escape through the cover—there was no human-worthy cover with that vegetable barbed wire.

That was alright for the non-human--or should we say, inhuman, infernal things that did use the brambles for camouflage and hideaways.

Like the creepy, pallid, humpbacked crickets that lurked in the dark and crawled at you with terrifying purpose when you weren’t looking. Or the toads, which looked like clods of earth with eyeballs. Nobody knew what those things were, but the guards and guard-dogs were terrified of them. Carter said they looked like the ‘lil’ hoppers’ back in Bullfrog, and if you ate one you’d be talking to gigantic furry lemon-yellow polka dots that whistled show tunes. Hogan had made it very clear that he was not allowed to test for comparison, and no, Newkirk, we aren’t putting it in the guards’ soup-pot. Yes, I am a spoil-sport. Part of the privilege of command.

The rats reigned over all these beasts, and ate them with relish. Perhaps a daily diet of poisonous toads explained their behavior--they didn’t act like the rattus of Hogan’s tough childhood. They didn’t act like any rats he’d ever heard of.

The latrines were horrible but they were the perfect place to hide and chew on one’s ill-gotten contraband or secret stash of chocolate, gum, and the home-made raisin moonshine that nobody would ever admit to making but somehow, the stuff just kept…happening. And since the brambles still had tons of weathered fruit still hanging on to the vine from summer, the damned vermin had the best living arrangements of every living thing in the Stalag—possible exception being Oscar and Heidi’s dogs, who had the closest thing to red carpet treatment.

It was very ironic that the superior supply lines of Stalag XIII was nurturing these foul creatures. Klink had his excellent black market-skimming campaign going on that shorted everybody but himself (and Hogan would give one of Klink’s stolen cigars to learn his secret), but Hogan also had his Top-Notch smuggling and supply lines over and under the Stalag thanks to willing POWs and good old Oscar and Heidi. Between all these avenues sang opportunity for the bold rodent that saw anything unguarded and un-poisoned. There was also the third underground grocery store on part of the guards--willing to sell out either Klink or Hogan’s pass of chocolate or cheese if they got their own cut.

The guards’ latrines weren’t all that charming, but they were well-built and clean and built over one of the original concrete foundations. The POWs had a packed-earth foundation topped with old pallets. It was leaky and drafty and cold even in the dead of summer. In the drought season they had to hose it down in case it would burst into flames. It was the best place to go for contraband deals because the roof was airtight. The rats found easier pickings with the POWs than the guards. At least, Newkirk said snidely, the rats the POWs caught had more meat on their bones.

Hogan sipped his coffee and continued to think. Outside LeBeau was struggling to wring another miracle out of rations, potable water, and if you believed his rants, cinnamon-sprinkled sawdust. For some reason he was angry that he couldn’t get all of Carter’s hot peppers.

Hogan was also getting down because the men were supplying him with increasingly dismaying reports on the soil. Who would have thought any amount of rainfall would get through that brick-hard dirt? They needed dry earth to dig if they all didn’t want to die, and dry earth was so far as concept as realistic as glass slippers and talking wolves.

And…Germany was the country for both…

He glared at the tiny bookshelf nailed to the wall. GRIMM’S FAIRY TALES sat next to his mothy reading collection—a surprise birthday present from Schultz. The sergeant had made a comment about idle time was better spent reading than ‘naughty doings’. Hogan still didn’t know what to give him back for thoughtful revenge.

BANG-BANG.

Hogan jumped slightly and beat Carter to the door before the young man could filthy up his doorknob. The pyrotech was a walking lump of mud but at least one could see his eyes and mouth.

“What is it, Carter?”

“Aw, how’d you know it was me?” Carter pouted. Behind him Newkirk and LeBeau were snickering in that fond, cruel way good mates had, even as they hovered protectively over the stove and stitching.

“You left your hat on, Carter.” Hogan pointed out the obvious. “That makes the shape of your head a little distinctive.”

“Oh. Aw, shoot. Well, at least it kept me from hearin’ the rain. Honestly, its a lot quieter outside--”

“What is it?”

“Oh. The boys wanted you to know we’ve got as far as we can for the day. The walls of the pit are startin’ to, uh…jellify.”

“’Jellify?’” Hogan repeated. Behind Carter, Newkirk and LeBeau imitated this, and both looked as confused as Hogan felt.

“Yeah, they jiggle when you slap ‘em.” Carter nodded, which sent a good chunk of the Stalag’s terra firma hit the ground with a splat-splat. “Like pipeclay.”

“Pipeclay?”

Newkirk sucked in his breath with the force of his mother’s Electrolux vacuum. “Gov! Get ‘em out if that’s the case! Pipeclay’s not stable! The walls’ll be falling in and they’ll be in the bottom--!”

“You heard him, move!” Hogan barked.

Shaken, Newkirk watched them vanish into thin air. Only Hogan’s missing jacket and a trail of mud proved they ever existed. He risked looking at LeBeau. He was willing to bet they were both the same shade of pale. Over their heads, the relentless rain hammered and hammered and hammered...

“Mon d--.” LeBeau murmured. “Now what will we do? The Colonel needs this dug out.”

“Oh, uh…he’ll think of summat.” Newkirk rucked in as much optimism as he could manage, consider the circumstances. “The lads’ll need a lot of something hot to drink. Do you think you have enough?”

LeBeau grimaced. “Perhaps. I could do miracles with another pot, but I don’t think that old mushroom in the mess hall will let me borrow one for a while.”

“Did you sharpen his knives again? Shame on you.”

“The greater shame is to Krupp Steel!”

“Well, don’t worry. I’ll get you one. I’ll just pop--“ Newkirk realized what he was saying and closed his eyes. “Bloody ‘ell. We’re all gunna go stir-crazy, aren’t we? What’s that word Carter uses…cabin fever?”

“Yes.” LeBeau assured him with deadly calm. “And this fever, I do not have soup for.”

#Tape and Needle and Scissors and String And...#Hogan's Heroes #There is No Quiet Night

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