#wellness salzburger land

[theoutlawfaleena]

a starry night; a slow dance

a night in austria brings you and könig closer. tags: literally just tooth-rotting fluff requested by anon <3

König does not speak of his past.

It's as simple as that, really. Even after the awkwardness of meeting him, the shaky steps taken towards getting to know him better, the eventual friendship that slowly began to bloom into something a little more, not a word of his origin or upbringing was said. Not from him, not from the other KorTac operators, and not from anyone else who may have had some semblance of a clue as to just what it was that shaped this man into the one you knew. It seemed that he was a walking enigma, and that was something about him that you had begun to slowly accept: that you may never know him quite as well as you think.

Something changed, though, when you and your team caught wind of the fact that you were going to be stationed in Austria next.

You were the one to tell König, going off of no more than a rumor spread among your team, one that they had said they were certain was true. Word often got to him last because of his tendency to self-isolate, so you took it upon yourself to find him and keep him updated on the goings-on of your team. On that particular day, he was enjoying a spot of sunshine just outside the base, leaning back with one boot planted on the wall behind him. Upon seeing you, he'd immediately straightened, and you greeted him with a smile.

"They say we're going to Austria next," You announced, looking up at him. He met your eyes, becoming stock still at once.

"... Austria?" The word was practically a whisper.

You nodded. "Haven't heard why yet. I'm sure someone's gotta be shot somewhere." You squinted in the sunlight, bringing a hand up over your eyes in an attempt to shield yourself from the light. It was then that you noticed König's gaze, and how he seemed to stare straight through you. His silence was not an uncharacteristic thing, but you knew something was different.

"What is it?" You furrowed your brow, stepping closer to him, and when he found your eyes once more, the softness he regarded you with made your stomach flip.

"... That is my home."

Home.

It was the first he had spoken of it.

Since then, he was different. You knew it better than anyone else. You saw it in how introspective he became, taking to his sketchpad more often than anything else and sitting in wordless thought; you did not think he would ever be able to grow quieter than he already was, but he proved you wrong in those days leading up to the landing in Austria. A part of you feared that the memories of his home were sour, and that going there would resurface something he preferred to forget. To see him even more withdrawn into himself was the last thing you wanted.

You and your team land in Austria on a warm summer's day in early June. Your arrival is meant to be quick and discreet with your base set up in the countryside on the outskirts of Salzburg. Before you even have the chance to adjust your eyes to the sunlight, warmth closes around your hand and gently guides you forward. You blink and shake your head, looking out into green fields dotted with patches of trees and the sun's brilliant light shining from behind the snow-capped Alps.

When you look at König, there is a smile in his eyes.

Suddenly, Austria begins to feel like home to you, too.

You find that it's easy to forget the team's true purpose for being there quite fast. From the moment you make contact with Austrian soil, König is talking -- talking a lot, actually. He's telling you about the Alps and about Salzburg, both able to be seen from the base. He tells you about Vienna and tiny villages you're not sure you will ever remember the names of, but just to hear him speak about them is enough. His blue eyes are alight with excitement, and you know that he is finally allowing you the opportunity to be quiet and listen to him, just as he so often does for you.

The giddiness carries you all throughout the day and to the starry night, your fingertips tingling at the memory of his hand and your heart held in your throat like a word left unsaid.

The base is quiet that night with the exception of some faint music. You're not certain who's playing it and just how long they're going to keep it going before your superiors tell them to shut it up, but it drifts through the sleepy air and follows you to your bedroll on the ground.

You don't stay there long. After what feels like hours of laying in anticipation for something you cannot place, you quietly get up and make your way into the night.

It isn't hard for you to find him.

He's a large shadow sitting in the grass, lit up by silver moonlight. He's relieved himself of some of his tactical gear and wears a dark Henley shirt with that damned hood, eyes fixated on the mountain range in the distance.

You wonder if he hears you coming, only to smile when he glances over his shoulder and murmurs a quiet "maus."

You say nothing, only approaching to stand behind him and place your hands gently on the sides of his face. He leans back against you and you laugh.

"You grow up with this kind of view?"

He makes a noise like a hum in the back of his throat and stands. You stare at him expectantly, waiting for a response, but he only outstretches one hand towards you.

"Komm her," He says.

It's a command. A gentle one, but it surprises you nonetheless. You arch an eyebrow and take his hand, letting out a soft sound of surprise when he draws you close against him and begins to sway lightly. Only then do you realize that he's pulled you in to dance.

"König!" You exclaim with a giggle. He's not looking at you, but above you, and you know he only avoids your eyes when he's bashful. Nonetheless, he grabs one of your hands with his own and hovers his other a few inches from your hip. Smiling, you reach down and place it firmly against you, and he noises a quiet oh.

"The music is so quiet over here," You remark, sending a glance towards the base. He pauses, still swaying in a slow rhythm before he begins to softly hum, a low and melodic sound in the back of his throat. At once, you beam, falling into the movement of his gentle swaying with one hand on his chest. He's warm beneath your touch; impossibly so.

Once you're in perfect time with one another, he shifts against you and moves his hand from your hip, stepping back to hold you at arm's length. You match his rhythm once more and step back as well, only to meet again as he pulls you close and raises your arm to twirl you. Giggling jovially, you spin beneath him, and you fall easily back into place as his hand finds your hip and guides you towards him.

"Where did you learn to dance like this?" You ask, looking up at him.

Finally, he meets your eyes, and they soften with a smile.

He doesn't speak of his past, and yet, you're beginning to think that you know him nonetheless.

[eoieopda]

hello! i have a song for the game. Thank you for doing this!

I really like Anywhere by Rita Ora and Namjoon.

thank youu x

oh this was such a cute song! 10/10

listen here

ft. boyf!joon, a whole-ass adventure across Europe in the span of 30 days, reader getting zooted after consuming the tiniest bit of an edible.

just take me anywhere / take me anywhere / anywhere away with you

Until now, every bit of your month-long trip across the European continent had gone according to plan.

Well, plan was generous.

Apart from identifying locations in each of your favorite books; purchasing all necessary travel tickets; and making hotel reservations, there had been no real plan. It was simply you and the best boy, taking in whatever sights you could. Good wine, even better cheese, and perfect company.

You’d left Korea on the first of November, landing in London and staying for two days. The turn-around was almost as quick as the Eurostar, projecting you onward over the rails to Paris. Most of those four days were spent nudging Namjoon along through the Louvre, wondering if he’d ever willingly leave. Begrudgingly, after several hours, he did — no assistance from security was necessary.

The first of your horrifying, turbulent, rickety, budget flights — in a tin can with wings — had delivered you to Barcelona. The second carried you to Milan, with your death grip on Namjoon’s hand lasting for the duration of your time in the air. After train rides from Milan to Rome, then Rome to Venice, a bus had carried you off to Salzburg.

When you’d found yourself in those living, Sound of Music hills, you didn’t even have to ask. Namjoon — without question or comment — joined you in spinning like a fool until you both dropped dizzy in the grass. Maybe it was the altitude, but you could’ve sworn the “I love you” he‘d murmured in that moment hit a little harder than usual.

A train to Vienna, a bus to Budapest, then — gulp — another panicked flight; this time to Kraków. Two days there, then — with a whine and several glasses of its homophone, downed quickly at the airport bar — a fourth flight to Prague. Shortly after, you’d boarded a train to Berlin.

By your fifth low-cost, high-anxiety flight, Namjoon had discovered an antidote. If you were at least as high as the plane itself, the creaking of that tiny, shaky hunk of metal was significantly less upsetting. It was fitting, after all, landing in Amsterdam while still floating off one (1) quarter of an edible.

God, what a light-weight.

Your incessant giggling had been overpowered by Namjoon’s, though he was stone-cold sober — just thoroughly amused. There, the two of you realized you’d made a mistake: the phallogical museum you were fascinated by was in Iceland, not the Netherlands.

On the subsequent train ride to Bruges, you’d vowed to hit the world-renowned dick museum on your next trip. Your current trip was now at its end, leaving you to scurry off to Brussels for a commercial flight back to Incheon.

Unfortunately, inclement weather had grabbed Belgium in a chokehold.

With your backs pressed against the wall, you and Namjoon sat weary on the floor near your gate. Your respective legs were sprawled out in front of you. Head resting on your shoulder, Namjoon spent a large portion of your wait in the liminal space between the dream and waking worlds.

If there had been any local hotels available for the night, he might’ve actually gotten some proper rest — in a bed, but likely still using you as a pillow. Instead, you were stuck where you sat: huddled together in the same terminal you’d been in for many, many hours.

Languidly, you traced mindless patterns into the denim fabric holding onto his quads for dear life. You sighed through a frown as you glanced down at him, “I’m sorry we can’t seem to get home, love.”

Too tired to move, Namjoon merely mumbled from where he’d nestled into your side, “Home is anywhere with you.”

[greenbagjosh]

20 - 21 June 1998 - A weekend in Salzburg - crazy pretzels and sliding down in the Berchtesgaden underground salt mine

21 June 1998

Hi everyone

Today and tomorrow, twenty years ago, I was in Salzburg, in kangaroo-less Austria, and the Berchtesgadener Land in southeasternmost Germany.  Because I would not be paid until a week or so later, I had to spend a night in a hostel and eat cheap.  I found a good hostel just southeast of downtown Salzburg, called the Eduard Heinrich Haus.  I reserved my room by phone, on Friday on a payphone. (Payphones in 2018 are hard to find anymore)

Originally I was not supposed to go to Salzburg the weekend of the 20th/21st June, but rather on the 19th my work colleagues were supposed to go mountain climbing (actually hiking which could as well be climbing!) south of Holzkirchen. That was postponed until the 26th because of the weather forecast for the 19th – in the mountains of Bavaria, the weather can change unexpectedly, and it is hard to find shelter, so we made the safe decision to wait until the 26th.

From Munich to Salzburg, the Schönes Wochenende ticket that cost 35 DM, was valid all weekend on the slow trains.  I took the Regional Express from Munich Ostbahnhof via Rosenheim and Freilassing. The train was not air conditioned, as were many Regional Express trains at the time, so it was an annoyance to some passengers, to slide the window down when going over 50 mph, particularly between Munich Ost and Rosenheim.  I think I arrived around 10:30 AM in Salzburg Hbf.  As I noted from 7th June 1998, there was no longer any formal customs between Germany and Austria as a result of the Schengen Agreement, so the station customs at Salzburg Hbf I remembered in operation in June 1997, for 1998 it was completely unmanned.  It was still standing in December 2001/August 2002, and I think also in August 2004 when I returned for a day visit, but sometime in 2005, it was demolished to make room for more train platforms and was complete around February 2012.

I went to the ticket hall, and then bought a day pass for the Salzburg Verkehrsbetriebe for the city and also for the zones including Lamprechtshausen and also Trimmelkam, as I was curious about riding the Lokalbahn, which is now the S-1 line.  In today's money it would be EUR 13.60, now 190 Schilling if today's exchange rate of ATS 13.9 = EUR 1.00 were to be used, but it was cheaper 20 years ago.  It was a good ride up to Lamprechtshausen.  I bought myself a big bottle of Almdudler (it is herbal and tastes like fizzy iced tea) at the Billa grocery store, of which I posted a photo of it while waiting for a bus in Wildshut.  From Lamprechtshausen I took the "shuttle line" to Bürmoos in Oberösterreich.  There was not much to see or do, and I was not quite thirsty enough to drink any of the Almdudler while waiting for the train to return to Bürmoos and on to Salzburg, so somehow I walked to Wildshut.  I think I took an hour to get there.  It was sunny and I think about the 90s.  I caught the bus that went on to Oberndorf where the S-1 would take me back to Salzburg.  I was starting to get a headache so I drank some of the Almdudler but it was not much use.  I went back to Hbf to fetch my clothes bag and headed for the hostel.  I had to take trolley bus 51 and exit at Egger-Lienz-Straße and walk a half mile towards the Salzach bank more or less.  My bed in the room was ready, and I took a nap for about two hours, and listened to the former "Blue Danube Radio" station.  The station is now part of the independent channel FM4.  I remember a story about the Empress Sisi mentioned on the broadcast.

I could not stay at the hostel for so long, as I did not come to Salzburg just to sleep all day.  I had to go back to the Altstadt to see what was going on.  As the 1998 FIFA World Cup was still in group stage, there were two matches.  One was Belgium vs Mexico, and the other was Netherlands vs South Korea.  I did not have any internet at the time, even a "smart phone", so back in 1998, there would be internet set up and probably 50 people or so would wait in line, waiting 15 to 20 minutes to get a turn.  I think I waited a whole hour.  Grumpy-Old-Man would say "That's the way it was, and we *liked* it!"  Now everyone can just skip that and use their smartphone.  I thought of going up to the top of the castle but I decided it was getting too late for that.  I think I had a "Käsekreiner" and can of Stiegl beer for dinner, took a bus to the Parsch district, I guess for sentimental reasons, and when it was dark, I went back to the hostel.  Back then I did not know that the Sacher Hotel was across the Salzach from the Altstadt, until I saw an ad sometime in July 1998.  It was out of my price range at the time anyway.

Sunday morning the 21st was as sunny as Saturday.  That was the day I was going to go to the Schloß Salzburg by cable car.  I had breakfast at the hostel, washed up, checked out, then took bus 51 to Salzburg Hbf to leave my clothes bag.  I went to the castle by cable car.  At the top, there was a very good panoramic view, not just of the , but also towards Maxglan, Hallein and even a little bit of Tirol.  And also the Berchtesgadener Land which I would visit later that day.  After I took the cable car down, I walked around and found a pretzel seller.  They had so many kinds of soft pretzels that I chose three, all of them about 10 inches wide.  One with ham and cheese, one with just salt, and the other split and filled with chocolate.  I took them along and then after taking the bus to Maxglan, I ate the ham and cheese pretzel, maybe one more.  By that time I think I had seen enough of Salzburg.  I was not much of a fan of Sound of Music so I did not go on that tour.  It was time to leave Austria and then return to Germany.  

I boarded, I think 1:30 PM, the train at Salzburg Hbf, for Berchtesgaden via Freilassing.  It arrived in Berchtesgaden, the end of the line, at 3 PM.  I thought of going to Kehlsteinhaus / Eagles Nest (would do that on 19th July 1998), but I settled on the Salzbergwerke, the salt mine.  It is basically a 10 minute train ride inside the mountain, a walk through the tunnels, sliding down and also a boat ride through the salt pool.  Everyone is required to wear a rented salt mine overall (somewhere I have a selfie!) and stay with the guide at all times.  In comparison to the upper 80s temperatures, the inside of the mountain was about the low 50s.  It is constant year round, as I would find out later, namely in February 2012 when I visited another salt mine in Bad Dürrnberg near Hallein.  Coming out of the salt mine was not so fun, after it being so cool inside.  Oh no it's so hot!  The walk back to the rail station was not pleasant but I had a surprise going back to Munich.  The train that arrived in Berchtesgaden as an Intercity train, was returning to Munich as a Regional Express, it was air conditioned and my Schönes Wochenend Ticket was also valid at no extra charge. What was the catch?  It had to make its scheduled stops.  But I did not mind.

I think I arrived at München Hbf about 8:30 or 9 PM, went to work the next day.  The weather forecast for Friday 26 June would be mostly sunny, for my colleagues, excellent weather for mountain climbing.  I will tell about that sometime next week, what that all entailed.  No one got hurt (badly), everyone survived.  And I even had a chance to see a pre-production BMW Z3-based E36 series coupe - probably the coolest car I saw all that year.  

Well, have a nice rest of the week, everyone.  There were no "foreign" journeys - in relation to Germany - expected until Friday 10th July 1998.

[highdensityrabbitsituation]

rating my champions league group stage predictions

One point per correct guess on which teams would go through, with a bonus point for any correct commentary. Under the cut because it's long.

Group A Prediction: Bayern Munich and Man United through; RIP Galatasaray

Results:

I was right about Bayern (+1) but that was kind of a gimme. I was hilariously wrong about United but I'm not complaining. Galatasaray actually held their own pretty well. I look forward to seeing them in the Europa League. 1/3

Group B Prediction: Arsenal through, Sevilla and PSV duke it out for the other spot (probably PSV), Lens is toast

Results:

I was right about both Arsenal (+1) and PSV (+1), but in the end Sevilla was the team that got destroyed. 2/3

Group C Prediction: Napoli and Real Madrid through. Yawn.

Results:

Did I watch any of these games? (+1). Madrid cleaned up (+1) and Napoli easily landed second (+1). 3/3

Group D Prediction: Anybody’s game tbh. My money is on Salzburg and Inter but more than that I think this it will be close with high potential for surprises

Results:

I was right about Inter (+1), wrong about Salzburg, and laughably, hysterically wrong about how balanced this group was going to be. What the fuck happened. 1/3

Group E Prediction: Atletico Madrid and Feyenoord through, but more significantly, violence and bad feelings

Results:

In the end it was Athleti (+1) and Lazio, and Athleti and Celtic seemed like they wanted to kill each other (+1). 2/3

Group F Prediction: Dortmund and AC Milan through; Newcastle isn’t used to the way this many competitions wears out the team, and PSG has been kind of a hot mess. But it’s theoretically a group of four strong teams.

Results:

Okay, PSG getting kicked down the the Europa league was definitely a hot take, so I'm not totally surprised it didn't pan out. Dortmund made it though (+1). Newcastle struggled, but a six-point gap between first and fourth is also the smallest out of all the groups (+1). 2/3

Group G Prediction: City and Leipzig, absolutely no contest, complete bloodbath

Results:

Yeah (+3). 3/3

Group H Prediction: Barca and Porto through, but in my heart, I will cheer for Antwerp on account of my Belgian prejudice

Results:

Barca (+1) and Porto (+1) both went through, and even though Antwerp struggled immensely the entire time, on matchday six they beat Barca at home in added time. Hell yeah Antwerp (+1). 3/3

Total: 17/24

Conclusion: Not bad actually. I should do this again next year.

[bronxrentals]

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Salzburg's History: Known as the birthplace of Mozart and the setting for "The Sound of Music," Salzburg beautifully combines music, history, and architecture. With a rental car in Austria, you can explore the Hohensalzburg Fortress or unwind by the Salzach River at your own pace.

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Innsbruck's Delight: Often overshadowed by its larger counterparts, Innsbruck, with its blend of urban sophistication and mountainous charm, is a traveler’s paradise. The town's Golden Roof, alpine zoo, and nearby Swarovski Crystal Worlds are hidden treasures waiting to be uncovered.

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[inspiares]

the art of modern-day artist management & how to keep an artist in the game

Game on!

Is managing an artist in the present a new form of art itself? Is it possible nowadays to keep an artist on the wheel? What are the requirements to do so? Why is it necessary to have a modern-day artist manager?

Well, let us start by sharing this quote: “Little is written about Leopold Mozart. As a musician working in Salzburg he had a successful but undistinguished career.  It wasn’t until 1776, when he became a pioneering music manager, that he made his mark on history.

Leopold quickly recognised the talent of his son, Wolfgang Amadeus. He nurtured Wolfgang’s prodigious talent, booking him on several successful European tours before finally landing him a deal with the Court of Prince Colloredo.

When young Wolfgang complained about his first financial contract (150 florins per year), it was Leopold’s canny negotiation skills that secured Wolfgang a triple salary increase, the equivalent of $4,500 per year! Perhaps, without the help of his manager, young Wolfgang’s career could have stalled before his first symphony?

My (tongue-in-cheek) point is, the history of the music manager is almost as old as music itself. An artist’s ability to create great music does not necessarily make them a great business person. A manager represents an artist’s best interests and helps guide their career.”[1]

Firstly, after posing some questions about the music industry panorama and the role of the artist manager in the present, as well as a “curious” quote explaining how important it has been and can be for an artist to count on this person as a part of his/her/they career, the aim of this of this essay is to examine and put some thoughts onto these initial questions, as we think that the role is in constant change. Not only that, but also that the role has forcedly, in one or another way, evolved to adapt to new needs required for an artist to have a long career as well as for the manager to be considered a successful.

Without further prelude, let’s dive right into the subject by starting to put the spotlight on the fact that just as in many other aspects and areas of the industry - and as we have discussed in the previous essays regarding publishing and recorded music-, digitalization, the internet and social media have changed completely the rules of the game in the music business.

Indeed, this fact as announced has provoked that role of an artist manager has also had to changed. Before that, an artist management company could have a manager, an account and a lawyer and we could say it was more than enough, as the deal with a label, a publisher and a booking agent where B2B relationships.

Now, the tasks carried out by a manager have “[…] moved from simply being the sale of either cassettes, vinyl, CDs, videos and live touring into a world that encompasses social media brands, streaming platforms, virtual concerts as well as physical concerts, new technology, fan management and fan engagement, campaign management and instant global music distribution at virtually zero cost.”[2] Also, this has developed into managers having to “[…] consider themselves as a CEO. And they must have oversight of absolutely everything! Finance, logistics, HR, technology, global marketing, e-commerce, merchandising, film rights, publishing, syncs, master rights, radio streaming….. […].”[3]

So, in a nutshell this means that managers have had to adapt their services and craft to reflect those changes and deal with:

On the one side, the emergence of new fee structures,

On the other, the expansion of management roles to offer new services and, last but not least,

The biggest of the changes, the analysis of the great quantity of data that now it’s available, whether if it’s using AI as a support or not.

Regarding that last thing, data, the volume of information to which artist managers and other players of the industry have access has risen exponentially, and this has led to artist manager having to understand it and interpret it in order to use the data for the benefit of the artist. In this regard, “At first you had a few pieces of data and they were called ‘insights’. Things like, ‘Hey, you’ve got a bunch of fans in Thailand and China and Japan!’. Then, as we received more data, it got more functional. ‘Great, let’s use it to plan tours – where should we go and how much time, money and effort am I going to spend in each of the markets around the world’. But we’re now at the point where people are asking, how can this data and information be used for the purpose of making the art itself?”[4] This said, data can drive to discovery, innovation and revenue across the value chain and make an artist more competitive in a court based on the music data. So, artist managers are now then like some kind of gurus and chess players – strategists - that need to have a clear vision of where they want to take their artist to.

In addition, social media and streaming platforms have also provided musicians with global audiences and different alternatives to distribute their work, but that also leads us again to the fact that those tools, besides their functionalities as a social network, ultimately provide with data and that data, as we were stating has become one of the most important assets to keep in mind as a modern artist manager.

Besides that, this new era of the music industry has been also affected by the generalized short attention span society has in the present. Matt Johnson and Steve Ambler from Red Light Management/SB Management point out that, "People have such short attention spans nowadays, it’s a real challenge to retain it in a very noisy, cluttered landscape. And dealing with the vast number of people scattered across the industry who are stuck in their ways and the archaic nature of some deals that are still getting done."[5]

To that respect, as we were discussing, is not only analyzing, but also understanding data. The ability of the social networks to put people very quickly in the spotlight by going viral, has also led to a necessity of knowing how to manage all that information so it can have a good impact on their roster. Regarding that, “The algorithms working behind the scenes at Facebook, Twitter, Spotify, Apple, YouTube etc are changing not just the music industry but possibly society itself. “Spotify and YouTube are subject to algorithms where having a hefty spike of people aware your record is out and streaming it, sends a message to the effect of, ‘This track’s performing well, play it more […] The smart music companies now understand they have to work with this data and be pragmatic about it. You’re seeing more companies realizing the old methods just aren’t gonna work and power is shifting”[6]. And the artist manager must then, “[…] make sure that the artist is doing the right thing he needs to do at the right time. He watches out for his artists so that they are not taken advantage of by any of the different elements.”[7]

At the end of the day, it’s no mystery that certain skills, knowledge and experience are crucial to become a successful artist manager and help the artists reach their goal. This happens to every other job, as it’s part of the nature of it.

However, we would point out that an artist manager, whichever type, more 360 or more only business oriented, with a bigger team or company or alone, has much more responsibility, as the development and exposure of the art – in this case music - of certain people and their ambition to be musicians, producers, songwriters as their primary (and/or only job) forces the artist manager to have and develop new abilities constantly to help and develop the artist career.

Then, ee can affirm that the modern-day artist manager must be data oriented as it is the biggest asset, but, at the same time, the artist manager has to be risky, when appropriate.

A lot of things have been mentioned throughout the whole essay, but the truth and summary of all of it would be that an artist manager must be multidisciplinary, as we were saying previously, they have artists career at their stake, so they have to be ready to reinvent and create multiple strategies and take risks. That doesn’t mean you have to take them with the whole roster, it’s also a question of knowing which artists could fit in certain innovative ideas and which ones doesn’t or other ideas can be applied to them. All of this, in our opinion, comes now from the above mentioned, profoundanalysis of data, so an artist manager becomes part data scientist, but also being creative with their own ideas for the artists, thinking out of the box.  

Overall, and as a note to conclude with the present essay, we would say that the modern-day artist manager has to be more open than ever to new ideas, very up to date with what is going on in the music industry, motivated, knowing how to read the particularities of each artist of the roster, to come up with strategies and a career development that is perdurable for them and that adapts to the necessities and ambitions of each artist as well. This includes knowing where to put the efforts, where to invest, and where to draw that red line. To do so, it is needed to have a control of data.

it is important to think about the immediate next steps for the artists in the roster but also the long-term career and combine this data analysis with other evidence to make the right steps towards the future and the ultimate goals. As Johnny Pinchard and Dan Bearman from Holy-Toto state to keep the longevity of the artists “As managers have ever-increasing access to data and analytics, it will become vital that they become experts in using these insights to best serve the artists. And managers investing time and money into artists’ development, rather than labels, will become more and more expected."[8] Artists create stories and have their own storytelling, and the modern artist manager is also making his art to make that story visible.

Finally, it’s also important to point out the artist manager doesn’t have to work alone and do all this process solo. In fact, most of the time there’s a team of collaborators or members of the company that are experts in certain fields or areas of the industry. Nevertheless, we would advise that right now an artist manager not only counts on big network of collaborators and colleagues, but also contacts that are experts and have that same philosophy of being constantly learning and trying to be one step ahead. In relation to that “The key to success is standing out and getting your music away from the noise to the prospective fan using innovative ways of distribution and marketing. Artist, tour, financial management and promotions — each is a different type of art.”[9]

So, at the end, it’s question of knowing where to be and be there at the same time, and this is easier said than done, so, as with the same words that we were starting this document, we must culminate that the game is on for all those emerging, established, and veteran artist managers that want to leave their blueprint in their artist and the music industry nowadays.

[1] Quote from the article “The future role of a music manager” published on https://theartistnetwork.ws/the-future-role-of-a-music-manager/

[2] As stated in the article article “The future role of a music manager” published on https://theartistnetwork.ws/the-future-role-of-a-music-manager/

[3] ídem

[4] ídem

[5] As stated in the article “Managers shaping the industry reveal their biggest challenges” published on https://www.musicweek.com/management/read/managers-shaping-the-industry-reveal-their-biggest-challenges/066730

[6] As stated in the article article “The future role of a music manager” published on https://theartistnetwork.ws/the-future-role-of-a-music-manager/

[7] ídem

[8] As stated in the article “Managers shaping the industry reveal their biggest challenges” published on https://www.musicweek.com/management/read/managers-shaping-the-industry-reveal-their-biggest-challenges/066730

[9] As stated in the article “Modern day artist management” published on https://medium.com/giglue/modern-day-artist-management-1dc11acb0d36

[rhonddaandallaneuro]

We are now sitting in our motel in Budapest hiding from pouring rain. Tomorrow we fly out to Singapore via Frankfurt with a five hour stop after a two hour flight followed by a twelve hour flight. In total we will be travelling for over 23 hours, including the initial land travel including customs.

I did fail to mention the Rhine Gorge which we sailed through on day four abouts. This is some of the most beautiful landscape one can ever see with vineyards layered in vertical rows on steep mountain faces with castles aplenty. The towns here are all closely aligned to the river and one can imagine the lifestyle has not changed over the last few centuries.

One particular place we passed was Loreley Rock, where the story goes a mermaid sat on the rock luring boats to their demise. They even have a song about it. My guess would be the captains were drunk and it was simpler to tell the story of the mermaids then admit their navigational skills were lacking. Guess we will never know.

Moving on we finally reached Bamburg a city that again has a church (ABC tour) that is stunning, however the walk up was hard on rough cobbled stones with a guide that was, to be honest, boring. Once down the mountain we saw a city that had retained its character with the focus on the old town hall lying smack in the river. The building and its surrounds were beautiful.

Next on our tour was Nuremberg, an amazing city. Probably the biggest attraction was that of seeing where Hitler somehow mesmerised people to do such destructive atrocities. They have basically restricted the shell of where his major rallies were delivered. The guide was excellent with pictures from the original event allowing you to imagine the experience.

In the tour we also got to go to another palace/fort that was never taken. Great views and the building is so well preserved people still rent accommodation from within. Of course we also saw where the Nuremberg trials took place with our guide once again showing pictures and explaining how it all worked. I must say the walk down the hill was also great with this area owning some of the true dwellings and local bars of the city. The town square also a must see with only three churches within the immediate surrounds.

Passau was our next adventure and not one to rave about. Of course a abbey. A quick stroll really covered it all as we boarded the boat towards Linz. In Linz also not a lot to see so we caught the local train trolley passing by the place where Adolf Hitler grew up. The city does not acknowledge his existence at all. Now with the cruise at various ports you are offered both free and paid additional tours. In Linz a paid tour to Salzburg was on offer with nearly three quarters of the boat signing up. Great for us that did not go. A quiet day just doing nothing.

Finally the “sound of music” lovers returned and we moved on to Melk and Durstein. In Melk those that wanted to were loaned a bike enabling them to ride the twenty kilometres to Dunstein, something we declined. Those that decided not to were taken to the Benedictine Monastry. This tour was well worth the walk with the views from high walls incredible. A walk through the cobbled streets, while hurting, a must.

Passing the riders about fifteen kilometres into our sail a lot of waving was done from the boat, however the riders obviously having enjoyed a lot of wine and drink over last ten days, kept heads down. They arrived nearly four hours after the boat. It must be said that they did not miss much. Durstein has one road in which is the same road out. The road is cobbled with steep stairs with most shops closed. No rush to get back here.

[kmomof4]

A Spy Finds a Home: A Snowing Tale for A Family Affair  Ch. 1 Mérida

Thank you all so much for your response to the Prologue!!! I’m so excited that y’all are excited for what’s to come!!! In this chapter we meet Dr. Mary Margaret Blanchard and dive right in to the action! I hope y’all enjoy and let me know what you think!

All the love and thanks again to my beta, brainstorming, and encouragement team of @hollyethecurious @jrob64 and @apiratewhopines!!! Thank you so much, ladies!!! I couldn’t have done this without you all!

And please, go give ALL the love to @motherkatereloyshipper for her manip of David!!! Doesn’t he look great???!!! Well, maybe not great... he looks a little worn out to me... but that’s exactly how he’s SUPPOSED to look for this chapter and Kit did a FABULOUS job capturing him!!! THANK YOU SO MUCH, babe!!!

Summary: International spy David Nolan is tired. 

When his mentor dies unexpectedly, he is drawn back into a world he wanted to leave behind, courtesy of a quarter million dollars and a beautiful woman. Dr. Mary Margaret Blanchard is too much of everything- too smart, too gutsy, too alluring, and too naive to survive on her own.

Now, with the risk of world-wide nuclear war on the line, David has little choice in the matter. If he can just remember that the gorgeous raven haired doctor is a means to an end and nothing more, he'll have it made.

Rating: M (smut, language, violence, minor character death)

Words: 5,332 of 52K

Tags: Inspired by Without a Trace The O’Hurley’s by Nora Roberts, Spy Fic, Espionage, Smut, Minor Character Death

On ao3 From Beginning/ Current Chapter

Series on ao3

Tagging the usuals. Please let me know if you’d like to be added or removed.

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Under the cut, unless Tumblr ate it.

Chapter 1 Mérida

David Nolan sat in the dingy Mexican cantina, a whiskey in his hand, and contemplated the brevity of life- the insanity of the life he’d been born into and then later, chosen, in a manner of speaking. It had been a decade since he’d left his family outside of Atlanta. Nothing more than a kid who wanted to see the world.

David Swan had $300 in his wallet as he started on his journey north, staying far away from the small towns that made up the entertainment circuit he’d traveled all his life. By the time he made it to New York, he had enough money to buy a one way ticket to London.

That first year and a half away from home, David made his way across Europe and the Middle East, playing piano and singing in bars and strip clubs by night while soaking up the exotic locales by day. He saw Paris- where he got his first scar from a knife while breaking up a fight- Munich, Berlin, Warsaw, Bern, Salzburg, Venice, and Rome, before crossing the Mediterranean and landing in Greece. His sister Ruby was always the history buff, but he wasn’t immune to the solemn grandeur of temples erected to ancient gods, nor the other historical landmarks he visited across the continent. He also saw Jerusalem, Baghdad, and Constantinople. Whenever he wrote to Ruby, usually nothing more than a postcard, he’d always tell her about the places he’d seen since he last wrote.

His travels continued this way until the fateful night in Singapore when he either made the best or worst decision of his life. Depending on his mood, it could truly go either way. He saved a man in a back alley from a mugging, his second wound from a knife. That man turned out to be Lance Knight, American agent. That was the night David Swan disappeared and David Nolan was born.

David Nolan had indeed seen the world in the years since he’d left his family. And he’d been bankrolled by the International Security System. But now Lance was dead and David drank a toast to his friend and mentor. In the end, it hadn’t been an assassin's bullet or a knife in a dark alley that got him, but a stroke. Lance’s body had simply given out. Fate had decreed that Lance would have fifty-two years, eight months, and seventeen days. And David would have to live with that.

The funeral was in the morning in Chicago, but David was on vacation and he was damn well going to enjoy it. So he sat in the corner of the cantina and held his own wake. Lance wouldn’t mind. Lance had always been no nonsense. Do the job, have a drink, and get on with the next one.

The smells of onions and enchiladas frying were nearly overpowering. As the sun set outside over the Gulf, the cantina got noisier, conversations being held in rapid fire Spanish that David understood and ignored. He knew the picture he presented. Anyone with half a lick of sense could see he was dangerous. Most of the deep tan he’d carried since his last job was gone, the bones of his face stood out, and the rest of his body was thin as well. All this due to a lengthy hospital stay after the last bullet he’d taken had nearly killed him. The scraggly beard and intensity of his eyes kept the other patrons far away. He had his whiskey, his solitude, and his fajitas were coming.

He saw her the minute she entered the cantina. Training had him taking in her details without seeming to look at all. A round face, rosebud lips, her skin as pale as could be under the Mexican sun, black hair that swept her shoulders. He smirked as a sizzle of attraction swept through him. She was petite and looked appalled as her eyes scanned the room in front of her. A tourist who’d obviously made a wrong turn. His smirk disappeared when her eyes settled on him, and with a hard swallow he could see from where he sat, she began making her way to his table.

“David Nolan?” she asked. There was a hint of nerves in her voice, and now that she was closer, he could see the dark smudges under her green eyes that spoke of fatigue. He took another sip of his whiskey and decided he was just a bit too drunk to be annoyed.

“Who’s asking?”

“My name is Dr. Mary Margaret Blanchard,” she informed him. “I was told you’d be in Mérida. I’ve been looking for you for two days.” And he was the last thing she expected to find. He was dirty, smelled of whiskey, and looked like he could peel the skin off you with his teeth without leaving a drop of blood. If she wasn’t so desperate, she’d have already fled, but this was the man she’d been directed to find. She took a deep breath and decided to take the plunge. “May I sit down?”

An agent, from either side, would have approached him differently. He kicked the chair on the other side of the table out enough for her to sit. “Suit yourself.”

She sat, her back straight, her hands twisting the strap of the bag that now lay in her lap. She swallowed hard again, her eyes cutting to either side of their table. “It’s very important that I speak with you. Privately.”

David raised his chin and looked beyond her to the nearly full cantina. “This’ll do. Now, why don’t you tell me how you knew I’d be in Mérida and exactly what you want.”

She moved her chair closer to his, still concerned about being overheard. The past few days had taught her well to be careful. “Lance Knight told me where to find you, and I want you to save my parents.”

David was thankful he was able to keep his gaze on her steady when she mentioned Lance’s name. “Lance is dead,” he murmured.

“I know,” she commiserated. There’d been a flash of something in his eyes, a bit of humanity, perhaps, but it was gone as quickly as it had come. Whatever it was, Mary Margaret found herself responding to it. “I’m sorry. I understand you were close.”

David grunted in acknowledgement and took another sip of his drink. “Why would Lance tell you where to find me?”

She reached into her bag and pulled out an envelope sealed with red wax. Something told David he’d be better off not taking it; just rising to his feet and getting lost in the warm Mexican night. Only the fact that she mentioned Lance kept him from doing exactly that. With the feeling that his old friend was still controlling his life from the grave, David took the envelope from her and opened it.

Lance used the code they had used on their last mission. Listen to the lady. No involvement with the organization at this time. Contact me.

But of course, there was no way to contact Lance now. He looked up from the missive. “Explain.”

“Lance was a friend of my father’s,” she began. “About fifteen years ago, they worked together on a project called Horizon.”

David pushed the bottle of whiskey aside. Vacation or not, he couldn’t afford to dull his senses any further. “What’s your father’s name?”

“Leo. Dr. Leo Blanchard.”

He knew the name. He knew the project. A serum that would protect against ionizing radiation injury, one of the nastier side effects of nuclear war. ISS had been in charge of security. It had cost hundreds of millions of dollars and had been a whopping failure.

“The project was dropped,” she continued, “but in his spare time, my father continued to work on it. He believed in Horizon.”

David’s eyebrows rose. Not only a scientist, but a rich scientist. Without funding, he would’ve really had to believe in the project to continue to pursue it on his own time and money.

Mary Margaret’s eyes closed briefly and she could feel herself sway with exhaustion. The lack of sleep and terror were catching up with her. But she had to get through this. She opened her eyes and looked at him. “Mr. Nolan, may I have a drink?”

David smirked and pushed the bottle and glass toward her. So he was testing her. She was used to being tested. She lifted her chin and poured, slamming it back like a pro before replacing the glass on the table. It burned going down but it was exactly what she needed in order to continue.

“Thank you,” she murmured, meeting his gaze again. “Last week,” she continued, “my father was kidnapped by an organization called Excalibur. You know it?”

Only years of training kept his face impassive with the mention of Excalibur. David cursed internally. His last association with the organization had nearly killed him.

“I’m familiar with them,” he acknowledged.

“They took my father from his home and intend to hold him until he’s perfected the serum.”

“And how do you know all this?”

“The recorder was running when he was taken,” she explained. “The men told him who they were with and exactly what was expected of him.” She grabbed his forearm urgently. “I don’t think I have to explain the repercussions of an organization like Excalibur getting their hands on the serum.”

He covered her hand with his own and deliberately pulled it off of him. He wouldn’t be manipulated into taking on this job, no matter who had sent her. He had earned some time off, dammit, and he wouldn’t be giving it up without a fight. All he wanted was to do some snorkeling, explore a few ruins, and look at the sky. Just enjoy being alive for a little bit. He’d even started thinking about going to see his family.

He held her gaze with his own. “No, you do not.” Leaning back in his chair, he added, “That still doesn’t explain why Lance sent you to me.”

“Once I knew my father was missing and listened to the recorder, I contacted Lance since he was familiar with the project. He sent me to you.” The drink had put some of the fire he could sense in her back in her eyes. “He said you were the man for the job.”

That wasn’t all he’d said, but Mary Margaret didn’t think David would have appreciated the words Lance had used. He’d described David as a lethal weapon, too smart for his own good, not a team player in the least, if he was, he’d be running the ISS by now, and excellent at finding a needle in a haystack. Especially if you didn’t mind the haystack getting mussed a bit in the process. He’d said he would trust David with his life.

“Lance was off base,” David groused. “He knew I was wanting to retire. This was his way of keeping me in the game.” His hardened gaze turned back on Mary Margaret and she caught her breath. “If your father hands that serum over to those maniacs, he’s a dead man. They’d never keep him alive. They like to call themselves terrorists, liberators, rebels. But what they really are is a bunch of disorganized fanatics headed by a very rich madwoman. They kill more people by accident than they do on purpose.” He frowned and rubbed at his chest. “They have enough money to keep them going, but they’re really nothing more than dedicated idiots. And there is nothing more dangerous than dedicated idiots.”

“I’m aware,” she agreed, “and I’m sure he is, too. But they took my mother, as well. To ensure his cooperation.”

David rolled his eyes and sighed. “I’m not the man for this, Miss Blanchard. I just came off of nine months of deep cover. I’m tired. You need someone young and gung ho. The ISS would have the best agents in the world looking for your parents inside of twenty-four hours.”

“The ISS wants the serum as badly as Excalibur does,” she asserted. “Why should I trust my parents' lives to them?”

“Because they’re the good guys,” he said with a note of humor.

“Do you have a family, Mr. Nolan?”

He sighed again. “Yeah.”

“The ISS is an organization run by men. Some good, some not, but all with an idea of what is necessary to keep peace and order. If it was your family, would you trust their safety to an organization?” she asked. “An organization that may decide to sacrifice them for ‘the common good’?”

“No,” he mumbled, so low, she almost couldn’t hear him in the noise of the cantina.

“Nor would I,” she assured him. She had made up her mind. He didn’t look like a hero, but something about him told her he was. He may have just lost sight of it for a while, lost in the cynicism of the life he led. Lance had told her David was her man. That he would care more about the people involved than the serum. She discarded logic for instinct and cast her vote with him. “I can give you a quarter million dollars.”

David gulped hard, stunned.

“The money isn’t negotiable, because it’s all I have,” she continued. “It’s in a trust that came to me when I turned twenty-five. I haven’t needed it. You want to retire? You could do it on that.”

She was right. He’d never been able to hold on to more than a few thousand at a time. It just wasn’t in his nature. But money like that would make the difference between just talking about retirement and actually being able to do it. He scrubbed his hand down his face. He didn’t want to take this on. But he couldn’t turn down that kind of money.

“Alright, Doc,” he sighed. “You’ve got yourself a spy.”

~*~*~

They got back to the hotel and climbed the stairs to their rooms. Mary Margaret explained that she got the room next to his by bribing the desk clerk.

“I gave him a thousand pesos.”

David chuckled as she opened the door to her room. One glance inside and he spun Mary Margaret out of the doorway to the wall next to the door, covering her with his body. He could feel her alarm, but was too focused on her room to really enjoy being this close to her.

“What the hell are you doing?” she yelped before David shushed her with a single finger to her lips. Her eyes widened when he bent down and drew a large knife from an ankle holster and straightened back up.

He entered the room and Mary Margaret followed him. Even someone not well versed in the world of espionage could see the intruders had done a very thorough job. Nothing had been overlooked. Her suitcase had been cut open, her clothes scattered in the middle of the floor. The mattress and chair cushion had been slit, with white stuffing spilling out. The drawers of the dresser had been pulled out and overturned.

David walked further into the room to check the bath and window access. They must have come in the front, he concluded, and a search of a room this size wouldn’t have taken more than about fifteen minutes.

“Get some clothes and meet me next door.”

Mary Margaret nodded mutely and stooped to pick up some of her things. She suppressed a shudder at the thought of whoever did this going through her belongings, but she couldn’t very well leave everything here.

David opened his own door and breathed a sigh of relief. Whoever was tailing Mary Margaret hadn’t made him. The tells that he left, even when off duty- the book with the corner hanging just a bit over the edge of the nightstand and the single hair from his beard left on the bedspread- were both intact.

Mary Margaret entered the room and shut the door behind her. He crossed over and double locked it behind her. Turning to her, he was taken aback by the lost and forlorn look on her face, not to mention, the clear exhaustion. This was all very new to her, completely outside her realm of experience and he was going to have to tread lightly going forward with her. He grasped her elbow and led her to the chair next to the bed. Sitting down on the bed facing her, he spoke.

“Who are they? And what do they want?”

Her chin trembled and he was shocked to see tears gathering in the corners of her eyes, which were far away and unfocused.

“The men who killed Lance.”

It was the very last thing he expected to come out of her mouth. His jaw dropped and he was speechless for a moment. He shook his head and gathered his wits before he could speak.

“What did you say?”

The sharpness of his tone brought her back to the situation at hand and she inhaled sharply at the expression on his face. She’d seen anger, she’d seen rage, but she’d never seen anything like what swirled in David’s eyes right now.

She looked like a deer caught in the headlights and David struggled to compartmentalize her stunning statement to the back of his mind and focus on the information he needed at the moment. Holding tightly to his composure with both hands, he softened his tone and repeated his second question.

“They’re after me,” she said, voice wavering.

“Yes,” he replied, with the utmost calm, belying the fury within him. “I got that. But why?”

She swallowed hard before speaking. “A couple of months ago, I joined my father in his lab.”

“So you’re a scientist? Not a medical doctor?” he asked.

“Yes, I’m a physicist, ” she confirmed before continuing. “While I was there, we had a breakthrough. You see, in ionizing radiation injury, the main structure affected is the single cell. We believed we found a way to inoculate the cell against the damage inflicted. I took the notes with me back to the institute to work on it further.”

“So they’re after the notes you have?” he asked, incredulously. “You carry things like that around with you? Are you kidding me?”

“No, I’m not kidding you and yes, I have the notes with me.” Her eyes were closed and her voice was beginning to slur. “Excuse me.” And with that, she was asleep.

The sigh that left him was ragged and he ran his fingers through his hair in frustration. He rose and shook her shoulder in an effort to wake her, but she didn’t even twitch in response. He sighed again and knelt next to her, gathering her in his arms. Once he stood, she weighed practically nothing in his arms, he turned and placed her on the bed. Just in those few moments, she snuggled into him causing a hitch in his chest. He cuddled her close and inhaled her scent, apple blossoms with a hint of something else, something even fresher underneath. Whatever it was, it gave him visions of the green hills of Ireland under a spring rain.

She immediately turned on her side, away from him, pulling her knees slightly toward her chest and curling her hands under her chin. She was completely exhausted. Her skin was terribly pale, the comparison to snow couldn’t be avoided, with deep bruises under her eyes that made her look like she’d tried to take on Evander Holyfield, and lost.

He turned toward her bag she left on the chair and dumped the contents onto the seat. Her passport picture made him smile. Her skin was still pale, but there was a rosiness about her complexion and a hint of mischief in her green eyes that he couldn’t help responding to. He looked at the woman on the bed and felt a tightening in his midsection that he hadn’t felt in many a year. He’d never been able to resist the damsel in distress routine. It had nearly gotten him killed in Hong Kong and married in Stockholm. He wasn’t sure which would have been worse.

She was an objectively beautiful woman. Raven hair that he’d dearly love to run his fingers through, with a rosebud mouth and pert nose. He imagined her body underneath his and he felt a stirring in his pants at the thought. But he shut it down as quickly as it crossed his mind. She’d given him a job to do, and getting distracted by her would be a sure-fire way to make sure he wouldn’t make it to the finish line and his retirement ticket.

He turned back to the seat and picked through the rest of the items resting there. Her wallet- the checkbook register was balanced to the penny in an even, flowing script- an old traffic ticket, a Spanish phrase book, but no notes.

A few phone calls would fill in the blanks on Dr. Mary Margaret Blanchard, and in the meantime, he’d try to get himself some sleep as well. The next couple of weeks were bound to be hell.

~*~*~

Mary Margaret opened her eyes and looked around. In a rush, the events of the day before came rushing back to her. The bumpy and nerve racking flight from Mexico City to Mérida, the frustrating search from hotel to hotel and finally finding David Nolan in the filthy cantina.

This was his room. This was his bed. She turned her head and saw him lying on his stomach next to her and had to catch her breath. He looked younger in sleep, the tension and danger that clung to him in his waking hours utterly nonexistent.

Her eyes glanced down and she gasped. His top half was bare, and the sheet was draped low over his shapely rear end. A flush creeped up her chest and heated her cheeks. He was probably as naked as the day he was born and Mary Margaret’s pulse raced at the thought of what that sheet might be hiding. Eyes coming back up, her brow furrowed as she took in two scars along his ribs. One was obviously from a bullet and the other was long and jagged- from a knife, she’d expect. Her mouth opened slightly as she reached out to tentatively touch the larger scar.

As soon as she did, his hand shot out and grabbed her wrist. Startled, she looked up at him to see his sky blue eyes looking back at her. He looked completely alert, the danger back in full force.

“You sleep like the dead,” he commented dryly . He rolled over and Mary Margaret gasped in horror. She knew what he did; he was a dangerous man who lived a dangerous life, but she’d never seen anything like the very long, ugly scar just to the right of his heart. It looked like he’d been ripped apart and then put back together. Recently.

“What happened?” she whispered.

“Nothing important,” he brushed her off. “Got a problem with scars, Snow?”

“Scarsnow?” Mary Margaret shook her head in confusion. “Wait- did you just call me Snow?”

His eyes softened and he reached out to brush his knuckles along her cheek. “You’re so pale, even after a full night’s sleep, your skin looks like snow.”

Mary Margaret couldn’t breathe. The soft touch along her skin was making her pulse thud, the tenderness in his eyes threatening to melt her from the inside out.

David seemed to realize what he was doing and jerked back from her, the sheet around his lower half shifting just enough to make her cheeks heat and her eyes to skitter away from it, only to collide with his amused gaze. He stood slowly, wearing only flesh colored boxer briefs that left little to the imagination, a cocky smirk lifting his lips.

Watching her carefully, he was pleased when she met his eyes steadily. A blush still covered her cheeks, but whatever her thoughts were, she hid them behind her clear green gaze.

“You could use a shower, Mr. Nolan,” she deadpanned.

“Why don’t you order us up some breakfast while I do, Snow?” he asked. “And make it David. After all, we’ve slept together.” He winked at her and sauntered into the bathroom.

The water had been running for several minutes before the stranglehold on her chest loosened enough for her to breathe deeply again. She was surprised he still called her Snow after his apparent embarrassment with the soft intimacy of the moment while they were still in the bed. But she couldn’t be surprised at his behavior afterwards. It was natural for the male of a species to flaunt himself in front of a female. The peacock had his feathers, the lion, his mane. But who could have guessed the man would be built like that.

She didn’t care how he looked, as long as he helped her.

In the bathroom, David stepped fully under the spray and hung his head before starting to shave by feel. Excalibur. Why the hell did it have to be Excalibur?

He thought he was done with those half-baked morons. It had taken six months for him to infiltrate the organization at the base level. Keeping a low profile with a Slavic accent, his hair dyed black and a lot of facial hair to complete his disguise, he’d been working his way up nicely through the ranks. Ten miles outside of Cairo, he made the mistake of discovering the man he was working with had a little side venture of his own. Not his business, he’d tried to tell the man. Not that he had listened. In a panic, the terrified entrepreneur had blown a hole in David’s chest and left him for dead rather than risk being reported. It was quite well known that the madwoman who controlled Excalibur had little patience for private enterprise.

And now, here he was again, willingly walking into a lion’s den. For his retirement. That’s it. No other reason… no other reason to examine more closely, anyway.

He got out of the shower and dried off with the undersized towel before wrapping it around his waist.

“Shower’s yours, Snow,” he said, coming back into the room.

She pressed her lips into a thin line, not sure she liked the nickname. She wasn’t dishonest, so she couldn’t deny that it was more likely the circumstances surrounding his telling her about it that were causing her discomfort, rather than the nickname itself. It lent an intimacy to their interactions that she wasn’t sure she could handle. The time he had spent in the shower had done wonders for her composure, and while he was in there, she came to a decision. He was a tool, not a man. He would find her parents, take his money, and then she’d never see him again. Right?

“Fine,” she replied, standing from the bed, refusing to look at him. She grabbed some clothes and moved toward the bathroom, until she came face to face with his naked chest. A single drop of water ran down his torso and Mary Margaret felt her mouth go dry. “Eh- excuse me,” she stammered, still not looking at his face.

She could practically feel his smirk and she wished the floor would open and swallow her whole. Staring at the defined muscles on the man in front of her, arousal flooded her and she shook her head to try and regain some type of equilibrium with him this close.

“I… I don’t have a toothbrush,” she murmured, latching onto the first coherent thought to enter her mind.

“You can use mine,” he offered. “It’s on the side of the sink.”

Mary Margaret wrinkled her nose in distaste. “It’s unhygienic.” She finally looked up at his face and her cheeks flamed at the amusement she saw in his eyes.

He shrugged, his lips upturned in a cocky smirk. “Yeah, but then so’s kissing, if you do it right.” He moved to the side and Mary Margaret fled for the safety of the shower.

She felt almost human again when she emerged. David sat on the bed shoveling eggs into his mouth, the morning paper in his other hand.

“I wasn’t sure what you liked,” she murmured, sitting next to him on the bed and digging into her own breakfast.

“This is fine,” he assured her. His eyes left the paper and shot over to her.

He knew what it felt like to take a hard fist to the solar plexus. How the body contracted, the air left the lungs, how the room spun. But he didn’t know one could feel it when looking at a woman.

Her hair was black as midnight, still damp, and just touched her shoulders, green eyes that reminded him of the hills of Ireland looked at him from over the rim of her coffee cup. Her face was round with full cheeks; her skin was still as pale as freshly fallen snow although the rosiness he’d noticed in her passport picture was back after a good night’s sleep. He’d never seen anything more beautiful.

“Are you alright?” she asked, slightly alarmed. David had frozen, a forkful of eggs halfway to his mouth. When he didn’t answer, she seriously considered calling for someone to help. The man looked like he’d been struck on the back of the neck. She reached out and grabbed his wrist. “David, are you ill?”

“Huh? What?” It was like he woke from a sleeping curse, thoroughly disoriented. He shook his head slightly. “Yeah, I’m fine.” He took a bite before speaking again. “We need to clear a few things up. When did they take your parents?”

“The police contacted me Thursday,” she replied. “The recording was from Wednesday. They obviously didn’t know anything about a working lab and overlooked it. I listened to it over and over again, hoping to catch something, anything about where they were taking them, but there was nothing. Only who they were with and what he was expected to do.” She closed her eyes, remembering. The sounds of the struggle had come through clearly on the recording- breaking glass, crashing, the screams of her mother. “They must have had a knife. My father said he’d come quietly if they didn’t cut my mother.” She swallowed hard. “They said to bring all his notes on Horizon, that he worked for Excalibur now.” Her breath hitched as she continued. “He begged them to let my mother go, but they laughed and said it would be cruel to separate such a clearly devoted husband and wife.”

She raised her hand to her mouth and tried to swallow a sob. It was obvious what the recounting was doing to her, but for her sake and his, he offered her no comfort.

“And how did they find out about you?”

“They would have only had to read his notes.”

“The men on the tape, they spoke English? Any accent?”

“Yes, Mediterranean accent, I think. But the one who laughed had a British accent.”

“Ok.” He stood from the bed having finished his breakfast and loomed over her. “I think we can coax them out into the open. How are you for guts, Snow?”

She shrugged. “It’s not something I’ve ever had to test before, but if you’re wanting to use me as bait to lure them out, I’m certainly willing.”

“Where are the notes?” he asked. “They weren’t in your bag.”

“You went through my things?” She tried to swallow down her consternation, knowing that after mentioning them last night and then falling asleep on him, it was natural that he’d look for them. Pressing her lips together in a thin line, she took a deep calming breath. “Lance destroyed them.”

“You said you had them with you.” He was shaken at the mention of Lance, but he’d have to ask her later about her revelation from last night.

“I do,” she assured him, pointing at her temple. “Right here. With a true photographic memory, one sees words. If and when it becomes necessary, I can duplicate the notes.”

“Then that’s what you’re going to do, with a few minor alterations.” He held his hand out to her. She placed her own in his and rose to her feet. “Do you trust me?” he asked, his blue eyes delving into her green.

“Yes,” she answered, unequivocally.

“Good,” he grinned. “You’ll have to if we’re gonna get out of this alive.”

~*~*~

Thank you all for reading! I’d love to know what you think! Sneak peek will be up on Friday with the next chapter posting Saturday. Until then, y’all!

[vladdocs]

ENG Letter from the Voivode Vlad Draguli Tepes of March 14, 1457. *** By content: This letter finally clarifies the political situation between Wallachia and Transylvania, which became the cause of the conflict in 1457 and later. However, to understand the situation, it is worth reading first two other documents, the first, the agreement between the parties, the terms of assistance, the second, the document of the request for help from the voivode. This document follows in this chain the third, interesting from the point of view of the conflict. After the voivode did not receive an answer, according to the agreement, he goes to the lands where the applicants for the throne of Wallachia and their accomplices are hiding. According to the agreement, if you remember, the party on whose land the applicant and his people are hiding, preferably, betrays (meets the voivode as a friend) intruders, or does not interfere with their search. Probably, the governor did not meet any assistance in Transylvania, which is not surprising, given this attitude. Having crossed the Turnu-Rosu pass and arriving at the places where the aforementioned gentlemen were hiding, but faced with complete indifference, the voivode made an attempt to persuade Transylvania to reckon with itself. The result of this was the burned villages of Kasholts, Khosman and Nou Romyn near the very Sibiu. For decades, Transylvania, which had been shaking the nerves of the governors of Wallachia, was literally shocked by such an act, unprecedented in its kind, so that echoes of indignation reached us in the form of pamphlets, legends, stories, where from year to year, from decade to decade, the number of “innocents” increases, just like the number of "victims". In those stories, it comes to the point where the death toll during that period significantly exceeds even the number of all who lived at that time in one of the largest cities in Transylvania, Brasov. What exactly prompted the governor to take such a decisive, long-needed step? Was it the indirect participation of Transylvania in all the coups in Wallachia?, the murder of his family?, an attempt on his own murder?. It is unlikely that the voivode was so restrained and patient that, having come to power “without any help,” he concludes a strong peace with Transylvania and approaches it very responsibly. This letter is also very interesting, with a phrase that some historians even interpret as a threat: “If you don’t want even more, then immediately inform us so that we can rule and govern”. However, from the point of view of the choice of vocabulary, "quod nos regere et gubern {are p} ossemus" is completely neutral and, speaking figuratively in modern words, has the following content: the voivode, being a ruler, will be able to begin to regulate the current situation only when he finds out about the further political course of his neighbor, Transylvania, and does not want to be in the dark about that, therefore he asks to inform about his decision. There is nothing else in this phrase, "reign and govern", "herrschen und lenken", in any translation, that is, to be the ruler and therefore to control the situation. For all that, few people focus on the fact that they tried to kill the governor in Transylvania when he needed help. They also pay little attention to the fact that the voivode expresses, albeit tactfully within the framework of necessary diplomacy, about his attitude to the origin of the applicant: “his infringement on our right of the true (!) Heir”, “a monk from Wallachia who calls himself a son voivode ", the latter is twice specially indicated. Given these moments, I personally cannot understand why Vlad The Monk is definitely considered the illegitimate child of Dragul, when among his sons his father is not mentioned anywhere in the documents, not even once, and one of the sons frankly says that the Monk is an impostor. In my opinion, Vlad Monk is another Neagoe Bassarab, of which, as we remember, there were plenty of them. With only one commander Dragulya Tepes, duplicated Mirchi, Vlada and

forged documents suddenly appeared. Letter from the governor Vlad Draguli Tepes dated March 14, 1457. *** Noble, prudent and far-sighted men, advisers, fathers, brothers, our sincerely dear friends and neighbors, as you remember, and you should be well aware of that, there is a commitment between us, and vows backed by unshakable loyalty have been taken; and these obligations and vows must not be violated by anyone and never, while we are alive, at any time, which we personally specifically pointed out to you in a letter. From our side of evil, we did not do you and did not intend to start that. But today a rumor has reached us and we have learned about all that, that at a secret council you were with the people of a monk from Wallachia, who calls himself the son of a governor *, settled their affairs; Moreover, Peter Gereb * from Virishmort, and Peterman *, the son of the noble Peterman, who were neighboring with you, took part in this. You were personally promised to transfer all the fees to you in Rukar and Brail for a long time, promising that Wallachia's income. * Remember the time when I wandered and arrived in your lands *, you then did not let me into your council, but instead, out of loyalty to the noble lord, the governor of these lands, Vladislav entrusted the noble men John Gereb from Wingard and Nicholas from Salzburg to capture us in the city of Joaju and to end us. But by the will of God, we ourselves were able to return our lands without any help *, but with you, we made a strong peace and thus made your enemies ours. Today we fully understand that you support a monk from Wallachia, who calls himself the son of a governor, and his people in an encroachment on our right to be a true heir, and we also understand what bad consequences for us everything can lead, since you are already Advice with him, and he, having made his way to Amlash, remained there, and is there to this day by your own will. Therefore, with this letter we ask each and every one of you that in the name of the God and according to the commandments of the Catholic faith, as well as for the sake of maintaining fraternal peace and friendship between us, after reading our letter, you will certainly write to us or report back, whether you wish further observe the order established by us and you in writing and be loyal to it. If you do not wish that more, then immediately inform us, so that we can rule and govern. Given in Targoviste on the second day after the feast of Blessed Pope Gregory, in the year 1457. Vlad, Commander of the Transalpine lands, your faithful brother, son and friend in everything. Comments: * Identity of Vlad the monk is speculative only. * Peter Gereb * from Virishmort was a judge and head of Sibiu in 1467, later he was executed in the city square because of his participation in the uprising against Corwin considered bloodthirsty). Peterman was a wealthy Sibiu merchant from Wallachia, Kampulung; the city was located on the trade route from Rukar to Brasov. The German-speaking community living there maintained close relations with Sibiu. * Fees from you in Rukar were the most important source of income for Wallachia, therefore they were never the object of donation or lease. Braila Port, located on the Danube, was the country's most important port and was of exceptional importance for trade in the western Black Sea region. The decision of the self-appointed claimant to take away the income from the country and give it to Transylvania was also unprecedented, his desire to curry favor was painfully strong. * After an unsuccessful attempt to regain legal power in November 1448, the voivode fled to Moldavia. However, there is no evidence that he was present at the court of Bogdan II. Perhaps he found refuge among the Moldovan boyars who were supporters of his family. Later, the voivode is forced to move to Transylvania, after Vladislav finds himself in the same situation as many voivods before him and therefore loses the support of the Hungarians. * Joaju (Rom. Geoagiu, ung. Algyógy) is located in the Hunedoara

Sudce, where the Hunyadi family owned vast estates and were surrounded by numerous supporters. The authors of the book Corpus Draculianum contradict themselves, first they write that the Hungarians removed Vladislav because of his pro-Ottoman policy, and then that the murder of the governor could have been ordered by Hunyadi, so that, literally: “Hunyadi wanted to prevent Vlad's attack on Vladislav, so as not to violate the truce with by the Ottomans ". Several different statements. And why would Vlad even then be in Joaju, "where the Hunyadi family owned vast estates and were surrounded by numerous supporters." Honestly, I am alarmed by the attempt of the authors of the book to constantly challenge the words of the voivode in the documents (I often notice in the comments, they say, “the voivode is misleading,” or “in fact, the reason was something else, and not indicated by the voivode” (they apparently, instead of the governor, they know much better what was the cause of what was in the 15th century, in this case the same example, after all, everything is written in black and white, who attempted and why) and suppose “their own” version. I do not know the purpose of such comments. An example, one of the many about challenging, openly refuting the words of the voivode in his letter with his statement, is the commentary on the phrase “But by the will of the Lord we ourselves were able to return our lands without any help.” In the commentary to this phrase, the authors of the aforementioned publication, the governor is accused of lying, citing a completely empty formal oath to Postumus in March 1456 and arguing that (as it turns out, it was not Hunyadi who wanted to kill, as they had previously stated) with the help of Hun eadi. In support of the versions, documents are cited that are not evidence of the indicated facts, even indirectly. In some comments, the authors of the publication accuse the voivode of issuing an ultimatum without offering any negotiations, and this is for this phrase: “Therefore, with this letter we ask each and every one of you that in the name of the Lord and according to the commandments of the Catholic faith, and also for the sake of maintaining fraternal peace and friendship between us (!), after reading our letter, you certainly wrote or reported to us (!) whether you want to continue to observe the order established by us and you in writing (!) and be loyal to it. If you do not wish that more, then immediately inform us, so that we can rule and rule. " I don’t know how even softer it is possible to write after an attempted murder, after a betrayal and a secret conspiracy, the ruler who previously concluded an agreement with you asks you to inform us about your preference in actions. I cannot understand what the authors are pursuing with such comments. _____________________ RU Письмо воеводы Влада Драгули Цепеша от 14 марта 1457 года, перевод группы Воевода Валахии XV века Влад Цепеш Дракула. *** По содержанию: Данное письмо окончательно проясняет политическую ситуацию между Валахией и Трансильванией, ставшую причиной конфликта и в 1457 , и позже. Однако, для понимания ситуации стоит прочесть сначала два других документа, первый, договор между сторонами, условия содействия, второй, документ просьбы о помощи от воеводы. Данный документ следует в этой цепи третьим, интересным с точки зрения конфликта. После того, как воевода не получил ответа, согласно договору, он отправляется в земли, где укрываются претенденты на трон Валахии и их пособники. Согласно договору, если помните, сторона, на чьей земле скрывается претендент и его люди, предпочтительно, выдает (встречает воеводу , как приятеля) злоумышленников, либо не препятствует их поиску. Вероятно, воевода не встретил никакого содействия в Трансильвании, что и неудивительно, учитывая подобное отношение. Переправившись через перевал Турну-Рошу и прибыв в места укрывательства перечисленных господ, но столкнувшись с полным безразличием, воевода предпринял попытку убедить Трансильванию считаться с собой. Результатом этого стали сожженные

деревни Кашольц, Хосман и Ноу Ромын близ того самого Сибиу. Десятилетиями трепавшая нервы воеводам Валахии Трансильвания была в буквальном смысле шокирована таким поступком, беспрецедентным в своем роде настолько, что отголоски возмущения дошли до нас в виде памфлетов, сказаний, рассказов, где из года в год, из десятилетия в десятилетие, и число «невинно убиенных» становится все больше, и смерти все краше. В ряде рассказов доходит до того, что число погибших в тот период значительно превышает даже численность всех, живших на тот момент в одном из самых крупных городов Трансильвании, Брашове. Что же именно подвигло воеводу на такой решительный, давно нужный шаг? Было ли то косвенное участие Трансильвании во всех переворотах в Валахии, убийство его семьи, покушение на его собственное убийство. Вряд ли, воевода был настолько сдержан и терпелив, что, придя ко власти «без всякой помощи», заключает крепкий мир с Трансильванией и очень ответственно к тому подходит. Данное письмо очень интересно и фразой, которую некоторые историки даже трактуют как угрозу: «Ежели не желаете того более, то тотчас сообщите нам, дабы мы могли властвовать и править». Однако, с точки зрения выбора лексики, ��quod nos regere et gubern{are p}ossemus» вполне нейтральна и , если говорить переносно современными словами, имеет следующее содержание: воевода, будучи правителем, сможет начать регулировать сложившуюся ситуацию , лишь тогда, когда узнает о дальнейшем политическом курсе своего соседа, Трансильвании, и не желает быть в неведении о том, потому просит сообщить о своем решении. Ничего другого в данной фразе нет, «reign and govern», «herrschen und lenken», в любом переводе, то есть, быть господарем и потому управлять ситуацией. При всем, мало кто акцентирует внимание на том, что воеводу пытались убить в Трансильвании, когда ему нужна была помощь. Также мало акцентируют внимание и на том, что воевода высказывает, пусть и тактично в рамках необходимой дипломатии, о своем отношении к происхождению претендента: «его в посягательстве на наше право истинного (!) наследника», «монаха из Валахии, кто величает себя сыном воеводы», последнее дважды особо указывается. Учитывая данные моменты, я лично не могу понять, почему Влада Монаха определенно считают внебрачным ребенком Драгула, когда среди сыновей его нигде не упоминается в документах самого отца, ни разу, а один из сыновей откровенного говорит, что Монах самозванец. На мой взгляд, Влад Монах очередной Нягое Бассараб, которых на деле, как помним, было полно. Только с одним воеводой Драгулей Цепешем внезапно появились и дублированные Мирчи, Влады и поддельные документы. Письмо воеводы Влада Драгули Цепеша от 14 марта 1457 года. *** Знатные, благоразумные и дальновидные мужи, советники, отцы, браться, наши искренне дорогие друзья и соседи, как вы помните, а о том должно вам быть хорошо известно, есть между нами обязательства , и даны клятвы, подкрепленные непоколебимой верностью; и сие обязательства и клятвы недолжно никому и никогда, пока мы живы, в любое время нарушать, на что мы вам лично особливо в письме указывали . С нашей стороны зла мы вам не творили и не намеревались то начинать. Но нынче дошел до нас слух и мы обо всем том узнали , что на тайном совете с вами были и дела свои улаживали люди монаха из Валахии, кто величает себя сыном вое��оды*; пуще того, принимали в том участие и Петер Гереб *из Виришморта, и Петерман *, сын знатного Петермана, соседствующие с вами. Вам лично пообещали надолго передать все сборы с вам в Рукаре и Брэиле , посулив тем доходы Валахии.* Припомните же то время, когда скитался я и в ваши земли прибыл*, не пустили вы тогда меня в совет свой, но вместо этого вы из преданности знатному господину ,воеводе тогда этих земель , Владиславу поручили знатным мужам Иоанну Геребу из Вингарда и Николаю из Зальцбурга нас в граде Джоаджу пленить и с нами покончить. Но по воле Господа смогли мы сами без всякой помощи земли свои вернуть*, а с вами же мы заключили крепкий мир и тем сделали ваших неприятелей нашими. Нынче мы всецело разумеем то, что вы поддерживаете монаха из

Валахии , кто сыном воеводы себя величает, и людей его в посягательстве на наше право истинного наследника, а также понимаем и то, к каким худым последствиям для нас все может привести, раз вы уж и совет с ним держите, и он , в Амлаш пробравшись , там и остался , и там доныне находится по вашей же собственной воле. Потому сим письмом просим мы всех и каждого из вас о том, чтобы во имя Господа и по заповедям веры католической, а также ради поддержания между нами братского мира и дружбы, вы, прочтя наше письмо , нам непременно ответ написали или доложили, желаете ли далее соблюдать письменно установленный нами и вами порядок и быть тому преданными . Ежели не желаете того более, то тотчас сообщите нам , дабы мы могли властвовать и править. Дано в Тырговиште на второй день после праздника блаженного папы Григория, в год 1457. Влад, воевода земель Трансальпийских , ваш верный брат, сын и слуга во всем. Знатным, благоразумным и дальновидным мужам, бургомистру Освальду, судье и советникам Сибиу, всем нашим мужам саксам из Семиградья, нашим искренне уважаемым друзьям и соседям. ___________________________________________________________________________ Комментарии: *Идентификация личности Влада монаха лишь предположительная. * Петер Гереб *из Виришморта был судьей и главой Сибиу в 1467 году, позже его казнят на городской площади из-за его участия в восстании против Корвина (последнему, выходит, отмечу от себя, можно так поступать с заговорщиками и претендентами на власть и не считаться кровожадным). Петерман же был богатым торговцем Сибиу родом из Валахии , Кымпулунг; город располагался на торговом пути от Рукара в Брашов. Проживавшее там немецкоязычное сообщество поддерживало тесные отношения с Сибиу. *Сборы с вам в Рукаре были самым важным источником дохода для Валахии , потому они никогда не выступали объектом пожертвования или аренды. Порт Брэйла, расположенный на Дунае, был самым важным портом страны и имел исключительное значение для торговли в западно-черноморском регионе. Решение самозваного претендента отнять доход у страны и подарить его Трансильвании также было беспрецедентным, больно сильным было его желание выслужиться. * После неудачной попытки вернуть законную власть в ноябре 1448 года , воевода бежал в Молдавию . Однако, нет никаких доказательств того, что он присутствовал при дворе Богдана II. Возможно, он нашел прибежище среди молдавских бояр, которые были сторонниками его семьи. Позже воевода вынужден перебраться в Трансильванию, после того, как Владислав оказывается в той же ситуации, что и многие воеводы до него и потому лишается поддержки венгров. *Джоаджу (рум. Geoagiu, ung. Algyógy) расположен в судце Хунедоара, где семья Хуньяди владела обширными владениями и была окружена многочисленными сторонниками. Авторы книги Corpus Draculianum противоречат себе , сначала пишут, что венгры убрали Владислава из-за его проосманской политики, а потом, что убийство воеводы мог заказать Хуньяди , чтобы, дословно: «Хуньяди хотел предотвратить нападение Влада воеводы на Владислава , чтобы не нарушать перемирие с османами». Несколько различные утверждения. Да и зачем бы Владу вообще тогда находиться именно в Джоаджу, «где семья Хуньяди владела обширными владениями и была окружена многочисленными сторонниками». Меня, честно, настораживает ко всему попытка авторов книги постоянно оспорить слова воеводы в документах (не раз то замечаю в комментариях, мол, «воевода вводит в заблуждение», или «на деле же причиной было иное, а не указанное воеводой» (они, видно, вместо воеводы куда лучше знают, что же причиной чего и было в 15 веке , в данном случае тот же пример, все ведь черным по белому писано, кто покушался и зачем) и предположить «свою» версию. Бессмысленно то. А вот какова цель подобных комментариев мне неизвестно. Примером, одним из многочисленных об оспаривании , откровенном опровержении слов воеводы в письме своим утверждением, является и комментарий к фразе «Но по воле Господа смогли мы сами без всякой помощи земли свои вернуть». В комментарии к данной фразе авторы вышеупомянутого издания обвиняют воеводу во

лжи, приводя основой совершенно пустую формальную присягу Постуму марта 1456 и утверждая, что (как оказывается, уже не Хуньяди убить хотел, как ранее ими было заявлено) с помощью Хуньяди. В поддержку версий приводятся документы, не являющиеся доказательствами указанных фактов даже косвенно. В некоторых комментариях авторы издания обвиняют воеводу в том, что он выставил ультиматум, не предлагая никаких переговоров, и это к данной фразе : «Потому сим письмом просим мы всех и каждого из вас о том, чтобы во имя Господа и по заповедям веры католической, а также ради поддержания между нами братского мира и дружбы (!), вы, прочтя наше письмо , нам непременно ответ написали или доложили, (!)желаете ли далее соблюдать письменно установленный (!)нами и вами порядок и быть тому преданными. Ежели не желаете того более, то тотчас сообщите нам , дабы мы могли властвовать и править». Уж не знаю, как еще мягче можно написать после покушения на свое убийство, после предательства и тайного заговора, правитель , заключивший ранее с вами договор, просит вас сообщить о вашем предпочтении в действиях. Не могу понять, какую цель преследуют авторы такими комментариями.

[ebaeschnbliah]

Mary’s hiatus .....

An interesting journey based on the randomness of a dice

At least that’s what Mary says. Taking a closer look on her journey, it doesn’t feel random at all though.

TBC below the cut ...

Mary leaves London with a passenger plane. When the plane lands, she leaves the unspecified airport in the disguise of a flight attendant. The next station on her random hiatus is the village Norddal in Norway.

There she can be seen leaving a fishing boat that carries the Norwegian flag.

As @callie-ariane pointed out in her scripts: 

“... the boat from which Mary disembarks is named “Flekkete Bånd” which deliciously translates to “Speckled Band.” Additionally I am assured that the name of the boat behind it, which I can’t read clearly, translates from Norwegian to “Lion’s Mane.”

Next, Mary visits a place near the shore with a costal watchtower, guarded by a massive stone wall.

Out of that wall she pulls a single already loose stone. In the opening behind, a passport is hidden ... made out in the name of Gabrielle Ashdown, citicen of the United States of America.

Gabrielle Ashdown is a name, taken from the movie The Private Life of Sherlock Holmes. The fake identity ‘Ashdown’ is used by Sherlock Holmes and Gabrielle Valladon for their investigations in Scotland. Under the disguise of the married couple ‘Mr and Mrs Ashdown’, they try to find Mrs Valldon’s missing husband. It turns out that ‘Gabrielle Valladon’ is already a fake identity as well and the woman in question is Ilse von Hoffmanstal, a german spy.

Laser light bars start running back and forth across the passport and serve as transition to the following scene. 

The laser light bars continue to run across motorbike and underlying map. From East to West, from Kaliningrad (Russia) to Gdansk (Poland) to Bornholm (Denmark)

Finally Mary makes herself ready to mount the motorbike. When she drives away the word ‘KIELBASKI’ appears on a sign at a building. It remains unclear if it is meant to be the name of a person, a company or if it relates to the village Kielbaski in Poland, about 70km from the Belarusian border. 

For comparison: I took a screenshot of the scene from HLV in which Mycroft looks at the map of Poland, tracking someone called ‘UGLY DUCKLING’ and I marked the location of the village Kielbaski.

The word KIELBASKI as well as the logo ‘Solidarność’, sprayed on the wall of the same building, indicates that Mary is meant to be in Poland in that scene. 

The underlaying map shows ‘RUSSIA’ written over Mary’s face. Does this mean that she is about to go there? It wouldn’t be very farfetched, I guess. Especially if one considers the text in Cyrillic letters on Magnussen’s file about Mary, as shown in HLV. (A partial translation can be found at the end of this post)

And yet, I think Mary doesn’t travel East to Belarus or Russia. Visual directions are important in movies. The screen is often treated like a map. If someone is meant to go west, they will move to the left border of the screen and vis versa. Mary drives first round a bend and then heads to the left ... to the West. And indeed, in the next scene - meanwhile Mary has replaced the motorbike by a car and she travels through a mountainous area - the underlaying map reveals that she is now quite far west of Poland ....

She is somewhere between Switzerland, Liechtenstein and Austria and her car moves now more to the right side of the screen, as does the underlying map ... Mary drives eastward.

Near the upper, right side of the map above ‘Salzburg’ can be seen. Mary drives on in her car and passes Wien and Budapest.

Then she crosses through Romania. The map of this country is more clearly and completely shown than all the others from Mary’s journey. Not long ago I wrote about Jonathan Harker’s journey from Count Dracula’s castle to the Black Sea (here). Because of that I’m still quite familiar with this particular area and I couldn’t help noticing that all the relevant places from Bram Stoker’s Dracula can also be found on this map about Mary’s journey. 

Cluj-Napoca (Klausenburg in Bram Stokers novel), Bistrița, the Borgo Pass near which Count Dracula’s castle is meant to be, Bacău, Galati where the Count leaves the Czarina Catherine, the ship that carries him home again ... Varna in Bulgaria, from where the Demeter sets sails to England. The shore of the Black Sea - everything can be found on this map.

But there is still more. There aren’t just all the familiar places that appear on this map in TST. Mary’s journey matches that of Harker even earlier. In the novel (published 1897) Harker goes by train across Europe all the way to Bistrița. Over a great distance the same tracks have been used for the famous Orient Express and the track section between Salzburg and Budapest (since 1897 ) covers also Mary’s travel route in TST.

This means that Mary travels the same route from Salzburg to Budapest by car, as does Jonathan Harker in Bram Stoker’s novel by train. And then she can be seen walking somewhere on a quay at the shore of the Black Sea, visually right between Galati and Varna, as displayed on the underlaying map.

Could be nothing, could be just coincidence. But then ... Dracula BBC has been created by the same people as Sherlock BBC ... so who knows? It’s at least very interesting. :))))

Next time a map shows up, Mary has obviously traveled further East, maybe to the Crimean peninsula, displayed on the right border of the map and from there to Teheran, the capital of Iran. A rider on a camel can be seen, who moves into the picture from the outer right side to the left. Is Mary heading westward again? It seems that she has changed the type of transport as well ...

Djebel Amour is the name of a mountain range in Algeria which belongs to the Atlas Mountain System in the Sahara ... far west of Iran. No camel or any other transport can be seen here. Mary walks slowly towards palm trees and some unspecified buildings.

PS: regarding Djebel Amour ...

Algeria is the second-largest Francophone country in the world in terms of speakers. Due to Algeria’s colonial history French is widely used in government, media, the education system and academia. It can be regarded as a lingua franca of Algeria (X).

The French word ‘amour’ translates into ‘love’. That’s interesting because the very first conversation Sherlock has, after his return from Morocco, revolves around dear brother Mycroft’s Latin skills:

SHERLOCK: Amo, amas, amat. MYCROFT: I love, you love, he loves. What ...? SHERLOCK: Not ‘ammo’ as in ‘ammunition’ but ‘amo,’ meaning ...?

Djebel Amour ... mountain of love ... that’s at least another lovely coincidence. Even more so because Sherlock himself has been compared to a mountain and a volcano (X). :)

Finally Mary reaches Marrakesh in the Kingdom of Morocco and walks into a souk. At the place where she’s heading to, Sherlock and John are already waiting for her. And Ajay is on the way there as well. The Orient is indeed full of wonders it seems .....

The last part of Mary’s journey ... the desert, the palm trees, the camel, the buildings and the way she’s dressed ... all of this conveys a strong oriental flair. Intuitive the Orient is assossiated with the East. Not surprising at all since the term ‘Orient’ derives from the Latin word oriens - which means ‘east’ - literally ‘rising’. It refers to the part of the sky where the sun is rising, to dawn and daybreak. Mary’s own mysterious words in the plane at the very beginning of her hiatus come to mind:

“... but did somebody hide the sun? Did you lose it in the war?”

Because of that intuitive feeling, one is tempted to assume that Mary is still in the Orient - in the East - when she comes to Morocco. Stricktly speaking, that’s a false assumption and the maps prove it without a doubt. Viewed from Great Britain - and here lies the centre point of this story, around which everything else revolves - Morocco is located in the West. It’s actually on the same longitude as Ireland. 

The filming of all the oriental scenes took place in Morocco. What might have been the reason to place the story also there? Instead, for example, in ...

Pakistan (Karachi/Irene Adler in ASIB, Islamabad/Mr Chatterjee in THOB)

Afghanistan (Kandahar and the province Helmand/John Watson in TSOT)

Iraq (Samarra, Sherlock’s rewritten story in TST)

All those places are already closely linked to Sherlock BBC. Why add an additional one?

In any case, East and West play an important role in Sherlock BBC. Sherlock’s and Mary’s hiatus mirror each other in many ways but there are also differences. Sherlock’s hiatus ends East of England, in Serbia - Mary’s hiatus ends West of England, in Morocco. As mentioned above, this country is on the same langitude as Ireland. And maybe it is also of importance that especially Ireland is linked with Jim Moriarty. It is well known that Moriarty is an Irish surname. That’s why Andrew Scott decided to keep his own Irish accent for this role. 

The souks of Marakkesh, Kasbah Nights, the crescent moon ... the Orient that ‘hides’ in the Occident. The East that hides in the West. A very clever deception. It reminds me of Mr Mohandes Hassan, a character from the same episode, who also combines East and West in his name. In Mr Hassan’s case ... India and Ireland ... Kamadeva’s arrow and a Gaelic stag (here).

Mary’s journey has been made on the roll of a dice, every movement was entirely random ... so it is said. She starts out on a plane, changes to a ship, a motorbike and then a car, with which she follows the route of famous train tracks. Next she rides on a camel and finally she goes on foot. Somehow this feels like a journey back to the roots ... to a beginning. A beginning that will turn out to be an end. Is her hiatus meant to be a journey backwards? From flying high above the clouds to footprints in the sand? 

This journey doesn’t feel random at all, nor ‘made on the roll of a dice’ ...

April, 2021

Thanks for reading that far and thanks @callie-ariane for the scripts. :)

The game is afoot   Backs

[whatdoesshedotothem]

Tuesday 22 July 1834

8 40

3 40

she came for an hour and half to me this morning quietly talking fine morning F70 ½° at 8 ¾ am - breakfast at 11 ½ - had been repacking - off from Bonneville at 12 20 – fine valley as far as B- from there the mountains wear out into rounded, beautiful, green wooded hills and extensive valley – very good road – stopt 3 or 4 minutes at 1 43 to water the horses -  at 2 50 stopt at Amenas [Annemasse] to shew passport – the Douaniers very civil – would not take money – explained the trick the postilion Chaumantois from Geneva had played me in demanding money for them on the 3rd inst. and they were vexed and promised to do what they could do with him - thunder and forked lightning and rain in passing thro’ the nice little town of ...... at 3 20 - at 3 50 stopt at Hentsch’s bank – sent up to them and they brought me down the money for tow £25 circulars - alighted at the hotel de Bergues at 4 – full – only a double bedded room and 2nde and a little apartment 3me – took the latter (salon and 1 double bedded room) at 16/. a day – the 2 servants above at 2/. a day for both – siding -  A- and I out at 5 to 6 – at Baute’s – bought a brooch for M- or Mrs. Sutherland? dinner at 6 20 to 8 ½ - got at the bank letter from my aunt dated 27th June  3 pages and ends – she has a better day and a worse – Mr. Sunderland very attentive – on the whole good account – she writes on the 27th to A- and on the 28th page 3 and ends and 2 lines under the seal to me - ‘I may now I am quite well, except this never-ceasing pain’ - all going on well - my father well and has ordered a little carriage to go about in – very sorry for M- - got at the post restante letter from my aunt Shibden dated 9th inst. 3 pages and ends all to me - my father ‘tolerable but very feeble, he does not appear to gain strength at all – he walks out a little every day, generally to the top of the bank, and in the course of the day 2 or 3 times a little in the garden – as to myself sometimes I have a very poorly day and then better - Mr. Sunderland is very attentive, and upon the whole, I think I am much the same as when you went’  - very anxious about me – begs me not to hasten our return on her account – hopes there will be no occasions for me to be at home before the end of August as Marian will not go to Market Weighton until she can leave my father with more satisfaction – she had a letter that day (9th inst.) from Mariana to make inquires after me – said it was 5 weeks since she heard from me – had been very ill – did not know of my being abroad – my aunt begs me to write to M- immediately –

SH:7/ML/E/17/0062

‘William Milne died rather suddenly during his mother’s absence in London’ – has received  a parcel for me Bibliotheca Hiberiana [Heberiana] - George Robinson had been at Shibden and paid £50 promising the rest the following week - Mr. Parker will deliver the notice to quit himself - has sent the one to John Pearson - the Staups purchase papers will not be ready before the end of August - trades unions over - ministers very cautious and likely to keep in sometime longer - all going on well at home - Mr. Freeman wishes to see me on my return - Thomas Greenwood knows of a gentleman who wishes to ‘purchase Northgate house and a little of land’ - Letter at the poste restante 1 ½ p. from Lady Gordon dated Saltzburgh [Salzburg] 10 July - Henry Devereux (her nephew) ‘seems rather épris with you’  (I must have met him at Miss Berry’s) writes her that I am gone touring to Geneva for a month - she fancies this means Chamouni [Chamonix-Mont-Blanc] ‘perhaps Mt. Blanc etc etc’ - wants me to join her at Munich where she will remain 7 or 8 weeks - country beautiful - walks long and fine views - they have seen the Hallein salt mines - will be in England in October - fidgetty to be very long and far from her mother - ‘what a sensation Charlotte Stuart seems to have produced in the world!’ - to write to Lady G- Poste Restante à Munich - they go to the Cerf d’or - I ought to go to M- if only to see the Egina [Aegina] marbles - Letter  (at Hentsch’s bank) from M- Leamington 3 pages and ends dated ‘Leamington June’ -  ‘For the 1st time in my life, my dearest Fred, 3 weeks have passed without my hearing from you, and for the 1st time in my life you are in England and Mary knows not where to find you;  what can all this mean’....... 3 weeks the day she wrote since she got my letter saying I was going for a few days to London – asks if I got her letter directed to Dover street (yes! But she did not get mine sent to Warrens) – her journey to London put off from illness - the gaieties of the Oxford business more than she could bear – very reluctant to give up London. ‘As there were many inducements to prosecute my 1st intention; I might have seen you’ etc etc. Mrs Milne and Hamlyn there - Mr. Crewe and his boys spending their weeks in England in Hill street etc........ ‘I have been diligently trying to get well and in due time hope to succeed, my complaint seems to be a low fever, which has pretty fast melted away all my fat; I am little more than skin and bone, and can neither coax appetite, nor rest, I have lived for the last fortnight on port wine and jellies, and have a bed to myself..... on Monday I began with the shower bath, and hope in a few weeks to be allowed to ride, I can’t walk much, my chief exercise therefore is in a pony carriage’ – their going to Harrogate given up – they go to Worthing in August - ‘your happiness and comfort is very dear to me, and I am not the last of your friends to rejoice that you are satisfied of having secured both - may it be so! But for all our sakes perhaps it is best that at present I should tell you this on paper. An unsophisticated mind I think is more likely to secure your permanent happiness, than any such worldly one as that which falls to the lot of those who of late years have been the associates - one may live in the world, and have no traffic in hearts, but the quiet country fireside would be cruelly insipid had it none of this ingredient to flavour it, and God forbid that in yours it should be wanting – you have lived long enough on hope, dearest, now the desire has come  I trust it brings with it all you have so often longed for – your friend will always be a source of interest to me, and I will never rob her of her due; but you can tell me about her, and I will believe all you say which at least will be much for her advantage, because I am by no means sure that I could be an impartial judge’ -  Mrs. Milne tells her as they have not seen me in town, Mrs. Norcliffe cannot believe I have been there -  A- found letter (good - all well and right) from her sister at the poste restante office - she wrote to her sister while I wrote 2 ½ pages very small and close to my aunt and A- wrote the rest of  page 3 and the ends to my aunt while I wrote 3 pages to M- - we both sat up writing till 2 tonight – answered the business part of my aunt’s letter - Glad George Robinson prospects better - said he had a lease of the mill - sure Mr. Parker would do all right - begged him not to forget the Hipperholm fields in the notice - should not trouble myself about Northgate - not inclined to sell the house with a little of the land -  glad of the so fair account of herself and hoped my father would be better – mentioned our tour of Mt. Blanc and A- and I being well – left her to tell her the little particulars – said the weather had changed and driven us here from Chamouni [Chamonix-Mont-Blanc] – depended upon the weather whether we should go for a few days more to the mountains or not – will add a line or 2 tomorrow - wrote very kindly to M-   said we had been mutually disappointed  - I had expected hearing from her in Paris -  sorry she had not got my long letter left for her at Warrens – should have written from Paris but had no time – impossible to write form the mountains – assured her my thoughts could not play truant long – grieved at the bad account of herself – should be ill at east till I heard she was better – beg her to write to Rue St V- no. 27 and let me find a letter in Dover street- very fine day F70° at 2 tonight

[riversofmars]

Rare Pear March - Day 22

Prompt: "Missing Parts" (Swap in prompt)

Pairing: Liv Chenka/Helen Sinclair

Rating: E (Fluff and Smut)

Summary: Turns out that Liv fixing things while in a tied down boiler suit is something Helen really likes...

There is this amazing sketch by @meluisart that was inspired by this notion and it visualises the whole thing perfectly :P

Quick Fix

Helen sighed, exasperated and closed the book she was reading. It wasn’t the book’s fault, it was a good novel, well written and engaging, but she had spent the best part of the day simply sitting, reading, and she was getting fed up. The absence of the humming the TARDIS gave when in flight told her that they still hadn’t moved. This, in turn, meant that repairs were still ongoing. Repairs that seemed to require the attention of both the Doctor and Liv but not her own. Admittedly, she wouldn’t have been any help, she lacked the technical know-how but it made for a very lonely time, particularly when she had gotten so very used to the med-tech’s presence. It was early days still but following the events of their time in Salzburg, their relationship had gotten closer, much closer. Helen still struggled with the term girlfriend. It didn’t seem to do justice to all the things she felt for Liv Chenka.

“Maybe they do need my help,” Helen mused aloud, almost awaiting a response from the TARDIS but none came. “I could bring them tea? Isn’t that what you’re meant to do?” She carried on, if only to feel a little less bored and have some measure of conversation.

In the end she put the book down on her coffee table and decided to do just that.

“Liv?”

There was no response when Helen entered the engine room and quickly, she realised why she hadn't heard her. The linguist's legs refused to take another step and rooted her to the floor when she spotted her girlfriend - or rather her girlfriend’s backside and legs - as she was bent over a bulky bit of machinery. Liv seemed to be reaching deep into the engine in her quest to fix whatever the Doctor had managed to break in their recent crash landing.

But does it really require diving headfirst into a potentially dangerous piece of machinery? Helen wondered.

At least Liv had dressed for the occasion. She was wearing a gray boiler suit, suitable for dangerous, dirty work. Only, it was quite warm in the engine room which had resulted in Liv pushing down the top half of the suit and tying it by the sleeves around her hips. Helen found she was losing her train of thought as she watched her girlfriend straighten herself up, seemingly coming up for air. The smears of engine oil all the way up to her upper arms could attest to the issue being difficult to reach and the way she rolled back her shoulders accentuated by the dark tank top made Helen’s chest tighten involuntarily.

Liv bent over the engine again and Helen bit her bottom lip as all manner of sinful thoughts forced themselves into her mind. She watched for a moment, reveling in the quiet thrill and the knowledge that it was actually completely fine for her to be eyeing up her girlfriend like this. She tightened her grip around the mugs of tea and only the heat that was slowly becoming too much to bear, returned her attention to the here and now.

“Liv?” She called at last and this time, the med-tech had heard her. She jumped a little and looked around, startled, but the moment she realised who had called her name, she broke into a wide grin.

“Helen!” She beamed as she turned around. Only then did Helen realise how the tight top clung to her upper body with sweat, showing off every curve to great effect. Shit . The linguist took a shaky breath.

“Where is the Doctor?” She forced herself to ask as she looked around the room, surprised but also oddly delighted to find Liv on her own.

“Off to get something or other, apparently there were some parts missing… which I bet is a lie because it worked before without those parts. He probably doesn’t know what’s wrong at all,” the med-tech explained with a laugh, her good spirits betraying that she didn’t really mind too much that he had left her to it, sometimes he just got in her way. “Bet you any money he’s gotten distracted halfway through.” She wiped her brow with the back of her hand which resulted in her swapping sweat for a smear of engine oil which she didn’t even seem to notice. Helen did, however, and it caused a tight pull in her gut.

“I… brought you some tea,” Helen tried to focus on the real reason why she was here and held out a mug to her. Admittedly, the real reason why she was here was beaming at her brightly as the linguist walked over to her..

“Ah you shouldn’t have,” Liv stated but appeared delighted nonetheless as she took the mug.

“How are you getting on? Wasn’t this meant to be a quick fix?” The linguist asked, hoping she would point out she had just finished. Then, they could go back to their quarters and maybe deal with the desire that was boiling up in Helen upon seeing her girlfriend like this.

“Would be better if the Doctor didn’t keep disappearing,” Liv chuckled. “But yeah, getting there.”

“Good. That’s good.” Helen gave a tight-lipped smile before the real motive for her visit broke out of her: “I was just missing you.”

“Were you?” Liv broke into a grin and the linguist smiled, heart warming at the genuine joy in her girlfriend’s expression.

“Yes.” Helen nodded and the med-tech smiled:

“I’ve been missing you too,” she replied warmly and a smirk tucked at the edges of her mouth as she seemed to be interpreting Helen’s wistful expression. “See something you like?” She questioned cautiously but with a decent amount of confidence.

“When I’m around you, always,” the linguist answered plainly as it was a fact. She could spend hours looking at her and sometimes, she did, when she woke before her. Liv was beautiful when she slept, so utterly at peace, with Helen’s arm around her small waist, holding her close. The lines of anxiety and worry would smooth out and sometimes, she would even smile, when the linguist pressed her lips to her neck.

“Charmer.” With a smirk, Liv interrupted her thoughts.

“Well, it’s true,” Helen shrugged unapologetically. “I am rather taken with you.” She looked her up and down, blatantly this time, greatly enjoying the position she was in to be able to do that without having to feel bad about it.

“Do you, perhaps, have a bit of a thing for the rough and dirty handyman look?” Liv hummed as she seemed to be interpreting the look in her eyes just right. She took a sip of her tea.

“It does rather suit you,” Helen conceded with a smirk. Even though the med-tech was short and slight of frame, she cut a confident figure, comfortable in her own skin and self-assured. It was incredibly alluring.

“Wouldn’t you like to get a bit rough and dirty with me? Pretty, prim and proper girl such as yourself,” Liv teased as she stepped a little closer, she put the tea down on a nearby box. Helen felt her eyes surveying every curve of her body. Liv was right of course, she’s dressed well, today even more so than most days, when there was no need for overly practical clothes since they weren’t leaving the TARDIS. Pleated skirt, white blouse, wool cardigan… the very image of middle class perfection as Helen’s upbringing demanded.

“Bit of class roleplay, is it, Miss Chenka?” Helen quipped back in return, taking the bait.

“If you like,” Liv hummed, running her tongue along her bottom lip subconsciously, an action Helen was keenly aware of and followed with her eyes. “I could show you a really good time…” The med-tech offered cheekily and took the mug out of her girlfriend's hand to place it with her own. Tea had been a nice gesture but there were other things she craved much more.

“You know what I’d like?” Helen questioned softly, as she considered her offer carefully and another thought crossed her mind that quickly consumed her.

“I have a feeling you’re about to tell me,” Liv chuckled, her tone silky as she absentmindedly ran her hand up Helen’s thigh, brushing up against the hem of her skirt.

“I would like to wipe that smirk off your face,” Helen husked as she grabbed Liv’s wrist and stalled her progress.

“And how would you propose to do that?” The med-tech asked, intrigued yet somehow amused at the prospect and it only made Helen more determined.

“Honestly? I want to bend you back over that engine because all I wanted to do when I saw you like that was to have my fingers inside you,” she smirked, dropping her voice as she bent down to her height and whispered in her ear.

“Y-you- what?” Liv flushed furiously, all of a sudden she was a bundle of nerves as she flinched back and looked up at her with big eyes.

“No witty comeback?” Helen teased and grabbed her by the tied sleeves of the suit before she could move any further away. She yanked her forwards and Liv stumbled back into her personal space.

“I-” Liv stuttered but Helen silenced her with a passionate kiss. She urged her backwards, using her size against her, until the med-tech collided with the engine array. “Helen-” She groaned, grabbing onto her girlfriend’s shoulders. Helen pushed her body into hers, she pulled her head back with one hand so she could assault her throat with her lips, and pushed her other hand up her shirt. “Oh God…”

Helen smirked against the skin of her neck, she knew how her girlfriend liked her to touch her and she knew all the ways in which she could drive her crazy. Liv liked to pretend she had some measure of control over their sexual endeavors, merely from being the more experienced one of them, but very soon that notion had been utterly disproved. She panted into the crook of Helen’s neck when the linguist untied the sleeves around her middle and gave a desperate whimper when she pushed her hand down the front of the broiler suit.

“Something you need, Chenka?” Helen smirked as she ran her fingers through the wetness that had gathered between her legs.

“Please, Helen…” Liv groaned, buckling her hips forward but the linguist retreated her hand and instead grabbed her chin, tilting it upwards and Liv felt dizzy. She tried to steady herself against the engine array. She wanted to cast her eyes down, avoid Helen’s piercing knowing gaze that shot through her, reflecting her desires back at her, but Helen held her firmly.

“Do you think begging will make me give it to you quicker?” She teased and Liv’s cheeks burned.

“The Doctor might be back soon…” The med-tech mumbled and her eyes fluttered shut when Helen groped her breast through the thin fabric of her tank top.

“Then I better be quick about it,” Helen hummed and in a shift motion, she turned Liv around. The med-tech yelped in surprise but Helen didn’t give her a chance to recover. She pushed her down against the cold metal and from behind her, she reached back into her trousers with her other hand.

“Fuck,” Liv whimpered when she thrust her fingers inside her. Helen grinned, delighted at her breathless moans and the way she pushed back against her hand. She wasn’t gentle about it, not in this position, not when they both bought into the power play. So the linguist kept pushing, hard and fast. She held Liv down with her body weight and curled her free hand around her throat where she felt her frantic breaths and furious beating of her heart.

“Is that more like it?” She demanded and Liv practically sobbed her name.

“Helen.” Her voice came out in a breathless, desperate croak.

Helen released her throat and reached down the front of her trousers to find her clit. She drew tight circles around the sensitive nub. Liv whimpered, she was radiating heat and her breathing grew more heavy, more frantic. Helen knew she wouldn’t last much longer like this. So she sank her teeth into the crook of her neck, drawing a cry from the med-tech as she tensed up underneath her. She held her up, firm and strong, as Liv’s legs gave way with her climax. She slowed her movements but didn’t stop, not until the last of the aftershocks had run their course and Liv collapsed onto the engine array, utterly exhausted.

“Still feeling smug, Chenka?” Helen hummed and pressed a kiss against Liv’s neck where the fine hairs that had escaped her ponytail stuck to her with sweat. Liv didn’t have words to respond, not even when Helen pulled her hands from her trousers and wiped them on a nearby cloth with a satisfied smirk on her lips.

“Oh Helen! When did you get here?” Suddenly, the Doctor’s voice called from behind them, making them both jump. “Are you helping Liv?”

Helen looked around with a bright smile as Liv gulped down air and straightened up, fresh adrenaline from being caught preventing her from falling into lethargy. Panicking, she pulled her shirt down and did up her trousers with shaky hands. It would have been impossible not to notice her compromised state, had it not been for Helen shielding her with her body.

“Yeah, she was just showing me something with the engine,” Helen told the Doctor brightly. She was utterly convincing and Liv took a deep breath, gathering her thoughts as she regained control over herself.

“I’ll show you something later…” She grumbled under her breath, her cheeks flushed still as she was utterly mortified but thankfully, unbeknownst to the Doctor. She tied the sleeves of the broiler suit around her hips tightly.

“That’s great, were you able to help?” The Doctor asked cheerfully as he came over to join them.

“Yeah, I think I helped Liv a great deal,” Helen smirked, giving her girlfriend a knowing look.

“ANYWAY!” Liv interrupted. “Can we focus on what we’re meant to be doing?”

[greenbagjosh]

26-27 May 1998 - return for a second stint in IT in Germany

Tuesday 26th May 1998

Hello everyone, Welcome to my 25th anniversary revisiting of my time in Europe in Summer 1998.  I worked at a high technology firm on a temporary job assignment, and lived in a shared apartment.  I also had the opportunity to visit some cities like - Cergy Le Haut FR - Nuremberg, Fürth, Garmisch-Partenkirchen (DE) - Scharnitz AT - Prague CZ - Salzburg AT - Berchtesgaden - Fischhausen-Neuhaus near Brecherspitz - Berlin via Fulda and Braunschweig - Frankfurt an der Oder - Slubice PL - Zürich and Chiasso CH - Milano and Bozen IT - Vienna AT - Budapest HU - Zürich (again for Street Parade 1998) - Paris - Lyon

I flew over from San Francisco through New York JFK Terminal 6 (has since been demolished), and back through St. Louis, Missouri.

Here is what I remember from the first day, Tuesday 26 May 1998, and Wednesday 27 May 1998.   Woke up about 5:30 AM, had breakfast and left the house at 6:30 AM, was taken to SFO airport by parents. Checked in luggage about 7:30 AM, said goodbye to parents, went through security in Terminal 1 (Harvey Milk Terminal), listened to The Dog House on KYLD 94.9 FM, heard Elvis Medina (radio_elvis) do a prank call on a man who owed child support payments to his soon to be ex-wife, flew to NYC JFK airport and landed about 1 PM there.

Was a bit worried that the flight would explode as it did in 1996.  I made it across the Atlantic just fine.  

Tuesday 27 May 1998 Before landing, I was able to listen to BBC Radio 1, 97 to 99 FM in the UK.  I heard "La tristessa durera" by Manic Street Preachers.  It would have been around 8 AM Paris time, when the plane would have landed.  I landed at CDG T1, took the underground travellator to customs and baggage claim. Took a shuttle bus as there was no Roissyval constructed yet (was ready by 2008 when I returned), to the RER T1 station.  I bought a Paris Visite ticket for the RER and entire RATP metro, trams and bus, even the Montmartre funicular. Took the RER from CDG T1 to Paris Gare du Nord.  At Sevran Beaudottes, the station is underground as well as CDG T2/TGV and Gare du Nord, most others were surface stations.  At Gare du Nord, the ticket was used to change to the M5, where I rode it to République, then M8 to Lédru Rollin where the Auberge Internationale des Jeunes was located, in the 11ème district.

Dropped off my luggage, then took the M8 to Nation, changed to a M9 for Croix de Chavaux.  Took a bus to Gallieni.  Took the M3 to see the Georges Pompidou building and the Stravinsky fountains.  Took metro to Montmartre (Metro station Anvers) and went up the funicular.  Came back and took the M2 from Anvers to Jaurès to ride the 7Bis metro line.  The 7Bis at the time used MF88s, quite unique for a metro.  The most advanced rolling stock was MP89, used mostly on the M1, which still had drivers long before it was automated.  Came back to Louis Blanc to ride the M7 to Opéra / Auber for the RER.  A woman was shouting on the southbound platform of the Louis Blanc M7, could not understand what she was shouting about.  I took the RER to Port Maillote, then a RER C to Champ De Mars and another RER C to Issy Val De Seine.

At Issy Val De Seine, I took a T2 the entire distance to La Défense.  The T2 was built on former Banlieu commuter rail tracks.  The only underground station was La Défense.  I exited, and looked around the complex including the Grande Arche.  The weather was not very good.  I went inside the Les Quartre Temps mall and looked for something to buy in the Auchan grocery store. I found some drinks but not much else.  

After La Defense, I took the RER A to Cergy Le Haut.  The previous year, I rode to Cergy St. Christophe, which was quite a long way from Paris.  In early October 1983, my family stayed close to the Cergy Préfecture station, so I kind of knew where I was going more or less.  One thing I noticed at Cergy Le Haut, was that there were no fare gates, unlike at other stations.  The weather was a bit friendlier by the time I visited Cergy Le Haut.

I returned to the 11ème district and looked for a place to eat supper.  I ate at Tony's Restaurant at the corner of Rue Trousseau and Rue du Faubourg.  It has since been renamed to Nakama Resto.  The owner gave me a free glass of tomato juice, with a small amount of vodka.  I think I had a four seasons pizza called "quattro stagioni", was really good.

I went to bed about 10 PM, and had to wake up in time to catch the "Mozart" Eurocity train to Munich.  More will be told in the next chapter.

Good night!  Bonne nuit!

[impcrious]

(luke pasquelino. they//them. agender.) hear ye, hear ye! make way for Ferdinand "FERDIE" Georg Hapsberg, the ARCHDUKE of AUSTRIA! the 31 year old is noted for being CHARMING & POSITIVE, though they have been rumored to be LAZY & SLEAZY as well. nevertheless, their presence has been noted, though no one knows whether they’ve come for peace or something else.

𝖕𝖊𝖗𝖘𝖔𝖓𝖆𝖑𝖎𝖙𝖞

Ferdie was born in Salzburg, rather than the capital of Vienna, the same birthplace as Mozart. They have felt a kinship to the composer and his music since, despite having little musical talent of their own or any desire to actually put in the work for it. (They do not have to. They are heir apparent. Nothing they can or will do will change that.)

There is security in being the firstborn. They do not feel the need to prove themselves, because their future was set at birth. So they indulge in paths not taken. With each reminder of their responsibilities and duties to the family, the crown, they go on ever-wilder adventures. Maybe they are an artist, convincing a parade of noblewomen to pose for them in the nude (and maybe more). Maybe they are a chef, a excuse to throw secret feasts with the commonfolk. (Maybe they are anything but what they are supposed to be.)

The Great War might as well be the constant backdrop for their life. They have not known a time when Austria was not at war. They do not think they care, other than how much it restricts them from traveling and sampling foreign lands. Who cares who has the Spanish crown? (Their father, their mother, the entire cabinet of advisors, insist they should care.)

They do think it is a pity the War may be drawing to a close. It means they will be under greater scrutiny (from their father, their mother, the entire cabinet of advisors). They can no longer disappear on trips for "health reasons."

A part of them wonders what kind of soldier on the battlefield they would make. (Maybe they are a killer, denied the chance.)

A part of them wonders what kind of ruler they would be, different (always different) from their father. Starting maybe with these beguiling Portuguese beauties and their Russian hosts.

𝖜𝖆𝖓𝖙𝖊𝖉 𝖈𝖔𝖓𝖓𝖊𝖈𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓𝖘

fellow mischief-maker // a gathering of royals into one place is an invitation for mischief and exploration (of the palace, of Russia, of each other)

past rival // Ferdie's carelessness and highhanded ways have earned them some enemies, some of whom might be higher placed than they realized

artistic muse // why stop at capturing the beauty only of Austria when now the known world is gathered here? Ferdie could use inspiration (or a dalliance or two)

wannabe soldier // Ferdie thinks they are good enough to take on the battlefield. But maybe a trainer or a bout will introduce them to reality

exasperated minder // maybe a fellow royal annoyed by Ferdie's refusal to act responsibly??

[josiecarioca]

Waiting (one-shot)

Requested by @artisticreptilequeen and @latitsoso

Summary: Soren Snape has chosen a lonely path for himself that not even his closest friend can help him walk. 

(Soren Snape x Audrey Blake, characters mentioned: Severus Snape,Evelyn Black and Eloise Snape)

Also available on Ao3 https://archiveofourown.org/works/30010311

Tagging:  @snapescapades  @mafagafobebum  @marvelschriss @codename-thedoctor @zealouspickleeggdragon @green-oasis @drawnfromthedead @snapescapadesafterdark @serosvit @snapecentric @hayalee8 @oliverlandomens @sleepysnapesnake @lily-themadqueen-andpinky @paracosim @the-witches-son @aikersen @violet-knox @viper-official @be-zoar @thepomegranatejuice @alwyssnpe @siriuslysircadogan @hbprincealice

     …

“Soren, are you alive?”

Soren opened his eyes and looked around, searching for that familiar voice. He didn't know the place around him. It looked nice enough, though. A small livingroom, with teal colored walls covered in classic movie posters and a moon themed tapestry hanging next to a tall bookcase, loads of colorful cushions and, in front of him, a square coffe table with food and cooking themed hardcovers and a notebook filled with a round and small handwritting he knew all too well. He found himself laying on a soft white couch, “Golden Girls” was playning on the TV in front of him.

He sat up, feeling as if the room was moving around him like a ship in open sea. His clothes were sticking to him, tight and uncomfortable and his mouth was so dry he felt a bitter taste in his tongue. He didn´t remember drinking any water since right after curtain call.

Soren heard the sound of something frying, before the smell hit him. His stomach growled. He couldn't remember when he had last eaten anything that day.

“You´re getting glitter all over my couch.” that voice...Soren shook his head, suddenly angry at himself. How had he ended up here of all places? Idiot!

“Audrey, I...” he called out but his head felt like it just about split in two when he raised his voice. “I mean...how did I...”

“Here...” the voice approached. He looked up and there she was. Audrey, in a dusty pink turtleneck wool dress that hugged her plump figure, black leggings and boots, her blond hair pulled back in a ponytail, with thick bangs framing her roud, dollish face. She looked like she was either going to a date or  coming back home from one when he, at least he assumed, crashed-landed at her door.

She held a plate in front of his face and it smelled something like heaven is supposed to smell.

“This is what you eat when you're flat on your arse drunk, if I recall correctly. Rashers, eggs benedict and your mother's cheddar, chive and potato pancakes. Right?”

“You...know how to make mam´s pancakes? ” he smiled, hoping foolishly that small talk would delay the earfull he was about to get. “She never gave anybody this recipe. Not even my cousins.”

“I lived with your parents for a whole year remember? I've seen auntie Lyn make this more times than I can count.”

Even though he felt like somebody had taken an axe to his skull and split it clean in two, Soren had to smile.

“Thank you. You didn't have to.”

“I sort of did have to, though” she let out, sounding tired “I found you laying on my doorstep, looking healf dead. Trust me, I was tempted to just walk around you and leave you there, but then what would I say next time I visit your parents? Besides, my landlord and neighbours wouldn't be too happy. Here, you´re going to need this. You must be dehydrated.”

She put a gallon of water on the table in fronto of him. Soren shugged nearly half of it before he could even begin to think about eating.

“Now, pray tell...what has gotten into you?” she crossed her arms and stood before him, looking far taller than her 5 feet, maybe 5'3 including the boots. Soren looked at her, pleased to notice she had put on weight. She looked like her normal self again, he thought. Last time he'd seen her she looked gaunt, almost.

“What do you mean?”

“What do I mean? Is it a normal occurence for you to prance about town drunk off you mind and pass out in front of people´s doors dressed like Beetlejuice and Dr. Frank'n'Furter's lovechild?”

“Oh, this!” Soren looked down at himself, finally remembering...

The effin' costume. Yeah, she was right. Her neighbours wouldn't be none too pleased to see a 6´2  man in full make-up wearing a leather corset-garter combo with stockings and high heels under a stripped trenchcoat passed out drunk in the hallway.

“I was...working.”

“Working? Is this an honest-to-God opera costume, or the Ministry for Magic had you go undercover in a fetish brothel?”

“Costume. The Ministry doesn´t usually have me dress up nice and sexy  when they want to get me fucked. Hardly pay me as well as they should for it either.”

“What opera are you in this time around?”

“Orphée aux enfers...Our director decided to give the  Kosky version a run for its money, so of course genderfuck drag was the way to go. Because why the fuck not? ”

“We're just going to pretend like you didn't love the idea...” she smirked. That was good...he hoped.

“Well, yeah, we decided to have a few drinks after the performance, and Henri thought it would be hilarious to just go out partying in full costume.”

“Who?”

“Henri Fournier...he played Orpheus”

“Of course...” Audrey, sighed, no longer amused.

“He's a riot, you should meet him.” Stop digging, Soren. She´s already mad at you, no need to act like a bufoon.

“And you should shower and change.”

“I´m afraid I don't have anything to change into...Unless, what's his name, your...”

“Ethan, his name is Ethan.”

“Yeah, him, unless he doesn´t mind me borrowing his things...”

“I´ll see if he left something here...”

“Left...I thought you two were...”

“He moved out.”

“When was that? Last we talked you we...”

“Come on, finish eating go have a shower, I'll find something for you to wear.”

“Hey, Shortcake, I...” He let out without even thinking. It had been so long since he last called her that, years maybe, but somehow it just poured from his lips.

“Don't...call me that.”

“I'm sorry...I really am. About this whole thing as well, I really don't know how I ended up at your door, I would never...”

“You don't have to apologize. Just eat, take your shower and...” she sighed “...we´ll see.”

…

Soren was tripping over himself so badly Audrey had half a mind to offer help. But eventually he got himself to the bathroom. She glued her ear to the door, half expecting to hear him collapse inside. The sound of the water running reassured her enough to step away and try to find something for him to wear, hoping Ethan had forgotten at least a pair of shorts or something.

Typical Soren to put her in this situation without even thinking. He never did think, did he?  Just did whatever he wanted to do and everything else be damned. Nevermind that his parents were constantly worried sick about him, that his sister had to keep calling him to remind him he had a family and he should go see them sometime. Audrey was almost sure neither his father nor his mother knew what he was up to.

That he was spying for the. ministry.

His father would never allow it.

Audrey had been only a spectator, entirely foreign to their world of magic and wars no one of her kind was supposed to know, but she knew well enough, apparently even better than Soren, that it was a disastrous idea for the son of Severus Snape to be a spy. To collect inteligence about the very same criminals who still had a reward out for his father's head. Soren was born with a target on his back. Even as a child, Death Eaters had tried to get to him, the same with his sister, Eloise. And why wouldn't they? What better revenge on the man who brought down their leader than to harm his children? Audrey knew from hearing whispers and bits and pieces of conversations when she had lived with his parents in Glencoe, right after deciding to go no contact with her mother. She knew from what Eloise told her, in a vain, desperate attempt to get her to help knock some sense into her brother.

But Audrey also knew there was nobody on earth who could keep Soren from doing what he wanted. Sometimes she was tempted to tell Severus and Evelyn what he was doing behind their back. If they knew...They thought Soren was travelling around the world singing. A successful baritone, touring Salzburg, Paris, New York, Lord knew where else. Surely that shouldn´t prevent him from coming home now and then, however...But he would go months without showing up, so his parents, maybe, just thought that if he didn´t show up for Christmas or Easter it was because he was somewhere in a nightclub or a bar, partying. And sometimes that was true, but not always. At times, she wondered how and when they would find out, and hoped it wasn´t through some tragedy.

But...sometimes she also wondered if they didn't already know. If they were just waiting for him to finally be honest with them. Maybe neither Severus nor Evelyn could bring themselves to believe Soren would do that to them, so they acted like they didn't suspect, when in reality, they knew. Maybe they were just hoping he'd show himself worthy of their trust. Just waiting for him to come around.

So Audrey said nothing. It wasn't her place to, after all. If Eloise hadn´t, then she certainly had no right.

She finally found something. And old t-shirt and some pajama pants. Good thing Ethan was tall, she thought. This would do for Soren to at least make it back home, or wherever he was staying in London. Come to think of it...She shook her head and left the clothes on the bed where he could find once he was done showering.

“Soren?”  She called once the water stopped running and she could hear him in her bedroom.

“Yeah?” he sounded a bit more sober.

“I'll call your sister, do you have her girlfriend's number? Maybe they can pick you up.”

Soren didn't answer answer immediately. Instead he took his time to get dressed and came back to the livingroom, sat on the couch and took another swig of water from the bottle.

“So, should I call her?”

“I would literally rather you hand me over to a dementor.”

“Maybe if I knew how. Eloise is my next best choice.”

“Eloise will never let me hear the end of it.”

“She wouldn'r be wrong, now would she?”

He didn't answer. He just made that face. That face he put on when he knew he was wrong, when he knew he had no good excuse. The corners of his mouth turned slightly upwards in an odd, clumsy smile, and his nostril flared slightly as he breathed out, then he looked away. Thinking of the next joke, of the charming comment that would deflect questioning, the next change of subject.  Had been that way since he was a boy. Soren always knew when to leave an argument well enough alone. This way he wouldn't have to admit he was wrong.

“As soon as my head doesn´t feel like the the 1812 overture is playing on surround sound inside my skull, I can see myself out.” she shrugged with that devil may care grin that could get him whatever he wanted.

Audrey sighed. She didn´t have the energy to argue, And true to be told, if she hadn't found him passed out drunk at her door after nearly a year of no contact whatsoever, she would be happy he was there. Wasn´t this what they used to do, back when things were different? Staying up at night, huddled up on the couch, watching old TV programmes reruns till the wee hours of the night? She missed that. She missed having Soren around, she missed his stupid jokes, his impromptu performances. She missed him singing “Largo al factotum” early in the morning as he shaved, his voice filling her bathroom till the upstairs neighbours complained.

But she didn´t miss what came with it. She didn´t miss the disappearances, the weeks and months without a single phone call, the excuses, the worry, the panic...

“You already ruined my couch with all that sodding makeup” she sighed, sitting next to him “Might as well spend the night. But you´ll have to be out before noon. I´m working the lunch shift this week.”

“How's that going? Mam told me you made it to sous-chef.”

“Yeah, which sounds impressive until you realize it just means I'm the first in line to be verbally abused when Bastianinni wakes up on the wrong side of the bed.”

“I worked with a Bastianinni once...It was for the best sharp knives are not part of our line of work, or the whole cast would have used him for target practice, down to the children's choir. When a tenor decides to be a diva, oof...”

“So, you´ve been talking to your mother?”

“Yeah, I called her and dad last week from Salzburg...to apologize for not showing up for Christmas again. She told me you were there.”

“I was. I assume that's how you got my address...”

“I...I mean...is not like she” Soren stammered like a little boy caught with his hand in the biscuit tin.

“Did you really think your mother would give you my address if I didn't tell her it was ok?” Audrey smiled “I´m just surprised you asked.”

“Why wouldn't I ask?”

“You tell me...For the past four years I´ve seen more of your parents and your sister than I´ve seen you. And you don't call anybody, just go off for months on end...”

“You know why that is...”

“I do. That´s why I don't wait for you anymore. It's pointless. But then when I give up waiting, you decide to show up.”

“Is not like I planned to just...”

“You never do.”

“Audrey, I...”

“I´ll get you a pillow and some covers, it's getting late.” She couldn't let him speak. If he started he'd take her in again. And before she knew it, she would be waiting again...for a phone call, a message, waiting for that moment she'd finally be fully a part of his world. A moment that would never come, no matter how long she waited. Not for her and not for anybody else. Soren had chosen a rocky path that only fit the steps of one person: himself. She couldn´t walk with him, and it would be fooolish to wait for him to come back any time soon.

“You said you were working lunch shift tomorrow.” the sweetness on his voice reached her as she got up from the couch, disarming. “Can´t you stay a little while longer?”

[whatdidimissjm]

A Break

Alex and George have been in Austria for almost a week and until now, George had been in meetings all day long. Most of them were meetings Alex wasn´t allowed in, so he had a lot of time to explore Salzburg. Today is the first day they have time to do something together, and George had the idea to go hiking, because in his opinion, that´s something you need to do, when you are in the Alps. Alex isn´t too sure about that, but George seems excited and to be honest, as long as he is with his boyfriend, he almost doesn´t care what they are doing. That doesn´t mean Alex doesn´t complain about it every step of the way, but they both know it´s only for show. He has to admit though, that the peace and quiet of nature around them is incredibly beautiful, especially after spending the last days in the busy streets of Salzburg. The rhythmic walking pace causes Alex to fall into a kind of meditative state and he lets his thoughts travel, smiling at George as he turns to look at him.

“Do you want to take a short break?”, the older man asks, and Alex shrugs.

“Sure.”

He thinks about teasing George about asking for a break, but in the end, he doesn´t want to destroy the peaceful atmosphere. Instead, he sits down next to his boyfriend on the bench and closes his eyes for a moment. He only opens them when he feels George nudging his arm and takes the water bottle from him with a smile, taking a few sips from it.

“How do you like hiking?”, George asks.

“Boring.”, Alex gives back, but he is smiling while saying it.

George just rolls his eyes and takes the water bottle form Alex again, putting it back into the backpack. Alex hesitates a moment, before he scoots closer to George, resting his head against his shoulder.

“I´m so glad I finally get to spend a day with you.”, he says quietly. “I was getting lonely.”

Instead of an answer, Alex feels George pressing a kiss to his head, pulling him closer against him. They stay like this for some time, until Alex starts to squirm around and then he finally gets up and stretches.

“Come on, let´s go.”, he says impatiently, pulling on George´s hands.

The older man allows him to pull him to his feet, but as Alex is about to go back to the path, George grabs his waist, drawing him closer, until Alex is pressed against his chest.

“Thank you for coming with me today, I know you didn´t really want to, but it means a lot to me.”

Before Alex can even think of an answer, George leans down and kisses him. Like always, Alex melts against him, getting completely lost in the kiss.

“I love you.”, he mumbles, once they part. “I´d follow you everywhere.”

George smiles at him, gently stroking his face.

“I know. And I love you for it.”

Alex can´t help but kiss George again, before taking a step back.

“We should get going, because like that, we´ll be in our hotel room sooner.”

George just laughs softly and picks the backpack up from the bench.

“Let´s go then.”

They fall into step beside each other, at first talking a bit, but soon they both go back to enjoying the silence. Alex is deep in thought, when he sees something moving in front of him. He grabs George´s arm, pointing at the small black and yellow animal in front of them.

“Oh my god! Look at that little guy!”, Alex whispers, slowly taking out his phone. He carefully moves toward the animal, before crouching down to get a better picture of it. “I have to send that to John, he´s gonna love it.”

“I´m sure he will.”, George agrees, but Alex can hear the amusement in his voice.

He ignores it, though, moving even closer to the salamander and takes a few more pictures, until the animal disappears in the forest again. Alex stands up again and turns back around to George, grinning at him.

“Did you see this?”, he asks excitedly. “Wasn´t that just the cutest animal you have ever seen?!”

George just shakes his head and laughs softly.

“Alex, you say that about every animal.”

Alex shrugs and turns back around, continuing up the path. They haven´t been walking for more than ten minutes, when Alex steps on a stone and feels his shoe slipping away. His ankle twists and before he can even react, he´s lying on the ground, with his hands hurting, from where he scraped them on the ground.

“Oh my god, Alex, are you okay? Are you hurt?”, George asks instantly, a slight panic in his voice.

He feels his boyfriend´s hands on his back and arm, carefully helping him into a sitting position. The movement of his leg causes Alex to take in a sharp breath, as his ankle suddenly starts hurting.

“That doesn´t feel good.”, he says through gritted teeth, glancing down at his foot, that already looks suspiciously swollen.

“It really doesn´t look good either.”, George agrees.

Alex doesn´t know what causes it, if it´s the pain or the realisation that this is the end of their hiking trip, but suddenly there are tears rolling down his face.

“I´m sorry. I´m so sorry. I didn´t want to destroy this.”, he mumbles, while George stares at him in shock.

“Alex, baby, I know that and there is no need to be sorry.”, George reassures him, gently wiping the tears away from his face. “Is it hurting a lot?”

Alex shrugs, casting his eyes down to avoid looking at George, while still softly sniffling.

“Alex, hey, look at me.”, George says softly, and after a moment of hesitation, the younger man looks back up at him. “Are you crying because you are overwhelmed or because it´s hurting so much?”

“I´m sorry.”, Alex says again.

“It´s okay. Everything is okay. I got you.”

Alex nods after a bit, closing his eyes and taking a few deep breaths, while George keeps on stroking his hair and face.

“It hurts a lot, but it´s not too bad I think.”, Alex says finally, after he has managed to stop crying.

“Okay, that´s good at least.”

George gives him an encouraging smile, that Alex half-heartedly returns.

“Let me clean your hands and then I´ll look at the ankle, alright?”, the older man asks, and Alex nods, holding out his hands to George.

He pours some water from their water bottle over them, rinsing off the worst of the dirt. It stings, but Alex doesn´t flinch, only tensing a bit, when George starts to dab them with a tissue.

“Next time I´ll take a first aid kit with me.”, he says, and Alex chuckles a bit, though his eyes are still wet with tears.

“Do you really think you´ll get me to go hiking again after that?”, he asks, but George just smiles at him.

After he has cleaned Alexander´s hands, that have luckily almost stopped bleeding already, George moves on to examine his boyfriend´s ankle. Alex glances down at his foot as well, taking in a sharp breath, when he sees how badly it´s already swollen.

“Is it broken?”, Alex asks, a hint of panic in his voice.

“I don´t think so, but I can´t say for sure.”, George answers, carefully touching Alex´s leg, who hisses in pain and tries to move it away, which only makes it worse.

There are once again tears running down his face, but this time Alex knows that they are caused by the pain. He can see how much it hurts George to see him like this, which only makes it worse. While Alex is doing his best to stop crying, George pours some of the water onto a handkerchief, carefully wrapping it around Alexander´s ankle. It hurts, but the cold feels almost heavenly at the same time.

“Do you think we can get to the bench from before, if I support you?”, George asks after some time, and Alex drops his gaze.

“I- I don´t know. I don´t think I can step on it.”, he admits.

George nods.

“I don´t think you can or should either. But do you want to try if we can manage it without you having to step on it?”

Alex hesitates a moment before he nods.

“Okay, I´ll help you up and you have to tell me immediately, if it hurts too much, alright?”

Alex nods again. He lets out a hiss, when George pulls him into a standing position. The pain is almost unbearable for a moment and through the black dots in his vision, he can see George´s worried expression.

“Alex, do you need to sit down again?”

Alex just shakes his head, taking a few deep breaths.

“No, I just… just need a moment.”

George doesn´t look convinced, but he doesn´t say anything and just watches Alex. After what feels like an eternity, Alex feels like he can move without passing out, even though he dreads the way down to the bench.

“I think I´m ready.”, Alex says.

“Are you sure?”

“No.”, he answers after a moment. “But it´s no use not trying.”

George looks like he wants to contradict, but in the end, he just nods and secures his hold around Alexander´s waist.

“Let´s go.”

The first step sends a bolt of pain through Alex´s entire body and he has to grit his teeth to keep himself from screaming. He can feel tears filling his eyes again and he can´t imagine how they´ll ever make it to the bench, let alone back to their hotel room. This thought makes him slightly lightheaded with panic, but he tries to bear through it, not wanting to worry George even more. He takes deep and deliberate breaths and feels himself calming down a bit. The next step doesn´t hurt less, but this time Alex is expecting it, which makes it more bearable. Their way down is slow and excruciating and Alex has lost count of how many breaks they have to take, but then they finally reach the bench. George helps him sit down on it, carefully shifting Alex around so that his leg is resting on the bench as well. George strokes Alex´s hair, before moving to look at his ankle again. He gently unwraps the tissue from around it and Alex can´t help but close his eyes, breathing through the pain.

“Ke´ ma eich höf´n?“, a voice asks behind them.

Alex´s eyes snap open, landing on two women in hiking clothes, who have stopped on the trail, regarding them with worried expressions.

“Sorry, we don´t speak German.”, George answers.

“Oh, okay, I asked if you need help.”, the woman explains, this time in English.

“Yes, I think we do. My boyfriend twisted his ankle and can´t really walk anymore.”, George says, looking back at Alexander.

Alex can feel his face burning in embarrassment. He feels stupid and vulnerable and would rather be anywhere else than here. George seems to notice – he always does – because he takes his hand and squeezes it, giving him a reassuring smile, which actually makes Alex feel a bit better.

“Do you need an ambulance too?”, the other woman, the blonde one, asks.

Alex looks back from her at George, looking for guidance. The older man nods.

“Yes, I think we do. I don´t know if it´s broken, but we should probably have an x-ray made.”

The women nod and exchange a look, before the blonde one takes her phone out of the pocket of her trousers. She takes a few steps away from them, holding her phone to her ear, while the other woman comes over to the bench.

“My girlfriend, her name is Leonie, by the way, is calling you an ambulance.”, she explains. “The closest road where they can come to isn´t that far down, do you think you can make it there, if two people support you?”

Alex nods.

“Yes, I think so.”

After they have all introduced themselves, Marlene starts asking them questions about their vacation. It´s a nice distraction for Alex and he can almost forget the throbbing pain in his foot. Leonie joins them right as Alex is gushing about how good Kaiserschmarrn tastes and he is pretty sure that he is pronouncing it absolutely wrong.

“The ambulance should arrive in about twenty minutes, so I think we should get going now.”

Alex dreads the walk down already, but he really doesn´t have any other choice. George and Marlene help him up and even though he feels much securer with two people supporting him, the pain is still a bit overwhelming. After a few minutes Marlene starts asking Alex and George questions again and it´s a bit harder to answer them like this, but they still manage to distract him a bit from the pain.

The ambulance is already waiting for them when they take the last turn and almost instantly the paramedics get out. After some shuffling around, Alex gets lifted into the back of the car and for a horrible moment he thinks they will leave without George.

“My boyfriend-“, he starts, but the young paramedic, who´s checking his pulse, gives him a reassuring smile.

“Don´t worry, we won´t leave without him.”, he tells him, and Alex finds himself relaxing.

“Okay, that´s great.”

Just as the paramedic has promised him, George climbs into the car only about a minute later, gently touching Alexander´s shoulder, before sitting down in the seat he is pointed to. A second paramedic asks a question in German and when the one beside Alex nods in affirmation, she closes the door. When the car starts moving a moment later, Alex reaches for George´s hand. He needs the physical reminder that he is not alone in this and touching his boyfriend always makes him calmer.

“Everything will be alright now.”, George reassures him, and Alex can´t help but think that George knows him far too well.

The thought makes a small smile appear on his face.

“I know.”

The drive to the hospital and everything that happens there is a bit of a blur to Alex and he is glad that George is by his side the whole time. He doesn´t know exactly how much passes until they are back at the hotel, but he is glad when he gets to sit down on the bed.

George takes the crutches from him and puts them aside, before he presses a kiss to Alexander´s head.

“I´m really glad that it´s nothing worse.”, George mumbles, and Alex lets out a huff.

“The doctor said I probably won´t be able to walk without crutches for weeks, how much worse could it have been?”

“Your ankle could have been broken.”

Alex lets out another huff, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

“Yeah, and whose fault is that?”

“Alex.”, George says softly, cupping his face with his hand. “I know this isn´t great-“

“Not great?!”, Alex snaps, his voice cracking. “I can´t even go outside now when you´re gone! What am I supposed to do?! Just sit in the room and wait for you to come back after hours of being away?”

The tears are streaming freely down his face and he doesn´t even make a move to wipe them away.

“Oh baby.”, George mumbles, pulling Alex into a hug. “We´ll work something out. Don´t think about it for now.”

For a second Alex struggles against the embrace, before he slumps against George, clinging to him, as if he´s his lifeline. And maybe he is.

“I got you.”, George whispers. “I got you.”

“I know.”, Alex gives back quietly.

He can feel himself calming down, leaving him exhausted and he can already feel a headache starting to build behind his temple.

“Can we take a nap?”, Alex asks, before frowning. “How late is it anyway?”

“Just past two. And we´ve got to change before we can take a nap.”

Alex lets out a groan, but when George pulls away from him, he is smiling up at his boyfriend.

“Well technically this is exactly what I wanted, just…  not like this.”, Alex says, and George gives him a sad smile.

“We´ll make the best of it.”

It´s a bit of a struggle to get Alex out of his hiking clothes and into his sweatpants, but then they are finally lying beside each other in the bed, with Alex´s foot propped up on a pillow. George has his arm curled around the smaller man, gently stroking his arm with his thumb.

“Are you comfortable?”, George asks after some time, and Alex shrugs.

“I hate this.”

“I know, baby.”

They are silent for some time after that, until Alex shifts around so that he is looking at George.

“When do you have your next meeting?”, he asks, his voice small.

“Friday.”, George gives back, and Alex frowns, shaking his head.

“No, I know that you have a few tomorrow and-“

“Jefferson will lead them.”

Alex tries to sit up, but the motion causes a bolt of pain to shoot through his ankle, so he settles for just staring at his boyfriend.

“What? Why? No, you need to be there, Jefferson-“

“Can handle this very well. I know you don´t like him-“

“He is an asshole.”, Alex mutters, but George just keeps on talking.

“-but I trust him, and I won´t leave you alone.”

Alex can feel his face burn in shame, and he averts his eyes.

“I wasn´t serious, I was just emotional, you don´t need to-“

“I do.”, George interrupts him, his voice firm. “I texted Jefferson when we were in the hospital, this has nothing to with what you´ve said.”

Alex is quiet for a moment, before he nods.

“Okay, I… I´m glad that you´ll be there for me.”

George gives him a smile and presses a kiss to his lips.

“Always.”