#your view on manu this is so sick

[madscientistjournal]

Fiction: Victorian Velociraptor with Violets

An essay by Amada, as provided by Andrew K. Hoe Art by Leigh Legler

The opera troupe could handle Amada being a fake name, but not that I was dying. They could handle my seven-foot velociraptor–Rodelia–and I sneaking away at night, but not that we were breaking into factories, hunting without luck for the serum that could save me.

My life-fibers were unraveling, my mutations accelerating, so I addressed everyone at morning meal.

“Rodes mimics any sound she hears. Perfectly.”

Madam Chien and the rest of the August Court of the Full Autumn Moon round the desert camp stared like they didn’t understand English, though they did. I’d learnt enough Chinese to know. Or maybe they were examining the worsening rash on my cheek. I angled my face away. The troupe’s airship, Full Autumn Moon, floated overhead, a great redwood junk, paneled sails gleaming silver in the morning light.

“Why are you telling us now?” Madam Chien, the soprano, asked. Even in her sleeping robe she was glamorous, ageless, ready for the stage.

I swallowed. She’d been kind to us, and I didn’t like what we were about to do. “We didn’t trust you. But now, we want to contribute more.”

Rodelia scratched the ground, rumbling disapproval. Eh-eh-eh-eh-eh …

Madam Chien looked at Rodelia’s five-fingered hands–not the three-clawed manus other raptors had. “Her ability is … traitwoven?”

Traitwoven, like her capacity to stand erect, handle human tools. Her almost-human intellect.

I nodded.

“Such a barbaric land, America. It’s supposedly illegal, but there are raptor-butlers and raptor-porters wherever we land. Black slaves escape north, only to be dragged back south.”

I growled internally. Rodelia’s traitweavings weren’t done here, in America, but in Europe–in a mountain laboratory-fortress we’d escaped months back, life-fibers warped by one Baron Veer.

Mine, too.

Out of everyone, Madam Chien alone knew we left while the troupe slept, but not that we’d been raiding Veer’s American factories: Veritas’s Elixirs and Tinctures. No serum in last night’s raid, but documents indicated Veer himself would be in Phoenix. We needed to steer the August Court there.

“Rodelia can sing.”

That caused the stir I’d expected. Venerable Manager Shen, whose queue was always perfectly braided down his back, sputtered on his pipe. “She what?”

I nodded for Rodelia to demonstrate, but she hissed. Amada?

It wasn’t actually Amada she’d said, but a raptor-sound meaning me whenever she crooned it. Like she was now.

A-maaa-daaaa. Retreat?

I snarled, raptor-language being as much bestial gesture as vocalization. She flinched, as did everyone else. Because of Veer’s meddling, I understood raptors better than others. My human-ish ears didn’t grasp Rodelia’s full vocal meanings, but I parsed enough. To the troupe, to anybody watching us communicate, it must’ve seemed damned creepy.

Reluctantly, Rodelia opened her jaws …

… and Madam Chien’s ringing voice washed over the arid sands, the tree-tall saguaro, the ground-hugging ocotillo. It was a song from the The Dragon Bride, where the concubine stolen from her native land begged her captor-king for mercy, something Rodelia had heard many times now–

“How dare you!” the real Madam Chien exclaimed.

“She … doesn’t use her tongue?” someone asked. “Her teeth? She just … opens wide?”

“This could make Phoenix,” I said to the ground.

“Phoenix!” Manager Shen murmured. “Could we really book … the Orpheum?”

The troupe’s route coinciding with Veritas‘s towns was why we’d approached them. They hadn’t wanted a raptor-porter, though, nor her exceptionally strong, raptor-talking human. They distrusted traitwoven beasts. Velociraptors especially, them resembling the dragons they so revered. How old are you?, Madam Chien had asked. Sixteen, I’d blurted–my best guess. Madam Chien took Manager Shen aside, and grudgingly, he let us aboard.

She’d gotten me decent clothes. She’d left food out for us last night–raptor-kibble for Rodelia, salted eggs and rice gruel for me. If she gave us away now, I’d just claim Rodelia needed to roam.

Madam Chien kept silent, started fanning herself.

“Imagine a singing raptor,” Manager Shen murmured. “What show offers that?”

Madam Chien’s fan stilled. “You’d give my part away?” Everyone flushed, she being more mother to them than prima donna.

“Never,” I insisted. “Rodes’ll be a … pre-show attraction.”

Rodelia lowered her head, chest rumblings sinking to a low keening.

“We’ll call her the Rapturous Raptor,” Manager Shen decided. “Impressions only.” He turned to me. “Any sound, you say? Birdsong? Firecrackers?”

I nodded, avoiding Madam Chien’s gaze. Skin peeled off my knuckles, trickling blood–I shoved them behind my back. Rodelia would pull us to Phoenix. To Baron Veer. The source of serum, and all my present woes.

~

Without serum, I was getting sicker, and the airship’s floaty motion didn’t help. The Full Autumn Moon was bigger than Europe’s zeppelin-busses. Rodelia was in the parlor, where redwood flooring yielded to windowed viewing-bottoms, staring listlessly at red hills and cacti-dotted mesas passing below.

Her weavings were stable, but she was motion-sick, gloomily watching a mustang herd, tiny with distance, gallop up a dust-tail.

Velociraptors weren’t meant to fly. Even the Baron with all his noxious chemicals hadn’t woven any tolerance for flight into her.

“Veer’s here, Rodes. In Arizona. The one who did this to us.”

Another dust storm below–a raptor pack chasing the mustangs.

Once, velociraptors were turkey-sized, before traitweavers shaped them for work. Other animals had been shaped, too, but raptors were especially amenable to weaving. The practice became outlawed, but crates of woven raptors had already been shipped; some escaped, went wild. Now, Rodelia’s seven-foot cousins haunted these deserts.

“I wouldn’t … make it to Utah.” The files from last night’s raid listed a large Veritas facility there.

Rodelia rumbled. Eh-eh-eh-eh-eh …

I remembered enough of Veer’s laboratory to know I never spoke human words there. I picked up English and Chinese from other humans, but raptor-language was my mother-tongue. I was Veer’s handler. Didn’t talk, but drank serum, unharnessed and harnessed his raptors. Treated wounds. Held them as they keened in my arms. They obeyed my hisses and growls unquestioningly. Veer, though, wove command-words into his test subjects. If he was displeased, he’d utter those phrases; we’d shriek in pain until we complied. I remembered spilling serum because I was sick of it eroding my mind. He’d command-worded me, watched me thrash about before making me lap it off the floor.

But I could talk now. I could use Veer’s command-words.

Could make Rodelia address me.

Did she dream of running in a real raptor pack? Maybe she’d tried telling me, but I couldn’t understand. Maybe I didn’t want to understand, she being all I had.

“We’ll get serum from the Baron,” I promised. “Then–” What came after then? The airship jostled, and my stomach lurched. Finally, Rodelia turned to me, nosed my hair.

Rrrrrrrr-eh-eh-eh-eh-eh.

A-ma-daaa. Retreat …

Grateful, I reached up, grabbed her snout. “It’ll be okay, Rodes.”

I stumbled below-decks. My voice was getting raspier. My eyes darker. I wouldn’t be able to hide this much longer.

It was in the costume room Madam Chien cornered me. “You’ve found what you’ve been looking for all these nights, haven’t you? What’s in Phoenix, Amada?”

I shoved my cracked hands behind my back. “Fame for the troupe. Second chance for Rodes and me.”

Madam Chien sighed. “I was sold into opera, you know. Years I spent, against my will, training in Eastern and Western opera … but I lucked upon traveling countrymen. I didn’t need to get as familiar with an airship’s under-compartments as you and Rodelia. Besides myself, I didn’t steal anything–”

I didn’t twitch, but she nodded. “Even we can tell how sophisticated Rodelia’s weavings are. And … her scars–”

“Look, we just–”

“I don’t care about your past, Amada. I don’t care that you’re stealing my show, so long as my family’s safe. Whatever’s in Phoenix … Oh … your cheek’s bleeding–”

I hissed as she reached for my face. It’d steamed from my clenched teeth, instinctual, vicious. My sharp, sharp teeth.

I snatched a coat off the racks, a wide-brimmed hat, brushed past her.

“I once had a daughter!” she blurted to my back, stopping me short. “This family could be yours … if you’d–Wait!”

I pushed on. The troupe loved Rodelia. She was gentle, loved playing fetch. Me, though. If they ever discovered my true nature …

In the hold, I navigated chests to my loosened board: two vials of serum remaining. Funny, how this almond-scented substance I once despised, I now craved.

I sighed, but it came out, eh-eh-eh-eh-eh-eh-eh-eh-eh …

~

Serum stabilized me, but it fogged my memory. My earliest remembrance was gripping the bars of a cage. Was I an orphan Veer captured? Someone nobody would miss, so he could practice human traitweaving?

Humans were the exact opposite of raptors–they took to weaving easily; human life-fibers rejected it. Thus, human traitweaving was forbidden.

The Baron must’ve been some genius to manage me: my ability with languages, how I’d learned reading so quickly, my raptor-strength–Veer meant more for me than raptor-handling. The more my mutations accelerated, the more I discovered.

But I didn’t want to see what other scaly presents he’d woven under my skin.

~

First show we tried, Rodelia clawed the sand, a foot from the curtain that might as well have been a canyon the way she’d dug in.

I shoved, but even my traitwoven strength couldn’t budge her. “Come … on … Rodes!”

Retreat!, she hissed. Retreat!

Beyond the curtain, Manager Shen stalled the audience. They’d heard Rodelia’s roars, though, were looking nervously our way.

Manager Shen’s nephew, Ah-Shen, eyed Rodelia’s sickle-claws. “Stage fright.”

“Are you kidding me?” I growled, shoving off Rodelia.

“I’ve been raised by an opera-troupe, Amada.”

I wouldn’t use command-words. I wouldn’t. But if we failed here, we lost everything. I bolted towards the airship floating above the redrock behind us.

“Um, Amada?” Ah-Shen yelled.

“Watch her!” I yelled back.

There was something else I’d been keeping under my loosened board besides serum.

When I returned, Ah-Shen was standing stock-still. Rodelia’s eyes rolled; she flexed human fingers–like gripping that battleax Veer made her wield for her duels.

In those scarred, lab-woven hands, I laid a doll. It was doe-eyed, hair in ringlets, lavender dress dotted with tiny purple flowers. Rodelia froze.

I flushed. “Her name’s … Victoria–”

We’d passed a general store weeks ago. Rodelia stopped before the window, looming over this doll, raptor-eyes gone liquid in a way I’d never seen before. The way she purred at that glass brought me back with some dollars Manager Shen paid me.

I’d been hedging, figuring how to give it to her–but now Rodelia cradled Victoria. Raptor eyes couldn’t cry, but …

Eh-eh-eh-eh-eh-eh-eh-eh …

She clutched Victoria onstage, opened wide, and Madam Chien’s voice awed the audience.

Ah-Shen and everyone backstage crowded the curtains, but I stumbled off. My skin burned. Whatever Veer intended, I didn’t think my life-fibers were meant to hold a raptor.

From the stage, cheering. Applause.

I cried–my tears were black. What would happen to Rodelia? What of that creature the Baron stole, who was a girl before his experiments?

That day forward, Rodelia carried Victoria everywhere, slept with it cradled close.

~

The Rapturous Raptor was a roaring success.

Manager Shen swaggered onstage, Rodelia following. Someone yelled Spanish that she mimicked perfectly. Chinese prospectors shouted in some dialect, neither Cantonese nor Mandarin. She reflected it back.

Rodelia had to really concentrate for human voices. It was why we couldn’t communicate that way.

Despite being outlawed, human-handed raptors hauled rocks here. In hotels, raptor-bellhops stood ramrod straight. But I’d never heard anyone wanting a raptor who duplicated sound. Maybe Veer wanted raptor-spies, as well as seven-foot axe-wielding soldiers.

He never called her Rodelia. I called her Rodes, but she picked Rodelia. After hearing a child being called Rodelia, she’d started making uk-uk-uk-uk-uk noises, rocking her tail.

Veer called me something else, too, but I didn’t care to remember.

Rodelia’s raptor-name for me … that never changed. That, I remember clearly.

Lessened serum meant my memories were unclouding. If I was sixteenish, how old was Rodelia? An adult in raptor reckoning? If I concentrated, maybe I could …

Thunderous applause startled me back to present.

Rodelia tromped backstage, grabbed Victoria while Madam Chien and other performers passed for their show. Chien looked to me, but I ignored her.

After they exited, Rodelia snarled, using my voice: “Utah.”

I shoved up the sleeve of the coat I wore everywhere, uncovered the beetle-hide puncturing my skin. Not healthy raptor scales, but black, chitin-hard growth. It was worse round my spine. I knew she smelled the fever coursing through me.

“I’ve been taking serum, small sips, but that only affects the surface. My body’s rejecting it, Rodes.”

Onstage, Madam Chien sang the Dragon Bride’s sorrows, being captured from her faraway land, forced to marry a ruthless king. Offstage, Rodelia keened her own sad song.

Amada …

“He needs to pay, Rodes. He–raaaaaaaaa-eh-eh-eh-eh-eh-eh …”

~

By the time we reached Yuma, we were making triple-earnings. The question was asked: could Rodelia’s performance be expanded?

“How about a doctor, Miss Amada?” Manager Shen asked gently. “It would be no trouble for us.”

I hissed, and he looked away.

Madam Chien was oddly silent. “Let them try,” she murmured. Everyone cheered.

Mei-Li the seamstress started a dress. Rodelia had to stand straight for various fabrics Mei-Li threw over her. Rodelia rumbled darkly; Mei-Li paled. I pointed her to Victoria sitting on a chair. The seamstress concocted a lavender affair with violets lining the bodice, a silver wig with purple flowerets like Victoria’s–these Rodelia accepted.

Gum-Loong the painter started painting the flower-set wig; the lavender dress; Rodelia’s regal stance; human hands–but just half her face, jaws open in mid-vocalization.

“I’ll do her eyes last,” he explained. “Something’s missing, though. With her hands.”

I studied the painting. He was right, but I couldn’t place it.

At Flagstaff, Rodelia strode onstage in dress and wig, gobsmacking everyone. But they cheered when she opened her jaws and released the “Four Part Song.” She hunkered offstage, rumbling disapproval. Soon as the dress came off, she cracked her spine, assumed her natural raptor’s crouch.

At Flagstaff, Rodelia strode onstage in dress and wig, gobsmacking everyone.

Manager Shen returned from town with a fancy-looking invitation. “The Orpheum in Phoenix has renovated–they want us to be their inaugural performance!” He squinted at the print. “A baron has requested us! Baron … Vvv-ver–”

“Veer,” I said.

Rodelia growled low.

“You’ve heard of him?” Manager Shen asked.

Every day, my memories sharpened. I remembered Veer watching his sword-wielding raptors duel, scribbling in that notebook he kept in his waistcoat pocket. “Oh, yes. Baron Veer loves a good show.”

~

We remained in Flagstaff to prepare The Dragon Bride–with Madam Chien and Rodelia.

Townspeople gathered amongst the bracken and cacti, watching us rehearse the part where the foreign queen, about to be executed by her captor-king, revealed her true form–the dragon–and, against her kind’s peaceful nature, stormed the court.

When Madam Chien had played the part alone, she’d signified this transformation with a mask, but today Rodelia switched places with her, charging onstage in her lavender dress, her flashing silver hair. She shrieked, shredded her dress. The crowd hooted.

While they applauded, Rodelia stalked to me.

RRRRRRRRRAAaaaaa! Leave Baron!

I removed my hat, bared my fangs. I’d seen my reflection to know I didn’t have eye-whites anymore, just sheens of darkness. “We escaped, but he’s … still … hurting … me.”

Rodelia nuzzled my forehead. Amada. He force. Now we choose.

Because of my decay, I understood her better now than ever before.

But it was too late. I pointed to the suited men among the still clapping crowd. Veer’s men. From this distance, everyone must’ve thought we were chatting about hairstyles. “He knows we’re with the August Court. We run, he’ll attack them.”

Rodelia roared, RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!

She streaked across the sand, vanishing through some redrock. In the sudden quiet, I waved, replaced my hat. “BATHROOM BREAK!”

The crowd laughed.

Rodelia would return. She was just shocked; her raptor’s mind couldn’t conceive how human plots worked. But I’d explained it to her. We’d announced ourselves with the Rapturous Raptor. Now that Veer knew we were in Arizona, his associates would ensure we headed to the Orpheum. If we didn’t, they’d slaughter those she’d come to love.

~

I slept far from camp now. The turning worsened at night. Drifting between waking and sleeping, I imagined walking the laboratory’s corridors again–Veer made his subjects duel in booby-trapped mazes–and CLACK–I smelled serum. I ran towards light spilling from an opened door, but through that door I saw … me … human me … in a violet-set dress and silver ringlets, staring back.

I reached out–with no hand, but a scaly, three-clawed raptor’s manus–an old nightmare, something I dreamed often–

Behind me, this sad, sad moaning–UHHHHHHHHHH …

It was me—I was moaning–I was sad–

I jolted awake to Rodelia cradling me. I’d been sipping serum to survive, letting it addle my memories even as they cleared. I’d one vial left–for Phoenix. Rodelia crooned, eh-eh-eh-eh-eh-eh-eh-eh, raptor-eyes sad. She mewled her raptor-name for me, and as I drifted, I thought I heard in her calling something of wide vistas and the running pack, sun and sky.

Amada … Amada choose retreat …

My clawed hands clenched.

Never.

He had to pay.

~

From Full Autumn Moon‘s view amongst the clouds, Phoenix looked alabaster, enormous factories puffing smoke like carnival fairy floss. Atmospheric balloons floated over flagstone plazas, silver-skinned steam-cars and trains. A rose-winged dirigible bearing laughing passengers passed us, raptors shoveling coal in the engine compartment. We descended below Phoenix’s skyline, approaching a columned building and its landing square.

“The Orpheum,” Manager Shen murmured. “Newly renovated. You’ve recovered just in time, Amada!”

I wore a cream-colored dress Mei-Li made me. My skin was clear, my irises humanly brown again. But the raptor within clawed away. My whole body felt clenched.

I smiled for Manager Shen.

The airship didn’t anchor this time, but landed on the flagstones.

From a ramp, Rodelia descended in a new dress, alongside Madam Chien and everyone else. Rodelia’s sickle-claws click-click-clicked on the flagstones. Behind us, Ah-Shen and other stagehands bore props. I’d made Rodelia leave Victoria, hardening myself to her whines. Her hands twitched; she turned, sniffed, sniffed again, the picture of nervousness in a raptor.

“Wait!”

Queue bouncing, Gum-Loong the painter ran up to hand Rodelia … a lavender fan. The something that was missing. Rodelia flipped it open with dexterous fingers.

At the square’s roped-off edge, men and women in opulent dress applauded. The Baron was nowhere in sight, but he was here. Long as the crowd was around, he’d be careful.

Orpheum staff in crimson jackets ushered us inside. Plush seat-rows unfolded from the stage like layered rose petals, everything reeking of new wood, fresh varnish. They’d spared no expense. Madam Chien smiled, but didn’t look impressed.

I caught Rodelia eyeing me sadly. Since I’d downed my last vial, a curtain dropped between us. My ears had regressed; I couldn’t parse her raptor-nuance so well.

“Rodes. Look.” Reaching behind some boxes, I brought out Victoria. She purred in surprise. I couldn’t keep it away after all. “I’ll handle the Baron. You don’t have to do anything.”

She nuzzled her doll, not hearing me. Her home aboard Full Autumn Moon was assured. They were her family now, would care for her better than I ever could. She’d be safe, once I took care of Veer.

Yesterday, I’d pulled Ah-Shen aside. “In case I’m … busy … you’ll take care of her? See she has Victoria? That she gets to hunt off-ship?”

He’d cocked his head. “Of course. Is everything all right?”

“Everything’s perfect,” I’d replied. “At long last, we’re playing in Phoenix tomorrow.”

~

Baron Veer entered with the audience, surrounded by suited men. He didn’t see me, but, oh, I saw him from the rafters I’d climbed onto. I hissed. Black jacket, pasty face, a big man I could easily shred. He kept glancing to the stage, hungry for his escaped subjects–the ones he didn’t euthanize.

The last of the serum was fading fast. I was remembering the night he gave that order. He’d used his command-words, made me kill my raptors. My raptors! They watched me through their muzzles, not understanding what I was injecting them with. Through tears, I watched their eyes flutter.

There I was, one raptor left, holding that huge needle before Rodelia. She always obeyed me. Always. She … said something … something that broke the spell … my name … my raptor-name …

We escaped that night.

The stage lights dimmed, reminding me of my mission.

I gripped the beam. Rrrrrrrrrrrrr-eh-eh-eh-eh-eh-eh-eh …

All through the audience hushing, the first strains of song, the opening battle scene, I stared at Veer, feeling my body sear away any last dregs of serum. Weeks of turning reasserted themselves.

He squirmed, impatient for Rodelia’s appearance. He wasn’t into opera, didn’t know the story. If he uttered his command-words, I’d freeze, and he was fast with them. I needed to wait until he was completely absorbed. I needed to wait until Rodelia’s entrance.

Intermission, lemonade in sparkling glasses, chatter. Someone announcing the Veritas-sponsored renovations to gentle applause.

Veer renovated the Orpheum?

But the curtains rose again; Madam Chien, as foreign concubine, got dragged out. The king ordered her execution. She ran backstage and Rodelia strode forth–the Dragon Bride. Everyone gasped as Rodelia sang her rage and sorrow, ready for the slaughter. Below me, Baron Veer leaned forward …

He wasn’t looking at her. His head darted round … looking … for me?

His human experiment? The girl who’d lapped serum off the floor, while he took notes? Not just once. I’d been refusing serum for weeks, so he’d made an experiment of it.

Rodelia’s voice crescendoed, lifting Veer’s eyes upward. His eyes widened. With my raptor-hearing, I heard him whisper. “Subject Camille-Zero.”

I leaped down, claws extended, dress billowing like bat wings.

RRRRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAA!

Rodelia’s soprano voice changed into a raptor’s call. In that split-second of mid-descent, I finally understood Rodelia–really understood her. She sung the song of the pack, hideous to human hearing, but to me … it was about sunsets and sunrises, cool night, hard sand under sickle-claws, tail held taut like a sail, guiding the sprint. It was my name, my true raptor-name she’d been calling me all along.

He forced us. Now we choose.

Do not kill for him, Mother. Not anymore.

I landed amongst screams, audience members leaping up. Onstage, Madam Chien and the others gaped.

Veer was within reach, a meat-bag ready for shearing … but … Mother … Why’d she … ? All this time, it wasn’t Amada she’d been saying …

“Camille-16-alpha–HOLD!”

I froze, collapsed onto one knee. Camille. That was my designation.

“Release the Scyllas!” Veer yelled. “Collect Camille-Zero!”

His men rose, pulling syringes from their jackets.

CLACK.

Somewhere in the Orpheum, a door had opened. There was hissing, the scent of cloying gas … and clanking–metal grating against metal. Something heavy, coming our way.

Veer made his subjects duel in booby-trapped mazes.

Rodelia shredded her dress, vaulted from the stage.

“Viktra-16-alpha–HOLD!” Veer commanded imperiously. Rodelia squalled in mid-leap, crashed onto the carpet. Veer’s men surrounded her quivering form. Retreat, Mother!

“Kill the Viktra!” Veer ordered. “Contain Camille-Zero!”

I remembered.

The Camilles were first, for infiltration. Their weavings were extensive; all died, except one. The Viktras were for combat. Was there a Scylla series, though? I roared, reptilian scales bursting through my cheeks.

People at the edges of the seat-rows gasped.

“My god … what is she?”

“She’s not human!”

They were right. I was no human turned raptor … but a raptor woven to look human.

The Baron was going to kill my daughter. A Viktra-clone, but my daughter nonetheless. Sprawled on the ground, Veer’s men mounting her, Rodelia’s wide eyes found mine. She opened wide, repeating what she’d said that night we’d escaped, the first part in Veer’s voice, the last in raptor: “Camille-16-alpha–free yourself, Mother!”

Lapping serum off the floor, for weeks, had lessened the dosage–I’d understood her that night.

And, as happened that night, I obeyed. I knocked my attackers back, leapt to Rodelia. Speaking was hard; I needed to concentrate: “Vvvvviktra-16-a-alphaaa–ssssssSTAND!”

Forced to comply, Rodelia righted herself, tossing off men, just as two saurian beasts lumbered into the hall. Raptors taller than Rodelia, in breastplates and helms, raptor-sized rifles in human hands, reeking of acrid rot and almond-scented serum.

People flooded the theater’s far sides as they bayed, “UUUUUHHHHHHHHHHHHH …”

They were blind, eyes milky white. Their skin, ulcerous, wet. The gas–some serum-vapor–they were unstable, shambling forth unsteadily.

“Scyllas!” the Baron yelled. “Attack!”

Rodelia and I engaged. I landed before Veer, claws held high. Veer’s smug expression faded–he looked for his enforcers, but they were running–finally! He would pay!

A Scylla rammed its rifle stock into Rodelia’s jaw, crumpling her. A bayonet extruded from the other’s barrel.

I could end Veer so easily! But Rodelia … the Scylla raised its bayonet … Rodelia’s words, Now we choose—

Advance, or retreat? Utah, or Phoenix? Serum, or Veer? Veer … or … ? Kill, or … ?

Like the Dragon Bride, I poured my fury into a single call: STOP! The Scyllas froze, white eyes flicking to me.

“Camille-16-alpha!” Veer yelled, “TWO STEPS BACK!” My feet moved, one, two. But I dropped claws of my own volition.

Children, I begged the Scyllas. Don’t kill for him! Their armored heads turned to me, rifles lowering.

The Baron was talking, saying it was over, the Scyllas were deaf to all but his voice, a new traitweaving after my escape–and I didn’t care. I’d listened enough to him, when I should’ve been listening to Rodelia, my clone-daughter. These Scyllas were my daughters, too.

Children!, I pleaded over his words. I understand now. I thought I had to kill him. That killing was the only way for him. For me. I was wrong. You can choose—

Veer stamped his foot. “Camille-Zero, you will listen! Scylla-16-alpha–COLLECT CAMILLE-ZER–”

“Scylla-16-alpha–TURNABOUT!”

Veer blinked. He hadn’t spoken, but his voice …

Rodelia was standing now, jaws open. She’d heard that order many times. The Scyllas faced Veer.

“That’s not me, you fools! Scylla-16-alpha–BELAY PREVIOUS ORDER!”

The Scyllas wickered, confused.

“Scylla-16-alpha,” Rodelia commanded. “ATTACK!”

Despite their blindness, they leveled rifles with alarming accuracy. People surged for the archways, no longer caring how close to the Scyllas they got. The Baron turned, but I grabbed him, plunged claws into his midsection–he screamed. I yanked out his notebook, years of scribbled notes.

His work disintegrated in my fist, pages spilling instead of blood. Fabric tore as he broke away. The Scyllas stalked after him.

Wait! I called, Don’t follow. Please! They ignored me, clanking through the archway he’d disappeared through.

Beyond, I heard Veer shouting, “Help! Velociraptors in the theater–some monster in a dress!” There was gunfire, the Scyllas’ sad moaning.

Rodelia nudged me. Mother?

I didn’t have teeth anymore. Fangs. I had fangs. A tongue that struggled forming human sounds. I couldn’t protect her. Not without my human words. It hurt to breathe. Twice, she’d saved me. I had to save her.

“Vvvvviktra-s-si-sixteeeeeeen-alphaaaa,” I managed. Rodelia cocked her head, confused.

The rest, I said in raptor: Run. Live. Don’t follow me.

“AAAAAAAAA-RAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!”

She thrashed, shook her head wildly in denial. She moved towards me, but I raked her forearm, drawing blood. She screamed, turned, and was gone. It hurt. Like something ripped from me, vanished forever. I crouched by the stage, claw-hand brushing something:

Not Victoria … the fan. Still carrying her scent.

“Come, Amada.” I smelled Madam Chien. She pulled my arm over her shoulder, dragged me along until we crashed into the screaming night.

~

She took me to some empty house. The August Court wouldn’t leave Phoenix for a while. I wanted to apologize, but I couldn’t talk anymore.

“You poor child,” Madam Chien said, sounding far away. Her words blurred. “Veritas … found Veer’s notebook … He was perfecting the serum off you … It would’ve allowed monstrous weavings–”

I was losing my human ears.

My ability to tell time, too. She brought meat that I turned from.

Sunlight burned me. I crawled in a ragged robe, smeared with melted skin. Madam Chien lit candles I cowered from.

But the flickering glow struck something my ruined eyes remembered. I found my feet. Click-drag, click-drag, click-click. Something rectangular. What was the word … door. In it, a woman in a violet-set dress. Her face wasn’t finished.

“Hello, Amada.” I flinched; it was Gum-Loong. The painter.

“The investigators want an exhibit,” Madam Chien said from behind me. “An illustration of her … augmentations. We never took a daguerreotype of her–”

Eh-eh-eh-eh-eh-eh-eh-eh … They weren’t bothered by the sounds I made. I touched a claw to the frame.

I reached out–with no hand, but a scaly, three-clawed raptor’s manus–an old nightmare, something I dreamed often–

It was me–my best part. Rodelia, who loved a doll named Victoria. How long was I in Veer’s laboratory, shaped by his chemicals?

The Camilles were first. Their weavings were extensive; all died, except one.

Madam Chien held out a familiar-looking dress, sewn anew, absent of her scent. Madam Chien helped me into it. Gum-Loong prepared his brushes, but I made a sound.

“Here.” Madam Chien pushed the fan into my claws. “We couldn’t find Victoria.”

It took several sessions, what with my weakness. Each time they left the easel, I crawled to the meat they’d brought, and fed.

How long did I writhe on that floor, feeding, shivering?

After each painting session, the image evolved. She was singing. Calling me forth. My raptor-hearing had finally come. Songs of sunlight. Desert sand. Running with the pack. I tossed my robe. Tail raised, I click-click-clicked outside.

So many raptor scents in the night. Enslaved in mines, in hotels, locked in pens. I had many children once. I would have many children again.

But first, my daughter.

I called into the desert, to announce my coming.

RRRRRRRRR–AAAAAAAAAA–EH-EH-EH-EH-EH-EH-EH …

Amada (last name unknown) is currently at large in Arizona. She is wanted by the authorities of Phoenix for the destruction of the Orpheum Opera House, for questioning regarding the now defunct Veritas Elixirs and Tinctures, for the trial of Baron Helmut Veer concerning illegal experiments. Be forewarned, she is 5 feet 2 inches, sixteen years, brown-eyed, and of slight build, but possesses strength and agility most uncanny. She was a raptor-handler for an opera troupe. She speaks and reads many languages, is familiar with airships, and converses with raptors. $500 reward–yield her up.

Andrew K. Hoe is an associate professor of English and speculative fiction author based in Southern California. He is also an assistant editor and narrator for Cast of Wonders. Though he is excited to appear in Mad Scientist Journal, he is actually not a mad scientist–but insists that nobody can be perfect.

Twitter: @andrewk_hoe

Web: andrewkhoe.wordpress.com

Leigh’s professional title is “illustrator,” but that’s just a nice word for “monster-maker,” in this case. More information about them can be found at http://leighlegler.carbonmade.com/.

“Victorian Velociraptor with Violets” is © 2019 Andrew K. Hoe Art accompanying story is © 2019 Leigh Legler

Fiction: Victorian Velociraptor with Violets was originally published on Mad Scientist Journal

[xtruss]

I first posted the long piece below on Jan. 28, 2017, shortly after an inauguration that sealed the deal on yet another American tragedy. I was already sick and tired of being sick and tired—one of a majority of citizens who felt that way as we watched our deceitful, corrupt, misogynistic, abusive, racist, white nationalist president fail to live into his party’s promise that he'd become “more presidential” once he took office. Right.

I’m also one of millions of Americans who could just walk away. I’m 81, I have mine, so why care about anyone else? But millions of us take great inspiration from all the disinherited Americans who refuse to give up on a country that has deprived them of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness from before Day One.

For #45, and those who refuse to renounce him and what he represents, the disinherited are the great threat. No. The disinherited who love this country enough to keep calling it to fulfill its promise are our great hope—if we who “have ours” can learn from their suffering, resilience, and refusal to give up. Hang in and vote hope.

Jan. 28, 2017: It’s hard to describe how I’ve been feeling as an American during the first week or so of the new administration—especially since I don't want to resort to the crude, hateful speech our new President favors.

I’ll simply say that my spirit has been ground down by the daily policy assaults against people and the planet—and by the underlying assault on truth itself. “Alternative facts,” my Aunt Agnes!

As I’ve sought out sources of endurance against the daily grind, I’ve thought about a ten-day retreat I took in the New Mexico desert near Ghost Ranch a few years ago. I was wrestling with some serious problems at the time, wondering how to stay with them over the long haul—which is the only way serious problems ever get resolved.

One day, hiking the desert, I was struck by the fact that the rocks towering above me were at least 150 million years old. It was if I could hear them saying, “We’ve seen it all, and we’ve endured. So let us help you get your problems in perspective, where they'll be easier to hold.”

I was reminded of that experience when I saw the image below. I was also reminded of how much I have to learn from people who have “been here before”—generation after generation—and are still carrying the torch for love, truth, and justice.

A deep bow to Native Americans, Mexican Americans, African Americans, and many, many others who have been assaulted by America time after time, and yet have not laid down the torch.

Memo to Self: Look, listen, and learn from fellow citizens who have a lot more reason to give up than you do, but are still singing “We shall overcome!”

Ernesto Yerena Montejano was born in El Centro, CA, a mid- sized farming town bordering Mexicali, BC, MX. Fueled by his cross-national upbringing, his art practice reflects his observations of the views and interactions between the Mexican communities living on both sides of the U.S.-Mexico border. The artist shares narratives of his conflicts of identity that he feels are kindred to what many Chicanos of these communities experience. Although Yerena identifies as Chicano he also strongly identifies as Native/Indigenous to this continent which is often seen in his work. His work depicts his frustrations with the oppression in his community as well as creating work in solidarity with the community in the defense of dignity and rights. Through his brazen imagery, the artist brings political concerns to light with subject matter that depicts cultural icons, rebels and everyday people voicing their stance against oppression. In 2008 Yerena created the Hecho Con Ganas publishing project in which he produces politically and socially conscience images that are produced in limited edition silkscreen prints. Highly recognized for his activism, Yerena is the founder and curator of the Alto Arizona Art campaign (2010) as well as a founding member of the We Are Human campaign (2009). Yerena has collaborated on many thought provoking projects which include artists Zack de la Rocha, Shepard Fairey, Manu Chao, Ana Tijoux, Philip Lumbang, Jaque Fragua, Diane Ovalle, Chuck D, and Mochilla.

Artist: Ernesto Yerena Montejano (http://tinyurl.com/hjwuvqs)

[twistednuns]

August 2019

India // It’s incredibly hard to sum up my feelings about India and Nepal. It was a truly incredible trip. And so exhausting. It was enriching, interesting, hard, disgusting, educational, everything. This is not the place to talk about my experience at length so I’ll just write down some nice moments I collected along the way //   

on the go // the huge corner toilet at MUC airport departures / Rischart coffee / the smell of the Emirates airline NOIR lotion they offer in their bathrooms / cherry-flavoured Skittles //    Delhi // brightly painted buses and tuk-tuks / eating at AB veg restaurant in Hauz Khas, inredibly delicious and cheap / being lucky enough to choose the hostel in Hauz Khas village; meeting Dominique, Christie, Ayush, Samar and Julia / all those talks we had about linguistics, education systems, the future, politics, travelling, home, friends, experiences with magic mushrooms, Hannah Arendt, travelling (…); talking to Christy about her past, family, criminal record / Mosambi juice / Nici constantly flirting with me, trying to seduce me. She told me I’m posh, assertive, regal and I know myself very well. Making out with her was fun but honestly… not worth the drama. / Mosambi juice / a consultation with a renowned Ayurveda doctor - I loved talking to her even though she wasn’t able to tell me anything I hadn’t known already; sometimes it’s nice to get the confirmation that what you found out on your own is exactly the right thing / eating momos and Kathi rolls, the best Thalis / parties on the rooftop until the sunrise interrupted us; grilling whole fish, saying goodbye to Julia, singing along to Louise Attaque and Cher songs / riding rickshaws through Delhi; extra fun: squeezing 5 people in and listening to club music / the sheets smelling chalky with a hint of grape sugar / dancing at Raasta / petting cute street doggies / a cooking class with Mansi and her family in North Delhi - delicious food and really nice people, I fell in love with the mum / eating at Social (that building is just amazing) and strolling through the little alleys and stores at Hauz Khas village with Christie; she showed me the place where she got her linnen dresses and we talked to a jewellery store owner for quite a while / the spice market, climbing up a building and watching the men flying their kites, tasting some street food and spices, realiszing that there is a market street dedicated to a single group of things like the shoe market, the jewellery market etc. / the Brit Brats sharing their joints; tripping to Bayonne / the hidden merchant streets with colourful wall art around the entrances / PANEER (!) / stand-up comedy with a female comedian / elevator selfies / learning about the development of Indian scripts and letters/characters in Sanskrit in the National Museum; erotic sculptures, very detailed paintings depicting badass, tiger-hunting ladies / I saw a peacock. Cows, chipmunks, pigs, horses, monkeys, goats, guinea pigs, bunnies, cats and dogs, bats, herons, boars, caterpillars, centipedes, horses, donkeys (…) / finding the perfect triangular earrings with gemstones at the Dilli Haat market; getting some nice dresses, too / living on water and mango juice, feeling very light and clean, having an empty stomach all the time / Gandhi Smriti, retracing Mahatma’s last steps before his assassination / feeling human again after a few days in bed - I love the power of make-up, bananas, fresh clothes and those pink little Pepto-Bismol pills the Canadian lady gave me / Delhi central station; just WOW. It’s places like that which make you realise just how many people there are in India. //   

Rishikesh // the man helping me with the bus to Rishikesh; the kindness of strangers / “I thank the Lord for the people I have found” (Elton John - Mona Lisas and Mad Hatters) / emotional bus rides: crying for no reason, letting go, for the first time in a very long time; emotional turmoil, softening up; leaving people and whole countries behind / seeing the huge Shiva ceremony at the Ganges from the bus / my yoga teacher training, getting to know the other students / learning about a magic trick against bad posture / instant karma / the view from the rooftop, watching the sunrise over the lower Himalaya mountains / the simple, vega, ayurvedic food they offered at the ashram / visiting the temples with the apprentice yogi and his scooter; walking up 13 stories in the blazing sun, receiving a blessing and some red string around my wrist; taking part in the Ganga ceremony at sunset / the Beatles Ashram; it’s just this amazing place with incredible street art, and those ruins, the meditation caves and eggs on the rooftop… climbing up there was one of my highlights in Rishikesh / close second: visiting a meditation cave at the Ganges, a bit further up in the mountains; a monk had spent 15 years in that cave practising meditation / all the beautiful shops around town focussing on yoga accessoires / putting my feet in the Ganges #blessed #moksha / learning about my aggression during silent yoga / all the animals around town: horses, donkeys, cows, monkeys and whatnot //   

Varanasi // taking the night train for the first time; I shared my little compartment with a family and three little children but they were surprisingly dramafree and actually quite cute / a sunset boat trip on the Ganges, seeing the ghats, the ceremonies, the moon rise / the little alleys behind the ghats; the stores, the surprises / Marnikarnika Ghat was really impressive; it’s the cremation place and I saw dead bodies for the first time / accidentally discovering the Dirty Chai Cafe (chocolate peanut butter shakes and fresh, cold mint lemonade), finding a Kamala Das poetry book on the shelf / spending an afternoon with the German journalist (so weird how the atmosphere shifts when you’re accompanied by a man there; also our dynamic made me feel so glad to be travelling alone, to only be responsible for myself, to be independent); sharing a banana and water surrounded by goats in Hanuman Ghat; the view over the river from his room; him gently stroking my cheekbone / buying two saris in a little corner shop / my jewellery quest (unsuccessful) / eating fresh fruit salad after hardly eating solid food for days / checking out that little park on my last day, the air buzzing with dragonflies / watching the sunset from the hostel’s rooftop, filming a slow motion video / India brings out trauma and deep emotions; the people kept staring at me for whatever reason; I kept having disturbing dreams about my dead father and grandmother; and the mob-video Christy showed me didn’t help either (the whole village carried a man through the streets, eventually beating him up because he couldn’t pay off his debts) //   

Nepal // the first view of Nepal from the bus windows - how much greener, how much emptier it is than India / meeting some nice people on the bus - an American, a Brit and two Frenchies; grabbing dinner in Kathmandu with the latter / watching the sunrise at the border between India and Nepal / sitting next to the mayor of small town council on the bus ride; communicating with hand and feet / the Kathmandu valley is such a gorgeous sight / I got lucky with my hostel; Yakety Yak was a really nice and quiet place to stay; they even had laundry service and a shelf with free books - I read two or three of them because I behaved like a good (home)sick German abroad: bed, Haribo, carbonated water, trashy literature / visiting Bhaktapur, a gorgeous small town in the Kathmandu valley / watching the latest Tarantino movie at the cinema; the tickets were incredibly cheap / walking up the hill to the temple and the monastery, enjoying the incredible view over the surrounding hills; meeting two ladies from Austria, they live close to my old university town; walking to the centre through back alleys, stopping at a rooftop cafe, ordering three drinks at once (liquid diet) / that one jewellery store near the Pokhara bus station - I found some gorgeous brass rings with precious stones for little money / the busy square, the markets / hanging out in the hammock in my hostel in Pokhara, overlooking the lake / watching the skydivers land / the ayurvedic cafe and the other place serving smoothie bowls by the lake - it’s such a fantastic moment when you finally feel hungry again and eat a little solid food after fasting/suffering for a few days / two incredibly weird guys from Latvia and Berlin who provided a nice, mellow ending for my shitty day and even made me survive the mosquito attacks / meeting my travel agent who actually took me out dancing and gave me a ride on his motorcycle to the bus stop; he even gave me some fruit for the ride / By the Way starting to play while waiting for Vietnamese food / hunting down a place that sells semi-precious stone columns in Kathmandu; negotiating with the old lady selling them; getting some brass souvenirs for my friends and family / the view from the airplane - seeing the Himalaya for the first time; I pity people who’ve stopped looking out of windows //   

Coming home. I’ve NEVER felt happier entering my apartment after a trip. Being alone. Truly alone. Silence. Three rooms just for me. My bed. Having all my stuff back. Toiletries! Nice body lotion. My favourite perfume. Going to the supermarket. Unpacking all the jewellery, clothes and knick-knacks I bought. Taking care of my plants.   

Making a huge batch of my favourite ratatouille / pasta sauce.   

Visiting Manu in hospital. Cheering him up a little bit.   

Finally receiving my black and white analogue photos. I loved the shot of Andre looking like he’s being kissed by a dementor. And Lexi looking dead cool at ADBK.   

Pizza party at Grano with Lena. Eating sorbet out of a lemon.   

Riding my bike through the forest on a sunny morning. Stopping to take pictures of the beautiful light, the yellow flowers. Spending too much money at the garden center. Driving home, IKEA bags full of plants.  

 Inventing my signature manicure: a little black dot just above the nailbed.   

Having an evening beer outside at Sofa So Good with Andre.   

Stumbling upon Konsti. The one who ghosted me years ago after a beautiful summer spent kissing in lakes because his therapist had told him so. Well, we talked for a few days, but guess what - he just ghosted me for a second time. Fool me one - shame on you. Fool me twice - shame on me.

[sidriinternational-blog]

                    10 BENEFITS OF BEING SEXUALLY ACTIVE

know you can mix pleasure with health? Yes, it is possible in a way, and the way is you can enjoy your sex drive and get better health. Literally speaking, it counts as intense workout; additionally, it boosts your mental health as well as physical health.

The benefits of regular sex cannot be underestimated as a factor for reducing stress and create intimacy and bonding between partners.

Yes, it is a form of physical exercise, but don’t take it as a workout. As per the view of Dr. Manu Rajput and Dr. Kanu Rajput of Sidri International Skin Hair & Sexology Clinic, if you engage in safe-sex practices, a better health will automatically follow you.

Presenting you the health benefits of sex validated by the Certified Sexologists in Delhi:

It Improves Immunity: Partners who engage in sex drive frequently (say two times in a week) develop high levels of immunoglobulin A (IgA). It is an IgA immune system, which acts as the body’s first line of defense. As per the studies of Best Sexologist in India, immunoglobulin combat invading organisms at entry points and reduce the work of your immune system. It is also certified that people who engage in sex regularly take fewer sick days.

Heart Health: Partners who make love regularly are less likely to develop heart ailments than those make love once in a month. In keeping a healthy heart, it takes estrogen and testosterone levels in balance, which is also a significant factor for heart health.

Lower Blood Pressure: Engaging in sexual activity, or especially in intercourse, is often regarded as better stress response and lower blood pressure.

A Good Workout: A healthy and engaging sex drive helps in to boost your heart rate, burn calories and provide muscle strength, just like a workout. As per studies conducted on both the sexes by Experienced Sexologist in Delhi, sex burns about 4 calories a minute for men and women. So you can also get good flexibility and balance through sex.

Pain Relief: When you engage in sex, the activity releases hormones responsible for pain reducing. Sex also finds to help in reducing pain from menstrual cramps, arthritis, and headaches. A scientific study by Sexologist in India also claimed that sexual activity can lead to temporary or permanent relief from a headache in some migraine.

Reduce the risk of prostate cancer: Many leading research by Top 10 Sexologists in Delhi has shown that men who ejaculate at least 15 to 20 times a month (it includes masturbation and intercourse) have a very low risk of prostate cancer.

Improve sleep deprivation: It is well observed that when you have some sex issue, your sleep must be badly affected. So, if your sex life is going well, then you induce prolactin hormone after sex, which helps to get a good sleep. Apart from this, a love hormone called “oxytocin” released during orgasm, which also helps to cure sleep deprivation.

Stress Relief: Every action has some reaction. Likewise, the act of sex releases some natural feel-good chemicals, which helps in ease stress, calm, and self-esteem on the same hand. As claimed by many sexologists, like Dr. Manu Rajput and Dr. Kanu Rajput, who have regular sexual indulgence, perform better in stressful situations like public speaking.

Boost your Libido: It is as simple as that, more you engage in sexual pleasure, the more you want to have it. Until and unless, you have some issue with your erection or you have the condition of premature ejaculation. Unfortunately, if you are facing one of these, then consult the Best Sexologist in Janakpuri, Dr. Manu Rajput and Dr. Kanu Rajput of Sidri International Skin Hair & Sexology Clinic. Coming to the point, especially for women, frequent sex helps to increase vaginal lubrication, blood flow, which makes sex drive more enjoyable.

Improve Bladder Control in Women: Frequent intercourse helps pelvic floor muscle to strengthen, which usually contract during orgasm. This help woman to improve their bladder control and avoid incontinence.

Well, this information is literally comprehensive to boost your knowledge about health benefits of sex. But still, if you want to have more information, or if you are facing any sex issues. Then it is better to meet Dr. Manu Rajput and Dr. Kanu Rajput personally. Their advice, ayurvedic therapies would definitely help you. For appointment, click on the following link :

https://sidriinternational.com/appointment

[chevroneightlocked]

A Chance to Heal

a little something for @sephiratales based on how i think Faustine and Manu may have crossed paths in the past! 

The inside of the Circle is not well-lit. Ghislain Circle isn’t the largest in Orlais, and Emmanuel normally would not be trusted to guard a Circle. He’s only here for two days; merely another faceless Templar filling in for his gravely ill colleague. He knows little of the situation, save that Manu is a placeholder for a new Templar recruit arriving within the next two days. He’s been here for three already, and at least his room is private, tucked away with a beautiful view of the surrounding plains. If not for that, Emmanuel may have gone insane already. 

Candles burn in the dozens, tucked into alcoves carved out of the stone walls, but they do little to disperse the heavy darkness creeping in from the high ceilings. Emmanuel lifts his head for the briefest moment, and manages to catch a glimpse of glinting gold in a pattern on the ceiling. A shame the paintings will likely never be seen, consumed by the creeping blackness as they are. There are drapes adorning the stone walls, but he sees only one window from where he stands, and it’s too high up to see out of. 

There’s a lone mage sitting a few paces back from the window in a plush armchair, obviously dragged to that exact position. The mage stares out of the window, hands wringing in her lap, as she watches the stars. 

Manu swallows down the hit of guilt in his chest. It aches, heavy and hot behind his ribs and he pushes it back as hard as he can. Morality is not a part of your job, his mentor had once told him. And as much as he hated the old coot, the man had a point. The mages here are in a more complex position than his instincts scream they are, and so is Manu. Instead, he continues his slow pace down the hall, following the slight curve of the wall as his comrades do. He’s not entirely sure why he was brought along in the first place, considering his history. Perhaps it’s because he begged sickness when he had his last episode, and the vomiting had convinced his superiors he had a stomach virus. Two days was enough to let the episode blow over, and he returned to duty on the third with none the wiser. That was only 12 days ago, and his stomach churns at the buzz in his head. 

He can feel it, the lyrium, crackles of blue lightning on the edges of his senses, and he straightens his back. Shoulders the screaming desire behind it all. Tries to ignore the frantic squeeze of his lungs and the sudden tingling on his pallet. Stumbling a little, he catches himself on the cold stone wall and pushes back into place. It’s not quick enough to escape the attention of the Commander. 

The man turns, practically radiating arrogance. ‘Lamont?’ he asks, just a step off of a demand. 

Emmanuel nods. ‘Sir,’ he says, straightening further. 

The Commander merely nods, and the five of them continue their slow patrol of the halls. Manu pushes the screaming lyrium to the back of his head until it’s nothing more than a high-pitched ringing in his ears. 

Around him, mages are obviously heading towards their chambers, or preparing for sleep. One older man nearly knocks him over, chasing after a crying young girl. The girl must be no more than six, and Manu may as well have been kicked in the chest. He rights the man, and watches as he catches the child, nearly tripping on his robes again in his rush. She quietens as soon as he procures a worn brown mabari toy from somewhere in his robes, and he glances worriedly at Manu before nodding his head and hurrying the child along. 

Emmanuel keeps walking, trying not to pay attention to the blank looks of the Tranquil as the patrol passes; the way children and adults alike peer from the doorways. The rest of the patrol passes in a dimly lit blur, and the Commander waves the rest of the patrol past him. Manu watches as they climb the stairs to the Templar floor, and none of them glance back at him. 

The Commander pulls him closer to the wall with a gentle hand, slotting his fingers into the joint of his armour and holding on to the bottom of Manu’s bicep. The Commander’s eyes are piercing but soft, from behind his helm, and Manu wishes he was good enough at being a Templar to earn a permanent station here. 

‘Emmanuel?’ the Commander asks softly, but it’s obvious he isn’t expecting an answer. ‘You’re too pale. Report to the healers before returning to your quarters tonight.’

Manu nods. ‘Yes, sir,’ he says, and watches the Commander climb the stairs before he leaves. 

The healers are not far: only a couple of corridors down, and he makes his way there with eyes on him the entire time. It isn’t the first occasion he’s though it, but he wonders if this is what the mages feel like. Watched. Scrutinised. Respected, but only barely. He knows all too well what that feels like. 

The healers are blowing out the candles when he arrives. The elder healer spots him first, doesn’t bother point out his Templar status. She merely waves him to sit down and remove his helmet. 

‘You are too pale,’ she says, in lieu of an introduction. ‘Fetch a warm towel, Faustine,’ she orders, and Manu watches as curious blue eyes turn to him for the briefest of moments before she is placing a cloth into a pot of water on the dying fire. Her hair cascades over her shoulders and back like water at sunset, colours shifting with the firelight. When she turns back to him, just an uncertain little glance half-hidden by her waves of hair, he sees freckles over her face. She must only be 18, and Manu wishes she were out experiencing the majesty of Orlais instead of being stuck in one of its Circles. 

The healer is still saying something about his pallor, and when she asks if he may know the cause he says, ‘I came down with a stomach virus and only recovered 12 days ago. And my name is Emmanuel.’

Waving her hand, the healer replies absently, ‘I am Melanie, and this is Faustine, my apprentice. Look at me.’ 

Manu does, and only barely catches Faustine’s small wave as she presses the warm cloth to his head. Manu barely catches what Melanie says next, and the world swims before him. His cheeks are instantly aflame, and he sways a little in his seat. 

Melanie passes a hand over his head. ‘Ah,’ she says, sadly. ‘Yes, the virus is still passing from your system.’ 

He gives a wry little laugh. ‘We both know that is not the case,’ he sighs. ‘But thank you. Good eve, Lady Melanie, Lady Faustine.’

Manu is still putting his helmet on when he exits, and he stops just outside the door, leaning on the cold stone to steady himself. 

‘Why was he sick?’ he hears Faustine’s whisper, soft and quiet. 

Melanie sighs. ‘Not everyone takes well to lyrium, young one. Sometimes there are prices to pay.’ 

He walks as quickly as he can, after that. Better to just sleep and forget, if only for a few hours.

i hope you liked it!