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tired0artist · 3 years

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not enough (part three)

>part one< >part two<

paring: female V x Johnny Silverhand

warnings: angst, fluff, love confessions, crying, near death experience, amnesia, protective Johnny

summary: continuation to the first part.

note: yes, yes there will be part four. and as always I’m describing my V <3

————<•>————

Love.

What the fuck does it mean?

Was it the burning feeling in his chest since he woke up? Came back to life? What ever the fuck that was.

The fucking pinch he felt when that woman left him shortly after he woke up. He was so surprised by it that he even told that ripperdoc to check his heart. But there was nothing wrong.

And that fucking pinch turned into an painful ache that was around him all the time now. Only getting stronger after she left him in her own car.

Love.

He remembers his childhood. Sure he loved his parents even through they never got along and his father was a bastard. But when he was still a kid, he loved his parents. Yet still. It was different from the feelings he had for the woman.

Love.

Maybe it was the feeling he got when he played his guitar. He was sure of the fact that he loved playing it. So maybe that was it?

Love.

He never experienced love for another human. He always thought that Alt was it. The end game. But now... he’s starting to doubt that.

Love.

Johnny stared at the pale figure and her relatively small hand that he held. Her caramel skin looking ashy and so so wrong. Yet in a way he feels like he saw it look like that once. The dark circles under her closed eyes. Hiding the pools of violet that he considered writing a fucking song about. Her black her matted, lacking the shine it always had.

“The fuck does it mean...?” he whispered, while caressing her lovely face. Stopping shortly near her nose, just to feel her breathing.

The doors opened and that ripperdoc walked in. Looking both pissed and amused for some reason. That weird girl following him.

“You know. You scared the living hell out of my client. Again. I know she needed help, but you didn’t have to throw that guy off of the chair”

Johnny only shrugged “She needed more help than that fucking old man. He’s already at the verge of flatlining so why bother?”

Victor only shook his head with a sigh “It’s a blessing that you didn’t end up being a ripperdoc”

The rock man only snorted, his eyes returning to V.

“I called Kerry and Rogue. He will be here soon, while Rogue will come by a bit later. She’s looking into something” Misty said, taking place on the other side of V.

“Her friends. Judy and Panam. They would probably want to know too” Johnny said, not realising that he never really heard the girls name enough to remember them. Yet he did.

Misty nodded and kissed V’s head, before walking away to give the girls a call.

Some time later, the doors bursted open as Kerry ran inside. Getting to V in record time.

He touched her cheek and moved his fingers to her neck, trying to check the pulse.

“She’s alive, Ker. Just unconscious” Johnny said, although he wasn’t surprised that his friend’s mind jumped into that conclusion. V really looked dead.

His heart pinched him so much that he flinched at the thought.

Kerry let out a breath that he was probably holding all this time, as he took V’s other hand in his.

“What the hell happened?”

Johnny let out a deep breath, saying “I was at Afterlife, talking to Rogue about a job. When V called her. She said that the job was done but she was bleeding out... I... I have no idea how but the next thing I know is that I’m my car driving to Pacifica while Rogue calls me to tell me exactly where V is...”

“Fuck... I told her to stay at home. I told her to do the job tomorrow... but of course she didn’t listen” Kerry said, his hand shaking as he reached to tuck a piece of hair away from her face “A fucking stubborn nomad...” he said with a small smile.

Love.

“You love her, don’t you? Rogue too... this whole relationship you both have with her... it goes outside her having the chip. Doesn’t it?”

Kerry didn’t look at him as he said “You know Johnny. I never wanted a kid. I was always looking to party and just live my life. But then. She came around, even with you inside her head. And I immediately liked her, we even fucking blew up a van together. And a yacht.

Then there was that time when she came out of Mikoshi with your engram and location of your body. The first days were the hardest for her. She stayed here, cause she was scared to go back to her apartment after Arasaka. Wanted to stay for just a while, to make sure that the apartment was safe. She had nightmares that refused to let her sleep. During the day she would walk around and do some weird stuff, looking around her like she was crazy. Started smoking and also looking around.

It freaked me out a bit but I’m not the sanest person on the planet so I let her do her thing. And then one evening, it was like a dam broke down. She started crying and saying how empty it was without you. That for weeks she was searching for you. Hoping that you would appear and make fun of her or call her a cunt. But you weren’t there. She was all alone.

Everyday she was sitting with that chip in her hand on the roof. Talking to it. Or rather to you. Once even admitted that she wanted to put it inside her head. Just to have you back... months later she and Rogue got your body back and she was better a bit. But these first few days... I never felt so helpless Johnny. Never. So yeah... I love her, like my own daughter”

Johnny was speechless by the end. He knew that the merc was close to him when he was inside her chip. But this?

Love.

All this hurt she felt... was this how love is? The pain and misery? Fuck...

“I was such a dick to her..”

Kerry snorted “More than a dick, Johnny. She was miserable and let me tell you something. You’re my choom and I’m happy that you’re alive. But fuck with her again and I will kick your ass. Also Victor was a boxer. So watch out”

Johnny nodded, guilt in him rising “Never again... I don’t know what came over me. I was just so angry. I have this black hole in my head and whenever she was around. Which was fucking always. I was getting feelings and memories that I didn’t recognise... and my chest... it’s on fire Ker. I can’t stand it... and then she left and fuck. It was even worse...”

Kerry laughed and shook his head “That’s how love feels like, you fucking gonk”

Love.

Somehow, it was like Johnny knew this all along. And the realisation was... freeing. It was like a huge weight got off his chest. And suddenly a memory got to him. Or more like shit ton of memories.

“You’re such a dick Johnny...”

“And you’re a cunt. Maybe we really do fit together”

“Don’t make me fuck a pig, V”

“Why? You’re jealous?”

“No. We both know that my cock is way bigger than his”

“Bet you anything you’re gonna scream like a little girl”

“We’ll see who’s gonna scream, asshole. Besides a rollercoaster is all about that”

“What would you put there?”

“A guy who saved my life”

“Would you take a bullet for me?”

“Yes”

“Johnny... I—“

“Shh... I know. Tell me up there in the world”

With a groan he opened his eyes just to see Kerry standing over him, slapping his face.

“Oh good, you’re waking up! The fuck was that Johnny?! One minute you’re fine and the other you’re on the floor!”

Johnny groaned and grabbed his head “Fuck... my head... Ker it’s-it’s the fucking relic... my memories—“

“Shit. Wait, I’ll call Victor” Kerry said and left to get the ripperdoc.

His head was pounding, memories and feelings coming at him with full force.

Every touch, every smile, every smell, every feeling all connected to one thing.

Her ink black hair shining in the sun, her violet eyes rolling, caramel arms crossed, full lips trying not to smile, as he told her another inappropriate joke.

“Shut up, Johnny... Panam will think that I’m crazy” she said in her head without any real heat.

He smirked and glitched closer to her, to pinch her side “Don’t act like you don’t love it whenever I do that”

With a quick glance at Panam, V grinned and hit him with her hib “Dick”

“Cunt” he answered with a blinding smile, feeling their heart race.

V shook her head at him and gave him a full smile.

And looking at her, he swore that that’s how heaven must look like. After all. Maybe getting killed by Arasaka wasn’t so bad, if in the end he got to see something so beautiful...

He got on his feet and stumbled over to V’s side. Carefully he touched her cheek and kissed her lips softly, whispering.

“I love you too, sweetheart...”

Then just a relic malfunction popped up, his eyes rolled back and he fell on the ground.

•there will be part three as I said above so follow me or just check the tag “Johnny Silverhand x V”

•also English isn’t my first language so sorry for any errors.

•thank you all for reading this and the last parts. I hope that you liked Johnny’s pov!!!

Tag list (if you wanna be tagged leave a comment): @dartheldur @signwriting @missweatherwax @commanding-officer @lovinghunty @the-bottom-of-the-abyss @sillysallysings @iamshisan

#cp2077 #cyberpunk 2077 #johnny silverhand #johnny silverhand x v #night city #female v #v #cyberpunk kerry #cyberpunk rogue

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amarits · 4 years

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“Where did he get all of this?” Nightwing asked, inspecting what looked like one of Bane’s Venom tanks, the green liquid pulsating inside. They’d alerted Commissioner Gordon, and he was organizing a city-wide manhunt for their copycat. He was going to send some officers to the apartment too, but was giving them time to get everything they needed first. Which was a good thing, because the apartment was chock-full of villain gadgets and weird artifacts. Robin wasn’t sure which items were real, which ones were actors’ props, and which ones might actually be haunted ancient relics.

The freeze gun had been real. Had he made that himself or was it an old model Mr. Freeze had lost?

Robin picked up a canopic jar with a jackal’s head, turning it to study the carvings. Didn’t these usually have dead people’s organs in them? He slowly put it back down and reached for a strange, clawed glove he thought might belong to Scarecrow instead. “Is there a black market for villain equipment? There must be, right?” There was a black market for everything else. Kids in his neighborhood used to search for discarded batarangs after Batman had been through. Those were worth a fresh fifty to the right buyer.

“Bag anything you think would be dangerous in the wrong hands,” Batman said, moving aside the Riddler’s cane to eye a glowing, ornate sword. It looked like that god-killing sword Deathstroke sometimes used, at least until Batman flipped a switch and the light turned off. Okay, so that one was definitely fake. “Catwoman,” he snapped.

She shrugged and tossed a large green gem Robin hadn’t even seen her pick up back into the pile. It probably wasn’t real anyway.

“I’m going to check with my sources underground,” she said, slinking past Batman. “I’m not much use for this part.”

“I’ll join you when we’re done combing the apartment,” Batman said.

“I look forward to it,” she purred, stroking his jawline with her fingertips. Batman didn’t even turn his face towards her.

“Gross,” Robin said.

“How did he even sleep here?” Nightwing asked, clearly much more used to ignoring them than Robin was. He was sorting through a pile of props that completely covered the giant bed. It was at least a King size, if not larger. What was that called? Texan? Alaskan? Something like that.

“He might not have,” Batman said. “This could just be a base of operations. He could have other residences, a partner.”

“A lover,” Catwoman added, patting Batman’s cheek before turning and sashaying to the window. The ice encasing the wall of windows had melted enough to uncover the hole Robin had crashed through. “Not everything is some huge conspiracy, Darling. What’s the usual reason a man doesn’t sleep in his own bed?” She didn’t wait for an answer before swandiving out the window.

Nightwing watched until she was out of sight before turning to Batman. “You still think Chirp’s involved, don’t you?”

“I don’t think we should discount the possibility,” B said.

“Unbelievable.” Nightwing threw his arms up in the air, then very slowly lowered them when the orb he was holding lit up. He made sure it was safely back on the bed before continuing. “You get an idea in your head and you just won’t let it go. I told you years ago that I was better at people than you and that he seemed genuine. You ignored me then, and you’re ignoring me now. Nothing’s changed.”

Robin tried to look busy sorting the props, but he just picked up an item, moved it from one hand to the other, and put it down again.

B pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m not saying that he was definitely involved, just that we should keep our minds open. Consider all the evidence.”

“Does that evidence include trusting your partners’ abilities, or are you just going to go it on your own like you always do?” Nightwing spat. The orb beside him pulsed with the rhythm of his words. “Just once, I wish you would trust the opinion of someone other than yourself.”

Jason could feel Batman’s gaze on him, and he tried to look busier, keeping his eyes down on the props in front of him.

“You’re right,” B said.

“I can’t belie—wait, what?” Nightwing asked, faltering.

“You’re right,” B repeated. “I haven’t listened as much as I should have, and I’m sorry.”

“Oh,” Nightwing said. “Well, good. Thank you.” There was an awkward silence as they all looked at the various artifacts in front of them. The orb slowly faded as the anger in the room ebbed. “So, we’re thinking dangerous pile for this one, right?”

“Yes.”

Read More on AO3

#batman #batfic #batfam #jason todd #dick grayson #mywriting #mine #chirp

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myhauntedsalem · 4 years

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The Titanic and the Paranormal

There are many supposedly haunted places in this world, and most of us may think that these spectral forces gravitate towards dilapidated old houses or scary forests in the middle of nowhere. We have this image of what haunted should be, and most often it all comes down to a place or thing with a tragic history and death orbiting it, through whatever means producing these alleged haunted phenomena. The seas also have plenty of this, and there is perhaps no greater tragedy on the ocean than the deadly sinking of the now infamous Titanic. Here thousands of people died a horrible death, and it should go without saying that this doomed vessel has generated its fair share of strange phenomena over the decades.

When the RMS Titanic set out on its maiden voyage it was considered to be a grand wonder of engineering and the pinnacle of passenger liners, unparalleled in opulent luxury and comfort for its time. A British ship operated by White Star Lines and designed by the architect Thomas Andrews, the RMS Titanic was the largest ship on the seas at the time, just about the largest ship ever, and had the most cutting edge technology and facilities ever seen on a passenger liner. The colossal ship was fitted with all manner of bells and whistles, including fancy radio transmitter equipment, and it was actually one of the fist ships ever to start using the new SOS distress signal, which would replace the signal CQD (come quick, danger). The imposing ship featured revolutionary safety features for its time, including an ingenious system of interlocking compartments and remotely operated watertight doors, among others, and when it inexorably set out from Southampton to New York City on its very first voyage the Titanic was widely touted as being wholly unstoppable and “unsinkable.”

When this behemoth of a ship departed on April 10, 1912, under the command of a Captain Edward Smith, it was to much joyous fanfare and publicity. The Titanic departed with over 2,200 passengers, many of them some of the wealthiest people in the world, and others were emigrants from all over Europe eager to go off to start a new life in the faraway, promised land of the United States. It was a truly historic event, demanding attention, and at the time no one would have thought anything of the fact that despite its advanced safety features it was woefully short of lifeboats, with only enough to carry around 1,178 people under ideal conditions. After all, the lifeboats were just a formality, right? Surely nothing could ever sink the mighty Titanic. Or so they thought, and the rest is history.

On April 14, 1912, the Titanic was making its way through the Atlantic at high speed around 375 miles from the coast of Newfoundland in the early hours of morning when it struck an iceberg that promptly robbed the ship of its popular title of “unsinkable.” Many of the watertight compartments that had been hailed as groundbreaking technology immediately were smashed wide open, and the crippled giant began to sink at a steady rate. In the ensuing panic and chaos, the problem of the lifeboat shortage became painfully apparent, and many of these had the added problem that they were difficult and time consuming to launch. Indeed, many of the scant lifeboats went out into the frigid seas only partially loaded, leaving others to their impending doom. Eventually the gargantuan ship broke apart and plunged down below the waves with an estimated approximately 1,500 people still aboard.

When the another ship called the RMS Carpathia came to the ship’s aid, it was able to rescue around 700 of the survivors, with the rest disappearing down into a watery grave to rest at the bottom down in nearly 13,000 feet of water, where the ship remains to this day. Indeed, for decades the exact location of the wreck remained a mystery in and of itself, with it not being discovered until 1985. The sinking of the RMS Titanic is one of the worst, most tragic maritime disasters in history, and at the time it shocked the world. Since that fateful morning, the Titanic has gone on to become one of the most famous ships to ever ride the seas, and has been the subject of countless films, books, and documentaries. It is by far one of the most well-known wrecks in the world, and it is perhaps no surprise that it has drawn its fair share of tales of the paranormal as well.

Weirdness seems to have hovered around the vessel even before it was even launched. According to an April 12, 2012 Associated Press article, in 1898 the American author Morgan Robertson wrote a novella called Futility, which features in its first half a ship called the Titan, and which besides the similarity of the names of the vessels displays a wide variety of spooky, seemingly prophetic details and uncanny parallels between the fictional Titan and the real Titanic. For instance, both were nearly the same size and could go the same maximum speed of over 20 knots, and both of the ships were deemed unsinkable and were subsequently sunk by hitting icebergs, in mid-April no less. In addition, both lacked enough lifeboats to save all of the passengers, and even the novella’s opening sounds as if it could easily be talking about the Titanic, saying:

She was the largest craft afloat and the greatest of the works of men. In her construction and maintenance were involved every science, profession, and trade known to civilization.

When Futility was first released, it was met with a resounding lack of interest, due to the fact that it is actually not seen as being very good, and Robertson was mostly considered a bit of a hack. The book itself mostly devolved into an improbable tale of survival for the alcoholic protagonist, with Titanic historian Paul Heyer saying of Robertson and his work, “He’s not exactly a great literary stylist. Moralistic tone, implausible situations, poor character development. The only saving grace of the novella is intriguing information about the ship and her fate.” Indeed, it was not until after the historic disaster that the book got any sort of fame or recognition at all. Considering all of these eerie details in a book written years before the real Titanic set sail, in the wake of the disaster it did not go unnoticed, and Robertson was widely hailed as having prophesied the sinking of the ship with some sort of precognitive abilities. This has been explained away by skeptics as being pure coincidence, as Robertson was an avid writer on ships and the sea and Heyer has said of this:

He was someone who wrote about maritime affairs. He was an experienced seaman, and he saw ships as getting very large and the possible danger that one of these behemoths would hit an iceberg.

Whether Robertson was really psychic or not is unknown, but what is known is that this is just the beginning of the weirdness surrounding the Titanic. Considering the sheer loss of life and the traumatic circumstances of the disaster, along with the fact that hundreds of these bodies were never recovered and remained lost at sea, it is perhaps no surprise at all that the very wreck of the Titanic is said to be haunted. There have been numerous reports of ships passing the area of the Titanic’s resting place off Newfoundland seeing glowing or flickering orbs of light both above the water and darting about beneath the waves. This phenomenon is reportedly often accompanied by inexplicable radio interference, and even submarines passing the area of the wreck have apparently had such interference, as well as phantom SOS signals that seem to come from nowhere.

One ship that was passing the site of the wreck even had a sighting of a ghostly apparition said to be a victim of the RMS Titanic. In 1977, the liner SS Winterhaven was passing through and on this evening Second Office Leonard Bishop was showing a passenger around the ship who seemed to be absolutely obsessed with every detail of the vessel. As the tour went on, Bishop noticed that besides this intense interest in his ship there was something off about the quiet, soft-spoken man he was guiding around, but he wasn’t sure what at the time. After the tour, he did not remember seeing the man again, but the strange aura of something not quite right made him memorable, and Bishop would not forget the mysterious stranger’s face. It would not be until years later when Bishop by chance saw a picture and claimed to know the man in it, much to the shock of the person who had showed it to him. It turned out that unbeknownst to Bishop the picture was of Captain Edward John Smith, the captain of the Titanic, who would have been long dead during their tour.

The ghost of Titanic captain Edward Smith actually seems to get around, as he has been reportedly seen from time to time on other vessels passing the area of wreck as well, and he is even said to haunt his childhood home in Stoke-on-Trent, in Staffordshire, England. The previous house owners, Neil and Louise Bonner, rented the house out for over a decade, and they say that there had been numerous reports from tenants over the years of paranormal activity at the house. Banging, whispers, and other anomalous noises were common, as well as roving colds spots, inexplicable floods in the kitchen, and most shocking of all a full-bodied spectral apparition of Smith himself seen in the bedroom.

In addition to the hauntings of the wreck site and the home of the Titanic’s captain are the numerous hauntings that seem to revolve around artifacts and relics from the wreck, and museum collections with such items tend to be magnets for inexplicable ghostly activity. One of the more active of these is the “Titanic: The Artifact Exhibition,” at The Luxor Hotel and Casino in Las Vegas, Nevada, which houses a large array of over 300 items from the sunken ship and is ground zero for a whole plethora of unexplained phenomena. Visitors and staff alike supposedly frequently report strong feelings of being watched or followed, as well as disembodied voices or footsteps, or being poked, prodded, or pushed by unseen hands, in addition to sightings of shadowy apparitions lurking in the halls and corridors. The attraction’s artifact expert Joe Zimmer seems to be particularly tormented by these wayward spirits, claiming that he constantly experiences having his hair or clothes yanked on or his name whispered when no one is there, and he says he has even heard phantom music playing.

One of the more well-known of the apparitions of the Luxor exhibit is apparently the ghost of Frederick Fleet, who was the lookout on the RMS Titanic who had spotted the iceberg that sank the ship and had warned the crew. Although Fleet was one of the survivors of the tragedy, he would forever have feelings of guilt afterwards, and this plus the death of his wife in 1964 drove him to commit suicide by hanging himself at his home in England. Fleet’s spirit has been reported as haunting the Promenade Deck of the exhibition, although why this ghost should appear all the way over in Las Vegas remains unclear. There is also the apparition of a young woman in a black old-fashioned dress and with her hair in a bun who is regularly seen on the premises.

A strange incident with a ghost allegedly happened on the very opening day of the exhibition, when a photographer was getting ready for the event. He claims that as he was setting up he was surprised to see a woman in period clothes come walking down the grand staircase, which was odd because as far as he knew, no one else was supposed to be there and he had not seen anyone else arrive. Thinking that perhaps it was an extra dressed up in period clothing for the purpose of the grand opening he asked her if he could take her photo on the staircase, but she did not say a word, merely standing there in an apparent trance before vanishing into thin air.

Some of the strange incidents at the Titanic: The Artifact Exhibition have apparently been caught on film and audio as well. One example is a strange sequence of events concerning a photo of Bruce Ismay, who was the chairman and managing director of the White Star Line. One morning the staff opened the exhibition to find the photo inexplicably lying on the floor of the entryway and carefully propped against the wall, reportedly still pristine and undamaged. Baffled by how the photo could have possible gotten there during the night, surveillance footage was reviewed, which showed the photo appearing to shake on its own before being taken down and put against the wall as if by unseen hands. Paranormal investigators to the exhibit have captured orbs of light and shadowy images as well, and there have been several EVP recordings made of what appear to be the voices of Titanic victims.

Another collection of Titanic pieces that seems to be haunted is the Titanic Aquatic exhibit at the Georgia Aquarium, in the United States, which also has intense paranormal activity similar to what has been experienced at the Luxor exhibit, including ghost sightings, strange noises, period music from nowhere, and phantom hands grabbing, nudging, or pulling clothes or hair. Spookiest of all is a creepy ghostly old lady who is said to dwell within a replica of one of the Titanic’s cabins in the exhibit, and is not shy about suddenly appearing to startle visitors before blinking away again. Paranormal investigator’s and the Syfy Channel’s Ghost Hunters have examined the exhibit and found definite signs of paranormal activity, as well as made recordings of EVP phenomena at the site. As to why these ghosts should latch onto these relics from the Titanic, Dianna Avena, founder of Georgia Paranormal, has said:

It just makes sense that, especially with the Titanic exhibit, there would be residual paranormal energy. When you have a strong emotional imprint, there could be some energy attached.

Perhaps the strangest tale of a haunting related to the Titanic has to do not with any artifact from the doomed ship, but rather a replica of it. Retired architectural draftsman Wyatt Jason Moore, from Portsmouth, Virginia, managed to painstakingly build a 200 lb. model of the RMS Titanic over the course of 9 years and an estimated 17,368 hours of work, which was an ambitious project he became obsessed with after watching the 1958 film A Night to Remember. He began studying numerous old photographs of the Titanic, incorporating every detail he could into his grand vision, and he found himself spending hours and hours a day toiling away on his creation.

The end result was a lifelike replica of the famous ship, accurate right down to each individual stairway and hall. When his masterpiece was finished he decided to take some photos of it and that was when strange things began to happen. As he took his photos, he could hear anomalous noises coming from the massive model sitting in his home, and later mysterious entities began to appear in his shots. He would say of one of the startling images he took:

I couldn’t make it out until I looked at it very carefully and I found it was a bald headed man with a handle bar mustache, and I said to myself, what’s he doing there?

In addition to this creepy ghostly man were a spectral man and woman looking out of another porthole just above the lifeboats. At around the same time as these events, Moore says that doors around the house began to mysteriously slam shut or open even when no one else was there, but he says he is not scared of the entities, he just thinks they are lost souls, saying “Maybe it was someone that was aboard the Titanic that found a new home for himself.” Skeptics have been quick to point out that the photos are nothing more than a reflection and trick of light, but Moore insists that the portholes on his model don’t feature glass. Moore has tried to sell the haunted Titanic model on Craigslist, but found no takers, perhaps because of the exorbitant $263,000 asking price, but he hopes that a museum will take it at some point. They might as well, because it seems any museum with genuine paraphernalia from the actual Titanic is haunted anyway.

The fate of the RMS Titanic is one of the worst seagoing tragedies of all time, and it seems somewhat fitting that it too should have its own odd tales of ghosts and hauntings. It is an aspect of the tragedy that does not get much coverage but is nevertheless still out there, lurking in the shadows. Does the fateful sinking of this once glorious vessel and its rusted, decomposed remains infused with the paranormal just as any old haunted house would be? What is going on with these rumors and scary stories? These are perhaps mysteries that we will never really understand, confined to the dark just as the hulk of the Titanic lies sitting down in the murk beyond the light of day.

#The Titanic and the Paranormal #titanic #paranormal #ghost and hauntings #ghost and spirits

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thepaperpanda · 5 years

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The Skies of Dead

Summary: When London become devoured by walking corpses and mysterious virus, two complete strangers try to find a way to keep on surviving in the rotten city.

Warnings: zombies, graphic description of violence

Words: 3223

Authors: Cass & Grizzly

A/N: Cass here! My boyfriend has always had a little dream about writing his own story. I am so glad I could have helped him in making this dream come true! Hope you all will enjoy it as much as we did while writing! I love you, sweetie! 😍😍

As Arthur Bristow stood across from the building and debated with himself whether or not he should enter the Shard building, the humming and chanting grew louder.

Arthur held a machete up, breathing deeply as he checked once again if the blade was sharp enough.

Who is in there? What in blazes are they doing?

It had been a horrible week to the man. It was now four days later, and the reports of missing persons and murders in the streets of London had multiplied to shocking statistics. The city was seeing its fair share of violence, too, and it all seemed to orbit around the Shard skyscraper.

That morning four days ago, Arthur had gone to his office, finished his paper work, packed his pocket voice recorder, and set off walking to the London Eye where he had to meet with famous guest, who was about to share an interview to him. When he arrived on place, he realized the recorder wasn’t in his pocket. That made him angry and frustrated. Had he dropped it on the way? It could be anywhere between The Times office and London Eye. Arthur cursed when he realized his foolishness. Nevertheless, he made up his mind to return to his office and look for the recorder. It was when he saw undeads for the first time. Everything bursted out of nowhere, people were chasing others, trying to bite their flesh, and as soon as someone has been bitten, they turned into undeads as well. And most of infected went out of Shard. Was it a coincidence?

This day Arthur had taken a short side trip to London Bridge Street to take a look at the Shard, and here he was. Scared and hesitant. The sweat trickled down his neck. His heart rate had increased.

If you’re going inside, you’d better get going, he commanded himself. Be brave. It can’t possibly be that bad, can it?

He stepped into the street and crossed to the other side. It was then that he realized there wasn’t much traffic. For a Saturday morning, that was unheard of.

Where was everyone? Perhaps the Londoners were just as frightened as he was and were staying indoors. Good for them.

Arthur went up the stone steps and put his ear to the doors made of glass. The ugly chorale was a symphony of moans. It sounded as if the people inside were in pain and were collectively and wordlessly expressing their misery. A bunch of very sick civilians had gathered in...

Steeling his nerves and taking a deep breath, Bristow opened the doors. The stench that met his nostrils almost overpowered him. He gagged and put a hand over his mouth. He considered turning back, but now his curiosity got the best of him. He stepped inside.

The inner foyer was empty, but it was clear that the noise was coming from theinside, off to the left. Artur slowly approached the double doors to the great conference room, swallowed, and opened them.

The horror inside was too much to comprehend. And then the source of the terror turned its attention to him..

The coldness of old, stoned basement was growing with every minute Emily was spending there. The lightbulb was shining brightly but even light didn't change the fact about her position. She sat in the corner of the room, scared and cold with her back pressed hard to a wall.

Just a four days ago this young lady was working at a veterinary clinic. She never said her work was hard, being close to animals of all kinds was the main goal in her life. Their size never frightened her but that day all animals acted weird just like they would feel something that people did not, cats were hissing and dogs were nervous.

Due to some unexplained reasons, all patients canceled their appointments or simply didn't show up. This was highly suspicious to every worker but the truth was that there was no one to work for so everyone was sent home.

Emily lived outside London in a small village.

She got into her car and drove through the streets, this was when she saw the undead for the first time even if she wasn't completely oblivious to the fact then.

The man shuffled trough driveway, he was covered in blood and didn't look healthy, Emily did her best to pass him by thinking that it was just some kind of sick person on a lose.

Even if the house was small it still was cozy and enough for a young woman. Even if the day seemed quiet it quickly changed into chaos.

Emily looked through the window as soon as she heard screams outside, the things that she saw made her stomach turned.

People were running and attacking each other, acting like rabid animals which only goal was to bite someone. The sidewalks were already splattered with blood, turned body decorated streets and lawns.

At this point, only one thing hit Emily - thought about finding a shelter. She needed to hide from horrors of the outside world.

An only safe place that she knew was her basement, she ran there as soon as it was possible.

And this was how she ended in such a bad position but she knew she couldn't stay there forever.

Arthur Bristow opened his eyes, winced at the brightness of the new day, and immediately vomited. He forced himself to get to his knees in order to keep the vile stuff from getting on his clothes, although lying in the recesses of a burnt-out building wasn’t the cleanest place he could have hidden.

Soot, ash, and blackened pieces of the wooden roof that had caved into the space littered the floor; its filthiness hadn’t been so obvious last night when he’d slithered inside the structure of Big Ben.

You don’t care too much where you’re going when you’re running for your life. The main thing is to hide—quickly and silently—so they don’t get you.

After he’d finished heaving, Arthur crawled away from the mess and weakly collapsed. He lay on his back, looking up through the gaping hole at the clouds in the bright blue sky. This one building was the most iconic, both palace and clock tower.

Ironically, it was a beautiful day outside. The weather was perfect, although hot, ideal for a relaxing swim in the hotel pool.

Big Ben was now a relic of the past. The luxury establishment was now burned, destroyed, and overrun with Infected. And it had happened so quickly. The siege by the creatures began after ten last evening, and it was over in less than an hour. Everyone who was still alive had fled into the dark, dangerous streets of London. Arthur was surprised no one else had followed him into this little shelter, where he huddled for hours in fear until he had finally fallen asleep.

Sleep. At this point, it was something that wasted precious time. And he didn’t have a whole lot of that left.

Man rolled up the torn sleeve of the windbreaker he had donned to keep warm. The bite on his forearm was angry, red, and swollen. It burned like the dickens. He noted the time on his wristwatch; it had been roughly seven and a half hours since the Infected’s teeth had clamped down and punctured his skin. Now, the wound appeared diseased and putrid. Yellow pus oozed from the several perforations. It was gross, it hurt, and it was certainly deadly. Arthur quickly covered it with the sleeve of his leather jacket, although it, too, exhibited punctures in the fabric.

He stifled a cry, but the tears flowed regardless.

Emily growled pushing the heavy flap of the basement, the morning felt cold even if the sky was clear outside.

She wasn't sure how many days she spent in the basement. Her fear was paralyzing to the point that she refused to leave the safe place, thanks God for jars of food she had there.

Emily moved to window, a view there calmed her down but at the same time gave her weird feeling of danger.

The horror she saw before hiding, disappeared. Now streets were simply empty, some splashes of blood but that was it. Whatever happened she couldn't just stay there and wait for the rescue because that might never come.

Emily had chaos in her head but she had to do something so she grabbed her bag and packed some simple items like a flashlight and some bandages as well as something to eat, then put on her jacket and slowly left using the front door.

How angry she was when she saw her car was gone, all she saw was little bits of glass scattered over driveway.

Emily decided that she had to get to London, the capital of the whole country simply had to have some kind of a shelter or at last information of what the hell happened.

The young woman opened the garage and looked inside, the only useful thing there was a bike. There was no other way so she had to use the bike.

The way to London was terrible, it was a long time since she used the bike for the last time.

No matter what place she went by, they all were almost empty. Almost was the word, on her way she saw some moaning, whining, mangled figures but she never dared to get close.

The City of London was always beautiful and full of life, it was one of the most popular cities in the whole world but now it looked sad and empty.

Streets splattered with blood, old newspaper scattered all around the city, wrecks of cars.

Was it war or something else?

Emily jumped off the bike as soon as she got to one of the most iconic places in the whole city - Big Ben.

Looking around Emily smiled seeing someone walking the street.

"Sorry!," she yelled. "Hello! Excuse me but do you know what happened here? I look for some information and maybe... some government shelter," she said walking to the stranger. The horror grew big as soon as she got closer to the person

It wasn't really a person. It was a living corpse. Empty eyes and grey-white skin, its jaw was half ripped exposing everything inside. It was missing a whole arm. The creature let out a weird sound and started quickly moving toward Emily.

"Fuck! What is this! Help, can somebody help!?," Emily let out a high pitched scream and started running, trying her best to lose the monster or hide from it.

How long did he have? There was no question that he would turn. It happened to everyone who was bitten. Sometimes it took a few hours, but he had seen others fight it for up to two days. His former friend had wisely conjectured that it depended on how healthy a person was. If you were young, strong, and in good shape, then you lasted longer. The weak, elderly, and very young children turned quickly. And it was horrible. Arthur had seen first-hand what transpired when a person turned. He didn't want that to happen to him.

The nausea had passed, but Arthur felt as if he had the flu. He placed a palm to his forehead and realized he was burning up. How high was her fever? No way to know. Could his healthy resistance keep himself from turning before the medicine arrived?

If the medicine arrived.

Arthur dug into the backpack again and pulled out the handgun. It was a Colt. He appreciated the weight in palm, and then he lifted it to his head. He placed the end of the barrel to temple and wrapped finger around the trigger. It would be so simple. Just squeeze. Perhaps a moment of pain and surprise, and then blackness. Arthur would never have to experience the horror of turning into one of them. It was truly the sensible thing to do. Who was he kidding? He was doomed. Nothing was going to stop him from turning, unless... The fucking medicine.

But before he could bolt, Arthur heard some noises outside of his shelter. And a voice. NORMAL VOICE OF SOME WOMAN.

"Fuck," he cursed and put gun back into his backpack, then took a bat with himself as he headed downstairs and out of Bog Ben, right onto empty street.

The woman was running out before one of Infected.

Arthur sighed and made some noise to distract undead.

The thing that used to be a guy emitted a howling snarl and leapt forward with surprising agility. Reflexively, Arthur swung the bat as if he was trying to knock one out of the ballpark. The club smashed into guys’s head, throwing him back onto ground. Arthur swung the bat again, striking the man’s arm. There was a loud snap and the man wailed. Arthur was sure he had broken a bone. Again, Bristow struck with the weapon. This time, the bat hit the man’s neck, surely snapping it. The horrid noise coming out of his mouth abruptly ceased as his throat was crushed. Arthur kept swinging wildly. Thing tried to get up. He drew closer and then,the bat walloped him in the head. He fell to his knees but kept grappling. Arthur clouted him again, and this time Infected dropped to the ground, unconscious.

All was quiet, except for Arthur’s rapid breathing. He shut his eyes, said a silent prayer, and then looked at the body, only to move his glance at the stranger.

Emily was sitting on the ground, her back pressed against the wall, arms covering and tightly holding her head. Her eyes were wide and cheeks were wet from fresh tears, she was hasping for air.

She was never attacked before, since begining she didn't know what was happening but this was madness, horror.

She loooked at stranger, shivering hard. He just killed this... Thing. What if he will kill her next.

"I do not have anything that would be valuable with me! Don't kill me!," Emily whimpered with voic full of fear.

Arthur tilted head aside and snorted shortly.

"I don't care. Come," he walked to her and offered his hand. "Unless you wanna rather stay here and wait for death."

Emily blinked a few time, thinking about all of this. After a moment she nodded and wiped her eyes before taking stranger's hand.

There was no other hand, and she had to survive somehow, no matter what happened here. She had to trust him, looking at the situation from a minute ago she would never survive alone.

"What... What had happened here? I don't understand, one day everyone went crazy," Emily said as she followed the stranger.

He hushed her by raised hand. "Quiet or we will become their dinner."

He led her inside the clock tower and as soon as they passes threshold, Arthur made sure to lock door and push heavy drawer in front of them, just in case.

All the windows were covered with anything that was available then: rags, furniture, newspapers glued to glass.

She pressed her lips together and nodded, studying his face carefully. Emily had to admit he was a handsome man, she couldn't say his age but he wasn't old. She followed him.

Inside Big Ben, Emily looked around amazed and terrified. Emily looked at stranger waiting at the permission to speak.

"What were you doing out there, all alone, no weapon?," Arthur asked as he took a trip along the wooden stairs. "You had wanted to get your head cut off by their teeth?," he continued leading the way.

Emily watched him unsure what to say, finally, she found the right words. "What do you mean? I have no idea what was that... I guess I spend a too long time in this basement of mine," she said and quickly followed the man. "I just saw this madness and hid, I have no idea how long I spend there. When I left I simply packed some food, bandages and went to London. Is this some kind of government shelter? Or maybe you know how to get there... Oh! I am Emily, by the way," young woman smiled sweetly at the stranger.

"You have bandages? I'll need them," he said simply, he didn't pay more attention to her other words. "No. There's no government shelter. The government is dead by now I bet," Arthur growled as they approached the controlling room at the higher level of clock tower.

He opened door ans shifted aside to let Emily in. He followed her closing door behind him.

Emily looked around and nodded. "Yes, I have bandages and what do you mean, they are dead? What even happened? Is it the War Wold 3?"

She took off her jacket and bag and looked inside then back at the man.

"Come here... I will help you with whatever happened to you. I hope that my bandages will be enough."

"Don't," he growled deeply eyeing her. "I don't need your help, who you are, a fucking nurse?"

Arthur felt even worse now. The flu-like symptoms hit him more strongly than before. He sat down on the cot laying under the window, he rested back of his head against the wall and gasped. "No one knows," he said after moment of silence, "It just happened. People turned into killing machines. They attacked everyone on their way. Nothing could have stopped them, even a gun shot. Now I know only a headshot can take 'em down."

"You don't need my help so you don't need need my bandages, sir," Emily growled with a frown and went to find herself a nice place to sit. She found it in the corner of the room, she put the jacket on the floor and then sat down and looked at the man. "Sounds like zombies or something. So? We are stuck in a real-life horror movie? What now?"

"Can you shut your mouth for a bit, my head hurts," he told her coldly gazing up at her. "I just need them. And be grateful, I happened to save your life," Arthur said.

He felt rotten and didn’t know if he could find the strength to stand again and keep moving. Should he grab the revolver and shoot himself now? The sickness was worse.

Emily frowned and took the bandages out of her bag. She threw them to him with some little snack she had with herself. "Thank you," Emily whispered to not annoy him anymore.

Arthur had gotten up. For a few seconds he felt dizzy and was afraid he would be sick again, but it passed quickly. He moved to the side and waited until his thumping heart slowed.

He looked at her. "I'm sorry. I didn't want to be mean. I am scared and lost, just like you," man said.

Emily got up and slowly walked to him. "I am kinda used to this but fighting won't get us anyway. Come on, let me help you with whatevere happen. I am a vet but... bandaging man can't be harder than bandaging a dog," she shrugged with soft smile.

"It's gonna be rough tough," he said glaring at her. "I was bitten."

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iamalivenow · 5 years

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Orimar loves deeply and unapologetically.

He always has, he always will, it's only somewhat of a character flaw of his. If he was maybe six (four) tankards down, he'd admit that it was maybe a tiny bit of a problem for him. There are dozens of hundreds of ports all across the world where Orimar Vale, The Orimar Vale, yes ladies, yes gentlemen, yes assorted personages, That Great and Fantastic Orimar Vale, Legendary Corsair, unparalleled in all of the skies and seas and lands, undoubtedly broke at least one heart. He loathes to do it, of course, but his greatest love is the skies, the adventure, the faint smell of salt and the strong smell of iron. That's just the way it is, darlings, there's nothing he could do about it. He's charisma on legs, and adventure calls him too sweetly for him to deny it. And he didn't have favorites, of course not. (And not at all anyone one specific Queen hidden at the edge of the world. Of course not.) Some people could call that sort of this dishonest, or that he was only interested in the more carnal aspects of a relationship, which was, honestly, the funniest thing he's ever heard. What's the point of sleeping with someone if they can't look you in the eyes and just know your entire life story from just one glance? It's true, he's a romantic. Guilty as charged. Lock him up and throw away the key. And anyone who said otherwise was obviously paid to slander his name. He loves his ship too, and all of his gold, and his feather weave. He loves all of his crew, even the sicklier orphans who are most certainly on their way off of the mortal coil already. He picks up a scrawny nervous kid from a tiny monastery because he needs a doctor, and so does his crew, and so does his ship and not for any other reason at all.

Orimar loves deeply and unapologetically. It's not all romantic, or horny. Sometimes he can understand that people aren't into that, and Orimar Vale is nothing if not respectable, and if anyone tells you otherwise point them in his direction because he has a slander charge he'd like to raise against them. Dref Wormwood, as he prefers to be called, is a slim tiny thing with maybe seven separate anxiety disorders that Orimar Vale adores. He's so sharp and so clever, give him a problem of any kind it'll be solved in a day or two. Sure, the kid might have worked himself up into thirty different states, but he'll get you a solution. Signed sealed delivered, there it is. He gives him an office, gives him tools and texts and lab coats. Robs several churches and doesn't ask questions. Whatever his doctor needs, Orimar will get for him, because it's Dref. If he wants something, it'll just help him out later. Orimar's pretty smart, actually. He has to be to stay alive for so long, in his line of work. He does get hurt sometimes, mostly when he's robbing churches, or when he's running away from the fucking Red Feathers because he was robbing a church, and hey- it's not like they have any proof he was doing that, they weren't there. He sinks most of them, some he doesn't bother with, because he's nothing without his legacy. Someone has to be around to tell everyone else that it was Orimar Vale, greatest corsair alive, who sunk them like an excited child sunk a paper boat in a puddle. Regardless of the military's ineptitude, and back to the infinity more interesting point. He would give his doctor relics and then watch as he worked, spinning profane miracles like they're nothing at all. Dref would always get this smile, it would spread over his entire face like the prettiest bloom, and he would take notes and shout 'yes' to himself whenever he something worked out just right. Orimar gets his arm shot off at some point. Who actually cares how it happened. (Fucking Red Feathers) He sits on Dref's examining table and watches his poor sweet doctor try and not vomit at the sight of all of the exposed muscle. It's a good thing he wears a red coat because otherwise, the staining would be way more obvious. Dref stutters through an apology, and Orimar gives him a wink. "Full faith." He says and means it, and Dref Wormwood gives him his arm back like it never even really left. "What a saint you are." And he'd blush all the way up to his ears, and Orimar gets to marvel at him all on his own.

Orimar loves deeply and unapologetically. Being dead isn't actually going to stop him from doing that. What is he, an amateur? His wonderful, brilliant, talented doctor fixed him, just like he always did. Things are stiff, and his body is not his own, not fully, and he can barely, really, barely move at all without Dref's wonderful distortion of magic coursing through his veins. Well okay, not his veins, cause he's not really using those anymore. Through the meat of his arms and his legs and his spine. Would you believe how hard it is to stand upright with non-functional nerve endings? Significantly harder than one would think, it turns out. It is a bit embarrassing, and not at all how he hoped Dref would end up in his bedroom one day, but he's here regardless, sewing foreign muscle and real and true magic into his body. He gets to enjoy Dref's excitement when he gets the wink right for the first time, gets to enjoy Dref's confused face when he can only begin walking with his left foot, gets to enjoy Dref's exhaustion, so wiped from all of the godhood in his body that he falls face-first onto the bed and passes out for a few hours. He cherishes every vague and distant moment, just vaguely aware of his doctor at the best of times. Death isn't so bad when he's got someone to share it with.

Orimar loves deeply and unapologetically. Sorry, Gable. Nothing personal, obviously. Orimar would love nothing more than to get to know you, get to know the real you, whatever weird celestial stuff you got going on sounds great. It really does. But Orimar severs their strings like gossamer thread and bolts out the window because as much as he'd like to sit here with Gable and Jonnit, great kids really both of them, and hold his Queen's heart tight and close and warm it as much as he can in his very not warm hands, there's somewhere he really has to be. He's never run this fast before, alive or otherwise. He's pretty sure something snapped, but Dref will understand, Dref will fix him, everything will be just fine, just good, as long as he can get to their hotel room. Does he shove past people? Yes. Does he apologize? Morally, sure. He bounds up stair after stair after stair when he feels it, the stab in his chest that- He falters. No- No- No- No- He's such a problem solver, such a smart kid, so clever- It has to be just- just phantom pains or something. He gets them sometimes, when he remembers his first mate, or when he remembers her. That's all- and again- even sharper- right up against his heart (if it was still beating he'd be bleeding by now) no- move harder, move faster, use the muscles his brilliant doctor sewed into him, another step another stair- he's so cold. he's never been this cold before. He's only a few moments from the door before the satisfaction floods him. Like his new second life, the sensation is so all-encompassing and so profusely- well fucking satisfying that he stills for a moment. He's honestly kind of upset they never got a chance to work out the tear ducts again because his face would be so wet right now. For a dozen reasons, sure, but now, more than anything, he's so happy for Dref Wormwood. He takes his moment. Alone for the first time in months. Unspeakably miserable. He thinks that's fair. He's always been a man of company. The fear ebbs away- no- he forces it away because that's not what Dref would have wanted. Orimar Vale, pretty great memory, as it turns out. Probably cause he's pretty smart. So he can remember every question Dref ever asked about what it was like, what that great final slumber was like. Orimar always wished he could tell then, or at the very least joke about how he wouldn't Really know. Cause he was there, and not like. Dead dead. He's so proud, ecstatic, over every moon that Dref's finally got his answers. Maybe, he'd be happier, overall, if it was peaceful and in his sleep and a million miles away from his god awful brother, but peaceful and in his sleep wouldn't have netted him nearly as many answers. One last moment, to remember a lifetime of swordcraft, to remember just how to bring down a blade, so it Hurt. So it Hurt more than anything in the entire fucking world. Where the muscles join the bone, where the joints were fragile, just how deep he could stab before some piece of shit started fainting. He shoves through the door, blade raised, and gives his biggest brightest smile before doing his very utmost best to rip Tiberius Youngblood to fucking shreds and to make the process last.

#skyjacks #campaign podcast #sky jacks #campaign skyjacks #writing #fullfic

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preservationandruin · 6 years

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Oathbringer Liveblog: Interludes Three

Our spread this time is Venli, Mem, and Sheler. We don’t know who all of these are, but Venli is back again.

I yell about Parshendi gender and gender in general (listen. listen. gender is fake), we get a look into Mraize’s house staff, a motherfucker makes a real big mistake in the Herdazian army, we get a beautiful inversion of traditional mythological imagery, and I love Timbre.

Odium’s grand purpose for Venli meant turning her into a showpiece.

So this is great. She’s basically telling the Parshmen and Voidbringers about what the humans did to the Parshendi. Her new form is called “envoyform” and it’s very tall, and gives her the ability to speak and understand all languages. She’s telling a version of the story that emphasizes that the Alethi feared that the Parshendi would cause an uprising among the Parshmen and they couldn’t stand having “slaves” who could think.

Not strictly true, but I highly doubt that wasn’t going across Alethi minds. Odium is giving the parshmen an origin myth through her--the listeners were the last of a generations, sacrificing themselves to free their enslaved brothers and sisters. The narrative is that Venli is the last of the Listeners.

Well, there’s Rlain, too, but she doesn’t know that. Anyway, Odium--like Gavilar--is portraying the Listeners as dead, dying, gone “into the songs,” an artifact, and fragment. That’s such bullshit. They were a living, breathing culture, not a fragmentary setpiece to be played with as a talking point.

Interestingly, Venli notes that the Alethi parshmen act very much like the Alethi. I’ll bet that has something to do with like, Connection? Like how Dalinar can figure out how people speak. Anyway. It’s been too long since I’ve read the Mistborn Two series to remember the specifics of like, the connection medallions.

So we get the strata of Voidbringer society--lowest are the normal Singers, then are Regals like Venli, who have bonded a Voidspren, then at the top we have the Fused.

Also, the fact that all the eligible fighting men were sent off to war has made conquering Alethkar much easier for the Voidbringers. She notes that the Parshmen still have far to go--they need to be instructed about the Rhythms, they act like humans, they call Regals “Brightness.”

That lopsided dress looked ridiculous. There was no reason to distinguish between genders except in mateform.

THEN WHY DO YOU GENDER YOURSELVES EVEN WHEN OUT OF IT??? WHY DON’T GENDERS ONLY APPLY TO MATEFORM?? WHY DOES EVERY CULTURE IN THE COSMERE STILL HAVE A MASSIVE LEAN TOWARD THE GENDER BINARY WHEN NOT EVEN EVERY HUMAN CULTURE IN OUR WORLD USED IT?? /nonbinary rant over

The Fused are still around; they’re dismissive of the singers and even the Regals. Also, we get that some of the Fused are just...very, very broken. One stares unblinking and always grins.

Venli points out that they’ll need human slaves if they want the land to actually be productive, but Rine--one of the Fused--points out that any human could be a Surgebinder. Also, we get that Parshendi do have gemhearts--they are almost bone-colored, and gorgeous in Venli’s estimation.

Also, the Voidbringers don’t know how the humans bond spren and more strongly than the Voidbringers do, without a gemheart. Rine believes that they need to be exterminated.

Anyway, Venli hears--distantly--the Rhythm of the Lost.

She’d always hated the Alethi, who had acted like they were benevolent parents encountering wild children to be educated. They had pointedly ignored the culture and advancements of Venli’s people, eyeing only the hunting grounds of the greatshells that they--because of translation errors--decided must be the listeners’ gods.

Absolutely fair, Venli. She points out that despite the airs of the Alethi, the only reason they could manage art and beautiful things was because they, unlike the Parshendi, had the resources.

Venli has been keeping the little cometspren in a pouch with her gemstones. it likes exploring rooms, and pulses awe at everything. I love it and want thirty of them. It keeps pulsing out little bits of rhythms--awe, curiosity. Venli notes that she can hear the old rhythms, and asks if that’s because of the spren, and it pulses to Resolve.

“What are you hoping to accomplish? Your kind betrayed us. Go find a human to bother.” It shrank further. Then pulsed to Resolve again.

I love it.

Over to Mem. They--whoever they are--are doing laundry. She’s going into the intricacies of getting blood and grease out of fabric without fading the color--which, especially before modern washing and drying, clearly was a bitch and a half. She’s Veden, it sounds like. Pom, her new assistant, is apparently gorgeous.

Women like Pom didn’t usually end up as washgirls, though she did tend to stare daggers at any man who got too close. Maybe that was it.

Harold...

Oh, she works for Mraize! That explains why there are bizarre bloodstains on his clothes. Anyway, they go in to a room with Mraize’s stuff--including tapestries of the Heralds--and Pom goes strange. And then attacks one of the tapestries with a knife.

HELLO, SHALASH!!

I was wondering if she would show up again. Anyway, Mraize is surprisingly chill about it--apparently, he was trying to draw her out.

“Ancient one, would you care for something to drink?” Pom narrowed her eyes at him, then hopped off the chair. She walked quickly to Mraize and used one hand on his chest to push him aside. She pulled open the door. “I know where Talenelat is,” Mraize said. Pom froze.

Oh man. Apparently, whatever was in Mraize’s suit was called aether, and he praises Mem highly, approves a huge raise for her, and says she’s a genius.

He’s dangerous and strange and amoral, but damn, I can’t help but like Mraize.

Back over to Venli. She’s being carried over the land by the Fused, and thinking about how much Eshonai would have liked this. Venli, on the other hand, appears to get airsickness. They’ve reached Kholinar, so this will be interesting.

If any of these motherfuckers hurt Gavinor I will be furious. He’s three and he’s been through enough.

Apparently, here she’ll be truly practicing her oratory.

We skip again, to Sheler, being told that he has three choices by a herdazian general. I LOVE HERDAZIAN JUSTICE LISTEN TO THIS:

“You have three choices.” The general’s manacles clinked as he twisted his hands in them. “First, you can choose the sword. Now, that might be a clean death. A good beheading rarely hurts. Unfortunately, it won’t be a headsman who gets the chance with you. We’ll give the sword to the women you abused. Each gets a hack, one after another. How long it goes will depend on them.” “This is outrageous!” Sheler said. “I’m a lighteyes of the fifth dahn! I’m cousin to the highlord himself and--” “Second option,” the general said, “is the hammer. We break your legs and arms, then hang you from the cliff by the ocean. You might last until the storm that way, but it will be miserable.”

Apparently, this asshole was caught robbing and murdering civilians, and also raping women (“a resistance is not what we caught you mounting.”). So I have zero sympathy for him.

Anyway, the third option is “the hog.” You get greased, and you wrestle a hog. Apparently, you don’t die if you do this. Of course, Lighteyed Shithead goes for that one, although I was hoping for the sword.

Oh. Sheler was in Amaram’s army. No wonder he’s a horrible person.

Obviously, the Herdazian general was too frightened to actually kill an Alethi officer. So they would humiliate him by making him wrestle a pig. They’d have a good laugh, then send him away smarting. Idiots. He’d come back with an army.

They chain him to a wall, douse him in oil, and then the fun starts.

“I’d say ‘good luck,’ boss,” the Herdazian soldier told Sheler as his companion ran off, “but I’ve got three marks on you not lasting a full minute. Still, who knows. When the general was chained down here, he got out in less.” The ocean started to churn. “Of course,” the soldier said, “the general likes this kind of thing. He’s a little weird.” The soldier dashed back up the bank, leaving Sheler locked in place, doused in pungent oil, and gaping as an enormous claw broke the surface of the ocean. Perhaps “the hog” was more of a nickname.

This is the best inversion of “chain a young woman to a beach for the sea monster to eat/ravish in a weird twisted rape metaphor” (I’ve. read papers on the sexual undertones of these myths)--”chain a sexual predator to the beach and take bets on whether he survives.”

Back over to Venli. She’s named her little spren Timbre, which is adorable, and I love it. It explores every corner of every room it’s allowed--it’s a little explorer. Just like Eshonai was.

Anyway, Venli is kept to a stormshelter outside of Kholinar, not allowed to leave. She wants to go explore the city. Venli has to tell Timbre to stay inside, because the Fused want to kill it and ones like it.

Meaning it almost certainly can be a Radiant spren. I love Timbre!

Venli rested her head on her arms. “I feel like a relic,” she whispered. “Already I seem like a cast-off ruin from a nearly forgotten day. Are you the reason I feel like that, suddenly? I only get this way when I let you out.”

Timbre starts to pulse to Pleading and Peace, as Venli thinks about Eshonai, and Demid. Everyone who worried about her ambition. Who died, in the end, because of her ambition.

“I’m the wrong one,” Venli said to Annoyance. “I can’t do this, Timbre. I can’t resist him.” Pleading. “I made this happen,” She said to Fury. “Don’t you realize that? I’m the one who caused all this. Don’t plead to me!”

Annoyance and fury at Timbre, or at herself?

But Timbre sticks to resolve, and--for the first time--we get a gendered pronoun--”she.” Hm.

Timbre hides under the bed from Everstorms ahhhh I love her so much.

Anyway, the Everstorm comes around every nine days--the Odium number again. Odium doesn’t like it when she closes the window during Everstorms.

How long can you keep being two people, Venli? She seemed to hear Eshonai’s voice. How long will you vacillate?

A good question, Ghost Eshonai. Anyway, Venli is now talking directly to Odium. He says she isn’t telling the story well enough, and as she speaks to him she is literally being burned apart. He threatens to destroy her if she keeps being distracted.

Yikes. Doesn’t sound like a nice boss, Venli. Not that we expected him to be. She wakes and her fingers are bleeding from how she’s clawed at the stones. Yikes. Timbre pulls her out of her horror by humming Peace, but Venli can’t hum it herself.

The wrong sister had died. The wrong sister lived. Venli had schemed to return their gods. This was her reward.

Ouch.

#oathbringer spoilers #stormlight archive liveblog #interludes #i love timbre #ghostbloods doing ghostthings #herald sighting

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pinksweatergettingbetter · 7 years

Text

warning, the following has mainly snarky (and possibly furious) opinions on Spirit of Justice. Reader discretion is advised.

alright... here we go. we’re starting the big one. this... thing is almost over.

we’re going back to........ kooraheen to finish this.

time to strap in for the long haul.

did Dhurke hijack the PP show or was he just watching it and he decided to make that speech at his TV

i honestly can’t tell because of the weird way the scene was set. it looks like a reflection from a TV screen, but it also fades like a broadcast being intercepted...

fuck I'm just distracted by Dhurke’s stupid voice. and uncomfortable at the actress playing Rayfa. imagine being the princess and having your favourite show turn you into a weird damsel in distress being manhandled by ninjas. gross.

also yay! they’ve got the indiana jones orb!! time to melt off some faces...

ok it was a hijacked show... ...why is there a news report on this in America? Are American troupes assisting in the Kooraheenese war?

“Daaaa-aaaad. What’re you up to thiiiiis time???”

i love how not-giving-a-shit-about-it apollo is here. and by love it i mean hate it.

oh, your long-lost adoptive father just happens to pop up on television starting a revolution, and this is the first time you’ve heard from him in like 20 years? huh, no big deal.

AND ACE ATTORNEY TURNS INTO THE JERRY SPRINGER SHOW

oh noooo... he’s one of THESE guys... ururughhhhghghgh

“Wait... don’t tell me you haven’t told anyone about me, son?”

“I’m sorry, dad, it’s just you didn’t exist up until now...”

“you just show up here without warning after all this time... what gives?”

apollo’s got a point there, pa. also Dhurke’s theme reminds me of Coach Oleander’s from Psychonauts

Apollo just instinctively knows that nobody wants to be around him unless they’re getting labour out of him. That’s... honestly really depressing. I mean I know it’s supposed to be a joke but I just can’t bring myself to laugh.

its just... apollo is legitimately so bitter and sad that i just feel awful for him.

yeesh... this whole thing just started off super sour.

wait, the piano has sentimental value to phoenix? they mentioned he never practiced on it and he didn’t like being a piano player... does that mean this piano is something phoenix just happened to own, and has its own backstory? I WANNA KNOW

(snerk)

ok thats mean but it did make me laugh

the JACKET IS APOLLO’S

IT IS APOLLO’S

HOLY SHIT

the rest of this case can be total shit but at least we figured out the mystery of the discarded red jacket.

“our houseplant was called apollo”

“was it a cactus?”

“How’d you guess?”

“cause apollo doesn’t get enough hugs, either!”

apollos dad is so cool he reads his son’s personal shit out loud. what a great guy!

“That’s too bad! You seem like you’d be a fun, cool guy to hang out with!”

when he wasn’t being a rebel and not having time for his kids, obviously.

THERE IT IS!

siblings dont know theyre siblings joke is funny both normally and ironically because the writers need to FUCKIN GET ON THAT

also i love that he’s basically like “hey son, this girl doesn't resent me! you should marry her so that i can continue to get favours out of you!”

“What did Mr. Dhurke mean when he said he was the man who raised you, apollo?” i dunno, trucy... think with your mind brains...

“How come you never told me?!”

“Sorry, it’s just, capcom hadn’t butchered my backstory at that point yet.”

I honestly find it really weird that Trucy’s all chirpy about this. She of all people should know the sting of a dad just up and disappearing on you.

Dhurke: I have to steal this orb. I’m asking you two because youre lawyers.

Kay Faraday, sitting in the Capcom warehouse: (sneezes)

Dhurke: I made a stupid gamble. Hope you can bail me out, son I haven’t seen in 20 years!

nooo.... don’t bring Kurain Village into this, pleeeeaaase... I don’t want to have my favourite village ruined for meeeeee....

:3c i chose nope

i wonder what Trucy would do if Zak waltzed in and immediately asked her for a favour. tbf phoenix would probably launch him into the sun before he could set foot into the office but...

Ok... So Dhurke doesn’t actually want to fix the legal system; he just said that he wants to gain immense spiritual power which will somehow give him the legal authority to RULE Kooraheen.

how does spiritual power have any effect on land deeds anyway?

“Only the rulers of Kooraheen have ever laid eyes on the orb, Apollo”

and Ahlbi’s seen the box.

“I figured you were poor as fuck so I brought you a plate of sushi!”

ok either A) He thought so little of Apollo that he assumed he’d just be starving on the street

or B) He’s been keeping tabs on Apollo and knows that the WAA doesn’t make a lot of cash, yet he hasn’t made any attempt to contact Apollo himself. Until he needs a favour.

what a.... great guy.

what the FUCK

“here, as my second present... a PICTURE OF YOUR REAL DAD, THE ONE WHO CARED ABOUT YOU AND IS DEAD. HOORAY!”

i can tell theyre trying to do the ‘Hagrid gives Harry a photo album of his family for comfort” but its REALLY NOT THE SAME CIRCUMSTANCES.

His name was... JJ.

~as you know~

also why would a musician perform with magicians?

y’know, ive seen pictures of Jove Justice so far. and A) he looks like a tool, and B) the designers were lazy as fuck and just slapped Apollo’s hair onto Phoenix’s face. I had a pretty negative opinion of him initially. I was thinking I wouldn’t like any of Apollo’s new dads.

But you know what? If they go deeper into Jove’s backstory and prove that he was a caring father, I’m ready to completely drop any criticisms of him and carry this guy on my shoulders

cause compared to Dhurke ill bet he's a freakin angel

...welp... back to Kurain village. At least it’ll remind me of bygone days...

...heh, aw. it’s cute. i like the sparrows on the roof.

ooh! an updated theme, too! not quite as nice as the original but it is nice.

he was full of piss and vinegar

jesus

yeah, kids run around naked. its not super surprising.

“man, I miss that hut...”

apollo youre gonna make me cry;;

Ema: :) i’ll show you the way to Dr. Buff. SURPRISE, HES DEAD! AHAHAHAHHAHA

NOOO

MY SYSTEM FUCKED UP AND STARTED ME OVER FROM THE BEGINNING OF THE CHAPTER AAARGRRJHRFJ

id gone on a short break and i come back to this (weep)

...

does Dhurke have boobs..?

...or just extremely prominent pecs...

phew ok back on track.

wait hold on. if Dr. Buff is in Kurain village, where is he staying exactly? All the houses in Kurain village are old-style Japanese; this appears to be a modern day number.

“please tell me youre joking”

“as if i’d come out here for a few laughs, Apollo”

yeah but youre not above leading him to the dr’s study and THEN telling him he’s dead WTF

ahah. further proof that stepladders are superior.

i mean i know he didnt actually fall off that ladder by accident or whatever but still

“you could say he died an honourable death...”

...crushed under his nerd books like a fuckin cartoon :T

YEAH

POPS

POHLFUCKYA

“I’m so sorry... It seems you’ve had quite a life.”

Why else would she say that except that some poor dialogue translator is secretly begging the series to stop fucking up his backstory

“I mean, middle-aged man with long hair and an eye-patch? You don’t see that everyday.”

just give Valant an eyepatch

hang on. why does an archeologist in America have Kooraheen’s founding orb anyway? I thought it burnt peoples’ faces off. And was super precious. Queen Garananana doesn't seem like someone who’d just hand out a precious ball like that.

oh huh they found an ugly dalek. thats two dalek references in this game now...

did i just... have a ladder conversation about a relic that looks like an airplane.

why does everyone keep making blithe jokes about the doctors horrible death..? does that usually happen or am i misremembering

WHAT THE STATUE OF AMI AND THE URN AND THE GRAVY SCROLL ARE THERE NOOOOOO YOU GET YOUR SLIMY HANDS OFF THEM SOJ, PUT THEM BACK IN T&T WHERE THEY BELONG

god there’s even a coffee shelf. i guess this side of the room is the “Relics of a better game” section.

polly the clean freak. what a sweetheart :)

aw yeah baby

its printing time

oh yeah i forgot this version of printing SUCKS

but i do like the little pap sound it makes when you put down powder

...they have Datz and Dhurkes prints on file.

You guys sure rock at being undercover.

ill give them credit for having the Dance of Devotion not rhyme in English.

seeing lyrics again just gives me flashbacks to Serenade tho

Guitar, Guitar... Up together to the sky...

MAY-OR DE-WEY

MAY-OR DE-We

wait that has the same number of syllables if you just say the pun

PAUL-A TI-SHON

...why the fuck is he in a palanquin

anybody in a palanquin is bad news ALSO WHY DOES IT SAY RECLAIM THE GLORY OF KURAIN

KURAIN DOES NOT HAVE POLTIICIANS. ESPECIALLY NOT MALE ONES.

SOJ. SOJ WHAT IS THIS FUCKERY.

oh yeah he’s a bad guy

...king of this fine nation. First of all... America doesn’t have kings. Second of all, Kurain isn’t a country, it’s a small village. Either he’s a moron or SOJ is fucking up at unprecedented speeds

...did his theme song just ‘wheeee’

“Jerk Q. Public”

pffft

i wish you were golden boy. then you'd be morally questionable but entertaining.

I'm very uncomfortable

k so we’re back in Kurain and so far we’ve seen Zero women in total apart from Ema.

even the unnamed heckler was an old man.

is this the same Kurain Village I know?

wh- talk??

what do you mean talk???

i dont wanna talk to this guy he's a dickcheese!!!

Trucy’s 17 and she hasn’t studied politics at least a little yet? ...weird

“Its real name is the Crystal of Ami Fey”

wait what

“It’s been passed down for generations in the Atishon family”

WAIT WHAT

is he dicking around or is he distantly related to maya

or is he just totally dicking around

if so how dare he use Ami’s name in vain.

where is Datz from anyway

paul i dont mean to dash your hopes but becoming grand high emperor of kurain village will in fact not make you king of the world

datz sure is a good rebel... getting caught... and put in jail...........

damnit, Vore Machine, what am i gonna do with you?

well Apollo, from demon to deer. thats not bad.

dog-faced cop..??

if youre very sneakily referencing our old pal Gumshoe youve got another thing coming, Vore Machine. In the form of my fist.

“A shut-in? Sounds like it will be a challenge just to get a conversation going.”

yeah.... not like youve.... ever dealt with someone like that....... before....... hehe.... heh..............

how long has Datz been in jail if he already knows the cafeteria itinerary

um guys; maybe you should be a tiny bit more concerned about Athena??

i just realized the Shichishito is gold. It’s green, you idiots. Or is that one too bent and bloody for display??

thats it folks thats spirit of justice

apollo has become a living title drop

hes fuckin dead

what kind of bullets were those

yeah apollo, a fledgeling is equivalent to a private.

...also youre not a fledgeling youre near full experience capacity. this is your third... (and last...) year.

so Dhurke is in full stealth mode until it comes to a remotely operated drone that could have literally anybody on the other side? brilliant, pal.

this is why your revolution’s taken like 23 years to get off the ground, jsyk.

...k komandir?

i thought you were supposed to be a parody of The Soldier. what are you doing calling people by Russian military names? did the red scare not happen in this reality?

pfft

it’s so cute.

im struggling between finding it adorable and being uncomfortable

“in other words, something caused him to withdraw from the world...”

maybe his mom’s death??? maybe?????

does anyone in this game understand how a bad thing make a peoples’ brain go???

pretty impressive that a woman’s body could provide sufficient cushioning to soften such a drop.

lol. death attributed to random maniac. thanks soj.

“Private Justice! You’ve suffered a loss just like mine!”

“I have... and thats how I know how you feel.”

yes, i can remember exactly happened when i was a one-year old in diapers. exactly the same kind of pain and trauma.

look i know theyre trying to have a moment but there’s a huge difference between growing up orphaned and being recently bereaved. Sure, Apollo’s seen his fair share of hardship and his experiences aren’t to be devalued, but it’s not the same kind of pain as having your parents die later in your life, especially with the mom’s horrific demise.

Honestly, it’d make more sense if he brought up Clay, since Clay was with him since he was very small and his death was sudden and deeply unfair.

BUT CLAY’S IN THE PAST, CLAY DOESN’T EXIST, WHO’S CLAY?? I DONT KNOW BACK TO SPIRIT OF JUSTICE

YEAH

POHLFUCKYA DURKE

dhurke the burk amiright attorneys

“the opaque crystal orb is the key”

>needless adjective

>will come into play later in court

um so nobody’s gonna mention the blonde lady on his desktop background or........

i like sarge. i hope they dont turn sour when theyre revealed.

nice boot

ooh phosphorescence! neato!

pearl: hello I'm here to do something ive never done before to provide clues for this case. i hope i’ve been useful! thank you, and goodnight.

...as contrived as this is, i am glad to see someone who actually comes from kurain village.

wow, the gangs all here huh

so they renamed Eagle Mountain “”””mt. mitama”””” eh

nice...............

“you are at that age, after all...”

says apollo who's like 24

also why is she talking about all the women leaving the village? i thought it was the men. is this why i haven't seen any ladies? they all just shipped off downtown?? and of course there’s no mention of the creepy oppressive atmosphere and strictness of the village...

nice alliteration apollo

rain spirit at a bus stop and you hacks didnt make a Totoro joke?? lame

“Dj’you bring a light?”

“Ņ̮͔̜̬͖̝ͫͦ̄̒̀̾̆̓̀ͤͨ͋̓̈̑̂͗́ͤo̸̵͈͎̤͇̤̙̯͔̙͖̞̳̙̠̹̞̲̭ͣ́ͫ͌ͦ̒́͞ͅ?ͯͩͨ̾̅̈ͮ̉̀̌͛̆͑̚҉̧͓̠͎̠͎̀̀”

how can you not recognize a foreign voice you idiot

“He tried to fucking kill us but he also gave us this flashlight. To um... see our slow death by starvation better I guess?”

“We couldn’t get back to where we started if we wanted to”

if you wanted to??? thats exactly what you want!!!

Klavier: Hello! This is flashback Klavier here to say: Don’t you miss me? Haha. I miss existing too. Oh well! See you next time~ ...i if there is one.

DEAD

aw, lucky you! you lucked into falling to your death directly to where you wanted to go!

“Yes! Time to find that orb! When we have it, we can....rot here for eternity.”

...ok i know the doc found a way out but still

wHAT THE FUCK

THAT HOLE IS LIKE 40 FEET UP

...oh well, if phoenix can survive it, so can they..?

i love that there are various sea-related items scattered around that give an obvious way out but only yield “durr??? a sea thing??? how this get here??????????” when inspected

whats with dhurkes’ magic eyes

mmmmmmmm a slide puzzle great

“maybe the ppictures correspond to the song”

REALLY??

what is with this game and not outright stating the obvious? its not like it spoils the player or anything; it just makes the WAA look like idiots

fuck this I'm gonna finish this stupid puzzle without this game’s help or die trying

...ah. my personal need for pattern and order blinded me to the truth

oh well; it’s open now. i’m gonna smash Eshiro’s stupid smirking face with it.

“opening that box means you're the best lawyer ever! enjoy leaving the series forever!!!”

“A royal stole that orb”

stole it... as opposed to just taking it and doing whatever they want with it because it’s theirs and there’s absolutely no reason to have to “steal” it.

unless they wanted to frame the rebels i guess but like. theyre rebels. theyre already pretty hated

“it would be seen as utter sacrilege to let a foreign man study this artifact”

oh also it would debunk that whole “explodes your face if you look at it” thing

...here we go...

“he used to be a nice kid, but now...”

he’s an enourmous shitstain?

“he tried to convict trucy for a crime she didnt even commit...”

ok, apollo. there are a zillion valid reasons to hate sadmad, and yes, his reasoning in that trial was shit. but just being a prosecutor and doing what a prosecutor is meant to do doesn’t make him evil. he isn’t about to just roll over because the defendant’s your sis–– er, best friend.

he... could be playing the long game, and interfering could fuck up his plan, Dhurke. Also how was he a rebel and then somehow managed to get into good graces with the royals? It’s already been proven that Dhurke’s Dummy Dragon Gang suck at being stealthy or having any sense of self-preservation. I doubt they just wouldn’t recognize Sadmad

“it’s not conviction that fills his heart; it’s resignation and despair”

are you telling me Sadmad is the equivalent of a guy in a dead end office job taking it out on his coworkers

“The only thing I know for sure is... Nahyuta is suffering, and he is suffering in silence”

edgeworth: been there, done that!

blackquill: BEEN THERE, DONE THAT

ya sure put a lot of stock in Sadmad, Dhurke. i mean i guess he’s your son but seriously; if you're a proper rebel you’d cut your losses and get on with shit already with or without him

...y’know, this speech about lawyers being like dragons kind of doesn’t have the same emotion impact and gravitas that the non-dragon one in T&T did.

oh how... charming...

*America’s* badge is shaped like a sunflower... and Kooraheen’s is shaped like a buggy eye.

YARGH

dont DO that

your voice is BAD

“he’s my son! therefor he has to believe in the same thing as me! nothing, not even torture could have changed him!”

cue Gredgeworth’s awkward cough from the afterlife.

“You know, I remember when Nahyuta and I were kids, he used to say with great pride ‘I have the blood of a dragon in me!’”

cue tiny apollo feeling left out and alone because he doesn’t know what kind of blood is in him

>reform court system

>rescue son

well... i guess there could be worse reasons to start a revolution.

“I mean, what are fathers for?!”

( ‘I... I wouldn’t know...’)

WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT, GAME

ARE YOU TRYING TO BREAK MY HEART

YOU CAN’T GIVE APOLLO ALL THESE EMOTIONS WHEN YOU’RE ALSO SHAFTING HIS ASS AT THE SAME TIME

SHAME ON YOU

HE HAS A BROKEN ARM

HOWS HE GONNA SWIM

oh its high tide yay

oh it’s... really high tide

wow.

well this is fun. i daresay id really like this sequence... if it wasn’t in this game.

“oh no... the water might carry me up to the way out of here... how awful.”

lol can you imagine if this was timed tho

oh hey it’s the DD panic panic song. i liked that one. it deserves its spot in the suspense music roster.

y’know at this point i kinda hope he really just dies

wouldn’t that be a kicker

not that i hate apollo or anything but I'm just............... so tired

apollo’s pretty calm for a drowning person

i’ve nearly suffocated before and the only thing going through my head was AIR AIR AIR GET AIR GET AIR GET AIR AIR AIR

baby apollo: waahhhh!!! we’re both perfectly dry!!! the artist didn’t bother to make us look wet in the flashback!

A) Little Apollo doesn’t even call Dhurke “Daddy” or “Papa” despite being raised by him since infant hood, possibly meaning Dhurke gave him the ‘You’re adopted” speech pretty early. Or else kids that “aren’t really my son” have to go by name basis. See? Nahyuta calls him father.

B) Haha! Boys don’t cry, not-son! Suck those sissy tears back up into your skull, or you’ll look gay! It doesn’t matter that you’re like five and you almost drowned to death! Don’t embarrass me!

“Don’t ever hesitate to call when you need me”

oh but apollo your ass gets shipped back to america tomorrow ok

no seriously. on one hand; why did apollo get sent away? why couldn’t he be a rebel alongside nahyuta and fight for his family? on the other hand, why didn’t dhurke send nahyuta with him? if apollo’s going away because it’s dangerous, why is nahyuta staying with dhurke in the path of danger?

to be honest I'm ashamed that I'm crying, but it’s less about this scene being sad as fuck and more about the fact that I know that none of this is ever really resolved. Dhurke is still a piece of shit who made no attempt to contact apollo for years until he needed a favour out of him. and Apollo has to live with this stupid backstory because ESHIRO thought it would be dramatic and cool. Apollo’s going to “go home”, leave the series... He doesn’t even know he’s leaving his last scrap of real family who gives a shit about him behind in America.

Apollo doesn’t deserve this.

Dhurke, with superman theme playing in the background: Redeeming my character! By saving your life! Redeeming my character! By saving your life! Though only a heartless, shithead person, would leave you behind to die! So this isn’t great.

...is he holding him in his broken arm

wait is that arm even broken

has he just been holding it like it’s in a sling for no reason this whole time

“Still can’t swim, eh?”

oh fuck off

“Good thing your name’s not Neptune, hahahaha!”

A) OH FUCK OFF

B) NEPTUNE IS A SEA GOD, HE’D ACTUALLY BE RESISTANT TO WATER

WHOA FUCK HOLY SHIT

vore machine came out of nowhere and oh

also he is also laughing at a guy who almost drowned

well aren’t these two just the greatest men on earth huh

Trucy: :) lets make this drowning thing seem like no big deal by playing it off and not even asking if you're okay at all :))))

great... now he owes his life to him.... that completely cancels out every other piece of baggage.....

remember........ when edgeworth owed his life to phoenix......... remember how he was 100% okay after that and not fucked up at all................ remember how he just popped back into the series without any changes whatsoever apart from being phoenix’s friend again........................................

“GLAD TO SEE YOURE NOT CRYING SON; IM GLAD YOU GREW UP INTO THE EMOTIONALLY STUNTED MAN I ALWAYS WANTED, EVEN WITHOUT MY STELLAR PARENTAL GUIDANCE! THAT LONELY ORPHANAGE MUST HAVE TOUGHENED YOU UP GOOD! HAH-HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!!!!”

y’know in the interim i was thinking

Rebel Apollo would be great. he’d probably be an enormous goofus but at least he’d be happy and maybe Dhurke’s shitty plan would get off the ground because an actual smart person would be part of the team.

listen to that fuckin “we solved the case” music.

(sigh)

at least apollo is eating.

Turnabout Revolution... End

heh i wish

“Sure wish Nahyuta was here”

I don’t.

you fucking morons. you colossal fucking asshats. i knew this was coming

Dhurke: DURR LETS TALK ABOUT THIS EXTREMELY IMPORTANT ITEM IN A PLACE WHERE WE KNOW THE GUY WHO WANTS THIS EXTREMELY IMPORTANT ITEM IS! WHATS A STEALTH????

This is why the revolution has taken 20 FCKIN YEARS to take off. Because Dhurke and his band of nincompoops are all incompetent fuckwits.

huh i can see where Nahyuta gets his magic clap from.

also say it you loser say bitch

say bitch

A) If the “crystal” is a fake thing, his police report probably wouldn’t check out cause I'm P sure that people can’t just file police reports for anything without proof of previously owning it.

B) Dhurke. You’re a rebel. Shoot someone. Throw a smoke bomb. Gently jog away? Idk if that works in America but it sure as hell works in Kooraheen.

no. don’t do it. don’t you fucking do––

oh, i just saw a ghost.

The ghost of the potential any sequels past AJ had. It blinked at me sorrowfully before CAPCOM busted it and crammed it into the Containment Unit.

(sigh) Ok (most likely) fake shit aside, that would make Atishon related to Maya, and the “heirloom” would more probably be Maya’s. Why is this excuse present at all anyway it’s stupid.

Apollo it shouldn’t fuckin matter; it’s a court case. Just prove the orb isn’t the Crystal of Ami Fey and you win the case. You know that Phoenix doesn’t cheat and you’re pretty certain that the crystal really is the Founder’s Orb, so you shouldn’t be upset about anything. This isn’t a murder trial, it’s a dispute over ownership of an item. You know you’re in the right, so you ought to be able to win the trial. There’s literally no stakes apart from the fact that you’re facing your boss... but so what? That can happen... I assume, I’m not versed in that sort of thing. But either way, lawyers sometimes have to face off against each other... it happens. You had to face Nahyuta. Now you face Phoenix. Unless you think Phoenix will cheat, or that you don’t have sufficient info on the orb, then there’s legitimately no fucking problem. I mean yeah, sucks to go to court, but who gives a fuck? Win the trial and skip back to Kooraheen to overthrow the oppressive regime.

I don’t

what is the fucking problem

one of you gets payed, you both work at the same place

it doesn’t matter

APOLLO. You KNOW his methods. You know that he wins because his clients are innocent, and would graciously hand over victory if it was clear you were in the right; YOU HAVE TO KNOW THIS. YOU’RE HIS BIGGEST FAN, REMEMBER??

Unless you think he’d fucking cheat for a skeezy politician for money in which case, nice. Gotta love that trust and belief that DD was building up there.

“Can I do it? Can I fight him?” YES ITS NOT EVEN A MURDER TRIAL

“May the best attorney win”

well so much for finding the truth or whatever. Also Phoenix should be proud that Apollo is willing to go up against him; it shows he’s coming into his own. There’s literally no reason for them to be on shit terms right now.

“A fine mess I’ve gotten you into, son.”

Hey shithead that wasn’t an apology. Also yeah, go on and on about how good a lawyer Phoenix is just to scare Apollo. Brilliant.

“The first step of your revolution, huh?”

The first step. 20 years and he’s only just taking the first step. Not the first step to the end of the revolution; the first step to the revolution itself.

Welp, we’re off to fight over the possession of an oversized marble in court. Seeya next time i guess...

#ooc #sulking over SOJ #soj spoilers #soj spoilers obvs]#things we've learned today: Dhurke Sadmahdi is a lazy insensitive incompetent pieceof shit

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derenyanai · 5 years

Text

Araquu Journal Session #15 - A Mae Zing Training Kind of Day

Time: After Session #21

Characters: Cecily, Zing, Yahzu, Drewett

Posts indented like this were typed by the GM.

Posts that were not indented were typed by the player.

With stakes being stacked, and growth coming slow, Cecily decides she needs to learn some new tricks...

Somehow, Cecily felt she was going to find a way to regret this. She was standing in the DISC Unit station’s elevator and tapping her foot with slight anxiety. Of course, the swordswoman knew she didn’t really have much options or choices left when it came to preparation to recent events. That being said, she got off on the designated floor and walked straight towards the Second DISC Unit office. “Well,” she says when opening the door. “Keep an open mind.”

No sooner than Cecily walks into the door, a frog suddenly lands directly on her face, springboarding off of her and onto a nearby desk, as Sir Drewett very barely manages to stop himself from slapping Cecily in an attempt to grab it. Zing is sitting in a chair, sipping a cup of tea like this is normal, and Yazhu is nowhere to be seen.

“Ugh, bleh!” Cecily said, wiping her face and sticking out her tongue. A frog just landed on her face and she almost catch a smack from Drewett too. Lovely start. “What the hell?!”

"Hi Cecily!" Captain Zing waves. "We're helping Drewett with his reaction time and such." The frog seems to stick out its tongue at Drewett, who - despite being living armor, seems enraged as he resumes chasing it around.

“...You’re doing that in the office?” Cecily says with bewilderment. “Aren’t you worried about breaking stuff?”

"I have the utmost faith that Yazhu will not lead Drewett to anything that can be broken."

“Wait... Yazhu?” Cecily blinks with her single visible eye. She only looked around the place and wondered if she overlooked the small boy. Still, she didn’t see him. “What are you talking abo- ...Wait.” Now Cecily is just slowly looking at the frog Drewett is chasing. It can’t be.

As she stares, the frog jumps onto Drewett's head, spinning his helmet so it's on backwards, then springs away and continues taunting him. Pretty human-like actions, I'd say. "Yazhu uses Frog magic," Zing explains.

“Well, if he ever jumps on me again I’ll stomp on him,” Cecily just comments while just being in awe when it came to the second unit’s weirdness. And she thought her team was the only wild bunch. “A-anyways, Captain Zing. Seeing as you don’t look busy, I need to ask you something important.”

"Is this about my sword?" she asks. "Tashi said you might be asking about it."

“Well... it sort of involves that,” Cecily says, scratching her face with conflicting emotion.

She nods. "All right guys, that's enough for now!" Zing calls, and the two separate. With a poof and a ribbit, Yazhu turns back into himself, and the two sit down to discuss what they were doing right and wrong. Zing then turns her full focus onto Cecily. "What's up?"

The sound of a gulp comes from Cecily’s throat as she looks only directly at Zing. After a deep exhale of breath, the swordswoman immediately bows in front of the Captain. “Please train me under swordsmanship!”

"Okay, sure!" Zing smiles. Huh, that was remarkably easy.

Quinn only lifts up her head with a surprised look. “Wait... really?”

"Yep," she nods. "We're in this fight together, right? Why shouldn't I help my friends get stronger?" Then her expression becomes serious. "Besides, if we're gonna have any hope of freeing your mom, then we need to be able to beat her first, and it's too dangerous for me to fight her, considering I've got one of the relics they're after."

“R-right, of course!” Cecily nodded, standing up straight. “But, if I may ask, what’s special about the sword specifically? Like, what does it do?”

"It's like this weird magic luck thing," Zing explains. "If a hit would be bad enough, it's like it alters things so that I don't get hit at all!" Mechanically speaking, it grants her several ranks of the Luck advantage.

“So... it’s literally a lucky charm?” Cecily wonders. And here she was expecting some kind of more offensive use since... it was an actual weapon this time.

"Yep; sometimes it works the other way around too, like if I'd miss a critical attack I suddenly hit."

’Makes me wonder how strong she is with a normal sword,’ Cecily mentally thinks, recalling how Drillhammer said she could level a block if she fought her mom. “So... I guess I’ll be in your care while we’re training then. Haven’t exactly had any other teacher than my mother.”

Zing grins. "I swear, I'll help you become a better swordswoman, or my name isn't Mae Zing!"

Cecily only looks at Drewett and Yazhu, as if telepathically trying to ask the two on how much work does she have cut out for herself with Zing as a teacher.

"Dame Mae is... easygoing," Drewett stresses the word, "But she is a good leader. Once she has a good grasp on what you're capable of, she'll help you grow in ways that perhaps you may not have realized you needed."

“Good to know,” Cecily smiles. Drewett saying that sure did remove any doubt she had about this.

Zing gets to her feet. "What's a good time for you?" she asks. "Since we both do have our job-things."

“Oh! Well, my team is currently suspecting news or a good lead on something that happened to an ally detective,” Cecily mentioned, remembering the Mel clone incident they couldn’t stop. At least Mel survived her mother. “I never was good at picking up on a trail. So until I get called up by the others for a mission I’m free.”

Zing nods. "That's fair. We've been busy looking into a case ourselves, but we ran into a dead end so we're taking a break for a bit..."

“What kind of case?” Cecily asked out of curiosity.

"Werewolves," Zing nods seriously. "There's been a whole bunch, almost organized, lately."

“Werewolves? You mean there’s more still roaming about in town?”

"I mean, they're not ROAMING," she sighs, "If they were that'd make life much easier."

“...You have a good point there,” Cecily sighed. “I’d hate to have to deal with more.”

"But enough about that! What say you we head to the practice room and see what you've got?"

“Um, yes ma’am!” Cecily nodded, gripping her sword tightly.

#text #araquu #Journal Session #cecily #zing #drewett #yahzu #magic and masterminds #magic & masterminds #Mutants and Masterminds

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jackblankhsh · 5 years

Text

A Blood Red Reindeer Knows part 9: The City Sleeps Below

At the heart of the North Pole there's a skyscraper. City ordinance makes it illegal to build anything higher, so it towers over the metropolis. That's why the North Pole is such a sprawl. The city can only grow out not up.

I remember being a kid, looking up at that mile high spire thinking, "Someday I'll fly off that roof. Then they'll respect me."

When that dream died it went hard, and took the kid inside with it. Yet even now lights at the top are blinking red and green, promising anyone looking up he's in there. A part of me wishes to be that kid again, though I know it's better not to be. What's coming isn't for children.

The pieces are falling into place. I don't like the picture, but that doesn't change the view. In a way, I almost knew from the start. Still, I keep hoping I'm not smart enough to see what's really happening. I want to be wrong.

Speeding through streets on my bike the snow whips my face. I take a route through the industrial part of town. There's less chance of being seen. However, I forgot the time of year.

The factories are in full swing. Black smoke chugs into the sky hiding the moon. Low level elves loiter by doors. Chugging on cinnamon sticks they hope to burn out the part of their brain that knows the future is a dead end.

Down an alley snowmen chase a group of frightened toys. Looks like panicked deliveries that've probably heard not everyone gets into the arms of children. Busted out of their packaging, they're making a run for it, though they've yet to realize there's nowhere to go.

I catch a few glances. However, no one's concern is me. Making holiday quotas is the real focus here. Those who don't disappear.

It isn't long before I'm on the main stretch cruising my way into Claus Concourse. The front of the building is lined by Tin Soldiers, and there's a hundred more inside. Granted, there's no one stupid enough to go after Big Red, but there's plenty crazy enough to try.

One of the first things we're taught as kids is Santa can't ever die. If he does, everything his magic created goes with him; the North Pole dies. Some folks think it's just propaganda to prevent an assassination attempt, though it's only the crazies who're willing to risk finding out. Me, I've got a sick suspicion it's true. One more way for Big Red to lord it over us -- we owe him our very existence.

I stop a good distance from the entrance. Tin Soldiers are already taking aim. I get off the bike. Hands in the air I approach slowly. The Tins radio in, reporting my arrival.

Soon enough a Tin Captain comes marching out of the building. Decked out in dark red and green, the uniform marks her as Big Red's private guard. A simple gesture, and the other Tins surround me.

"We're going to frisk you," she says.

I shrug, "Figured as much."

Another gesture. Two Tins approach me. One points a rifle, the other goes to work patting me down. I make no moves, sarcastic or otherwise. There's a good chance these Tins are just looking for an excuse to fire.

When it's announced I'm clean she says, "I'm Captain Andersen."

"Got a feeling you already know me."

She says, "We've actually been expecting you."

Her hand signals get me cuffed, and hustled inside. We board an elevator, jammed in shoulder to shoulder. Captain Andersen uses a key, and the elevator starts heading to the top.

She glances over her shoulder, "I don't normally doubt him, but when he said you were coming here..."

I chuckle, "Ya know there is a limit to that trick."

"How's that?" she asks.

"He knows what we're doing, but never what we're thinking."

She replies, "Whatever you're thinking keep this in mind." She turns, "You do anything I don't like, I will kill you."

I smile, "Fair enough."

Driving here I figured on one of two outcomes. Since the Tins didn't shoot me on sight that leaves the second of my guesses still in play. Call it a reckless gamble, but when the only cards in hand are good for a bluff, everything is a risk. If I ever want some semblance of peace with Cari Bou in the Outskirts I have to go all in.

The elevator pings. The Tins march off, and I go as they prod, no resistance. A black marble hallway stretches on towards towering art deco doors. Few ever get to see this place. So few in fact, that as the doors part the bulk of the Tins stay behind. Only the four in colors matching Captain Andersen may enter.

Captain Andersen pulls out a pistol. Keeping a smart distance -- close enough to eye any subtle movements, but not close enough for me to grab her gun -- she gestures for me to go in. I take a step.

She says, "Remember what I said."

"I already feel the bullet."

Darkness fills the grand office. Along one wall is a fireplace large enough to throw a full grown body. On the mantle above it is the horned skull of a giant goat. Enormous leather chairs stand in front of the fire, their backs to the room. Bookshelves ring most of the interior from floor to ceiling. The secrets in those books are priceless. A glass trophy case fills one corner. Its contents seem to dance in the fire light: the relics of past victories; pieces of defeated foes; mystical awards from other legends. One wall, though, is just a great glass doorway leading out onto a snow covered balcony.

In front of it is a mammoth desk. A lamp casts a low light across papers of all sorts. There are modern pages scattered among ancient scrolls. In a crystal ashtray overflowing with cigar butts smolders another coal. It rises, floating in the dark, and as my eyes adjust I see him sitting behind the desk. Puffing fires that burning cherry, briefly illuminating Big Red's face. Smoke and his beard mingle, ringing his head in a white wreath.

He speaks softly, yet his voice carries across the room, "How're you doing Rudy? It's been a long time."

"Not long enough."

Big Red chews the cigar, a strange sort of grin on his face.

Getting up he comes around the desk saying, "You always were a smart ass. I kind of liked that about you."

"Glad to know someone appreciated it," I say.

There's a scent in the air. I can't quite place it, the aroma of Big Red's cigar is masking it.

Chugging away he saunters towards the fireplace. I see the familiar crimson suit, shiny boots, and fur trimming.

Staring into the fire he says, "I'm curious what brings you here."

The whole ride over I wondered the same thing. Figuring out the code words, King Crimson, made things a little too certain. A part of me tried to ignore how some of the pieces fit. Hell, it's possible I could've spared myself a lot of trouble if I listened to my gut, but some facts a fellow doesn't want to see. Knowing I don't have all the time in the world, I decide to lay it out plain and simple.

I say, "Look, here's the deal. Someone is planning to make a move on you, and they're going to hit soon. I don't know who all's involved, but it's some heavy hitters. They're using the Krampus name to get people onboard."

Big Red looks up at the goat skull. For the first time I notice a bullet hole in it.

Pointing at the skull Big Red says, "He would be happy to know, all these years later, people still fear him."

Hints of perfume, baked apple and cinnamon -- I take a step forward. The click of a hammer tells me to stop. I freeze.

Big Red says, "You haven't told me anything I don't already know."

Snorting I say, "Because you always know everything."

"Almost." He winks at me.

Then he glances at one of the leather chairs. A figure rises, wrapped in a red dress. For a moment I don't recognize the face, then I realize it's Vixen.

She says, "Hello Rudy."

Big Red chuckles, his belly jiggling. He says, "Don't look so surprised Rudy. What'd you think was going on?"

I'm still thinking it, though I'm glad to have my doubts.

I say, "Vixen, what the fuck is going on?"

She says, "I'm sorry. I couldn't tell you everything. Santa thought it was better that way."

That doesn't sound like Vixen, but I keep listening. She tells me she found out about the Krampus cult, and told Big Red. The two hatched a plot for her to join the group.

I cut in, "So he risks your ass to find out who's against him."

"And you wonder why you were never a flier?" Big Red says.

I reply, "No one should die for you."

Vixen comes near me. She puts a hand on my arm. Knowing she's fine calms me down, however, there's a look in her eye I can't decipher. The closer she gets to me the more I notice a figure lurking in the shadows. It doesn't take a genius to guess it's her bodyguard, Roy Glitterspark. He's inching closer in case I do something he doesn't like.

Vixen says, "It was my choice. They wanted to kill him because of the Shortage. There's a lot of people who think it could've been avoided."

I ask sarcastically, "How does a place made of magic run out of food?"

Big Red glares at me. Flicking ash in the fire he thumps back to his desk. No response is response enough.

Vixen goes on, "I joined the Krampus cause, but they never really trusted me. That's why I sent you my letter."

"Against my instructions," Big Red says.

Vixen grabs my hands. There's something weird about the way she fondles my wrists. My cuffs feel loose.

She says, "But you're here now Rudy. That's all that matters."

She smiles, and I smile back.

"Lot of good sending for you did," Big Red says.

Vixen steps away from me, heading over to Big Red's desk.

Getting a cigarette from an ivory case she remarks, "The snow looks so beautiful tonight."

I glance out the window. She's not lying. Even knowing what the city is like, from up here it looks beautiful. I turn to get a better look, and my cuffs fall away.

Glitterspark shouts, "He's loose!"

A soft thwip sounds followed by the thunk of tin getting struck. The sound repeats. Half recognizing it -- a silenced pistol -- I get low. Sure enough, I barely duck a bullet from Captain Andersen. Next thing I know shots are going off all around the room. Tins are dropping, and out the corner of my eye I see Glitterspark firing at them.

My immediate instinct is to run to Vixen. Hurrying toward her I see Vixen reach up her dress. She pulls a small caliber automatic out of a holster strapped to her thigh. She shoots Big Red in the knee then the belly. He collapses in a quivering pile, blood spurting out his stomach. Then Vixen starts firing on the Tins. They're mostly focused on Glitterspark, who's already taken out the majority with those first surprise head shots. It doesn't take long for the rest to fall.

"The door!" Vixen calls out, but Glitterspark is already on the move. He drops the empty pistol. From under his trench coat he produces a submachine gun. The door opens letting in a stream of Tins coming to check on the noise. Without mercy the nutcracker mows them down.

My brain is spinning, trying to get away from the facts, but they're a black hole sucking me in. Knowing what probably comes next, I spin around. Charging at Glitterspark I scoop up a dead Tin's rifle on the run. My eyes still aren't top notch after Kung Fu Karl's beating, so instead of aiming I spray and pray at Glitterspark. I can't tell if I hit him, but it doesn't stop me from charging forward.

The rifle clicks -- empty. Glitterspark turns, raising his machine gun. I knock it out of his hands using the empty rifle as a club. In one smooth move Glitterspark disarms me, almost snapping wrist in the process.

Next thing I know he's battering me with precise blows. Each strike is a surgical sledge tearing me down. I've been in a few one sided fights over the years. I get some solid punches in, but it's painfully obvious I'm on the losing end side. Even if I were a hundred percent, whatever I've got going for me as a brawler is no match for Glitterspark. He's a trained killer, blood drunk and thirsty for more.

Then luck shines on me. I notice him favoring one side. Whether me, or a Tin, someone managed to plug a bullet in Glitterspark's flank. Fainting a series of jabs I get him to expose the wound, and deliver a set of vicious hooks to the body.

The fight took us all over Big Red's office, and where we're at gives me a chance. With Glitterspark off balance, clutching at his wound, I grab him by the shoulders. We spin, and it dawns on him too late what I'm planning. Stopping short I plant a foot, tripping the nutcracker as we twirl, and he tumbles into the roaring fireplace.

He rolls out in flames. He looks like a Yule log scrambling to escape the fireplace -- screaming. Then Vixen floats by me. She points her gun, and puts one right in Glitterspark's head. Seeing her there, standing in the firelight, I don't recognize her.

She sighs, "I assume you have questions."

Panting I reply, "Sadly, I don't."

She smirks, "You were always smarter than people gave you credit."

Big Red moans. Vixen struts back to him. She glares down at the fat bastard. Coughing up blood, Big Red grits his teeth. He starts chuckling, though it clearly hurts. She puts her cigarette out on his desk.

Clenching his jaw Big Red says, "You stupid bitch. You can't do anything to me."

Vixen nods, "You keep thinking you know what's going on."

She fires another round into his belly.

She says, "Don't worry. Remember that practice run, when you fell out of the sleigh drunk." Shaking her head she says to me, "He lands on concrete two hundred feet below, and was fine in twenty minutes."

My head is swimming. Glitterspark tore me apart, refreshed all the wreckage from earlier. I'm bleeding from old wounds and new. However, what's got me spinning is the truth.

I need some air. What's coming -- what I think is coming -- I head out onto the balcony. Everything is happening so fast I can feel it slipping out of hand.

Outside, the city sleeps below. Yet, there are flashing sirens filling the streets. The glittering gumballs atop squad cars pulse as they hurry towards Big Red's tower. Snow is falling, but it won't be enough to cover what's going on here.

The pieces started falling into place almost from the get-go. The odds of someone assaulting Vixen made little sense. Besides her bodyguard, the seemingly unstoppable Glitterspark, the whole scene at her place felt off. Those posters backing Papa Nash for re-election stuck out sorely.

Then that whole Krampus cult raised more red flags. Big Red can keep an eye on anyone in the city, hell, the world. He just needs to think about them. However, he didn't seem to have any idea who ran the cult. Besides Black Jack, only fliers are blessed with Big Red's blindness. It's one of the perks; they're among the privileged few with privacy.

A lot of other bits kept hinting in ways I just didn't want to notice. Seeing Vixen in Big Red's office, I hoped... that's the mistake I made. Detective Elfberg said a lot of things changed because of the Shortage, that a lot of people changed as well. It sounds like a warning now. Hope died during the Shortage, and that left people desperate enough to do anything. So now I can't help feeling like I've been a pawn, not making my own choices.

The soft crunch of snow under dainty hooves.

I sigh.

Vixen says, "I'm not going to kill him."

"Not because you don't want to."

"You know what happens if he dies. Everything he creates disappears. The toys stop being alive, the city vanishes..."

"We turn into ordinary reindeer."

I turn. She nods.

Vixen says, "But I can keep him in a coma, pumped full of drugs. He'll be alive, and we'll be able to live without being under his thumb."

Her dress billows a bit in the wind. It wraps around her like a river of red paint. She looks amazing, beautiful beyond compare, but I don't recognize her.

Our eyes meet.

She turns away saying, "He did it on purpose, the Shortage. He said it was population control, but it was more than that." She shakes her head, "We're his playthings. I mean, he's got all the power, but not anymore. Things are about to change for the better."

I don't who she's trying to convince. The truth is I think she's right for the most part. Things in this city definitely need to change. How that's happening is what's got me worried.

I say, "I've been thinking Big Red tipped off the cops to me being in town, but lately, I've been thinking it was you."

A tear in her eye Vixen says, "It was."

"Part of the plan?" I ask, though I think I know.

She wipes the tear away. I notice the gun is still in her hand.

She says, "It depends what you think the plan is."

"I think someone's got to go down for all this. You can't take credit for axing Big Red. Some folks, call 'em foolish, they won't appreciate it. But me." I start toward her, "Or that Krampus cult, that takes the eyes off you."

She backs away. Raising the gun her hand shakes. I keep walking toward her.

"Don't worry," I say, "I know ol' Roy was supposed to do me in."

I don't hear the gunshot. I just feel the hot punch in my gut. Staggering backwards, I lock eyes with a stranger, but I can't look at her for long.

Blue and red police lights ring the building below. Even if I walk out there's no getting away. This ends badly for me. That's for sure. Though if I've got to be the fall guy I'm going out on my terms.

Turning I stumble towards the end of the balcony. No railing at all, it tappers out to a narrow point.

I say, "I came back to help because I love you, and you used that love to do something twisted. Someone like that... how're you gonna make this a better place?"

At the edge of the balcony I look back.

Vixen says, "Don't..." -- but I'm already falling backwards.

When the only cards in a hand are terrible it takes a serious bluff to win. About half way down the spire I start thinking she called mine. Then I see a flowing stream of red sail off the balcony. It hovers in the air a moment before plunging towards me. Her hooves glow gold, a shower of sparks spitting out her hands.

She slams into me. It's like getting hit by a baseball bat. It's certainly better than hitting pavement.

We twist up through the air, rocketing across the city. I don't know what's going to happen when we land, but I'm hoping for something good. Right now, I just want to enjoy flying.

#writer #fiction #writing #pulp #pulpfiction #noir #neo-noir #weird #Rudolph the Reindeer #honestyisnotcontagious #shortstory #miniseries

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foxhenki-blog · 6 years

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Saints of the Imaginal

“The fishlike body indicates the hidden nature of fishes. We do not know whence they have their origin, how they develop, or what paths they follow through the waters. In accord with this figure of speech, the Son of God has come into the world along hidden paths and has concealed himself in the dead of night.” - Hildegard de Bingen

I’ve said before that I feel that the Greek Magical Papyri, the feel of it, is the closest to that magic which is obfuscated in Lovecraft’s fiction. If I had to choose a Saint-ly version of this, it would be Hildegarde de Bingen. Here, in her ninth vision, Saint Hildegard actively draws a line between what cannot be known, the hidden nature of the divine, and the metaphor of the fish. This is where all things Cthulhu lead and where all things from the Dreamlands drawn their power… the depths, the hidden paths and nature of the denizens of our planet’s water. According to Saint Hildegard, Christ is the secret that is hidden in the darkest part of the night, his world, as is Cthulhu’s, is the impermeable, liquid Midnight Zone. This is the fluid through which all humans draw off their spiritual sustenance, the imagination.

Let’s begin this week’s exploration by delving into the active imagination / angelic visitation described in Hildegard’s Ninth Vision found in Matthew Foxes ‘Hildegard of Bingen’s Books of Divine Works: With Letters and Songs.’

“I saw a second figure that stood there in an erect posture… On top, where its head was, it shone with a splendor that blinded my eyes. At the center of its stomach one could see a human head with grey hair and a beard. But its feet were like a lion’s clown. The figure had six wings, two of which emerged from its shoulders in such a way that they came together again behind the figure with a flourish and covered up all that splendor. Two other wings extended from the should one the figure’s neck. Finally, the last two wings fell from the figures hips to the soles of its feet. At times these wings were raised as if they were seeking to take flight. But the rest of the body was completely covered with the scales of a fish and not with the pinions of a bird… The… figure… a marvelous spectacle — indicates alright God… On top, where the head is, the figure gleams [and] dazzles your eyes. For no one… can gaze upon the transcendent Godhead that illuminates everything… In the middles of the figure’s stomach, the head of a man with grey hair and a beard… indicates that the primeval decision concerning human redemption was located in the very accomplishment of God’s deeds…. This head has a human shape because God has created humanity… God gave us the ability to be truly creative… The lion’s feet of this figure point to the fact that God conceals the Godhead from mortal human beings… God will raw all these things to the Divine through the Son as if by the feet of a lion…”

Hildegarde’s vision indicates that our creativity, our imagination, our ability to visualize and make real what is not of this world, is a divine gift. Rather, she is indicating that it is *the* divine gift. Our imagination is the power that God gave humans to create and manifest the divine in our reality. Her works are a gift to the twenty-first century magician. This spirit form she describes, the two-headed, six-winged, fish-scaled, lion-pawed angel has the same feel as those forms described as the thirty-six decans. Similarly, this beings physical portmanteau is also the same structure as those descriptions of Lovecraftian spirit forms when they are made available to us. Perhaps this is one of the secrets of Lovecraft’s validity and resonance, his speaking directly from his dreams and visions, his descriptions of spirit forms as they have appeared, cobbled together in a series of religious visual metaphor. His descriptions are of the same (or closely related) magical aesthetic as the decans and of Saint Hildegard’s visitations.

Another vivid edge driving between Hildegard and Lovecraft is the use of language, particularly the focus on the written as a vehicle for transmitting magical secrets, for opening gates in between our world and the spirit ecology.

I recently acquired, via Interlibrary Loan, Hagley’s ‘Hildegard of Bingen’s Unknown Language,’ a translation, transcription, and well-connected discussion of Hildegard’s ‘lingua ignota.’ It is the only full English translation of her thousand plus word lexicon. Coupled with her alphabet, the ‘litterae ignotae,’ this work will help coalesce a complete magical system based on the Lovecraftian Magical acts of glossolia and glossographia. She encrypted her documents, documents that included descriptions of the types of beings we saw above, into this alphabet and invented (divined) language. We see the results of these same acts performed by transcribers of the Necronomicon throughout its history. It is my hope that by exploring her process and the theories behind and adjacent it, we will come to a more coherent understanding of how these acts are perpetrated via Lovecratian Magic.

Sarah Hagley begins her text with the following:

“In a golden reliquary at Rudesheim on the Rhine lie the only remains of the famous German mystic Hildegard of Bingen (1098-1179): her heart and… her tongue…”

These two items are important to focus on from a journeying-on-Hildegard perspective. One can imagine the relics first, her tongue representing her words, her writing, and her heart representing her compassion for the world as a saint; building the rest of her around the two relics that she chose to leave with the world — her connection to the human. Hildegard, like Lovecraft, was also dedicated to the natural world. Both of them having a particular focus on verdant forest biomes:

“viriditas, ‘greenness’ [is how] she describes not only God’s natural world, but all that is spiritually creative and filled with the sap, the sudor of divine life, as opposed to the aridity of human sin.”

This is the forest as the divine, the desert as the infernal… When you remove (as many Western occultists do) the morality from white and black magic, angelic and demonic interaction, this metaphor is even more powerful. Further, as is the same in many of Lovecraft’s work, architecture is given a particular role in magic:

“Another motif… is the ‘Edifice of Salvation,’ a metaphor… of… God’s Law, here conceived of as the structure of the universe and the cement that holds human virtue together in the world.”

We have the forest as the divine, the natural divinity or spirit in the world but God’s Law as a form of the built environment, a structure and foundation. Lovecraft’s ‘cyclopean towers,’ and weird angles are only an extension of this theme, the primal creative (or chaotic) force in the universe expressed through the hands of the builders of humankind.

Hagley is as familiar with Hildegard’s spirit-forms as any, and this is evident when she states:

“we have the crimson head of a jealous God, His wings formed from the crenellated walls of a fortress, and the Tower of Church, flames of virtue streaming from her ramparts…”

describing the prototypical Tower card of the tarot. Enmeshing this with, what I feel, are the true origins of this archetype, that of Cybele and moving through time, Saint Barbara as a manifestation of Cybele, the depth of meaning in this card and by extension Lovecraft’s primary built environment, becomes that much richer.

Hildegard reflects, or emulates, the physical edifices of the unknown by building upon other, less tangible structures, that of words, grammar, and alphabets. Again from Hagley:

“The [Lingua Ignota finds] new, verdant words within a hierarchical and artificial structure meant to redeem speech that has fallen from another tower. This new verbal edivice assigns… names not only to the offices and architecture of Holy Church and to the herbs and trees of her monastery garden, but also to the crypt and the winding staircase, the fornicator and the prostitute, the giant and dwarf, and scalp and the pudendum, the king, the servant, the cake, and the cricket… Hildegard is best known as one gifted with mystical vision that transcended her humble abilities: so the common nature of most of her invented words belies the cherished portrait we have of her in the Rupertssburg manuscript, the flames of the Living Light streaming down upon her head as she writes on her wax tablet for her astonished scribe.”

This brings to mind one of the final scenes in The Colour Out of Space, where Lovecraft deliberately places the indescribable coloured flames pulling on the limbs of the trees in the orchard with a reference to Pentecost, the primary event of glossolia in the bible. Hildegard is a skilled taxonomist, a seeker of order in the world. This is reflected by Hagley’s claim that:

“the taxonomy [of the Lingua Ignota] repeats a tendency toward order, explication, and list-making that we find in her three important prophetic works…”

This idea, taxonomy of a divine practice, is a very effective framing when Hagley points out where Hildegard places herself in the hierarchy of spirit:

“Hildegarde speaks of herself as *homo*: God addresses her thus in her *Scivias* — O Human! and so does she also refer to herself in the Riesencodex rubric.”

She places God and presumably angels and demons outside of the human, but not with a supernatural flavor but rather, an alien one, a different, but no less real, species in a universal taxonomy. We will return to Hildegard’s Lingua Ignota again in the coming weeks, as I devour Hagley’s book and report back with the insights into our own mission that it provides. For now, however, let’s allow the Saint of the Imaginal to open the gate between us and our Lovecraft Tale of the week, The Quest of Iranon.

‘Iranon’ is a picturesque, poetic tale that invokes Lovecraft’s strong ties to classical literature. While most critiques state that it is the influence of Lord Dunsany, I argue that the themes of these types of offerings from Lovecraft go much deeper, to his youth spent in the woods hunting for signs of Pan and respites among his Grandfather Whipple’s books. We see that classical pagan aesthetic in the opening lines:

“Into the Granite City of Teloth wandered the youth, vine-crowned, his yellow hair glistening with myrrh and his purple robe torn with briers of the mountain Sidrak… The men of Teloth are dark and stern, and dwell in square houses, and with frowns they asked the stranger whence he had come…”

Out of the realm of Cyble comes the youth, a possible echo of the lovely Attis, lovely, blonde (even more so in juxtaposition against the men of Teloth) and asexual. ‘Iranon’ is set up as a allegory of otherness. We are offered, almost immediately, the familiar landmark in most Lovecraft tales:

“The [men of Teloth] bade the stranger to stay and sing in the square before the Tower of Mlin…”

Another Tower to add to our Dreamland City of Towers. Iranon sings but is not appreciated in Teloth, given only straw to sleep in as an award:

“That night the men of Teloth lodged the stranger in a stable, and in the morning an archon came to him and told him to go to the shop of Athok the cobbler, and be apprenticed to him.”

An interesting word choice, that of ‘Archon’, to insert into this sentence. Archon is originally a rarified position of authority in Athens. in the seventeenth century the term was generalized to mean ruler or commander. The prefix -arch stemming from arkhe, which is related to origin or first place. In Gnosticism, the archon are servants of a creator. Authority placed in a hierarchy directly below the leader, this places the archon in the role of demon or angel. The archon delivers the news that in order to live among the men of Teloth, the artistic (and imperial) youth must apprentice as a skilled laborer. It is also worth mentioning that in some gnostic lines the archons are correlated with the seven celestial spirits, the planets, which gives this phrase a more potent meaning - the archon is delivering the youth into a predetermined fate if he is to stay in Teloth. Upon rejecting the offer, the archon delivers in final tones:

“All in Teloth must toil,” replied the archon, “for that is the law…” Then said Iranon… “Toil without song is like a weary journey without an end.”

Iranon did not, however, go to the cobbler as directed by the archon. Instead, he encountered a dark haired youth and together they left the city of toil and continued Iranon’s quest together. On reading this, it seems possible that the youth, Romnod, sitting on the banks of a sluggish river in a city of toil, could be the young Lovecraft as he watched Providence grow into an industrial powerhouse around him. Iranon is unmistakably an archetype for the pagan Greek and Roman influences pulled from the classical stories he read. Romnod follows the songs out of the city of toil and into the hills and mountains. As mentioned, Lovecraft did so throughout his life, leaving the city for walks and bike rides in the country that inspired most of his stories. The pair of youths leave the City of Toil, looking for Oonai, a city of Lutes of Laughter:

“It is not known how long Iranon tarried in Oonai.. day by day that Romnod who had been a small boy in granite Teloth grew coarser and redder with wine, till he dreamed less and less… one night the red and fattened Romnod snorted heavily amidst the poppied silks of his… couch and died, whilst Iranon, pale and slender, sang to himself in a far corner. And when Iranon had wept over the grave… he… went forgotten out of Oonai the city of lutes… and garlanded with fresh vines from the mountains…”

There is a great deal of commentary here, the dialog against alcohol and revelry is common, as is the thread of the freshness of the mountains and the forests being superior to any city. It is the voice of Pan and Sylvanus speaking through Lovecraft in this tale. A celebration of the quiet magic of the wild and a denouncement of the excesses capable of humans. Romnod dying in the city of music is also poignant, as he came from the city of toil. When taken out of that environment he grew fat and died. Iranon was not against toil, only against toil without the appreciation of beauty. The tale, like so many of Lovecraft’s, is short, and so after a small amount of textual time, we arrive at the final scene:

“Iranon stayed ever young… So came he one night to the squalid cot of an antique shepherd, bent and dirty, who kept lean flocks on a stony slope above a quicksand marsh. To this man Iranon spoke…”

In the end Iranon meets himself. He, as an old man. In his youth, this old man says to have played and listened to the imaginative Iranon who dreamed of cities and made them real in song. The old man announces that this child, his youth, is long forgotten and eclipsed by the ravages of time. In the end, the old man walks into the quicksand after meeting himself, his lost youth, in the flesh. This is a cautionary tale, a tale that warns of the death of the imaginal, eclipsed by materialism, by capitalism, by toil without song. In our Lovecraftian Magical work, this tale is also a warning not to discount the dreamwork for the practical, to not dismiss the mystical or the poetic or the visual culture of magic to solely focus on the circle, the materia, and the astrological charts. That is not where the true magic lies and, in fact, the imaginal is where one should look for the most significant contact events, the queues, the bent trees pointing the way through the prehistoric ghost forest.

Our tarot card match to the Tale of Iranon is the Seven of Coins. Etteilla offers us two keywords to associate with this archetype, argent and inquietude.

Argent is the french word for money and inquietude is the word for worry. On the surface this card is likely interpreted as the querant being, well, worried about money. Let’s dig a bit deeper, deconstructing its definition.

Money is from the Latin Moneta, the surname of Juno. Moneta is also related to monere, which mean advice or a warning. Cyble is the ‘thirteenth’ deity of the zodiac. Her ancient presence has the effect of destroying symmetry, of deconstructing order. She rules Leo along with Jupiter and is in direct opposition to Juno. Juno is the daughter of Saturn, or Kronos, the child-eater, the jealous destroyer. She is Jupiter’s wife and as such, directly opposite the ancient Cybele in another way. In her incarnation as Juno Moneta, she is a goddess of war, or rather, the herald of a war to come. This can mean one of two things, that she is the archetype for strategy (preparation of war) or patterns (the signs of war, which repeat throughout history).

The other side of our coin is ‘Worry.’ In Old English it is related to ‘wyrgan,’ which means ’to strangle’ and Old Norse, ‘virgill,’ the word for rope. Going further in timedepth, we find the PIE root *wer-, which means ‘to turn,’ or ‘bend,’ effectively the description of a trope. *wer- expands forward through time to connect with ‘divergence,’ ‘introversion,’ ‘rhapsody,’ ‘verse,’ ‘vortex’ and ‘weird.’

In our deconstruction of the Seven of Coins we find the important threads in ‘Iranon.’ Cybele as the destabilizer is reflected in Iranon, who exists inside of different societies represented as city-states, much as Italo Calvino expresses the city-as-metaphor in his Invisible Cities. If Iranon’s presence is opposite that of the toil in Teloth (the making of value) and the revelry of Oonia (the squandering of value), he can be read as the shift of what is valued in the Lovecraftian Magical aesthetic. Wealth is not an amount of coins. Looking at the other face, we see Romnod, writing and strangled by excess in his bed, strangled in his youth by the oppression of toil and then done in by its squandering, a life of futility. We also see clearly how to walk the other path. Through divergence, through otherness, through looking inside, introversion, interiority, through verse and through the expression of the weird. This is the secret of our card. Embrace your weird, your lost dreamer, use magic to bring dreaming back into life, become soldiers in the war against the archon, join the ranks of the Saints of the Imaginal.

#Hildagard de Bingen #dreams #tarot

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myhauntedsalem · 5 years

Photo

The Titanic and the Paranormal

She was the largest craft afloat and the greatest of the works of men. In her construction and maintenance were involved every science, profession, and trade known to civilization.

He was someone who wrote about maritime affairs. He was an experienced seaman, and he saw ships as getting very large and the possible danger that one of these behemoths would hit an iceberg.

e strange incident with a ghost allegedly happened on the very opening day of the exhibition, when a photographer was getting ready for the event. He claims that as he was setting up he was surprised to see a woman in period clothes come walking down the grand staircase, which was odd because as far as he knew, no one else was supposed to be there and he had not seen anyone else arrive. Thinking that perhaps it was an extra dressed up in period clothing for the purpose of the grand opening he asked her if he could take her photo on the staircase, but she did not say a word, merely standing there in an apparent trance before vanishing into thin air.

It just makes sense that, especially with the Titanic exhibit, there would be residual paranormal energy. When you have a strong emotional imprint, there could be some energy attached.

I couldn’t make it out until I looked at it very carefully and I found it was a bald headed man with a handle bar mustache, and I said to myself, what’s he doing there?

#The Titanic and the Paranormal #paranormal #ghost and hauntings #ghost and spirits

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myhauntedsalem · 6 years

Photo

The Titanic and the Paranormal

She was the largest craft afloat and the greatest of the works of men. In her construction and maintenance were involved every science, profession, and trade known to civilization.

He was someone who wrote about maritime affairs. He was an experienced seaman, and he saw ships as getting very large and the possible danger that one of these behemoths would hit an iceberg.

It just makes sense that, especially with the Titanic exhibit, there would be residual paranormal energy. When you have a strong emotional imprint, there could be some energy attached.

I couldn’t make it out until I looked at it very carefully and I found it was a bald headed man with a handle bar mustache, and I said to myself, what’s he doing there?

#The Titanic and the Paranormal #paranormal #ghost and hauntings

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myhauntedsalem · 6 years

Photo

The Titanic and the Paranormal

She was the largest craft afloat and the greatest of the works of men. In her construction and maintenance were involved every science, profession, and trade known to civilization.

He was someone who wrote about maritime affairs. He was an experienced seaman, and he saw ships as getting very large and the possible danger that one of these behemoths would hit an iceberg.

He claims that as he was setting up he was surprised to see a woman in period clothes come walking down the grand staircase, which was odd because as far as he knew, no one else was supposed to be there and he had not seen anyone else arrive. Thinking that perhaps it was an extra dressed up in period clothing for the purpose of the grand opening he asked her if he could take her photo on the staircase, but she did not say a word, merely standing there in an apparent trance before vanishing into thin air.

It just makes sense that, especially with the Titanic exhibit, there would be residual paranormal energy. When you have a strong emotional imprint, there could be some energy attached.

I couldn’t make it out until I looked at it very carefully and I found it was a bald headed man with a handle bar mustache, and I said to myself, what’s he doing there?

#titanic #paranormal #ghost and hauntings

6 notes · View notes