#Grandma Smith is heading home in the next part which makes me sad even if she hasn't featured a lot in the drafts since the hospital

[jtl-fics]

Fluent Freshman - 38

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If it weren’t for the fact that he and Riko had stumbled across a truly traumatizing video of his birth that they had watched secretly in Tetsuji’s office when he was away on a business trip one weekend Kevin would believe that he was born with an Exy racquet in his hand. But the image that is seared into his retinas to this day has proven that he came into this world empty handed.

That doesn’t change the fact that Kevin has spent the majority of his life utterly and completely submersed in Exy. He was trained as a Raven, he was court, he was a champion as both a Raven as a Fox and if he had his way he’d leave college with more Championships under the orange and white than the black and red.

Exy was everything in the world to him.

He could overlook many personality defects if someone brought something to the Court.

Apathetic five foot nothing who was more likely to stab him than shake his hand? Well, he’s the best goalie that Kevin had ever seen in his entire life (and that was saying something).

Tight ass who has anger management issues and will not shut the fuck up about his girlfriend now that he’s not even allowed to have? Well, he is a very solid backliner who has excellent ball handling skills (even if Aaron keeps telling him to stop saying it like that or why he keeps yelling that he’s straight).

Overly touchy, too emotional, will not shut the fuck up about his fiancé in Germany? Well, he is a very solid backliner who is great at rebounds (Kevin doesn’t get why Nicky gets mad when he says that or why he brings up Erik).

Guy who actively dislikes him and is dying for any chance to punch him and also being overly attached to his friends? He’s a great enforcer on the court and had the stamina to play far longer than the other two backliners (Why Dan always said “yeah he does” whenever Kevin commented on Matt’s stamina he will never understand, and he also doesn’t want to.)

Suspicious kid from Millport with a mouth that could strip paint and a past so shrouded in mystery that it even had Andrew perking up in interest? Well, he’s the fastest Striker in the game and the only person that has ever kept up with Kevin’s obsession with the sport. (There was the minor downside that he was the son of the Butcher and almost died before the championships, but Neil pulled through.)

He tolerated all of them and now they’re his best friends.

There are some who he does find personally objectionable but so long as Jack and Sheena manage to continue to be good on the court he doesn’t care about the many many faults in their personalities. They’re his teammates, they aren’t his friends.

He accepted that he might not like any of the others that came onto the team. For the most part he had never given a shit about before the Foxes, content with his brotherhood with Riko even if it wasn’t…perfect. Then he became friends with FF and FF had done him a truly large favor and Kevin wanted to pay that back the best way he knew how. Through his truly infallible health advice and through perfectly crafted smoothies.

Then Daniel appeared with the truth that FF truly met all requirements to be a Fox and Kevin tasted his own smoothie for the first time.

He considered both revelations to be equally upsetting.

Still…

FF was one of the best dealers Kevin had ever had the pleasure to be on Court with. The man knew his position well and interrupted offensives with an enviable ease that made Kevin wish to possibly strap some sort of device onto him and figure out how he did certain things.

It wasn’t that far off to believe that a man raised in the same environment as FF could possibly have similar talents and since Lisa fucked off back to some small town cult they really did need a good sub. Sheena was a good offensive dealer but they had games coming up where defense would be imperative and FF did not have the stamina for a full game and likely would not for quite some time considering he’d be recovering from being stabbed.

So, he’d defended Daniel’s right to try out.

At first, he had felt vindicated. Daniel kept up quite well during the initial warm-ups. Kept pace with Jack, Sheena, Aaron, Andrew, and Nicky. Kevin had been bringing up the rear mostly to make sure that Andrew didn’t stab the guy during warm-ups.

Then it was time for the first precision drill.

The other thing about how Kevin was raised is that he was raised surrounded only by the best of the best. The Ravens were at the top of the Collegiate hierarchy. The National Court used their stadium for practice.

The worst Exy that Kevin had ever seen in his entire life up until the moment that Daniel took hold of an Exy racquet was still only the worst team in Collegiate Division 1 Exy.

Then Kevin watched the ball go so wide that the entire court went silent.

All of the drills that followed were as bad, if not worse.

Kevin felt himself start to vibrate with anger the longer it went on. He started to shout corrections at Daniel but the younger man merely rolled his eyes, “I think I know what I’m doing.” He would say before pointedly proving that he did not.

Kevin only realized nearly an hour in that he had wasted his entire practice shouting himself hoarse at the actual waste of human life that was Daniel Stanton.

Kevin could accept being bad at Exy and having an inoffensive personality. Kevin could accept being good at Exy and having a bad personality.

Kevin could not accept being bad at Exy and having a bad personality.

Coach Wymack called the practice to an end and Kevin thought that he’d manage to keep his anger mostly inside (he is ignoring the near hour of practice he spent screaming directions) when Daniel decided to deliver the Coup de Grace.

Sweat soaking his bangs, panting, and without a single thing done correctly (even the way he was currently holding his borrowed Exy racquet set Kevin’s teeth on edge) the man had the gall, the gumption, and the absolute AUDACITY to come up to the coach.

“So, where do I sign?” he asks.

Kevin sees red and unleashes hell.

***

This was the most fun Andrew has had at a practice since he started having to come to them.

The look of embarrassment on Daniel’s face as Kevin accurately tore into everything he did wrong on the Court and every personal failing that Kevin could home in on. His attention shifted away to FF sitting in the stands near the University official who was shaking her head at the obvious poor showing. The University may have wanted Daniel around to spruce up the Fox’s marketability but even they couldn’t let someone so obviously awful onto one of their few Division 1 teams.

FF was sat sipping one of Kevin’s god awful smoothies looking completely unshocked by Daniel’s showing.

Kevin turned his attention to FF, “You said he was good!” Kevin points at the freshman as he continues to sip the drink.

Andrew interrupts, “He never said he was good.” He remembers the conversation so exactly and there are few things he loves more than having the opportunity to rub it in Kevin’s face when the man is wrong, “He said ‘Daniel has always been athletic’ never anything about him being good.” Andrew reminds.

Kevin whips back around to Daniel, “Have you ever even played Exy?” Kevin demands.

“I didn’t think it’d be hard to pick up.” Daniel argues crossing his arms defensively.

It sets Kevin off on another furious rant.

Andrew had thought that FF didn’t have a mean bone in his body and he’s quite pleased to have been proven wrong. The thought that FF had let Daniel get all the way into embarrassing himself in such a way?

Andrew had to give him props.

“How does it feel getting to watch this idiot crash and burn?” he asks coming to the glass.

“Really thought he could manage it if I could.” FF says with a shrug that has Aaron bark out a laugh.

“You really figured?” Aaron asks coming to stand next to Andrew.

FF just shrugs again, “I mean I also started not knowing how to play and now I’m on a pretty good team.” He says as if FF starting as a child not knowing how to play is the same as someone walking in demanding a spot on a college team.

Nicky lets out a laugh.

“Oh, Smithy I could kiss you.” Nicky laughs and makes his way towards the Court entrance to likely do exactly that moving past a Daniel who was so red in the face with embarrassment and anger that he looked as if he was about to turn purple.

Andrew tuned in.

“…small pond. The only reason you ever felt like you were worth anything is that Smiths was too nice to put you in your place before now!” Kevin was probably talking about medium-sized fish in a small pond but Andrew didn’t really care to know.

“Are you going to let him talk to me like this?!” Daniel finally turned to Wymack.

“Kevin, you shouldn’t talk to the public like that.” Wymack says without a hint of chastisement in his voice.

Kevin still straightened at the reminder, “You’re right. Sorry coach.” Kevin sneered at Daniel, “Get off the court before you taint it.” He hisses.

“You’re really not going to sign me?!” Daniel demands.

“Why would I?” Wymack asks with a raised brow.

“You took a chance on John!” Daniel points towards FF.

Andrew watches as Wymack’s face does something he’d rarely seen it do, it goes utterly and completely cold. “I don’t take chances with my kids.” He spat, “I give my kids a second chance. Get the hell off of my court.” He hisses.

Daniel’s face purples further before he stomped off of the Court.

“Don’t you dare walk off with that racquet! It’s worth more than you!” Kevin shouts after him and Andrew in that moment realizes that Daniel is going to do something stupid.

And FF is on the other side of the Plexiglass with only Nicky at his side.

It’s like watching a train crash.

Daniel might say something, but Andrew doesn’t know. He sees Neil rushing as well, his sense of danger always well-honed but Neil had been in Captain mode in the moments before walking some of the sophomore and freshmen through what they had done wrong.

Neither of them will make it in time.

Daniel throws his racquet, and he throws it right at FF barely 5 feet away in the stands.

The Racquet blows past FF’s head and Andrew lets out a breath.

Then before it could crash into the seats behind him and break FF’s hand wrapped around the shaft of the stick and stopped it’s trajectory.

“Your aim really isn’t getting any better by not listening to Kevin’s advice.” Smith says as he twirls the racquet in his hand so that the net was on the ground. “Also, don’t break the equipment, like Kevin said it’s pretty expensive.” He says.

Daniel let out a primal scream but where Andrew had stalled out to watch the miraculous catch Matt Boyd had not. Daniel was tackled to the ground by the backliner, “Absolutely not.” Matt said with a scowl.

“Smithy are you okay?” Andrew hears Nicky ask.

“Yeah, why?” FF asks as if he hadn’t just been attacked but considering everything that Andrew had seen it wouldn’t shock him if Daniel’s attacks were just par for the course back home for FF. “The racquet looks okay too.” He adds.

“Coach Wymack,” The University representative made their way down looking flustered at the outburst of violence.

Obviously not someone who regularly watched Exy or paid attention to their team.

“This is why I wanted absolute control over who does and who doesn’t get a shot here.” Wymack hisses pointing at Daniel as he struggled under Matt.

“You have our sincere apologies for this.” She says looking at Daniel, “He didn’t… we thought he’d be good for the team’s culture but it seems like we may have misjudged-“

“That guy just tried to take Smithy out!” Nicky interrupts.

“I told you he was dangerous.” Neil adds.

“Can someone call campus security?” Matt asks from the ground, “This jackass keeps aiming for kidney punches and I would like to not be pissing blood during winter break.” Matt requests.

“O-of course!” the University representative says fumbling for her cell phone.

Andrew looked at Matt and figured that the backliner had a handle on that particular mess at the moment.

He made his way over to FF and Nicky who was checking over the freshman.

“Nice catch.” He says.

FF shrugs, “It’s my racquet he was borrowing.” He says, “I didn’t want to get a new one.” He adds.

***

FF watches as campus security took custody of Daniel as he continued to spit and scream. There are talks about pressing charges, but FF just wants Daniel off of the campus and away from him. It’s Jack of all people who says that getting a restraining order is a great way to make sure Daniel stays the hell away from him and FF nods consideringly.

Honestly, he’s still mostly in shock he managed to catch his racquet the way he had. His reflexes weren’t quite up to snuff since he’d been trying to catch the netting, but his hand only closed around the shaft.

Embarrassing.

He really hopes no one teases him about his slower reflexes.

“He needs to be charged for assault at least.” Kevin hisses as they watch the security officers take Daniel away.

“It’d be attempted assault.” Aaron corrects.

“He assaulted my eyes with his Exy.” Kevin insists.

“If that counted as assault, don’t you think I would have pressed charges for all the times I have had to see you dance at Eden’s?” Neil asks. “Also, you’re the one that insisted he try-out.” He reminds.

“Smiths told me he was good!” Kevin screeches.

“No, we’ve been over this Day. Smithy said he was athletic.” Nicky reminds. “Are you going to do what Jack suggested?” he asks turning to FF.

“I’d like to see significantly less of Daniel.” FF admits.

“You know he did actually commit assault, if I pee blood I’m making Kevin go buy me pads.” Matt says.

“Whatever.” Kevin says as they continued to make their way back to the dorm to get ready for the day.

MASTERPOST FOR ALL PARTS OF FLUENT FRESHMAN AU

NEXT

#Fluent Freshman AU #Up next is the Winter banquet and Winter break #looking forward to that as well #I'd like to thank Snow for their help with some decisions made in this chap #and declunkifying some of my phrasing #I would also like to thank the new Jujutsu Kaisen OP for being a banger #also Unfathomed Force from Trails to Azure OST for continuing to be a banger #Grandma Smith is heading home in the next part which makes me sad even if she hasn't featured a lot in the drafts since the hospital #Daniel absolutely ends up punching a security guard #And ending up in like a holding cell at a real police station #He has one call #And he calls Smith's number demanding he come and help him get out #too bad the only number he has is a phone sitting in Wymack's desk #Guess someone else is gonna have to come and pay bail and help Daniel outta there #also my apologies for putting Daniel on u Elle Woods but it's for the meme #Also also I would like to give a shoutout to Matt Boyd who made the 'save of the day' #Its an award usually for goalies but u da real MVP today #AFTG #AFTG OC #AFTG AU #FF - 38

[kudaunknown]

A conversation with my 104-year-old grandma

Mbuya Shava — Martha Mangoma (née Madzikoto) — is my 104-year-old grandmother.

This interview was conducted in her cooking hut, as she enthusiastically prepared lunch for myself and her other grandchildren, plus great-grandchildren, who had come to visit.

We set off from Harare, to her home village in Headlands, which is within the province of Manicaland.

Manicaland is highlighted in red (above). 

A small number of ethnic Europeans first came to Zimbabwe as settlers during the late-nineteenth century. These colonial settlers established Headlands as a trading post and tobacco farming area in 1891. At this point, they named the area Laurencedale, after their leader, Laurence van der Byl. In 1897 they changed its name to Headlands.

Her village is approximately 140km from the capital and is a part of the Makoni District - which also includes; Baddeley, Chendambuya, Chikore, Chinhenga, Chinyudze, Dewerwi, Eaglesnest, Maparura, Mayo, Mazai, Mufusire, Mupururu, Nheta, Nyahowe, Nyawaro, Tanda and Tsikada villages.

Makoni District, within Manicaland, highlighted in blue (above).

My grandmother was born in Chendambuya, raised her nine children in Tanda and now spends her days in Headlands. To me, she is extremely active, witty and downright hilarious. To my father, she is a beacon of strength. To our entire family, she is the matriarch.

She is a Christian, identifying with the Methodist Church. Her religious faith is extremely important to her, and this has undeniably shaped her worldview with a set of values that include kindness, forgiveness and hope.

This interview happened in Shona. It has been translated to English in order to make this piece accommodating for multiple friends and family, far and wide, who hold a love and interest in this ethereal being.

By my knowledge, this the most extensive discussion available with Mbuya Shava. It is an immense honour to present this conversation, as her grandson.

Me: Hi Mbuya.

Mbuya: Hi muzukuru.

How’s it going? I’ve got a set of questions I’d love to ask you.

Why?

To be honest, it was my dad’s idea and then I…

Of course it was. Sounds like something he’d request *laughs*

You know him well.

I know all of you well.

Alright then. What was your father’s name and those of his siblings?

His name was Rudzemba, and his foreign name was Zekiah. He had a brother named Maretekwa, and some sisters. A small family.

That must have been quite rare back then.

What?

A small Manicaland family.

Ahh. Probably.  

What was your paternal grandfather’s name and where did he come from?

I have no idea at all. We just referred to him as Sekuru (grandad) when we’d talk about him. He passed away before I was born.

What was your mother’s name?

My mum’s name was Zvekusekwa, and her foreign name was Esther. She had five sisters, no brothers.  

What were her sisters’ names?

You must’ve forgetten that I’m old *laughs*. I can’t remember their names right now, but let me try though. Hmmm, one was Eniah, then there was Isabella. In fact, that’s all I can remember.

Where was your mum born?

My mum was born in Chendambuya, but I really have no clue as to where exactly.

How many siblings did you have? Do you remember their names?

Like my mother, we were all girls. No brothers at all. I am the only one from that pack still alive.

And…their names?

Hmmm. Now you’re trying to embarrass me! How could I forget their names?! Alright, let me try. I’ll do it by order of birth.

So, first was, I forgot her name. Shoot! Was it Mary? No! Nyewerwai. Her name was Nyewerwai. Then, Sophia. Myself Martha as third born. Rukia was right after me. And then Oripa and Constance closed the family off. Not bad! I still remember *laughs*

How old were you when you got married?

I don’t look at time that way. It (GMT concept & Gregorian Calendar) wasn’t really a part of our culture back then. It’s really hard to say in those terms. We used to tell time by the sun’s position, our shadows and the seasons changing. I was old enough to have children.

Wait. I’ll be back. Let me help these kids kill this chicken for you.

* She walks out of the hut for three minutes, before returning seemingly agitated about the chicken’s delay *  

photo credit Andrew Tallon

Alright, so next…

What’s that on your leg?

What, sorry?

On the left there. It looks like some writing.

Oh! That’s my tattoo of your hut. The actual hut we’re in right now. I got it years ago to always have a part of you with me.

Can you wash it off?

tattoo by SWESCKI

* As she notices more of my tattoos, I go on to proudly show her nearly all 32 of them * 

No. Tattoos are permanent. They’ll all still be on me after I die.

You are actually crazy *laughs*. You must’ve learnt those ways in Australia. Some of them are quite lovely though.

Would you let me tattoo you?

No. I’m too old. But, let me tell you this. When we were younger, we used to do scarification on our faces. I had two vertical lines under each eye. I thought I looked pretty cool. And I also used to have flesh earrings.

That’s super cool to me. There’s kids all over the world, in my generation, that do that now, especially the flesh earrings.

Funny world.

Scarification reference - photo credit Anthony Asael

How much younger was my grandfather, Solomon, than you?

I can tell your dad wrote that question. Again, I don’t perceive time in that way — but he was very young. As you know, he was my second husband and I had three lovely children with him, who are your father (Elton) and his two younger brothers (Misheck and Stephen).

How many children did you have with your first husband?

I had six children with Magaso. We raised all of them in Tanda.

Do you know all of your grandchildren?

Wow. There’s a lot! Let me try. I’m forgetting. I’ll be honest, I don’t know all of their names off the top of my head but I can recognise every single one. I don’t know all of my great-grand children because I haven’t met them all, but I know plenty. Not bad for an old lady, yeah?

What’s the best food you’ve ever had?

Sadza. Easily. It’s the best. It ties our frame of culture and humanity. I only have one tooth left, so it’s easy for me to eat sadza.

What has been the best time of your life?

When we were all in Tanda, as a huge family, getting to watch my kids, nephews and nieces grow. It was the best of times. I often reminisce about them.

What was the worst time of your life?

After Magaso, my first husband, died — and when Solomon died. I was devastated. Both of those deaths cut deep, in different ways. Seeing my children grow, work, marry and have their own children is what healed me. I haven’t been sad in decades really. Every single day with this life feeds my soul. I am blessed. I have nothing to be sad about now.

What were the wars like for you?

Oh wow. That was obviously an awful time. It was scary. Violent death was so common. And your grandfather was extremely political, so we were very much aware of what was going on around us. He actually got arrested a few times for his activism against Ian Smith’s regime. He was so much like your dad.

photo credit Andrew Tallon

In 2002, you flew to America. What was that experience like? Was it your first time flying?

The America trip wasn’t my first time flying, but it was the last time I did. My first flight experience was from Bulawayo to Harare in the 90s. I was TERRIFIED. The takeoff and landing affected my breathing. I refused to eat the food during that flight because I thought we had to pay for it. Even if I’d known that the meals were included with the ticket, I probably still wouldn’t have eaten. I was too anxious.

Years later, in 2002, I flew to America with my son Stephen, his wife Marjorie and their children. Those flights were better because there were so many of them in a row. I looked out the window and knew that if the plane fell, we’d surely all die. I was a little nervous at the start. But eventually, we took many flights for that trip so, I got used to it and enjoyed myself. I got used to the sensations of being up in the sky. I never would’ve imagined anything like that when I was your age. I’ve learnt so much from my children. They got me to fly.

Your children are like rockstars to a lot of us. What do you think of your children and grandchildren?

I love them to bits. They’re all fantastic and hardworking. I love you all. I just remembered that they might hear or see this conversation. I love you.

How would you like to be remembered?

I don’t know. When I’m dead, I won’t remember you *laughs* so, feel however you want to feel about me. My request would be for you to sing songs for me at my funeral and when you think of me after that day, continue to sing and hum the songs that make you feel good about being you.

Where would like to be buried, and whom would you like to attend your funeral?

Right in this village, by the rocks at the end of the road where we bury everyone else here. I’d love for you to be there. Your wife. Your children. Your parents. Everyone who is family, I would love for them to be there if they can.

Right, Mbuya, that’s about it really. Is there anything else you would like to say?

Not much. I just want to thank God for blessing me with this life, for my children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren. And for those I consider family who will come into this life after I am gone.

photo credit Andrew Tallon

[stonecoldjerseyfox]

Jersey on my mind (part 31)

The smell of buttered, barbecue corn on the cobs mixed with the scent of burning firewood makes Mila’s mouth water like the cookie monster catching sight of chocolate chip cookies, as she and Juri make their way down the dark street.

“Can you smell that?” She asks Juri. “Smells nice, right?”

Juri nods eagerly and the blue eyes glistens hungrily. 

She’s holding a bottle of vodka in her right hand and Juri’s hand in her left as they struts down the street towards the bonfire and the sound of chatting people. Juri’s dressed up in a knitted sweater, sent from mama in Russia for his second birthday. The shirt was way too big for a two year old, so Mila left it in a drawer until they had to leave, to escape when all hell broke loose. It’s maroon with white, traditional pattern over the chest. 

“Are you excited?” Mila asks as they pass Jessie’s house, and a sad feeling overwhelms her. Poor Jessie. She shifts her focus from the now empty house to Juri, who nods at her. “Yeah. Me too. It might be fun. You remember the barbecues at Ellie’s and Joe’s?” Juri nods once again. Of course he remembers ‘grams’ and ‘gramps’. It felt weird to Mila that he knew her foster parents better than his real grandmother, whom he called ‘baba’. But baba was always baba. Juri gestures at her, expresses a feeling of longing for the three of them. “I miss them too, Malysh.” She smiles. “Think about the barbecue.”

That’s a thought that cheers both of them up. Mila loves barbecues. She has experienced several very different variants of the event during her short lifetime. Hot summer evenings at the Dacha at home in Russia, when the whole neighborhood gathered from the surrounding summer cottages in the largest garden and built a barbecue of old brick or sheet metal. Everyone contributed food and the vodka was lined up on a table. They danced, sang, there was always someone playing the accordion and some dexterous ribbons of wreaths. The smell of smoke settled deep in the clothes, but it did not matter, it was part of the experience itself. It was so easy and homely. In the wee hours, when half the vodka ration was consumed, there could be both hopak dancing and sniping. During the autumn harvest, people also grilled, especially during forest excursions and mushroom picking. Mama fried mushrooms over an open fire while papa boned fish. In the winter, they did the same thing, dressed up in several layers of clothes and fur hats. Their breaths stood like ice clouds from their mouths, but they didn’t freeze and the fire kept their cheeks glowing hot. 

In the States, she got to experience a different kind of barbecue, not as folksy, but still nice in that American, exaggerated way. Joe Galka owned a Weber grill, a piece as big as a piano, Mila thought, to which he was very attached. He could grill most things. In the summers there was a barbecue almost every weekend and friends and family were invited. Mila’s, Billy’s and Adam’s friends were always invited. Even in the States, people brought food to the festivities; meringue pies, apple pies, ribs dripped with sauce, mashed potatoes, salads and god knows what. Significantly less strong booze than the Russian festivities, but all the more pale beer; disgusting Corona and Budweiser, that the middle-aged men, gathered around Joe’s grill, wearing the same type of cargo shorts and short-sleeved shirts, happily sipped. And sniping was out of the question in the suburbs. When Mila met Jim and they went on hikes just the two of them, Mila went in childhood. They grilled over an open fire in the woods, or at a beach, using firewood and matches, an old frying pan and some simple tools. They brought food, coffee, booze and, God forbid, a big bag of marshmallows. Jim loved those grilled, melting sugar bombs, while Mila couldn’t stand them, instead preferring grilled fruit with a little honey and cinnamon. Then they picked out the guitar and the harmonica and sat there, playing and singing Creedence, country and other great songs, in the light of the fire, drinking booze, hearing the waves smoothly run into the sandy shore, the leves rattle in the breeze. 

Despite the fact that Mila sees herself as an established barbecue visitor by now, after exploring her way through several barbecue cultures, this is a new version. Post-apocalyptic barbecue. 

“Wonder what food we get, except for potatoes and corn.” Mila says. Juri chuckles at the thought of an all potato and corn barbecue. “Maybe some-” Mila thinks. “Green beans? Tomatoes? Oh, and what if they have found some broccoli! You’d like that.” 

Earlier in the day, Mila took Juri out outside the safe zone and went on a journey of discovery in a direction they had not previously gone. After 1,2 miles they came to an open field which Mila immediately recognized as a vast potato field. There were a few, ravaged plants sticking out of the soil, but the chance that there were a lot of potatoes hidden underneath was huge. She let out a roar of joy at the discovery and frightened a couple of birds that angrily lifted from the untouched, rugged earth, and flew away to calmer lands. Some distance away, a barn loomed and Mila purposefully steered her steps towards the grayish-brown building, where the paint had begun to flake from the walls. She pushed open the door and went in, made sure that no walkers were lurking before releasing Juri from the harness and instructing him to search for potato sacks, and other useful things. Mila found the potato sacks, while Juri found a rusty shovel. They returned to the field and Mila began scanning the earth for a potentially lush piece to start digging on. Then she started digging, while Juri began to scrape the ground by hand. The sweat evaporated from her forehead, but being out there in the big field with Juri, performing body work, created an endorphin surcharge within her she hadn’t known for a long time. She felt alive. The smell of the earth, the still breeze and the sound of the shovel shaft digging into the ground. It was agrarian, made her homesick for Russia, to the Russian countryside. Sure, it was barren and vast beyond infinity, but she loved it. Her strong, Russian soul needed an outlet right there and then. Mila started singing. A hair-raising, Russian partisan song, something her grandfather sang for her as a child. Then she needed to cheer up the mood a bit, so she started singing “Panic” by The Smiths instead. Whether it was merry was questionable, but the melody was catchy. She then went down on her knees and started to dig with her hands in the soil. Suddenly she felt something in the ground, and triumphantly she pulled out the lower part of a potato plant, where surely eight or ten potatoes were still attached, and they looked really good!

“Jackpot!” Mila exclaimed. 

While digging and tearing up cluster after cluster of potatoes, Mila and Juri talked about all the good potato dishes they could now make, making their mouth water with saliva. Potato gratin, fried potatoes with dill, moussaka with potatoes, one of their absolute favorites. They stopped digging after a sack was filled. Mila had to carry it home, and the sack probably weighed well over 30 kilos, so they stopped working and decided to come back another day, by car. 

“Sorry, malenkiy. Time to use your legs.” said Mila, hoisting the sack onto her shoulder, next to the rucksack. Well, time to use mine as well, she thought and felt the heavy bag weighing her down. If Grandma could carry two full buckets of water from the well twice a day for seventy years, I should be able to carry thirty kilos of potatoes back to Alexandria.

Thank goodness she had tough, lanky muscles. And they didn’t run into anyone on the way back. Soaked in sweat and back inside the Alexandria walls, Mila dropped the heavy bag in front of Carol in the kitchen. Carol looked as if she could not believe her eyes at the sack. Mila went and took a much-needed shower, while Carol and Juri started peeling potatoes. She then helped Rick chop wood. 

“Ya’ good at this.” Rick said as Mila, once again dripping with sweat after that very unnecessary shower, easily split firewood after firewood with the other ax.

“It may sound like a stereotype, but in Russia you learn this early in life, if you do not want to freeze to death.” Mila huffed and wiped her forehead on her arm. “Grandma and grandpa didn’t have electricity. Then you had to chop wood.”

She took a second shower an hour later, and got herself and Juri dressed up in, not fancy clothes, but clean ones, not covered in soil, dirt and potato peel. In front of the mirror she inspected the scar after the wolves machete. It was still red and bumpy, but had healed nicely, a slight miracle since she hadn’t been taking care of it nearly as well as Denise told her to. She then stepped into a pair of blue, worn jeans and ripped a top over her head. While Juri brushed his hair, Mila inspected him and cracked open a bottle of vodka. 

She’s accustomed to pre-parties and has been an avid supporter of the phenomenon since her teenage years; never arrive sober to a party, or a funeral, or anything really if you’re an alcoholic like Mila.

She looks at the brand new bottle of Russian standard in her hand, contemplating if she should sweep it at the spot to increase her chances of ‘mingle and jingle’. Before she turns thought into action Maggie comes up at her right side. 

“One could think everything was somewhat- I dunno, pre- all this.” Maggie says and lifts her eyebrows underneath the side swept brown hair.

“Feels odd.” Mila admits. “Nice, but strange. Be happy you don’t feel sick yet. The barbecue smell would kill you.”

Maggie looks down at the grey tank top underneath the checked shirt, smiles at the sight of her own stomach. It’s not prominently pouting yet, but in a few weeks it won’t be possible to hide the bump. 

“Can’t wait.” Maggie replies ironically and nods towards the vodka bottle.

“You’re prepared for disaster or what?”

“Mouth water.” Mila says simply. “Bad breath.”

“Might be because of the mouth water.” Maggie grins as they catch sight of the bonfire and the Alexandrians, gathered around it. Maggie sniffs in the air as a puff of grilled meat comes their way. “Okay, I’m starting to get really hungry. Holy moly.”

“Preggers cravings.” Mila teases at the same time as she sees Abraham walking towards them, dressed in a button down shirt for the occasion underneath his jacket. “Looking sharp.” She greets him as he reaches the three of them. His red hair burns even brighter in the light of the flames from the fire. 

“Gotta make the best of the opportunity. It’s a party.” He smiles and places a big, bearded kiss on her cheek and gives Maggie a warm hug before he squats and holds up his big palm towards Juri. “High five, little man.” Juri slams his small hand into the big man’s and looks really happy. “Heard ya’ found the potatoes.” Abraham says excitedly. “Great job, dude!” 

Maggie and Mila look at each other. Yup, Juri’s the hero and Mila’s the burro, carrying the goodies more than 1,2 miles back to Alexandria. Nah, I can handle it, she thinks as she sees Juri’s proud grin, being the potato boss for the night. 

“Come on, Romeo.” Mila starts walking towards the fire, that lures her towards its glowing sphere of heat and safety, awakening something primitive within her, a feeling that fire equals safety. 

All of the Alexandria residents seem to be attending. Even Carl sits on a log, dragged in front of the fire, next to Aaron and Morgan. His head is wrapped up and he looks a million times better than two days ago. The color has returned to his cheeks and the sheriffs hat rests homely at the brown curls. Mila smiles at the sight. Rick appears in her field of sight at the same time. He looks fresh out of the shower and as he approaches she clearly feels a faint scent of men’s perfume. 

“Carol’s over the moon with the potatoes.” He greets her as he stops in front of her. 

“Glad I could contribute.” Mila says. “Where’s Daryl?” She looks around, searches for the broad man on the other side of the bonfire and in the shadows, but he’s nowhere to be seen. “I haven’t seen him today.” 

Rick shrugs a little, as to say ‘who knows’. 

“Come on.” He nods with his head to the side. “Let’s get ya’ beer.”

“Great.” 

While Juri runs off on his own, around the bonfire to sit with Carl, Mila follows Rick over to a table, set with beer and soda. Michonne’s leaning up against the table top with a Coke in her hand, probably mixed up to a Jack and Coke if Mila knows her right, talking to Sasha and Eugene, who, judging by the strong scent, have bathed himself in shaving water. Carol, an Alexandrian woman and Denise sets the table with bowls of food. Mila’s astonished over the amounts of different dishes and sides they managed to put together for the evening. Sasha and Abraham went on a run and found an abandoned greenhouse, which hid all sorts of vegetables that miraculously survived on their own during the apocalypse. Another group of Alexandrians went fishing and also ran upon a few bewildered chickens, who had to sacrifice their lives for the sake of the festivities. 

“The wall’s coming along nicely.” Mila says as she lets her gaze wander to the wall, where the big gaping hole where the church tower crashed through about a week ago. The debris is all gone and the hole is temporarily fixed with a few cars, but the structure that's supposed to become the new, reinforced wall, is already appearing. 

“It’s gonna be solid.” Eugene says and nods, trying his absolute best to seem cool about it. 

Mila’s been amused by him ever since he introduced himself to her; he’s intelligent, awkward and quite strange, but he certainly entertains her with all his clumsiness and strange talking. Despite her nearly ten years in the States, language is still the biggest challenge. Mila’s still learning new words and expressions and Eugene has undoubtedly made it a challenge for her to understand what he’s saying from time to time.

“Yippie.” Mila preaches as Rick puts a beer bottle in her hand. She takes it and chugs the bottle immediately, feeling a sudden rush of intense thirst only an alcoholic can feel in the presence of beer and booze. The intellectual with the prominent mullet stares at her as she takes the last sip of the bottle and puts it away. His expression pokes at her shenanigan-nerve, fuck she has to mess a little with him. “I’m into some real kinky shit after five bottles.” She therefore says and grins wolf-like at Eugene. 

Eugene’s cheeks turn red like the fire next to him and he swallows. Michonne laughs into her can and both Rick and Sasha grins, struggling not to laugh. Mila reaches forward and pats poor Eugene on the arm.

“Just fucking with you.” She says and blinks. “Cheers.” And she opens the vodka bottle and offers him the first sip. “Here, it’s good for the nerves.”

“You’re a real tearaway.” Sasha says and breaks off the cap on a new Corona light.

“Extremely poor impulse control.” Mila takes back the vodka bottle and takes a bountiful sip, once again feeling the deep sense of thirst down her throat. “It gets worse with age, I notice.” She peeks behind Sasha at the table. “So, what’s for dinner?” 

Carol, who happens to hear her question, comes up to the group at the table, holding a pie between the oven mittens.

“A real feast, that’s for sure.” She explains and puts the pie down. “Ribs, chicken, fish, vegetables, potatoes. Daryl must’ve hit the jackpot, he brought back an entire forest.” Carol smiles and removes the checked oven mittens from her hands. “And pie for dessert.”

“Are we celebrating something?” Sasha says. 

“Being alive?” Michonne taps her fingers at the can.

“Anyone having their birthday soon, or just had? That could be a reason.” Eugene suggests. 

“Don’t even know what date it is.” Mila says and takes another sip of the vodka. “Mine’s in June.”

“Gotta celebrate something.” Eugene continues.

“How ‘bout-” Rick begins. “A party for those who can’t be here.”

“A death party?” Mila raises her eyebrows at Rick. 

“That’s morbid.” Sasha wrinkles her nose.

“Could work.” Mila continues. “Russian funerals often turn into parties. At first people cry something incredibly for hours and hours and hours- Then you drink until you can’t feel feelings anymore.”

“Sounds even more weird.” Eugene expresses. “I like Rick’s idea better.” 

“I’m gonna drink anyway.” Mila snorts and continues to drink. At least she’s dressed up somewhat properly for a funeral reception; black top, black leather jacket and, yeah the fedora might be questionable, but at least she wears black boots! 

They sit down and eat when Aaron, Glenn, Rosita and Gabriel have sliced the grilled meat and put it on the buffet table. Juri’s plate is filled with potatoes and vegetables as well as Mila’s and he’s got a juice box safely placed between his cute feet. They sit on a log with Rick and Carol; eating, drinking and talking while the fire crackles, the cicadas sing behind the wall. The sky above them is starry and the sparks from the fire rises towards the gleaming stars, millions of lightyears away. But Daryl is nowhere to be seen. Where the hell is he? Mila looks around every now and then, but Rick assures her that he’s alright. Why wouldn’t he? To calm her mind, she empties the vodka bottle and runs to get another one, just as the party attendants does a turn two at the buffet.

“Ey, look who’s back.” Rick suddenly says and looks at Mila- no, over her shoulder, behind her. 

Mila turns on the log and looks behind her. Daryl comes walking down the street towards them. In the warm light of the fire Mila can see that he’s fine, unharmed, but holds something behind his back. She gets up from the log, a movement that makes the others pause their conversations and laughter to look at her. Mila gets ready to give him a scolding, but Daryl’s facial expression makes her change her mind. It’s soft, somewhat gawky, but yet soft and not stern and grumpy. It strikes her there and then that he hasn’t looked surly at all lately, at least not while looking at her. She takes a step over the log and walks to meet him. The wrinkle created between her eyebrows softens as he stops in front of her in the light of the big fire. 

“Where’ve you been?” She asks and crosses her arms over her chest.

“Had a thing to do.” He says and screws a little, but keeps his back straight. “I’m here now.”

“Yeah, I can see that.” Mila looks him straight in the eyes. “But where were you? I was worried.”

Instead of giving her a verbal answer, Mila has come to understand Daryl’s idea, that words are unnecessary sometimes well by now. He takes out what he’s hiding behind his back, and holds it out for her. A guitar. An acoustic sunburst Epiphone, with engraved flowers on the pickguard. Mila stares at the beautiful instrument as Daryl hands it over to her; the shimmery pearly detailing in the maple neck, steel strings and rosewood details. She lifts her gaze and looks at Daryl in awe. 

“Though ya’d like it.” Daryl looks at her, not sure if she’s happy or disappointed. “Ya’ said ya’ played.” 

Yeah, yes she did say that. But she didn’t think he’d remembered. She can’t speak. Instead, Mila wraps her arms around his neck, with the guitar’s neck still in a firm grip. The last time she got a guitar, it was Jim who surprised her with one. He blindfolded her and drove her to the music store where he led her in, like a blind. Mila stumbled on the threshold and tore off her blindfold, red in the face with anger over his shenanigans. But the anger ran off when she saw where she was.

“Pick one.”

“Pick what?”

“A guitar.” Jim reached out his arms to his side, to the guitars hanging around the walls of the shop. “Whatever one you want.”

Mila picked a light sunburst Fender that time. It was left behind in Brooklyn along with Jim’s old, trusted Gibson. At least their guitars were together. 

“Thank you.” Mila whispers into his ear and releases her grip around Daryl’s neck.

It’s one of the finest, most thoughtful gifts she has received in a long time. She squeezes the neck and admires the wooden piece. He really went off and found her a guitar. Around them, the other inhabitants have paused whatever they’re doing, to look at them. Abraham is the one that finally breaks the silence, still chewing on a glazed rib.  

“Well, whatcha waitin’ for? Play it, Jersey.” He points at the guitar with the bone.

Her mouth turns into a wide grin. My God, she hasn’t played in awhile and the guitar isn’t even tuned. She takes Daryl’s hand, intervenes her fingers with his and drags him off to the overturned log, steps over it and sits down next to Juri, who looks overjoyed with the possibility of some live music. Her number one fan. Daryl sits down next to her and Carol hands him a plate of food. It’s like someone pressed ‘play’. Everyone starts talking to each other again, eating and drinking, just as before Daryl appeared with the guitar. While Daryl eats, Mila begins to tune the guitar, at the same time as she gets meaningful glances from both Maggie and Carol, who blink at her.

“I did not know you played guitar.” Says Carl and looks wide-eyed at the guitar.

“I'm full of surprises.” Mila smiles cheeky at him.

“Can you make requests?” Rick says and takes a sip of his Corona.

“Depends on the request.” Mila replies. She knows that Rick has a similar taste in music as she; they have more than once hummed along to the same country songs while working, so he won’t have to be disappointed. “I’m a little rusty.” And not nearly drunk enough to feel completely at ease with performing in front of these people, she thinks and looks around. For some reason this is different than before. Different from the bars and the family gatherings with the Galka’s and Jim. “I’ll punch you if any of you say Wonderfall.” Mila squints her eyes at her crowd as she tunes the low E-string, considering the guitar to be in playable condition. 

“Thought it was Wonderwall?” Glenn looks at Maggie, slightly confused.  

“I’ll punch you.” Mila places her fingers on the cold steel strings and strikes a loop of chords, searching for a melody. She quickly finds the sound she’s looking for; huh, she wasn’t that rusty after all. With her tongue in between her teeth she starts playing something random.  

The sheriff's tapping boot is enough for her to pick Rick as her target. 

“Come on, I’m not doing it on my own.”

Rick takes a sip of beer, chuckles a little. But Mila’s serious. As is Michonne. 

“Do it Sheriff.” Michonne bumps Rick in the side. “We got ya’ back.”

Mila doesn’t wait for an answer. He won’t be able to resist later on. She adjusts the guitar on her leg and starts playing a tune, praying to some higher power that her voice won’t break. 

“As long as I remember, the rain's been comin' down. Clouds of mystery pourin', confusion on the ground. Good men through the ages, tryin' to find the sun. And I wonder, still I wonder, who'll stop the rain-”

She gets chills down her spine as she manages to pull the Creedence classic off pretty decently, sitting at the log between the men in her life, surrounded by her new family. Just as when she performed it at that bar with Jim that first time she performed like that in her life, a couple of years ago. She vomited into a bin before going on stage, or more like a corner with a rug of the small, crowded bar in Brooklyn, but as soon as she had the guitar in her hands and started singing, she felt calm, secure. Jim used to say it was a miracle she learned to play the guitar at the pace she did, having only played piano and the violin during her childhood. Guitars was a dumb instrument, according to her papa. Pff, what did he know? Prison was for dumb people, and look where he was? Mila lets the chord die after the last “-and I wonder, still I wonder, who'll stop the rain?”, then continues with Springsteen.  

“On a rattlesnake speedway in the Utah desert, I pick up my money and head back into town. Driving 'cross the Waynesboro county line, I got the radio on and I'm just killing time-”

She notices Daryl’s gaze in the corner of her eyes, just as she notices Juri’s nodding head and Abraham saying, mids a chuckle of delighted surprise: 

“I’ll be damn.” 

It’s like inviting all of them into a very special place of herself, a place where she can be something else than a mom, a dental nurse and a girl with a broken past. With a deep, lingering gaze, she tries to communicate that to Daryl, as a way of explaining her trust in him. To her, music is medicine for the soul and the heart. A heritage she has passed on to Juri when giving him the walkman for his birthday. 

“The dogs on Main Street howl, 'Cause they understand. If I could take one moment into my hands, mister I ain't a boy, no I'm a man. And I believe in a promised land-”

She removes her fingers from the strings and the chord echoes out into the night, blends in with the cheering. She’s warmed up now, overflown with the rush of happy adrenaline playing the guitar causes her, just as the applause makes her blush. Okay, let's go with something happy, she thinks.

“Here’s a lil' something to cheer ya’ll up.” She says in her most convincing country-voice, puts her fingers into a ‘G’ and: “Daddy won a radio and tuned it to a country show, I was rockin' in the cradle to the cryin' of a steel guitar-”

It takes Rick ten seconds to hear what song it is, he knows his country music. He jumps into the chorus, at first doubtfully, but encouraged by both Carl and Abe, who have taken out a cigar from his jacket, he seems to think ‘what the hell’, and sings a little louder, with more feeling. And it’s fun.

“Singin 'in the bars and- Chasin' that neon rainbow, livin 'that honky tonk dream.' Cause all I've ever wanted, is to pick this guitar and sing. Just tryin 'to be somebody, just wanna be heard and seen. I'm chasin 'that neon rainbow, livin' that honky tonk dream- “

He continues to sing with her as Mila follows up with the Beatles “Rocky Raccoon”, but lets her continue on her own after that, with both “Thunder road” and a country version of “I’m on fire”.

“Your accent disappears when you sing.” Maggie says as Mila takes a few sips of vodka. 

“Yeah I haven’t figured the reason for that out yet.” Mila wipes her mouth on the back of her hand as she grabs the guitar again, her fingertips pulsating from having to work the strings again. “But singing country with an accent would sound weird, I guess? Okay, one last one.” 

She ends her one woman-show, which could just as well be seen as therapy for her musically starving soul, with Kate Bush’s “Running up that hill”, as the flames from the fire licks the now pitch black sky, sprinkled with millions, billions of stars.   

“Say, if I only could, I'd be running up that hill. With no problems…”

Taglist: @lonewolf471 @twdeadfanfic

#jersey on my mind #daryl dixon #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl x oc #daryl fanfiction #twd #twd fanfiction #twd daryl #twd fanfic #the walking dead fanfic #the walking dead fandom #the walking dead fanficition

[gokinjeespot]

off the rack #1244

Monday, January 7, 2019

 I hope you all are having a happier New Year than I did. Our Aunt Helen passed away just before the end of 2018 out in Victoria and my Grandma passed away January 4. Both ladies were in their nineties and lived full and loving lives. That eases my sadness a lot. Another big loss for me was when The Comicshop in Vancouver closed its doors forever on January 4 as well. The Comicshop was where I started my comics retailing career in 1980, working there for 10 years. It was where I was head hunted to manage The Silver Snail in Ottawa where I worked happily from 1990 to 2015. I took over writing "off the rack" from Chris Brayshaw in the late eighties and continue to express my thoughts on the comic books that I read every week. I have talked to both Keith Bickford and Brent Stratichuk, the two stalwart lads whose capable hands I left the 'Shop with and they are doing okay. I tried to console them by sharing my experiences when The Silver Snail in Ottawa closed after 25 years. The Comicshop lasted 44 years and it will be missed by everyone who became a part of the family generated there over those years.

 Endings give way to new beginnings and I hope the start of 2019 begins to look better for everyone.

 Penny presented me with The Complete Far Side for Christmas and I finished reading all three volumes by New Year's Day. Aside from delighting in Gary Larson's warped sense of humour again I greatly enjoyed the letters that were included alongside some of his cartoons. I especially liked the letters to newspaper editors complaining about some of them. I wonder how much more outrage we would be able to see now with the prevalence of social media. There are also a few pages of Gary writing about his time doing the strip which made me appreciate them even more.

 Iron Man #7 - Dan Slott with Jeremy Whitley (writers) Valerio Schiti (art) Edgar Delgado (colours) VC's Joe Caramagna (letters). Stark Realities part 2. As exciting and beautifully drawn as this issue is I have to wonder when Tony Stark is going to stop trying to fix the world's problems with tech that can then be hacked and endanger innocent lives. Remember when Reed Richards used to do that too? Uh oh, Dan Slott also writes Fantastic Four so I guess we'll be seeing this plot device used again.

 Marvel Knights #5 - Matthew Rosenberg  & Donny Cates (writers) Niko Henrichon (art) Laurent Grossat (colours) VC's Cory Petit (letters). What seems to be a fight of misunderstanding turns out to be a shocking revelation when the Black Panther and the four woke super heroes meet. You can tell that this isn't the "real" Marvel U because the Kingpin would not have been able to overpower Doctor Doom like that. The twist at the end persuaded me to keep reading.

 Immortal Hulk #11 - Al Ewing (writer) Joe Bennett (pencils) Ruy Jose (inks) Paul Mounts (colours) VC's Cory Petit (letters). This issue would feel right at home in a comparative religion class. What is the nature of hell? That's where the Hulk finds himself after his fight with the Absorbing Man. I appreciate the higher level of writing that this book has. It stimulates my brain.

 Archie #701 - Nick Spencer (writer) Marguerite Sauvage (art) Jack Morelli (letters). Archie has a new girlfriend? I like the possibilities that this new relationship has to offer. The mystery surrounding the disappearance of Reggie's dad is going to shock the town of Riverdale and that's more than enough reason to keep reading this book.

 Books of Magic #3 - Kat Howard (writer) Tom Fowler (illustrator) Jordan Boyd (colours) Todd Klein (letters). It was nice to see the tribute to Stan Lee by the Distinguished Competition.

 Action Comics #1006 - Brian Michael Bendis (writer) Ryan Sook (art) Brad Anderson (colours) Josh Reed (letters). Invisible Mafia part 6. You would think that with this story's title that when we finally meet the villain plaguing Superman that it would be some Don Corleone type guy. Nope, no Italians here. It's round two of Superman versus the Red Cloud. I liked how the big blue boy scout tried to reason with the big red deadly gas bag. The last page made me smile with its homage to Action Comics #1. Ryan Sook is making this book a real treat to read.

 Runaways #17 - Rainbow Rowell (writer) Kris Anka (art) Matthew Wilson (colours) VC's Joe Caramagna (letters). That Was Yesterday Part 5. Time's up. The bad guys are back and they are going to wipe out humanity. Things get very complicated as these young heroes try to save the world. There's a hint to a time travel solution and I really hope they don't go that route. I like how one of the bad guys and one of the good guys flip the script. I can't wait to see what happens next.

 Man Without Fear #1 - Jed MacKay (writer) Danilo S. Beyruth (art) Andres Mossa (colours) VC's Clayton Cowles (letters). I stopped reading Daredevil a little while ago. It was one of my favourite titles for a very long time, but the addition of a sidekick and the bad guy with the multi-fingered hands turned me off. Then I find out that they "killed" DD and launched this new title. This first issue runs the gamut of all the incarnations that the blind super hero has had. It was neat for me because I've been around for all of it. I don't know that a new reader would appreciate all the changes and might even get confused by the different costumes. So Matt Murdock isn't dead. He's lying in a coma and his best friend Foggy Nelson comes to visit. This gives Jed MacKay a chance to tell you what makes Daredevil tick. I couldn't help but notice that the ghost tormenting Matt was wearing yellow and thinking what a coincidence it was that the Flash wears red and one of the Flash's arch villains wears yellow. I liked this enough to want to see how they're going to bring back the Man Without Fear. We don't have to wait long because #2 hits the racks on January 9.

 Champions #1 - Jim Zub (writer) Steven Cummings (art) Marcio Menyz & Erick Arciniega (colours) VC's Clayton Cowles (letters). I like this team of teen super heroes even though they are basically the Young Avengers. The biggest change in this relaunch is that the team has way more members. The original core members are still around but all the new faces had me wondering where they came from. Then there are the changes to some familiar characters. Amadeus Cho is now Brawn. Did something happen to his brain? Sam Alexander lost his Nova powers? Where did Snowguard come from? Is she Canadian? I'm sure if I kept reading all these questions will be answered as the kids go global in their mission to make a difference. Certainly the surprise villain on the last page piqued my curiosity.

 Heroes in Crisis #4 - Tom King (writer) Clay Mann (art) Tomeu Morey (colours) Clayton Cowles (letters). The cover shows Harley Quinn holding a smoking gun, standing over Wally West with one foot on his chest. If that doesn't get you to buy this comic book I don't know what will. We're four issues in to this murder mystery and I am slowly gaining some comprehension as to what Sanctuary is and how it relates to what's happening. My favourite thing this issue: the new Batgirl.

 Conan the Barbarian #1/LGY #276 - Jason Aaron (writer) Mahmud Asrar (art) Matthew Wilson (colours) VC's Travis Lanham (letters). The Life and Death of Conan part 1. For a time in my teens I was a rabid Robert E. Howard fanatic. I scoured book stores old and new for anything he wrote. I devoured his Conan books and cherished the ones with the covers by Frank Frazetta. I didn't start buying the Marvel original run of the comic book with #1 but purchased the very first issue (#4) that I saw on the spinner racks. I am waiting for the release of Volume One of the Conan Omnibus soon. Re-reading those Roy Thomas stories and relishing Barry Smith's art again is going to be a pleasure. I'm glad Jason Aaron is writing this new book. If anyone can capture the sense of adventure that R.E.H. did it's Jason. Mahmud Asrar's art is right up there with John Buscema so it's an easy decision to add this to my "must Read" list.