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maddiesup · 4 years

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Tag game!

I was tagged by @ohbabycupcakes thank u💖

RULES: Name 10 favorite characters from 10 different things then tag 10 people + leave comments on all of them

This is gonna be hard, where do I even start?

1) Keith (Voltron: Legendary Defender)

Okay I'm- trying not to laugh too hard because oh boy, this show was a complete mess. BUT Keith still stays as one of my favorite characters ever just because no matter how badly I was hurt by vld he'll always be precious to me 💖 He's hotheaded, cool and a lone wolf, but needs affection more than anyone else on the team. He's easy for me to relate to as I am more likely to push someone away than to keep them close just to avoid being hurt as well. His development is amazing tho and I love love him so much 😭 also it might be just that I have a soft spot for emo characters lmao

2) Todoroki Shoto (Boku no Hero Academia)

This just reinforces my statement earlier since Todoroki is pretty emo too :') But in a different way than Keith. If you are a part of bnha fandom you know he's generally a little bit overrated, but I couldn't help falling in love with him at first sight anyway lol His backstory is tragic but he keeps pursuing his dream and damn is he good at it. Also the combo of fire and ice is aesthetic goals. However, what I admire the most about Shoto is probably his loyalty to his friends, his will to fight and sometimes his goofy attitude (even if he probably isn't aware that he's being goofy lol) In conclusion: I love him, let's move on.

3) Uenoyama Ritsuka (Given)

Can I just stop to say how much I love given for a moment? Like I've never seen a bl anime/manga that would portray gay characters so respectfully 😭❤️ Ue is basically me gay panicking, I feel the boy so much :') OH also what's up with gays & guitars bc first given, then why r u and now also 2gether :') (I might be falling in love with this trope help) okay so: Ue is panicking when he starts liking Mafuyu but he handles it so well in a way? He doesn't deny his crush even if he is slow to notice it lol He's straightforward and sometimes a little bit rough around the edges, but even if he's supposed to be "the cool guy" we see him in the most hilarious settings and that just makes me love him all the more 💖 he respects Mafuyu and his boundaries and I want more of that in bl anime please

4) Eiji & Ash (Banana Fish)

Uhhhh this anime,,, I CANNOT choose between Ash and Eiji, I'm gonna forever see them as a pair and that's simply it. Ash is another emo one I would like to say that but he's actually not. He's backstory is heartbreaking and the life he has to live is dangerous and scary. He gets used to this reality where he has no one to rely on and no one to trust but then Eiji appears tearing his walls down and making him finally be able to show his soft and sensitive side to someone. Eiji is like a salve for his wounds and yes, I'm still emotional about it bc their relationship is one of the best developped I've ever seen. Their bond is so strong it's beautiful, they would literally die for each other. It's so apparent that they love each other and care for each other so much (don't mind me crying in the corner)

5) Percy Jackson (Percy Jackson & the Olympians)

PJ technically got me into fantasy/sci-fi in elementary school and it stays at the top of my favorite book series list ever (big props to Uncle Rick 👏) The whole series is funny and I would say pretty light-hearted even tho you know,,, Percy saves the world several times, lol, usual demigod things™. He's lovable. Son of Poseidon so he has seaweeds instead of a brain (or so you thought, he is brilliant at strategic planning and has a charisma to be a great leader), has a very good sense of humor, is loyal and would risk everything for his friends. Also he loves his girlfriend very much and I was crying while reading the House of Hades but no one needed to know that oh well. I'm also gonna mention Nico de Angelo here, since he fell in love with Percy (didn't we all tho) and was the first gay character I saw portrayed in the book and oh do I love him 😭💖

6) 707 (Mystic Messenger)

Was I losing sleep over this game? I was. Do I regret anything? Absolutely not. I think my choices are pretty boring tho, since Seven is literally everyone's favorite but oh boy there's a reason for that. Apart from being a talented hacker who knows too much (and I think is cautious of us the most at the start) he has a lovely happy-go-lucky personality composed of all the lame jokes, questions "have you eaten already" and anxiety (another emo one). He's that type of a character who will always try to make you laugh but you never know what's going on inside his head. He's mysterious and we don't get to know him well till his route so pretty much till the end of the game lol. Also he loves his brother, phd pepper, honey buddha chips and Elizabeth 3rd the most in this entire world and I love him for that

7) Evan Hansen (Dear Evan Hansen)

ANOTHER EMO ONE okay but hear me out Evan has social anxiety and its portrayal is almost too real for me. He makes a big oopsie which at the start seems like a little innocent lie but then snowballs to enormous sizes. He gains everything in this bargain, a best (dead) friend, a caring mother, a father, a girlfriend even - and then everything falls apart since it all is built on one fat lie. He makes a lot of mistakes and then some more but you get it and you feel for him, and you cry with him and you're happy for him. And when all of this is over you're glad that he's still there trying his best, taking it one day at a time. And sidenote: Ben Platt's voice is angelic and I love him as Evan 💖💖💖

8) Isak (SKAM)

Another gay panicking one. I'm starting to realize there's a set of traits that I particularly like in fictional characters lol But ye, when I was watching skam ofc it was the third season which gripped me the most and kept me on the edge, bc yet again Isak taking an "are you gay" test was way too real for me. He makes a lot of mistakes along the way of figuring out his sexuality and sometimes stuff with Evan becomes really messy (for both of them) but he stays with him nevertheless ❤️ Skam is literally so good in its portrayal of the characters :') Anyways: alt er love 💖

9) Viktor & Yuuri (Yuri on Ice)

Em, another one that I absolutely can't break up to just one bc how could I? Yuri on ice got me into skating ❤️ I went to an ice rink for the first time bc of this anime and I almost died but now look at me actually finishing my first three months of ice skating training and watching real life figure skating competitions :') Little did I know then. But they're not only my favourites bc of that, I genuinely love the development of their relationship from fan - idol through skater - couch to lovers and history makers in the end. I love how Yuuri is a ball of insecurities and how Viktor manages to reassure him. I love how Viktor fell in love with drunk Yuuri clinging to him. I love how at first Yuuri wasn't able to get too close to Viktor without getting flustered and it changes so drastically to them basically always holding onto each other. I love how Viktor was stuck with no inspiration but then Yuuri came and turned his world upside down. I love how they support and respect each other. I could probably go on into eternity like that and Yuri on ice isn't even the best anime I've ever seen but it's certainly my favourite one ❤️

10) Tutor (WHY R U)

I can't believe I'm so obsessed with thai dramas rn and I'm only gonna include Tor on this list smh He's mental attitude inspires me. He's able to hold so much and appears totally unfazed even if he's barely holding on inside. He's hardworking and doesn't want others to pity him since he can manage it all just fine. He has a kind heart, he's a wonderful friend (especially to Hwa, he always listens to her, gives her pieces of advise, supports her and tries to cheer her up). He never forgets to say thank you when he genuinely feels grateful. But as we've seen he also is passionate and when he loves he LOVES. Also he's the biggest tease to Fighter and I love him for that :') I am so satisfied just by seeing him happy, please do not change that whyru gods 🙏

As it appears I'm done .-. I have no idea what have just happened and if my rambling even makes sense but not that I care at this point. If you read this far, please drink some water now, that was a lot of reading to go through ❤️

Tagging: @wir-ro, @saecookie and any other 8 people who might want to ksks (im too tired to tag lmao)

Don't be like me and go to bed at reasonable hours despite this whole quarantine thing .-. thank again Doreen for tagging since it was really fun 🥺❤️

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mrneighbourlove · 5 years

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The War of Fire: Ch 4. Bloody Rescue

Ganondorf felt incredibly weak. It was like he had beem floating in a wave of nothingness for over a year, trapped in the limbo numbness. As his body bobbed up and down the river, he barely felt something dragging him out. His eyes started to get the colour back into them as he was pulled onto shore.

“W-what?”

“Relax. I think you might have a concussion.”

The King coughed up water, getting more of his senses back. Above him was a teenage girl with pale skin and long black hair. He then recognized her after registering her red piercing eyes. “L-Leere?”

She gave a light hearted smile. “Hey dad. You look like shit. Let me help you get inside.”

Ganondorf felt his head throbbing from pain. His vision was blurry, but even he could see flames rise above the hill in the distance.

“Their king is dead! Slay the Hylians!” Hasai warriors of the Skurge tribe surged across the fields of Hyrule at the remaining Hylian forces. Raising their hands, flames shot forward and burned away the battalions, scattering them. Zelda and Klinge had retried back to the castle, and moral was crippled for the defenders.

The Kikai Empire was full of warriors. This was glory. The smell of burning flesh of their enemies was ecstasy. One warrior laughed as he cut through soldiers screaming from the flames that they had been caught up in. The fires rose and shot forth, and the Hasai took more ground.

Ghirahim had lost sight of his master, fearing the worst. Looking down from the cliff side, he watched the Hasai overtake his battalion he had left behind. The bokoblins stood no chance as the Hasai scared them all into a corner. Once they had the monsters trapped, they slowly burned them to death. The magic of these invaders was dangerous indeed. The demon decided that retreating back to the castle would be the best course of action. Taking a horn, he blew it into the air.

Soldiers of Hyrule heard the sound and took notice. This battle was lost. “Retreat! Retreat back to the castle!”

Survivors scrambled to safety, catapult fire raining down on them. The Hasai wouldn’t advance past a certain point, but that didn’t mean they’d allow the forces of Hyrule a clean get away. Men, monsters, and horses flew into the air, fire frying the land. The Hasai shot fire into the air and raised their weapons into the air, giving a roar of victory into the air. They had won this battle.

Seras was practically giggling to himself as went back to the main camp. Bellum had Romtan engineers building a heavily fortified base on the valley top near the Gerudo Desert. The Prince was in such a good mood from his victory over Ganondorf that he even greeted the engineers as he passed by. “Good afternoon.”

The Romtan were heavily disturbed by the Prince being so courteous to them, but continued along their work. Seras was even impressed Bellum had quickly upgraded from a simple tent to a fortified cabin of sorts. Entering, the Prince gave a wink to one of the guards. “You’ll want to wait at my bedside after you hear what I have to say.”

Grand Admiral Bellum was calculating his next strike when Seras took the attention of the room. “Prince Seras. I take it your mission was a success?”

“Yes. I, Prince Seras of the Kikai Empire, have successfully killed Ganondorf Dragmire, King of Hyrule!”

Bellum gave a smile, placing his hand firmly on the Prince’s shoulder. He so wanted to Seras to grow out of his immaturity and prejudices he had learned from being a small child. Encouragement was key to change, and this was worth celebrating. “Well done Prince Seras. I am proud of your accomplishment.”

“I live to serve the spirit of the Empire. Our fire will control the world after all.”

“I-I want my mommy.” The sounds of a little girl broke the triumph of the room as T0-D entered with his prize. “Let me go!”

“Statement: Be silent, tiny meatbag.”

Seras grinned, his victory putting him into a twisted sense of happiness. But even he would not tolerate a brat ruining his fun mood. Turning to the little girl, he gave her slap across the face. Before anyone could interject, he launched a small blast of fire on her back. Kanisa gave a loud scream and started to cry from the pain of the tiny burn, until Seras held her mouth close. “Be. Quiet. Or I’ll burn all your hair off. Nod if you understand you little snot.”

Kanisa gave a teary nod. She was completely terrified by the ordeal. If she stayed quiet, she hoped she would see her parents and siblings again.

Grand Admiral Bellum held a light glare at the Prince. “That’s our hostage Prince Seras. Please do well to not harm her anymore. Commander Ordo.”

A Hasai stepped forward, giving a bow. “Yes Grand Admiral?”

“Go take the little Princess to the bunker at Beta-04 as planned. Hold a unit there until further orders. I will send Queen Zelda an order of surrender. If she doesn’t comply, you will execute the child.”

“Yes sir.” The soldier took the little princess and dragged her away to be transported. Kanisa prayed for someone to save her.

Seras was looking around outside for his sister, ecstatic to trade war stories. “Hey, gearhead. Where’s my sister?”

Bellum noticed that his personal Android was awfully quiet. It wasn’t like him. “T0-D. Report.”

“Statement: Princess Zannah was captured by the forces of Hyrule so that I could make my escape with the target.”

Seras’ mouth dropped low, instant disbelief taking over. Bellum’s eyes widened with shock, and even anger. “How can this be?”

“Confirmation: She engaged the Hero of Courage, Link, in one on one combat. The blonde meatbag played unfairly, launching a boomerang from behind as Zannah jumped for her mount. Honestly, it was very much a fluke that she was captured in the first place.”

Seras shook his head in denial. “No. She couldn’t have. She’s perfect.”

Bellum felt the silent fury build up in his heart. This complicated things. “Zannah must not be allowed to be used as a chip against us. I will send someone to deal with her at once.”

The Prince was taken aback by Bellum’s wording. “Deal with? You mean a rescue, correct? Not an assassination?”

“I will do what I must.”

“But-“

“Our duty comes first Prince Seras. Now go rest. You will have a town that needs to be decimated for our next strike in crippling Hyrule.”

Seras left the room, pulling at T0-D’s arm. “You need to go save my sister!”

“Negative: I cannot. Hyrule would be expecting me. I cannot assist.”

“You piece of scrap metal! You left her to die!”

“Correction: She told me to leave. I did not wish to do so, but we had lost our window of opportunity.”

Seras growled louder and louder until he launched a fire bolt into the air. “DAMN IT! I need to do SOMETHING to help her!”

“Observation: You appear to be very angry Seras. If you need assistance, perhaps you should ask your brother?”

The prince visibly turned pale from just the mention of that. “N-no. I won’t. Doing so will completely discredit Zannah and I.”

“Query: Than what will you do?”

“I… I don’t know.”

“Observation: I feel that given your current level of stress, you should relieve your body with one of the females in the camp. Or go on Bellum’s mission. Perhaps killing will help satisfy you. I’m sure Zannah will be able to free herself. She is very skilled.”

“She’s loyal to the kingdom. Which doesn’t mean she’ll want to escape…”

Rinku made her way down to the dungeon to see her captive. Having carried a bucket of ice cold water, she threw it on the princess to wake her up. “Hey! Rise and shine!”

Zannah gasped as she was shaken awake by the ice cold water. Moving her limbs, she found herself locked in a cell with some sort of silver gauntlets over her arms, keeping them tight together.

Her instinct were to use fire, however, she found herself unable to. The bonds made it hard to cast. “Clever girl….”

Rinku was in no mood for small talk or pleasantries. “I want to know where my sister is.”

“Who?”

“The little girl you kidnapped!” The Hylian Hero gripped the bars in fury.

Zannah wasn’t impressed. One with Rinku’s lack of control, but mostly with herself. She had been captured, bringing shame to her family, but more importantly, jeopardizing the success of the war. A dark thought came to her mind, one she held before. In order to save her honour, she’d have to die.

With a cruel smile, Zannah shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t really care. And at this point, she’s most likely dead by now.”

Rinku lost it. Opening the cell door, she walked right in and pushed Zannah against the wall, her hands squeezing around the fiery princess’ neck. “Go to hell!”

As Zannah started to feel her life be squeezed out second by second, Zelda entered the dungeon. “RINKU! STOP!”

Her mother’s voice snapped Rinku out of her wrath, dropping Zannah to the ground. “What?! She may have well got my little sister killed!”

“We can’t kill her. Not now.”

Rinku gripped Zannah by the collar. The Hasai Princess glared at Zelda. Damnit. She really did screw things up. And she was so close to dying too. Gasping for air, she gave a light laugh before speaking. “Nice to see mommy pull your collar. Not that you could kill me so easily.”

Rinku was about the yell back, when Zelda stopped her. “Tell me dear, what is your name?”

“I am Princess Zannah of the Kikai Empire. And I know you well, Queen Zelda of Hyrule.”

The Queen quirked an eyebrow in interest. “I see. Do you have other family here in Hyrule?”

Zannah growled. “Not something I’d tell you.”

“Yeah. She has this real stuck up brother.” Rinku added in. “You and your brother are real pieces of work.”

“You and your entire country can burn.”

“You first.” Both girls locked their menacing glares at each other. “Where’s my sister you bi-“

“Rinku! That’s enough!” Zelda commanded the attention of the room with her authoritative tone. “Now young lady, I’d like to know where you have taken my daughter.”

Zannah shook her head. “That’s a secret I will take to the grave.”

Rinku was about to snap Zannah’s neck. “That can be arranged.”

Klinge entered the dungeon, heavy with news Ghirahim provided him. “Zelda. Ganondorf has been defeated.”

All three woman turned to him, surprise quickly taking over. “Commander. Explain.”

“According to Ghirahim he was overwhelmed by firepower, and he fell into the river. We haven’t found a body. And the Hasai have taken the Hylian Ridge. There forces gather, for what I can only assume is an attack on Hyrule Castle’s west side.”

Zannah gave a grin. Her brother had succeeded in his mission. “So the King of Hyrule is dead…”

Rinku turned back to her. “You’ll find my dad is not so easily killed. Without a body you have no victory yet.”

“We’ll see.”

Klinge turned his attention to the captive in the cell. “So, this is one of the Hasai royals I presume?”

“You presume correct.”

“Where have you taken Princess Kanisa?”

“I won’t speak a word to you.”

“We shall see about that.” Klinge moved past Zelda and Rinku, entering the cell. “I’m sure that you are aware of key staging grounds. And I’d assume that since you attempted to kidnap Princess Kanisa, you would be aware of where you needed to take her.”

Zannah was uncompromising in her silence. “Death before dishonour.”

“There are fates far worse than death my dear.”

Before Zelda or Rinku could stop him, Klinge took his gauntlets, and pressed deep into Zannah’s skull. “Where is her location?”

Zannah screamed aloud, blood quickly draining down her face. “S-STOP!”

Zelda would not stand for this act of barbarism. “Klinge! Stop this at once! Release her!”

“I owe you nothing Zelda.” Klinge plunged a little deeper, twisting his fingers around. “The location!”

Rinku was already grabbing the Master Sword if she needed to use it. “KLINGE! You’re killing her!”

Zelda was ready to cast her magic if she needed to, but she wanted to be diplomatic. “If you respect Ganondorf, you WILL listen to my order! Release her!!!”

Klinge wanted to continue. He wanted to make this girl suffer. His squad was butchered in her mission. She wanted to avenge Samson. But Zelda’s words held onto him more than he expected. Letting go of Zannah, he stepped away. “As you wish…”

Rinku was mad at Zannah for pulling the wool over her eyes, and for taunting her at her failure, but she never wanted this for the Hasai. “Zannah! Just breathe. Don’t fall asleep!”

Zelda and Klinge meet eye to eye, furious at each other. “Commander. We don’t torture our enemies.”

“This is war Zelda. Do you wish to see Kanisa again?”

“Not at the cost of becoming MONSTERS Klinge!”

“I am a monster Zelda. One you made me into.”

Zelda was getting sick of his attitude towards her. He always held this animosity towards her at best, hatred at worst and most felt. “I was not the one who killed you. Leave Commander.”

Klinge walked away, not caring to engage her any further. Once he was gone, Zelda quickly rushed forward to the cell. Raising her hand to Zannah’s head, she focused a spell from her hand, and healed her wounds. “Rinku. Get her some water and a cloth.”

As her daughter went to the next room, Zelda finished up the final touches. “I can’t heal the scars. But no one should see them if you keep growing your beautiful hair.”

Rinku rushed back, quickly using the damp cloth to clean the blood off Zannah’s face. “Don’t lose conscious. Mom is more of a medic than a doctor. She can’t take the pain away, but she’ll stop the damage.”

Zannah was still in a daze, but the cool water felt good on her face. Confusion filled her mind, however. “Why… why are you being…. so nice to me?”

“We treat others with humility.” Zelda answered softly.

Zannah shook her head. “Go…. We are at war. I’m sorry… but one of us dying is inevitable.”

“I believe otherwise.”

“You hope otherwise.”

“One can have hope in their beliefs, Princess Zannah…”

Rinku was unsure how to cope with this interaction. War was terrible. She tried to reach back into her memories of any lives that took part in open warfare. They were hard to find, and it was painful to look for negative memories. Her thoughts were shaken when a spy waved her over. “I’ll be back in a bit mom. I can’t stay down here.”

“I understand. Get some air out from this awful place.”

Rinku walked away with the spy. “What is it?”

“We think we might have a lead on Princess Kanisa’s whereabouts.”

Rinku nearly screamed out in shock. “Really?!”

“Yes. A Rito spotted Hasai shuffling towards a hidden cave at the Faron Grasslands.”

Rinku nodded, checking her equipment. “I’ll go immediately.”

“Commander Klinge has already headed out.”

“He has? I better hurry to assist him than.” Grabbing her equipment, Rinku could only hope she wouldn’t be too late to save her sister.

Klinge had left his horse behind 100 meters back. He moved stealthily through the under growth, making sure the tree line left no room for the sun to reflect off his armour. Stalking through, he finally laid eyes on a Hasai soldier crouched behind a tree. It seemed that they were having the entrance covered. Looking around, the Commander deduced three more soldiers around the perimeter of the entrance. Crawling around, Klinge made his move.

The first guard had no idea Klinge was behind him. The undead gerudo snatched him up and swiftly snapped his neck, turning the head 180 degrees backwards. With his first victim dead, the commander continued sneaking to his next target. Using his knife, the next Hasai felt a hand going over her mouth, than a felt the blade pierce her throat from behind. Her eyes looked down to see the steel poke out her throat, and it was the last sight she ever saw as her head fell to the ground shortly after.

Klinge tossed his body aside and threw the knife into the head of the third one. As the fourth heard some commotion, he turned from his tree to fire an arrow at a target. When he saw no one was there, he went back behind the tree to check his flank. This action was rewarded with a strap of leather going around the tree and the Hasai’s head. Being pulled against the tree, the Hasai screamed and kicked, even launching fire from his hands, but Klinge did not care. The Hasai’s screams grew more grotesque as his skull popped and cracked. Klinge kept pulling, until all he heard was the sickening wet sounds against the tree and felt his target go still.

Inside the cave, Kanisa was crying to herself. The Hasai barely feed her, and they didn’t give her any warmth. The torch light to illuminate the cave was no sun. Commander Ordo was sharpening his weapons and marking his map for invasion points of interest, when a heavy knock came at the door at the end of the hall. All the soldiers turned to the disturbance, not expecting anyone to enter. Ordo rose, pointing to Kanisa. “Get against the wall.”

Turning back to the door, the Hasai summoned flames in their hands and drew weapons. The knocking stopped, and the door creaked open to reveal darkness. In the middle of the darkness, a glowing sword of fire shined from the darkness, illuminating Klinge. He wanted to give these Hasai a taste of their own death that they had come boldly into Hyrule with.

The Hasai were momentarily alarmed by the giant man in black armour. Commander Ordo threw his hand down to give the order of attack. Klinge raised his shield to block the stream of combined fire bolts sent his way. With a swift horizontal swing, he cut the first Hasai in half. Moving to his left, he smashed another soldier into the wall with his shield. The soldier crumpled to the floor, and Klinge lifted his foot to bring it down and crush the skull of his enemy, helmet and all. Running behind a pillar, he threw his shield like a frisbee against the wall. It bounced off, and the sharp edges flew into the neck of another soldier. With poor luck though, the Hasai didn’t die, garbling blood as he fell to the floor.

Another soldier clashed blades with Klinge. The flames off Klinge’s magic fire sword shimmered. He strong enough to support the blade against another with one hand, and reaching out, he grabbed the enemy by the head, and slammed them against the wall. He continued to do this, before turning them around to take the full brunt of some flames as a human shield. The undead commander kicked the body towards the group using their magic against him. Lifting his blade, Klinge showed no mercy towards the Hasai, hacking them to pieces with his sword. Their screams filled the room, one even catching fire. The undead commander dodged and parried around strikes and bolts, cutting down man after man. One woman screamed as her hand was split in half from her raising a shot of fire, before quickly being silenced.

Commander Ordo couldn’t believe his men were being torn apart. Focusing his energy, he trained his eyes on Klinge’s sword. He was an elite commander of the Skurge tribe. Fire was his element. With the sword being the perfect target, the commander amplified the flames within. Klinge was about to hack into another soldier, when he noticed his blade vibrating. Before he could react, the sword detonated in his face. Flames swarmed over Klinge, and the Hasai Commander cheered. “Got you, you menace!”

As other Hasai approached the burning mass, Klinge jumped from the flames, summoning his great sword. With one swing, he cut through the halves of two soldiers. Without flames on his blade, blood sprayed out from the corpses. Klinge would punish all those who kidnapped Kanisa. With not even a growl, Klinge ran forward, clashing against the Hasai that remained. He took a fire bolt to the side of his chest, but he ignored the pain to push forward. The Hasai could probably manage to burn him away with time, but they had ran out of that the moment he entered the room.

With flick of his finger, an energy spear pierced the head of the soldier that shot him, his body falling towards Kanisa. Soon all that was left to give Klinge a threat was the Hasai Commander. Charging both his hands together, he launched a large steady stream of fire at Klinge. The undead Gerudo threw his great sword, the blade spinning horizontally through the fire and straight into the torso of the Skurge. His red eyes widened as he looked down to see the flames flutter from his hands and the blood leak from his torso. “B-but my conquest.”

Klinge walked forward and raised the man into the air by the blade. “Perhaps you can conquer your personal demons in hell.” With a twist of the blade, the Hasai fell to the ground in half. Klinge turned to find Kanisa, only to discover her hiding in the corner. When he stepped forward, she screamed. “NOOOOOO!!! GO AWAY!!!”

“Kanisa. It’s me, Commander Klinge.”

The young girl didn’t care. To her, this entire experience had been the same. Horrible violence. One incident after the other. This slaughter was no different than the one she witnessed by that awful, awful machine by looking through the key hole. Klinge looked down to see himself covered in blood. He didn’t even notice the arrow that hit his side until it was too late. Groaning, he pulled it out to find Rinku aiming the bow at him. She was shocked to see him, but Kanisa’s screams made her on full alert with shoot first, ask questions later on the mind.

All the bodies were a terrible sight. She knew Klinge was destructive, but this was the first time she ever saw his handy work. There had to be over two dozen bodies in this hall and the last one she passed. Putting her bow away she ran past the Darknut to pick her little sister up. She was quick to shush her and rock her. “It’s me Kanisa. It’s big sis Rinku. I got you. You’re going to safe now. You’re going to see mommy.”

Rinku made sure to hide Kanisa’s eyes from the bodies. As the three of them made it to the outdoors, Rinku took a hard look at Klinge. “You do what you do best. Stay away from Kanisa for now, and you cover my flank.”

Klinge was shocked by the way Kanisa had looked at him. Screamed at him in terror. At Rinku’s command, he could only nod. “Of course…”

Without any delay, the three rode as fast as they could back to Hryule castle.

~ Zannah slept against the wall, when she suddenly heard shifting outside her cell door. A guard fell to the ground, a black eye on his face. Stepping from the shadows, her bodyguard gave a bow. “Princess Zannah. We must hurry.”

“Fisk?”

“Yes Princess Zannah. Are you alright?”

“I think I’ll be.”

Fisk opened her cell door and quickly went to work on her lock. “One moment Princess Zannah.”

“Fisk, how did you get here?”

“Grand Admiral Bellum put in the order for a select group to either rescue or assassinate you. I couldn’t allow the latter to happen, so I decided to act on my own accord.” He finished the last of her locks, setting her down. “I came through the underground and up the sewage under the castle. Had to hurry through. Sensed monsters, but it was much safer than storming the castle.”

Zannah gripped her wrists as she was finally set free. “Thank you Fisk. Your assistance is most appreciated.”

Her bodyguard looked down at the guards that he put unconscious. “Shall we leave no witnesses?”

The Hasai Princess looked down the Hylians, thinking over the kindness Zelda showed her. Shaking her head, she simply walked away. “No. They aren’t worth our time or energy. Take me back to homebase Fisk.”

“Yes Princess Zannah, as you command.”

Princess Zannah gave a silent hope that she wouldn’t have to be the one to kill Zelda. In fact, for a brief moment, she wondered if the fighting was worth it. Her mind tossed those thoughts aside. Must have been the trauma to her head. Her people needed a new home. And they’d use their power to take it. No matter the cost.

Previous Ch. https://mrneighbourlove.tumblr.com/post/183221881656/the-war-of-fire-ch-3-the-kidnapping

Next Ch. https://mrneighbourlove.tumblr.com/post/185219415216/the-war-of-fire-ch-5-tales-of-the-flame

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unorthodork · 7 years

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I don’t really like saying anything uber mega personal here, because I’m sorta just here to reblog relative stuff, and maybe write a little? However, I feel I need to get some stuff off my chest. Depression is perhaps the most devastating mental war there is. It is at moderate difficulty to enter such a war zone, although ridiculously easy to remain. You have no choice to vacate and return to your family, only to man the guns and arm yourself to endure this one soldier battle. The rivalry between joy and depression plays tug of war with your mental stability, a lone troop desperate to escape. Joy enrolls and deports you to the battlefield with little to no notice, a lingering presence of an infinite vast No Man’s Land. Tarnished terrain with jagged sharp branches that disperse from ash brown bark makes the land look like a filter. Not a single barricade in place, you trek onward with the assumption this first passage will be simple to cross. A few miles in, unsuspecting of such a disturbance, you fall into a trench. Luckily it isn’t very deep, minor as if it were unfinished. You dig your fingers into the Earth, flinching as you feel a rock attempt to slip beneath your nail. You check your flesh, unscathed as it has always been, many would compliment and envy your complexion and condition. Upon settling both feet onto the terrain, you step on a shard of glass that barely pricks the heel of your sneakers. “I may need a change of footwear more suitable,” you conclude, pulling out a pair of pristine combat boots. Your eyes dart between your current favorite pair of rainbow sneakers, and the midnight black combat boots. Reluctantly, you change pairs and stuff the favored item into your rucksack. Wiggling your toes and looking down, you realize you much preferred the saturated and colorful option over the grim, achromatic resort. The petal falls free from the rose, the first chip off the old block that is your happiness. The glass caught between the soles go unnoticed by your newly recruited self, properly suited for the rubble now. As your mind begins to wander and ramble, distracted you trip over a small sack barricade. A hand swats away dust and pebble nestled into the fabric of ocean blue denim jeans, yet again a favorite article of clothing. A light sigh slips between parted, plush lips as a set of leg pads jerk free from a small compartment. Strapped tight around plump thighs and durable knees, the color is a dim grey that instantly makes you miss the vibrancy of your trousers. Weeks fly by as quickly as the crows overhead, days of the week less monitored than prior. Was it Monday, or Wednesday? Perhaps it was a Friday or Sunday? The silver watch fastened around an overused wrist broke long ago, and so you lost your track of time. Barricades, debris, rivers and trenches have came your way and ultimately resulted in an entire change of your wardrobe. “I won’t be leaving this place with all intact.” Thought to be alone, the pistol within its holster is gripped firmly upon a shadowy figure approaching. “Hey friend, I’ll help you find your way about. It’s awfully lonely here, isn’t it?” spoke a scrawny civilian, decked in gear alike yourself which indicated they may have been a solider rather than common folk. You nod and accept the invitation of their company, friendship is a good thing after all; they appear wholly capable of surviving these harsh conditions, the battle will be easier together. What is it you’re looking for, pal?” “Um, it’s the guy who created all of this..destruction. The bodies,” You gesture your thumb towards one of the many surrounding piles of lifeless corpses, sided by various weapons. Their eyes widened in fear, taking a hasty few steps back before exclaiming in a shaky manner “Oh no, not it.” “You’re seeking it,” “Yes, I am? Who exactly are we talking about here?” They shook their head, retrieving a dull blade beside a body they for some reason took interest in. Aged blood the shade of rust was smeared by saliva coating a slim thumb, much to your surprise. “Not a who, a what. Maybe a who depending on how far gone you are.” You tilt your head in confusion. “It is a gastly demon you see, one I advise to steer clear of.” In a battle stance, you shake your head triumphantly, “I will act accordingly when I see it, then.” The following crackle of vocal cords startle you, this man hasn’t been so loud, every word spoken pillow soft. Anxiety racks your nerves and thought process, heart beat increasing. “You can’t see it, useless kid. Do you lack sense? It’s invisible or otherwise similar to dense smoke, kind too. It has to be to ensure the thoughts can get in, now let’s travel onwards.” You hadn’t thought much of the insult, as it’s been heard so many times you assume it’s likely correct, that you lack sense. Useless was a new one, however speaking up may not be quite beneficial, so you follow his lead now. A sickly crooked smile highlights already wrinkled features, skin crinkled even more so thanks to his expression as you begin to feel inferior in comparison to this solider. He knows more about this creature, after all. Months have sailed along in resemblance to the battleships that once littered the now surrounding body of water. During this journey you were fortunate enough to meet another survivor, and learn more about Sixten, the other occupant of your party. Anorexic and skeletal in result of such, he forcefully kept true to making his body reject all meals. You found this out the one night he’d stripped himself of his sweater and faced the dead trees, the only sound other than the roaring, luminescent fire being gagging and violent hacks. Sixten Davis, Luci Furr, and yourself. You and Luci have grown quite close, a relationship that blossomed gradually although now somewhat sketchy. Being with her, you've learned it's much to blame yourself over the latter; Hearing seemingly endless complaints and witnessing shed tears pool at the underside of her pointed chin. The loyalty established is as well questionable, as many a nights may you find hear her lilted giggling and Sixten's voice mingling in the distance. "We've met the end of land, sea is only ahead," You exclaim with a hint of sadness, the life and essence you once contained now in bottled amounts. "Make yourself useful then, and begin to craft a raft," Luci giggled at the intentional rhyme in his demand. "Perhaps you can help?" You inquire sharply, eyes narrowed and brows knitted together in irritation. Luci was quick to defend Sixten's honor, unlike yourself. "He's on watch for any more demons, don't be rude to him. We don't have to help you, you're luck to have us." Relax, the therapist once said it helps to breathe deeply. "This is why I must insult them, I don't get why they can't just learn." Your eye twitches, ire boiling in the pit of your stomach. Inhale. "It's their fault anyways, dragging us along on this trip," "Ungrateful as always." Exhale. "You both treat me like absolute trash! How is it my fault, when Luci is the one who ate all the rations? When you're the one who screwed the calculations and sent us on a run around in the forest?!" You soon regret this outburst, silence numbing your skin as it tingles and the palms of your hands grow clammy. A year has driven by now, and you've forgotten the type of car you'd once desired, otherwise you would compare the statements. Luci robbed you of your supplies and self esteem, whilst Sixten had vicked you of your prized physical attribute. A once clear complexion was now littered with scars from a sharpened blade, the same dull knife Sixten pocketed and spent time repairing afterwards. To spite you, he'd carved many insults into the flesh of your stomach and chest to remind you of who you are. Tired limbs swam through filthy waters to the next slice of land, fragile bones creaked and moaned like old wood from the constant maneuver of land not one bit level with the rest. Here you stand now, before the ghoul you've long searched for. It depressed you how many trials you'd suffered just to see it was exactly as Sixten described it, smoke. "Hello, it." "Please, call me friend." It's voice echoed and repeated as if someone played multiple audio clips at the same time from different tabs. It's tone was inviting, warmth enveloping you as it approached a single step closer. You shook my head hastily in rejection, fearing now what friendship's purpose was, and what it truly meant. It's hand was firm and constricting on your shoulder however, despite the vain attempt at warding it away. Physical contact has grown void in your life, it's hold served pleasant and home-like. "I cannot hurt you, my dear. Please, invite me in." It's request made little sense, nonetheless you accepted it. Everything sounded fuzzy and unclear with it's grasp growing uncomfortable now, the pain felt relieving though, you make no attempt to pull back. Slowly nodding, it smiles, "Good, very good." You realize it didn't smile, rather you visioned it. Charming little nothings were whispered softly and rotated about in your membrane, and the cold pressure of a pistol to your temple failed to wake you. "You've endured so much pain, why not join me, and lessen the amount of hurt you experience? You don't have to feel it any more." Hot tears streamed down cool blemmished cheeks, calloused fingers pressing tighter into the weapon. "Pull the trigger." For a mere moment you debated tugging it back, before your eyes widened upon seeing yourself stand upright before you. The curve of plush lips complemented untouched skin. A rainbow tie die t-shirt to match your rainbow sneakers, Converse brand just like you liked them. Ocean blue denim jeans. "The sooner you do, the quicker the pain will vanish." Beside that image was the current you, mirrored in horrific fashion. This wasn't the you everyone would recognize and remember, certainly not the one you'd wanted to be. Dusty combat boots that faded away from their once true color of midnight black, split from the now flat soles. Loosely hanging padding on your legs, arms, and chest. Greasy locks strewn about a grimey forehead, dandruff flakes caked onto your scalp. Ocean blue denims now faded to an ash color, a tiedie shirt near black and white. A trembling hand pulls up the shirt to reveal carved flesh, reading adjectives like "Stupid," "Useless," and "Weak." A violent scream echoes, and a bang follows. The trigger was pulled.

#depressive #depression #suicide #trigger warning #anorexia #writing

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surelypovichjr · 6 years

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Surely Gets a Brazilian, Part 2: Waxing Poetic On My Big Olympics Scoop

Part 1 of my Brazilian adventure can be found here.

Part 2

A plane touches down at Galeão International Airport. Amongst its passengers a writer, a great writer, a man, naturally. But this man is not just any writer—no— this man is a sportswriter, sent south undercover of night on a mission of remarkable import—to bravely type up an Internet article about athletic events played by young people.

Of course, the man had been an athlete in his salad days; a backup point guard at Charles W. Woodward High in Rockville, Maryland. No slouch on the hardcourt, the boy averaged nearly several points per game—he set the team record for highest three point shot percentage in a season, with a damn perfect 100% accuracy on one attempt, in the final thirty seconds of a junior year thrashing of Whitman High—a school record that stands to this day. (Editor’s Note: Charles Woodward High School closed in 1987. Today, the building operates as Tilden Middle School.)

That being said, it was clear that the boy simply wasn’t cut from the same athletic cloth as his contemporaries, like DeMatha’s Adrian Dantley or even his teammate and one-time bar mitzvah partner, Chip Rosenbaum; a slew of physical detractments inherited from the boy’s German ancestors had taken its toll on his portly frame.

Dantley’s DeMatha squad. Guess who they lost to that one time? Yers Surely!

Chip would often poke fun at his friend’s grotesquely wide Silesian ankles and thin birdlike arms, which were viewed as a sign of attractiveness amongst the aristocracy of the 19th century Holy Roman Empire. In fact, the boy was thrown out of the Adas Israel Hebrew School when he joked that no one in his family had lifted a weight since his great-great-great-great grandfather helped build the pyramids at Giza. Despite its bald-faced ludicrousness, the veracity of this statement has yet to be overturned.

Even though Chip would ceaselessly lampoon him, the two remained good friends for a time, even if they did constantly compete, and argue, oh how they argued! Constantly! Most of the times it was about mundane shit but other times, it got heated—like the time the two debated for six hours about which joint made the best matzoh ball soup in the Washington area. Chip was a Hofberg’s guy while his friend couldn’t get enough of the Silver Diner’s delicious piping hot broth—Chip couldn’t understand how one’s mouth could take such punishment. To settle the matter, the two spent all day playing hooky from school, driving all throughout the Washington area, avoiding truancy officers and tasting soups. Their disagreement remained...the friendship was never the same after that.

A 1950s menu from Hofberg’s Kosher Delicatessen. JHSGW Collections, gift of Ann Hofberg Richards.

Still, despite his horrifying asthma, the boy possessed a certain intelligence that more than made up for his Transylvanian feet and congenital gout. The writer had always played basketball with a mental grip that sometimes escaped the Chip Rosenbaums of the world, and as the years wore on and the modicum of athletic prowess that he thinly grasped bid adieu to his flabby fat fuck body, the man found that he retained the capacity to understand the idiosyncracies of the game, to comment on that which he could no longer do, to criticize those that could still perform, to yell and bemoan the way in which Adrian Dantley couldn’t hit a free throw to save his whore mother’s life.

Knock knock?

Who’s there?

It’s me, sportswriting, and I’m here to tell you that you are a natural fit for this profession.

The man was pudgy now but actually still very attractive in a weird I wanna fuck that old guy kinda way. Oh, If only he could be twenty in his sixty-seven years old brain! Why, the great writer would show these world class Olympic athletes a thing or two, no question, Carl. He'd probably fuck their girlfriends too...like he did Chip Rosenbaum’s steady behind the Bethesda Hot Shoppes after the Danny Gatton show in ‘78...but of course he could still totally make women orgasm a lot, a no-brainer given his legendary girth. His dick works very well, I'm told. But that is a whole host of other great stories the well-endowed man, who is actually me, will one day tell, obviously some names will have to be changed— legal reasons—ongoing cold cases—but that's neither here nor there.

The Hot Shoppes where I made it with this hot redhead who went by the name of Sherri Epstein after a Danny Gatton show back in ‘78. Ask for the Mighty Mo—fantastic burger—also the nickname for my crank.

Deplaning onto the tarmac, the veteran reporter finds himself smack dab in the middle of Brazil, sent to Rio over two years before any other sportswriter. Six hundred days. Six hundred days for one lone wolf to mush out ahead of the pack, to befriend the slighted, to lift up the downtrodden, and maybe, lend a helping hand. Sledding through the airport, the man stops to buy a sandwich, an exotic one he's never tasted before. The talented writer takes a long slow bite of the sandwich, which has some kind of sauce whose flavor he cannot place, unfamiliar and unArbys-like on his undiscerning sportswriter palate. Discarding the unsatisfying meal, he goes outside, where a dog, a husky mix of some sort, saunters up to greet him. The man looks with some curiosity at the puppy, who is slow and confused in returning his gaze. With a gentle shrug the dog takes a whiz all over the man’s polyester slacks...six hundred days left to go...so much for a leg up, I guess.

In line at the taxi stand, the writer suck into my nostrils some of Brazil’s finest air. Immediately I find myself wholly reviled by the fetid stench that has taken root in my deepest olfactory senses.

“Smells like corruption,” says the man, wretching on a second lungful.

Sherri Epstein.

Waiting for me outside is a prepubescent punker holding a can of my favorite ginger ale.

“We meet again,” says a tall boy with strawberry hair.

“Yeah, uh, who are you?”

“I’m Trevor, your photographer...I bailed you out after the thing with your child support and your altercation with the North Bethesda Police Department.”

“Doesn’t ring a bell. You have to understand, I get bailed out of jail quite a bit for altercations with the North Bethesda Police Department.”

“Really?”

“Obviously not, what the hell is wrong with you? I’m a model fuckin’ citizen,” I say, swigging the ginger ale.

“Soo, you do remember me then?”

“Honestly. No.”

“Okay, well, if you wanna just follow me,” he says opening the passenger door to his rental car. “Bill sent me your flight itinerary and told me to scoop you up so we can get started. Only got a couple years til this whole Olympics thing starts, hehe.”

The writer has been married enough times to know that this will be a terrible match. Best for us to just go our separate ways now. Call the service, explain yer still under the warranty, and they'll send the gal back to one of the countries with a -stan suffix, no questions asked. That's the ticket.

“I don't need you or your fancy camera,” he tells his lame photographer.

“This is an iPhone,” he says.

“And this middle finger is an I-hate-you. Make like an omelette and flip, ‘fore I get mad.”

“No one’s gonna tie me down,” says the writer, as Trevor gets back into his car and drives away. Bill’s heard the stories. The man thinks he can babysit a Povich. The penis wheels on that guy, muses the man, shaking my head.

With the chaperone gone, Surely Povich Jr. is ready to plunge taint deep into my Rio adventure.

My first stop is the library, natch, where Yers Surely spends upwards of an hour doin hardcore research on everything blue, yellow, and green the colors that are on the Brazilian flag, I soon find out. There's also a River whose naming rights have been purchased by one of the world's largest online book stores—might this be the connection I need to root out the corporate corruptions? Time will tell. 599 more days to get to the bottom of it.

The librarian’s name is Isabel, a meek and pretty girl in that traditional sort of way. Isabel seems like a very simple girl, shy, but helpful, unconfidently pursing her lips even though she says that she’s been working here for a few years now. I nod and look into Isabel’s hazel eyes, which are obscured by a pair of bifocals, reading glasses, necessary for perusing the many books that are held in this library. Isabel laughs in a way that I like but cannot put my finger on, lilting with a femininity that I myself do not possess. Her hair is the color of a box of blonde hair coloring, blond and yellow, cropped into a nest at the top of her head with a pencil. She also had great cans.

“Call me Izzy,” she says, pointing me towards several key books on South American corruption.

“Most of these are in Portuguese,” I say, drawing a frowny face on one of the covers.

“You will have to compensate the library for the damage to the book jacket,” says Izzy.

Content with my progress, I decide that it’s time to knock on back to my Airbnb to smoke a ferocious doob.

“Hasta la an hour or so,” I tell my librarian friend.

Home is a five story walk up near the Copacabana. My grand nephew, Mike Kemp had found the place on the World Wide Web. the proprietor Jorge couldn't be a nicer guy. The minute I checked in he was offering me all the good stuff, killer Amazonian Broccoli, Yayo de Janeiro, and also some kinda hallucinogen made from a poison dart frog--I could already tell that Jorge was really a top landlord, even if he was a talking dolphin now, which I thought was a very strange choice to make on his part.

Stoned on frog dust, I check email to find a missive from long-time ladyfriend Sun Xi, or rather, her lawyer, one Warren M. Wagglestein:

Dear Surely,

As you are well aware, you have been deficient in your payment of child care and support for Ms. Xi and her child, Ping Povich. You are in arrears for back payments in the amounts of $4,674.89, pretty much all payments since you received the results of your blood test.

Mr. Povich, I understand that you are a sportswriter in an ever-dwindling media landscape of diminishing returns for your quality reporting on great men of sport. Nonetheless, it is our legal obligation to inform you that all wages earned within the United States or for U.S. based employers will result in the immediate garnishment of your wages for purposes of covering these back payments.

In essence, I strongly advise you not to return to the North Bethesda area. Sun Xi and I are very happy together-- we are engaged to be married at the Pooks Hill Marriott this spring. Moreover, your son, Ping, has begun studies at Brandeis University. He no longer wishes to be a sportswriter like his father. You can imagine that his mother and I are merrily elated at his wise decision to become an athlete.Young Ping is quite the swimmer these days. Very impressive.

Stay in Brazil, Surely!

Warren

What a mockery Ping has made of the Povich name! A fucking athlete. Truly a disgrace.

The Grosvenor Market, which I am no longer banned from frequenting. Stone’s throw from both my duplex and the Pooks Hill Marriott. I threw a stone at it one time after my Milano’s were all melted. I got banned cuz of that.

Putting down Warren’s letter, I can't help but think to myself what Dad would do in a situation such as this one. I remember the time he recounted the occasion of his big story on Ty Cobb. Of course, Dad hated that racist Cobb but not as much as he loved the way that openly proud member of the Ku Klux Klan ran those bases.

“It’s always important to remain objective,” Dad said. “The story is bigger than how much I hate Ty Cobb for being racially insensitive and beating minorities within inches of their lives. It’s about the baseball and how he ran those bases dammit. That's the story that needs to be told. Not the assaults on minorities. Leave that fluff for the tabloids. You're a sportswriter, son. That's a sacred thing.”

Dad was right about this responsibility...Which is why I decided to stick it out around Brazil to see what happened with the Olympic Games. Besides, My prospects for earning pay stateside were pretty much scuttled. As such, I did what I knew dad would to pay for Ping’s tuition. Not pay for it at all and Wait for the little fucker to age out of being a dependent...textbook Povich move. It was just like Dad’s many different families and my 10 half-brothers who came to contest his will back in 1998. Now that's what I call a family reunion!

“Surely, yer a chip off the old block,” Dad would say, if he were still alive and not floating above me in an ethereal amphibian induced hallucination.

“Thanks, Dad,” I'd reply.

I just remembered that one of my half-brothers is named Caleb...wonder how he's doing.

Still tripping my crank off, I get a yellow taxi cab back to the library, as there’s a hardcore skin joint next door, whose books boobs I wanna check out.

The City of Goddess is a gold medal strip club nary a stone’s throw away from the Biblioteca Nacional; it’s also very close to one of the modern world's most horrifying slums, which in Portuguese-speak are exotically referred to as horrifying favelas.

Indeed, many of the sex workers employed by the City of Goddess hail from these highly impoverished locales, where the money they earn stripping for members of the Brazilian Parliament and International Olympics Committee, are passed down to their families and those neighbors in need.

“Mr. Povich, is that you?” asks a stripper, in nuthin’ but a 100 years of solitude themed g-string.

“Hey Isabel!” I exclaim, recognizing my helpful librarian.

I watch as Izzy sashays her way down the catwalk, admiring her provocative bikini bottom that features the tired hand of an aged farmhand white knuckling a banana. Is it suggestive of a boner, perhaps, but also, the plight of unfair labor practices in the Americas.

Frog I tripped balls on.

“So Surely, did you find someone to translate the book on Rio’s corrupt political class that I placed on your workstation, earlier today?”

“Unfortunately, I haven’t had the chance. Unless...”

“Meet me in the champagne room,” she replies.

“Sounds good Izzy. Are we gonna talk sex stuff. Maybe negotiate a price for services?”

“We can talk about that...or we can talk about...other stuff,” she says, grinding on my slacks, finally dry from all the dog urine that had accumulated earlier in the day. “For instance, in Rio, the poor and marginalized are never too far away from those places where millions of dollars in public money are being spent to build a volleyball stadium.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“You're a reporter aren't you?

“One of the best!”

“Doing an exposé on corruption before the Olympic Games?

“I believe so!”

“So write that down.”

“That’s a good idea, Izzy. Say do you know where the guy with all the skirt steak went? He was just here a minute ago and, well, I guess maybe he’ll be in the VIP area.”

Sure enough, he is in the VIP area, where I bear witness to a schmorgasbord of greased palms. All around me are good looking men, the bourgeois upper-class of Rio mixed with the seedy underbelly of the city’s criminal classes, blended together in pursuit of big tits and the best all you can eat buffet this side of the equator.

“Be careful who you talk to, Surely. These are some heavy hitters,” says Izzy, cozying up to a table of men to pour them a bottle of expensive vodka. One of the men in the party seems to know my librarian friend better than the rest, and after a moment of whispering in her ear, he seems receptive to an introduction.

“Mr. Povich, Isabel has told me so much about you,” says a man, dressed dapper in pants that aren’t soaked in urine.

“Do I know you?”

“It’s been years Surely, but indeed we do.

My mind is clouded from jet lag and the psychotropic poison of brazil’s most endangered frog, but still somewhere in my deepest recesses I slowly look past the man’s impeccable tan. That smile. The chai necklace...

“I knew it was you...I recognized those East German ankles from across the club. It’s me, Chip Rosenbaum!”

“Holy shit!” I say, recognizing my old friend. “Chip, what the hell are ya doin’ here?”

“We’ll get to that in a minute.”

“Well...you look great,” I tell him, “and I just gotta say, I'm truly sorry about that thing years back.”

“With Sherri Epstein?”

“Nah, with the soup. Though, I gotta be honest...I still maintain that Silver Diner had the best matzoh ball soup in the entire area at the time.”

“Surely, they never made matzoh ball soup at the Silver Diner...only chicken noodle.”

“Nah, I think you’re mistaken there. They made a wonderful broth. Way better than that shit they served Hofberg’s...not sure why you liked it but hey, that’s your journey, I guess.”

“Surely, that was never what I was mad abou...I...anyway, it’s water under the bridge...or rather, premature ejaculation with Sherri Epstein behind the Hot Shoppes, right?”

“Oh, I don't think that's what happened. I think I made it with her in the family Volvo and that we orgasmed together to completion a whole bunch, no? Anyway, let's let bygones be bygones, eh Chip?”

“Whatever you say, Surely,” says Chip, giving me a clap on the back. “Rest assured, as sure as you jizzed your slacks with Sherri Epstein behind the Hot Shoppes, I forgive you...and I also have your story. But first, a business proposition.”

Imagine this but in bikini form. You get the picture.

I wet my beak with a conga line of coke Chip had procured seemingly out of nowhere. Chip went on to ask me to go into business with him instead of penning a potentially inflammatory story about Rio’s underbelly of vice and crime. I had to admit, like the patented scoop shot that beat Springbrook High at the buzzer back in December ‘76, Chip Rosenbaum had just made one of his classic great points.“It’s a boring story,” I admitted.

At this, Chip seemed very happy. He showed his joy by handing me several 50 real bank notes with an endangered jaguar printed on the back. I gladly took the money and spent it four and a half seconds later, foisting it affectionately into the garmented string of a nearby sex worker. I don’t think it was a bribe.

“So, Chippy-boy. What’s this big business proposition you got in mind?” “Tell me Surely, what do you know about...American Respectable Burger Yeasayers?”

“You mean...Arbyyyyy’s?...?”

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