#Kris Cutlery

[9unslin9er]

#kris cutlery #dragon king #a.p.o.c. #katana

[autistic-autumn]

I lot of people seem to take Toriel’s indifference to Kris owning a knife as a sign of her being a bad and uncaring parent, but what if it’s literally just because Kris is autistic and just like to use the same cutlery regularly. It’s not that Toriel is ignoring the fact that Kris has a knife, she’s just aware that that’s Kris’s favourite knife to use.

#I do this all the time with spoons bowls and mugs #most of the cutlery at my house is standardized though so it doesn't really matter with knifes and forks #Kris deltarune #Kris #kris dreemurr #deltarune #ut/dr #Autumn's thoughts

[arathain]

A Star of Dawn

The child, perhaps nine years of age or so, hid inside the cupboard, cutlery and tableware prodding in all the uncomfortable places. They did not see the room outside the cupboard, as instructed - quite probably for the better. The two caretakers were armed with a plain shortsword, the door barred with a wardrobe. The singular window's shutter was locked tight, as all the shutters in the town would've been by now. Even through the walls of the room & cupboard, screams and footsteps were audible in the distance. A shudder, the floor vibrating powerfully. Another. The cries went silent. The caretakers gripped their swords tightly, readying themselves as best as they could, given their meagre martial arts training.

The door flew open, smashing against the wall together with the wardrobe. Pieces scattered across the floor, with parts of the wall paint having flaked away to reveal the brick underneath. Through the doorway stepped an unassuming figure, cloaked in grey garbs. A half-mask covered their mouth and nose, two vertical slits streaming down from the tear glands of the eyes. The hair was an unassuming dark brown, streaked with hints of grey. They unsheathed a sword, if you could call it a sword - a solid piece of black granite, sharpened to absurdity. Abruptly, the leftmost nurse dashed towards the figure, sword descending with all the strength they could muster.

With thorough disinterest, the grey being grasped the sword by the blade, the inside of their glove absorbing the cut. Twisting, the sword broke, and the battered nurse could only gasp as the Mason cut twice, stone cleanly cleaving from the clavicle to the midriff, and again, horizontally. The eyes of the murderer were pointed in the direction of their victim, but thoroughly blank - as if seeing past the nurse altogether. With a rise of their left hand, the ground shook, thousands of tiny spikes protruding from the stone bricks directly opposite to the second nurse. With a gurgle, they fell to the floor, countless tiny red splotches forming on their back. Inside of the cupboard, the child could barely contain their fear. The Mason sheathed their sword, looking down on the corpses below them.

'Idiots' the Wheel-Bearer muttered, as a shadowy figure silently ran down the corridor behind them. 'One and all dancing on thin air.'

Turning back to see the one approaching, their voice slit through the air; 'Is the apparatus destroyed? The physickers dead?'

'Aye, sir.' The hands and knives of the Thronebreaker Shadow were painted with blood as they reached into one of their myriad pockets, and extended a blade-like sliver of crystal, tied down intricately with rope. 'The fruits of their labour, in all their glory.'

The Mason carefully grasped the combined effort of a century of alchemists, the crystal dancing as it refracted light in countless, pointless ways.

'Missed the mark by a tad, there.' they said, studying the essence of the artifice. 'A unique approach to be sure, but unacceptable in its intended use.'

The Mason's head turned towards the cupboard. 'Although, a more appropriate use might've presented itself.' They turned back to their compatriot.

'Prepare the Walkway back home; burn the entire complex down as well. It is best if we eliminate all traces of what was being sought after here.'

As the Shadow departed, the immortal-killer walked over to the cupboard, and, without a hint of hesitation, smashed it into the ceiling. The child shrieked as shards of clay and porcelain cut their face and arms, woodchips scraping against their skin. Laying broken on the floor, the small one coughed up blood as the Mason grabbed them by the neck, lifting them up so as to inspect them. Their eyes widened; still seeing past what they were looking at, however it seemed that, for a brief moment, a brand new vision was revealed to the lifeless orbs.

'Oh, you'll do.' The mason stabbed the primitive crystal kris into the child's nape, sending convulsions throughout the body as the crystal fused with the child's self, guided by the Mason's hand. 'You'll do well. I may not be a child of the Bud or the Blossom, but even the graceless I may yet serve the Twin-Dragon Wheel. Tell me, what is your name?'

The slivers of clay and porcelain flew off of the child as the magical stone-and-metalworker's hand moved, the crystal in the child's body bringing them back to bearable conditions once more.

The child hesitantly spoke. 'I'm J-'

Cut off before being given a chance to barely start, the child flew against the wall, bones cracking as the blunt of the Mason's stone-sword retreated into its sheath. With a twist of the hand, the child was brought back to a state just undamaged enough to be able to stand straight. Raising a hand to their chin, the Mason lowered themselves to look down upon the tiny one.

'Do not utter such useless words. You are nothing, were nothing, and, given your circumstances would be any different, would've been ash soon. Alas, your existence has the potential to feed the Twin Ouroboros, and that is a task I wouldn't dare to intrude upon. What are your parents' names?'

The child hesitated, silent in fear.

'Tell them to me.'

As the child opened their mouth to speak, they were thrown across the room once again, the Mason's blade ringing as it retreated into its sheath once more. Once again, the child was raised up, brought back to just before the brink of death.

'Your parents are dead or dying, and their essence is a disgrace to existence itself. A name must be earned, and they've long lost any right to such distinguishment. Given time and effort, your existence shall warrant a name for it; now, tell me. What is your name?'

With fear in its eyes, the child hesitantly whispered. 'Nothing. I have no name.'

The Mason straightened upright, still looking down on the now time-scattered child, their upbringing soon to be wiped off of the annals of history. 'Rule of the third - very well, you are salvageable.'

The Mason grabbed them by the nape and dragged them, their feet sliding across the planks. The halls they were dragged through burned with a blue flame, parting before its creator. Through the blue haze, the child saw corpse after corpse, being consumed by flames fed from the very essence of their previous owners. As the alchemists' mansion Blossomed blue and the Mason stepped through the Walkway, the child drifted away, their exhaustion sliding their eyelids shut.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The young adult circled the colourless meal on their plate with a three-pronged fork, the individual spines sharper than they have any right to usually be. The table, akin to the room itself, was plain and stone-cold - potentially owing to the fact it was made of said stone. Footsteps. The clank of cruel metal against the stone floor rang as the Mason entered the small kitchen, the two lanterns newly invigorated with blue flame. Rising a chair out of the sheer rock, the solitary Wheel-Bearer sat in front of the budding chrysalis. The no-longer-child but not-quite-adult immediately straightened and set down their fork - for the house, and the child, were the Mason's, and their existence was leveraged on serving their assigned purpose.

'What stands in your path?'

The adolescent looked at their 'mentor' bewildered, waiting for an elaboration. When one inevitably did not come, they gave in and hesitantly asked. 'Pardon?'

The immortal-killer sighed. 'You do not make progress. You have not made progress. The wheel does not budge for you. What stands in your path, to hinder you so?'

Looking down at their plate through their newly-made crystal glasses, the adolescent failed to provide an answer. While they held faint memories of occasional cruelty from the Mason, the being has never failed to provide for them, and allowed them to foster their skills whenever they provided. In contrast, the adolescent failed miserably at trials of power and wit, unable to impress in any degree. To say the young one felt useless was an understatement, to say the least.

'I- I do not know.'

The Mason stood up, the chair underneath crumbling to dust. 'Very well.'

With a single motion, the seat the adolescent sat in shot up through the roof, the stone tiles retracting to make space for the average-sized figure. As the young one got up, the Mason effortlessly climbed onto the rooftop, gazing at the stars above.

'The stars are curious, among the cycle. Seemingly ageless, they nevertheless pop in and out of existence in due time; their lifespans simply outshine a mortal one by aeons, forever out of reach.' Looking back at the adolescent, their eyes seeing past, the Mason stared. 'This is your purpose. That is the end of your journey, the culmination of your purpose; your death will blind a thousand eyes, and send the Wheel reeling forward. With time, and the care I grant unto you, you shall be fit for this express purpose; only power can be your salvation.'

The adolescent stared at them, wide-eyed.

'S-so, my only purpose is to die?'

The Mason's eyes narrowed, the grey irises drilling into the young one's own. 'If you do not find another way, yes - that shall be your purpose. Only if your existence will be noteworthy, may you escape the Wheel by serving it.' With that, the roof parted underneath them, and they walked out of the small stone house, opening a Walkway to stifle places far removed. As the wound in the world's fabric closed, the child looked up longingly at the astral objects above, grasping. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Astron woke up, rising against the wooden table, as the first rays of the morning sun illuminated Rat's hideaway log cabin. Rubbing their eyes and adjusting their cheap yellow glasses, they gathered their sketches and stowed their books away, lest Rat see what they're researching. The Mason's works, as well as miscellanities on the occult they gathered from their travels. Insofar, their search did not bear many fruit, however they were determined to find the truth of what 'Circle-Breaker' meant, and, perhaps more importantly, to discover who it was that so effortlessly put an end to the Mason altogether. Perhaps, there were other things that this being could bring an end to, or better yet - elevate.

As they gathered up the last of the papers, one of the pieces gave them pause - a singular sketch of the old dining hall at the Perch; Lux, Freak, & the Mason all together with them. Holding it tightly, they walked outside, the mountain valley laid out in front of them.

They squinted as the golden rays of the sun hit their eyes, hands firmly gripping the veranda below them. Looking up, the stars faded, but not in the mind of Astron. Grimacing, they painstakingly tore up the small sketch, letting the tiny shreds be scattered by the wind. Heading back inside, a single, soft mutter escaped from under their breath.

'No cost too great.'

#mason arathain #astronyu #content smp #creative writing #arathain #this is what watching the entirety of a TBSkyen Boss Designs playlist gets you /j

[valkyrie-night-103]

Would love to hear more about something clever about wine, clementines, and the end of the world as we know it

I’m sorry this took so long!! I had to write most of this up, as it was largely abstract in my head. Yet again, I have more to say on this AU, so if you’re interested about what happened next, don’t be afraid to send an ask!

Directly follows on from the last instalment! I’ll tag it #wine and clementines so it’s easy to find. This probably won’t make much sense without context.

Same content warnings as the first part of this au applies.

While his guest clears his plate, Chuck opens a bottle of wine from the cellar. It’s good shit, it’s not like he has people over very often.

When he pours a glass for Orange and passes it over, a toothy grin is sent his way as he accepts it. Chuck can’t help his smile in return. He looks at the floor, can feel the heat in his face. From the wine, of course.

“You’ve got a good setup here.” Orange remarks. “Damn impressive for one guy.”

“Yeah.” He says, not giving anything away.

“Got a story?”

“Have you?” Chuck retorts, curt and sharp. Orange seems to mull that over, shrugging slightly as if to say that’s a fair enough question. Chuck is feeding him, so he supposes he owes him a story.

“I thought I’d gotten through the worst of it after the outbreak. I got into the QZ, got an apartment. It was okay for a while, but then someone got into the city, infected. It spread, mass hysteria ensued, the works. Then word got out amongst the Fireflies- rebels, essentially- that they were going to nuke the city to contain it.”

“Fuck.” Chuck sighed. He’d heard tales on the radio, back when Trent was still around to help him work it. They’d had people come through bearing stories of total devastation, so hungry that they would gladly trade guns, drugs, and alcohol for a meagre amount of food that would barely last 2 days. Even so, Trent had kept them outside of the fence. Desperate people do desperate things.

“I knew this girl, Kris, she was a firefly. We were close, I let her little brother crash on my couch when he was in hiding. I wasn’t considered suspicious, so he was safe with me. They took me with them.”

He doesn’t actually ask what happened, but his expression probably says it for him.

“We made it out before things went kaboom. We were probably about 10 miles away. We still felt it, the ground shook and everything. Must have stirred something, ‘cause we’re running for our lives from a clicker and then there’s five of them. Kris fell, and I begged her not to give up, to get back up, but it was too late. Yuta never forgave me, and when we got jumped by raiders a while later, he joined up with them and left me alone.”

“Shit.” He sighs. He doesn’t know what else to say.

“Yeah. It is pretty shit.” Orange agrees. “So, now I’ve given you mine, you got a story?”

“Is the food not good enough?” He asks, smile wry. “I gotta talk to you too?”

“Not if you don’t wanna.” Orange replies. He’s smiling again, and it makes Chuck feel a little better.

“If you must know, my best friend was a paranoid nutcase. When everyone left for the QZs, he stayed put and I couldn’t just leave him behind, so I stayed. We built reinforced fences, set up vegetable gardens. He set up traps, and would check them. Blew himself up a year after the outbreak.”

“You’ve been on your own for two years?” Orange asks, putting down his cutlery.

“Yeah.” He says, swallowing thickly. He’s never actually stopped to think about how long he’s been alone. “Yeah, basically.”

“How have you not gone crazy?”

“Maybe I have, and I’m just waiting for you to get comfortable. Maybe I put something in the food or the wine, and I’m waiting for it to set in.” Orange looks at the dregs left in the wine glass, the gravy remaining on the plate, looking genuinely concerned. He’s trying to be subtle, but he’s not great at it.

Chuck holds the beat for a few moments, waiting for the tension to climb high enough, before cracking a smile. “Or maybe I’m just a loner with a sick sense of humour who likes seeing people squirm.”

“You ass! You can’t fuck with people like that!” Orange says as he laughs, long and loud with a slight honking quality, like an amused goose. The mental image of a goose in a denim jacket and mirrored sunglasses is so funny to him that he joins Orange in his laughter. It’s both at him and with him, and he knows Orange can see as much.

“You should have seen your face-“ he manages through his laughter.

“Seriously! You can’t do that, man!” Orange repeats, still indignant but not quite pissed off, and for some reason it just cracks him up.

“Well, I just did, so-“

“You are so annoying.” Orange says. The words are mean but his tone is warm, like he’s known Chuck for years. It makes him miss Trent, a tugging in his chest. He holds his breath until it goes away.

“I don’t mean to push my luck, but could I borrow some clothes?”

“Sure, I’ll put some out for you. I’ve got running water, so you can take a shower if you want.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“Holy shit. Thank you.” He says, and gives another genuine smile that makes Chuck feel like he’s got some snow down the back of his neck, startled and shivery.

“Eh.” He waves a hand dismissively, before rising to his feet and taking the plates and glasses into the kitchen. He can’t be in the room for another moment because he knows that if he does, he’ll tell Orange how he really feels.

Chuck wants him to stay.

#wine and clementines #aew #all elite wrestling #wrestling #aew ask game #fic ask game #chuck taylor #sexy chuckie t #trent beretta #kris statlander #orange cassidy

[whatisthiswritingthing]

Good with Kids - Kristie Mewis x Reader

Prompt: Maybe like R is very hard but soft with kids? Idk whatever u want I don’t care as long as it’s Queen Mewis.

Note, so pretty sure this sucks, so let me know. 

“And the crew down there are my nieces and nephews,” Kristie motioned to the group pf young kids racing around the yard, the oldest being only eight, youngest three, trying to keep up the older kids. Y/N nodded seriously, taking in all the name and faces she had met at the family barbeque.

“Kristie, stop calling them that, it sounds like I have a stash of kids that no one knows about,” Sam stomped a foot, dramatically complaining to her sister.

“I don’t know family tree math,” Kristie shrugged her shoulders.

“Cousins Kris, they’re called cousins,” Sam rolled her eyes.

“Whatever, same thing,” Kristie smiled, knowing she was getting under her sisters skin, Y/N finally cracking a small smile.

“Not the same thing!” Sam exclaimed, she knew what Kristie was doing, but couldn’t help her reaction, drawing the attention of several other family members. Kristie grinned in return while her sister scowled, the family members all giggling, used to the two sisters bantering.

“Be nice to your sister Kristie,” her mom warned, with a smile.

Sam grinned triumphantly at her sister, who just rolled her eyes and tugged Y/N’s hand to the stairs of the deck, leading her to meet the group of kids.

“I thought you liked this girl Kristie,” one of her aunts teased when she saw where they were headed.

Kristie laughed, “I do,” she squeezed one of Y/N’s cheeks, drawing another small smile from the normally stoic woman, “but I think she’ll be able to handle herself.”

“Good, then come sit with me” her grandma cut in, shooing one of the other older grandchildren out of a chair next to her.

Kristie bit her lip and gave Y/N a hesitant look, Y/N giving her a reassuring smile and nod in return, pushing Kristie to sit with her grandparents.

Y/N walked the rest of the way down to kids playing tag in the grass. Kristie sat in the chair, shifting it so she could still see Y/N.

“She’s survived this long today, she won’t run away now,” her aunt teased, handing Kristie another beer.

“I know, but look at her,” Kristie motioned to where Y/N was already beginning to play tag with the kids, “she’s kind of hot, I want to look at her all the time,” she winked at another cousin across from her, drawing an eyeroll from everyone, her grandma giving her a gentle smack in the bicep.

The group grew and shrunk as the afternoon wore on, people coming and going, joining different groups or bouncing between them all. Kristie did her best to concentrate on the people around her, but her focus kept shifting down to the large yard where Y/N was still with the kids, them having accepted her as their own.

The kids and Y/N had found a youth size football, a small game going on. The word game used loosely, mostly the kids running around and Y/N gently throwing it for them to catch or running with it and them all tackling her to the ground. The adults all watched on, sharing smiles when they saw how happy all the kids were, Y/N distributing attention to them all, none of them feeling left out. Shifting easily to be a little rougher with the bigger kids, and incredibly gentle with the smaller ones.

“Alright, go get your kid and we’ll get ours,” one of the aunts smiled at Kristie, motioning to the group of kids attempting to drag Y/N down, “supper is ready.”

The pair made their way down the stairs, “supper guys, go wash your hands,” the aunt clapped her hands, gaining the attention of the group.

“Five more minutes!” the oldest called out.

“Yeah! Five more minutes!” Y/N called out from the bottom of the pile of kids, head popping up while she gently lifted a small body off her, it quickly replaced by another.

The rest of the parents all laughed, having been prepared to wrangle their own kids to the table, not expecting the lone adult to be difficult as well. Kristie stared at her girlfriend, mouth agape, before closing it and giving Y/N a hard stare.

Y/N immediately began sitting up, shifting kids to sit up with her, “supper guys! Lets go wash our hands!” the kids all began to scamper off her and race to the bathroom to wash their hands.

“Guess who just earned all future babysitting jobs,” one of the uncles patted Kristie on the back while following the rest of the family inside.

Kristie’s eyes never left Y/N as she pushed herself up once all limbs were untangled from her, brushing off any loose grass before meeting Kristie’s, giving her a wide smile.

“You really are a big kid, aren’t you?” Kristie met her as Y/N began to walk forward, wrapping her arms around her middle.

Y/N smiled down at the blonde, wrapping an arm of her own around Kristie’s shoulders, the couple making their way to the house.

Y/N pulled away when they walked in the house, washing her hands, before sitting at the table next to Kristie.

Supper was a loud, busy thing. Family all talking over each other, stories being thrown about, gentle ribbing all around.  

“You are nothing like these two described you, Y/N,” an aunt smiled across the table, shooting a smirk to Kristie, who rolled her eyes at the teasing.

“Oh?” Y/N turned, giving Kristie a smirk of her own, then shifting her eyes to Sam, who blushed at the look.

“Yupp!” an uncle grinned as well, “Sammy makes you sound terrifying,” he nudged the blushing blonde, “I think she’s scared of you.” Y/N had a hard exterior, and was very quiet, many people interpreting both for her to be very unapproachable.

“I am not!” Sam was quick to defend herself, “I’m not scared of you Y/N,” she looked at Y/N eyes wide, still blushing, Y/N continued to smirk at her, “I’m not!”

“Sure you’re not Sammy,” Y/N just winked, “what are you telling them?”

“Nothing! Kristie says stuff,” Sam stammered out, trying to push the blame onto her sister, pointing across the table. Kristie giggled at how flushed her sister got over nothing.

“They’re fishing Ssmmy,” Kristie smiled, resting a hand on Y/N’s thigh, the couple smiling as Sam flopped back in her chair, mouth wide, realizing she fell right into it.

The table as laughing at Sam, Kristie squeezed Y/N’s thigh, leaning slightly into her side, tilting her chin up and smiling at her girlfriend.

Someone else was about to tease Sam as well, but was cut off by cutlery hitting a plate, a loud “no” being called from the children’s table further down. Everyone looked over to a pouting toddler, arms crossed, lips pursed out, eyebrows furrowed. An exasperated ten year old glaring down. Letting out a sigh, an aunt pushed up from the table, squatting in between the children, working to sooth both upset children.

After a few minutes, the aunt stood up with the toddler in her arms, taking the plate off the table with her and returning to her original seat, toddler remaining on her lap.

The pout remained firm on the toddler’s face with his face tucked into his mom’s neck. Everyone else ignored the outburst, resuming conversation, mom continuing to try and encourage the boy to eat.

Part of the face peaked out, shyly trying to glance around the table, making eye contact with Y/N who made a funny face before anyone else noticed. Giggling, he tucked his face back in briefly, before coming back out, Y/N giving him another silly face.

His mom tried to encourage a fork of food, a grumbled “no”, and his face burrowed back in. Letting out a sigh, she dropped the fork back to his plate, going back to her own.

Y/N bit her lip when she noticed a small hand creep out and towards her plate, one eye peeking out from his mom’s shoulder. She slid her plate closer to the boy, offering her fork out to him. Supressing her own giggle, she watched while the boy awkwardly fisted the fork and stabbed blindly at food on her own plate, no one else at the table aware, having moved on to teasing someone else. The boys head finally lifted fully to put the forkful of food in his mouth, not gaining the attention of his mom.

“Oh Y/N I am so sorry,” she apologized once she realized where the fork of food had come from, noticing the plate of food pushed closer to them.

“Don’t worry about it, my food is just better I guess,” Y/N smirked, shrugging one shoulder, everyone giggling as the small boy reached out for another forkful of food.

“How come at camp you threatened to stab me with my own fork when I wanted to try some of your food?” Sam gasped when she watched the boy go in for a third forkful.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Y/N played coy, rotating the plate to give the boy something else to stab, subtly encouraging the pile of broccoli on the other side.

The boy crinkled his nose, trying to spear another piece of chicken on the far end. Y/N intercepted the fork, taking it into her own hand, and making a show of picking up broccoli and enjoying the bite. Winking at the boy, she stabbed a smaller piece, twirling the fork for his to take it.

Instead of using his hands, he leaned forward, eating off the fork while Y/N held it. His mom rolled her eyes, everyone else giggling at the boy. He pulled himself out of his moms arm, crawling awkwardly into Y/N’s lap.

“No, buddy, you can’t sit in Y/N’s lap,” his mom gripped his hips to try and pull him back.

“Don’t worry about it,” Y/N helped guide him the rest of the way, helping him settle in her lap.

Kristie stared lovingly at her girlfriend, watching as Y/N guided another forkful of broccoli into his mouth, the boy shook his head, refusing the vegetable. Y/N smiled, diverting the fork to her mouth, taking the bite with a dramatic chomping sound. His eyes tracked the motion, before clumsily picked up his fork to mimic the action.

Y/N smirked and shot a wink to his mom, everyone’s mouths dropping when he took another without prompting. The meal continued on, the pair continuing to eat off each other’s plates, the boy no longer complaining about eating any of the food.

Desert took everyone to the backyard, a fire having been started, ingredients for smores set out. Several of the kids having found their way to Y/N’s lap, one sat on either thigh, a third squished in the middle, and two more with chairs pulled as close as possible on either side.

Everyone watched while Y/N gave each child equal attention, helping one put a marshmallow on the skewer while answering another’s question, managing to keep all settled.

“You’ve got a good one Kristie,” an aunt leaned over when she saw the blonde watching her girlfriend, her gave soft, smile wide as she took in the woman with all the kids.

Kristie shyly looked away, “I know,” she looked to her aunt, “except now she has me jealous of a bunch of kids.”

They watched as Y/N helped a smaller hand onto to one stick, her other protectively holding a leaning body off her knee.

“That’s alright, I am too,” the uncle on the other side chuckled, “we have spent years trying to get them to all get along and she strolls in and does it without even trying.”

The adults kept an eye on the kids and Y/N, looking over frequently when they noticed how quiet the whole group had gotten. Parents brought their phones out, snapping several pictures of the entire crew asleep. Y/N reclined in the chair, three bodies in her lap leaning into her chest, two on either side snuggled under each arm.  

#kristie mewis x reader #kristie mewis imagine #uswnt imagine #uswnt x reader #uswnt imagines

[boba-xing]

Dawning {Chapter 2}

Fem!Reader x Mafia!EXO (OT12)

Warnings: vague mentions of violence

-

Your woken by a soft shaking, and as you blink your eyes open to the light you see a very beautiful face in front of you. Although startled you find a strange sense of comfort in the stranger who swiftly brushes some hair out of your face.

"Good morning, sleepyhead." He chuckles a little, clearly admiring your face.

You respond with a small whine.

"It's time to get up, princess." He coos, gently pulling the duvet away from your face and helping you sit up. It takes you a moment to register what's happening and you smile when you see the man in front of you properly.

"Pretty." You push back your hair before reaching for his face, he just smiles in response, letting you cup his cheeks for a moment before you pull away.

"I'm Luhan." He looks at you with pure heart eyes, admiration in his voice, "And you're adorable."

Now it's your turn to blush, hiding your face in your hands.

"Don't be shy." He giggles, taking one of your hands into his, "Do you want to come and get some breakfast, beautiful?"

"Breakfast?" You blink at him,

"Kyungsoo made some pancakes, he thought you would like some." Luhan helps you out of the bed, "I know you don't normally have it but we need to put some meat on those bones."

You nod vaguely at him, still a little dozy.

He leads you down the corridor and to the dining room. "The others are quite busy, so it's just you and me for now."

"Okay." You sit down next to him, taking a plate of pancakes from him happily. You'd only had Chinese pancakes before (a birthday dish a few years back), and you didn't really like them. But these ones looked different...thicker.

Luhan realises your fascination with the pancakes and chuckles, "They're an American recipe, I think."

You nod and hesitantly take a bite.

"Here." Luhan pours a good amount of golden syrup over the pancake and gestures for you to try it again. So you do, and it's good.

"I like it."

You both sit there eating in silence for a while before a question pops into your head. "Is Suho your boss?"

Luhan looks up at your sudden speech, "Well, sort of."

"Sort of?"

"He's the leader of our group, but he makes decisions with Xiumin, Yixing, Kris and me. And, of course, he listens to everyone."

"What do you mean by 'group'? Are you brothers or...?"

"We're a mixture of half brothers and friends." He explains, "It's quite complicated."

You pause for a moment, "Why are you letting me stay with you?"

"You have a lot of questions, don't you, princess?" he laughs softly, "Well, we've known your family for a long time and we owe your father, so looking after you is a form of repayment."

"Owe him what?"

"I'm afraid I can't tell you that." He frowns,

"How many of you are there?" You put your cutlery down and prop your head up with your hands,

"Men? Twelve including myself."

"That's a lot."

"I know, princess, but don't be intimidated." He smiles, “We’re all softies, even Xiumin.”

“He looks like a cat.” You giggle, 

“Yes, yes he does!” Luhan laughs, “You’re so cute!”

You feel warmth in your cheeks and your chest buzzes with a strange feeling. Is this pretty man really able to protect you?

“Luha-”

“-just call me oppa.” he smiles,

“Oppa,” you correct yourself, looking over to the window, “What’s it like out there?”

He follows your gaze for a moment, a frown forming on his lips as he looks back at you for a second. You look back at him as he stands up, taking your hand in his as he guides you through the house, “Let me show you.”

You soon enter a games room with large glass doors opening into an outside pool area. Luhan pulls the glass door open and you sigh as fresh air fills your lungs, a sweet flowery aroma along with it.

Walking across the tiles, you both reach grass - soft and blindingly green. Unlike Luhan you aren’t wearing shoes, and you enjoy the feeling of barefoot on the ground. “Do you like it?”

Coming to a halt, you observe the mass of grass around you, the clear blue sky, the light summer breeze. The acre of land is surrounded by a spiky mental fence well-hidden by decorative bushes and flowering plants of various colours and scents. You feel free and...safe, with Luhan holding your hand in his.

“This is incredible.” You smile,

He smiles too, watching the happiness on your face with adoration, “But listen, princess, you can’t leave this property.”

You turn to him with a frown.

“Not everywhere is safe and pretty like this, okay? Outside of this home, people want to hurt you, people want to take advantage of you. If you go out there, someone might take you - and then you’ll end up locked up again, how your life was before now, but worse.” He rubs his thumb over your fingers, before bending down to capture your face in his hands, “Promise me you won’t leave this house without one of us.”

“I promise.”

“Good girl.”

-

When you got back inside you found several more men at the table, eating more pancakes than you could count and hardly even glancing up at you...except for one.

The handsome, tan man smiles at you from the other side of the table, “Good morning, beautiful.”

“Kai.” Luhan seems to send the man a glare before sitting you back down, “Beware of Kai, he’s a bit of a flirt.”

You nod. 

“I thought that today you might like to have a lazy day, spend some time with the boys and get to know them.” Luhan smiles, carefully brushing a hair away from your face, “Is that okay, princess?”

“Yes.” You’re not entirely sure why you keep being called pet names, but every time Luhan calls you princess your heart thuds in your chest and you get this weird tingling feeling. 

“I know you’re shy but you don’t have to be nervous, okay?” he squeezes your cheek, “You’re adorable and they’re all going to love you.”

Your sweet little conversation is disturbed by a sudden yelling from the other end of the table, and as you look over you see Kai and a taller, lanky boy jumping at each other. Before you know what’s happening you’re ushered behind Luhan and observing a full on fist fight in the dining room. You gasp as Kai flings the other man onto the table, smashing several plates and throwing cutlery everywhere. You’re confused why Luhan isn’t intervening but it all becomes clear when an angry looking cat man storms in. “WHAT IS GOING ON IN HERE?”

Both of the men freeze and you let out a small, rather embarrassing, whimper at the shouting. Thankfully Luhan is the only one who hears and gently wraps his arms around your frame, pulling you into a warm hug.

“I’m trying to work and I have you two baffoons making a racket out here? Pull yourselves together!” you bury your head in Luhan’s chest, comforted by his fingers running through your hair. “We have a guest and you start fighting in front of her? What are you...infants? Both of you, my office. Now.”

You hear some scrabbling and then the room is silent.

“Is she okay?” you hear a familiar voice in the room and pull away from Luhan. 

It’s Kris.

After seeing your face he comes rushing over, hugging you in his arms, “I’m sorry about them, sweetheart, they don’t know how to behave. But don’t worry, Xiumin will sort them out.”

“He’s not going to hurt them, right?” you glance at Luhan,

“No, of course not.” he answers, “Now, why don’t we go and get you changed?”

You nod at Kris, letting him take your hand and guide you away.

#exo #exo ot12 #kpop #smut #fluff #angst #fanfic #mafia au #kpop mafia au #exo mafia au #park chanyeol #byun baekhyun #kim junmyeon #suho #kim jongdae #chen #kim jongin #kai #kris wu #do kyungsoo #d.o. #huang zitao #tao #luhan #oh sehun #zhang yixing #lay #kim minseok #xiumin #imagine

[argentdandelion]

The Harvest Day Hack

Summary: It’s Harvest Day, a day of feasting with family and thanks-giving for bountiful harvests. But Asriel still hasn’t shown up for the holiday…and Kris is helpless to their own soul’s whims.

----

“Hello.”

“Ah, is Asriel here already?”

“No.”

The two stood awkwardly at the doorway, Asgore hunching over. No matter how many scrapes collected at the lintel, Toriel never expanded the door. Not then…not now.

Asgore glanced past her. “Oh! Kris, would you mind letting your dad in?” he said with a smile. Kris nodded, and Toriel, still glaring, stepped aside.

Suddenly, Asgore engulfed Kris in his arms, wiggling them about as their legs dangled. But then he gasped, too soon, sheepishly set them down. “I…forgot if you like hugs like that.” Asgore said, Toriel still glaring.

But then Kris’ head butted into their father’s belly, their arms wrapping around him.Asgore knelt down and hugged Kris back. The embrace felt firm, a little too firm, as if their father feared….feared…

That pressure on their ribcage didn’t matter.

Ring. Ring. Ring.

A tasteful orange tablecloth covered a table set with fancy glasses and proper silverware: the perfect Harvest Day tableau. The four chairs were arranged at the table, just as it should be.

"Asriel?” Toriel said, the phone tucked under her ear. “Asriel, dear, where are you? We’re all set up and waiting for you.” Asgore poured water into the four glasses, his mouth tight. Kris set out silverware by Asgore, their expression unreadable.

The minutes passed, and Toriel called again. Still no luck. She gazed over the table and grimaced. Everything was in place, from all the cutlery to the artfully-arranged foodstuffs. The three reluctantly sat down in two normal-sized chairs and one of the two small ones.

Something weighed heavily in Kris’s chest as they sat. They looked longingly at the other small chair: Asriel’s chair. The one that had long been_ too_ small for him…

Though he may be absent, the power of cooler older brothers still shines within you.

Kris gasped, a feeling of outright dread building up as their heart—no, their SOUL—pounded inside them. No. No no…

Just a couple times in, the words were starting to sound stale.

“Responsible? Responsible? You cannot even sell a single flower.”

The turkey was growing cold.

“I…I would rather not, it is so nice to receive flowers for free—”

The sweet potatoes were growing cold.

“How are you even in the flower-selling business? This foolishness has gone on long enough.”

Right on cue…right as before…the flames started.

Heavy was the head of the Flower King as he spoke. "I like flowers. And it is not foolish to be kind—”

“Kindness has nothing to do with it. It is nothing but wilful incompetence, Dreemurr.”

The turkey was perfect, but it still felt as if smoke coiled around the table. As much as they wanted to open their mouth…what would it matter if they could? They would still suffocate in the smoke coiling up from their mother’s mouth.

Their father’s face was shadowed. Distantly, Kris heard the chair shoved back from the table, and their father’s heavy footsteps….

…and then, the soft click of the door closing. A few moments of quiet.

Then again.

–

Asgore looked askance at Kris.

"Well, we could always try eating without Asriel. He will show up.”

The table was set with delicious foods, but Kris had no appetite. Their body said nothing.

“He deserves a proper Harvest Day, and we can all bear to a wait a little longer.” Toriel replied, her expression tense. The room’s warm orange light felt like a slowly-building house fire.

Talking. Yelling. Leaving.

Again.

–

Asgore looked askance at Kris.

“Well, we could always try eating without Asriel. He will show up.”

This time, Kris’s head nodded. And yet…still no appetite.

“Kris, dear…you would not like it if we started eating without you, would you?”

What did their father even eat? A single pickle, in that bare fridge? Nothing could wash out the taste of that unnamed, bitter blend of emotions in their mind.

Toriel stared blankly at Kris, her fingers twitching. “Fine. Fine.” The words shot out of her mouth like bullets, their target unknown. Kris would have flinched, if they could. What had their body done? Did it nod? What did Toriel mean?

Toriel lifted the carving knife with a look of disdain, and…

Again.

Kris’s throat felt tight. It was a horrible miracle they could choke down any food at all.

Then Asgore put on a big, fake smile. “I guess now it’s Kris eating you out of house and home! Hahaha!”

Toriel glared at him, stood up…

And threw the whole turkey at him!

….but it wasn’t funny.

Always, it started with them sitting awkwardly, quietly, at that table that somehow felt both empty and cramped. No matter what, someone would glance at that little chair, the one too small for Asriel, the one too uncomfortable. Then, inevitably, someone spoke, feebly trying to cut that suffocating silence. Then someone spoke back, and then Toriel started raising her voice, and then Asgore left. And then…the door clicked. And the world would reset that miserable script.

Kris found themselves at the table again, at that point where there were only subtle signs of tension: only a furrow in Toriel’s brow, and only a quirk on Asgore’s lips.

But there was no relief any more. And through it all…they could not move. They could not speak.

Could not even cry.

“Kris…”

The name didn’t really matter any more, did it? If only it could be someone else’s name… someone else’s body stolen from them…

“Kris, are you alright? You’re crying.” Toriel leaned over in concern. From the side of the table, Asgore looked at them with a frown and wide eyes. Kris reflexively wiped away a tear.

Kris stopped. They stared at one of their hands. That…that was by them. Their hand. Their movement. Their tears.

But how long would it last?

“Oh, Kris…”

Two burly arms embraced again, and suddenly…the tears came pouring out. Kris tilted their head, and their bangs draped over their eyes. With only a slight pause, Toriel walked around the table and leaned over, hugging Kris too.

Kris cried all the harder, sniffling.

Why? Why so much, why now?

“It’s okay, Kris.” Asgore said.

“Asriel will come eventually.” Toriel said.

Suddenly, Kris’s eyes went wide. They broke out of their parents’ grip, the chair scudding.

“Oh? Did you hear him at the door?” Asgore asked.

A manic grin split Kris’s face, and they started shaking. They tilted their gaze like a bull about to charge, their bangs drooping even more.

“It’s all right. You can greet him first, if you would like.” Toriel said.

“NO.”

The two monsters stared at Kris in shock. Kris’s breathing got faster and faster.

“Kris—”

Kris ran out.

Their footsteps beat a quick rhythm on the streets. Their path was lit only by the lights of their neighbors’ houses, and the autumn leaves crunched as they ran.

After an eternity and but an instant, they found themselves at the edge of town. Kris slowed down, walking aimlessly, their head bowed. Shadows stretched across the street from the sporadically-placed streetlights. A few paces away was the bus stop, now just a half-lit, rectangular blob.

Suddenly, Kris heard a sharp mechanical hiss. A bus. They looked up numbly to find pale fur shining inside it.The bus’s doors closed, and the figure said something, something drowned out by a diesel roar as the bus sped away.

Kris shivered, looking down again. “Kris!” the figure repeated, so much closer. Yes…that was the word hidden under the roar.

Though the bus’s lights faded into the distance, Kris could still tell who the figure was.

Not a lot of people were tall, white-furred horned monsters.

Kris’ hair slid back as they looked up. “Kris…I’m sorry. My phone ran out of charge, and it wouldn’t charge up again fast enough. And one of the buses I took to get here had some kind of freak accident…and since lots of people were using long-distance buses today, it took a while to get on another one.”

Tears glimmered at Kris’ eyes as Asriel hugged them. Their cooler older bro was so soft and comforting, just like a teddy monster. And although Asriel’s arms were scrawnier than their father’s, his hugs somehow felt so much better, and unburdened by emotions Kris couldn’t name.

“If I could have gotten here sooner, I would.

Let’s go home.”

“Oh, Asriel!”

Kris saw their mother make a genuine smile. How long had it been since she had smiled like that?

“I know, I’m late. One of the buses had a freak accident…”

“And you brought Kris, too! You know, Kris had run off earlier…I am glad you are here to bring them home.”

That tone _snapped _something inside Kris—their mouth clenched. Their muscles tensed. Their blood boiled.

“You always were the responsible one.”

Asriel looked over at Kris, startled. “Uh, Kris?” Asriel asked. “What’s wrong?”

Kris walked back to their room with their shoulders hunched, trying to hide an unsettling grin.

Mutter mutter mutter. “Asriel, you have been gone so long…”

How quickly their relief drained away, like a shower drain without any clogs of white fur.

Hey the trash can smells nice, does it?, this turkey is delicious Mom, did Kris get enough, they didn’t want to eat, I hope there are some leftovers because this is your best cooking yet wouldn’t want them to miss out…

Kris sat on their beige, undecorated bed, trying in vain to relax their closed fists. They tried to control their breathing. They failed.

Where’s Dad, he left early, do you think there’s enough for four people, if he wants to come over he can….

“Don’t forget—there’s still some pumpkin pie!” Toriel exclaimed sweetly, as if pie would fix anything. Kris gave up. They laid down on the bed and stared at the ceiling, their fists still clenched, their breathing still unsteady. The ebbs and flow of the two’s conversation soon degenerated from the chatter of strangers to nothing more than birdsong—meaningless. Or, at least, to those not of their own kind…

Eventually, the chatter ceased. Footsteps scuffled the carpet, and a door clicked. The silence roared in Kris’s ears, unopposed, inescapable.

Clang.

“Kris?”

They turned around to see Asriel silhouetted in the doorway. The red soul glowed like an unsettling nightlight.

“What…what are you doing?”

Kris frowned and covered the birdcage with a sheet.

“I…I know you’re quiet, Kris,” Asriel said softly. “But I got a feeling this has been bothering you for a long time. You gotta tell me what’s wrong.”

"I don’t want it.” Kris’s voice was hoarse, but firm.

“Huh?”

“My soul.”

Asriel stood back. “That doesn’t make sense. Your soul is you. The culmination of your being…and…how can you even throw it out like that?”

Kris stood silently with an unreadable expression.

“Oh…” Asriel’s frown deepened with concern. “You don’t…like being yourself?” Kris’s head tilted—not a no, not a yes. Asriel’s bed creaked as he sat down.

“But…you gotta keep your soul in your body…I think,” Asriel said. “It’s better to be on the safe side.” Kris looked back to the soul in the cage.

“So…you got any…” Asriel’s words trailed off. “Uh, any new stuff you want to talk about, since I was away? Happy stuff?” For a second, Kris’s head tilted and their lips twitched.

“I have friends.” Kris said suddenly.

“Oh!” Asriel leaned forward. “You…want to talk about it?”

Eating chalk. Standing in front of the dark doorway. Walking on a path of strewn papers… Four friends sitting down in a castle. Finally getting that cake.

“Kris?” Asriel stared at them in concern.

“Tomorrow. I will show you.”

“Show me what, Kris?”

“Tomorrow…let’s go to the Dark World.”

#Deltarune #Kris (Deltarune) #Asriel Dreemurr #Asriel Dreemurr (Deltarune) #Angst #Emotional Hurt/Comfort #Angst/Comfort #Toriel (Deltarune) #Asgore (Deltarune) #Fanfiction #Deltarune Fanfiction #Kris Dreemurr

[baldwin-montclair]

Baldwin’s Nightingale (Part 5)

Characters: Baldwin Montclair/OC

Timeframe: After the S1 Finale, TV Show canon only (haven’t read the books yet)

Summary: Alisha weighs up Baldwin’s offer whilst dealing with the potential result of making the ‘wrong’ choice.

Tag requests: @christi14 @poemfreak306 @pookie-cleary

PART 1

PART 2

PART 3

PART 4

Alisha woke up to her phone alarm and in a room bigger than the small house she shared with Michael. The bed was a massive, oak, four post affair with sumptuous curtains.

The water temperature in the raindrop shower was perfect, no jiggling taps or sudden cold and hot shocks, just relaxing and blissful. After drying her hair, she decided to check out the fridge to see what she could whip up for breakfast.

Glass of orange juice and a bowl of greek yogurt with strawberries and raspberries, all enjoyed whilst taking in the morning view from the tall windows. Luckily, she had figured out how to close the roof window to avoid freezing the night before.

The night before.

First date and he offered her the world, in exchange for control over a part of it. She understood his message better now in the clear light and with a clearer head. His conditions didn’t seem like much of an imposition. Christina was nice enough and she’d most likely answer if he called anyway.

It’s not like she enjoyed taking the subway.

Her musings were interrupted by the ringing of her phone and, excitedly she checked the caller ID.

Michael.

“Hi.” She answered trying to not sound as disappointed as she felt.

“Don’t ‘hi’ me, the hell are you?” He sounded more worried than angry.

“I texted you last night that I was staying over.”

“What? I didn’t get a...” he trailed off, the sound of button presses replacing his voice, “you’re staying over at ‘Baldwin’s place’, see me tomorrow.” He read the rest of the message he had clearly just seen.

“Mike, chill, I’ll be over in a bit.”

“As soon as possible, there’s much you don’t know.”

“Fine. Bye.” Alisha hung up and called Christina, deciding to honour the promise she’d made Baldwin the night before.

“Good morning Alisha.”

“Uh, hi, listen, I hate to be a nuisance but-”

“I’ll stop you there, you’re not. Now, are you ready to go?”

“Sure, where will I get you?”

“You just wait there, I will come collect you from the apartment.”

“Don’t you need like a key and code?”

“Mr Montclair charged me to be your protector, Alisha, I have a key and code.” She explained cordially.

“Oh, makes sense. Well I guess I’ll just hang here.”

“I should be there in fifteen. Until then.” She hung up and Alisha wondered where she was that she could be there so quickly.

It was, however, enough time to tidy after herself, wash up the dish ware and cutlery, and both glasses from the previous night.

Alisha could tell Christina was about to object when she took shotgun position instead of backseat passenger but didn’t say anything.

“Did you sleep well?” She asked after some time.

“I did, strangely. Usually I can’t sleep well in an unfamiliar place but I was out like a light.”

“I’m happy to hear it.” There was no tone of sarcasm in her voice, just the same friendly yet formal manner.

Although the rest of the journey passed in silence, it was not uncomfortable, in fact, she felt oddly at ease with the other vampire, another mark in the ‘pro’ column.

When they pulled up at the door, Michael got out almost right away, clearly hoping to face Baldwin but faced Christina instead.

“Kris?” He stared in disbelief.

“Hello Mikey!” She smiled, seemingly forgetting her formality.

“Mikey,” Alisha repeated, “you know each other?” She asked.

“Somewhat.” Michael answered guardedly as Alisha tried to get out of the car but found it locked again.

“Are you kidding?” Alisha groaned in annoyance when Christina opened her door.

“Never about security.” She closed the car door behind Alisha and walked back around to the driver’s side.

“So you’re doing Montclair’s errands now?” Michael jibed.

“Bye Mikey, Alisha, you call me if you’re going anywhere!”

Alisha nodded and watched her drive off before turning back to Michael.

“Inside, we need to talk.” He moved aside to let her in and closed the door behind them.

“Look, if this is a lecture-“

“Alisha, stop, I need to tell you something, what I actually found in Venice.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I used to be on the Congregation,” he blurted out, taking a seat in his armchair as Alisha sat on the couch, “it was before I agreed to be your mentor but I was there and I still have my contacts.”

Alisha remembered Baldwin mentioning that she should speak to Michael regarding developments.

“Okay, so what’s the news?”

“A witch found the Book of Life, basically tore the entire congregation apart when she skipped off with Matthew De Clermont, your boyfriend’s brother.”

She understood a little more about Baldwin’s statement regarding his brother calling him rarely being a good thing.

“Where are they now?”

“We don’t know. Initially they went to France but where after that, the Daemons weren’t informed.”

“When you say ‘skipped off’.”

“Mated, apparently.”

“A witch and a vampire?” She asked, incredulous.

“Aren’t you seeing a vampire.”

“Neither vampires nor witches hate us, they just don’t consider us a threat.”

“I think Montclair knows more about their location than he claims.” Michael states, watching her carefully.

“He hasn’t mentioned it to me if that’s what you’re suggesting, nor will I ask him.” She stated defiantly despite knowing that Michael may be correct in assertion, given Baldwin’s concern and admission that they were ‘beyond his protection’.

“Okay!” Michael help up his hands in mock surrender.

“Is that all you wanted to tell me?”

“That? No, that was just recent developments. I wanted to talk to you about this.”

He opened his laptop and showed her the same fresco from the previous night. A very beautiful depiction of the Roman goddess Diana with various animals surrounding her.

“I’ve seen this already.”

“I know, but look at this!” Michael tapped a button and an overlaid pattern of Latin characters over the animals. Beneath the photo he had arranged the letters in a line.

“Hold on,” she noticed the significance of the letters, “you think that’s music?”

“Maybe, can you play it?”

“Sure.” Alisha went to her room and retrieved the old violin her parents her bought her, it was her practice instrument.

She studied the notes before playing the melody, a beautiful, haunting and almost familiar song before stopping abruptly.

“Where’s the rest of it?”

“That’s it.”

“No, there’s more, the melody is not complete.” She answered with forceful confidence.

“Okay, I hear you. There were two other sites he was going to show me, I haven’t decoded the second one yet and the third one, the property had been closed off due to the purchase of the building.”

“So? Just talk to the owner-”

“No, I won’t be doing that.”

“Why?”

“It was purchased by another member of the Congregation, Gerbert D’Aurillac, vampire, not to be trifled with.”

“Why does he want it, what’s it for?”

Michael glanced at her then away, as though weighing up his options.

“Michael, what is it?”

“Something big,” he answered cryptically, “something that explains our place in this world, something that’ll make the witches and vampires see us as equals, not as pawns in their power struggle.”

“What does this Gerbert guy have to do with that?”

“I don’t know yet but I’ll keep working on the second fresco.”

She nodded in agreement, heading out the room towards her bedroom to get ready for that night’s performance.

“Do me a favour,” he stopped her, “don’t tell Montclair about this, or Kris or anyone for that matter. This knowledge could be dangerous in the wrong hands.”

“Fine,” she answered simply, “this is your wheelhouse, not my secret to tell.”

“Will you be back later?”

“Yeah, I’ll be home after the show, you just get that finished, I wanna hear the next part.”

“Yes Ma’am!”

The gathered orchestra stood in the amphitheatre having been directed there by a notice on the backstage door, no other explanation.

After a few moments, a short, elderly man joined them, a daemon, Alisha’s senses picked that up when he glanced around the group and landed on her.

“My name is Brian Cassidy. Unfortunately, Jonathan had to be let go and I will now be standing in as musical director as per request of the board.”

A confused murmur rippled amongst them.

“I understand this is sudden but we want to get back to normalcy, yes?”

Unenthusiastic agreements responded to his request.

“Splendid, that is all.” He dismissed them.

“What’d Jonathan do?” Susan asked nobody in particular but Scott responded with a shrug.

“Beats me, he was a stand-up guy.”

“Yeah, this new MD seems like a total-”

“Alisha Black,” he again addressed the crowd, “where is Alisha, I’d like a word.”

“Great!” She told her colleagues with a considerable amount of sarcasm and approached the fellow daemon. He waited until everyone had left before he addressed her.

“I think we can dispense with the formalities, Alisha.”

“Okay...” she responded, unsure what he was getting at.

“I am the primary shareholder of this company and I am concerned about the attention you are bringing to our door.”

“What kind of attention are you concerned about?”

“I prefer to remain outside of creature politics, having a daemon associated with a vampire on the congregation is not desirable.”

Alisha stared at him in shock.

“Have you been spying on me?”

“Call it protecting an investment.”

“Listen-”

“No, you listen! It’s not just about the politics, if you were seeing a witch or any other vampire, I wouldn’t even be here.”

“Then why are you here?”

“Baldwin Montclair, de Clermont, is the ruin of our kind, the reason we cannot gather in communities while the witches and the vampires do as they wish. You are a talented musician but I will not have De Clermont’s pet lead my orchestra, I would shut the doors first.”

“Are you firing me?”

“I’m warning you. If you do not cut ties with him, I will be forced to let you go, it’s your decision. I expect it by tomorrow.” He walked away, leaving her dumbfounded.

Two ultimatums in as many days.

Alisha did not want to talk, or think. She didn’t call Christina, instead, she allowed Scott to drop her off by the subway.

By the time she walked in the front door she just wanted to collapse on her bed, go to sleep, wake up the next day with all the answers.

Unfortunately, she caught the subtle scent of incense from Baldwin’s coat and it stopped her in her tracks.

Could she walk away from the first chair, a position that took years to earn and would take years to earn again in a different company?

All for what?

She didn’t know what the terms were, the assurances or what happens when he gets bored of her, how many ‘Nightingales’ does he have, all questions to which she knows no answers.

Yes, she was extremely and hopelessly attracted to him but that wasn’t reason enough to abandon everything she had worked for, that would be insane.

“Michael, what exactly is a ‘Nightingale’?” She called out before entering the living room, she would at least get the perspective of someone who was familiar with the concept.

There was no answer.

Alisha rolled her eyes, Michael got into a flow whilst working where he could not hear anything and instead prepared herself to shake him out of it.

What greeted her instead, was a scene she could never prepare herself for.

Papers and books lay strewn around the room.

Michael lay amongst the mess, eyes open and empty of life, an obvious bite mark on the side of his neck and a smashed computer beside him.

———

PART 6

#baldwin montclair #baldwin’s nightingale #adow baldwin #adow fic #baldwin de clermont

[noona-clock]

Bound - Part 6

Genre: God/Soulmate AU 

Pairing: Jongdae x You 

By Admin T

He refused to let you go. You were here, you were breathing and you were in his arms. He kissed every inch of you as he possibly could and uttered his love for you without hesitation. Because no matter what the gods decided and no matter what they’d done to the two of you, he was sure that he’d find his way to you somehow. 

As the memories returned, he pieced it all together. They were recreating their time together these past few days and they didn’t even know it. It was as if the universe let them have another chance. 

“But you also enjoy, don’t you?” he asked innocently.

You couldn’t help but chuckle softly. You’d heard that reminder before but you couldn’t figure out where. “We try. I try.”

"I have an idea,” he grinned and you stilled. You looked over at him and his lips curled into that usual smile. “Let me cook for you.”

“Cook?! But you don’t know how – .”

“Then, teach me,” he chuckled softly.

You’d both had this conversation before. Not just a few days ago but when he’d worked up the courage to woo you. It was before you were both married. 

“I’d wear a white dress, something that I found at a thrift store or a gift from the neighbors,”  you grinned, wrapping the blanket around you closer as you snuggled against the pillow on your bed.

He nodded, licking his lips as he thought carefully. “And I probably would’ve been running late, from work at the store – er, our store that I didn’t have enough time to change but I was clean enough for the wedding. The neighborhood kids would throw flowers everywhere. The sun would be shining, maybe a slight breeze,” continued Jongdae. “And as soon as I saw you, I’d be so happy because I’d get to spend the rest of my life with you.”

Your marriage was the talk of the town. Each word that you’d both imagined happened. Jongdae was late and you had flowers in your hair. 

“Here, let me,” said Jongdae as you dried the dishes. His hands melded over yours and you’d almost dropped your hard-earned cutlery. He chuckled softly, the warmth from his hands bringing you back to reality.

“No, Jongdae, you’ve worked hard today,” you insisted. 

“So did you!” he laughed. “Here, let me at least dry that last plate.”

You sighed and smiled softly, “You’re not going to take no for an answer, are you?”

He shook his head, his hands already holding the towel and taking the plate from you. “See? It’s not so hard to have me help, is it?” he smiled proudly before putting away the last plate.

Jongdae always insisted to help you. You wanted to do everything yourself but he always, lovingly, reminded you that he would always be there for you. 

“I thought thunder and lightning scared you,” replied Jongdae, his other hand gently touching your elbow. He was being careful, you could tell. “I could still remember when you called…”

You shook your head. “I don’t mind thunderstorms and lightning,” you uttered, unaware of the words you were saying, “Not unless you’re with me.”

You’d both always watched thunderstorms together, his arms wrapped around you. You felt safe in his arms then and also now. 

He smiled softly, amazed at how you both found each other. But his thoughts were broken when as you shifted in his embrace. 

“Jongdae, you have to tell me what happened. You have to tell me what you did,” you said softly, your voice breaking the silence. His chest rose and fell as he breathed. You could tell he was thinking. 

You moved to face him as he looked up at you. You both hadn’t left the bed, blankets still covering you both while the warmth still enveloped your bodies. “Please tell me. What did you do?” 

Jongdae gulped. “I made a deal.” 

“We cannot let him do this,” said Suho, his brows furrowed. “He is one of us. This should not be done this way!” 

The elder simply stared back at him. “He cannot continue to live on earth with a god’s powers. He is not human. He is not meant to be there.” 

Xiumin shook his head. “How is it that he is there in the first place? It’s almost as if he was...” 

“Hidden,” interrupted one of the other elders. “The strongest god was hidden for fear of overthrowing the balance, which he’d interrupted not too long ago. He took a life -- “ 

“Not on purpose!” interrupted Sehun, the youngest god. He always felt strongly for his brothers, standing by their side even in dire circumstances. Meanwhile, Kris bristled in his seat, uncomfortable that the elders were making these decisions for them. 

The elder held up his hand. “He took a life. The only way to fix it is, surprisingly, the deal that he’d proposed. He can stay here, we can keep a close eye on him but his powers would be feeble. He can stay here as long as we erase his human life.” 

“Erase? Why would...” murmured Tao in confusion. 

“He cannot have both. Y-- we would be too powerful.” Suho’s brow furrowed in response. 

Chanyeol frowned. “But...” he murmured softly. “But that means that he’d forget all about Y/N. He’d have no idea and...” 

“If Y/N is brought back to life, she’d have no recollection of him either,” said Luhan, shaking his head. It was a balance that had to be kept. The elders always emphasized it and this was the catch. 

“He’s pleading to bring her back to life. This is the sacrifice they will both make,” said the elder with finality. “Then, this is what will happen.” 

“Are you sure this is where Jongdae is?” murmured Lay in confusion. They’d appeared in the kitchen and, to a god, it was pretty rundown despite the humble home you’ve created. 

Kai frowned slightly. “He has to be,” he answered. “I felt his powers emanate from here, so...” 

Suho simply walked towards the living room then let out an embarrassed yell followed by a shout from Jongdae. For once, the layout of your home let you down. You’d never thought of bothering with doors when you were the only person there. So, when Suho mindlessly walked by the living room and by the bedroom to see the two of you, still half-naked and cuddled under the covers, soft whispers exchanged, he panicked. 

“YAH, SUHO!” shouted Jongdae while he immediately covered you with his body and reached for the blankets. 

“Wh-what?!” you muttered, your face suddenly connected to his chest. 

Kai and Lay walked closer as Suho held his hands out in front of them only to splash them with water. “Stay put!” 

Lay sputtered while Kai smiled innocently. “Does this mean that we found him?” 

There was a shuffle, a thud and a patter of feet as Jongdae stumbled towards the three, donning his ‘human’ clothes, his hair still a mess and his cheeks slightly pink. He’d told you to stay put and to get changed away from the door but you could still hear their bickering even without trying. 

"Hyung!” said Kai with a smile as he immediately enveloped his older brother in a hug. Jongdae stilled but he smiled, his hands wrapping Kai in a tight hug. 

“The elders also forced us to forget,” explained Lay as he nodded at Jongdae in greeting. “They made us forget that you were our brother.” 

Suho smirked. “It also explains a lot,” he said teasingly, recalling all those lessons he had with Jongdae. 

“So, what... what happens now?” asked Jongdae. He’d barely had time to think. He was still reeling over the fact that you were alive but now that he was, indeed, a god and one that was hidden away with eleven other brothers up in the heavens, it was too much. 

“We take back what is ours,” said Suho, his smile fading replaced with determination. “The elders are supposed to assist. Advice us, even. But they took everything away. We’re meant to control everything. And, you’re meant to stay up there with us.” 

“We need you to fight with us, Jongdae,” said Lay. “We can’t do this without you. We’re not complete if all twelve of us aren’t there. We haven’t been for a long time.” 

Jongdae shook his head. “I can’t leave -- .” 

You cleared your throat as you stepped out of the doorway. “You should go.” 

Jongdae was at your side immediately, his hand finding yours. “I just saw you, I can’t leave you like this.” 

You chuckled softly, “I’m alive and I’m well. I’ll still be here.” 

“Come with us.” 

Your eyes widened. “I don’t think that’s possible.” 

Lay cleared his throat and shifted from one foot to the other. “Well, uh, actually...” 

Suho’s brow furrowed. “What is it?” 

“I felt something strange when, er, when I was healing her,” explained Lay as Jongdae’s hand tightened around yours. “Y/N’s not exactly human either. Her powers may be dormant... she might not even have powers, but... well, she’s a goddess. She’s one of us.” 

Find Part 7 in the Chen Masterlist!

#exo #noonaclock #admin t #exo scenarios #exo imagines #exo drabbles #exo fanfic #exo fic #exo angst #exo fluff #exo god au #dating exo #exo chen #chen #kim jongdae #jongdae #chen scenarios #chen imagines #chen drabbles #chen fanfic #chen fic #jongdae scenarios #jongdae imagines #jongdae drabbles #jongdae fanfic #jongdae fic

[cryptologicalmystic]

deltarune headcanons

susie is nearsighted (srsly it explains so much)

ralsei has a last name; it's an anagram of 'dreemurr' (erurmdre? rerremdu? urrederm? i think i like rerremdu best)

the mane ax's real-world counterpart is a hairbrush

the soul kris rips out at the end isn't theirs; their own soul is still in their body where it belongs

kris keeps several full sets of plastic cutlery hidden under their mattress at all times for various vaguely nefarious purposes

kris is willing to try eating anything and everything, no matter whether or not it was intended as food; this is in stark contrast to the other dreemurrs (and ralsei) who are slightly pickier than the average in terms of what they'll eat

alphys is not at all happy in her teacher position

lancer can and will beatbox

rouxls kaard is surprisingly good at politics and leadership; if he went to hogwarts somehow then he'd be a shoo-in for slytherin

#sfw #deltarune #undertale #headcanons

[9unslin9er]

#Kris Cutlery #LK Chen #Valiant Armory

[fourthlinefic]

Diversions IV

It’s been 84 years,,,

Sid should have known that something was up when Kris invited him round for lunch straight after practise. Usually, he gave Sid at least a day’s notice of any social engagement. If Sid had taken time to think about it in the sudden recalibration of his day, he would have realised that it was one of the places that Kris knew that they wouldn’t be interrupted by cameras or any of the five guys who had ‘emergency’ keys to Sid’s back door.

He was halfway through a ham and salad sandwich (on rye, no mayo) when Kris sprung his trap. But by then, he already had an Alexander in his lap and nowhere to run.

“So,” Kris started, spearing a cherry tomato with his fork. “How are things with you and Jamie these days?”

“Is this- is this is an appropriate topic for little ears?” Sid said, nodding at Alex's dark head. He didn't appear to be listening, instead straining across the kitchen counter to try and reach his juice cup. Sid handed it to him and got a broad smile in return.

“Who's Jamie?” Alex asked, after he'd taken a long pull of juice.

“Just a friend of Sid's. You met him at the rink remember?” Kris said. Alex shrugged. “Hey, why don't you go find mama, eh? See what she's up to.”

“Why?”

“Because me and Sid need to have a chat about some grown up things.”

“What sort of things?” Alex asked.

“Things for grown ups,” Sid said, hoisting him under his arms and depositing him gently on the floor. He and Kris watched as he toddled off, though at nearly five years old, you couldn’t really call him a toddler anymore. Kris found he never felt older than when he noticed how big the kids were getting. He turned back to Sid.

“So. Jamie.”

“I told you before,” Sid sighed, taking another bite of sandwich. “We’re just messing around. It’s just fun. And none of your business.”

Kris wrinkled his nose at Sid. He would have thought that at thirty years old, someone would have taught him not to talk with his mouth full. “I mean, it kind of is my business since you started up with a teammate. And no offence, Sid, but,” he paused, because Sid was right. This was not a conversation he wanted being overheard by little ears. He cast a quick eye around and dropped his voice anyway, because you never knew. “But you're kind of a slut, and not everyone is used to the Sidney Crosby Treatment.”

“That’s not fair,” Sid frowned. “It’s not like I’ve had much of a chance at dating long term, y’know?”

And maybe Sid had a point, except Kris knew his friend, and he knew that Sid felt no remorse at his perpetual single-hood. Kris sighed. “I’m just trying to look out for you, Sid.”

“I know, bud,” Sid smiled. “And in my defence, you were there when I swore off Seguin. And the thing with Giroux doesn't count, we were in Prague.”

“I was there the last time you swore off Seguin, but you say that after every Dallas game,” Kris pointed out. Sid glared at him, and Kris stared back. He should be glad he wasn't bringing up his history with Ovechkin, or Weber, and he was pretty sure Taylor Hall was involved at one point. Sid sighed resignedly and shrugged.

“It’s different now. He’s got this regular thing going on with Benn,” he said, wrinkling his nose at the thought of exclusivity.

“You know, most people would call that a healthy, monogamous relationship, Sidney.”

“No, because then that would mean me and Jamie are in a relationship.”

Kris blinked. “I'm sorry, What?”

“Having sex exclusively with one person doesn't mean you're in a relationship,” Sid said with a shrug, and maybe if it was anyone else saying that, Kris would have been inclined to agree with them. Except.

“No no no, wait. No. You're sleeping only with Jamie?”

“I mean, it's not like I have many options these days. Most guys are either too young or married,” Sid shrugged. Kris sighed, rubbed his fingers against his temples. He had long ago come to the realisation that Sid was a special kind of emotionally emancipated. He had accepted that. It was just a Sid Thing, like so many other Sid Things. But Jesus, did he worry about him sometimes.

“That is so far from the point I'm trying to make here, Sid. When was the last time you were seeing only one guy?”

The long pause before Sid could answer would be enough to make his mother weep. It nearly made Kris weep. Just when he thought he was going to have to spell it out for him, Sid’s eyes suddenly flashed with realisation. He put his sandwich down on his plate, and blinked at Kris.

“Fuck. We’re dating.”

Sid eyed his phone as it started buzzing along his kitchen counter. Flower's grinning face beamed up at him, the top of Estelle’s head just visible in the frame of the photo. The ache of Flower’s drafting wasn’t as painful as when it was fresh, not since Flower had found a decent phone plan, but Sid couldn’t help the half sigh that escaped him before picking up his mobile.

“Whatever Kris told you, it's a lie,” he said as he put him on speaker, and Flower's laugh crackled down the line. Sid felt his own mouth twitch upwards in response. It was still so easy to fall into the familiar patterns of chirper and chirpee, the distance doing little to diminish Flower’s ability to verbally destroy Sid any chance he got.

“Hello to you too, Sidney.” Flower said. “I hear I should congratulate you? That you're finally growing up?”

“Don't you guys have better things to do than gossip about my love life?” Sid asked, going back to stirring the chili on the stove. He'd remembered to leave out the bell pepper this time, how Jamie had picked all the pieces out and left them on the side of his plate. And okay, yeah. He could see how maybe this whole thing had turned into dating.

“Sid, you know you're the most interesting part of all of our lives,” Flower said, and Sid could still pick out the teasing edge in his voice.

“Duper’s maybe,” Sid allowed, smiling at Flower's snort of laughter. “You and Kris should still be thinking about hockey.”

“Well the thing is, Sidney, we actually do have interests outside of hockey unlike-”

“How am I an interest outside of hockey?” Sid demanded. “I am about as hockey as you can get. I am literally dating a hockey player.”

“Aw, you said the D word!” Flower cooed and Sid seriously considered just hanging up on him. “We only gossip because we care. I’m just mad I’ve had to hear about all this second hand from Tanger. What’s he like?”

“Tanger? Uh, he’s about six foot, very pretty, great ass. Spills all my secrets to the French-Canadian mafia.”

“Sid…”

“Oh, you mean Jamie. Yeah, he also has a great ass.”

“Is he good to you?” Flower asked, and he sounded so concerned and exasperated and fond, all at the same time that Sid couldn’t help but feel a little bad for being such a dick about the whole thing. He turned the heat down on the chilli so that he could turn his full attention to Flower.

“He’s great, Flower. He’s very sweet and thoughtful. And he gave me his instagram password.”

“I’m sensing a ‘but’ here. What’s up?”

And this is what Sid loved about Flower. Kris and Olli treated this whole thing like something with an expiry date, something that Sid was going to get bored of and drop as quickly as he had picked it up. And Sid couldn’t blame them really. A precedent had been set years ago, a pattern that had been traced over and over. So he couldn’t blame them for being more concerned with Jamie’s heart than his own. But Flower had never put up with Sid’s love ‘em and leave ‘em outlook on life. As much as Sid claimed he hated it, hated the judging eyes of his friend, he knew that Flower just wanted him to be better. It mattered to him what Sid’s heart was going through.

“I dunno,” Sid sighed. “He’s just young, and probably way better to me than I deserve. I just can’t help feeling like it’s going to fall apart. And I don’t even know if we have enough of something to fall apart. Sometimes I feel like it’s just sex, but then I look at him and I just feel. I don’t even know what I feel. It’s just, it feels good. And I’m probably gonna fuck it up.”

“I think you need to talk to Jamie,” Flower said after a second. “I know how much you hate that, but you need to figure out what you have here. I'm just glad you're moving on, you know?”

“Uh, no I don't know,” Sid said, caught off guard. “Moving on from what?”

“You and Geno. You had that whole thing-” Flower suddenly stopped, as if the line had been cut. There was a pause before, “you know what, it doesn't matter. Forget I said anything. What are you up to tonight?”

“I've got some guys coming over for food and PS4, but what do you mean me and Geno?”

“I just mean you were both really into each other for a while and nothing really happened and I don’t think you ever got over that. But now you’ve got Jamie, so it’s all good, right?”

“Wait, do you think I’ve never dated because I was waiting for Geno? Flower, me and Geno were always just friends.” Sid said, torn between laughter and horror. “He’s beautiful and he plays beautiful hockey, and yeah maybe I was a little bit in love with him once, but no. I sleep around because I enjoy it, not because I’m hung up on Geno. Which is some backwards fucking logic by the way.”

“Okay, okay!” Flower cried. “Crisse, sorry for thinking you have human emotions. So you're not in love with Geno, that's cool.”

Sid went back to stirring the chilli, pursing his lips when he felt it starting to stick to the bottom of the pan. Like his mother before him, Sid kept a bottle of cheap(ish) red wine open for cooking, and he slopped another half a cup into the pan.

“If I burn this chilli because of you, I'm flying down to Vegas to beat you up myself.”

“I'd like to see you try, Croz. You wouldn't be able to get past Reaver.”

“I think I could take him,” Sid hummed as he fished a tablespoon of out the cutlery draw to taste the chilli with. “I’ve seen him fight, could probably get in his head a bit.”

“And I’ve seen you fight,” Flower said, his tone of voice telling Sid exactly what he thought of his attempts at dropping gloves. “So, you’re not in love with G. Are you in love with Jamie?”

Sid almost choked on a mouthful of chilli. “Oh for-”

“Joking, I'm joking!” Flower cackled. “Man, I wish I could have seen your face.”

“You’re so fucking annoying,” Sid muttered, and swore when he noticed that he’d spilled chilli down his shirt. That Flower had made him spill chilli down his shirt. “I’ve gotta go change, and the boys are gonna be here soon. Can we talk later? Properly?”

“You just want to get out of talking about feelings,” Flower said, and then steamrolled over Sid’s protests. “No, I get it, you don’t want to talk to your best friend about the things that are most important to you. You’d rather talk to Mr Degrassi. Yeah, talk to Tanger about that.”

“Okay, I’m hanging up now,” Sid warned, his finger hovering over his phone’s screen. “If you have anything nice to say, now’s the time to get it in.”

“Have a good night, Sid. Be good to your man, eh?”

“I’ll try. And I’ll see you around.”

“See you in the fourth round, baby,” Flower laughed, and Sid hung up on him with a smile.

#hockey rpf #big rig n sid #sidgeno #ish #sc #kl #maf #my writing #lots of feelings being had

[upthenorthmountain]

Gonna Walk - Thursday

Previous Days

Thursday

Anna absolutely did not fancy Kristoff. She had absolutely never noticed the way he pushed his shirt sleeves up on warm days, or the way he ran his hands through his hair when he was annoyed. She’d never asked him to help her with a heavy box of books so she could watch him pick it up. She hadn’t suggested they drive to the Lake District together because she wanted to spend time with him.

And she was definitely not pretending to be asleep so she could watch him get out of the bed and stretch.

-----

Thursday. The fourth day of this.

Although the sun was shining - well, it was shining two miles up, but at least the rain had stopped - the previous day trapped in the house had not done much for Kristoff’s temper. He’d managed to get a little time alone, then Anna had come in to play silly jokes on her cousin. Having to be close to her, while knowing it was all a game to her, was getting to be more than he could take.

Which was probably why he baulked when she started suggesting things they could do at breakfast.

“I was thinking, we should talk more about things we’ve done? Like places we’ve been to together? Like we could say we went rollerskating -”

“Or we could just eat, and then I’ll go out for a walk.”

“Oh, it won’t take much -”

“Why does it have to take anything? I wish I’d never started this, I really do. Maybe I should just tell them all the truth.”

“But you promised. Kristoff, you promised -”

“I promised for five minutes! Then, I promised for one night. It’s been three nights and this is still going on and it’s insane, Anna. We’re not convincing anybody -”

“Yes we are. Grandma said -”

“Okay, we’re convincing one old lady. But. I’m not doing this any more. I’m going home.”

“Everyone will think we broke up -”

“I don’t care. This is all your problem, why are you making it my problem.”

“You can’t break up with me in the middle of a family holiday, who does that -”

“People who aren’t together in the first place? Will you please just think about this objectively for a minute and realise how crazy it is?”

Well, he had her there. “I’m sorry,” was all she could say. Kristoff huffed.

“I’m going out today,” he said. “For a walk. A long one. I’ll be back - when I’m back.”

“...oh.”

He picked up his things and went to leave the room. Anna was standing still, watching him, her eyes big and sad.

“Don’t,” he said. “Just don’t, okay? I’m not the one who started this.”

-----

Anna waited upstairs until her was gone, until everyone else had probably finish breakfast and gone about their day. She didn’t think Kristoff was serious about leaving. He certainly hadn’t taken his car, or the rest of his things, so most likely he had just gone for a walk and would be back that evening.

Eventually she went downstairs and into the kitchen by herself. She made some toast and a cup of tea, and sat there staring at it.

“Anna? Is everything okay?” It was Chloe, and she sat down next to Anna with an expression of concern on her face.

“Yeah, I…” Anna sighed. Maybe she’d better tell part of the truth, just in case. “Kris and I had a row. I - I don’t know. Then he left and said he was going walking today.”

Chloe nodded. “Other people’s families can be a bit much.”

“I guess.”

“He’ll be back later, though?”

“I guess. I don’t know.” Anna was surprised to find that her eyes were genuinely prickling with tears. She was clearly a better actress than she thought.

Chloe bit her lip. “Anna, can I say something?”

“Sure?”

“I get the impression he's not normally very demonstrative?”

“I suppose not.”

“And you're so keen to show him off, he's having to put on this performance -”

Anna froze.

“- but it makes him feel awkward, and you know everyone and he doesn't. I expect he just needed some time alone.”

Anna sighed. “You're probably right.”

“But, Anna.” Chloe leant over and put her hand on her cousin’s. “He’s crazy about you. Everyone can see it.”

“Really?”

“Oh, yes. The way he looks at you, Anna. He's besotted.”

Anna squeezed Chloe’s hand. “Thanks.”

“So you don't need to, for example, make him have loud sex with you where Stephanie can hear to make her believe it.”

“I -” Anna looked up, caught Chloe’s eye and blushed. “I would not do that,” she said. “That would be - very childish.”

They grinned at each other. Chloe said “So cheer up, buttercup,” squeezed her hand again, and got up.

-----

The fresh air and the silence didn’t actually help all that much. The hills were still beautiful, and it was nice to properly stretch his legs, but Kristoff’s thoughts kept returning to Anna. Had he upset her? Would she still be angry when he got back?

He made himself stay out all day, and was walking slowly along the lane back to the house when he saw two people climbing over the stile onto the footpath ahead of him. It was John and Chloe, carrying some large paper bags.

“Kristoff!” John said cheerfully. “Just heading back, eh? Glad to see it, we were just wondering how we were going to keep yours warm.”

“We walked down to the chippy in the village,” Chloe said.

“Got you cod and chips, hope that’s okay,” John added.

“Yes, of course,” Kristoff replied. “How much do I -“

“Oh, don’t be silly. You’re our guest.”

Kristoff walked back along with them, chatting, the half-mile more to the house. He got the impression John didn’t know he and Anna had argued, but Chloe did.

They arrived at the house and everyone joined them in the kitchen.

“I think Anna’s still out the back,” Caroline said, as she got out plates and cutlery. “Will someone go and fetch her?”

“I’ll go,” Kristoff said, “I’ve still got my boots on.”

“Thank you - she just went out the back door and along the path a bit, I think.”

Kristoff left the house, wondering what Anna was doing. Reading? But no, after a turn in the path he found her, standing behind a little wooden easel, painting the landscape with watercolours. A bag of paints and pencils and sketchbooks was lying at her feet. She didn’t notice him in her concentration, and he stood and watched her for a minute. Her painting was very good. He hadn’t known she could paint - well, he’d seen her displays on the boards at the school, and now he thought about it they were always very well done. But this was something else.

After a minute he coughed. “Anna?”

“Hmm?” She turned and smiled at him. “Oh! Hi.”

“Um, dinner’s ready. Well, John and Chloe fetched fish and chips. I met them as I was walking back.”

“Oh, right. I’d better pack up.” She started putting her things away.

“But you’ve not finished.”

“I took a photo, I’ll finish it another time.”

“I’m sorry about earlier,” he said.

“No, I’m sorry. I know this has been difficult for you. I wouldn’t blame you if you did leave.”

“It hasn’t been so bad.”

“Really?” Anna shouldered her bag.

“Yeah, I mean - all of your family have been so nice, and…”

Anna took his hand, then tugged on it until he leant down, and kissed him on the lips. As she pulled away, she suddenly looked embarrassed, and said “I don’t know why I did that, there’s no one here to see.”

She picked up her painting. “I’d better carry this carefully,” she said, “It’s not dry. Can you bring the easel, please?”

“Did you bring all this with you?” Kristoff said, picking it up.

“Yes? Why did you think I had two cases? We’re only here five days.”

“I did wonder.”

“So you can stick another night?” Anna asked when they reached the house.

“Yes. I guess. If I must.”

“Kristoff -” she said, then stopped.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

-----

After dinner, John disappeared out to his car and returned with a couple of bottles of homemade wine. Its arrival was greeted with cheers, and Anna told Kristoff gleefully about how she and her cousins (not her sister, apparently) used to try and sneak it when they were in their late teens. “It’s very strong,” she said. “Don’t let me have too much.”

“Shall I tell him about the time you -” Stephanie started.

“No, you shall not.”

“So, how did you two get together,” Caroline said once (small) glasses had been poured.

“Oh, I’d wanted to ask her out for a while,” Kristoff said. “But she had a boyfriend, and then when they broke up I thought I’d better leave it a while but I was too slow and then she had a boyfriend again, then the same thing happened the next time, so it took a year or so before she was actually single and I worked myself up to making my move.”

Anna laughed. “You didn’t tell me that. You’re making it sound like you had to take a ticket and wait your turn.”

Kristoff shrugged. “As long as no one else is waiting,” he said, “Because I plan to make them wait a good long while.”

Anna smiled at him, and hid her face behind her glass. Kristoff was sitting in one of the armchairs; Anna had been sitting on the arm, but now he held out a hand to her and pulled her onto his lap. She settled into his shoulder, his hand on her hip. He kissed the top of her head, and felt her relax right into him.

----

“Let’s leave the kids to finish the bottle,” John said. “Goodnight, everyone.”

“Goodnight.”

Once the older people were gone, Stephanie went round and shared the rest of the wine between their four glasses, then held up the empty bottle. “Now we can play spin the bottle,” she said.

“We’ve only got one man,” Chloe pointed out. “We could all just kiss him in turn, to save time,” and she started giggling.

“No, he’s mine,” Anna said, and turned in her seat to kiss Kristoff full on the lips. He kissed her back, until eventually she pulled away, laughing. He couldn’t tell exactly how tipsy she was, but then he wasn’t sure how much he’d drunk, either; it was hard to taste the alcohol in whatever he was drinking. He just knew he felt warm and content and wonderfully happy to have a pretty girl sitting on his knee and kissing him.

“You’re so lucky,” Chloe said. “Where do I find one like that? Does he have a brother?”

Anna hesitated.

“No,” Kristoff said. “‘Fraid not. Just a sister.”

“That’ll do.”

“She’s married.”

“Bum. You guys should get married,” Chloe continued. “Have lots of lovely ginger babies.”

“Take her glass away, she’s had enough,” Anna said. “And I’m not ginger, my hair is strawberry blonde.”

“Ginger,” Stephanie said. “Don’t you think, Kristoff?”

He leant back a bit to look at Anna’s hair. “Can I get away with just saying it’s a very beautiful colour?”

“No,” the women all chorused.

“Definitely strawberry blonde, then.” He kissed the top of her head.

“Kiss-arse,” Stephanie said. She was sitting on the floor, with her back to the sofa.

“You’re just jealous,” Anna said.

“Little bit,” Stephanie said. “Still a bit shocked you managed to find such a nice one. Some of your previous ones were shockers.”

“You never met any of ‘em.”

“I heard some stories.”

“From who? Whom. Is that right?”

“From Chloe. You tell her stuff you don’t tell me. Then she tells me. So. Anyway. Like the guy who kept trying to chat up Elsa, while you were in the room…”

“Oh, god,” Anna said.

“When we all know Elsa’s a lesbian,” Stephanie said.

“We don’t know that,” Chloe said.

“Okay, when we all suspect. Have you met Elsa?” Stephanie said to Kristoff.

“No. Not yet.”

“She’s ver’...I’unno.”

“Tall,” Anna said, then started laughing.

“She’s not very tall. Taller than you, Anna,” Stephanie said. “But most people are. Elsa’s very….aloof. Some men think that’s a challenge. Anyway. I was telling Kristoff about all your exes. Like the one who stole your -”

Anna was still giggling. “Stop, stop, enough,” she said. “He doesn’t want to hear all this. Oh god.”

“Stole your what?” Kristoff said.

“Virginity,” Chloe said. She was lying full-length on the sofa.

“No one stole that,” Anna said. “I gave it up willingly, I had no use for it.”

“Who to?” Stephanie said.

Anna squinted. “I think his name was Adam? No, Aidan.” Then she started giggling again, and soon all three women were in fits. “It was -” Anna tried to say through her laughter, “It was very special and meaningful -”

“Kristoff,” Stephanie said, “Kristoff, tell us how you lost your virginity.”

“Stephanie!” Chloe said. “You can’t ask people that.”

“I think I just did.”

“I’m saving it for my wedding night,” Kristoff said, and that set all the women off laughing again.

“We should go to bed,” Anna said, once she’d recovered. “Gotta long drive tomorrow. Gonna be hungover. Woops.”

“Blame Dad,” Chloe said. “What does he even put in this stuff.”

“Fruit,” Stephanie said. “It’s good for you.”

-----

Kristoff eventually hauled Anna to her feet to take her to bed. At the foot of the stairs she wrapped herself around him, kissing him, and he had to almost lift her up step by step. Stephanie rolled her eyes at them and hissed “Get a room,” when he pressed Anna against the landing wall for more kisses, so he forced himself away, took her hand and dragged her into the bedroom.

He kicked the door shut behind them and let himself be pulled towards the bed. Anna was giggling as she tugged him down next to her, and she immediately fastened her arms round his neck and kissed him again.

“Anna,” Kristoff said, pulling away and laughing. “Anna, you can stop, no one can see us.”

“Don’t wanna stop,” she said, pressing kisses to his jaw and cheek. He put his hands on her shoulders and gently put her away from him. She grumbled, but rolled onto her back.

“Why’d you have to be such a good kisser?” she said. “That’s the problem.”

“I’m sorry. It’s a curse.”

“If you weren’t a good kisser, wouldn’t wanna keep kissin’ you.”

“Mmm. You’re not bad yourself.”

“I think I like kissing you,” Anna said dreamily.

“I think you’ve had too much to drink.”

“Maybe. An’ I think…” she hesitated, then continued with more urgency - “I think I’m goin’ to be sick.”

“What?”

“I mean it, I mean it, I’m going to be sick -” She leapt up and sprinted out of the room. Kristoff followed her just in time to see her heaving dramatically over the toilet. He followed her into the bathroom, shut the door, and knelt behind her to pull her hair back over her shoulders as she threw up.

After a couple of minutes, she leant back against Kristoff’s chest. “I think I’m done.”

“Okay.”

There was a tap on the door. Kristoff said “Hello?”

“Is everything alright in there?” he heard Caroline say.

“Yes. Anna had a bit too much to drink but she’s okay.”

“Don’t tell her that,” Anna said.

“We’ll be fine, thank you,” Kristoff said. “I’ll put her to bed.”

“Okay. Goodnight, then.”

“Goodnight.”

Anna stood, flushed the toilet and went to the sink to splash water on her face. “I’m fine now. I’m always fine after I throw up.”

“Good.”

She swilled out her mouth with some water, found a stray tube of toothpaste by the sink and rubbed some on her gums. “I’m good. I’m good. Let’s go.”

She clung to his arm as they went back through to the bedroom, then found her pyjamas and started undressing. Kristoff turned his back as quickly as he could, but she didn’t seem to notice, just carried on with what she was doing, then climbed into the bed. Thinking that she was going straight to sleep, he changed quickly and got in next to her.

“Kris?” Anna said.

“Yes?”

“Do you have something?”

“What?”

“Like, a condom, do you have one?”

“What?”

She rolled over towards him and pulled on his arm.

“No, Anna, we are not going to have sex tonight.”

“Oh. Is it because I threw up?”

“We weren’t going to anyway.”

“Oh….okay.”

She went silent again, and Kristoff turned away and tried to go to sleep. But not for long.

“Is it because I’m drunk?”

He sighed. “Yes. I mean, not just that. But you ARE drunk and you need to go to sleep.”

“Okay. Do you have one, though?”

“Why?”

“In case we want to do it tomorrow.”

“We’re going home tomorrow.”

“Oh, oh, right. And you won’t be my boyfriend any more.”

“Anna, I’m not your boyfriend anyway.”

“Oh. Oh yeah.”

She went silent again, and he waited to see if she was finished.

“I am ginger, aren’t I. I know it. It’s okay.”

“Anna, please go to sleep.”

Kristoff didn’t feel drunk any more, but he must have still been a little tipsy at least because he found himself lifting his arm and saying “Come here.” Anna shuffled over and snuggled up with her head on his shoulder. “G’night,” she said.

“Goodnight.”

#gonna walk #kristanna #kristanna week 2017 #modern au #fanfic

[treechangeseachange]

I started writing this blog from the shack, one week after moving and mentally I was still recovering. The hardest part of the move for me was the downsizing. We did a lot of culling and sorting in advance and packed a whole bunch of possessions into the container in preparation for the move from a 3 bedroom house plus garage and shed, to a four room abode. But we underestimated that the shack was already pretty much fully set up. So then we had to deal with 2 toasters, 2 kettles, 2 laundry baskets, double kitchen crockery and cutlery etc and so had to store this stuff as well. Needless to say the container has gone from being full to being rammed! With very limited storage in the shack everything is prioritised, because even a big stash of supermarket shopping bags poses a storage issue in a compact dwelling. It has made me reflect. Clearly we have led a very priveliged existence to own more than we need and have somewhere to store it. Anyone who lives in an apartment would find all of the above amusing. Or anyone who lives in a populous city or a third world country where space or belongings are limited. I realise now stuff falls into three categories: useful stuff, luxury stuff and other stuff. And if you have more stuff than space you have a problem. Some stuff has value, but only to someone at a specific time, therefore only so much stuff can be ebayed or garage sold. If you don't want stuff you give it away but if no one wants it or you run out of time sadly you tip it and it sits in a hole in the ground for an indeterminate amount of time fated to be an archeological treasure for the next Millenia. Why do we collect so much stuff? Pre Christmas it made me think seriously about stuff and what to buy people. Work Kris Kringle lucky dip? A small but delicious Christmas pudding made by a local bakery. I dreaded receiving a cook book, I haven't the shelf space, but happily it was an edible gift too. Now that I've recovered from moving 'trauma' I should make the rest of this blog focus on the wonder of living in the bush. Because we are extremely lucky to be here. I thought this blog would be partly taken up with things I miss about Mollymook. However, I am pleased and not a little surprised to say I'm not missing anything. A few wet mornings I have realised the value of paved walkways and driveways but otherwise nothing missed. Yes life requires a bit more effort and planning. We have only a small gas fridge so we're shopping small and often. We need to turn on the generator to power the pump for a shower. We don't have a tv aerial but even husband confessed he's not missing tv. We are enjoying the seclusion, the quiet and most of all being in the bush. We coexist with tree and land dwelling marsupials, some reptiles, many birds and billions of insects. We hope to get our development application submitted in February. Also for ahead for our busy 2018 are a hundred small projects including a grey water system, veggie patch, worm farm, chook shed and chooks, cubby house construction and fruit tree planting. Thanks for sharing my blog journey last year, it's such a delight to be writing knowing my words will be read. Wishing everyone a happy 2018, let's see if we can tread a little lighter on the planet.

#offgrid #treechange #livingthedream #southcoastliving

[paulhudd]

Spindlefreck Book Two: Pt.Five: Hooray for Hollywood

[Story so far: Malky and Brooster have been hired by veteran Irish comedian and international movie star, Oliver Laphen (or Ollie Laffin, as he was known in his 1930s hey-day) to investigate the activities of an alleged ‘poltergeist’ at Pagham House, his stately home in Kildare (Malky was reluctant, but Zindy was insistent: the money is needed to pay for the refurbishing of Odin’s Inn). Once they get there, Broo quickly discovers that there is nothing to see -- literally -- the house and its grounds are devoid of atmosphere: no ghosts, no echoes of the past -- no wildlife! In other words, it existed in a spiritual vacuum. Then there’s the arrival of Laphen’s grandson, Kris, visiting from America; he has a dark aura about him that renders Broo’s extrasensory powers inoperable and saps his strength, but most disturbing of all, his psychic link with Malky is broken; there’s nothing he can do until they leave. Laphen turns out to be an elderly, misanthropic inebriate, and as they sit down to dinner, he tries to provoke his visiting grandson with a spiteful harangue designed to embarrass and humiliate; but Kris, a young, laid-back Californian, doesn’t take the bait and laughs-off every slur...]  

 Slouched, sloshed, sloppy and louche, Laphen reclined in his throne-like, red-velvet-lined, high-backed dining-chair with (what Malky assumed was) the Laphen coat of arms embroidered on the velvet-headrest (two rampant pigs wearing little bowler hats supporting a four-leaf shamrock emblazoned with the the motto Laphen All the Way to the Bank). Still unshaven, he had nonetheless been scrubbed-up (probably by Herbie), his receding hair backcombed, slicked-down and darkened with oil. Typically, he was dressed to distress -- a turquoise smoking-jacket two sizes too big, canary-yellow Bermuda shorts, knee-length green-&-white striped rugby socks and a pair of well-worn purple flip-flops; it was an ensemble that lent credence to his reputation as the worst dressed man in Hollywood. Wine-glass in one hand, bulbous cheroot in the other, the pale light from an ornate candelabra casting a shadow across his face making his trademark dimpled-grin look positively demonic, he held court like an odious goblin king, drinking himself stupid and mercilessly goading his young grandson, while Herbie, eating at the other end of the table, stared straight ahead and pretended he wasn't listening. Up until now, Laphen’s intended target seemed utterly immune to every jibe. Kris ate heartily and slowly, deflecting the brickbats without losing it and sticking his fork in his grandfather’s eye; a course of action, in Malky’s opinion, that would be entirely permissible in the circumstances.

“... then you were in that pop group, what was it called, Satan’s Pooves?” Laphen sneered, looking for something to crack Kris’ resolve.

“Ha-ha-ha-hah, Lucifer’s Hooves,” Kris corrected him, tittering, turning to Malky and explaining with unshakable chirpiness, “it was a garage-band I formed in high school,” he joked, “we never got outta the garage!”

“Then there was the time you tried to start your own magazine...?” said Laphen, trying desperately to touch a nerve.

“It was a hobby! I was 10!” Kris snorted.

Laphen got all Noel Coward with a little bit of Gielgud thrown in for good measure, “What I’m getting at is this, Kristof: you’re not a renaissance man, you’re an interminable amateur -- a dilettante, a poseur – you flit from one thing to another, looking for something to get you noticed– and when it doesn’t work you move on to the next thing. You don’t care what medium you exploit to achieve your goal: celebrity. That’s Art for Fame’s Sake. That’s profane.” He sat back and continued in his usual, sarcastic tone, “This is where you and I differ, boy. I got famous cos I have Talent. When I do something I give it my all – no matter what piece of shit they put me in - I shine cos I’m true to meself and my craft. That’s how I knew I would always succeed in everything I did: because I have the unshakeable self-belief that only God-given Talent provides. That’s why I can’t take you or your silly movie seriously. It’s just the latest in a long line of look-at-me projects designed to propel you into the limelight. Pass the parmesan mill, would you...”

Kris passed the mill and snorted with laughter, explaining, “That’s what those teenage years are for, gramps, trial and error and making career choices. I’m going to be director. I’ve already made a successful documentary for a for a Film School assignment. In fact it won an award -- an award presented to me by Clint Eastwood who said I was an ‘outstanding young talent with a very bright future’... More pasta...?”

Malky looked up from his bolognese and grinned through a mouthful of meatballs. You tell him, boy.

Then, after a few seconds’ pause came the poisonous riposte aimed squarely below the belt: “Your mother made a documentary too, didn’t she? What was it called, now...? Oh yes, Annie Bell Does Bel Air! I’m pretty sure it was a documentary, it looked real enough...?”

Ouch. Malky’s grin vanished. He’d heard about Kris’ mother’s fall from grace and it was quite an unsavoury story. What a bastard! Quare Geg my arse. If I was 8-years-old sitting in the pictures laughing my head off and you told me I’d be sitting at the great man’s table 40-odd years later hating him with every fibre of my being, I’d’ve said you were mad. And yet, here I am, trying to decide what kind of murder would cause him the most pain...

This thought failed to reach Broo’s brain. He lay in a darkened corner –- as far away as he could get from the grandson -- ate his liver and kidneys and did his best to ignore the noise pollution at the other end of the room. The grandson had insisted on candlelight: “this house wasn't built with electricity in mind, dudes!” and the magnolian-gloom of the candelabras undulated with each ripple of the flames, making the chandeliers glisten like stars in the darkness high above the table, giving everything a dream-like quality. But aside from the boy’s debilitating aura and the all-too-human tension created by Laphen’s incessant needling, there was no real atmosphere here. They’d seen most of the house by now, and it was the same no matter where they went: nothing. Every noise was explicable; every shadow accounted for; the ambiance static and uncommonly hollow.

“Everythin’ all right, Mr Calvert?” asked Herbie, rousing Malky from his daydream.

“This is the best bolognese sauce I’ve ever tasted!” said Malky, with a what-the-hell-am-I-doing here look. 

“Fanks very much, Mr Calvert. It’s jas somefink I rassle-ap in an ‘urry,” said the big man, shaking his head, with a what-can-you-do-it’s-always-like-this-shrug of his shoulders. Clad in a sober charcoal two-piece suit and regimental tie, Herbie maintained a dignified silence despite of the slew of bile coming from the top of the table. Occasionally though, Malky glimpsed little cracks in the façade; he’d roll his eyes skyward or shake his head slightly when something particularly hurtful was said, but by-and-large, he was inscrutable. Poor sod. Malky was well aware that Laphen’s jibes were meant for the old retainer as much as the boy: every time Ollie takes a shot at Kris, it’s Herbie who takes the bullet.

Laphen’s tirade went on, “... Is it any wonder your mother turned out to be such a dead loss when she wuz reared by a woman the tabloids dubbed ‘The Worst Mother in Hollywood’?! Stupid bloody Danish cow. No, sorry, that’s an insult to cattle –- they nurture their calves -- they don’t let them play beside unsupervised swimming pools. Shoes, now. She knows about shoes. Beyond that, she has the IQ of a dog turd.”

Kris came straight back and trilled, “Grandma? Grandma is so-oo happy these days. She’s busy with her charities, she’s in love with a younger man who thinks the world of her and, you-know-what?” he turned and winked at Herbie, “he never beats-on-her, or locks her in her room, or throws her clothes out of the window...”

“I wish I’d thrown her out of the window,” grumbled Laphen.

“Didn't you throw No.3 out of a window?”

“That was No.4. And it wasn't a window, it was a moving car.” 

“I stand corrected.”

“Funnily enough, so does she.”

Malky yawned noisily. Herbie continued to stare into the middle distance.  

“... So, your mother is still sober is she?” Laphen asked, feigning concern.

“Oh yes, you’ll be simply thrilled to learn your darling little Annelise is straight ‘n sober and of sound mind – she’s been running a woman’s shelter in the Valley for a couple of years now. We’re all very proud of her. She told me to pass on her regards...” he looked up as if trying to remember, “No, wait - her exact words were: ‘tell that vile old goat to hurry-up and die!’”

Malky had to stifle a laugh.

Laphen bristled, “Aye, well, you can tell that cheeky bitch she won’t get a brown penny from me when I do pop me clogs! I disinherited her when she was done for hooerin’! Anyway, sober or not – at heart she’ll always be a ditzy f**k up who bounces from one crisis to another with her knickers round her ankles!”

Herbie put down his cutlery, dabbed the corners of his mouth, cleared his throat and made sure they knew he was ready to step in. Malky gazed longingly at the decanter of brandy on the table, and for the first time in three years, entertained thoughts of jumping off the wagon and jumping into a refreshing pool of blissful oblivion... until Broo, intuitively aware of what Malky was thinking, let out a little growl to say knock it off!

Kris watched the old man pour another glass and asked in an earnest tone, “How many bottles have you had today, gramps?”

“F**k off,” grunted Laphen. “I’m very rich, very successful, I’ve worked very hard all my life and I’ve earned the right to do whatever-the-f**k-I-like.”

“Even if it kills you?” Kris replied; then after a split-second’s thought, he retracted, “Waitaminnit - open another bottle! Go on - drink up! I’ll get another case from the cellar!”

Laphen sipped his drink, sucked on his cheroot and snickered defiantly.

Suddenly, Kris turned to his right and asked in a haughty voice laced with suspicion, “Forgive me for asking, Mr Calvert, but what exactly is it you do?”

Broo snorted, Oh, this’ll be good. What do you do, Malcolm?

Malky didn’t have time to reply – Laphen was in like a shot, “I told you! He’s a plumber! He’s here to mend the boiler, OK?! Leave him alone.”

Kris winked at Malky, turned back to Laphen and said, “... and since when does the Mighty Oliver Laphen invite humble tradesmen - and their dogs - to join him for dinner? I mean, you make your lawyers eat in the kitchen with the staff -- so what gives?!” He turned back to Malky and spoke in his normal, friendly voice, “I don’t wish to cause offence to you or your dog, Mr Calvert, but when it comes to the hoi polloi -- and their pets -- my grandfather isn't known for his hospitality...?”

Again, before Malky could reply, Laphen sat forward, snapped his fingers repeatedly and took back the conversation, “Hey! Hey! Hey! Nevermind him -- tell me, boy -- who’s this backer ye’ve got? Who’s the eejit daft enough to invest their cash in yer silly wee horror picture?” He smiled smugly and winked at Malky as if to say – wait til you hear this! 

Again, Malky was about to say something when Kris took the words right out of his mouth, “Oh, stop acting like a total asshole, Ollie, you’re not funny.” And yet, despite this spirited response, Malky noticed the boy flinch when the movie was mentioned. And so had Laphen. He laughed, threw back his head, blew a smoke-ring into the air and let it drift above his head like a wispy-white halo, “Asshole or not, I didn’t get to sit in the big chair without bein’ thorough. So c’mon now, who’s your Generous Benefactor?”

Putting his elbows on the table and hunching his shoulders, Kris sipped his water, looked down at his empty plate and said “I’ll tell you when you’re sober.”  

Alas, the old man was intent; he sat forward in his seat, put his elbows on the table, rested his chin on his hands and enquired in faux-earnest voice, “Och, c’mon laddie, If you want to film here you’ll have to tell me sometime.” He turned and informed his faithful retainer, “See Herbie, he wants my permission to bring a feckin film-crew through here! He wants me to let a bunch of arse-scratchin’ techies to tramp on my polished floors in their hobnail boots, stub their fags out on my Persian rugs and knock lumps outta my Queen Anne furniture with their equipment –- not to mention drivin’ their trucks and trailers all over my award-winning lawns!!”

Herbie continued to stare ahead.

Kris, sounding a wee bit stressed, assured him, “The crew will be very discreet and I will take personal responsibility for any...”

“So, who’s the backer?”

Kris looked him in the eye, “Are you going to let us to film here?”

“We’ll see. Depends who I’m dealing with,” said Laphen, taking a long drag on his cigar, looking very pleased with himself that he had Kris on the back foot. “So tell me, who is it?”

After a long pause and a drink of water, Kris answered in a weak voice, “Guy Gosling...”

“Guy Gosling?! The silly twat who pissed himself on live TV?!”  Laphen cried, banging both fists on the table and bouncing on his cushion like a tickled imp, “You’re f**king shittin’ me!”

The boy’s voice cracked as he yelled back, “See – I knew how you’d react! You’re such a predictable old shit, Ollie!”

“He’s using’ you to revive his career! No wonder he agreed to it -- nobody with any sense will touch him!”

Kris was losing it now, his freckled cheeks aflame, “You don’t know what you’re talking about - he’s still got a lotta respect in Hollywood!”

It didn’t matter what he said, Laphen was on a roll, “Let me see now...” he sat back, tilted his head and made a show of caressing his brow, as if trawling his memory for the appropriate anecdote. “Aye - that’s right, I made a movie with him 7 or 8 years ago. Some god-awful-big-budget-science-fiction-bollox where I played an intergalactic priest who gives him the Last Rites in the final scene. I was just there to add a bit of gravitas – 3 million for half-a-day’s work, I think it was...?” he looked to Herbie for confirmation.

Still staring into space, Herbie perfunctorily supplied the information, “A million a day for free days. And a cut of the box-office. And a car. Can’t ‘member which one. Maserati, I fink.”

“Hear that? 3 million and a classic sports-car to add to my collection, all for 3 days work,” Laphen turned to Malky, “it was only supposed to be one day but it became 3 when Gosling kept us all hanging around while he meticulously explored all the various ways he might kick-the-bucket! He was ditherin’-on about death-throes and whether or not he should close his eyes... By day three I just wanted throttle him: ‘DIE YOU F**ER!! DIE!!’ Cuz he’s one of those Method Actors, ain't he? I hate Method Actors.” He turned to Kris, “especially Method Actors who get famous overnight and keep you waiting on-set for hours -- then -- when they finally haul their skinny arses outta their trailer, they proceed to tell the director how to do his job!” Laphen paused then resumed in a more sober tone, “Well, what goes around comes around. He ain't got a friend in the industry now, no matter what you’ve heard.”

“He’s learned from his mistakes!” yelled Kris, desperately, “He’s committed to the project! It’s been 2 years since the pissing incident! He deserves a second chance!”

“He wants a comeback vehicle!” Laphen cried.

“The publicity will be good for us – it’ll create a buzz!”

“Aye - like flies round shite!” Laphen cracked. “Lissen, the knives are out for ‘im! The press will stitch-ye-up whether the movie is good or not! You shoulda went with a total unknown ye stupid wee shite, at least ye would've had half-a-chance!”

Herbie was watching them intently now. Broo shrank back when he saw the aura around the boy surge and almost obscure him when he screamed “F**K YOU!” and banged his fist on the table.

It only made Laphen cackle louder.

At last, Herbie cleared his throat loudly and said, “Gentlemen, please.” That seemed to do the trick. They relented, backed down and grumbled into their drinks. There was a minute of silence until Kris once again turned his attention to their guest. Nodding toward Brooster sitting in the corner, he enquired, “Does your dog usually accompany you when you mend a boiler, Mr Calvert?”

Again, before Malky could answer, Laphen’s shit-eating grin disappeared, “I told you to leave him alone!” he snapped, “it’s none of yer business!” 

“Did I miss a meeting?” Kris asked Herbie, “a plumber with a three-legged dog? Doesn't this seem kinda weird to you...?”

That’s it. Malky slammed down his cutlery, stood up and gave out, “Right! I’ve had enough o’ this shite – we’re outta here!”

Herbie reached out, “Wait Mr Calvert, please...”

But Malky was resolute, “Sorry Herbie, but this isn't on! When I agreed to come here I didn’t expect to have to listen quietly while this pissed-up oul’ fart abuses his grandkid!” He took the cheque from his back pocket and slapped it down on the table, “Ye can keep yer money, Mr Laphen! Enjoy what’s left of your life!”

“Sit down, Mr Calvert!” yelled Laphen.

Malky expressed himself by presenting his middle finger as he walked to the door, “C’mon Broo. We’re leavin’.”

“I’ll double your fee!” Laphen shouted, pointing at the cheque on the table.

Malky stopped and sniggered derisively, “You can’t buy me! This isn't worth the aggravation!” Shite. I hope Zindy’ll understand...

Befuddled, Kris’ head swivelled from side-to-side as he looked from one to the other, “Whaddya mean: ’You’ll double his fee’? What’s going on here? Plumbers are a dime a dozen... What is he, some kinda super-plumber...?”

“I AM NOTA F**KING PLUMBER!” yelled Malky, shaking his fists.

Suddenly, Brooster barked loudly: QUIET!!

The fracas abruptly ceased. The men turned to see the old dog growling in the corner, eyes glistening like sparkling orbs in the shadows.

“What’s the m-matter with ‘im?” Laphen stammered in a shaky voice, as he looked up into the darkness. “Does h-he s-see s-somethin’...?”

Malky put a finger to his lips, “Shhh! He hears somethin’.”

“What the hell is going on here, people?!” shouted Kris.

 “Shut up and lissen!” Laphen hissed.

Ears pricked, eyes wide, paying no attention to the rest of the room, Broo hobbled around in a circle looking upward, straining to hear. The voices were confused and shrill, like children arguing... only this time they weren’t in his head; the sounds were audible, not telepathic.

“Hear that?!” whispered Malky.

Herbie heard it too, “It sounds like kids... kids shrieking...?”

Kris cocked an ear for a moment, then murmured, “Hey... yeah!”

Laphen stared at the ceiling, “It-it’s comin’ from the room above... The t-Trophy Room...” he croaked, the rim of his glass clicking against his dentures.

Herbie took out his walkie-talkie and summoned security.

...

... at that very moment (18:50 EST), approximately 3400 miles away, at a gas station on the outskirts of Harrisburg, Pennsylvania: What is that smell? Emil’s eyes were stinging and streaming.

A youthful voice called-out, “Sir! Hey - whoa! Excuse me – sir – c’mon, man, what’re you doin’?”

Then, in a moment of clarity, his senses emerged from the murky darkness of his trance. He froze. Where am I? His head remained steady as his eyes swivelled left and right. It was daylight. He looked around: pumps, bags of charcoal, bundles of sticks, Pepsi machine..? A gas station?! A teenage clerk in an Exxon overall was approaching on his left, waving his hands emphatically, “Hey, hey, hey, man -- stop squeezin’ the trigger, man, puh-lease - you’re creating a super-crazy-dangerous situation here, dude...”

“Wha --” Emil’s eyes looked down.

Christ, you gotta be f**king kidding me...

He was still dressed in his bedtime attire; still going through the motions at the behest of an interior puppeteer – but, more terrifyingly – the Volvo’s tank was so full the gasoline was splashing-out over his sandals, forming a large puddle around his feet. The clerk made a grab for the pump gun, “Sir – gimme that, puh-leeeese!”

Emil felt the thing within him surge and take control again -- his hand relaxed and relinquished the grip on the trigger as his outer-voice said, “Sorry. Needed to fill ‘er up, kid... Got lost in my thoughts for a minute...”

The young clerk (now at his wit’s end) tiptoed over the puddle of petrol, took the gun back on the pump and whinged, “You gotta be more careful, mister! I’ll have to wash-it-all-down now! Jeez-us H... this is, like, totally bogus, dude! I mean it’s f**king Sunday -– it’s supposed to be the day of rest...”

Just then -- Emil felt the power ebb again – for some reason the puppeteer’s grip slackened -- he concentrated with every fibre of his being -- his hands shot up, grabbed the boy by the collar and pinned him to the side of the car, his real voice yelling haltingly into the boy’s face: “WHERE... AM... I?!”

Now scared out of his wits, the hapless clerk couldn't supply a coherent reply, “Hey man, easy -- ch-chill...don’t lose it, yeah?!”

Emil tightened his grip and almost screamed in the boys face, “Listen, kid – report me! Call the cops! I’m sick! I’m dangerous! They need to stop me before I go too far...!”

Alas, the words were no sooner out of his mouth when the fleeting bout of sentience ebbed and that goddawful taste filled his mouth. His hands let go of the clerk’s collar, stood back, dusted him down and said in a calm, clear voice, “Just kidding.” He reached into his dressing-gown pocket and took out his buckskin wallet, “Do you take American Express...?”

...

Meanwhile, back in Pagham House: There was a crackling sound: “*What’s your position Herb, over.*”

Herbie whispered into the walkie-talkie, “... we’re on the landing in the west wing - the intruder-stroke-intruders are in the Trophy Room; repeat, intruder-stroke-intruders are in the 1st floor Trophy Room, over.”

“*Copy. On our way. Over.*”

But Herbie didn’t want to wait. He slowly opened the door and turned on the lights. There were a series of rapid flashes as the ‘Trophy Room’ was lit to reveal yet another museum exhibit, this time devoted to the numerous awards, honorary doctorates and keys to the city Laphen had accrued over the years. The man himself crept across the threshold brandishing a baseball bat, “If there’s somebody there – I swear I’ll feckin kill ye! I’ll take yer feckin’ head off, I will! C’mon out!” Herbie took him by the shoulders and told him to keep back.

The squeaky voices continued to gabble and shriek; due to the room’s natural echo, it was hard to tell where they were coming from. Malky was intrigued, but unafraid; judging by the old dog’s subdued reaction, he knew that it was nothing to worry about. Behind them, Kris continued to express his confusion, “Somebody please tell me what’s going on...?”

Brooster left them standing at the door and made for a large glass case containing various silver statuettes in the far corner. He barked twice. Herbie and Malky approached to find what turned out to be an upturned fire-bucket; the screeches were coming from inside.“What the hell...?” said Herbie. He bent down and lifted the bucket – the voices instantly got louder. Malky looked over the big chauffeur’s shoulder and saw a cassette recorder lying face-down on the floor. “It’s a bloody tape!” Herbie exclaimed, angrily, “We've been ‘ad!”

Laphen, still shaking with fear, still brandishing the baseball bat, joined them and gaped at the offending object, “What the...” Herbie picked it up and pressed the stop button. The room fell deathly silent for a few seconds, and then the old man gasped, “Who would...” He stopped when he heard laughter behind him. They turned to see Kris, back against the doorjamb, clutching his sides in a fit of the giggles, “You should see your face, Gramps!”

Laphen was agape, “You... you set this up...?”

“... You were so spooked!!” sniggered Kris.

They heard boots on the stairs; Herbie heaved a loud, world-weary-sigh and raised the walkie-talkie to his lips, “Stand-down, stand-down, false alarm, repeat, false alarm! Over.” The communication was punctuated by a collective groan of disappointment from the hall.

Kris was wiping tears of mirth from his eyes, “I GOTCHA! Ah gotcha you goo-ood!”  

The Quare Geg failed to see the funny side: “Y’ wee BASTARD!!” Laphen lashed out at Kris, swung the bat and missed – Herbie grabbed the waistband of his shorts, pulled him backward -- then, just like a slapstick gag from one of his movies -- Ollie spun like a dervish on the stretched elastic, his little-bare-legs kicking-out until one of his flip-flops flew off and toppled an ornate vase -- the baseball bat hitting a display case and shattering the glass. “Lemme at him! I’LL F**KING’ KILL ‘IM! JUST YOU W --” 

He suddenly seized up, the bat fell from his hands and clattered on the parquet; he fell back into Herbie’s arms, his eyes popping out of his head, the air escaping his lungs like a slowly deflating balloon.

Kris chuckled, “Awww, c’mon gramps, you can do way better than that...”

Malky went to help; Herbie’s face was a picture of helpless-consternation, “’E can’t breeve! I think ‘e might be ‘avin’ an ‘eart-attack!!” They took him to an antique chaise-lounge beside a huge Native American totem pole on the other side of the room. “He’s hyperventilating! Get a paper bag!” cried Malky.

“He’s faking, dudes!” said Kris, exasperated, no longer laughing.

Without saying anything, Herbie pushed him out of the way and ran out of the room. Kris shouted after him, “He’s faking, Uncle Herb?!! He’s acting!”

Unconcerned, Broo sauntered over to the corner and had a lie down. Oh, a minute ago you were all for strangling him – now you want to save his life. Human beings, I don’t know...

Malky used the first-aid he learned during his time in the police, “Easy, Ollie, take it easy... take deep, deep breaths and fill your lungs, hold for a count of 5, then exhale slowly through yer nose...” Laphen’s eyes were wet and fearful, he was shaking like a leaf, but he tried his best to do what was asked of him.

Broo yawned: He’ll live: the heartbeat is strong for a man of his years, no murmurs. He’ll live.

Herbie arrived back with a plastic carrier bag, “Will this do?!”

Malky took the bag from him, twisted the neck to create a makeshift mask and put it over the old man’s nose and mouth, “This’ll make it easier – breathe-out into the bag, then breathe in...” his ministrations appeared to be having the desired effect; Laphen’s pulse was slowing, the colour was returning to his cheeks. Kris stopped pacing and grabbed Herbie’s arm, “See, he’s gonna be fine - he’s just tryin’ to get me back...!” Herbie took the boy by the shoulders and gave him a shake, “Kris, I ‘aven’t time fer no bollocks - this is fer real! Make y’self useful -– go to ‘is stahdy 'n call the doctor!”

“Rossington...” the old man hissed.

Herbie knelt and looked at him with a doubtful frown, “Surely you want yer physician, boss?”

Laphen glared and growled, “I want Rossington!”

Herbie looked up at Kris, “’E wants Rossington. There’s a button for ‘im on the phone on ‘is desk.”

“Rossington...?” Kris complained loudly, with a sour face. Herbie gave him a serious look and he reluctantly obeyed. As soon as he left the room, Laphen smiled, closed his eyes and passed out. Malky checked his pulse one last time and took the bag away. “He’s sleeping it off. It’ll be OK to move him. Is he on any medication for asthma or any other respiratory illnesses?”

“’E ain't asthmatic or nuthin’. Dr Rossington gives ‘im these ‘vitamin’ shots that perk ‘im up.”

“Why? What does Rossington specialise in?” asked Malky, as if he didn’t know.

“’E’s the boss’ shrink, ‘as been for years. ‘Aven’t you ‘eard of ‘im?”

Malky and Brooster knew exactly who Rossington was and what he did.

It’s a small world, isn't it...

2 days ago, 100 miles north in The Ivy House, Downpatrick:

Roused from his meditation by the roar of a revving engine, Jamie Jameson Lumb, the young master of the house and the new leader of the coven, arrived at the Oriel window at the end of the main landing just in time to glimpse a motorbike zoom down the drive on its way to the main gate. The rider was dressed in leathers and a black helmet, a sight that sent shiver down Jamie’s spine; even if the rider was a lot shorter than Barry McKee, it was still a discomfiting reminder of the events of 2 years before. Who the hell was that? Nobody was allowed in-or-out of the estate since McKee’s capture 2 years ago, but as far as Jamie was concerned, the danger hadn't passed. McKee had been in a coma for the past couple of years, but it was cold comfort: he could die at any moment and the demon would migrate to another host. Then there was the release of dark energy in Kildare following the exhumation of an ancient mage -- probably an ancient ‘Güül who dabbled in the dark arts -- and in spite of the fact that the local witches had declared the area reasonably safe, Jamie still sensed that the danger hadn't passed. Maybe it was the responsibility of his position; maybe being holed-up in the house for so long without any contact with the outside world had made him paranoid. Whatever the reason the rules had been broken, and there was only one person who could've invited the biker in: “Goz, you arsehole,” he muttered.

After searching most of the house, he eventually bumped into Fordham the footman who’d taken up the butling duties now that Oggy had gone down for a Big sleep. Fordham was carrying a Martini on a silver tray, “I suppose that’s for our guest?” Jamie asked. Fordham nodded and rolled his eyes, “he’s in the pool, sir.” Jamie took the tray from him, “Don’t worry, I’ll see he gets it.”

Guy ‘Goz’ Gosling  was floating naked on a lilo in the indoor pool, reading a loosely bound sheaf of papers that looked suspiciously like a script. “Who was that?” Jamie called out, as he walked along the edge of the pool, his voice echoing around the tiles.

Goz answered matter-of-factly, without looking up from page, “A guy I met in LA, if you must know. A director. He wants me to star in a little horror film he’s making here in Ireland,” he said, cool as a cucumber, slowly turning in the water.

“Oh Yeah? And how did he get in?” asked Jamie, carelessly putting the tray down on the poolside table, irritated by his former band-mate’s blasé attitude and patronising tone. It was what he’d come to expect. Goz had been restless for some time, but up to now he’d been willing to live under the rules of the extended lockdown. “Nobody can come in unless you clear it with me or Oggy. I’m surprised that security opened the gate,” said Jamie, bristling.

“I told them he was an old friend. I told them I was expecting him,” said Goz, unaffected.

Jamie nodded knowingly, “You told them you’d cleared it with me, didn’t you?” he sneered.          

“Well, I thought you were studying in the library or meditating in your room or something and I didn’t want to disturb you,” said Goz, blithely, still perusing the pages.

“For all you know he could be working for one of our enemies!” Jamie snapped, sounding a wee bit shrill.

“Don’t be so melodramatic, JJ,” chuckled Goz, talking as if consoling a difficult child, “I met him at a screening of a documentary he made a few years ago. I was very impressed. both by him and the film. He was only 21, full of vitality and enthusiasm. I told him to keep in touch, ‘maybe we might work together some day’. I didn’t get any bad vibes, not at all. He’s a like little red-headed puppy: eager to please.” He flipped another page and said, “Remember, I’ve been at this game a lot longer than you, JJ. I can spot a wrong-un a mile away.” This was Goz’s signature tune: he was never done reminding Jamie that except for his pedigree and nascent superior powers, he was still a novice.

Jamie ignored the comment and moved on, “What’s his name?”

Goz let out a heavy sigh, “Kris Katz. Believe it or not, he’s the grandson of that drunken old coot Oliver Laphen... the miserable little bastard... I made a movie with him a few years ago... f**king nightmare... Anyway, Kris called me from LA and told me he’d be in Ireland scouting for locations and if I was interested he’d deliver the script by hand...” Goz turned a page, “... and after perusing it, I’ve decided to take him up on the offer. I’ve even agreed to put some money behind it. A small independent movie is just the ticket to restart my acting career. I can’t afford to turn it down.”

“You know nothing about him. He could be in cahoots with the tabloids,” said Jamie crossing his arms and shaking his head, “worse -- he could've been sent here by the Washington coven to case the place and see what we’re up to!”

Goz finally looked up from the script and laughed, “Look, he’s harmless! And it’s not as if I’m leaving the country -- we’ll be making the movie here!”

Jamie shook his head, “Oggy needs to know about this. You’ll have to wait until he wakes and discuss it with him.”

Getting a little more animated, Goz splashed the water with his fist and shook his head emphatically, “Look -- Oggy is hibernating, he won’t wake for at least another year and we start shooting in the summer! And I’m not a f**king prisoner, remember?! I’ve stayed here voluntarily! But enough time has passed -- 2 years to be exact, and that’s a long time in show business. It’s been a great place to hide from the world until the outrage over that... situation -- a situation that you caused by-the-way -- died down. But I’m not hiding anymore.” He sighed, relaxed and went back to the script, “I’m doing this whether you -- or Oggy -- like it or not.”

“We’ll see...” Jamie muttered under his breath, and walked away.

...

2 days later at Pagham House: “... See, I saw a tabloid story about gramp’s suspected ‘poltergeist’ at the airport, so I thought I’d have a little fun with it,” Kris explained as they crossed the landing, “we used to do it all the time, y’know, tryin’ to out-punk each other; each stunt more vicious than the last, but we always made-it-up afterwards. I didn’t think he’d get in such a state...” He paused when they heard a distant buzzing sound outside, “Uh-huh, here comes the ‘good doctor’,” muttered Kris, gloomily. They walked to a porthole-shaped oriel window at the end of the landing and watched twin beams slice through the low lying clouds. The buzzing became a rumble as the doctor’s chopper hovered for a moment before descending and disappearing behind a row of billowing pines; a few seconds later, a slim, middle-aged man dressed in cricket-whites carrying a tastefully weathered Gladstone bag, ran along the path that bordered the tennis courts, across the car park and sprinted up the marble steps at the front of the house; a few seconds later he bounded up the stairs toward them – all without breaking his stride, breaking a sweat, or gasping for breath. He held out a hand, Malky straightened up and reached out to shake it, but much to his embarrassment, Rossington blanked him and went straight to Kris, “Kristof! What a pleasant surprise! Long-time-no-see-and-all-that!”

The tanned, manicured hand hung in the air, unshaken. Kris, desperately trying to express his disdain but too polite to be rude, hesitated before managing a feeble tug on his nemesis’ fingers. Rossington grasped the flaccid appendage and jerked it up-and-down with gusto, “Over for a little visit, eh? Having fun, are we?”

The boy looked at his hand as if it’d been spat on and said nothing.

“I hear you’ve literally been up to your old tricks again!” said the good doctor, tutting thrice and shaking his head.

Malky had seen the good doctor on TV, but never in the flesh. Nevertheless, he didn’t like what he’d seen, and after meeting the man in the flesh hadn't changed his opinion; what you saw was you got: the man was too smooth to be true. That’s an oddly non-specific ‘posh’ English accent, thought Malky: Cary Grant with a dash of Ray Milland; and although the tone was upbeat and cordial, each bon mot was primed with a jagged shard of spite. “You might look 15, my dear, but you’re a 22 year old adult now.”

“23.” Kris grunted.

“23! Even more reason to find a nice girl, settle down and do something worthwhile... You don’t want to end up like your mother, now, do you...?” He’d been stealing glances at Malky until he couldn't contain his curiosity a moment longer; he turned away from Kris and asked, “Sorry, but do I know you? You look vaguely familiar...?”

Malky was about to reply when Rossington cut-him-off, “NO–NO–NO, don’t tell me!!” he cried, putting a hand his brow and snapping his fingers as he scoured his memory, “I never forget a face -- I’ve written books on how not to forget a face! Now, where have I seen you before...?”

Herbie opened Laphen’s door and hissed, “Shhh!”

Rossington backed-up toward the door, staring at Malky’s face and racking his brains... “I know you... I do know you...” Before entering the room, he stopped trying to remember and whispered to Kris, “Oh, if I don’t see you later - give my regards to your mother, won’t you? It’s so gratifying to know she’s finally found her niche at long last.”

Crimson cheeked, bright blue-eyes narrowed to livid slits, the boy clenched his fists and muttered a litany of barely audible obscenities as the door closed. Malky was careful not to laugh: that’s the same expression the young Ollie Laffin used to pull after James Finlayson tanned his backside: hurt and angry, but ultimately sad. What happened to that wee guy?

The boy took a deep breath and tried to keep his voice down, “...as you can probably tell, I cannot stand Rossington. He’s like... anathema to me. He’s like Kris-kryptonite in Gucci, dude!” What followed sounded like he’d researched his subject with a detective’s eye for detail. “He’s the self-proclaimed ‘Shrink to the Stars!’ - You mighta seen him on TV. He heads-up an institute for psychos... umm... what’s it called...? ”

“SCICI,” said Malky, “St Cedric’s Institute for the Criminally Insane.”

Kris nodded emphatically, “Yeah, that’s right! It’s like puttin’ a cobra in charge of a nest of vipers!”

The door opened. Herbie looked out, scowled and shook his head. Kris lowered his voice to a whisper, “The truth is he’s Jimmy Ross from New Jersey, a former male-model and wannabe actor who went to night school, got a degree in psychiatry and reinvented himself as the suave, debonair Dr James Rossington we know and loathe today.”

The pair retired to a pair of Queen Anne armchairs in an arched recess adjacent to Laphen’s bedroom door. Broo kept well back and listened from a distance. “In the summer of ‘70 when I was like 2 years old, my mom – Annelise Katz, née Laphen – scored some smack from a dude in downtown LA and left me strapped in a car-seat outside a motel in the middle of a heatwave – I was almost poached, dudes – by some miracle somebody saw me and called the cops and they broke in. They went up to the motel-room and found mom had OD-ed – her third in as many years. My dad was serving year-2 of a 15-year prison sentence for fraud, Grandma was outta town and outta her mind on booze ‘n’ ‘ludes, so they called Gramps who went totally postal and flew back from Rome to sort things out. He was desperate to get mom help, for my sake as much as hers, so he put the word around that he’d do anything to get her straight. Someone gave him Rossington’s card. See, Jimmy’d devised a method of reprogramming drug addicts with an uncompromisingly tough regime: torture and mind control, basically – but with some New Age horseshit thrown in to make it look progressive. The literature was all this, like, flowery bullshit about ‘rebirth’ etc, but the kids were treated like laboratory rats -- two guys died and a girl committed suicide, that’s not taking into account the mental scars of those who actually made it through.” Kris sighed, “Anyway, he promised gramps he would have mom detoxed and straightened-out within 6 months, so Ollie cut him a cheque.”

“And did Rossington’s treatment work?” asked Malky.

“Oh yeah.  6 months later, just as promised, there’s Annelise Katz, clean and sober, made-over, looking hale and healthy and weeping to Barbara Walters about her drugs hell and her ‘resurrection’, hailing Gentleman Jim as her Personal Saviour! She relapsed 18 months later, mind you, but it was good while it lasted.”

“Where was Ollie when all this wuz goin’ on?”

The boy became melancholy, his tone heavy with ennui, “He was on a world tour with his one-man-show for most of it, but he’d given up on mom when she relapsed. Rossington told him she was incurable and the only course of action was left open to him was to cut all her finances and hopefully the desolation would drive her to do something about it herself. It did. It drove her to prostitution. So gramps washed his hands of her – I was all that mattered now. He got temporary custody of me.

“Anyhow, in the 80s Rossington’s rich and famous, but he yearns for something money can’t buy: a Serious Reputation. See, Jimmy wants Nobel Prizes not Daytime Emmys! He wants to be fêted by The Elite – i.e. the very people who call him a charlatan and a con man. He was a bit of a joke, so when gramps moved here permanently in ‘82, Jimmy tagged along, all-the-while plotting his next move. He met up with an old colleague who worked at St Cedric’s mental hospital in Dublin which specialised in cases involving extreme cases of aberrant behaviour and violence. Jimmy saw an opportunity: he wanted to turn St Cedric’s into an institute specialising in the psychology of the criminally insane -- a hi-tech facility where patients would be analysed by a team of crack academics from all over the world with the research going towards ‘a better understanding of psychopathic behaviour’ -- and sell a lot of books. so gramps called-in a few favours and made it happen. Jimmy’s all set! Unfortunately, the location sucks – Ireland -- a country known for its  blood thirsty violence is, relatively speaking, serial-killer-free, so he has to import his cases from abroad. Do you know there are serial killers, rapists, child molesters, cannibals from all over the world passing through that place?”

“Aye, I’ve heard all about all about it,” said Malky, “In fact, didn’t your mate Gosling check-in there after that ‘incident’?”

“Yeah, like I said, ‘Shrink to the Stars’...” Then he took a deep breath, looked down and shamefacedly admitted, “Look... I know who you are, Mr Calvert. I know what you’ve been through ‘n I know what you do, but I was so intent on getting one over on the old man, I held back. I’m sorry. It’s like we met under false pretences and I wanna clear the air.”

“Uh-huh,” grunted Malky, grumpily. He was beginning to like the boy and now he felt slightly betrayed. Because if he lied so easily, who knows what he was capable of? Malky looked the boy in the eye and asked, “I have to ask you this, Kris: do you have anything to do with what’s been goin’ on in this house?”

Kris put up his hands and vehemently protested his innocence, “Hey now -- the first time I knew anything about this business was a coupla days ago when I saw that report in The Enquirer!!”

“... I mean, you make horror movies,” Malky asserted, “ye’ve got access to allsortsa props and special effects ‘n that. For all I know you ‘n Herbie -– maybe even Rossington -– could be in cahoots to put poor ol’ Oliver round the twist!”

Good God, I was wondering when you’d say that... Broo grumbled.

Just then, the door to Laphen’s room opened and Herbie emerged to give them the latest, “’is vitals is lookin’ good, blahd presha’s OK, no permanent damage, thank gawd...” Herbie clipped the boy around the ear, “You wuz lacky this time, boy! I ‘ope you take this as a lesson! No mowah practical jokes!”

...

Precisely 3 minutes ago (18:47 EST), approximately 3200 miles away, in a roadside ditch on the outskirts of Harrisburg, PA: Emil eyes slowly opened and he found himself staring into a silvery mosaic of inert smithereens. It didn’t take him long to realise he was gazing into a smashed windscreen. I’m still in the Volvo. But his head was squashed against the compressed ceiling -- the car was upside down! He tried to move -- that’s when a blazing pain ran through his entire body. If he could catch his breath he’d scream.

He heard crackling radios and excitable male voices: “Hey! He moved! He’s alive!” “Hey! Guys! He’s alive!” “He’s alive?” “For real? Shit!”

Then an older voice shouted, “We can’t wait for the ambulance!! There’s full tank of gasoline leakin’ into the grass! We gotta move him now!” Emil moved his eyes to the right and saw a fresh faced young fireman kneeling on the long grass, ear close to the ground, helmet off, talking through the upside-down passenger-side window, “I can see you’s in a lotta pain, sir, but we have a very volatile situation here... so keep still, don’t try to move, OK? I’ll be right back!”

Oh, I’ll keep still, kid... cos if I as much as blink it’ll hurt like hell, and I’d rather die than feel that pain again, so please, please don’t move me...

The excruciating pain seemed to radiate from below his waist -- his legs were splayed and trapped between the steering-wheel and the driver’s seat, his torso was between the seats, in a very awkward and painful position. His left arm was trapped beneath him, his right jammed under the buckled steering column. Oh God, the pain... bring back the darkness... bring back the numbness... Then he felt a hand under his armpit, another groping under him looking for the other other armpit, another took hold of his ankles... the pain was unbearable. An older man’s voice purred close to his ear, “Easy... easy there, sir, I got you...”

No! If you try to pull me out I’ll come apart like scarecrow... the pain, the pain... I’m begging you...

The soothing voice in his ear implored him, “Brace you-self, suh, we gonna do our best to get ya outta there as quick as possible...”

An impatient voice yapped, “C’mon, let’s go, guys, let’s do dis ‘n get the hell outta here!”

Emil felt arms around his midriff. Oh no. Oh God no...

Christ...

“I got ‘im! You got ‘im?”

Kill

“I got ‘im.”

me

“OK. After 3, swing ‘im out.”

now!!

“One... Two... and Three -”

AAAAAAHHHHH!!!

He was hauled from behind and twisted from below – then his body began to move backwards – something was stopping him: “the handbrake is stuck up his ass– we gotta lift him offa it!” The humiliation, the pain, the utter helplessness.... Somehow they repositioned him and hoisted him up again -- his left hip nudging-in the cigarette lighter – again the pain flared to an unbearable degree as he began to move backwards through the passenger-side window – simultaneously, he heard the tibia in his left leg make a crunching sound as it was unceremoniously yanked from under the steering-wheel... the pain became unbearable... then, at last, the shock kicked in... the pain became cold insensibility... he was being put onto a stretcher; he saw faces looking down, fuzzy unfocussed faces... a few seconds later he heard the young fireman’s voice call out, “Hey, his papers are all over the inside of the car... his passport – everything!!”  Emil heard one of the men carrying him yell, “DONNY – get the f**k outta there now!!”

That’s when the cigarette-lighter popped on the dash.

There was a huge fireball – Emil and his rescuers were thrown clear, but the young fireman wasn't so lucky. Emil’s rescuers abandoned him on the bank and went to the aid of their fallen comrade lying on the smouldering gorse, fully conscious, screaming, his body ablaze...

Then Emil got that familiar feeling of dread infest his bones, that familiar, bitter taste in his mouth, that acrid stench in his nostrils.... Somewhere in his head a little girl’s voice -- presumably the voice of his interior puppeteer -- spoke huffily: <Well, you’re damaged goods now, Emil – you’re no use to me at all. You’re gonna be confined to bed for a long time. I just hope every second of every day is as painful as this,> Emil screamed as a shock of pain tore through his pelvis. He began to lose consciousness, but managed a defiant smile before a much different, more welcoming, darkness descended.

<You can smile all you like, Emil. But I’ll be back... I’ve got all the time in the world...>

While Herbie waited for Rossington to finish, Kris volunteered to act as tour-guide and escort Brooster and Malky around the East Wing, the only area of the house they hadn't visited yet. “It’s the creepiest part! And it’s just gone midnight, dudes - this’ll be a gas!”

Broo whimpered, yippee, we get to listen to this idiot for the next 3 hours...

Before they embarked on their quest, Herbie had to fetch the keys from the safe in the study. As he handed them over, he had a ‘little word in Kris’ ‘shell-like’. There was a lot of finger wagging from the big man and a lot of shy nods from Kris. Despite his card being marked, their guide returned as ebullient as ever, “We’ll take the scenic route through the hidden passageway to the old chapel! It’s really cool!”

“Hidden passageway?” asked Malky, intrigued.

“Oh yeah – the old Duke and his disciples had to prepare for every eventuality! The place is riddled with ‘em!”

Kris chittered incessantly about the salacious activities of the 8th Duke of Roxborough -- the same story Malky heard from Herbie --  as he led them through the shadowy hallways of the East Wing. Eventually, “Here we are!” he announced brightly. He opened a hidden door in the panelling of a long, narrow corridor, revealing a dark passage way. He stooped, made an ugly face and raised the candelabra, “Abandon hope all ye who enter here... ” he said in a croaky voice “Follow me... if ye dare!” Malky, stooped and squeezed through the little hatch. Kris noticed the old dog dragging his feet, “C’mon Broostie,” he trilled, slapping his thigh and beckoning him hither.

If he calls me Broostie again, I’ll sink my teeth into his testes and hang on until he passes out, aura or no aura.

Almost crawling, they made their way along the low ceilinged tunnel for a hundred yards or so until they arrived at another door. “Here it is!” Kris whispered, turning a key in the lock. They squeezed through and found themselves on a small balcony overlooking what appeared to be the interior of a Christian church. Kris held the candelabra high above his head and led the way down a cast-iron spiral staircase, “Nowadays this is referred to as the chapel cos it looks like a chapel -- but it ain't no chapel -- no siree!”

Malky readily descended the wrought-iron steps, but Broo held back and observed from above. Kris wasn't talking now, he was leaning on a marble pillar in the nave, watching Malky look around with a big soppy grin on his face, like a hider watching a seeker get warm then cold, then warm...warmer...

Malky had been admiring what he assumed was uniform religious statuary in the alcoves, when it suddenly struck him that the busts and figurines were somewhat less than holy, “this-here is Pagan stuff made to look Christian,” he cried, “It’s all fawns, demons ‘n naked nymphs!!”

Kris was elated, “Right! Keep looking, dude!”

Malky borrowed the candelabra and held it aloft so that it illuminated the stone carvings atop the marble pillars; at first glance it looked like your standard host of cherubim and seraphim, however, closer inspection revealed it to be a representation of a horde of little winged sprites and faeries; the painted altarpiece wasn't a depiction of the Immaculate Conception, but an intricate painting of a strange naked Lady-of-the-lake type emerging from a swamp carrying the body of a dead child; the figure depicted in the stained glass window above the narthex wasn't Jehovah in his heavenly kingdom, rather a white-bearded, horned & tailed, cloven-hoofed Satan reclining on a throne made of human skulls.

“I wasn't expecting this at all...?” muttered Malky, fascinated and unsettled. He looked up at the old dog watching from above and wondered if he sensed anything untoward, but by the looks of him there was still no cause for alarm.

Kris looked left and right and lowered his voice, “Erm, to be frank, the film I’m making is based on the true story of Roxborough’s life. I’ve had to change the names and locations, but it’s loosely based on actual events, most of which I’ve hadda tone-down to get an R certificate! I have to be discrete, y’know, The Roxborough family are still a big noise in English society and they don’t like to be reminded of their lurid family history. They’d sue the ass-off-me if they thought I was exploiting the legend.”

They went through another door at the rear of the ‘chapel’ and entered a corridor lined by a row of white doors; Kris unlocked them one by one, “These were Thaddeus’ ‘private’ rooms’ where he indulged in his little perversions. But by the time gramps bought the house, the Roxboroughs had removed anything ‘incriminating’,” he said, looking a little disappointed. “Gramps stores his antiques in here now, y’know, stuff he’s bought on the spur of the moment, or gifts he’s received from different countries over the last 70 years: lots of ugly vases, objets-d’art ‘n shit that’re too big to have in the house.” The ‘White Rooms’ were now crammed with shrouded lumps of varying shapes and sizes. Broo kept back and waited until Malky and Kris moved onto the next door before inspecting the last. He sniffed around and checked under the sheets, but the evil deeds alleged to have been perpetrated here had left no trace; each room was the same: devoid of any spiritual presence or echoes of the past.

Just as Kris locked up and made to turn back, Malky noticed a wooden staircase up ahead, “Where does that lead to?” he asked.

Kris frowned, “Oh, the old infirmary.” He made a face, “Haven’t you seen it yet? The front door is on the outside of the house.”

“It was locked and Herbie didn’t have the key,” Malky replied, wondering why the boy seemed so uncomfortable.

Reluctantly climbing the stairs, Jamie filled them in on the infirmary’s history, “It was converted during Victorian times.The 10th Duke was wounded in some African war and set it up so he and his officer pals could convalesce in the luxury he was accustomed to. Nowadays, the villagers use it as a sick bay. They don’t believe in modern medicine for the most part, but when one of them gets really sick or injured they’ll bring them here and call a proper doctor.” He stopped at the little door and shivered, “Dude, I hate hospitals to the point of nausea. I don’t really wanna go in there unless it’s absolutely necessary. “

Broo looked at Malky. This time Malky didn’t need telepathy to guess what the old dog was thinking. “Aye, we’d really like to have a look. Would you mind?”

Kris sighed, produced the key and reluctantly unlocked the door. When it opened and a poof of fusty air escaped, he recoiled and held his nose, “yeeesh – I hate that smell, dudes...”

It was just as Malky had pictured it: a large, bare room with a dozen cots, six either side; the top of the room was dominated by two ancient cast-iron radiators under the shuttered windows; the pipes along the wall behind the beds were green with corrosion. There was a treatment room at the back stocked with basic medical supplies, the high shelves lined with large, empty specimen jars. Broo smelled formaldehyde and wondered what was once kept in those jars. But creepy jars aside, as far as Broo was concerned, like everywhere else, it was psychically barren.

“Anything?” asked Kris, looking from Malky to the old dog.

“Nope. If there was, he wouldn't be long in lettin’ us know.”

Kris was very impressed, if a little disappointed, “Oh, that’s good, I suppose... hey, what’s he doing now?” He’d noticed Broo pawing a door to the side of the last bed on the left.

I hear something -- and this time it’s not a tape recorder! My fur is standing on end! Open the bloody door!

“It’s the door of the bathroom,” said Kris, as he tried various keys in the lock. Once he’d found the right one, he turned the handle but the door wouldn't budge. “Gimme a hand, will ya, the wood must be swollen and sealed it shut.” Malky obliged and they pushed until the door let out a loud groan and swung inwards. Broo crept in and looked around. It felt quite damp compared to the rest of the secret rooms, which would explain the swollen door. 

For some reason, he was drawn to a full-length cheval mirror adjacent to the bath. As he hobbled towards it, he saw that the image therein was something other than his own approaching reflection. In fact there was no reflection at all, it was more like looking into a long, tall, oval fish tank filled with murky water thick with web-like weeds, the strands of which formed a net; a net filled with the inert bodies of small children, like snagged marionettes in the cloudy depths of a stagnant pool...

At that very moment an antiquated bar of soap that’d been sitting on the edge of a shelf above the bath fell into the empty tub with a loud THUD! “What the hell was that?!” cried Kris, turning on the light – blinding brightness – the old dog reeled! He turned and barked loudly! “Oh Shit! Sorry!” Kris instinctively tugged the string and made it dark again. Of course, when Broo turned back, the image had vanished. He found himself looking into his own bewildered eyes twinkling in the dusty, smutty glass.

“Well, whatever it was, it’s gone now,” said Malky.

“What do you think he saw?” asked Kris, rattled.

“Dunno,” said Malky, turning the light back on, “is there anythin’ special about this mirror? It looks a bit out of place, a bit grand for a hospital bathroom?”

“I have no idea... I’m never in here,” said Kris, looking genuinely confounded.

“... it looks as old as the house,” said Malky, examining the frame.

Shivering and shuffling his feet, Kris was getting impatient, “Erm... if that’s it, dudes, I’d really like to get the hell outta here...”

 As they made their way back to the West Wing, they were distracted by the sound of chopping-rotors and twin beams shining through the huge, stained-glass windows as the doctor’s helicopter took off. They heard the front door close, the jingle of keys and then the steel-tipped heels of Herbie’s Oxford-brogues clicking as they crossed the main hall into the lobby. As the lights receded and the rotors buzzed-off into the distance, Kris thought for a moment and then said, “Y’know... there was something that happened when I was last here... but I’m not sure if it’s relevant.”

Now he tells us...

Malky shrugged, “Well, we’re at a loss, so anythin’ you can tell us would be better than chasin’ round this place like headless chickens.”

“I’d like to show you something,” said Kris, enigmatically, “but we’ll have to go to the old pavilion to see it.”

“Alright lads?” Herbie called, standing in the shadows of the lobby looking up, “The old man’s OK, fanks-be to you, Mr Calvert - it wuz a panic attack an’ you did all the right fings.”

“Oh, thank f**k,” said Kris, sighing with relief.

As they descended the staircase, Malky asked Herbie about the mirror in the infirmary bathroom. “The ahsekeeper, Mrs Sparkes, ‘ad it moved there coupla years ago,” he said, in a doubtful tone, “she was in the boss’ study late one night ‘n she said she seen a little lad watchin’ ‘er in that mirror. Screamed the house dahn. Scanlon ‘ad to give ‘er a slap to shut-her-up.”

In spite of the big chauffeur’s doubts, Broo was sure this information was significant -- it sounded eerily similar to what he’d just experienced -- but for now, he could nothing but keep it to himself and see how things developed.

“Is the power on in the pavilion?” Kris asked Herbie.

Herbie tutted, “Ach, c’mon Kris, my son, no matter what the old man says we don’t expectcha to sleep aht there tonight!”

“No,” Kris chuckled, “I wanna use the screening room to show Mr Calvert some video I shot last time I was here...”

They took a leisurely stroll through the grounds to the pavilion and Malky pretended to listen as Kris nattered away about film making. Broo continued to lag behind, too debilitated by the boy’s aura to take in his surroundings.The misty halo had become murkier the further they got from the house. Broo had to move back another 6 feet to keep out of range. When Kris asked about the old dog keeping his distance, Malky told him he was just slow: “past it” he said. Broo responded with a sharp bark. Bloody cheek. It was quite a mild night, there was no breeze, the moon was bright enough to illuminate the darker corners, but the complete silence was unnatural and unsettling. Even Kris commented on it: “... listen, you could hear a pin drop out here. It’s eerie, isn't it? Complete silence. Not even the hoot of an owl or a breeze to rustle the trees.” A moment later, as they made their way down to the walkway that ran alongside the croquet lawn, they heard the clump of boots coming in the opposite direction. It turned out to be Charlie Noble, the incumbent head of security, who informed them he’d just unlocked the pavilion and switched on the power. He asked after Laphen’s health and as Kris gave him the latest, Malky gave him the once-over. He was a stocky man of medium height with dreadful skin that made his face look like a bag of lumpy pastry. He had a northern accent – Antrim Town, to be exact -- and like Herbie, he was ex-army.

“I hear you had a bit of trouble on Friday night?” said Malky.

Charlie looked to the boy for guidance; Kris nodded, “It’s OK, he’s got Herbie’s permission.”

“You mean the night the big clock got pushed over? ‘A bit of trouble’ is about right, aye,” said Charlie, spinning a large key-ring on his index-finger like a six-shooter. “The boss was in a right state. He hit the panic button ‘n I raced up here as fast as I could -– but when I got to the door -- the swipe-card wouldnae work and the friggin’ master key wouldnae turn in the lock! I hadda climb in through a winda  -- when I found ‘im he was under the stairs shakin’ like a leaf! ‘Poltergeist!’ says he, pointing at the big grandfather clock lyin’ in the hall! It’d fallen off the wall! A big thing like that! I wuz flummoxed.”

“What do you think of this fella Scanlon?” asked Malky, still suspicious that this might’ve been an inside job; i.e. a disgruntled ex-employee with access to the house, maybe.

“Scanlon...?” thrown by the question, Noble bowed his head, scratched it and said, “Well, Scanlon was one of me best mates – ex-RAF, all-round good egg, so-he-was...” Then, suddenly aware that he was in the presence of the boss’ grandson, changed his tone, giving the impression that he’d revised his opinion, “Then again... he was a like law onto himself, had the run of the place, thought he was indispensable. Took things for granted. He worked here long before Mr Laphen bought the place, see. But... stealing from the boss ‘n that. Big shock that was...” Looking uncomfortable in his skin, he looked at Kris with an expression that said ‘can I go now?’ They let him get back to his rounds and continued on their way.

Once Noble was out of earshot, “See?” whispered Kris, “nobody believes Scanlon is guilty.”

“Hmmm, that maybe,” said Malky, doubtfully,”but he’s still the prime suspect.”

 After passing through another archway and following a well-lit path lined with neatly trimmed shrubbery, they eventually came upon a white building set back behind a little copse approximately 200 yards from the house. From the outside, it looked more like a large clapboard house than a sports pavilion. Malky asked why all the windows were blocked-off. “To keep out the light. Gramps had it converted into a little cinema so he could screen movies,” said Kris, unlocking the door. “He  got prints of all his old comedy shorts and he shows them to visitors.” He turned on the lights, “Wait til you see inside, it’s a feast for the eyes!”

They emerged from the vestibule and stepped into art-deco-heaven. It was just like a miniature version of the Picture-Palaces built during The Depression era that Malky had visited as a child: welcoming, sumptuous and tastefully plush. Emerald green deep-pile carpets, and huge, signed prints of silent movie stars’ publicity pictures lining the walls (Louise Brooks, Douglas Fairbanks, Mary Pickford, Chaplin, Keaton and, of course, the man himself – technically not a silent star - but whose comic oeuvre owed so much the pioneering comedians of that era), furnished with armchairs a pair of white leather Hoffman Kubus sofas facing each other in a  b/w 20s-style cocktail bar/café. After a quick tour, Kris took them through a projection-booth into a back-room filled with various pieces of complicated-looking electronic apparatus connected by sheaves of multicoloured cables; the lower back wall was lined with racks of film canisters of varying shapes and sizes. Kris took a cassette from a rack of video tapes, brought it into the booth and pushed it into the player. “Gramps always made his own home-movies, so when video became popular he bought all of this state-of-the-art equipment – he has to have all the latest gizmos.”

While Kris worked in the projection booth, Malky went to the theatre and made himself comfortable. Brooster slunk under a chair in the far corner (15 feet away, but still within sight of the screen) and tried to stay awake.

“It’s a tape of the exhumation of the mummies,” Kris shouted from the projection booth, “I was in Dublin when it happened, so I drove back ASAP and fetched the video camera to shoot some footage.” The screen lit up and a bright blizzard of static flickered on Malky’s face; a few seconds later an image suddenly appeared. It was a shaky film of a woodland scene, presumably the woodland surrounding the bog; a few seconds later Kris’ recorded voice sounded in the theatre’s speakers:

“It’s Thursday July 20th 19-and-89, I’m at my grandfather’s house in Ireland in the marshlands on the outskirts of the estate, and I’m on my way to film a very significant ‘n strange event -- probably historic --”

What followed was a kind of home movie taken a day after the discovery of the mummies, accompanied by a typically breathless running commentary from Kris. It showed lots of people milling around the swamp; forensics people, gards, villagers and the press, had gathered to watch the bodies being removed. “I was staying here while Ollie ‘n Herb were in Japan,” Kris explained, talking over his voice-over as he joined Malky in the theatre, “I was writing the script at the time and I went to Dublin to do research when I heard about it. I was so hyped I hadda hightail back here to film it.”

When it came to close-ups of the experts, Malky recognised a few of the faces from news reports, but one in particular was more familiar than the others, “That’s Paddy Gilray, he’s a top forensics guy from Dublin. Big Phil Somerville 'n him are good friends. Dunno who the guy with ‘im is, though.”

“Emil something. I tried to talk to him afterwards, but he told me to f**k off,” said Kris, looking a wee bit hurt. “Somebody told me he’s another forensics guy from Canada. He flies over every summer and they do these archaeological digs.”

Just then, the voice-over took a strange turn; the commentary broke off mid-sentence and the sound of Kris vomiting filled the room; the film suddenly stopped and Kris pointed at the blank screen, “When they moved the bodies there was this unholy stink like nothin’ I ever smelled before -- that’s why I threw up! I hadda stop filming and get the hell outta there!” He made a sour face, “It wasn't swamp gas – cuz I’ve smelled swamp gas – it was more like this thick, sickening miasma that made it hard to breathe, Ugggh!” he said, grimacing, “And it wasn't just me! Look, everybody is retching or puking -- even some the guys wearing surgical masks!” He used a remote to rewind the tape and freeze-framed a wide shot of the bog. He indicated a coterie of Bogmire residents standing on the opposite side, “Now look at the villagers -- they’re are fine with it, like they’re used to it. And that’s not all,,.” He sat forward, lowered his voice and spoke in a sombre tone, “There was, like, this strange kinda purple mist hanging over everything. You could see it as plain as day -- in fact most people commented on it -- but it doesn’t show up on the tape. And I checked the camera -- it’s not technical fault.” Kris shook his head, “Anyway, I couldn't get the stench out of my nostrils or the taste outta my mouth. It got into my clothes -- I dumped them as soon as I got back to the house -- but I could smell it for days after. In fact, I smelled it until I left...” He turned to Malky, “I swear to God, I smelled it when I walked into the house today. 2 years later and it’s still there. That’s 24 months and several gallons of Sparky’s wood-polish and gramps’ cigars -- and it’s still there!”

Malky shook his head, “I didn’t smell anythin’.”

“That’s what’s so weird, I’m the only one who does,” said Jamie, looking genuinely perplexed.

Broo knew the smell the boy as talking about. It was that faint, acrid odour he smelled during their little stop in the village, but it wasn't pronounced enough to give him much cause for concern, now he wasn't so sure. How could a natural smell hang in the air for so long without dissipating?

And what of the vision of the children in the bathroom mirror? Children drowned in a stagnant pool: the bog? Is it something to do with the little girl found in the ancient one’s arms? Is she now a ghost reaching out to him via the Mirror World?

So many questions...

...

The night before, in the Ivy House Library: under the light of a reading lamp, Jamie sat at a desk and scanned the attendance log of his grandfather’s long-since defunct ‘naughty-hellfire’ type club, an association that allowed renowned dignitaries and celebrities to indulge their wildest, wickedest sexual fantasies in complete anonymity. Working on a hunch, he was looking for one name in particular in the thick, yellowing pages, and although all entries were in code, his grandfather had kept a separate log to record the members real names; all Jamie had to do was find the name the to fit the code. After an hour of searching and deciphering, his finger eventually alighted on the moniker he’d been looking for:

“Oliver Laphen.”

According to the log, Laphen’s last attendance was in June 1968. Jamie wondered if it was an amicable parting of the ways, or was he kicked out? If his reputation for hell-raising was an issue, expulsion was a distinct possibility. And if he was ex-communicated, did he hold a grudge? Jamie went to the sliding steps and rolled to the central bookcase; he climbed to the top rung and took a row of three glued-together, hollowed-out tomes from the top shelf, revealing a safe concealed in the wall behind. He turned the dial on the combination lock using the numbers written on the back of his hand, opened it and removed a heavy ledger. 

It contained highly compromising information of every member of the club, probably in order to blackmail any black-balled ex-members tempted to spill the beans to the authorities or the press. Predictably, Laphen had an abundance of black marks against his name, everything from securities fraud to wife beating. Then, to Jamie’s surprise, he discovered that his grandfather had added a heavily underlined note pertaining to Laphen’s purchase of Pagham House: ‘Witches -- Observe!’ it screamed from the page. The Judge was clearly expressing his alarm and wanted the Witches of Kildare to keep an eye on things. And now we know why. 

Oggy talked about Pagham House before he went down for his sleep. He said it’s a mansion built to the exact specifications of the Ivy House by the Duke of Roxborough: a wannabe wizard with no psychic abilities whatsoever, who tried to create magic using standard methods: sex and human sacrifice. It was also home to the swamp where the mummy of an ancient mage was discovered 2 years ago. And now Laphen’s grandson turns up and offers Goz -- the only one of us who could be tempted to break ranks -- a part in a film he’s shooting in Ireland? It was all too much of a coincidence. 

He slammed the book shut, crossed his arms and sat back. Shite. This could be the first major crisis he’s faced since taking up the mantle of Master, and there was no Ogden Castle around to guide him... 

...

After screening a few of Ollie’s old ‘Laffin Boy!’ shorts to lighten the mood, Malky and Kris sat in the little cinema’s cocktail bar/café and made use of the fully functioning, antique coffee machine. They took a sofa each, sprawled-out on the white leather and talked about Film Noir for the next hour or so. When the conversation moved on to personal matters, Kris chatted openly about his relationship with “Jolly Ollie!” It wasn't bitchy in the least, for the most part he spoke in glowing terms. Nevertheless, he was still bewildered and exasperated by what he called, ‘The Purge’.”

“Whatever his reasons, I predict old Ollie will be battling a few ‘unfair dismissal’ law-suits over the next coupla years,” Malky opined .

“Any potential litigants will have to go to the end of the queue,” said Kris, “gramp’s life has been one long lawsuit, and he’s got the best lawyers money can buy.” He nimbly flipped over the back of the sofa and trotted over to the counter for a refill. Malky had to shout to be heard above the loud gurgle of a sputtering nozzle, “I can honestly say I’ve never met anyone like him in my life! If I wuz you, I’d stay well away!”

“Everybody else does keep away, I’m the only one of the family that bothers,” he said, coming back to the sofa and flopping down, “I think our little spats are a sorta communication on a deep level. Like, I can’t explain it, but it kinda opens things up –- things you can’t talk about ‘man-to-man’ can come out in one of our shouting-matches.” Kris sat up, raised his mug at the life-size picture of the man himself in his heyday hanging behind the bar, and said, “No matter what he’s done, he’s still a genius. He’s a hard act to follow. All I can do is learn from his mistakes.” Kris smiled at the youthful, dimpled face, “When I look at him now I know I’m looking at myself in 60 years time, cos that’s probably what I’ll look like if I live that long. But I won’t end my days like him, alone in a mansion miles away from his family, abandoned by his estranged kids. My grandfather is nothing if not a walking cautionary tale.”

Malky was very impressed by this young man. His mother is a drug-addict, his father is a crooked businessman, his grandfather is an arrogant arsehole, and yet, he’s a realistic, intelligent, talented, well-rounded good kid. He raised his mug to salute his new best friend, “I hope my chile grows up to be as bright and as thoughtful as you are, son.”

“You’re gonna to be a father?!” Kris asked, excitedly.

“8 weeks from yesterday,” said Malky, smiling, but sounding a wee bit daunted.

Kris jumped to his feet and vigorously shook Malky’s hand. “That’s awesome! Congratulations, dude!”

“I never thought of the future til I heard the words, ‘I’m late’," joked Malky. He took a moment to think, then asked, “So, what do you think’s goin’ on in Pagham House, Kris?”

Kris answered straightaway as if he was expecting the question: “I have absolutely no idea. I mean, that grandfather clock -- besides the fact that I wasn't here at the time, there’s no way I could've pushed that over, let alone a scrawny old guy like Ollie. You’d need a tractor to move it!”

Malky shrugged and sighed, “Well, that’s us. There’s nuthin’ more we can do. As far as we’re concerned, the house is uncontaminated by evil spirits. I’ll just have to tell Ollie we've come up empty. If I was him, I’d leave it to the police.”

Kris looked at the old dog sitting in the corner and asked, “U-huh, I wonder what Broo makes of it all?”

“I dunno,” Malky answered, sleepily, looking over his shoulder, “like I said before, if there was anythin’ ‘supernatural’ he’d’ve let us know by now...”

But Broo didn’t know how to communicate what he was seeing. Because when the pair sat together, the boy’s aura, more opaque than ever, spread to envelope Malky. When the boy went to the coffee bar to get a refill, part of it stayed with Malky. They were both shrouded in that swirling mist that psychically shut Broo out and rendered him physically weak...

Oh God, I hope this doesn’t last. I hope it disappears once we leave this woe-begotten place...

...

Two hours later, sitting in the bar of Odin’s Inn in Brodir, the ghost of Sammy O'Donnell, the inn’s deceased barman, was sitting in the darkened bar listening to the distant sound of waves crashing on the rocks. He was very bored. Thank God the old dog’s back tomorrow, at least I’d somebody to talk to, he thought to himself. We could be watchin’ TV right now... his thoughts were interrupted by a far cry: <Samuel... Samuel... Samuel O'Donnell...>

“What’s that?” Sammy said aloud, though nobody could hear him, “well, up til now.”

<Samuel... Samuel...> a little voice cried in his head. He wasn't imagining it. It’s a thought, he thought, like the way the old dog talks me.

<Samuel... Samuel... Samuel O'Donnell...> It seemed to be a child’s voice calling his name...“Samuel O'Donnell...” He went to one of the windows and looked out. <Samuel... Samuel... Samuel O'Donnell... Samuel O'Donnell...>

Beyond the concourse, across the main road, standing atop the old sea wall, he saw the sparkling spectre of a small child. It was hard to tell if it was a boy or a girl, the clinging white dress could just as well be a nightshirt; the hair was wet and hung around its face and shoulders like seaweed: the ghost of a wee drowner, no doubt.

<Wave if you can hear me!> the little ghost yelled.

Sammy raised his hand and waved a feeble wave.

<I’ve been sent by the Powers That Be to warn you!>

“Warn me?” said Sammy, perturbed.

<Aye. From tomorrow forth your haunt will become infected!> cried the little spectre, <You’ll haveta get yerself to The In-Between until the danger passes!>

Even though he’d never heard the phrase ‘The In-Between’ before, Sammy could guess what it meant: “Limbo?! Why? I bloody hate Limbo!! It’s full of martyrs 'n murderers 'n all kinds of religious headcases!”

Talking quickly, as if he there was a time limit on his manifestation, the little spectre informed him: <You've no choice! The innkeeper is set to return from an infected place -- he’ll bring the darkness back with him! It’s a Soul-eating disease, no spirit is safe, not even us ghosts – so it’s in your best interests to bide-awhile in the In-Between until the danger passes and the house is pronounced safe.>

<But what is it...!> Sammy had so many questions, but the little spectre had begun to fade. He watched helplessly as the sparkle dimmed to a glow, then a glimmer. “NO! Wait, don’t go...!” he cried out, but the ghost had gone.

He sat down again and mulled over the message: innkeeper? They must mean Malky. But what does ‘bringing The Darkness back with him’ mean? For the first time since he died, Sammy O'Donnell was scared. If there was something wicked coming – something so dangerous that it’s fatal to Immortal Souls – how could he be sure it wouldn't pose a risk to The Living?

And what about an unborn baby?!

He couldn't – he wouldn't abandon Zindy!

To Be Continued...

#witch craft #Witchcraft #irish literature #fantasy #Ghost #Hollywood #hooray for hollywood #Mystery #poltergeist #magic #black magic #irish humour #demon

[arplis]

Arplis - News: Picturesque Wall Mounted Dish Rack

82 items – Shop latest wall mounted dish rack online from our range of Soap Dishes at au.dhgate.com, free and fast delivery to Australia. DHgate offers a large . Wall Mounted Plate Rack Kitchen Kitchen from Fishpond.com.au online store. Millions of products all with free shipping Australia wide. Lowest prices . Probrico Wall Mounted Dish Drainer Rack Stainless Steel 17.6 inch Dish Drying Rack Plates Bowls Storage Organizer Holder: Racks & Holders: . Range of versatile and innovative kitchen wall organisers. Choose from variety of dish racks, spice and knife racks and more. Buy online & in-store at IKEA. Find plate racks wall mounted ads in our Home & Garden category. Buy and sell almost anything on Gumtree classifieds. Find plate rack wall mounted ads from Melbourne Region, VIC. Buy and sell almost anything on Gumtree classifieds. Find the best Dish Racks to suit your needs, and get big savings. Our Dish Racks come with a 30 Day Money Back Guarantee. Shop now! AU$218.16. Favourite. Add to. See similar items + . More colours. Farmhouse Plate Rack Wall Hanging, Country Rustic Plate Rack Stand. AppletreeWoodcrafts. Results 1 – 48 of 60357 – AU Stainless Steel Dish Drying Rack Drainer Plate Cup Drain Tray Storage . Wall Mounted Brush Broom Hanger Mop Organizer Holder . Creative Dish Drying Racks & Self-Drying Dishware Plate Design, Kitchen Coat Hanger Dish Drain- Materials: 8 or more wooden coat hangers with . wall mounted dish drying rack Wall Mounted Dish Rack, Dish Drainers, Plate Racks,. wall mounted kitchen plate drying rack Kitchen Plate Rack, Kitchen Drying Rack, . custom shelf by peter henderson – plate rack/ drainboard Wooden Dish Rack, interior-design-home: “Greatly ordered to store dishes, the drawer with . 13 серп. 2014 р. – Above: The Raw Oak Wall-Mounted Plate Rack holds 10 plates and is £225 from Burford. Above: A plate rack in the Hamptons home of designer Tricia Foley. . Above: The Hafele Kitchen Cabinet Wooden Plate Rack starts at . Rustic Country Handmade Wall Hanging 12 Plate Rack With 6 Cup Hooks . Hanging Wall Bookshelf, Wood Wall Hanging Plate Rack and Country Shelf. Wall Mirrors · Floor Mirrors Made using stainless steel and plastic, this dish rack has a contemporary design, which Crafted from pine wood with a neutral natural finish, it features a slatted design that allows baking dishes and . the sink, where it holds scrubbers and sponges and includes a bar for hanging dishcloths. The Umbra Flip wall mount multi-hook unit boasts a clever design- the wooden rack with 5 hooks that flip up and down. When not in use, each hook slips neatly . Shop AllModern for modern and contemporary modern dish rack to match your style and . Material: Stainless steel; Wood . Modern Wall Mounted Coat Rack. The Umbra Flip wall mount multi-hook unit boasts a clever design- the wooden rack with 5 hooks that flip up and down. When not in use, each hook slips neatly . 18 січ. 2013 р. – They carry some of the best designer dish racks, including Marc . of old-fashioned wooden plate racks by Woodform that range from $50 to $120. The racks can be mounted to the wall or set on the counter, and they have an . Browse our range of dishwasher accessories online at IKEA, including dish drainers & cutlery drainers. Shop online and in-store. Washing the dishes can be a family effort when you’re teamed up with our practical dish-washing accessories. Drying racks, cutlery stands and colorful brushes . IKEA UTRUSTA Dish drainer for wall cabinet 60 x 35 cm Can be mounted in a wall cabinet to free up space on the worktop. 18 черв. 2018 р. – Our pick of the 10 best compact dish racks and dish drainers to free up the kitchen counter . We went for an over-the-sink wood version instead and it was a . Above: The RigTig Dishy Dish Rack is designed by Stelton as a . 10 Easy Pieces: Countertop Dish Drainers · 10 Easy Pieces: Wall-Mounted Plate . 14 годин тому – Last year I went with this beautiful metal dish rack with wood handles from Crate & Barrel, and I still think it’s great. But this year, I was wooed . Rig Tig Dishy Dish Rack. $67.20 USD from . Float Wall Mounted Utensil Rack . Amish Made Woven Wood Kitchen Hanging Wall Cooking Utensil Holder. Find great deals for Stelton RIGTIG Dishy Dish Rack Light Grey. Shop with confidence on eBay! 8 січ. 2010 р. – Dishy jewelry plate . series Drom side plate ($3.99) and the Neglinge candle holder (just 49 cents!) . This hack can of course be done with any ikea plate (there were so many cool ones I . Decorative wall plate for NEST smart thermostat . And I love the earrings hanging off! where did you get THOSE? Find great deals for Stelton RIGTIG Dishy Dish Rack Light Grey. . 2x Wall-mount Magnetic Knife Storage Holder Chef Rack Strip Utensil Kitchen Tool. (27). NEX Dish Drainer 304 Stainless Steel Kitchen 2-Tier Dish Rack with Utensil Holder · 4.1 out of 5 stars 95 Hanging bar also included for wall mounting; 9. Uxcell a12080800ux0442 Hanging Hooks Hanger (Pack of 10) . 2-Tier SUS304 Stainless Steel Adjustable Dish Drying Rack Utensil Holder,Over the Sink… #836 in Kitchen & Dining > Storage & Organization > Countertop & Wall Organization > Dish Racks . I like the concept, but the size is impractical (too small). Stainless Steel Dish Drying Racks Real Kitchen, Old Kitchen, Kitchen Dishes, What’s special about this [dish rack], is that it’s got these cute little containers at wall mounted dish drying rack Wall Mounted Dish Rack, Dish Drainers, Plate The Fluidity – a combination dish-rack/herb-garden concept from DesignLibero -. From Snaidero. High and Dry This concept, long popular in Europe, elevates the sink-side. Read it “stainless steel/kitchen cabinet/wall mounted dish rack / China Kitchen Furniture for to a home. Check out the best ideas special for you. FINTORP dish drainer, black, galvanized . RIMFORSA rail, stainless steel . RIMFORSA hook, stainless steel . STENSTORP wall shelf with drawers, white . Choose from variety of dish racks, spice and knife racks and more. . KUNGSFORS susp rail/shelf/rail/wall grid, stainless steel, ash veneer to your cutlery and chopping boards, there are also a number of special wall brackets which will . The IKEA ConceptDemocratic DesignPeople & PlanetPressroomWorking at IKEA. simplehuman Compact Steel Frame Stainless Steel Dish Rack in Fingerprint . simplehuman Tension Arm Paper Towel Holder in Brushed Stainless Steel. Get best prices of Medium Stainless Steel Plate Rack Wall Mounted on Shopclues.com. Kitchen pot racks: Concept Housewares 36” wall mounted pot rack with shelf in . Fisher & Paykel® #DD602 SS stainless steel double dish drawer (now the . Shop quality dishwashing accessories at online prices in Singapore. From kitchen towels to dish racks to soap dispensers – get yours now with free . Wall Mount Grocery Bag Dispenser – Image 1 Shop home essentials by HipVan . and storages made from durable materials like stainless steel and BPA-free plastic. OIKIA by Beyond Essentials Pte Ltd – 3026, Ubi Road 1, #04-152, Singapore . Good quality winch laundry rack which was installed very nicely at my mum’s old . 6 X horizontal bars maximise drying space – Stainless steel wires for heavy lifting. . from metal or glass railing – Loadable up to 100kgs when wall mounted – No . Is your laundry rack occupying space and obstructing at your balcony? . Specially designed stainless steel . Heavy Duty Laundry Drying Rack- Stainless Steel Clothing Shelf for Brabantia Hanging Wall-Mounted Drying Rack 102769 / 105241 / 105265 Finish: Red Household Essentials Stainless Steel Clad Adjustible Style Gullwing Drying Rack . Household Essentials Wall-Mount Telescoping Indoor Clothes Drying Rack brightmaison Set of 2 Clothes Drying Rack Stainless Steel Wall Mounted Folding . Results 1 – 24 of 930 – Cresnel Stainless Steel Clothes Drying Rack – Adjustable Household Essentials 5001 Collapsible Folding Wooden Clothes Drying Rack for Laundry . Polder Retractable Folding Clothes Dryer, Wall Mountable, 7 Rods . IKEA Singapore. 0. Choose your . $15.90 · BESTÅENDE dish drainer, silver-colour, white . ORDNING dish drainer, stainless steel . ORDNING kitchen utensil rack, stainless steel Wall storage . Cleaning dishes is an essential chore, but it can be made fuss-free and quick with the right dish-washing accessories. Online shopping for Home & Kitchen from a great selection of Dish Racks, Utensil . Kurtzy Standing and Wall Rack Storage. . Levon Stainless Steel Kitchen Dish Rack Expandable Storage Shelves for Kitchen . For aesthetic and more importantly functional purposes, kitchen racks and holders are much essential. drying racks – up to 70% off. . all gone. Whitmor Wall-Mounted Retractable Drying Rack. shop now . home basics Blue Metal Three-Tier Clothes Drying Rack. shop now . Munchkin Shine Stainless Steel Drying Rack. shop now . USA (checked); Australia; Canada; Ireland; Hong Kong; Mexico; Singapore; UK . Hoe Kee – Singapore’s one stop Bathroom Kitchen Solution center. . Kris Wall Hung Double Deck Dish Rack . HKH HLD 5603 3-Layer Wall Dish Rack. 26736 items – Purchase Storage Dish Racks which is easy to install online from Lazada . Sink Corner Storage Rack Sponge Holder Wall Mounted Tool Green. Freestanding Dish Rack (3) · adl-s6208. Wall Mounted Dish Rack (8) . to Cart · Oyama OY-3113TD Triple Dish Rack-29″ SS Free Standing Triple Dish Rack . Supplied with : 1 lid stay+1 mounting bracket for cabinet+1 screw-on bracket for flap+1 set of installation instruction . effect,upper tray covers the management, additional height adjustable shelves . Base unit pull-out – Comfort II Wire Baskets Each set includes 1pair cabinet hanger, 2 wall plates and 2 cover caps. Home Basics Dish Drying Rack. $29.99 USD . Float Wall Mounted Utensil Rack . Amish Made Woven Wood Kitchen Hanging Wall Cooking Utensil Holder. As a leading player in the commercial sanitation sector in Singapore and a . intelligent technology and clean comfort that makes life easier and better. IKEA – KUNGSFORS, Magnetic knife rack, The knife rack makes it easy for you . to mount it directly to the wall or with the help of KUNGSFORS suspension rail. IKEA Buy our wide range of furniture Singapore online today. We offer a range of sofas, beds, mattresses, wardrobes, kitchen cabinets, dining tables, chairs. The classic bath tub rim and tile mounted mixers are supplemented by a . overhead shower for wall mounting embodies the ultimate in showering comfort. . Choose from wall lights, towel racks, hooks, a soap dish, glass shelf and lots more. Browse and compare – Dish Rack prices on PriceCheck, your leading – Dish Rack price comparison guide in South Africa. Browse and compare Dish Rack prices on PriceCheck, your leading Dish Rack price comparison guide in South Africa. Chrome Dish Rack With Utensil Holder & Tray · NO BRAND · Chrome Dish Rack With Utensil Holder & Tray. R239.00. Add to wishlist. Drawer Organizer/Cutlery . Items 1 – 20 of 38 – Shop for Draining Racks & Mats online at best prices in South Africa. Fast, reliable delivery to your door. 9 Flexible payment methods. Safe . Chrome double tier dish rack with a drip tray. On the first shelf you can store your dishes and on the bottom shelf you glasses and . MRP Home South Africa. Joseph Joseph Extend Expandable Dish Rack. Available . OXO Good Grips Foldaway Dish Rack. 5 out of 5 . Joseph Joseph Sink Aid Hanging Cutlery Caddy. Williams Sonoma has sold all its wooden, wall-mounted, folding dish racks. . Cool metal wall-mounted shelving for dishes. No longer available at this store,. 3 hook rack (wall mounted) Matt Black. R 90.00 · 6 hook rack . Basin dish rack Matt Black. R 395.00 Yvette in George, South Africa purchased a. Hook Over . 3 hook rack (wall mounted) Matt Black. R 90.00 · 6 hook rack . Basin dish rack Matt Black. R 395.00 Riaan in Richards Bay, South Africa purchased a. Five S- . Home Creations 30 x 32 inch Wall Mount Kitchen Dish Rack/Kitchen Utensils . Amazon India offers a variety of brands dealing in utensil holders such as Surya . Online shopping for Dish Racks from a great selection at Home & Kitchen Store. Wall Shelves Online: Buy Wall Shelf online at best prices in India. Shop from a wide range of floating wall shelves of various designs at Pepperfry.✓Exclusive . Grid Wall Kitchen Rack – Buy Kitchen Racks at best price of Rs 200 /piece from Bhagyalaxmi . Spices Hanging Rack · Pot Rack · SS Dinner Plate Single Rack. Jyoti Seating Collection – offering Divine Wall Mounted Stainless Steel Kitchen . Pan Drawers Modular Kitchen Shelves . Lucknow – 226005 Uttar Pradesh, India Here, this is for you Order this Multilayered Storage Tray so that you can Sort . Maison & Cuisine 3 IN 1 Large Sink Set Dish Rack Draine. 3.8. (175). ₹610 About the Fit Wall Mount Kitchen Dish Rack Plate Cutler. 4. (25). ₹1,849. Diy Plate Rack, Plate Rack Wall, Wall Mounted Dish Rack, Kitchen . I would travel to India, just so I can buy these stainless steel, wall mounted dish racks. 89 Products – . Racks for you. Enjoy Free Shipping & COD across India. . Free Shipping · Mighty Stainless Steel Plate Rack Heavy Gauge (Wall Mounted) [RBJ] . Wisdom and serenity are represented by the elephant in the avatar of Ganesha, one of India’s most popular deities. Elephants are revered in this country and are . 49493 items – Buy OEM Home Dishracks & Sink accessories Malaysia ? . Adjustable Dish Drainer Rack Stainless Steel Dish Basket Over the Sink Rustproof . 1pcs Kitchen Hanging Basket Sink Organizer Baskets Washing Basin Holder (Blue). Make the most of your kitchen space with our innovative and versatile wall . We have everything from shelves to spice racks at great prices. . Dish drainer. Washing the dishes can be a family effort when you’re teamed up with our practical dish-washing accessories. Drying racks, cutlery stands and colourful brushes . Buy the newest Dish Racks with the latest sales & promotions ☆ Find cheap offers . Default Kitchen water draining dish rack kitchen mounted shelf rack dishes. Buy your favourite Dish Racks & Sink Accessories online in Malaysia. . Sponges Kitchen Sink Corner Shelf Wall Cuisine Dish Rack Drain. RM7.00. RM4.20. . Table & Sofa Legs · Dish Racks · Drawer Dividers · Wire Grommet · Hanging Rods & Holders · Shelf Studs & Support EXCEL SUS304 DISH TRAY+AL/DIE CAST CONNECTOR . EXCEL-VICENZO NERO BLACK SERIES DOUBLE WALL SOFT-CLOSING SYSTEM Excel Korean Concept Pole System – U Shape. 18 лип. 2017 р. – 40+ Functional and Stylish Kitchen Ideas in Malaysia . Sleek, modern, and elegant are the best way to describe this open-concept kitchen. The backsplash and walls are also designed with natural stone tiles that run all the . Above the stainless-steel sink is a built-in dish rack for drying your dishes. . and conditioning equipment & an official sponsor of the CrossFit Games, Arnold Classic, and USA Weightlifting. From power racks, rigs, and barbells to shoes, . What’s-his- name in Thailand — or was it Malaysia — had taken on George . In April 1982, [Alan] Goodman shot at Palestinians praying at the Temple Mount. . not just the four walls of late-night television, that he has won dual citizenship . The NYU business students he ad- dressed last week struggled with the concept. Visit Kmart today to find a great selection of dish racks. Shop online for quick delivery with 28 days return or click to collect in store. 82 items – Shop latest wall mounted dish rack online from our range of Soap Dishes at . Wall Mounted Dish Rack Australia – Luxury Chrome Plate Brass Soap Rack . Attractive 2016 Plastic Dish Cloths Rack Suction Sponge Holder Clip Rag . Each dish rack is customizable, modern, durable and designed using top-notch . PremiumRacks Coat Rack & Hat Rack – Modern Design – Wall Mounted . Shop Simplehuman – Steel Frame Dish Rack with Wine Glass Holder at . Wall Mountable Grocery Bag Holder . Australia Only. . An attractive dishrack? Looking for Dish Racks and Mats? Why shop anywhere else, Everten has the widest range, best prices and first class service, including fast delivery Australia . Products 1 – 25 of 53 – Interdesign Metro Expandable Rustproof Aluminum Over-The-Sink Dish Drainer $70.00. prod_image. Interdesign Classico Expandable . Find the best Dish Racks to suit your needs, and get big savings. Our Dish Racks come with a 30 Day Money Back Guarantee. Shop now! Attractive Laundry Dry Rack Wall Mount Wall Mounted Clothes Drying Rack The Wall . laundry drying rack wall mounted indoor australia best racks ideas on . Results 1 – 24 of 186 – Attractive new Folding Dish Rack With Natural Bamboo Wood & Stylish Design . WATSONS CHESHUNT – Wall Mounted Kitchen Plate . A perfect example of integrating DISH TENNIS in your vacations: beautiful setting and keeping your kids busy in a healthy way. #corsica #france. Schwarze Mini Tischtennisplatte “Black Beauty” zusammengeklappt und . am Vollholz Rahmen in der schwarzen Mini Tischtennisplatte von DISH TENNIS . DISH TENNIS Wedding Edition. € 399,00 · Blaue Mini . 299,00 · Schwarze Mini Tischtennisplatte “Black Beauty” ausgeklappt und bereit zum spielen. 3 вер. 2018 р. – dishtennis. A perfect example of integrating DISH TENNIS in your vacations: beautiful setting and keeping your kids busy in a healthy way. In this romantic setting guest dine on exquisite and well-prepared dishes, such . Blvd., hidden amid lush greenery, soothing fountains, and a beautiful terrace. www.lighthousefestival.tv www.facebook.com/lighthousefestival 23th-25th May 2014 Lighthouse Festival . 28 трав. 2008 р. – Satellite provider Dish Network has signed a deal with the Tennis Channel to broadcast this year’s French Open in an interactive format, . 29 черв. 2018 р. – The Wimbledon Championships, the biggest fixture on the professional tennis calendar, is a tournament that’s heavily embedded in tradition. Panoramic water views, tennis, pool, superb fishing, sailing. . To rent for a week or longer of serenity in a beautiful place of the world, write or call Tom Allen, . #WallMountedDishRackAustralia #WallMountedDishRackSingapore #DishNetwork #WallMountedDishRackStainlessSteel #DishTennis

Arplis - News source http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/Arplis-News/~3/N6Ees7JwJp4/picturesque-wall-mounted-dish-rack-1