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solitaria-fantasma · 5 years

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Dark Arts and Demons - Ch. 35

The ‘spicy’ ice cream was actually quite delicious, and (once he’d worked up the courage) Penn shyly asked Savina Pepper if he could have another.

As he retreated back to his ‘private’ booth with the succulent treat, the spirit skirted around the edge of the room to avoid the people still remaining. Mr. Kingsmen had pulled the real Arthur outside to ‘have a talk’ as soon as the group had broken up, and the scary blue-haired girl - Vivi - had left with the dog-beast, Mystery. They had books at home that they needed to read, to know how to safely pull Penn out of his Arthur’s body, and put Arthur back in.

She had pulled Lewis aside before she’d left, and whispered - all while side-eyeing Penn where he sat huddled in his booth - to ‘keep an eye on that one’.

Penn had tried not to take it too personally.

But Lewis didn’t try to approach Penn until a little while after Vivi had left, and the restaurant floor had been detail-cleaned. Pepper Paradiso had a reputation to uphold, after all. Eventually, however, there had been nothing left to do, and Lewis had (somewhat hesitantly) approached the only occupied booth.

“Hey...” Penn winced, and sank a little lower in the booth seat. He’d been quietly hoping that Lewis would just watch him from a distance, like Vivi had been. “Listen, I’m, um. I’m sorry. About calling you ‘dangerous’ before.” Lewis rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “We thought you were someone who’s done very...very bad things to us,” Gods above, was that an understatement. “And...we were scared-”

“That I might hurt your family.” Penn finished sullenly. Lewis winced. When it was said out loud like that-...well, no. It sounded terrible either way. But he’d been hoping not to have to say it out loud, anyway. “You do not have to worry.” Penn fidgeted nervously with the milkshake glass, turning it back and forth on the table and drawing his finger through the condensation on the outside. “I will not hurt these people.” He promised. “They have all been very nice to me.”

“...mm.” Lewis hummed, and shifted on his feet. Penn wondered why he did that. Wasn’t this man a spirit, like he was? He was pretty sure normal people couldn’t change themselves into a flaming skeleton…and survive, at least. “May I sit down?” Lewis asked, gesturing with one hand towards the booth seat opposite Penn. The spirit hesitated, but nodded his head after a few seconds’ thought.

He was going to be with these people until he could be removed, and Arthur could take his body back, whether he liked it or not. It was probably in his best interests to try and be as accommodating as possible.

“Thanks...” Lewis slid into the seat, and folded his arms along the table. “So…” He smiled, and the expression was so warm that Penn couldn’t help but relax, even just a little bit. A tiny part of him felt unnerved, by that. “Mama tells me you actually like Cayenne’s ‘spicy milkshake surprise’?”

“It is...very tasty.” As if to make a point, Penn took another sip of the milkshake. “I like the flavor, and the way it makes my-...um...A-Arthur’s...tongue tingle.” Lewis’ made a curious sound, and leaned back in his seat, seemingly missing (or maybe ignoring?) Penn’s slip of the tongue.

“Arthur usually can’t handle a lot of spice.” The other spirit revealed. “Mama and Papa made a special spice-free version of some of our dishes and deserts, just so he could try some of them.” The ghost scratched thoughtfully at his cheek. “I wonder why you experience it differently? Maybe it’s a ‘mind over matter’ thing, and you have a different tolerance because you have nothing else to compare it to?”

“.....yes.” Penn said before taking a long sip of the shake. He had no idea what Lewis was talking about, in all honesty. But he liked this strange atmosphere that was starting to form - one where he didn’t feel watched or threatened. It felt like coming home had...before he’d learned that he wasn’t who he thought he was.

“....” Lewis’s smile widened, and he leaned forward to rest his elbows on the table. Penn swallowed nervously, and leaned back just a little bit. “Do you like tacos?” Lewis asked, steepling his hands in front of his grin. “Because there’s this recipe for a chipotle dessert taco I’ve been working on, and I really, really need someone to taste test it…”

…….

Of the many difficult things Arthur had to do in his lifetime, he considered this awkward heart-to-heart with his uncle to be the hardest of them all.

Lance had already seen him - and even helped him through - some of his lowest points in life. He had been there when his parents had walked away from him, and when he couldn’t sleep through the phantom pains of a freshly lost limb. He’d listened patiently when Arthur had rambled about demons and green skin in the haze of hospital-grade painkillers, and Arthur had nothing but gratitude for all his uncle had done for him.

He just...hadn’t wanted Lance to know how far he still was from ‘okay’.

But out there, on the back patio of Pepper Paradiso, with nothing but the distant song of cicadas to fill the silence, Arthur told him.

About the voice in his head that had once blended with his intrusive thoughts, only to grow more and more distinct and vicious over months and months, and the nightmares he’d kept to himself. About his fears of being ignored, or his concerns being laughed off. About his fears of being taken all too seriously, and abandoned by the people he loved all over again...

Lance listened to all of this with his usual stoic poker face, and when Arthur had finally fallen silent, he reached out, and wrapped one arm around his nephew’s shoulders. The firm, one-armed side hug was a small gesture, but Arthur sank into it gratefully. He’d been half-expecting a stern lecture on ‘taking stupid risks and the consequences of such’, like Vivi had given him on the flight back to their hotel, but in retrospect, that wasn’t Lance’s style.

“I’m sorry.” He’d said them so much over the last few days, the words were starting to lose their meaning. “I swear, this wasn’t the outcome I wanted. I just wanted to...to...” Arthur cringed and ground the heel of his ghostfire palm against his forehead as he searched for the right words.

“To clear the air.” Lance supplied. Arthur released the breath he’d been holding, and sagged, letting his arm drop down to his lap.

“Yeah…” He murmured. “Exactly.” Lance patted his shoulder a few times, and Arthur continued to lean against his uncle for the duration, quietly marveling at how much lighter he felt. Maybe he should have gotten all this off of his chest a long time ago…in hindsight, it wasn’t having the disastrous ripple effects he’d feared, and really, it would have avoided an awful lot of trouble to have just gotten it over with…

Lance patted his nephew’s shoulder one last time, and then lowered his arm. Arthur took the cue to sit up, and scrubbed his hands across his face, though any tears had long since dried. He took a deep - and somewhat shaky, still - breath, and let it out slowly. The sound of the cicadas seemed a little bit clearer.

“Arthur,” Lance started. “I want you to know that you can trust me. I know I’m not the easiest guy to come to with big emotions like all that,” The man quickly held up a hand before Arthur could speak. “But you’re my family and I care about you. Even if I don’t understand all of what you do or what’s going on in our life.” He still wasn’t big on all these supernatural shenanigans...but they were a part of his nephew’s life, and that, by extension, made them a part of his.

Nothing he could do but learn to deal with it.

“If you need to get something off your mind - no matter what it is - I’m always gonna be here to listen, and I’m not here to judge you.” Lance continued. Arthur wondered how he could feel a lump in his throat with no nervous system. Wouldn’t Vivi love to hear about that? “What’s done is done, and yelling won’t take anything back, so I’m just gonna suggest that, from now on, we talk about things like this, ‘stead of keeping them all bottled up.” The elder Kingsmen shifted awkwardly, and crossed his arms.

“I’ll be up front with you, kiddo. I’m gonna be just as terrible at it as you.” He admitted grudgingly. “I don’t exactly wear my heart out on my sleeve, so to speak. But I also won’t ever ask you to do anything that I wouldn’t do, myself, so I’ll promise you this: If you’ll trust me enough to vent to me when you feel overwhelmed or upset or anything else, I’ll trust you enough to do some opening up, myself.”

“.....” Arthur made a choked up sound, and scrubbed his hand across his face again. “Sure thing, uncle.” He promised. If his voice cracked a bit, Lance would never tell.

They sat outside for a few minutes more, listening to the cicadas, and the sounds of the traffic around the building slowly increasing as the day wore on, before standing up, and heading back inside the restaurant.

#mun's writing #Dark Arts and Demons #daad #mystery skulls animated #Lewis #Arthur #Lance #The Peppers #Vivi #Mystery

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i-am-snowils-admiral · 6 years

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Train Tracks and Ice Cream

This is another original story! I wrote it for a fiction writing class. It’s fun I like it. Feedback is always great (I know it’s a little long to ask you guys to read seeing as it’s not fanfiction, but I’d appreciate it).

(For those who know my ocs, just know that although the story started out with it being about Eli and Milo, they didn’t fit the roles so I shifted it around. I couldn’t bring myself to change Milo’s name though, so the Milo in this story is not necessarily connected with my oc Milo)

Words: 3812

Samuel Cain had hoped, initially, that he would find a nice quiet field somewhere to set up his picnic blanket. He had been most excited when he first found the picnic blanket in the corner of the garage, because it was white with red perpendicular stripes, and fit perfectly into his fantasies of hot summer days and laughing children playing in the grass while happy parents sat and gossiped about kindergarten teachers. He was almost certain that his family had been on one of those outings, but had neither pictures nor stories to confirm it. Sometimes he wondered if seventeen was old enough that his chances of being one of the playing children were gone.

He had found himself not with a quiet field but with a smallish park - Burlington Park, according to a nearby sign - right next to the railroad tracks in the historic downtown of Hinsdale, Illinois. There was grass in the park, but it came in narrow strips in-between concrete walkways, and Samuel knew that he would feel rather silly setting up a picnic blanket there. As it was, he wasn’t sure he had the energy to set up a picnic blanket. Northern Illinois was going through the first real heat wave of the summer, and the power of it was leeching the strength from his limbs. The air was humid, the cicadas screaming the heat from their hiding places in the trees, and his slacks were sticking to the backs of his legs where he had been sitting on the train for the better part of the day. There was a rather nice looking fountain with some benches surrounding it, and so Samuel figured that that would have to do.

Hinsdale was not Samuel’s final destination. In fact, he was going to Chicago, and was going to have to make a number of train transfers, though Hinsdale was not one of them. He had chosen to stop here partially because he knew that when his parents got the bill for a new train ticket at a town he wasn’t supposed to stop at, they would call him, which they wouldn’t have done otherwise, and partially because he knew that he needed to take some time to think about the summer in front of him.

Samuel Cain was a well-behaved, mellow sort of boy, who gave off the vibe of being significantly older than he actually was. He did well in school, had a number of other well-behaved friends, and had not complained when his parents suggested that he spend the summer before his senior year of high school as what was effectively a garbage boy at the bank where his uncle worked. Samuel was clever enough to know that this was a scheme to get him out of the house so his parents could argue with his older brother in relative peace, but had stuck to the plan without complaint because he was determined to not turn down opportunities, as that was what his parents always accused his older brother of doing. There was also the issue that the previous summer’s scheme had consisted mostly of dumping Samuel at his friends’ houses for days at a time, which was fun at times but resulted in a number of raised eyebrows and difficult questions.

Many young men of Samuel’s age might have been thankful for the relative failure of an older sibling. Older siblings set the bar, after all, and if the bar was set low, pleasing parents enough to keep them off your back was fairly easy. Samuel, however, considered his brother’s incompetence not as a lowering of the bar but as a heightening of it. Every moment of weakness or failure he showed to his parents was to them a threat of falling into the same habits as the older son.

Following this conclusion, Samuel had built up his own character with the nervous apathy of a child stacking blocks at the doctor’s office in lieu of thinking about an imminent shot. He would get along better with his teachers than his fellow students (which he knew was a sign of maturity to most adults), would do all of his homework in neat handwriting at a desk facing the wall rather than the window, and would excel in both Math and English. If he were to be honest with himself, Samuel would admit that he preferred History to Math and English, really enjoyed the view from his bedroom window, and found several of his teachers to be exceedingly dull. However, Samuel was rarely honest with himself, and remained completely oblivious to his own opinions. He was happy, he supposed, not necessarily because he actually felt happy but because he wasn’t aware of any particular feelings of unhappiness. He wasn’t completely denying himself as a person, and his actions lessened the stress on his weary parents, whom he loved very much and wanted to cause as little trouble as possible. In another year, he would be going to college, and then perhaps he could branch out a bit more.

As it was, he was stuck here in this tiny midwestern town, sweat dripping from his dark hair, eating a ham and cheese sandwich he couldn’t really taste, suffocating on the smell of hot, damp grass, and waiting for the next train to arrive so he could continue on to Chicago.

Distracted as he was thinking about his destination, it was really a miracle that he noticed the boy on the train tracks at all. The tracks were close by, but not that close, and it took him a while to notice that the boy was on the tracks themselves instead of the sidewalk.

Peeling himself off the bench, Samuel walked closer to the tracks and watched the boy for a while, feeling quite sure that the boy’s mother would eventually notice and pull him off the tracks herself, most likely crying and screaming and kicking up such a fuss that the boy himself would probably start crying as well, and there’d be a big scene. However, as time went on and no one seemed to notice the boy, Samuel began to wonder if it was up to him to intervene.

The boy, who appeared on closer inspection to be wearing a stiff plastic backpack, a faded yellow shirt and bright red rain boots that matched the sunburn smattered across his nose, was watching his own feet with intense concentration, placing each foot with purpose. Although there wasn’t a train in sight, Samuel couldn’t help but feel a sense of urgency as he rushed out of the park and onto the tracks, grabbed the kid under the arms, and practically dragged him back towards the relative safety of the sidewalk.

The most alarming thing about dragging a random kid with no mother in sight off of the train tracks was definitely the fact that he did not struggle or yell. Hadn’t this kid ever been taught about basic stranger danger? Samuel had just dragged him away by the arms, for goodness sake! The least the kid could have done was look frightened.

Instead, the boy wavered on his feet for a brief moment, scrunched up his sunburned nose in concentration, and focused on Samuel as if he had just noticed him.

“Hi!” the boy exclaimed with a kind of hazy enthusiasm. “I’m Milo. I’m running away.”

Samuel fought the urge to scream in frustration. He actually took several moments to just stare at Milo in complete disbelief, trying to figure out if his age would account for the complete stupidity of informing a stranger of his name and current lack of supervision. The kid was what, seven, maybe? Samuel wasn’t sure. He wasn’t very good with ages, and was even worse trying to figure out maturity levels. He was terrible with kids.

Samuel was just considering the question of whether it would be hypocritical to tell the kid that he shouldn’t be talking to strangers when he realized that Milo was swaying on his feet, and that the sunburn on his cheeks wasn’t the only thing causing his face to flush. The blue eyes peeking out from under straw-colored hair had a slightly glazed look to them, and the boy’s lips were chapped and peeling. The kid was clearly dehydrated, and was well on his way to heatstroke.

Sighing in frustration, and wondering vaguely how a kid his age had managed to keep walking for so long in such a condition, Samuel grabbed the kid’s arm again and dragged him towards a nearby line of shops. He didn’t want to deal with an ambulance, and the fact that the kid hadn’t passed out yet and wasn’t slurring his speech told him that although he was close to heatstroke, he hadn’t actually gotten it yet. Samuel was pretty sure that there was an ice cream store nearby, which would have water and would be well air-conditioned.

Milo came along pretty willingly, and sipped at his water obediently when seated at a small table in the ice cream store. He was beginning to look more alert already, and Samuel was slightly nervous about what would happen when the kid really noticed where he was and who was with him.

“So,” Samuel started, a little awkwardly, glancing around to make sure no one was eavesdropping. “How long have you been running away?”

Milo stared at him blankly for a moment, kicking his legs against the chair. “Since this morning,” he finally admitted.

Samuel let out a sigh of relief. Milo couldn’t be that far from home. “Have you run away before?”

“Nope! This is the first time. Sadie said it would be fun.” Milo stopped and narrowed his eyes at his companion. “Who are you, again?”

Samuel rested his head on his hand and raised an eyebrow at the kid. “I’m the guy who got you off the train tracks. My name’s Samuel. You probably would have died had I not been there.” Realistically, Samuel knew that someone else probably would have gotten Milo off the tracks eventually, but he felt honor bound to impress upon the kid just how dangerous his little escapade had been. “Who’s Sadie? Did she run away, too?”

Milo’s eyes had widened slightly at the mention of his potential demise, but he seemed to dismiss his brush with death fairly easily at the mention of Sadie. “Sadie’s my sister. She didn’t run away with me, but she said that I should. She said that I should get on the train tracks and keep walking until I got caught. She’s super cool and knows all sorts of things!”

Samuel didn’t trust himself to answer that without saying something not very flattering about the types of things that Milo’s sister knew, and so he changed the subject by suggesting that they actually buy some ice cream. The store had been a good idea for fending off the heat, but the smell of the ice cream was hard to resist. He also couldn’t help but be amused at the irony of a stranger offering to buy a lost child ice cream. Ice cream seemed to show up in every kidnapping story he’d ever heard. Ice cream and puppies. Sometimes there were balloons involved. He’d have to look into finding some balloons.

Now with ice cream, the unlikely pair settled back down in their seats, chatting aimlessly about subjects unrelated to running away and the potential negative influence of older sisters. Samuel learned that Milo was from the next town over, that he liked frogs better than salamanders, and that the stiff plastic backpack had been a birthday present from his aunt. The contents of the backpack (which was lime green with race cars on it, a questionable choice by anyone’s standards) turned out to be a flashlight, a picture book about dinosaurs, and a stack of newspaper, which Milo informed him was to make his bed, since Sadie had said that all runaways slept on newspaper.

Samuel was beginning to feel severely exasperated with Milo’s sister, and was starting to be truly thankful that his brother had never managed to drag him into any of his rebellious activities the way Sadie had dragged Milo. From his limited ability to judge the situation, Samuel had come to the conclusion that Milo had been goaded into running away by an irresponsible older sister who wanted to cause trouble for her overprotective parents. After a little digging, Samuel was able to discover that Sadie had recently been very upset about her parent’s interference in her relationship with a boy whose name Milo didn’t remember. Milo did remember that the boy smelled funny, was older than his sister, and that there had been a lot of yelling the day after he had come to visit.

Samuel thought that he could commiserate with the story in a certain way. Perhaps he could help this boy in ways beyond saving him from heatstroke. After all, Samuel himself had had to discover ways of dealing with troublesome older siblings and stressed out parents by himself, and here before him was a boy who was just beginning to understand the troubles awaiting him in the future. Samuel was just about to interrupt Milo’s story about what had happened to his last backpack to begin instructing him in the ways of being a mediator and a non-problematic child when he was struck with such a strong sensation of shameful revulsion that he was momentarily shocked that he had ever even considered destroying the potential of such an enthusiastic child and turning him into the same type of miserable, submissive person that Samuel himself had become.

“I’m not miserable,” he said aloud, and then blushed furiously, thanking his lucky stars that Milo had been too distracted by his own story to notice the outburst. Shocked out of the moment by his sudden exclamation, he took his attention off of Milo completely. He wasn’t miserable, right? He led a perfectly good life. He had nothing to complain about. Nothing made him unhappy.

And yet, he had automatically been repulsed by the idea of Milo following in his footsteps. As if his own path had somehow been faulty. As if encouraging the boy to mimic him would cause more harm than leaving him to figure it out himself.

Milo was asking him something, and Samuel pulled himself from the introspection with a jolt.

“What?”

Milo rolled his eyes. “Do you want to see my dinosaur book?” he asked, clearly repeating a previously ignored question.

Samuel agreed absently, bending over the dinosaur book with fake enthusiasm, asking questions to keep the kid happy while his mind swirled with confusion.

It was a miracle, really, that Samuel noticed the time. The next train would be arriving in five minutes, and there wasn’t another one until an hour after that. He tucked the dinosaur book under his arm and grabbed his suitcase, glad that he hadn’t left it by the park bench. He took Milo’s hand in his free one, and led him out the door.

“It’s time we got you home, Milo,” he explained briefly, relieved when the boy didn’t fight him on it. After the brief bout of almost-heatstroke and the thrilling adventures of the day away from home, the boy was sure to be exhausted.

He paid for the tickets with cash, somehow no longer wanting to goad his parents into calling by using the credit card. He could always call them first, after all. Somehow managing to keep a hold on the book, the suitcase, and the runaway child, Samuel managed to get the whole party on board the train, and settled them both down in some seats on the first floor of the double-decker passenger train. He tucked the dinosaur book into a sleeve on his suitcase. No need to distract the kid with it now. He had something to say.

“Milo,” he began, not entirely sure how to broach the subject. “Do you think that running away today was the right thing to do?”

It was a bit of a gamble, he knew, and it wasn’t exactly his job to instruct the kid, but he somehow felt that anything Milo’s parents said wouldn’t stand up to the temptation of the older sister’s approval, and something told him that the advice of a relative stranger may actually make more of an impression than the inevitable alarm of the parents. He felt he ought to teach the boy something, anyway, seeing as he couldn’t bring himself to do so earlier.

“The right thing?” Milo repeated, chewing on his lower lip in concentration.

Samuel could tell that his phrasing had been confusing, and figured that Milo was probably too tired to play a part in his question-and-answer teaching technique anyway.

“I mean that you probably scared your parents a lot,” he clarified, “and I think they’re going to be very unhappy. It’s dangerous, too. If I hadn’t been the one who found you, someone bad could have taken you away. And then you’d never see your parents or Sadie again.”

Probably a little harsh, he thought to himself as Milo’s eyes turned a little misty and his lip started to tremble. But it was necessary, really. Anyone could have found him. He could have been kidnapped. For one terrible moment, Samuel considered the fact that he could just keep the kid on the train with him and disappear into Chicago, Milo in tow. They wouldn’t last long, Samuel wasn’t well connected enough for a clean kidnapping, but the option was there. They could run away properly, vanish into the streets of the city, and escape from older siblings and concerned parents. He could take Milo to the natural history museum and show him the dinosaur bones. They could sit by the lake and eat ice cream.

But that wasn’t realistic. A daydream, really, and it would benefit Samuel more than it would Milo, anyway. He shook his head slightly as if to dislodge the thought, and looked out the window to where they were already approaching Milo’s station. Despite the length of his journey, the boy really hadn’t travelled far.

Taking a hold of his now-silent companion, Samuel got them both off of the train once more, and headed off in a random direction before realizing that outside the town name, he had no idea where Milo lived. One quiet conversation and an inquiry with the railway assistant later and they were headed in the right direction, Milo strangely subdued next to him.

“I’m sorry I scared you,” Samuel said suddenly. “I was just worried is all. This is a safe area, but you really shouldn’t be all by yourself.”

Milo nodded silently, and Samuel wondered if it was more the exhaustion that was causing him to be so quiet.

If Samuel had been unsure about the address, he needn’t have worried, for he had just turned the corner of a street apparently a few blocks from Milo’s when a car that had been driving past them swerved halfway into a driveway and screeched to a stop. Three people, all of whom looked a bit like Milo, clambered out of the car and ran towards them with a yell. Milo, seeming to reach his limit, burst into tears and broke away from Samuel’s hold, throwing himself, backpack and all, into the arms of a woman Samuel could only assume was his mother.

A man who was probably Milo’s father and a girl of about Samuel’s age who must have been Sadie arrived moments later and all draped themselves over Milo in a giant tearful embrace. Sadie was nearly hysterical, and looked as if she had been crying all day. With each gasping sob, she stammered out an apology, clutching to Milo as if he had returned from the dead.

Perhaps Samuel had been too quick to judge her.

Observing the small huddle for a while, Samuel wondered if he was overstaying his welcome, and turned to go, but was stopped by a strong arm on his shoulder. He turned and was met by the tear-filled but suspicious eyes of Milo’s father. The man looked as though he couldn’t decide whether to hug Samuel as well or hit him, and Samuel suddenly realized that they didn’t know whether he had taken the boy or was escorting him home.

“I found him in Hinsdale,” he explained, hoping that the man would believe him. “He was walking on the railroad tracks. He looked like he was about to pass out from heatstroke so I got him some water and then took him home.”

The man seemed to pale at the news, and closed his eyes for a moment, surely imagining his son collapsed on the tracks, oblivious to an oncoming train. He opened his eyes once more and studied Samuel closely, searching for deception, then turned to hear the tail end of Milo’s own explanation. The boy seemed to have regained some of his previous energy, and was choking out between tears something that must have matched Samuel’s story, because the father turned and enveloped Samuel in a sudden hug.

The heat, which had been unbearable before, seemed to escalate with the added contact and smell of hot, terrified man, but Samuel couldn’t help but return the embrace, feeling his own eyes smart unexpectedly at the simple act of thanks.

The man pulled away and patted Samuel on the shoulder, nodding but not saying a word, before turning back to his son.

After the initial thrill of the return, there were actual words of thanks, invitations to dinner, and, upon his refusal, a demand that Samuel call them once he arrived safely in Chicago. Sadie held back, her fingers running through Milo’s hair in a protective gesture, as if she had only recently discovered how precious he was. Judging by her wide, shame-filled eyes, Samuel figured that she had.

He bade the family farewell, giving Milo’s hair an affectionate ruffle of his own, and renewed his promise to call when he had arrived at his Uncle’s, tucking the hastily-scribbled phone number into the sleeve of his suitcase. He turned back towards the train station, a spring in his step that he couldn’t quite explain. When he had put away the phone number, his hand had brushed up against the dinosaur book, but he hadn’t said anything or attempted to return it. Depending on how important the book was to the boy, it might give him an excuse to come back and visit sometime, to return it. Maybe Milo could even come to Chicago. They could make a whole day of it, getting ice cream and going to see the dinosaur bones. The summer suddenly seemed quite exciting, though for the life of him, Samuel couldn’t remember why it had seemed so bleak before.

#my writing #my ocs #sort of #I mean I guess they are ocs though not official ones

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gracemolteniisnothome · 6 years

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Kyushu Calling: VOL 1

A Few Words:

As a Westerner living in rural Japan, I’m often asked what the outside world thinks of when they think of this country. I explain that most people – most Americans, at least – picture futuristic Tokyo, or temple-rich Kyoto. Maybe Osaka, maybe Hiroshima. Sites like Instagram, Pinterest, and Tumblr are full to the brim with Japan’s well-known sights, but for many, the rest of the country remains a mystery. Most people don’t know that you can live on a cow farm and still be a short drive from a beautiful volcano lake, or that surfing is huge on the island’s southeastern coast. They don’t know that 70 percent of Japan is mountainous, which is why the metros are so packed, or that those mountains behold some spectacular views.

I’ve been spending my time in Japan shooting the places most people don’t see -namely, the big island of Kyushu, where I live. I hope to do it some justice in a series of posts. First up: my town, Ebino.

VOLUME I: Ebino

Back in April, after a bit of back and forth with my employer, I received word that I was finally being placed in a school system. Twelve hours later, I was packed up and on a train headed toward a town called Ebino. I knew two things about Ebino: first, that the town hosts a cow-jumping festival every year (yes, you read that right); and second, that my company described it as a nice place, albeit being in the middle of nowhere.

Geographically speaking, they got the middle part right. Nowhere, though? Depends on how you look at it.

With volcanoes to the south, foothills to the east, and low mountains to the north and west, Ebino lies nestled in a caldera valley. The town itself, with a modest population of 18,000 or so, is actually comprised of four villages - Masaki, Kakuto, Iino, and Uwae- that were combined in 1996 to create Ebino City. As a result, there isn’t much of a centralized town center, with no real main strip to peruse, no castle or Isoteien (Japanese-style garden) to wander, no shopping or entertainment district neatly packaged into one area. Instead, there are small clusters of humanity – coin laundry, udon restaurants, grocery stores, and post offices – separated by rice fields that split the valley into uneven grids. Aside from a handful of overpriced snack bars, there’s not much for a nightlife or even cafes (though we did recently get a rad one that operates out of a converted shipping container, no less). A social life can seem a remote possibility.

Due to its central location between three prefectures (Kagoshima, Kumamoto, and Miyazki), both Kyushu’s expressway, called the IC, and the island’s main non-toll road cut through the heart of Ebino. It would be easy to drive through, stopping only for a bathroom break and some kumquat ice cream, or perhaps not stopping at all. To most travelers, this town is a mere blip on the map. But to those who find themselves spending more time here, there is something about this area that is undeniably captivating.

A Beautiful Nowhere

Head towards the volcanoes to the south, and you’ll find Ebino Plateau. This area is home to the Kirishima-Kinkowan National Park, which was Japan’s first designated national park. The Kirishima Mountain range crosses through the park and includes Mt. Karakui, Mt. Koshiki, and three gorgeous crater lakes: Rokkannonmiike, Fudo, and Byakushi. On a clear day, which is rare, it’s rumored that you can see South Korea from the top of Mt. Karakui. As a result of their volcanic activity, Ebino Plateau and Kyomachi (a district in Ebino City) are popular enclaves to enjoy hot springs. People come from all over to Kyushu to hike here, marvel at the azalea blooms in early summer, or relax in the onsens. Drive towards the northern and western sides of town and you’ll encounter switchback after switchback, working their way up, over, and through the mountains. You’ll find small hidden waterfalls, and miles of river gorges. The ridges are both high enough to offer sweeping views of the valley (like from the Yatake Plateau), and low enough to catch heavy clouds. On more than one occasion I’ve taken alternate routes home from or to school, tossing my camera in my bag, to chase the fog as it drapes along, clinging to the treeline in wisps.

Seasons are felt in full on Kyushu, and the Japanese seem to mark them in smaller segments – including cherry blossom, wisteria, dragonfly, fall foliage, and, of course, rainy season. Kyushu itself is an incredibly lush part of the country. The forests blanketing the area are mix of bamboo, cedars, and various pines, with canopies so thick that stepping into their shade brings a noticeable temperature drop. After rainy season, the land swells as overgrowth spills out onto sidewalks and roads. The vibrant green of the rice fields seems to have its own frequency.

The whole place vibrates, really, both in sound and color.

Despite assumptions about the stillness of a pastoral life, anyone who has lived in the country knows that nature is anything but quiet. Between the cicadas, the rain gutters, the downpours, and the frogs, every day is its own song.

Cloud Pornography

Nothing makes me feel more like a Midwesterner than how much I talk about the weather. I’ve learned this is theme with the Japanese as well. With the little bit of language I’ve picked up, I often hear people commenting on the temperature or the storm outside, practically before they have finished greeting each other. Exhibit A: When I mention that Chicago is cold and often snowy, anyone with enough English to communicate it shares the same horror story about a snowstorm three years ago that shut down the city and school. Say what you will about small talk, but weather unites us all.

One of my first introductions to Ebino’s ever-changing skies rings true more and more every day: “If you don’t like the weather, just wait five minutes.”

The mountains surrounding this valley create a cycle of low pressure and high pressure as the temperatures rise and fall. As a result, a strong breeze pulls clouds and storms across the valley in a constant weather parade. Ebino is the kind of place where it can be rainy, sunny, and foggy all at once. I am fortunate enough to have an apartment on the second floor with an unobstructed view of the river and my part of town. You’ll often find me throwing open the windows to shoot a rainbow across the river, or scrambling out onto my makeshift balcony just to gawk at the clouds and the sunsets. Forget big sky; this is timelapse country. (Note to self: learn how to take timelapses.) On any given day, depending on the sun (or lack thereof), Ebino could be mistaken for The Pacific Northwest, the Blue Ridge Mountains of the Carolinas, or, when the volcanoes are feeling feisty, Hawaii.

A Serving of Pride

The Miyazaki prefecture is also well known for its chicken farming. Often raised on organic feed, these freerange birds offer a leaner, healthier, more succulent meat that is used in dishes like chicken nanban (a breaded favorite), yakitori (skewered and grilled), kara-age (breaded and fried in oil), and can be found at many restaurants, tourist sites, and festivals. Miyazaki chicken can be found on the menu in popular cities across Japan like Tokyo. On top of that, there are egg vending machines all around Ebino where farmers can drop off fresh eggs for purchase at any given time. If you watch my Instagram stories, you know I am a frequent patron of these machines. You’re also bound to stumble upon a Tano Kami or two throughout the region. These stone statues, called Tanokansaa, depict a deity that is believed to to protect the rice fields and bring good fortune to its farmers. While they range in appearance –from adorable, to weathered, to homemade –these pestle-wielding guardians symbolize the pride Ebino takes in its rice. So much pride, in fact, that requesting half-portions for our school lunch required a delicate dance of reassuring my coworkers it was for dietary reasons, so as not to offend their heralded crop. Rice farming is humble, back-breaking work, but it is highly honored by the community. It is served with every lunch in the school district, and is a staple in most households. School children in Ebino are required to spend an afternoon learning from local farmers and planting their own plot of rice as a class.

Sentiment Addict

I am not here to convince anyone that Ebino should jump to the top of their travel list (unless your travel list involves visiting me, of course) but there is something to be said for time spent in those in-between places. True, there are no awe-inspiring temples, no cascading torii gates, no giant Buddhas. At the end of the day, this is still rural farming community. But, half a world away, it mirrors a landscape familiar to me from my childhood. Strangely, there are moments here where I am reminded of Wisconsin. Like if you drive with your windows down, and the breeze is just right, you’ll know the cows are nearby well before you see them. Whether it be the sweet scent of freshly cut fields, the swallow’s nest outside my apartment, or the universal nod shared between drivers on back country roads, it's funny how these little threads of familiarity weave themselves into somewhere so foreign.

In the way that Americans may only know Tokyo or Kyoto, most Japanese folks’ knowledge of America is limited to Los Angeles, San Francisco, New York, or Disney World. To many, Ebino is and will always be the middle of nowhere. But, I grew up in the middle of nowhere. I understand what it’s like to live somewhere no one knows. And, I understand what it’s like to love it all the same.

Till next time ✌🏻

Oh, here's a few gems from the Ebino/Kobayashi area:

Kirishima Geopark: Great for year round hiking, this park offers a handful of trails around the volcanoes and their lakes, and there’s a cafe for refreshments at the end of your jaunt. Bishamon Waterfall and Kuruson Gorge: Small, but lovely waterfall hidden in the hills outside of Ebino, followed by a large bridge overlooking the gorge - which is a 10 KM stretch of the Sendaigawa River. The gorge is frequented by fisherman, but the route isn’t paved and can be precarious at times.

Ebino Outdoor Station: A new cafe in town, housed in refurbished shipping containers and offering solid coffee and tasty lunch options.

Michi No Eki Ebino: Our modest roadside station, offering local goods and omiyage, and delightful kumquat ice cream.

Daiwa Dairy farms: Real cheese is quite hard to come by, but this small show outside of Kobayashi offers some award winning cheeses as well as homemade ice cream.

Musumi: A adorable coffee shop and co-working space could easily fit in a city like Chicago or San Francisco, offering delicious lunch and dinner courses.

#Kyushu #Japan #Ebino #volcano #rural #travel photography #Miyazaki #rice fields

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diggyharveyfmp-blog · 6 years

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The ways of Heston Blumenthal

Cooking Methods

He has experimented with food pairing, in which recipes are created by identifying molecular similarities between different ingredients and bringing these together in a dish. One of the first such was Blumenthal's white chocolate with caviar. He created unusual combinations, including Roast Foie Gras "Benzaldehyde" and salmon poached in a liquorice gel accompanied by asparagus. While many of these unexpected combinations have been critically well received, Blumenthal himself has pointed out the limitations of such an approach, insisting that although food pairing is a good tool for creativity, it is still no substitute for the chef’s culinary intuition. ‘The molecular profile of a single ingredient is so complex that even if it has several compounds in common with another, there are still as many reasons why they won’t work together as reasons why they will.’

Blumenthal uses British history in his dishes. He became interested in historical cooking in the late 1990s upon obtaining a copy of The Vivendier, a translation of a fifteenth-century cookery manuscript that contained unusual recipes, such as a chicken that appears roasted but wakes up as it is served. He said "I'd had little idea the cooking of the past could be so playful, audacious and creative."

Multi-sensory cooking

Blumenthal calls his scientific approach to cuisine "multi-sensory cooking", arguing that eating is "one of the few activities we do that involves all of the senses simultaneously". One of the catalysts for this culinary approach was a visit at 16 to the restaurant L'Oustau de Baumanière in Provence, which at the time had three Michelin stars. The trip prompted a passion for cooking, above all because of "the whole multisensory experience: the sound of fountains and cicadas, the heady smell of lavender, the sight of the waiters carving lamb at the table". One of the other main inspirations for a multi-sensory style of cooking was the lack of space and opulence at the Fat Duck. "Places like the Baumaniere had a view and a history and architecture that took its diners to a world of beauty and indulgence. The Fat Duck didn’t have any of that, so it had had to capture the diners’ imagination in a different way – taking them to the mysteries of flavour perception and multi- sensory delight."

The event that cemented Heston’s interest in this area was his creation of a crab ice cream to accompany a crab risotto. "People had difficulty accepting Crab Ice Cream, yet if it was renamed "Frozen Crab Bisque", people found it more acceptable and less sweet. The phenomenon was subsequently researched by Martin Yeomans and Lucy Chambers of the University of Sussex, who served test subjects a version of Blumenthal’s ice cream flavoured with smoked salmon, but told one group they would be tasting ice cream and the other that they would be tasting a frozen savoury mousse. Although all consumed identical food, those eating what they thought was savoury mousse found the flavour acceptable while those eating what they thought was ice cream found the taste salty and generally disgusting. For Blumenthal, this confirmed his ideas. "If something as simple as a name could make a dish appear more or less salty ... what effect might other cues have on flavours and our appreciation of them?"

Since that point, exploring the sensory potential of food – via both research and the creation of new dishes – has been an ongoing and characteristic strand of Heston’s cooking. In 2004, working on a commission for the photographer Nick Knight, he created a Delice of Chocolate containing popping candy and took the imaginative step of arranging for diners to listen on headphones to the little explosions it made as they ate – the first time such a thing had been done. With Professor Charles Spence, head of the Crossmodal Research Laboratory at Oxford University he has conducted several experiments into how our sense of sound can affect perception of flavour. In one experiment, test subjects consumed an oyster in two halves: the first half was accompanied by maritime sounds, the second by farmyard sounds, and they were then asked to rate pleasantness and intensity of flavour. It was found that oysters eaten while listening to seaside sounds were considered significantly more pleasant. In another, similar experiment, test subjects tasted egg-and-bacon ice cream while listening to sounds of bacon sizzling, followed by tasting it while listening to the sound of chickens clucking. The sizzling bacon sound made the bacon flavour appear more intense.

In Blumenthal's view, experiments such as these show that our appreciation of food is subjective, determined by information sent by the senses to the brain: "the ways in which we make sense of what we are eating and decide whether we like it or not depend to a large extent on memory and contrast. Memory provides us with a range of references – flavours, tastes, smells, sights, sounds, emotions – that we draw on continually as we eat." His dishes, therefore, tend to be designed to appeal to the senses in concert, and through this to trigger memories, associations and emotions. Thus the Nitro-poached Green Tea and Lime Mousse on the Fat Duck menu is served with spritz of ‘lime grove’ scent from an atomiser; and the Jelly of Quail dish includes among its tableware a bed of oak moss, as well as being accompanied by a specially created scent of oak moss that is dispersed at the table by means of dry ice.

The most complete expression to date of his multisensory philosophy, however, is probably the dish ‘Sound of the Sea’, which first appeared on the Fat Duck menu in 2007. In this, ingredients with a distinctly oceanic character and flavour – dried kelp, hijiki seaweed, baby eels, razor clams, cockles, mussels, sea urchins – are fashioned into a course that has the appearance of the shore’s edge, complete with sea ‘spume’ and edible sand. It is served on a glass-topped box containing real sand, and accompanied by headphones relaying the sounds of seagulls and the sea by means of a small iPod (placed in a conch shell) and earphones. The idea, according to Blumenthal, was one ‘of creating a world, of transporting the diner – through sound, through food, through an integrated appeal to the senses – to another place’.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Heston_Blumenthal

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