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mirrorsblogs · 1 year

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𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐲 𝐌𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫, 𝐋. 𝐀𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐧

𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨: 𝙖𝙡𝙘𝙤𝙝𝙤𝙡, 𝙘𝙡𝙪𝙗𝙗𝙞𝙣𝙜, 𝙨𝙤𝙢𝙚 𝙚𝙭𝙥𝙡𝙞𝙘𝙞𝙩 𝙘𝙤𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙣𝙩

Levi was a solemn man, rarely ever losing his composure even in stressful situations that would make any average person pull their hair out. Then again, Levi Ackerman was no average person, he was a leading financial officer in the corporate field. In other words, he was filthy rich.

With all that money he rarely let it go to his head and chose to never indulge in worldly vices safe for this one night. Erwin suggested they go to his bar ‘Paradise’s Finest’, Levi begrudgingly agreed only because of the idea of free drinks. Levi was a solemn man but looking at someone on the dance floor beneath him, he lost his composure.

“You ok?” Miche asked, clasping a hand on Levi’s shoulder.

“Yes,” Levi muttered, brushing Miche off of him and walking closer to the center where Erwin sat. Miche looked where Levi was looking to find a particularly entrancing woman dancing, he smirked.

“You should go to her,” Miche shouted, his voice barely being heard over the club music. Levi turned and glared at the man before taking his seat.

“Go to who?” Erwin questioned, he lightly swished the glass of whiskey in his hand.

“No one,” Levi angrily said, downing a shot in one go. Erwin was smirking with Miche at the annoyed look on his friend’s face.

“I’ll kick you out if you don’t go,” Erwin whispered, leaning close to Levi’s ear. Levi turned toward his longtime friend and glared before standing up. He took off his suit jacket, leaving a pair of slacks and a slightly opened dress shirt.

“This is both of your faults if this goes wrong,” Levi said menacingly, finger hitting the center of both of his friend’s chests. They both chuckled at his antics and returned to nursing their drinks.

Levi headed down the spiral staircase that led directly to the main dance floor, heart pounding just as loudly as the volume of people. Alcohol lowering his inhibitions, he strode through the main floor, ignoring the curious eyes that followed him. The bar was filled with people but he easily found space and ordered another shot. Downing it easily he placed the glass back on the counter, he heard a voice next to him.

“Could I get a vodka shot?” Maggie shouted over all the noise. Levi winced at the volume and turned ready to yell at the person but stopped as he looked directly at her face. It was the same woman he looked at before, the woman he was seeking out.

“Make it two,” Levi shouted, not diverting his attention away from Maggie. She looked back at Levi and narrowed her eyes slightly.

“You payin’?” Maggie leaned in to whisper, her breath hot on his neck, leaving goosebumps along the way.

“Can’t leave a pretty woman alone drinking now can I?” The words left his lips almost as easily as the large amount of alcohol he had consumed tonight. Levi’s lips quirked into a smirk at her slightly shocked expression.

“And they say chivalry is dead.” Maggie smiled at him. “What’s your name?”

“Levi, yours?”

“Maggie.”

“Here you two go,” the bartender said as he slid the two vodka shots. Maggie downed the shot and quickly sucked on a nearby lime, shaking her head at the acidity of both things. Levi looked amazed at her speed but quickly downed his shot, also shaking his head at the surprisingly acidic taste of the shot.

“You wanna get out of here?” Levi’s subconscious was shocked at his words, maybe he was being too forward?

“Yeah,” Maggie said.

Erwin and Miche smirked from above at Levi leaving the bar with a seemingly random woman. The night in New York was cold at this time in the night but with the amount of alcohol Levi and Maggie had consumed, it felt warm. In an instant, Levi led her to a nearby alleyway filled with trash but neither of them paid it any mind. He pushed her against the wall and connected their lips, falling under the illusion he was in control.

“God, you’re hot,” Levi whispered as they separated for a moment. Maggie smirked before switching their positions and pushing Levi against the wall. She raked her hands across his chest and then to his face, a metal bracelet bringing a cool touch to his body. He brought her palm up to his lips and kissed it.

“I know,” she whispered, breath fanning directly onto his lips as she leaned into him. Levi smiled into the kiss which commenced what could only be described as a need for the other person. They lost themselves in one another as breath mixed and air was shared, only breaking apart for light banter. As the moon began to set even further Maggie separated herself from Levi, looking to be in a rush.

“Sorry I have to go, I have to go!” Maggie rushed out before starting to run down the street. Levi remained startled for a moment longer before rushing out of the alleyway too.

“Can I at least get your number?” Levi yelled out.

“Back pocket!” Maggie yelled out, hand cupping the side of her mouth to project her volume even more. Her heels clacked against the pavement leaving an out-of-breath Levi who loved every moment of the night. Levi reached into his pocket to find a small wrinkled piece of paper with a number messily inscribed.

Levi smirked at the paper before entering back into the club, disheveled and euphoric. He climbed back up the spiral staircase to his friends who had know-it-all grins on their faces.

“Told you,” Miche shouted as he doubled over in laughter at Levi’s appearance.

“How do you know anything happened?” Levi glared at the laughing man.

“You’ve got lipstick on your cheek and your shirt is completely messed up,” Erwin said, sipping on his drink. Levi’s cheeks turned red, grumbling under his breath as he sat down next to his friends.

“One night or something longer?” Erwin asked.

“Don’t know, we’ll see.”

Levi got back to his home a few hours later, dazed and confused but thoroughly pleased. It had been a while since he truly let go and he reveled in it. His doorman greeted him with a smile, saying nothing of his appearance but opting to escort the inebriated man directly to his penthouse.

“Have a safe night, sir,” the man said.

“Thank you,” Levi nodded, trying to remain serious despite everything about him screaming otherwise. He shut the door, the feeling of slugginess overwhelming him, Levi decided to flop into his bed.

Maggie, what a girl.

He smirked into his pillow before that familiar feeling of tiredness overwhelmed him.

#levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman x you #levi ackerman x yn #levi x reader #levi x you #levi x yn #aot #attack on titan #levi ackerman #attack on titan x reader #attack on titan x you #attack on titan x yn #aot x reader #aot x you #aot x yn

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paradisobound · 5 years

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I Want It, I Got It, Chapter: 28

Summary: Phil Lester was a worker for the BBC in London. Working in the advertising department, he was content being alongside his friend and fellow coworker PJ during every shift. However, the BBC is temporarily being used as a film set for a new movie staring Hollywood ‘It’ star, Daniel Howell. Being stuck as an extra on the set, Phil finds it’s hard to ignore the famous star. And maybe, just maybe, Dan finds it hard to ignore Phil as well.

Word Count: 2.3k (this chapter)

Warnings: Occasional swearing and sexual content

Rating: Explicit

**MASTERLIST | READ ON AO3 | WATTPAD**

A/N: Here it is guys, the final chapter! I never thought we’d get to this point. I decided to post it today since I work tomorrow and wouldn’t be around for any of your messages or comments if you decided to talk to me about the ending. This is a shorter chapter, but that’s because I’m posting the epilogue in just two hours to complete the entire fic in one day. This fic has been life since January and it’s going to be so different to not have this fic to work on anymore. I’ve actually become so invested in this that I think I’m going to rework this and turn it into a novel to purchase. (I might also sell the phanfic version for no profits too), if you’re interested let me know! I’ll have a longer note on the chapter on Ao3 if you want to read that. If not, happy reading :)

They’re all sat on Phil’s couch, bleary-eyed and yawning. PJ has been dozing off for the last hour and Phil has just let him go. Martyn came by a few hours before that, yelling at Phil about how stupid he was for ignoring calls and how worried he had their mum but Phil just explained to him the entire situation and Martyn warmed up. He eventually took a seat on the sofa with them and that was where he currently was.

Phil was exhausted and fighting to stay awake. But he told Dan he would watch Jimmy Fallon tonight with him on it and it was about to start in another ten minutes. He could do this. He’s been seeing commercials all night for Dan’s appearance on Jimmy Fallon along with some other musicians that Phil didn’t bother to pay any attention to.

His nerves were running thin and his heart was beating so fast that he thought he might actually pass out. He figures that it’s either from the lack of sleep he’s gotten tonight―or really over the last few days―and the anticipation of what Dan was going to do or say tonight.

Suddenly, the show begins and Phil holds his breath as he watches along with Martyn, who is eating some stale popcorn they made earlier, and PJ who is sleeping on the couch. He waits for Jimmy to say what he needs to―Phil’s never actually made an effort to watch him before.

They watch in silence as Jimmy does his opening monologue and then finishes it up and there is already a commercial break. Phil feels like he’s going mad. He wants to see Dan so badly and he wants to see what Dan is going to say.

The commercials are average American ones and he finds himself feeling on edge as he wraps his fingers on his thigh from wanting to fast forward even though he can’t. Maybe this is why he never watches cable TV.

“You’re going to put a hole through your pants.” Martyn says, pointing to his fingers.

“I just wish the show didn’t have so many commercials.” Phil mumbles, not breaking eye-contact away from his television.

“Maybe we should just record the rest of this and wait until tomorrow to watch it. It’s clear you’re going mental.”

“We’ve made it this far.” Phil says, just as Jimmy comes back on and this time, he’s sitting at his table. “I’m not going to stop watching.”

“I might fall asleep.” Martyn says with a hint of a smile on his lips.

Phil turns his head briefly and smiles before turning back and watching whatever Jimmy has to say.

He’s going on and on about President Trump, but not in an overtly political way. And then he’s talking about his son and Phil finds that to be really wholesome. But before long, Jimmy says that after the next break, Daniel Howell will be on to discuss his new movie.

During this commercial break, Phil doesn’t sit still. He gets up and paces a bit around his flat before he goes into the kitchen and grabs a can of diet coke from his fridge and opens it, taking a long sip. The acidity burns his throat but he welcomes it.

He makes his way back into his living room where now both Martyn and PJ are sleeping on the couch on different sides and he snickers as he pushes himself into the middle and watches.

When Dan walks out, Phil feels all of the breath leave his body. Dan is wearing some nice black and white striped shirt and a pair of very nice black trousers. His hair is perfectly styled and any hint of the crying he did earlier on the phone was completely gone behind layers of make up. But he looked beautiful and Phil could actually cry seeing him.

“Thank you for joining us!” Jimmy says to him. “We hear that you just finished your new film so can you tell us a bit about it?”

Dan nods and flashes a blinding smile. “My pleasure. I just got done with filming my next film with Mimei Lake called This is Life and it’s about a young male, who I play, moving to New York City to find himself and he begins to work for a fashion magazine and he falls in love with the CEO who is played by Mimei Lake and I won’t spoil the rest.”

Jimmy nods and laughs. “That sounds amazing so I’m glad you don’t want to spoil the film.” He looks down at his desk and Phil watches him before he looks back up. “We also heard that you have been recently casted as Christopher Robin in Disney’s new live adaption of the popular children series. My son loves the books.”

Dan smiles wider. “Thank you! I’ve always been a fan of Winnie the Pooh since I was a kid and so this is honestly a blessing. I went into the audition thinking that I was in way over my head but I’m very excited.”

“It’ll be amazing to see how they make a realistic Pooh without totally scaring off everyone in the audience.”

The audience laughs and Dan does too and Phil even finds himself chuckling a bit. Martyn stirs beside him and opens his eyes and then looks at Phil. “He’s on?”

Phil nods and then shushes him as Martyn readjusts himself on the couch and sits up straighter, his eyes a bit wider.

Then Jimmy speaks again.

“So, I’m sure everyone out there is thinking the same thing but your social media has been a bit crazy these last few months haven’t they?”

Dan nods and Phil watches as a blush spreads over his cheeks. “Yeah, they’ve been a bit of a mess.” He laughs it off.

“Is it something that―uh―you’d be willing to talk about?” Jimmy asks and Dan nods.

“The paparazzi hasn’t exactly been kind to me or my boyfriend, Phil, these last few months.” Dan says and Phil’s mouth drops open.

Martyn elbows him in the side and Phil turns to him.

“Oh so you have a boyfriend?” Jimmy asks and Dan nods.

“Yes, I’ve been with my boyfriend Phil since February.” Dan says.

“Well, that’s great!” Jimmy says. “Despite all that everyone has been seeing on social media, I think it’s quite amazing that you’re able to sit here and talk about him so openly.”

Dan nods again. “It’s taken a lot of time but I really love him and I don’t want to hide him anymore.”

“That’s fantastic and I’m sure everyone here is happy to know that you’re feeling better too.”

Dan smiles and blushes and Phil feels his eyes well up a bit.

“After the break, we’ll still be here with Daniel to play the Best Friends Challenge.”

The screen goes black for a moment and Phil feels the first tear come down his eye.

“Dan just called you his boyfriend on live TV.”

PJ’s voice cuts through the silence and Phil turns to see his friend sitting with his clothes rucked up and his glasses slightly askew.

Phil just nods. “I can’t believe it.”

Phil clicks off the telly even though he knows Dan isn’t done but he needs a moment to just sit in shock. Dan just told everyone that they were together. He told the world that Phil was his boyfriend. It was official. Everything felt cemented and he felt a bit overwhelmed.

He tries to talk through his feelings with Martyn and PJ but it doesn’t really work when both of them are nearly asleep beside him. He eventually gives up and leaves them be just as they both curl up on opposite ends of the couch and are sleeping with their heads on the pillows of his couch.

Phil walks to his bedroom with Spike in tow and gets into bed, his eyes feeling extremely heavy and weighted. He’s not sure he can fight sleep any longer. He’s just shutting his eyes when his phone begins to vibrate and he picks it up and answers it with a mumble.

“Hey.”

It’s Dan’s voice.

Phil shoots up in bed and answers back. “Hey!”

“Did you watch Jimmy Fallon?” Dan asks.

“Of course I did.” Phil says. “I wouldn’t have missed it.”

“So you saw what I did?”

Phil nods, but then remembers Dan can’t see him. “Yeah, I did.”

“You’re okay with me saying we’re boyfriends?”

“I love it, Dan.” Phil says. “Nothing made me happier than hearing you say it.”

“Good.” Dan says. “Because I meant everything I said. You’re my boyfriend and I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“I have to get going but I’ll text you tomorrow?”

Phil smiles and lays back down, shutting his eyes. “Okay.”

“Goodnight, Phil.”

Phil doesn’t answer because his eyes are already shut and his brain is already asleep, his phone laying limp in his hand and Dan laughing on the other side.

***

There is a loud crash that wakes Phil up sometime later. His body feels sluggish and his arm feels stiff from where he had slept on it and he feels a bit shaken up if he’s being honest.

What was that massive crash?

He gets up from the bed and notices Spike isn’t around. Phil figures he must have gone out into the living room sometime in the night…or morning? What time did he even go to bed last night? He feels hungover but he knows he isn’t.

He walks down the short hallway and comes into the living room to see Martyn and PJ both standing up in front of the couch and…

Dan is standing there too?!

Phil feels all breath leave his body as he walks closer. “Sorry for waking you both us.” Dan says. “It’s past noon and I figured Phil would be the only one here.”

“No, no, you’re fine!” Martyn stutters. “I need to get going anyway.”

PJ nods in agreement and then they’re both barreling around Dan and grabbing their things as they walk out of Phil’s flat. Phil feels a bit embarrassed by that entire ordeal. Plus, he’s a bit embarrassed at the mess. There are empty glasses, diet coke cans, and stale food sitting everywhere. He needs to clean but he doesn’t feel like he can right now.

“Hi.” Dan says, dropping his bag onto the floor as Spike immediately runs over to it to sniff it.

“Hi.”

“Surprise?”

Phil rushes over and gathers Dan in his arms as he picks him up and spins him around, Dan laughing and giggling like they’re young teenagers again. When he lets Dan down, Dan reaches up and presses his hands on Phil’s jaw as he moves forward and connect their lips.

It’s a bit messy, their teeth clacking, but Phil doesn’t care.

They eventually end up in bed together and it’s just as messy as the kissing but Phil just….doesn’t care anymore. He’ll never care as long as he has Dan again like this. Well, maybe not like this as he thrusts into him, but he definitely wants Dan in his life for the future.

There is just something about Dan that struck him when they first met all of that time ago at the BBC. There was something about Dan that made Phil feel things for him that he never would have imagined otherwise.

Dan’s smile, his beauty, and most importantly, himself. Everything about Dan was perfect and Phil wanted nothing more than to never let him go and leave him be. Maybe it’s too soon to think that he wants to spend the rest of his life with Dan, but he does.

He wants to marry him and maybe adopt another dog for Spike to play with. He wants to move in with Dan and eventually have a little child running around that they have to chase.

But he also wants right now. He wants to travel with Dan as he films and goes to shows. He wants to support Dan unconditionally and be with him through all of his inevitable ups and downs.

Dan cuddles onto Phil’s chest and Phil kisses the top of his head, his hair tickling his nose. He inhales Dan’s scent, memorizing it as he takes a deep breath.

“What are we going to do now?” Dan asks.

“Well, what are you going to be doing now?” Phil asks, looking down at him.

“I’m going to be beginning filming for Winnie the Pooh in a few weeks in England?” Dan says, a smile playing on his lips. “Care to join me?”

“Of course.” Phil says and Dan leans up, pressing a kiss tight on his lips. “But I have to do something first.”

Dan sits up and Phil turns on his side as he reaches for his phone. He looks through his contacts and clicks on the one that he needs and as soon as the person answers, he says the words he’s been wanting to say for a while.

“Louise, I quit.”

A year ago, if someone would have asked Phil where he was going to be, he’d have said still working at the BBC and barely making it. He’d say he’d have a dog and probably be so painfully single he’d consider extreme measures to try and find a partner.

But the world works in mysterious ways and there is something that’ll never quite settle with Phil. And as he looks down at Dan who is laying on his back, naked as the day he was born, with his phone in his head, he’ll never stop thinking about it.

He’ll never stop thinking about how the BBC brought Dan into his life over something as simple as forcing Phil to be an extra on the set. And now, nearly five months later, he’s convinced Dan is his soulmate.

Phil never fully understood what he wanted in life, but he’s realizing pretty quickly that he’s gotten everything he could have wanted and then some.

#phan #phanfic #phanfiction #famous!dan #moviestar!dan #fluff #smut #angst #princesslexi763fics

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omgwhoknew-blog · 6 years

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Day 4: how far away is the sun?

How far away is the sun?

I saw my first total eclipse of the sun back in August. For me, and for many, it was a stunning moment. The sun and moon were literally brought into sharp relief for a few special minutes. It felt like we all suddenly noticed at the same time that these lights in the sky are actual objects; hulking celestial bodies, impossibly huge and distant. Of course few saw this without wondering what it must have been like for our distant ancestors; what awe and speculation it must have caused.

This got me thinking about the distance to the sun and how to really visualize it, so I came up with a way. I hope you like it.

The sun is 8 light minutes away, meaning it takes the light leaving the sun 8 minutes to reach us here on Earth. Light travels really fast of course, so it’s hard to imagine what this distance feels like (in miles, it’s 93 million). Take a moment to try to visualize that, and see if you come up with anything that feels accessible. Nothing? Here’s a way to think about it.

Imagine you get on a plane in San Francisco. You’ve probably traveled to New York or somewhere else by plane. Maybe during one of those journeys you’ve idly looked out at the landscape for a while, watching it drift by underneath you. Maybe you’ve sat there and marveled at how modern technology enabled Nevada to fade behind you in less than an hour, knowing it would take a day or so to drive across it on a road trip or well over a month to hike it.

Now imagine you’re going to the sun instead. Putting to one side the physical impossibility of flying a plane through the vacuum of space to the sun and the unpleasantly warm conditions upon arrival, how long would it take to get there at the speed of an airliner?

It turns out the answer is a little over two decades. For me, roughly half my life. Take a moment to consider that. You wake up every morning on the plane, looking out of the window, seeing yet more space going by; the experiences of half your life take place on that plane – all those friendships, relationships, jobs. Do you now have a slightly better understanding of how far away the sun is?

What if you road-tripped instead? You’re looking at over 500 years. To put that into perspective, imagine you had a family along the way and your kids had families and so on. Your great, great, great, grand-kids would get about a third of the way there (they could stop off and pick up gas in Venus). Since we’re there, I’ll share a couple of fun facts about Venus. Visiting for a day would be pretty stifling, as the surface temperature averages 863F and it snows metal and rains sulphuric acid. And if it seemed like a long day, you’d be right - a full day there lasts 243 Earth days. That’s longer than a year on Venus (225 Earth days). So Venus goes all the way around the sun faster than it completes one of its own rotations. Anyway, after your great, great, great grand-kids finished their much-needed stop for gas and to pick up a few lifetimes worth of Doritos, it would be the great, great, great grand-kids of their great, great, great grand-kids who would finally arrive.

Walking? Now that would be silly, but assuming 12 miles a day you’d be looking at a 21,000 year journey instead of 500.

What about distances to other celestial bodies? There aren’t too many significant ones closer than the sun. The moon is one. That’s only 238,900 miles away, making it the equivalent of an 18 day commercial flight – easy! The road trip would be just under 18 months, and the hike 55 years. Easy!

Going further afield, the nearest star, Proxima Centauri, is 4 light years away (remember the sun was 8 light minutes?). How to imagine that? It’s hard. To do it, we’ll need to bring in another mode of transportation that might surprise you – a snail. You might think it’s a magic snail that travels faster than an airliner, but no - here’s how it works:

Let’s add the snail to our repertoire of transportation options. Imagine a snail travels 88 yards a day. Now picture yourself setting off in our original airliner, headed for Proxima Centauri. At the same time, a snail sets off towards the sun. Crowds gather to cheer both of you off, with banners and confetti. It’s sort of a futuristic tortoise and the hare race – except of course with different destinations, so it’s not much like the tortoise and the hare, but let’s not be pedantic about this, ok?

Picture yourself whizzing along in that airliner. After the first day, you’ve covered the entire earth and the snail hasn’t yet completed its first 100 yard track. You look back and chuckle, safe in the knowledge that your superior machine will comfortably get you there faster. As you might have guessed, the race will be close. You’ll arrive at Proxima Centauri about the same time as the snail gets to the sun. That’s how far away the nearest star other than the sun is. Really far.

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anywhereyougothereyouare · 7 years

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20170822 Dawn of the Final Day Quebec city was in the rear view mirror, and so is most of our trip. This is the last full day of our trip. Tomorrow we drive from Stowe, Vermont to the drop off point outside New York. On the road our usual sing-alongs happened until we hit the boarder of the UNITED STATES OF AMERICA! Shockingly, the boarder guards had no sense of humour and were super intimidating #sarcasm. We waited in line to be questioned. A few of us had to pay another 6$ to get our ESTAs revalidated. This seems to have been because at the border, some people's passports hands been stamped. I was lucky and got off Scott free. Next stop was the magic hat brewery which was kind of eh. I don't care for beer, and while the factory production line was cool, it wasn't realy my scene. The funky artwork there tho was good to check out. Next stop, Ben and Jerry's factory. My guess is this might have been their first factory, and it's now more of a tourist exhibit than a full production factory. The tanks and production floor seemed a bit small to do much, but it was fine. Features were a "flavour graveyard" for all the dead flavours. Each had a cute little limerick. The main building actually had some.cool historical artefacts: ancient icecream scoops, original signals and photos from the 70's, and a cool promotion they did in the past. To get people to buy icecream in the snowy Vermont winter, they had "Penny Off Per Celsius Degree Below Zero Winter Extravaganza" which was called "POPCDBZWEM". Elen amd I look fabulous in our rainbow tie dyed bj shirts :p and I did spot a reference to BJ'S pursuit of marriage equality amongst their social and ethical values (recently in Australia, BJ has refused to serve two scoops of icecream of the same flavour until equality is passed). There was a tour with an above average tour guide. He had a good sense of humour, but some atrocious puns I unfairly (and hilariously) blamed Millie for. The day was nearly dine, and we arrived at our camp ground: a beautifully soft grassy meadow, flanked either side by Hills and forrest. And rain. A good amount of it. Heather told us to all "stop complaining like it's acid rain" and we Bolted out of the van to set up the tents. We were trained, practices. Like a well oiled machine. Tarps out, luggage under quick cover, awning deployed, tents out... Then Flak and Jordan's tent literaly swapped and ripped their tarp XD. The rain got harder, we finished getting the tents out and done, but we were all by then soaked to the bone. I abandoned any pretence, took my shoes and socks off, left them in the van, and embraced the rain. It was wonderful! I never get to realy just bask in the rain because it's often over too quickly in Perth, or busy during the day with work or other stuff, or (most commonly) I'm carrying precious and sensitive electronics I'm too worried about getting them wet to enjoy it. But none of those applied, so I got soaked! Elen went poking around and discovered a wide and shallow stream behind the camp site. We both waked in, and everyone else followed. In the soaking rain, ankle or knee deep in a stream... This is what I came fir, it was so much fun. Steve and Jordan, ever keen to keep their bromance aflame, stripped to their pants and went swimming. Well, tried to. Mostly they just got scraped up by the shallow rocks. I did a Kylie Minogue impression perched on my claimed rock in the middle of the stream. I spent the rest of the evening in soaked clothes not caring about the rain, and we started dinner. I've become a pretty good chef, good at delegating jobs If someone gets too close to the stove, they get given a job. "cut onion Tim, grab some water Elen, pass the hand sanitiser Millie, find Tim a better knife kat, help me strain the pasta Steve, tell everyone it's ready to dish up Steve"! Artistic differences between Tim and I lead to his view of hard veggies winnine out (I'd have preferred soft for the sauce but oh well). And, as to be expected, it was delicious and served with parmesan cheese :) During digestion, heather spoke about the end of the trip amd how she viewed it, and how thankful she was for all of us not only being good travelers but also good friends. Then Millie and Elen sprung their trap. For the past few weeks they've gothen everyone to help contribute towards a power we had written. Weeks ago heather wrote and read us a poem about the Canadian voyagers while we visited the athabasca glacier, so we returned the favour. Millie and I had helped proof read the rather, and we each read it out in alternating verses (Elen through she might cry if she read it). It was beautiful, with some unexpectedly ingenious rhyming included! I'll put it into this blog as soon as it gets transmitted through our whatsapp group. And then we did three laps: our favourite moment, something we learnt, and something that will make us laugh for years to come. Everyone's answers were heart-warming, beautiful, sweet, hilarious, and kind. My favourite moment: That night. Walking through the rain, feeling soaked clothes, a warm stream, soft wet grass under my naked feet, not needing to care or worry about thorns, venomous animals or insects, gross water, or anything that I might need to worry about in Australia. And then cooking with friends for friends. Delegating, organizing and commanding the lot of them. The thing I learnt: I'm non-binary. I don't identify as male, and I don't identify as female. I've been unhappy for a long time with the gap between who i was trying to be and what made me happy. What this means for myself, friends, family and framily is still to be determined as I figure out how I want to live my life, but this has been a long time coming and I can make no more progress in loving the life i want to live privately. I know I've got plenty of people I can look to for help and support, that this is a journey I can only take myself, and that I'm looking forward to coming home so I can figure out how to live the life i want to live. And I'm so thankful that I was able to come out to such a beautiful and supporting group of people that night xx What will make me laugh for years to come: Zoe showed us a bogan cover of "uptown funk" called "Westie c*nt" with lyrics that go far beyond the content warning I've imposed onto this blog. It's a bit of a mood change from the last paragraph, but it's a good listen. Be warned tho that it is 100% coarse language. And I got a piggy back to my tent from Elen to cap off the night :3

#chogokin maple

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ashswritingplace · 7 years

Text

The Darkened Past

A short story I wrote as an introduction to a sci-fi novel I may or may never finish. This one’s about a time travel attempt that goes terribly wrong, and a modern-day American guy being whipped back to the Middle Ages.

The Darkened Past

It had been ages since the divorce was finalized, but Timothy Burns still found it harder to breathe every day. His affair had been six years ago, a small thing that he had never intended to last as long as it did. At first, when Theresa found out about it, he had been hopeful they could work on their differences. He didn’t really have a reason for cheating on his wife, he had just needed something new, something different. But, as time went on, Tim became more aware that his relationship would never be what it once was.

He missed her. Oh God did he miss her. Every morning he woke up to that same lonely bed, and every night he came home drunk to it. His friends told him that if he didn’t get over it soon, he’d drink himself into a coma. Tim could only hope for such a respite.

But recently, Tim had heard of some scientist in the United Kingdom. This man, some Drew Schroter or something, was working on the world’s first time machine. It was in the finishing stages apparently, and Tim would stop at nothing to get his life back. He bought the ticket from New York to Manchester, and he made preparations to go see this man. This was his only hope of undoing his mistakes.

~~~

It was a crisp autumn day when Tim arrived. The twenty-nine-year-old had been expecting the building at this address to be large and white and reminiscent of the laboratories he’d seen in sci-fi movies all his life. Rather, this building looked little more than an apartment—no, a flat as they were called here. The door had several cracks in it, two of the windows had missing panes, spiderwebs hung from the edges of the roof; Tim for a moment hoped this place was just preparing for Halloween a month early.

He rapped his knuckles against the splintering wood of the door and waited a few moments. There was no answer, and no sign of a doorbell. Tim tried to peer into the closest window, but the shades were drawn, and he could scarcely make out anything from the slit between them. From the reflection, he could see the bags under his dark eyes. His black hair, short as it was, was still messy and fell over his brows. To hopefully make a better impression, he wiped it from his face. Tim waited some more, even tried calling “Hello?” in both his own voice and a feigned British one, wondering if it would make a difference.

Just as Tim was getting ready to leave, he heard the door squeal open. He turned sharply and saw an old woman. Her eyes were small and squinted, and her pale and wrinkled skin suggested she might have been a great-great-grandmother. Her hair was white and fraying, and her clothes reminded Tim of an old witch, all black and dirty with questionable stains. He took an unconscious step back.

“I’m looking for Mr. Drew Schroter?” Tim tried to smile and maintain eye contact with the intimidating woman.

She rolled her eyes. “Yer lookin’ at ‘er,” she huffed, as if used to people mistaking her gender.

“Oh,” Tim mumbled, stepping away again. Briefly he considered bolting from this nightmare, but he remembered Theresa, and he regained his resolve. He needed to do this for her, for them. He cleared his throat. “Ma’am, I’ve heard that you were preparing a time machine, but could not find anyone willing to try it. That’s because the authorities have not given you permission to operate it since you have yet to be able to bring anything back. Is that right?”

Drew crossed her small arms over her sagging chest. “Where’d ya hear that?”

“I heard it from a friend,” Tim said, only just realizing that he was going off of what one of his drinking buddies had told him. He had done his homework as best he could, but couldn’t find anything to do with this woman and time travel. He’d flown here in desperation, but suddenly he thought maybe this was a dumb idea all along.

Drew seemed to consider the man. “You ain’t lookin’ to come back?” she asked.

Tim considered her words for a moment. Finally, he replied, “No.” The past six years had been empty without his wife anyway; what did it matter if he never got them back?

Drew retreated into her flat, shuffling up a long flight of stairs and walking into one of two opened doors. Tim stood there for a moment, wondering whether he should follow. He finally entered the building, closing the door behind him, and tried to keep up with the quick elder.

Her apartment was as shoddy as he could have guessed. Even more spiderwebs had woven their ways inside. In the main room stood a couch with more holes than cloth. Several desks were lined with stacks of papers and pens. The living room, if he could call it that, gave way to the small kitchen. Even standing several feet away, Tim could spot the cockroaches scurrying about. He could feel goosebumps crawling up his arms. For Theresa, he reminded himself.

“Ya comin’?” Drew called from the room beyond the kitchen. Tim hurried to catch up with her, stepping over bug corpses as he did.

He walked into a room that smelled suspiciously of sulfur. There were many bottles and flasks filled with different-colored liquids. A caged rat was on one of the desks, its form very still. A bird was flying around the room, muzzled. Tim flinched when he felt something rub against his legs, then relaxed slightly when he saw that it was only a cat. His eyes then fell on Drew, who was working a harness over a school chair.

“Sit.” She spoke with all the authority of a strict teacher, and Tim, the frightful student, didn’t dare disobey. He sat down on the chair, and he swore he could smell the cloud of dust it expelled. Fear darted up his spine once Drew lowered the harness, trapping him in the trusting hands of this madwoman.

She turned towards a computer beside the chair and pressed some buttons. Tim could not see the screen from his chair, but he saw the way its glow reflected in the woman’s dark eyes. This was something out of a horror movie, but still he was willing to risk it.

“Where?” Drew demanded.

“Huh?”

Her irritation was clear in her voice. “Where ya headed, ya birdbrain? I’ve not got all day.”

“Oh.” Tim drew in a breath. “February fourth, 2009.” The day he and Theresa had met.

Drew didn’t acknowledge his words, and for a minute Tim wasn’t sure she’d heard him. However, before he could repeat himself, the computer let off a blinding glow. “Eight years,” she mumbled. “Here we are.” And, with the pull of a lever, everything went black.

~~~

When Tim awoke it was early morning. The sun was just beginning its climb into the sky, and somewhere nearby he could hear birds singing a lovely chorus. The air smelled of something rotten and left an acidic taste in Tim's mouth. He wandered for a few minutes on a dirt path. It was quiet. Tim could not hear a single car driving by, a single child playing in the autumn morning, even a single dog barking. He looked around curiously, wondering if it had worked, wondering where he was.

Finally, he saw some buildings in the distance. These buildings were like few he had seen in person. They were old-looking things, as if Tim had stumbled upon some medieval fair.

Perhaps he had.

He had never cared for history, and his former job at the garage had never required much knowledge of it. It was just his luck to be sucked into some nerd fest.

The town was quiet, and dead. He found that odd. If this was a medieval fair, where were the people in costume? Where were the kids poking fun at accents, and where were the parents with cameras immortalizing this vacation?

Tim wandered around a bit more. For someone who did not like history, he had to admire the craftsmanship of the buildings. They must have been built centuries ago, and were still standing, some even perfectly. He wondered where he was, and decided that he would take Theresa here, once he found her.

Theresa.

Tim realized he was probably still in Europe. He’d need to find a car, or someone willing to drive him to the nearest airport.

The more the man walked, the more nervous he grew. He could not find anyone, and this town looked completely untouched since the tenth century or something. Maybe he was just in an abandoned place from the Middle Ages. That was it, he decided. He would just need to find a way to get to civilization.

As Tim was deciding which way to go, he finally saw someone. In the distance was a man of average stature. He was facing away from Tim, and so Tim could see his messy brown hair tied back in a ponytail. His dull tunic and leggings matched the era this town must have been from, reminding Tim that this had to have been a fair.

“Hey!”

Tim jogged to catch up to the man. The stranger turned to face him, and Tim was able to take in his features. His face was dirty and plain, except for his eyes. Curiously, they were shut, as if he were trapped in some kind of meditation.

“Hey,” Tim repeated. “I’m looking for someone with a car, or some way to get to an airport. Can you help me out?”

The other man stepped back, perplexed. “Sir,” he said evenly, “please slow your words. That accent; from whence do you hail?”

Tim had forgotten he was in the United Kingdom, and was only temporarily surprised by the man’s accent. He shook his head. “America,” he answered. “I thought you all knew our accents from Hollywood.”

But this seemed to confuse the man more. “America?” he repeated. “Is that in Asia? I have never heard of such a place. I pride myself on my knowledge of our maps, but never have I come across America. Hollywood, is that from whence you come?”

Tim stared blankly at this man for a long while. He hesitated, trying to figure out how to respond. A man who didn’t know of America? Did he live under a rock?

“It’s not in Asia,” he finally answered. “It’s in… America. You know? North America? I’m from the United States. New York, surely you know of New York.”

But the confused expression on the man’s face answered Tim’s question. “York, yes,” he said slowly. “The city is several days away by horse. You are very lost.”

“Where… am I?”

“You are just outside of Winchester, in Andover.”

Tim stepped back. His hands started shaking and his voice broke as he asked his next question: “What year is it?”

The man’s brows lowered. He cocked his head just slightly, never opening his eyes. “Are you well, sir?”

“Just… Please, just answer the question.”

“The year is 1206.”

~~~

Tim’s airways were closing in on him. He started shaking violently. Tears pricked at his eyes, and his voice quivered when he spoke. “You’re kidding,” he accused. His voice was cold, clutching. “You’re kidding,” he repeated. “Now tell me where the airport is.”

The man took another step back. “I advise you calm yourself,” he said. “How much had you to drink tonight?”

Tim’s hands clenched to fists. He felt that he might punch this man in another few minutes. He hadn’t drunk at all in days, not since he’d had the hope of finding his Theresa again. Now, he had the overwhelming urge to down several dozen shots of vodka. Even then he probably would not hallucinate a nightmare worse than this.

“What is your name?” The man asked, breaking Tim from his thoughts. “The apothecary is out of town currently, but I may fetch--”

“What the fuck is an apothecary?” Tim interrupted. “Speak English, dammit! I’m not in the mood for this.”

The man hesitated. “What ails you?” he asked.

“What ails me?” Tim repeated, voice rising. “What ails me. What ails me, ha! I fly all the way out to this backwards country for a chance to fix what I did years ago, and meet this lady out of some stupid fantasy horror book, and I get transported all the way back to the twelfth--no, thirteenth century, and the only person around is some fuck who’s telling me I’m unwell and who’s trying to send me to an apothecary, and he won’t even look at me dammit. What ails me. What doesn’t ail me?”

The other man was silent for a long time, considering Tim’s outburst. Then, with an even expression, he stepped closer to the stranger, almost getting in his face. “Did it never occur to you,” he breathed, "the reason I've not looked at you, the reason I've not opened my eyes to gaze upon this madman claiming he hails from a future, is because I am blind?”

Tim stopped in his tracks, suddenly piecing everything together. Why hadn’t he considered that? And now he had been made an ass. Instead of apologizing, Tim just stood there, not knowing what to do. The stranger didn’t seem offended, but Tim could determine little from his stagnant features.

All of a sudden Tim burst into laughter. Everything that had happened was catching up to him, and he could only laugh about it. He laughed like the madman this stranger knew him to be. He laughed like a lunatic, like some creepy being who had gone insane years ago. Perhaps he had. Perhaps this was all part of some never-ending hallucination.

To his surprise, the other man started laughing as well. His was a much calmer laugh, a much more genuine one. Tim couldn’t determine what it was he was laughing at, but in the moment he didn’t care. They both belted their loudest laughter for minutes, and not a soul interrupted them.

After they both quieted down, Tim took a few moments to just breathe. When he looked up, there was still a smile on the stranger’s face.

“My name is Tim,” he said. “Timothy Burns.”

“Lito,” replied the other. “Lito Grunswald.”

Tim extended a hand to shake, but then realized Lito would not see it. He cleared his throat awkwardly. “Handshake?” he suggested.

Lito stood, perplexed. “Ah, yes,” he mumbled, then reached for Tim’s hand. His own hand was cracked and dirty, working hands of an average man of his time. He was taken aback by Tim’s relatively smooth skin, his fine fingers. “You are certain you are not from Asia?” he asked. “Your skin is that of a rich man.”

Tim laughed again. “I wish I were rich,” he said. “No, I’m from America. I’m not from this time. I’m actually from the twenty-first century.”

Lito stepped away. If his eyes were opened, it might have appeared as if he’d rolled them. “Right.”

“No, really!” Tim assured. “I’m from New York, a place with a lot of skyscrapers, and neon lights, the Big Apple. I guess you don’t know what that is.”

Lito stood dumbfounded. “How on earth does one scrape the sky? You live in an apple? We must get you to an apothecary at once.”

“No, wait.” Tim didn’t flinch as Lito grabbed his forearm.

Darkened fingers gently caressed the flannel shirt, rolled up to his elbows. They continued up his arm, Lito’s curiosity overpowering his politeness. His fingers danced over his shoulder, then rested at his neck, where a collar was folded messily. Underneath his opened flannel was a plain cotton T shirt, which Lito also took interest in. “Your cloths,” he mumbled. “They are not of England. I have never felt such fabrics. Your shirt is so thin, so smooth. Have you a tailor?”

“Yeah,” Tim replied. “His name is Wal-Mart. Now stop feeling me up. Take me out to dinner first.”

Lito withdrew his hand immediately, an apology coming from his features rather than his mouth.

“Well, hold on, I can prove I’m not from here.” Tim shoved a hand into the back pocket of his jeans. He pulled out his smartphone and showed it to Lito. It took some awkward motions for Tim to force the object into the younger man’s hands.

Lito ran his hands over the smooth edges, the scratched screen. “You present to me a rock,” he said dully.

“It’s not a rock,” Tim said defensively, snatching the device back. “It’s a cellphone. Look, I’ll call someone, you’ll see.”

“I hardly think they will hear you from here.”

Choosing to ignore that comment, Tim unlocked his phone and pulled up his dial pad, but he had no service here. That, too, he should have expected. “Um, on second thought, hold on.” He brought up the list of music downloaded onto his phone. Clicking a song, he hit play, and he waited until Disturbed’s cover of “The Sound of Silence” filled the air.

Lito listened closely, and as the notes sang into his ears he was taken aback. “What?” he asked, incredulous. “How did you fit a choir into a rock? What is this?” He grabbed for the phone and held it up to his ear. “How is such a thing possible?” When David Draiman’s voice sounded, Lito pushed the phone away from him, utterly bewildered. “Who speaks?” he demanded. “How is he heard from this rock? Is there another here?”

Tim took his phone back into his hands, chuckling. “Where I’m from, almost everyone has one of these. You can use it to play music, or text people--that is, write them messages that they get instantly--or you can call people and talk to them even if they’re far away.”

Lito was silent for a long while. Then he looked up, hopeful. “If technology is that advanced…”

“It is,” Tim commented. “I don’t know how I’m going to get by without it, honestly. But it sounds like someone is starting to believe me.”

Lito moved his head to face Tim. “What do you do with the blind?”

“What do you mean, what do I do with the blind?”

Lito turned away. “Here, people view me as a waste of resources. They tell me how I will never amount to much because I cannot see. Is that still true of your time?”

Tim’s features softened. The poor guy must have felt terrible, he thought, to be told he wouldn’t make anything of himself. Hadn’t Tim himself heard those words from Theresa, too?

He shrugged his shoulders. “No, not really,” he answered. “In my time, people have trained dogs to help blind people, and even monkeys I think. There are surgeries that help sometimes. I don’t know much about it, I got perfect vision.”

“Surgery?” Lito looked up in interest. “They can cure blindness?”

“Well, sometimes,” Tim said. “Depends. How did you go blind?”

“Is your stomach easily made uneasy?”

“What? Uh, no, I don’t think so.”

Lito nodded a bit, then slowly opened his eyes. He still squinted, but underneath his eyelids were the most piercing blue eyes Tim had ever seen. In the center of his eyes, where his pupils should have been, were instead foggy cataracts.

“I was born with clouds over my eyes,” Lito explained. “My mother told me I was able to see, never well, but I've no recollection of this. The priests knew not how to remove my clouds, and my father dared not let them try. My clouds continued expanding, my mother said, until they were this big. They completely cover my eyes now, save for the colored part that does not see.”

Tim stared into the cataracts, mesmerized. “Can you see at all?”

“No,” Lito replied. “I see not blackness, however. My world is made of colors, but I can make out so little that it all bleeds into one distorted rainbow. I can make nothing of you, of the sky or the earth, of anything.”

“Why do you keep your eyes closed?” It was an innocent question, though Tim watched as Lito squinted more directly afterwards.

“People are made uneasy by my clouds,” he responded. “Besides, if I am unable to see anyway, it hardly matters whether my eyes are open or closed. This way, people are more comfortable. They can easily identify me as one unlike themselves.” Lito closed his eyes again and rubbed at them. “I have been doing it all my life. The light hurts me, now.”

Tim didn’t know what to say. If Lito had just been born in his time, how different would the guy have been? Cataracts were curable; Lito probably would have been a completely different person.

“Would they be able to remove them?” Lito asked. A tint of hope tainted his words.

“Yeah, probably,” Tim replied. “Well, maybe at first. I don’t know about now. Those cataracts have been developing for… Well, how old are you?”

“Sixteen,” replied Lito.

“What?” Tim studied the boy. From his long, messy hair to his stubble to his dirtied skin; Lito looked much, much older. “Sorry, I just didn’t think you’d be that young.”

“Young?” repeated Lito. “I am a middle-aged man.”

Tim shifted. “Right,” he responded. “Um, I don’t know if they’d be able to remove it. I don’t think any of that matters right now anyway. Nothing will matter, Lito. You have to help me. I need to find a way back to my time.”

~~~

Lito could tell Tim plenty about this time, but he knew nothing about getting to a different one. He did not know how to get Tim back to twenty-first century America, or where to even begin. They were at a complete standstill, and that was only making Tim more nervous. He didn't know that he'd ever see Theresa again, now.

The two decided that standing around would accomplish nothing, so Lito motioned for Tim to follow as he started walking through the streets of Andover. The buildings looked so sturdy for this time period. Signs outside certain ones told of their purposes: there was a smithy, and a grocer, and their destination: a bakery. Tim tripped twice over the rocks on the ground, which made him doubly impressed by Lito’s grace.

The bakery was filled with breads of all sorts. Tim’s mouth watered when he entered. He had forgotten how starved he was, and greedily he walked up to the counter. There was no baker present.

Lito walked up to the counter too and took a whiff of the goods. “The baker, and most others from town, are in Winchester for a festival.” He picked up a loaf of bread and handed it to Tim. “It is what is left over from yesterday.”

“Isn’t this stealing?” Tim asked, taking the bread in his hands. “Why was the door open if the baker isn’t here?”

“Because everyone is attending the festival,” Lito replied. “’Tis only stealing if you are caught. Come then.” He started out of the bakery, a new destination in mind.

“Why didn’t you go to the festival?” Tim took a piece of his bread, and he offered another piece to Lito, but the kid did not see him. Rather than interrupting, he pretended he had broken it off for himself.

Lito did not stop to face him. “I have not the interest in such things. The poetry reading was last year, and I went then, but this year there is no such thing. It is more family-oriented, and I have not the family with whom to attend.”

Tim considered that. “Where’s your family?”

“Dead.”

“Oh.” He shifted. “How?”

“Father was ill, and attacked Mother. She was killed, he was hanged.” His tone never changed.

The cold way in which Lito said it gave Tim chills. “They left you alone?” he asked. “A blind child?”

“I am not a child.” Lito turned to face Tim. “I am as able as any with sight, and I would kindly refrain from believing any different. Now, we are here.”

Tim looked at the building they were standing in front of. There was no sign on the façade, but he could see through the windows there was a work table filled with hammers, sickles, and hoes. Lito slipped into the building, so Tim had no choice but to follow.

“A blacksmith?” Tim asked, taking in the worker’s tools scattered about.

“Aye,” replied Lito.

“You what?”

“What?”

“Never mind.” He walked up to the table and ran his hands over a half-finished hammer. “Why are we here?” he asked.

“I have an idea.” Lito felt around the room, as if looking for something. “Of this situation. You claim you are from the future. You wish to return to your time.” His fingers hit a small knife. Lito flinched, but continued feeling around. “There is a legend of old about something like this happening.”

“Really?” Tim stared at the man. “This just occurred to you?”

“Do you wish for me to tell you the legend or not?”

Tim silenced, his eyes watching this blind figure move about the room. Lito sighed. Then, in the softest tenor, he began to sing:

On a day of celebration / cen'tries hence, in a town of old People gone, save for a young lad / negligence had made him cold. Another hails from far-off lands / spreading tales of fantasy He asks for aid and none help him / who may answer his poor plea? Off atop a frozen mountain / far beyond the winds and sea There awaits a lovely goddess / she can heal their misery The two, paired, must venture thither / salvation a guarantee Camaraderie saves the lost and torn / camaraderie restores reality.

When Lito finished his song, he cleared his throat and continued searching. “Mother sang that to me when I was plagued by insomnia. 'Tis about some lonely, bitter man who happens upon a madman, and they are forced to work together so a goddess may grant them blessing. 'Tis only a childish tale, and I fear only a few scarcely remember it, but what other choice have you?”

Tim glared at Lito. “You want me to trust a nursery rhyme?” he asked. “How do I know you didn’t make that up on the spot? How do I know you’re not sending me on some crazy goose chase for your own sadistic enjoyment?”

Lito paused and faced Tim. “I hear no geese,” he commented.

“That’s not what I… Never mind.” He sighed in aggravation. Then, he walked towards Lito and took the kid’s hands in his own. “Look at me.”

Lito faced Tim. “I cannot--”

“Do you think this is going to work? Really?”

Lito was silent for a long while. When he did speak, his voice was gentler. “I haven't an answer you wish to hear, Tim. I say this is the sole lead we possess. Either you gear yourself to adventure, or you prepare to become accustomed to living in thirteenth-century England.”

Lito moved away from him, then returned to his search. He muttered something about not being able to find what he was looking for, and breathed a swear.

Tim stayed, paralyzed. So many strange events had happened on this day. He wondered when he would wake from this fairy tale, but he knew this was not a dream. He also wondered if, at the end of all this, he would somehow get his Theresa back.

Tim looked back to the kid so willing to help him. He wondered about Lito's reasons for going on this journey. Finally attempting to return the kindness he'd been shown, Tim asked, "What are you looking for?"

“There is a chest the smith keeps somewhere around here,” Lito said, moving raw ore out of the way of his search.

“Is it black with a silver lock?”

“You realize I do not know colors very well, aye?”

“I found it.” Tim crouched down beside one of the work tables and ran his fingers over a dark wooden chest. Though it had a very strong-looking lock, it was currently not fastened. Lito knelt down beside him and threw the chest open.

Inside were the more valuable wares. Swords and axes were kept in here, refined weapons that had been commissioned but never picked up. Lito dug his hand into the chest, instantly slicing his finger on a sharp blade.

“Hey, let me do that,” Tim said. “What do you want?”

“I need you to grab a pair of swords.”

Tim did as he was told. Before he handed one to Lito, he asked, “Why?”

“We are going to the mountain, are we not?”

“Why do we need swords?”

“To cut down any creatures that might stand between us.”

“Could we not talk them down?”

“There are animals along the way that will not be so forgiving.”

“Can’t we use a gun?”

“A what?”

“Right. Can’t we… I don’t know, it’s just, swords seem so extra, don’t they?”

Lito reached for a sword, and Tim moved it so that it would not cut him. Once in his hands, he tightened his grip around the hilt. A boyish smile blossomed onto his face “She is a beautiful one, is she not, Tim?”

“But, Lito,” Tim protested. “This is stealing. I don't care if this is the Middle Ages, they don’t just give swords to people. Maybe soldiers, but not two guys off the street.”

“You complain much,” Lito commented. He stood and gently felt the blade of his weapon. “I would rather be safe with a borrowed sword by my side than defenseless and dead. If you truly hail from eight hundred years into the future, I haven't reason to doubt there will be more standing in our path than a few angered bears.”

Tim didn’t know what he was getting himself into. He looked at the remaining broadsword in his hands. He had never held a real sword, had only really seen them in Skyrim or Dark Souls. To think he might have to use one on a living target was enough to make his body shake again.

“But, Lito,” he protested again. “But you’re… you’re blind.”

“I am able to wield better than you will ever,” Lito said nastily. “Now, will you continue your interrogation, or shall we get you back home?”

#short stories #writeblr

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