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rwbyvein · 3 years

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Firen Lhain: Chapter 711: The Hart of the Oak: Part II/III

The airship docked in the hangar of the aerodrome, and they soon started to file off.

"Perhaps?," Weiss asked, and turned to her sister," we should show you your room."

"After speaking with Mr. Rex, I have decided to take up temporary residence in your servant's quaters.

"Is love in the air?" Yang jokingly asked. Winter looked about nervously.

"Definitely not for me." Taj said, as he finished up in the cockpit.

"There seems to only be one man," Weiss voiced, "that is always on her mind."

"Sister?" Winter asked.

"A joke." Weiss said with a smile. "I hope."

"Sister?" Winter repeated.

"I will show you to our, er, servant's quarters..." Weiss voiced.

"Thank you, Sister."

"I'll go relieve them in the... uh... dungeon..." Jaune said, and stopped. "Not sure what is more shocking, that we have a dungeon, or that we have prisoners in a dungeon."

"You are a duke." Blake stated, and Jaune gave her a questioning gaze, "Assuming he's using the older form of Earl, given the surrounding circumstances."

"So, what?" Jaune asked, "I should build a tower?"

"Yes!" Nora shouted.

Weiss paused to turn and give a brief, judgemental glare before developing an uncertain look. She then turned to continue down the stairs.

* * *

"Sister?" Winter asked, as they walked atop the wall between the towers.

"Sister?" Weiss replied.

"I hate to pry, but that look... to your husband?.."

"I love him, and them all dearly." Weiss stated, "Though, love can oft be vexatious."

* * *

Jaune and Yang walked down the stairs into the dungeon. Qrow and Tai stood up and gave each other a bro-fist.

"Let's leave the newlyweds alone." Qrow stated.

Tai turned toward the cell, "It was, uh, good to meet you."

"He says that now." Mercury stated.

"He's just being polite." Qrow growled at them, "It's kind of his thing."

"So?" Jaune said to the cells, and paused, "I've been thinking."

"This aught to be good." Emerald said with a wicked smile.

"Children." Cinder said to them, "Show your manners. Am I going to have to punish you?"

"Jaune does spank us." Yang said, causing Cinder, Mercury, and Emerald to look at her with shock while Jaune just hung his head and deeply sighed. He breathed in deep before raising his head.

"Alright, now, the only thing that keeping you in this cage is that you want to."

"He's just now figuring that out?" Emerald asked.

"Emerald." Cinder admonished.

"In the spirit of trust." Jaune voiced.

"We're going to do a jail break!" Yang exclaimed.

Jaune looked at her and breathed in deeply before replying, "Exactly."

Mercury cricked his neck, "Should we do the honours?"

"Are you suggesting we break out?!" Emerald asked him.

"What?" Mercury asked, "He told us to."

"Perhaps," Cinder voiced, and looked at Jaune alluringly, "we should see our big, strong man show us what he's got?"

"Not gonna lie," Yang said with heady breath, "I SO want to see that."

"Alright, alright." Jaune stated, and looked at those in the cell, "Step back."

"Why?" Emerald asked.

"Because I literally have no idea what I'm doing." Jaune stated.

"And it would be gracious to do so." Cinder stated. She elegantly turned around and walked away from the cell door. She then turned back around, to look at Jaune as her minions followed her.

"So, what, I break the lock?" he asked, looking between the cell and then at Yang.

"I was kind of hoping you would just rip the bars off or something." Yang said nervously.

"I could try?" Jaune asked, and walked to the side. "Again, I have no idea what I'm doing." he said as he reached for the bars and grabbed it snuggly. "Here goes nothing." he said, and summoned his strength, his rage, and his aura, and pulled the bar off so hard it bounced off three walls, nearly hitting a awestruck Yang in the process. "I don't really know what I was expecting, but you should be able to slip through there. The bar might not miss next time."

"Is it wrong that I feel so hot right now?" Yang asked.

"It would be insulting not to." Cinder said as she walked up to the missing bar. She then elegantly slipped out and got extremely close to Jaune.

"Excuse you." Yang harshly said to her, putting her arm between the two.

"If the gentleman could give us a bit of room?" Cinder asked.

"Oh, uh?.." Jaune asked, and stepped back, Yang moving to join him. Cinder looked back, holding out her hand to help Emerald through, before standing back to let Mecury out.

"Alright?" Emerald asked, "so we're out of the cell. Where do we sleep?"

"It's fall," Jaune voiced, "and we're in the mountains, so preferably some place warm."

"Then why is it to warm?.." Emerald asked, and everyone looked at her. "Because the temperature under ground is constant." Jaune stated, and turned around, "Spoiled city dwellers."

"I know, right?" Yang asked, turning to join Jaune.

"Spoiled!?" Emerald exclaimed, "Do you have any idea what we've been through?!"

"No, he doesn't." Mercury admonished her. "I also don't think he'd take it as an excuse."

"We have done a great many terrible things." Cinder stated. Yang and Jaune turned back to her.

"She can admit it." Yang said.

"Doesn't sound like she's sorry." Jaune stated.

"I'm sorry I didn't know what I wanted until now." Cinder said with a bright smile.

"Which is?" Yang asked.

"To be my own woman." Cinder stated. "And how good it feels to have minions."

"It is," Jaune voiced, and paused, "a lot better than I expected."

* * *

The group walked onto the first sublevel. "Hey?" Yang asked, "Why don't we show them the garden?"

"It's not much of a garden." Jaune stated, "More weeds."

"We would love you see your garden." Cinder said with glee, "Wouldn't we?" she asked Mercury and Emerald.

"Wonderful." Emerald said sarcastically.

"Wonderful." Mercury said with a neutral tone.

* * *

Jaune closed the cargo doors as Yang lead them up the rampart into the garden.

"Well," Emerald said, followed by a nervous pause, "there's plants."

"We, uh, haven't really gotten around to doing anything with it." Jaune said nervously.

"Yeah," Yang stated, "we've been focusing more on the honeymoon part of being married."

"And we've only been here a few days." Jaune said, "But, yeah, that's our garden. Full of plants."

"I wouldn't say full." Mercury stated.

"What does he want us to do?" Emerald asked, "Garden?"

Jaune's head bobbed to the right and left and he shrugged.

"I suppose that would be one way to earn their trust." Cinder stated.

"Now that we're free?" Mercury asked, and turned to Jaune and Yang, "I do have a question?"

"Shoot?" Yang asked.

"Why does the tower shake at night?" Mercury asked. Yang leaned forward as the laughter burst from her chest while Jaune just sighed and looked about nervously.

"Now," Cinder stated, "it's not really appropriate to ask certain questions about married couples, or however else it works."

"Wait, what?" Emerald asked, while Mercury's eyes widened with shock.

"uh, huh, yeah..." Jaune voiced. "Um?.."

"I don't mean to brag, but..." Yang added.

"So, what?" Emerald asked, "We're farmers now?"

"It worked for us." Jaune absentmindedly stated.

"It what?" Emerald asked him.

"Hm?" Jaune asked, "Oh, yeah, knightly house. Disarmed because the Good King asked us to. Swords to plowshares." He then shrugged.

"You wouldn't believe who the Good King was." Yang stated, "I mean, I'm seriously still having trouble believing it."

A pregnant pause followed.

"You going to tell us?" Mercury asked.

"Maybe when we get to know you better." Jaune stated.

"Kind of hard to build trust that way?" Emerald asked, "I mean, seriously."

"We did just kind of let you out of our dungeon." she said, and visibly shuddered.

"That is kind of a big step." Jaune stated.

"It's not like the bars were doing anything." Emerald stated.

"It's the thought that counts." Mercury curtly stated.

"Precisely." Cinder said with a bright smile.

"That's..." Jaune voice and paused, "kind of creepy for a monster like you."

"After everything?!.." Emerald asked, but Cinder cut her off.

"We have a LOT of make up for to earn his trust."

"It's not like you can actually make up for it." Yang stated.

"Then what are we doing this for?" Emerald asked.

"Can't you see?" Mercury asked, "They are trusting us more and more as it is. If Cinder thinks we can earn their trust, we have to believe her."

"And if I'm still worried?" Emerald asked.

"It's not like we have much of a choice at this point." Mercury continued.

"We could steal their airships, and..." Emerald tried to say.

"And nothing." Cinder stated, "As unhappy as I am to say it, this is the safest place in the world for us."

"As farmers?" Emerald asked.

"As gardeners." Mercury stated. "I could use some time just relaxing and training. There's an old Mistralan saying, it's better to be a warrior in a garden than a gardener in a war."

"That doesn't make any sense." Emerald said to him.

Mercury closed his eyes and breathed in deep. He opened them up again, "When's the last time we just stopped."

"Stopped what?" Emerald asked, "Stopped breathing?"

"Stopped to reflect?" Mercury asked. "Since Cinder picked us up, we have done nothing but scheme and manipulate and do everything but decide for ourselves."

"We did decide!" Emerald shouted at him. "We chose Cinder!"

"And now what?" Mercury asked, and Emerald was at a loss for words.

"And now we garden." Cinder said with glee.

"How can you be so happy?" Emerald asked her, "I mean, I didn't mean to question you, it's just, I mean?.."

"If gardening happens to help us with our goal, why wouldn't I be happy to do it?" Cinder asked.

"But it?.." Emerald asked.

"It's?" Cinder asked her.

"We're too good for this." Emerald stated, and Yang let out a scoff.

"Let's..." Jaune voiced, "Let's not get into that. But, there is one thing I can say. Being productive is important for people. The average working class family are happier than the elite, as long as they aren't eaten up by elite, or frog kings, or whatever."

"Frog king?" Cinder asked.

"Oh?" Jaune asked her.

"I'm kind of curious, myself." Yang added.

"Some frogs prayed for a king, and the gods gave them a log to act as a figure head." Jaune stated, "The frogs were upset. They prayed again, for a great and terrible king, like those men had. The gods then sent down a crane who started eating the frogs."

"What in the every loving?.." Emerald asked. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"Be careful what you wish for?" Yang asked, and Jaune bobbed his head back and forth.

"Despite not being knights anymore, my family is still the head one in town."

"Will you just tell us already?!" Emerald asked.

"It's kind of a like a mayor, but not formal." Jaune said. "Anyways, one of the most important things about being a leader is morale."

"Happiness?" Emerald asked, "You are telling us to be happy, because?.."

"Motivation." Jaune stated, "Unhappiness kills motivation, so you have to be conscious of what is making those under you happy or sad."

"And you think you can make your wives happy?" Mercury asked.

"Absolutely not." Jaune stated, and Mercury developed an incredibly smug smirk.

"But?.." Yang pleaded.

"But they do." Jaune said and shrugged, and turned to Emerald, "And the point, Green Girl, is that famlies struggling to survive are often happier than the richest elite. True power comes with the burden of the crown. If you mess it up, you lose anything. The crane that ate the frogs lost subjects to make his kingdom thrive, and all he got was temporary satisfaction. This is one of the... many... reasons I didn't want to be the leader."

"You've been doing that the entire time?" Yang asked, "For us, for your team?" Jaune nodded, and Yang noticed a bit of moisture in his eyes.

"Then maybe that's why we're here?" Mecury asked, "To learn what true leadership is?"

"Are you saying you don't want to follow Cinder?!" an offended Emerald asked.

"It's the only thing I do want." Mercury stated, "Maybe I want to know what that means?"

"It is." Cinder said, "And is not. I want enough power ensure a good life." She then looked down at her left arm and then brought her left hand up to cover her eyes. She looked at Jaune with her Grimm eye covered, "And for some reason you don't seem disturbed by it?"

"I'm disturbed by what's inside you." Jaune stated, "I'm disturbed by how broken you can be. I'm disturbed by how casually you can destroy other people's lives. AND WHAT DID IT GET YOU?!"

Cinder looked away, trying to hide the conflict inside her. She felt like she was succeeding until she had to wipe away the tears from her real eye, (but not the fake one).

#rwby #firen lhain #faunus au #pollinated knight

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tamorasky · 3 years

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Rise to Me Chapter 12 - August 1943

Summary: 1947. It had been nearly four years since she had received a letter from her sister. Now with the end of the war and her impending wedding, Anna Rendelle is more determined than ever to find her sister.

1943. All her life Elsa Rendelle had been told to be good, know her place and to marry well. When an opportunity arises to make something of herself, finding herself in Occupied France as a part of a larger network of secret agents.

Rating: Mature

Relationships: Anna/Kristoff, Elsa/Honeymaren, Anna/Hans (Briefly)

AO3

She feels sick to her stomach as she and Yelana walk down the hall of the barracks, neither of them speak as they push through the door. Outside, a black car sits outside of the building. Elsa follows Yelana towards the vehicle. Both of the women climb into the back of the car.

“Remember the curfew in Arras has been changed to nine-thirty.” The older woman reiterates as they drive through the dark military base.

Elsa nods in response, tucking her hands into the pockets of a coat that isn’t hers; pulling out a cinema stub and a bus ticket from Givenchy to Arras, both printed in French. Things created to make her character more authentic; more so than Elsa has been in her entire life.

“This is for you.” Yelana passes Elsa a small leather purse. The younger woman takes it, glancing into the bag. It contains a compact, lipstick and wallet. These were all seeming toiletries but were in fact essential tools for her in the field; things she saw at her training at Rhubana lodge.

They pass an RAF guard holding a lantern and stop on the edge of the aerodrome. Elsa emerges from the car and walks towards the driver, who was unloading bags from the back of the vehicle. She grabs the case which contains her radio, but Yelana reaches forward to stop her.

“A-am I not supposed to?”

“The radio is too heavy for the Lysander. It will be dropped separately.”

“Oh…” Elsa stares at the suitcase, somewhat dismayed that she was departing with the radio that had been by her side over the past months. With much hesitancy she lets of the radio, glancing to the tarmac at the tiny Lysander. Her heart pounds in her chest at the thought that her wireless was too heavy to be transported on the plane but could carry her.

“It will be delivered to you,” Yelana explains. “Don’t worry. They’re very good.”

Though the older woman’s words were meant to reassure her, they don’t. Elsa doesn’t even know who these people are, how is she expected to trust them or believe Yelana’s words.

They stand on the edge of the airfield, the damp air chilling Elsa to the bone. Yelana turns to the young woman, grabbing her cuffs to ensure they are folded just so. As usual, the grey-haired woman is emotionless, but Elsa notices the way her hands tremble.

That is when her chest grows cold. Seeing Yelana’s fear sparks Elsa’s own. Yelana stares at her, giving her a nod before leading her towards the plane. The words Batting Order chalked on the side of the plane, followed by names she didn’t know.

“What are those?” She asks.

“It’s the priority of persons to be rescued if they are at the landing site. The plane only fits three people and can’t wait for more than a minute for passengers.” Yelana explains. Elsa nods, wondering why she is going overseas willingly while there are countless others trying to escape the continent. She wonders if she’ll ever be on a plane home to Anna. She hopes she will be.

“Your money.” Yelana hands her a neat stack of francs, wrapped in a rubber band. “Half your pay comes in cash when you’re in the field to use for things you need. The rest will be paid to you in pounds upon your return home. And this is for you.”

Much to Elsa’s surprise, Yelana hands her a necklace with a small silver snowflake charm. It is not a gift. Yelana unscrews the pendant next to the charm to reveal a small cyanide capsule.

“The final friend.” The older woman states. “Germans know the smell and will try to make you spit it out. So you’ll need to chew it quickly.”

Elsa takes it from Yelana with a nod. “Thank you.”

“You can thank me by getting the job done.” Yelana takes Elsa’s hand, squeezing it for slightly too long. She then turns and stalks across the field towards the waiting car without another word.

With shaking hands Elsa approaches the plane. She has never flown before and the small plane in front of her brought no comfort, it is intimidating.

A man sits in the cockpit, waving for her to come aboard rather impatiently. She wastes no time in entering the plane, settling herself in a narrow seat behind the pilot. Within moments the crew close the doors, sealing Elsa’s fate.

She had expected her pilot to be a military pilot, but his red hair is longer than military standard just barely touching the sherpa of his leather bomber jacket. Elsa can’t believe that the stubbled man in front of her is flying her to France. Hoping to god he is experienced enough to land her safely in France.

“There has been a change of plans.” He announces, revealing himself to be Irish.

“Oh?” Elsa inquires, trying to retain her composure as her stomach flips violently.

The pilot nods curtly. “You’ll be landing blind.”

She watches as the man turn back towards the control, pressing buttons and gauges she doesn’t recognize. Looking up from her lap, Elsa sees the propeller on the plane’s nose turn through the windshield.

The plane rolls forward, jostling her as it rolls along the uneven earth. The sound of the propeller and engine resounding loudly in her ears as they increase pace. Elsa takes deeps breaths, trying not to panic and convince herself that this is the right decision for her. There is no backing down from this. Landing blind. No one is coming for her when she lands, it is up to her to find her point when arriving in France.

She cries out as the ground slips out from underneath her. It is strange to the young woman, her hand pressed against the cold metal side of the plane. Taking a deep breath, she looks out of the small window; hoping to catch the sight of Yelana and the car, but they had already left.

Her eyes squeeze shut as the plane shoots up at a steep angle. Her stomach-dropping, she leans forward, her forearms resting on her knees, her head dropping between her legs. She felt as if she might be sick. Taking shallow breaths as they had been instructed to fight off nausea as they had been instructed. She cannot throw up in the plane.

The wave subsides, allowing Elsa to slowly raise herself from between her legs. Deciding to look out of the window as the pilot had stopped talking to her; not that they could hear one another over the engine.

She can’t see any houses below, even though she knew there were. The mandatory blackouts had managed to turn the entire countryside dark. Elsa stares at the countryside, her heart aching at the thought of her sister. Wishing that she could see London and at least imagine Anna walking down the street in that damn reefer coat.

Her hand clutches the jacket as the plane drops and turns sharply to the left. She places her free hand on the seat to avoid being sent forward by the jolt trying not to panic at the turbulence.

“Is something wrong?” She calls loudly to be heard over the deafening roar of the engine. The pilot shakes his head, glancing over his shoulder briefly to the woman.

“No, everything it fine. You just feel everything flying in this thing. God knows the Lysander isn’t the best, I mean the Germans could take this thing down with a rock.” He comments, spiking Elsa’s anxiety. “But I can put her down in any condition and quickly.”

He eases on the throttle as they reach the French coast, lowering the plane into a thick fog to encircle the plane. The pilot glances out of the window, trying to get a better view of the ground below.

“We may have to turn back.” He announces.

“We can’t wait till it clears?” Elsa inquires. Knowing that if they turned back, she wouldn’t get back into this plane.

He shakes his head. “Unfortunately, no. We need to be back in ally airspace by daylight. We won’t be able to fly fast or high enough to escape enemy fire.”

Elsa’s arm hairs stand on end as fear slowly creeps under her skin as it occurs to her, she could die even before landing in France. “A-are we turning back?”

“I think I can manage it. Seems like we’re close enough to the right spot. I’m going to make a go at it.” He states, his deep voice confident.

“That doesn’t exactly inspire confidence.” She laughs nervously.

He turns to her with a smirk, shaking his head. “You’re going to want to hold on tight. This is going to be rough.”

The plane drops without much notice, causing Elsa to grip the seat once again as the plane shoots in a downward spiral. Her heart pounds in her ears, trying to convince herself that they are not crashing, just that the pilot might be a maniac. She closes her eyes, taking shallows breaths again as her nausea returns.

The hard jolt vibrates through Elsa’s body as the plane hits the ground, she hadn’t braced as she trained for although it only caused an initial shot of pain in her lower back. The plane glides along the ground, both the pilot and Elsa feeling every bump outside of the plane.

The plane jerks to a stop with the brakes squeaking loudly, Elsa wonders if someone could have heard them. The pilot stands, opening the door to glance outside of the plane. “As I thought, no one for return.”

“Is that a bad thing?” Elsa inquires, grabbing her purse, which had fallen on the ground from their journey.

“It could mean a lot of things. But yeah, they might have been captured.” The pilot sighs. “Alright, head east for the train station. You need to keep low and move quickly through the trees. There should be a blue bicycle behind the station. There should be further instructions upon your arrival.”

“S-should?” Elsa stutters, her blood running cold. “A-and if there isn’t?”

“It’s Sylvestre’s circuit. Everything will be in order.” The man reassures her.

Elsa nods as the pilot watches her, waiting for her to leave the plane. He clears his throat, his gaze darting at the door and back to the young woman. With her heart pounding, Elsa has no other option. She has to leave the plane.

He watches the young woman as she stands shakily, offering her a sympathetic smile. “I’d come with you if I could. But I can’t leave the Lysander.”

“Oh, of course. No, I understand. Thank you for everything.” Elsa nods as she climbs out of the plane.

“Good luck.” He states. “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”

Elsa narrows her eyes at him, wondering if this was a test. “Marguerite.”

“I’m Will.” The pilot smiles at her with a nod. “But you best be off.”

“Of course.” She turns from the plane, feeling his gaze on her as she stalks away from the landing site. While inching closer to the treeline, Elsa glances over her shoulder to see the door to the Lysander closed. The engine revs and the plane begins to roll forward, picking up speed.

Elsa turns away before it takes off from the ground. She is totally alone now, stepping into the unknown. She walks across the field in complete darkness, searching for the cover of the trees.

The smell of lavender envelops her scent as if she stepped back into her childhood; of summers spent in Île de Ré. Running through fields on the coast at her grand-mère’s cottage on the isle. Elsa used to sit in the field of lavender outside of the house, while Anna ran around her in circles calling out for her; the very reason why she and Anna were often sent outside by their mother and grand-mère.

She finds the tree cover, standing among the dogwoods and pine trees, trying to recall what way Will had pointed when he directed her to go east. Reaching for her purse, Elsa slips her hand into the bag to find the makeup compact equipped with a compass. She squints trying to read the compass by the light of the moon.

Orienting herself east, Elsa meanders through the trees. She trips on a rock, landing on the forest floor hard. The wind becomes knocked out of her as she falls, a pain throbbing through her ankle. Sitting up, she thinks back to her first morning at Rhubana lodge, wishing now more than ever that Honeymaren would be by her side. With a huff Elsa stands from the dirt, wincing with her first step but the pain subsiding as she continues.

“Arrêt!” A voice orders. Elsa freezes, her heart hammering in her chest. She couldn’t believe it she had already been caught. On her first night, not even an hour into her mission. There is no way of telling if it is the Germans or French police; either way, she had failed.

Her hand flies to the necklace, her fingers brushing over the snowflake and her mother’s locket as she wonders if she should take the cyanide now. She never thought she would need it so soon.

She turns to see a tall, imposing man standing behind her in the dark. Her breath stops as his gun is levelled at her.

“Jesus Christ, you’re a fool.” The man growls in English. “You never listen to them, you either run or fight. But never obey!”

“I…uh…” She stammers. But without another word he grabs her by the elbow, leading her roughly through the wood. Instinctively she pulls away from the stranger, unable to stand his touch.

Her feet drag against the cold tile of the building, four hands holding her up as they dragged her back to her shared room, having no strength to stand on her own. Her head lulled up at the bright lights of the building as screams echoed through the hall. This had been all her fault.

“Come on!” He takes her arm again with a growl as if trying to lead a stubborn mule. “Unless you want to be found by the Milice!”

She hesitates, having no information about anyone she is to meet in this whole racket. According to the pilot, no one is meeting her at all. The young woman wonders as she is dragged through the forest if this man is actually one of them.

With no choice, Elsa follows after him as he urges her on. They walk through the forest, remaining completely silent as the moon shines down on them.

It could all be a trap, a member of the Milice dragging her through this forest to her death. Or worse to be tortured into giving information. She isn’t even sure if she had any information to give up to the Germans at this point. Her radio hadn’t come with her so there was no ability to use the wireless to contact the SOE, nor did she know anyone within the circuit.

They reach a clearing, with what must be farmland. The silhouette of the farmhouse noticeable in the distance. On the edge of the land stands a small windowless shed.

“You are to stay here tonight.” The stranger states, pulling her towards the structure.

“What? No.” Elsa objects, shaking her head. “I’m supposed to be at a train station and find a bike for my circuit.”

“Be quiet!” He snaps harshly, causing the blonde to shrink into herself. “You should never mention anything about a circuit! Never mention any names to anyone.”

“What about my wireless?” Elsa questions, insisting on answers. She isn’t used to this; she is used to Yelana standing by her side answering the questions.

“Follow orders and stay here.” He opens the shed, struggling with the lock. “Someone will be here to collect you in the morning.”

He opens the door, letting her into the structure. There is no light and the air musky, warm air. She steps inside as though having no choice, the smell of manure overtaking her senses with no bed or toilet.

Without any warning, the door to the shed closes loudly, the sound of a key turning in the lock echoing through the small shed. Elsa rushes towards the door, her hand clasps on the handle and attempts to turn only for it not to turn. She couldn’t believe there were locking her in, she can’t even believe what is happening.

Footsteps outside of the shed disappear with a loud huff, leaving Elsa in silence. She turns from the door at the sound of something scurrying across the ground. Either a mouse or a rat. Elsa didn’t care to know at this point; her bones aching and her skin crawling.

She sinks to the ground, wrapping her arms around her knees as tries to calm herself in the dark. Her back resting against the wooden frame as her head hits against it with an audible thud.

Listening to the mouse or the rat scuttling, Elsa smiles thinking back to training. In which she had nearly destroyed the decoy set upon the woman by the instructor.

..............

They had been standing around in the lodge, listening to the instructor about various explosives. The next thing she knew, several women were screaming and scampering away from the animal in the middle of the floor.

Elsa didn’t hesitate as she stepped towards the rat, ready to kill it in a second. But stopped as she noticed something different with this one. She leaned over picking it up to see it was an obvious fake.

She held it up to the professor with a questioning gaze. The professor smiled at her, taking the rat from her hand.

“This!” He held it up to show the class. “Is a decoy

The girls gathered around their teacher, inspecting the decoy with interest as he further explained “The Germans will think it’s a dead rat until they get close.”

He walked away from the girls to the opposite field without another word, before rejoining them as he instructed them to step back. He pressed a button on a detonator held in his hand and without any other warning the rat exploded. Causing a series of gasps to erupt among the women.

..............

Elsa smiles at the memory. She and Honeymaren had sat on one of their beds that night, laughing at how most women scattered at the sight and how Elsa had been ready to destroy it without a second thought.

She wishes Maren would be with her now, there would be an arm draped over her shoulder and whispers of reassurance throughout the shed. At least with Honeymaren by her side, Elsa would have some confidence that she hadn’t fucked this entire mission up on her first night.

#kristanna #elsamaren #anna #elsa #kristoff #honeymaren #Rise to Me #Post WWII AU #WWII AU #frozen #frozen 2

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xxrainbow-princessxx · 4 years

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The Return - Leo x Isabella (TRR/TRH AU)

Can Leo get to Isabella and the kids in time?

Chapter list:

Chapter 1: Enough

Chapter 2: Homeward Bound

Chapter 3: Band of Brothers

Chapter 4 Dearest Sympathies

Chapter 5: No Expectations

Chapter 6: Line of Succession

Chapter 7: Unspoken Truths

Chapter 8: Family Ties

Find links for previous chapters here!

Tag list: @lorirwritesfanfic @drakewalkerfantasy @desireepow-1986@rainbowsinthestorm @lorircreates @itslaniquelove @liam-rhys @hopefulmoonobject @speedyoperarascalparty @kimmiedoo5 @rafasgirl23415 @kingliam2019@mom2000aggie @texaskitten30 @the-everlasting-dream

Trigger warning: Violence, death, premonition of death, sexual innuendo, swearing

Isabella struggled against Barthelemy’s guards to break free, running across to Natalia and Alessandra who were petrified. Stroking their faces, Isabella tried her hardest to hide her true emotion; she was just as scared as them but she couldn’t let her children down, “it’s ok... it’s ok...” she nervously smiled, her eyes darting to check them over visually from head to toe “Where’s Nico?” Isabella whispered but the girls didn’t speak, their hazel green eyes reflected their fear. Isabella wasted no time bringing them into a tight hug as she had to think fast, “Mama’s here... I got you...” Taking a deep breath, Isabella bit down onto her lip as she stood tall once again, placing her children behind her, “What is this all in aid of?” Isabella shouted as it echoed through the quiet throne room, with one hand holding her children behind her, her other hand gesticulated wildly, “Why are you doing all of this?!” Barthelemy simply laughed, “My dear... it’s simple... The Sons of Earth never could in a million years take over our wonderful Cordonia alone... each generation would bring its own obstacles and tribulations...” he smiled evilly towards his niece, “... but when your divorce was announced, Laurentia would make our base even more powerful and prophetic. With me as our leader...” Barthelemy’s brow raised, “We would become unstoppable in our defeat of the Rys bloodline...” The roar of the thugs he used to infiltrate the Laurentian Palace filled the room of joyous chanting, “...and unfortunately for you my darling niece... you also have become a part of that bloodline...” Barthelemy’s eyes darkened, glittering with a madness Isabella could only describe as horrific, “Please...” she begged, “Please spare the children... they have not done anything to deserve this!” Barthelemy began to walk towards Isabella before he looked over her shoulder towards the twins grinning cruelly “Maybe they can join Camille and Nicolás in our new world... we always need a few... spares in case it doesn’t work out...” Isabella’s eyes narrowed, her dark chocolate brown eyes darkening as she spat at him, “Give him back you fucking piece of shit!!”

Wiping his cheek, Barthelemy’s nostrils flared with rage, “You insolent bitch!” as he slapped Isabella across the face angrily screaming, “You will not disrespect me!” The Royal guards were in a political stalemate as Barthelemy made his claim to the throne, their pledge to protect the Crown at all costs left them divided but as Isabella fell to the ground, Barthelemy glared at all in the room, “One step... take one fucking step and you’ll not leave this room alive!” He kneeled down, lifting her head by her dark, mahogany curls, addressing the young Queen menacingly, Barthelemy grinned with an evil smile, “You’re lucky I only need to keep you alive for a few more days... and to think...” he goaded her, “I sent you flowers, this is how you repay my courtesy... Obviously your parents didn’t teach you manners...” pointing to a random guard, Barthelemy clicked his tongue, “Take them out of here as we begin our ascension into greatness!” Isabella’s dark, chocolate brown eyes glared with rage as the guard attempted to pull her arm, “Get off of me!” she screeched, her eyes narrowing angrily, “You’ll regret that!” The Sons of Earth guard simply laughed, “I somehow don’t think so...” as he pressed a gun to her spine, “Time to go...” he sneered as Isabella reluctantly gave into his threats, holding Alessandra and Natalia close to her. Looking over her shoulder, Isabella’s dark mahogany curls bounced as she took a final glance at her Uncle. With her cheeks sucked in, and a brow raised, the young Queen stared at him momentarily until she was pushed out of the throne room and escorted to the holding cells held in the catecombs. Isabella’s temper was renowned, but at that very moment she vowed if they made it through this, Barthelemy would burn for this.

“Shhhii...” Jimena’s eyes widened as she reached over Matthew’s mouth to stop him from speaking; both of them staring helplessly through the vents into the Palace’s throne room. Jimena glared at him, her voice barely a whisper as she spoke, “Shut up...” before her gaze returned to the room watching those still in attendance. Taking her phone, she began to briefly record Barthelemy and his army’s chanting, panning left and right. “We need to get out of here...” she muttered quietly, “We need to get to the Parliament building...” Matthew looking more and more confused as Jimena began to rummage through the lockers. With a satisfied smile, she turned to Matthew holding a guards uniform, “Hurry up and get changed...” Matthew raised his brow as he was handed the garment bag but knew better to question her. The Queen’s lady in waiting terrified him as Jimena stared him down, “What are you waiting for?” Her dark almond eyes narrowed, “...A standing ovation? Hurry up before we get caught!” She was bossy to the point it could be construed as rude and like an arrow, straight to the point. Folding her arms, Jimena pursed her lips as Matthew undressed, “I would like to not die today thank you...” stripping himself from his light grey suit, Matthew draped himself in the military regalia before Jimena moved forward placing the military cap on his golden head, “Much better...” she cooed as her hands delicately dusted off his broad shoulders, “Now follow me...”

As the Cordonian Royal jet landed in a disused aerodrome, Leo, Liam and Drake embarked immediately to a waiting vehicle. During the flight, Leo and Liam called in as many favours as possible to veil their arrival into the Kingdom, working with their neighbouring countries to free up their air space, allowing them to pass freely and undetected. Leo was well aware of the situation he found himself in. Not only was Barthelemy attempting to take over, there would be defiance in rank. “Your Majesty...” Javier smiled as he pressed down on the accelerator, “Welcome home...” Leo could only chuckle as he patted his trusted confidante’s shoulder, “You’re a sight for sore eyes Javier...” before he handed Leo an iPad, “This is the latest we received from Jimena...” The three men huddled around to watch the blurry video, moving back and forth as they tried to analyse it. “Your Royal Majesties... we also have news...” Liam and Leo immediately rose their heads, eyes widening with anticipation, “The Princesses are fine, they are with the Queen for now... but...” Leo and Liam’s hearts began to sink, there always had to be something, “...Prince Nicolás has been taken alongside Princess Camille but they are safe for now...”

Leo could feel his blood beginning to boil, his face reddening as he tried to contain his anger. “Leo... he’s ok...” Javier continued, “...the children are with the maids, no harm will come to them...” Leo glanced at Liam momentarily who felt like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders, his daughter, his little Camille was so close he could almost feel her in his arms again. Liam sat stoically looking out the window as they drove to Parliament to meet the others. Barthelemy would regret the day he had taken her from Liam and Sienna and Liam was going to make sure that he felt every ounce of pain he had for months. “Li...” Drake quietly questioned as Leo and Javier we’re discussing the next course of action, “You ok?” Liam turned to Drake as Leo and Javier continued their conversation quietly murmuring, “How can he be so calm?!” Drake rolled his eyes to the left as Leo spoke tactics, “Li... he’s fighting for his family... his life... he knows he can’t be distracted from that...” Liam slowly bit down on his lower lip, “Drake...” he whispered, “I’m terrified... and I just pray to God my brother knows what he’s doing...” With his shaggy dark hair, Drake nodded as he reached out to grasp Liam’s arm to comfort him, “Li... he’s not the same Leo you grew up with; this has never been about him - it’s been about you. He is risking his own life to get Camille back...” Drake implored, “...without him, we’d still be searching...” With a sullen nod, Liam reluctantly agreed, he knew Drake was right but he couldn’t help but wonder what else was in it for Leo? He couldn’t have changed that much.

“Get you hands off of me!” Isabella’s nostrils flared as she struggled in the guards grip before lifting her foot and ramming her stiletto heel into his leg, the guard winced and clenched his teeth before grabbing her by the hair, “You fucking bitch!” he spat, “I can’t wait for them to fucking execute you and that husband of yours soon enough!” Isabella took a deep breath as she tried so hard not to scream out in pain but she barked back, “My husband wouldn’t even be allowed to speak to me like that!” Forcefully throwing her into one of the cells, the guard chuckled to himself as Isabella fell forward, caught by her two daughters, “Well guess what Your Majesty? Your husband ain’t here! Now be good girls and for once, do as you are told!” With two whimpering children and the metal door locking behind them, Isabella held Alessandra and Natalia as tight as she could, biting her tongue watching carefully as the guard walk off laughing to himself throwing the keys up and down in his hands. “Mi querida... mi querida...” she mumbled as her voice trembled, “It’s going to be ok... don’t listen to that crazy man... this is all...” she tried to smile, “...just a big mistake and Javier will get us out of here... I promise”

Alessandra and Natalia’s hazel green eyes glistened as they looked at one another quietly, “...mama?” Natalia squeezed her mother’s hand tightly, “mama... I’m scared... where’s papa?” Isabella blinked back tears as she brought her daughters closer, “Don’t be scared my beautiful girl... your father once he knows about this he will not...” she brushed the loose tendrils of her daughter’s chestnut brown hair from her face, “...he will not let a strand on either of your perfect little heads be touched, not by anyone... ok?” Each of them nuzzled into Isabella shoulders as they cried, struggling to understand what was going on. Their cries echoed throughout the dark, cold cells as Isabella rocked them back and forth to try to comfort them. She began to sing to them “Bailaba la niña alegre, en una noche estrellada. Movíase al son del aire, bajo la luna de plata. ¡Cómo bailaba la niña! ¡Cómo la niña bailaba!” She sang this song to her children every night before they went to sleep. “Cómo la niña bailaba...” she whispered as they sat in the darkness, only each other for heat and comfort.

Sucking in his cheeks, Leo proudly marched himself into Parliament, his sea green eyes scanned the room as he saw the Laurentian military gathered and standing to attention as he, Drake and Liam walked into the room. The crowd bowed as Javier stood next to him, “¡Atención!” he bellowed, “His Royal Highness, King Leo... The Queen and Royal family are still in the Laurentian Palace; we must fight together to reinstate normality...” Leo raised his hand stopping Javier in his tracks, “Sorry my friend... if I may?” Javier nodded as Leo addressed the many factions of military gathered, “I know I have no right to request; but my wife, your Queen and my children are under that roof. My wife has dedicated her life to you all, our daughters and son will do the same. This coup has came to our shores because of a self fulfilling prophecy embarked upon by those who were fantasists... Cordonian militants who I am ashamed to have called family once upon a time and have desecrated our home. I stand before you as a husband and a father to ask for your help to overthrow this madness...” Leo stood proud and tall as the military dropped to their knee pledging their allegiance. “For King and Queen!” their chants filled the Parliament building as Leo looked over his shoulder towards Drake and Liam winking at them as he smiled.

To blend in, all three Cordonian men were dressed in the same green military uniform as the others. Leo and Javier stood side by side as they reviewed the blueprints of the Laurentian Palace surrounded by Generals, Admirals and Royal Guard Commanders. “We make use of blocking the tunnel system as much as we can...” Leo’s voice was strong and authoritative, “The tunnels run from the Palace directly to here. The airforce and navy teams can help block off these tunnels, and work with the coast guard to review the ports...” Leo pointed towards the blueprint, “The army will surround the Palace as the marines and Royal guard will clear the entrances... allowing smaller factions of the army to follow behind... the main priority is to find the Queen and children to ensure their safety... the youngest according ton intelligence states they are with the maids, so should still be in the nursery...” The men gathered around the table nodded in agreement to the plan until they were interrupted by the banging against the Parliament Chamber door. Leo’s sea green eyes flickered to a shade of blue as he raised his brow before nodding allowing the heavy reinforced door to be opened. Jimena and Matthew stood with their hands raised as hundreds of rifles were pointed in their direction until Leo called them to a halt. The Laurentian lady in waiting was not pleased, her lips pursed as she confronted Leo, “Took you long enough!” Jimena barked as Leo chuckled, “I can’t teleport...” he looked over her shoulder and smiled towards the Englishman stood behind her, “New boyfriend?” Jimena bit down and tried her hardest not to giggle, “No... this is Lord Devereaux... Isabella’s lawyer...” Leo’s smile wavered as he looked the English Nobleman up and down, “I see...” he replied dryly, “Your services Lord Devereaux... are no longer required...”

#TheRoyalRomance #Choices #Leo x Isabella #King Liam #Drake Walker #King Leo #Playchoices #Trr #TRH #Choices fanfiction

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blossom-hwa · 4 years

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jeongin!!

My last request for the quillstarters writing challenge :) The wikipedia article I used was about the Prince Rupert/Seal Cove Water Aerodrome.

If anyone else wants to send an NCT/SKZ member in, requests aren’t closed!

Word count: 549

. . . . .

It’s strange, Jeongin thinks in a daze, how events he only ever thought he’d read about in books can bleed into reality. His fingers clench around the plane’s controls, his teeth gritted together.

He’s so close. He has to get back. He has to.

Fly the plane, Jeongin. Fly the plane.

The back of the plane rattles terribly. Jeongin’s sure he hears someone yelp – it sounds a little high-pitched, it’s probably Jisung – and if this were just another patrol or joyride, Jeongin would be hearing the rest of his crew teasing Jisung and his weak heart. He’d probably be smiling too.

But it’s not. Everything is too real. And even though Jisung may have a heart of glass, he’s shouldered a strong burden and done his job. So have all his friends.

Now it’s Jeongin’s turn to do his.

Fly the plane.

His eyes begin to water as he keeps them open too long, straining his vision to catch even the faintest glimpse of a beacon telling him where he is. The clouds are too thick, the window too obscured – he can’t afford to break concentration.

But he can’t give up. Not for him. Not for his friends. Not for you.

At the thought of your smiling face, his heart nearly breaks. He has to get back. If only for you.

He fights to keep the plane level in the air as he strains for anything over his radio, anything in his line of sight. He wants to hear your voice, crackling smooth over the airwaves, giving him coordinates, wind speed, anything. He wants to hear you say “Prince Rupert Aerodrome” in your calm, wireless operator’s tones, telling him he’s back at home.

The plane takes another turn and Jeongin nearly screams. Dimly, in the back of his mind, he makes a promise.

If I make it out of this, I will ask Y/N to marry me.

Perhaps it’s a hasty promise. Perhaps he’s making a mistake. But all he knows in this moment is that if he doesn’t hear your voice or see your face one more time before his time is up, he will die a broken man.

He’s so wrapped up in his thoughts that he almost doesn’t hear the crackling of the radio. He almost doesn’t hear your voice speaking, finally responding to his calls for help.

“Prince Rupert Aerodrome. Pilot Yang –”

When he does, he nearly sobs.

It takes twenty extra minutes in the hell that is the cloudy sky to finally land. The plane is practically in pieces, his crew can barely unglue themselves from the supports they were hanging on to, and Jeongin can hardly stumble out of the cockpit.

But then he sees you sprinting over, looking panicked and worried and relieved all at once in your simple uniform, and Jeongin thinks he’s never seen a more beautiful sight when you crash into him, arms squeezing the air out of his lungs. His weak hands go up to clutch at the shirt covering your back.

“Marry me,” he finally chokes once you’ve loosened your hold. A tear slips down his cheek and blends with the ones you’re shedding onto his shirt. “Marry me, Y/N.”

He stays conscious just long enough to hear the muffled “yes” you breathe into his chest.

#quillstarters-entry #stray kids #skz #stray kids scenarios #jeongin #kpop #angst #drabble #scriptura-delirus #heavily inspired by code name verity #definitely not accurate at all though

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deniseevans796-blog · 5 years

Text

9 Things To Keep In Mind When Buying A Used Car Online

It’s an extremely digitized world wherever what may be done on-line is being done on-line. The additional convenience of on-line looking extends to purchasing cars likewise, particularly used cars. positive you'll be able to tack together and pre-order a replacement automobile from a manufacturer’s web site however once you’re trying to shop for a second-hand automobile, it’s a small amount a lot of difficult. whereas there area unit reliable sites for locating reliable used cars at smart costs, loads of individuals visit alternative websites likewise to seek outbound forms of deals that leave them hospitable risk.

Here area unit a number of the foremost vital things to stay in mind once trying to shop for a second-hand automobile online:

Don’t Get Baited

Like with several things on the web nowadays, you wish to be cautious of false statements. this is applicable within the case of shopping for a pre-owned automobile likewise. don't decide to get only supported photos provided by the vendor. Also, once you’re meeting the potential merchandiser or customer, do therefore in a very public place like a mall, a park, within a gated society, etc.

If the vendor doesn't would like to speak or meet personally and solely communicates via text or email, take into account this a red flag. Another sign of attainable risk is that if the vendor mentions that they don’t have the automobile with them.

Personal examination

Make sure you do your checks to verify that it's a constant model that's publicized and doesn’t have any hidden harm. you'll be able to additionally consult AN external automobile skilled before finalizing the acquisition to assist verify the condition of the automobile. {be sure|make certain|make sure|take automobilee} to in-person examine the car in question as typically even AN skilled could overlook a user-oriented concern.

Sometimes the false claims transcend the vehicle as folks on-line could incorrectly advertise UN agency they're and their profession to extort cash from you. A merchandiser could faux to be AN NRI/expat or maybe a diplomat UN agency has left the country ANd claims that the automobile is placed at an aerodrome cargo-hold or car park. Therefore, the shammer would raise the client to pay aerodrome shipment charges ahead to ascertain the automobile or have it delivered.

Another common fraud to gather advance payments for non-existent charges is once a merchandiser could cause as a member of the defense force, aka, Army, Navy or Air Force. The shammer could even share a service ID card with rank ANd post to come back across as a legitimate merchandiser and elicit an advance to induce entry into the military camp or another fictitious expense.

In any case, don't build advance payments while not plus delivery, particularly since cars don't seem to be stable property and legit logistical charges may be cross-verified by you likewise.

Document Verification

The transfer of possession of an automobile may be a well-documented method if done lawfully. As such, you need to perpetually check all necessary documents to create positive they're so as before finishing the group action. However, watch out for false documents as they'll be convincingly real, therefore exercise additional caution or request counsel from a trustworthy skilled.

Also, to retell from a point, don't build advance payments till you're happy with the genuineness of the automobile, the vendor and therefore the purchase.

Ask for Identification

It is a standard enough incidence wherever a customer meets a merchandiser UN agency isn't the particular owner of the vehicle. To be sure, you ought to check for documents and ID that verify that the vendor you’re meeting will so own the vehicle that's on sale. Of course, exercise this step with a precise degree of there for special tactfulness to not risk violative a real merchandiser. If the person movement because the individual merchandiser isn't the listed owner of the automobile on sale, abort the group action and leave.

Check the Car’s History

When shopping for a second-hand automobile on-line, check to create positive you're on a verified web site that additionally incorporates an elaborated history of the cars on sale. It ought to embody data like total mileage, range of previous house owners, any involvement in a very major accident and a lot of.

Check the guarantee Report

If you’re shopping for from an internet site that focuses on the commercialism of pre-owned cars, check for certified listings. Trained and qualified engineers do a 217-point examination before giving the automobile a TrustMark guarantee. it's a handy thanks to allaying your doubts regarding the condition of the automobile.

Beware of written agreement Scams

When you send cash to AN authentic written agreement company and it seems to be a pretend web site, that’s AN written agreement scam. a straightforward thanks to establishing these forms of sites is after they have cars listed for costs that area unit too smart to be real and area unit among a credible back story for why the vendor is trying to induce obviate it quick. the vendor would raise you to send the money to AN written agreement company and by the time you understand its pretend, they’ve disappeared while not a trace.

Compare costs Across Sites

Just like shopping for something on-line, you’d check multiple sites to ascertain wherever you'll be able to get the simplest deal. however once it involves pre-owned cars, scrutiny costs also can assist you to establish potential frauds once you bump into a deal that feels like a good steal. don't admit defeat to the temptation of saving millions of cash and in most cases, you ought to stop considering it altogether.

It is a standard incidence that if you get up-to-date with a merchandiser wherever the automobile is obtainable for AN implausibly low worth, they'll say that the deal is not any longer out there and elicit the next worth than publicized. The low costs may additionally be a touch of the automobile laid low with mechanical issues that will not be visible on the surface. within the case of false list evaluation, you'll be able to attempt to report these sellers to the relevant authorities.

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SPARK PLUG

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SHOCK ABSORBER

EXHAUST SYSTEM

WIPER BLADES

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AXLE BALL JOINTS & RUBBER BOOTS

#audi service #audi repair #audi service dubai #audi service center

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onwesterlywinds · 5 years

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Linini Mooglesworn: Well, I suppose we don't have much to go on, do we? This will be difficult. Sylvan Rain looks down to her companion after scanning the area around them; smiling, she sighs. Sylvan Rain: I apologize if I'm little more use than some muscle, my friend. Linini Mooglesworn: All will be fine. We shall not falter. Though Rosenheim is the sort who cannot be found if he so wishes it, I am the sort of woman who is used to sniffing out all sorts of criminals.

Sylvan Rain: Hopefully my aetheric sense will be of some help to you. Linini Mooglesworn: I suspect it would! Are you familiar with our quarry's aether? Sylvan Rain: Each aetheric signature is unique in a way. It sort of... It speaks to you, in a way. Has its own voice. Linini Mooglesworn gazes upon Sylvan Rain in deep reflection. Linini Mooglesworn: Yue calls those auras. And I mean no offense to you, but I have heard quite enough of my own from her, so I will not ask of my aether's 'voice.' Do you sense anything of him now? Sylvan Rain steps forward and briefly scans the area again. Her eyes flutter closed and she takes in a deep breath as she reaches out to the aether. Sylvan Rain senses a general direction - north - but there is a crush of bodies in between her and her quarry, which makes getting a definitive read rather difficult. Sylvan Rain quickly looks to the north and then back to Linini Mooglesworn, noticing how much traffic is between them and what she sensed. Sylvan Rain: To the north, but... seems like we might have to push our way through. Linini Mooglesworn lets out a light grunt. Linini Mooglesworn: Hmph. Very well. It is raining by the time they leave the city's aerodrome, with Ivaan Arkwright scouting the city from above. The streets are made of dark stone, lined with metal thanks to the Garleans, and the vast majority of those in view are Garleans in uniform. Any native Dalmascans the pair see - Seeq, Bangaa, some Hyur - are almost certainly laborers. Linini Mooglesworn hates how out of place she and Sylvan look. Sylvan Rain: I could very well toss most of these people aside but I imagine that would not help our cause... Linini Mooglesworn: Yes, I suspect that would draw a bit of unwanted attention. You know he is north of us - but is he far? As Ivaan Arkwright returns, the party sense acutely that they are already being watched. In fact, it becomes clear that Valnain, far more than Rabanastre, /feels/ as Ala Mhigo did during its occupation: its occupants have learned to keep an eye on everything in their own vicinity, and to report any signs of trouble so as to relieve themselves of suspicion. Sylvan Rain looks back to Linini Mooglesworn, a look of surprise on her face when she sensed him so clearly just a moment ago. Sylvan Rain: Close... /very/ close. And I do not think we've gone unnoticed. Linini Mooglesworn: We can keep in touch via linkpearl. Sylvan Rain doesn't look back to either of them and instead quietly activates her linkpearl. Sylvan Rain: Put some distance, but let's keep in sight of one another. Ivaan Arkwright nods, quietly tapping on his before heading off. Linini Mooglesworn decides to trust in the Riskbreakers' linkshell encryptions as she makes her way north through the city, though using a more winding route than before. Sylvan Rain isn't actually shopping for anything, but she does take some genuine interest in the wares of this place. Every now and then, as she browses, she takes the opportunity to survey the area and who might be around; she smiles here and there, admiring the scenery and casually mutters to the linkpearl. Sylvan Rain: Have I mentioned I do not like being watched by unknown parties? Linini Mooglesworn: I cannot say I am not used to it, as a Brass Blade in Ul'dah. Ivaan Arkwright: Never has been a favorite of mine. Ivaan Arkwright pretends to rub his mouth with the palm of his hand to mask the movement of his lips. Linini Mooglesworn is trying to wade through a crowd of much taller people who are /not/ used to having to walk around many Lalafell. Sylvan Rain is soon observing the ships in the port, searching for any sign of something that might have stuck out to her. She puts on a fairly good appearance of someone pretending to admire the various ships. There's one ship which seems to be gathering more imperial attention than usual: several Garlean soldiers, not laborers, are working to load the ship. It could be important, or it could be nothing. Ivaan Arkwright, having found nothing of interest on his end, begins casually ambling roughly in the same direction he had seen Sylvan Rain and Linini Mooglesworn head in. Sylvan Rain notices the ship with a few Garlean soldiers and goes no further. As they hadn't seen her yet she continues to admit ships further down from them. Sylvan Rain: I've found some friends.. The Imperial kind. Linini Mooglesworn takes this to mean that Sylvan Rain had found a situation that could or already has led to combat, since their 'Imperial friends' were all throughout the city. Linini Mooglesworn: Do you need backup? Sylvan Rain purses her lips a bit and makes a sound as if she's thinking. Sylvan Rain: Mmm, no. They haven't seen me. I'm a ways away from them. They're loading a ship. Ivaan Arkwright kneels down, and sets about tightening his boot laces. Ivaan Arkwright: Loading? Anything of interest? Metal crates. A Bangaa approaches, gesturing angrily, and a Garlean hits her over the head with the pommel of his sword. Linini Mooglesworn comes upon an alleyway that is quieter than the street, and stops there for a moment to take a break from all the jostling pedestrians. Sylvan Rain steals a look at where Ivaan Arkwright was in proximity to herself before opening contact between the three of them again. Sylvan Rain: I can't tell what it is from here. Ivaan, do you think you could manage to survey from above unseen? All I can see from here is metal crates and-- Sylvan Rain: ...Bastard hit her. Linini Mooglesworn senses her sudden shift in tone. Linini Mooglesworn: Do not get involved. Do not endanger the mission. Sylvan Rain: I know better than that... Linini Mooglesworn closes her eyes. Linini Mooglesworn takes a deep breath. Linini Mooglesworn: I know. Apologies... I hate it too. The injustice of it all... Ivaan Arkwright: I will need to find a secluded place to take off from, and a place to aim for. If you can spot a place I could land without drawing attention? I can give it a try. Callous as it may sound, this Bangaa might provide the distraction I need. Linini Mooglesworn wants in part - the part most susceptible to the stone's influence - to intervene. Sylvan Rain: At least the weather is on your side. Take extra care before you leap. Linini Mooglesworn steps further down the alleyway, reasoning that Rosenheim would be the sort of man to explore the shadier places around town. Ivaan Arkwright rises to his knees, and sets off down the alley. He searches for any nook or cranny he could use to hide while he hops onto the roof of the building he is adjacent to. Sylvan Rain: When it comes to Rosenheim... I do not know him well enough. You could offer more there than I could, I think. Linini Mooglesworn has a hunch that he has gone down that alley, but no definitive proof. Linini Mooglesworn: I do not know the man well myself. Only what I have gleaned from Edge. Ivaan Arkwright: No time. Ivaan Arkwright is too exposed, with no time to aim for anywhere else. Kicking off, he aims over the largest swath of the docks he can cover... aiming to land in the sea. He is a strong swimmer. Should be fine, right? Linini Mooglesworn looks around. Ivaan Arkwright manages to land behind the ship without being noticed. He can see little; the rain suddenly picks up. At least he isn't seen. A gasp and a sputtering of water can be heard as he rises to the surface. Ivaan Arkwright: Augh... I am afraid it was wasted effort. I saw little more than I could from the ground. I am going to head back to land. Linini Mooglesworn looks down the alleyway, looking for any evidence of Rosenheim's presence. A sound comes from further north: a great temple bell, clanging loudly. From a distant part of the city, a column of smoke trails upward. Linini Mooglesworn: Sylvan. Do you sense anything from over there? Sylvan Rain senses that Rosenheim's presence seems to be coming from near the smoke. Ivaan Arkwright hauls himself out of the sea, climbing up one of the ladders at the end of a pier. Looking off at the smoke and the sound of the bell, he waits for Sylvan's reply. Sylvan Rain turns toward the sudden sound of the bell; when she reaches out to the aether, there is an immediate presence by the pillar of smoke. Sylvan Rain: He's nearby there. Let's hurry. Keep distance, but stay within sight. Linini Mooglesworn glances at the temple as she rushes toward the column of smoke. As the party approach, the buildings in this area become much more nicer, much more well-maintained - and the people along the street, from Garlean nobles to laborers, stop and stare in surprise. Every soldier runs toward the blaze. Linini Mooglesworn: A diversion from something else, you think? Sylvan Rain: Maybe. Garleans are certainly on the move... Ivaan Arkwright heads off towards the temple, keeping a decent distance from the others and dripping wet with seawater. The party enter into what can only be a residential district - for the Garlean elite only. Yet so too, at the end of the main thoroughfare, is there a building reinforced with Garlean steel, around which soldiers and magitek are working to put out the blaze. Linini Mooglesworn is unsure of whether or not the fire is a diversion from something greater; she reaches into her cloak and grasps the stone, slightly warm to the touch. She deactivates her linkpearl momentarily. Linini Mooglesworn: Auracite, I beseech thee... what is your judgment? Where do I go? To which way do the scales tip? Sylvan Rain suddenly senses a strange yet familiar sensation crawls over her. An auracite? Linini Mooglesworn opens her eyes and clicks on the linkpearl again, her voice level and oddly detached. Linini Mooglesworn: A powerful being looms ahead. An arbiter of justice... here. In that Garlean building. Sylvan Rain says nothing about what she sensed but has a good idea of what had just happened. Sylvan Rain: Any ideas on how we get in? Ivaan Arkwright decides now is not the time to stress his misgivings about the auracite: it has been used, and nothing horrible has happened. Keeping Sylvan's red jacket in his periphery, he too draws closer, looking like just another bystander gawking at the scene. Linini Mooglesworn maneuvers around the crowd to the rear of the building, away from the fire. The blaze begins to spread, growing larger; the bystanders nearby don't seem to want to be caught looking at the building, but they are whispering amongst themselves. Linini Mooglesworn looks at the western wing, where she felt the presence strongest, and searches for a safe entrance. A door into the building lies ajar. Sylvan Rain follows close behind, keeping an eye out for any Garleans. Sylvan Rain: If any imperials show an interest in us I'll make quick work on them, but not until we're seen. Ivaan Arkwright: Agreed; let us not blow our own cover.

#Phantom Pains RISK #Linini Mooglesworn #Sylvan Rain #Ivaan Arkwright

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tsaomengde · 6 years

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What Is Owed (3)

(Part 1) (Part 2)

After a night on the stone floor of the guest quarters given her by the King, Alia is awakened by the appearance of a serving woman. The woman takes one look at her and says, “Is there an issue with the bed of which I need be made aware, milady?”

With a low growl, Alia sits up. Her head hurts, her mouth is dry, and everything is too bright and too loud. This is not atypical of her mornings, but she is still in no mood for visitors. “No.”

“Milady, then why –”

Alia climbs stiffly to her feet, turns, and sits down on the edge of the bed.

There are low, ominous creaking noises, followed by sounds of splintering. She keeps eye contact with the serving woman, watching the horror and understanding blossom on her face, wondering if she will demand Alia stand up before the frame cracks completely through or if decorum will win out and keep her silent.

“Milady, please! I do beg your pardon. Spare the bed my foolishness. I was told you were consecrated of Yeda, but I thought not what it might bode.”

Alia pushes off the balls of her feet, impressed. The bed holds, and assuming its next inhabitant weighs less than she does, she doubts there will be an issue. “So, my good maid. Are you here to insist I bathe and change my clothes once more, or simply to ensure that I am awake for our departure?”

Her intruder actually cracks a small smile. “I heard tell of your grand entrance yesternight, milady. May I remark that none amongst us are over-fond of Nadia.”

Alia puts on a shocked look. “It surpasses me to envisage why.”

“To make an answer to your question, milady, the good ship Astes does depart in two hours. It was thought you might desire to make acquaintance with His Highness Prince Andral aforetime.”

Considering the proposition of sleeping for another hour, Alia is sorely tempted to just tell this woman to go away. But she decides that if she is going to be stuck on a skyship for two weeks with this boy and his retinue, she should make the attempt to ensure the voyage is not too unpleasant. That probably involves talking to him at least once.

This, she decides, can be the once, if once it indeed is.

“I must refresh and make myself ready,” she says. “You may wait for me outside. Then I will go with you to the Prince.”

That interaction temporarily concluded, Alia goes and carefully uses the indoor toilet. It is not a thing she is used to, but the maid has done somewhat to soften Alia’s feelings toward the Palace staff after her encounter with Nadia, and consequently she feels little desire to make their lives difficult. Across from the indoor toilet there is a basin, and some device of smooth, curved marble which brings forth cold, clear water into it. A recent invention, she knows; the last time she was in this Palace, some twenty years ago, none of the guest quarters had anything like it. She does not know what they are called or how they work.

Alia splashes some of the water onto her face, and drinks some until she feels refreshed. The water is somewhat brackish, but it is serviceable.

Feeling slightly more human, she allows the serving woman to lead her up through winding staircases and steeply sloped halls to the Palace aerodrome. It is an ambitious space that also did not exist twenty years ago; Stryga has added much to the Palace since his coronation, it seems. The top of the tower has essentially been sliced off, and a steel floor the size of a city block has been laid flat atop it. Tall, arched pillars of black stone rise out of the floor high into the air, supporting a glass dome lined with airsteel struts. The structure is truly massive, capable of engulfing even the largest skyships.

Alia knows this construction is not just for its own sake; though she is mostly uninformed about the mechanics of skyship flight, she does know the conventional wisdom that it is easier to climb than descend. Most aerodromes are constructed as high up as possible, and this one is no exception.

The aerodrome could accommodate several vessels the size of Astes, which is the kingdom’s largest civilian skyship, but it is currently the only one docked. Alia quietly wonders at the wisdom of not sending the Prince aboard a military craft, but then considers the prospect of Oallans breaking the surface of the waves to look up at a vast floating fortress bearing down on them. Friendly hands behind the guns or no, Alia knows firsthand the experience of looking up into the sky and seeing the black mouth of a hellcannon gaping down back at her.

The Astes is like a silvery dart, chopped in half along its horizontal length so it is flat-topped, and then magnified to several times the size of a red whale. At a glance, Alia estimates it can hold seventy people, including the crew, and several tons of cargo. More people could take the place of cargo in its hold, but she has been aboard enough skyships to know that they would not be comfortable. She notes the cunning concealment of its heat vents in the craft’s smooth lines, its broad windows, the lack of any visible armament. Like most civilian skyships, it has no top deck, containing the crew and passengers entirely within its hull.

Ramps extend from the ship’s belly, its bow, and its stern. Men in grey and brown uniforms are loading cargo through the belly ramp, while occasional knots of colorfully-clad civilian passengers – noblepersons, merchants, and artisans, Alia guesses – embark through the stern ramp. The bow ramp seems reserved for the ship’s crew, and is unused, at least for the moment.

Prince Andral and his retainers are standing at the base of the bow ramp, apparently having a discussion with the Astes’s captain, an older woman in sharp blue trousers and doublet. Andral is only slightly taller than Alia, sharp-featured, imperially slim. His skin is a shade lighter than his father’s, though still rich and coppery; his charcoal hair is long, braided, and gathered in a knot at the base of his skull to hang between his shoulder blades. He wears a smart beard, neatly trimmed. Instead of the traditional doublet and trousers, he favors a long, white overcoat, a green waistcoat and breeches, black hose, and thick-soled, practical boots.

The serving woman bids Alia goodbye and scurries off. Alia watches her go, wondering at the seeming suddenness of her departure, then shrugs it off and heads for the Prince.

As she draws closer, Alia can hear what he is saying to the captain. His voice is controlled and precise. “I desire no special regard aboard ship, Captain. I require only that we come to Oalla as soon as may be.”

The captain shifts her weight from one foot to another, clearly uncomfortable. “Your Highness, by this do you mean we must make course for Oalla first, letting our other destinations fall by the wayside until such time as we have discharged our duty to you?”

Andral crosses one arm over his belly, rests the elbow of the other atop the first, stroking his chin thoughtfully. “How much time might be gained if you should do this thing?”

“Perhaps five days, Your Highness.”

“I sense reluctance. Wherefore?”

The captain looks down at her feet. “Spoilage of certain goods we have taken aboard ship, Your Highness. The rancor of certain travelers whose passage we secured with promises of swift deliverance to journey’s terminus.”

“Gold may serve to assuage such rancor and soothe the sting of goods lost.” Andral snaps his fingers, and one of his retinue, a middle-aged woman wearing the flowing robes of a scribe and numerologist, steps forward. In one hand she holds a sheaf of paper, in the other a bloodquill. “You may relate your potential losses to Ora, here. My father will make recompense to you upon your return.”

Alia sighs. She was so hoping this might not be painful.

Clearing her throat, she speaks up. “Your Highness,” she says. “I think that an ill turn.”

Expression clouding, Andral whirls and scans her from head to toe in one glance. “Who are you that should assume to dictate thus to me?”

“Alia the Steelblooded,” she replies, not liking to use her full title but knowing she needs moral authority here and hoping that martial authority will do instead. “His August Majesty King Stryga has charged me with your protection on this voyage. To that end, I must caution you against this. You risk the displeasure of the crew and your fellow passengers. The captain cannot say these things to you, but I may.”

Andral narrows his eyes, which for the first time Alia realizes are an unusually light shade of hazel. “You presume much upon your relationship with my father, it seems.”

“I hope not overmuch.” Alia holds that bright gaze, not flinching. She is as far from afraid of Andral as it is possible to be without being actively contemptuous. He is, after all, just a boy, not even twenty years old yet. She vaguely recalls people in the streets discussing the ceremony of his coming of age, some months ago, but that does not make a boy a man.

With a slight sigh, Andral looks back at the captain. “Should I heed the words of Alia the Steelblooded, Captain? Speak freely, with no fear of rebuke.”

“Were I in your place, Your Highness,” the captain says, still looking at her feet, “I should be mindful of her most excellent advisement.”

Andral looks back at Alia, holds her gaze a moment longer, then inclines his head. “So shall it be, then. I thank you for your wise counsel, Alia the Steelblooded. Take sup with me this eve in my cabin.”

Pursing her lips, Alia nods, deciding to ignore the peremptory tone. He did thank her, after all, and she does not want to strain things any more. “Until then, Your Highness.”

He turns away with a sweep of his long coat and marches straight up the bow ramp, his attendants scurrying to keep up.

“I must extend my sincerest gratitude, milady,” the captain murmurs quietly once Andral is aboard.

Alia switches to the merchants’ jargon. “Royalty are hippos. Large mouths, large wakes, many attendant little birds.”

That gets a chuckle out of the captain. “And fierce tempers. And no patience. And a large number so dumb they shit where they eat.”

“This one is a little smart. He sees when he is being dumb, with help.”

“Aye. Gratitude again. You are welcome on my boat.” The captain gives her shoulder a squeeze Alia does not feel, and turns to go.

Alia does not initially intend to stop her. But she eyes the bow ramp, considering the prospect of dinner with Andral that evening. “Captain,” she says, switching back to Fillorel. “Before you away, there is a question I would ask.”

“Yes, milady?”

“In which part of your vessel do you keep the bar?”

#what is owed #my writing #fantasy

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kellyryder183632-blog · 6 years

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Backchannel, ‘Dracula’ avail dislodge Utah piece in Venezuela

President Washington (AP) - A clandestine backchannel led by a veteran Party Senate staffer and a royal poinciana Venezuelan official nicknamed "Dracula" bust through and through hostile relations betwixt the deuce governments to good the passing of American captive Josue Holt, World Health Organization traveled to the To the south North American country area for have it away and all over up in jail, without a trial, for two age. A workweek ago the chances of Holt's longsighted trial by ordeal close any clock time presently looked melt off. ot the evening of Venezuela's English hawthorn 20 head of state election, the Utah indigen appeared in a clandestinely guesswork video from incarcerate railing against Nicolas Maduro's government, expression his sprightliness had been threatened in a prison bacchanal. In retaliation, he was branded the CIA's snoop stamp in Latin United States by the capitulum of the opinion socialist company. Hours sooner Maduro expelled the cover North American country diplomatist all over the refusal of the U.S. to recognize his re-election. President Donald Trump, arcsecond from right, speaks as he sits with Joshua Holt, remaining WHO was late discharged from a prison in Venezuela, with Sen. Shilling Corker, R-Tenn., right, and others, in the Egg-shaped Role of the Whitened House, Saturday, May 26, 2018, in Washington. (AP Photo/Alex Brandon) But the arrival in Capital of Venezuela on Friday of Sen. Shilling Corker, R-Tenn., president of the U.S. Senate Foreign Dealings Committee, led to a surprise breakthrough. Maduro handed over Holt and his wife, Thamara Caleno, to Corker in what his political science aforementioned was a good will gesture to encourage dialog and common abide by between the deuce antipathetical governments. Holt, 26, traveled to Capital of Venezuela in June 2016 to get married a associate Mormon he had met Poker Online patch looking at to meliorate his Spanish. The brace was wait for Caleno's U.S. visa when they were in remission at her family's flat in a governing lodging complex for what the U.S. reasoned trumped-up charges of stockpiling an attack pillage and grenades. Although Corker sealed the batch in a few strain hours in Venezuela's collapsing, crime-filled capital, the force to plug Holt's vent began months sooner by Corker's exceed Latin Earth policy aide, Caleb McCarry, World Health Organization both Corker and Sen. Orrin Hatch, R-Utah, credited with leading the painstaking, behind-the-scenes negotiations. McCarry leveraged a 15-year-honest-to-god family relationship with Maduro from their clock unitedly in the Bean Town Group, an loose gather from across the opinion spectrum - Democrats, Republicans, socialists and capitalists - from both countries that worked discreetly to renovate relations 'tween the deuce countries next a coup in 2002 against then-Chairwoman Victor Hugo Chavez. Relationships defined in the now-defunct aggroup were too subservient in securing the firing of some other North American country accused of spying, infotainment movie maker Tim Tracy, who dog-tired a calendar month in a Venezuelan jug in 2013. McCarry on the Q.T. travelled to Venezuela in February to discuss Holt's immurement with Maduro and first of all lady Cilia Flores. The U.S. Embassy was unbroken at an arm's length, for venerate of derailing the talks, although the maiden was backed up by Undersecretary of Country Doubting Thomas Shannon, World Health Organization as well knew Maduro from his years as political officer in Caracas at the beginning of Hugo Chavez's rotation in the 1990s, various elder U.S. officials aforementioned. Holding McCarry's bridge player passim the touchy dialogue was "Dracula" - Rafael Lacava, the regulator of cardinal Carabobo State and a trusted friend of Maduro WHO as well was tight to the Boston Group members. Shortly subsequently McCarry's visit, Lacava traveled to Washington D.C. in Adjoin to address with various lawmakers including Hatch, Corker, Sen. Jeff Flake, R-Ariz., and Repp. Ed Royce, R-Kalif., according to several fourth-year U.S. officials. Whole the officials in agreement to hash out inside information of the negotiations solitary on circumstance of namelessness. However, later parole of Lacava's chaffer was leaked by Sen. Marco Rubio, R-Fla., World Health Organization has Trump's ear on policy toward Venezuela, the giving medication refused to take on with Maduro's envoi. Rubio warned that Lacava, World Health Organization embraces the soubriquet Dracula for his habits of tweeting and patrolling round his Department of State belated at Night in a Batmobile-the like vehicle, was reportedly Byzantine in money laundering, fashioning him to a fault toxic for a White Theatre bended on operose so much felonious activity. When The Connected Fight reported on the politically fraught backchannel in March, few notional it would come after. Speculation swirled that the government activity was demanding an all-but-inconceivable captive switch for Flores' deuce nephews, WHO in 2016 were condemned in Young House of York of dose trafficking, afterwards it was enlightened that a government-connected Venezuelan mogul was gainful Holt's sound fees as intimately as those of the men branded the "narco-nephews." At the Same time, the Outdo giving medication was intensifying a effort to keep apart Venezuela's government, sanctionative wads of officials - including Maduro - for man rights abuses and dose trafficking spell ominous a Sir Thomas More incapacitating banish on oil colour shipments. \Nan official with the Home Security department Council in a bad way that nada had been offered to secure Holt's discharge. Chief Executive Donald Best establish prohibited Friday that Holt would be released, said the official, who was not authorised to utter publically and requested anonymity. Secretary of Submit Microphone Pompeo, patch welcoming Holt's release, stressed that "U.S. policy toward Venezuela remains unchanged." "The United States stands steadfast in support of the Venezuelan people and their efforts to return to democracy," he aforementioned in a financial statement. Alfredo Romero, a attorney World Health Organization defends around of the opposition activists who were held aboard Holt, said that Maduro may be looking for to bring home the bacon over close to view sectors in the U.S. to harden Trump's hardline come near toward Venezuela. "Holt's continued imprisonment was a thorn in the side," he aforesaid. The dialogue were encouraged by Pompeo, who met in camera with Corker on Thursday break of day and finalized inside information of the senator's jaunt forrader of testifying ahead the U.S. Senate Strange Dealings Citizens committee on the Country Department budget. "We're doing all the right things. We have an American there that we desperately want to get back, Joshua Holt. And so know that we are engaged," Pompeo told lawmakers at the audition. The governing of Cuba was too helpful in pressuring Maduro as advantageously as onetime Spanish United States President José Luis Rodríguez Zapatero, unitary functionary aforementioned. Zapatero has been star a three-twelvemonth promote to convey the political science and opposite put together to aid settle Venezuela's system and sentiment crisis. Still, when Corker unexpended for Caracas on Friday it was relieve unreadable if Maduro would conform to through with on his salute to put out Holt, the officials aforesaid. On Saturday, a radiant Lacava could be seen in a video recording embarkment the Venezuelan governance sheet that transported Holt to Washington erosion aviator specs and a iniquity fit. He walked by the tv camera yelling "Dracula on the attack!" and flash a "V for Victory" sign on. In a exposure taken at the airport in Caracas, Holt send away be seen standing aboard Lacava material possession a Venezuela home association football team Jersey emblazoned with the governor's call. There was unitary last-second daunt. Taxiing downward the runway, the skim abruptly slowed and its pilot film off binding the guile to wait into an official document loser. When the once-unimaginable ocean trip resumed Holt had a magnanimous grinning on his face, Corker told Outdo in an Oval Authority coming together Saturday nighttime encircled by the Utah man and his sept. "Probably the only time anybody was ever happy that there was a bad instrument on an airplane," said Outflank. ___ Goodman reported from Bogota, Colombia. Connected Compact writer Catherine of Aragon Lucey contributed to this report. ___ This account has been corrected to hit an erroneous cite to Venezuelan number one madam Celia Flores organism ratified by the Outflank governing body. ADDS Figure OF DAUGHTER - In this fancy provided by the Holt family, Joshua Holt poses for a pic with his wife Thamara and her daughter Jewess Leal, at the airdrome in Caracas, Venezuela, Saturday, Crataegus oxycantha 26, 2018. Confined in Venezuela on weapons charges near deuce eld ago, Holt was released Saturday afterwards a U.S. senator pressed for his exemption in a surprisal group meeting with Prexy Nicolas Maduro. Holt and his wife, World Health Organization also jailed, were reunited with her girl from a late human relationship at Caracas' drome where the trine boarded a chartered flight of stairs to American capital. (Holt menage exposure via AP) Laurie and Jason Holt make it at Ronald Ronald Wilson Reagan Capital of the United States Subject Aerodrome in Arlington, Va., Saturday, May 26, 2018 to suffer their son, Joshua Holt, who is on a flight of stairs to the U.S. Joshua was imprisoned in Venezuela on weapons charges most two geezerhood ago and was released Saturday afterwards U.S. Sen. Curtsy Corker, R-Tenn, pressed for his freedom in a surprisal get together with Venezuelan Chief Executive Nicolas Maduro. (AP Photo/Jose Luis Magana) ADDS Identify OF Girl - In this figure of speech provided by the Holt family, Joshua Holt, his married woman Thamara and her daughter Jewess Leal, display panel a woodworking plane at the drome in Caracas, Venezuela, Saturday, English hawthorn 26, 2018. Captive in Venezuela on weapons charges closely deuce long time ago, Holt was released Sabbatum afterwards a U.S. senator pressed for his freedom in a surprisal merging with Chairperson Nicolas Maduro. Holt and his wife, WHO too jailed, were reunited with her girl from a premature relationship at Caracas' aerodrome where the trey boarded a leased flight of steps to Washington. (Holt kin pic via AP) Advertisement

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craiglotter · 6 years

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Back in March, Jessica and I spent a long weekend away with my folks up at Pinnacle Point Estate in Mossel Bay. Unbeknownst to me, my dad packed in my golf clubs (and by “my golf clubs” I mean a bag filled with clubs donated to me and periodically upgraded every time my brother or dad buys something new), with the intention of putting in a day of golf over the weekend.

Which is exactly what we then did.

The Mossel Bay Golf Club itself is over a hundred years old, having been first established back in 1905 when the course was still positioned at the old aerodrome. The current golf course location came about in 1924 (after the Mossel Bay Municipality made the land available to the club), with its current form the result of a big 1999/2000 re-development that pumped new life into the golf club through the establishment of the surrounding Mossel Bay Golf Estate.

The rebranding and new, modern club facilities worked, with the club now enjoying a very healthy membership and often cited as a major tourist attraction for the town.

Seeing as I only play a round of golf probably once or twice in a year, I was really appreciative of the fact that by some miracle the weather played its part, leaving us to enjoy a cloudless, and, more importantly, windless day, all of which combined rather nicely with the golf course’s already picturesque nature.

That said, I hadn’t even set foot on the course yet before an official pointed out that without a proper golf shirt I wouldn’t be allowed to play. Cue a hasty jog to the Pro Shop situated in the clubhouse, a quick discussion with the helpful store clerks, a rushed swipe of the credit card, and finally the emergence of myself wearing something that was very definitely NOT my usual black.

As with a lot of coastal golf courses, the Mossel Bay golf course is of course very pretty, but for me the icing on the cake was definitely the herd of springbok that happen to call the course home. These guys are obviously very used to all the golf carts and angry men brandishing metal/carbon clubs, because they just lazily move about the various fairways, chewing grass, going for a gallop, or just wistfully looking out towards the sea.

I didn’t get close enough to exactly touch one, but they were definitely close enough to admire!

As for the golf itself, it was as always a mixed day, with the number of okay shots equalling the number of bad shots, with just the occasional great shot thrown in to ensure that you don’t wrap your clubs around a tree or toss them over the next convenient cliff.

(I’m speaking for myself of course. Dad had a pretty decent round on the day).

Nevertheless, it was loads of fun. The customary lunch break was had, I zoomed about in a golf cart, and I hit a lot of balls as hard as I could – seriously, what’s not to enjoy about spending a day doing this?

Also, because Ryan wasn’t there, I actually got the chance to take a few photos without being shouted at or triggering stares of annoyed contempt the whole time! (To be fair though, he just doesn’t like me wasting time if there are other people on the course. Or at least I think that’s the reason that he gets so annoyed with me every time that I whip out the phone when playing a round of golf with them).

So, the photos then:

#gallery-0-5 { margin: auto; } #gallery-0-5 .gallery-item { float: left; margin-top: 10px; text-align: center; width: 14%; } #gallery-0-5 img { border: 2px solid #cfcfcf; } #gallery-0-5 .gallery-caption { margin-left: 0; } /* see gallery_shortcode() in wp-includes/media.php */

In summary, the Mossel Bay golf course is a really pleasant course to play, well suited to casual players like myself and which definitely features some really nice views to take in. That said, from listening to my brother and dad speak about it over time, it certainly sounds like Mossel Bay can get a bit windy out there at times!

(Also, we didn’t just forget about Mom and Jessica for the day – a thank you involving supper at The Sea Gypsey was definitely well received!)

Bonus: In case you are wondering why we didn’t just play at the spectacularly picturesque Pinnacle Point golf course (which by the way, I have played before) seeing as we stay on the estate, the reason is twofold. Firstly, I’m such a casual golfer that the difficulty level of the Pinnacle Point championship golf course makes for an even more frustrating outing that what it should be, and secondly, Pinnacle Point asks a much higher fee to play – as a non club/association member, that visitor fee – around R800 – often feels just a little too steep for my liking.

Related Link: Mossel Bay Golf Club | Mossel Bay

Springbok and a round of Golf at the Mossel Bay Golf Club (2017-03-19) Back in March, Jessica and I spent a long weekend away with my folks up at Pinnacle Point Estate in Mossel Bay.

#garden route #golf #golf cart #golf club #golf course #mossel bay #mossel bay golf club #ronnie lotter #south africa #springbok

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esprit-de-corps-magazine · 7 years

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BILLY AND ME: Growing Up In A Not-So-Ordinary Family

(Volume 24-03)

By Diana Bishop

Believe me, there would have had to be a very good reason for me to go rummaging through my father��s underwear drawer — if you ever saw the sorry state of my father’s underwear, it would speak for itself. Believe it or not, though, that drawer was, for many years, where my family kept my grandfather’s impressive breastplate of First World War medals, now considered some of the most valuable on the planet. In a sense, the underwear drawer is where my relationship with my famous grandfather truly began.

Before digging through the armoire, all I knew about Billy Bishop was what my parents had told me because, sadly, my Grandpa Billy had died when he was just 62. I had been three years old at the time, too young to have any memory of him.

My father tried to appease me with statements like “You were the only baby that your grandfather ever held in his arms.” This only caused me to jump to a number of unsettling conclusions: That my grandfather was not fond of babies. That he had never held my father as a baby. Or that my parents were just saying this to make up for the fact that I would never know him. I hoped that the latter was true.

“When Billy came over for lunch, he would often take a nap afterwards in the guest bedroom and wanted you to sleep in your crib next to him,” my mother added.

Dad said Billy had a special name for me: “the Boobit.”

Why the Boobit, you may ask. Well, it just sounded cute, and my family was always giving people silly names.

The way everyone talked about Billy, though, it was clear he was a god in our family, so I figured that even if I couldn’t see him, Grandpa Billy was always around — like a ghost hiding in the house.

The idea of ghosts seemed normal to me as a child. I would walk into a room or wake up in the middle of the night and feel something filling the space around me. Where the air usually felt light, I could stretch my hands out and feel a fullness or density, which I assumed was something or someone passing by from the invisible world. I was sensitive like that, and it didn’t scare me. In fact, I found it comforting to think there was so much going on that we couldn’t see. It seemed rational to me that even if I could not actually see my grandfather, he was there and always would be — an otherworldly presence to remind me who I am and where I came from.

This phenomenon really came into focus when I was 10 years old and in grade five. I remember putting on a pretty dress one day (probably pink because that was my favourite colour). I had wanted to make sure I looked my absolute best that morning.

My father always dashed off to work early, well before I left for school, so I waited for him to leave; then, while my mother was busy cleaning up the dishes downstairs, I snuck back upstairs into Dad’s den. I had been planning this for a while and was virtually buzzing with anticipation as I opened Dad’s armoire and that underwear drawer I had visited so many times without his knowledge.

My right hand rummaged through the mishmash of socks, undershirts, and briefs until I finally felt the breastplate, which I carefully pulled out, holding it flat, and placed in a brown paper bag. I was careful to wrap the paper around the breastplate, and then I tucked the package securely under my arm.

My school was only two blocks away — a good thing under the circumstances. I felt as if I had stolen the family jewels and that, at any moment, someone might come chasing after me. My father had given my brother and me strict orders never to touch this precious item except when he was around, an order which, being kids, we ignored, sneaking our friends up to look at them every chance we got. I don’t remember my father ever saying I couldn’t take them to school, but it was too late at that point to consider the consequences.

Once I got to school, I put the paper bag on top of my desk and kept my hands firmly over it. I couldn’t wait for my name to be called. I knew my classmates would never guess the remarkable treasure that I had brought to show them.

Fame is a funny thing. If you have it in your family, it can rub off on you. You can feel a little bit famous even if you’ve done nothing to earn it. I certainly did that day.

When I was a child, it didn’t seem all that surprising to me that my grandfather’s impressive breastplate of war medals — 15 in all — were kept in my father’s underwear drawer. It never occurred to me to ask my dad why he kept them hidden away. I surmise that, at the time, he thought it was as safe a place as any. Little did he know …

My class already knew something of Billy Bishop, the war hero, as his name had come up in one of our history lessons in the months before. The teacher had asked us to open our books to a particular page, and there, in the top left-hand corner, was a close-up of a dashing pilot in the cockpit of his plane.

The right side of my grandfather’s face was turned slightly toward the camera, a crinkle at the corner of his eye, just as I would have in the corner of my eyes when I got a little older. The photo was in black and white, but from the brightness and intensity in those eyes, you knew they were a brilliant blue.

Under the picture was the caption — World War I Flying Ace, Billy Bishop! It felt as if my heart leapt out of my chest. I turned to my closest classmate and whispered loudly, “That’s Billy Bishop, my grandfather. MY grandfather!”

The teacher had pointed out the picture to the class and mentioned that I was his granddaughter. It was so unexpected that I just beamed. That’s when I decided that I wouldn’t keep my grandfather’s medals hidden the way my father did, and had taken the risk of sneaking them out of their hiding place and carting them off to school as the highlight of my history project.

When I stood before my class and pulled out my unique show and tell, my classmates did not disappoint, especially the boys. Their eyes opened wide as I laid out Billy Bishop’s legacy — a tapestry of different medals — some shiny, some dull, some silver, gold, and bronze. Each one was attached to a colourful ribbon and arranged one slightly over top of the next in a long, neat row.

I had painstakingly memorized them so that I could confidently name some of them: the Distinguished Service Order; the Military Cross; the Distinguished Flying Cross; the Croix de Guerre; the Legion of Honour; and the most coveted of all, the Victoria Cross, the highest military decoration awarded for valour in the face of the enemy. That one was first on the breastplate, standing out in its elegant simplicity — a dark bronze cross crafted from metal harvested from guns from the Crimean War, hanging from a richly ribbed maroon ribbon.

Emboldened by my powerful prop, I began to tell my class about my Grandfather Billy. I had reread my history book the night before to make sure that I got everything right, but having listened to my family talk about him so often, I knew all the salient points anyway.

“My grandfather got these for his courage and because he shot down 72 planes in the First World War,” I began. “My grandfather was awarded the top medal for bravery.” I pointed out the VC on the breastplate. I took a breath and carried on. “It isn’t as shiny as the others, but it is very special. Very few people in the war ever got one.”

Ploughing on, I said, “The King of England presented it to my grandfather for attacking a German aerodrome and shooting down a bunch of enemy planes. Nobody had ever done that before!”

Once I had finished, my classmates were eager to see the war medals up close. I couldn’t have been more thrilled to have them stand around me as they traced their fingertips over each of them, as I had done so many times, savouring every indentation as if trying to feel Billy’s presence.

When the questions started, I was ready.

“Who was Billy’s archrival?”

“The Red Baron!” I exclaimed enthusiastically, as I knew my class had probably heard about the German ace — I was hoping nobody would ask me to pronounce his real name, Manfred Von Richthofen, though. “He was the top-scoring pilot of World War One, who shot down 80 planes.”

“Did your grandfather ever fight the Red Baron?” another of my classmates asked.

“Yes, but they were both such good fighters that neither was able to shoot the other down,” I replied. (This is what I believed to be true from our family lore. Billy had penned in his autobiography, Winged Warfare, that he had once encountered the Red Baron in a dogfight; however, some historians have questioned the encounter, and there is no corroborating record of it.)

A few years later, when kids would ask me this same question, I was able to add, “My grandfather was like Snoopy,” knowing everyone was by then familiar with Charles Shultz’s Peanuts comic strip that portrayed Snoopy the dog as a First World War pilot, adorned with goggles and a white scarf and taking on the German flying ace from atop his doghouse. Except that, I pointed out, my grandfather didn’t like to wear goggles; he insisted he could see better without them.

The last question a classmate asked me that day was “Did you know your grandfather? What was he like?”

Of course, I had to tell them that I didn’t know him, but it left so much unsaid. How could I tell them that Billy Bishop was all around me? That I considered him my own personal superhero, one of the good guys who, I believed, watched over me — not to mention dashing and handsome like a movie star (Canadian writer Pierre Berton once said that Billy Bishop had the face of Paul Newman and the body of James Cagney).

I delighted in poring over our family photographs of Billy, most of which were kept in a couple of worn albums — the old-fashioned ones with the black pages in which black-and-white pictures were held in place by those maddening little corner flaps. We had originals of the official war photos of my grandfather that are now part of the public domain — Billy posing in the cockpit of his First World War biplane, aiming his Lewis gun into the heavens. But the albums also contained Billy the toddler (or “Willie” as they called him then), dressed in a sailor’s outfit of the kind that many parents forced their kids to wear in those days; and later, the elegant man dressed in the latest tailored suit from Savile Row in London, playing polo with dignitaries and visiting Winston Churchill at 10 Downing Street. I followed Billy’s life in these pictures. They have such liveliness about them that you almost feel he might suddenly wink at you from the photo.

Billy’s legend was central to our family’s life. Stories about him were the enthralling highlight of most gatherings. So many stories, told so often as to become lore, and I cherished them.

One memorable war story in my father’s arsenal was about the bullet that grazed his father’s temple as he was up shooting at the Germans. As a souvenir of this nearly fatal shot, Billy had kept the windshield of the plane with the bullet hole in it, and Dad displayed it rather proudly in his den. (I impressed my friends by telling them that if the bullet had strayed an inch to the right, I would not be here to tell the tale.)

Frankly, I was still too young to appreciate my grandfather’s war exploits and the endless stream of battles that had made him a legend. Instead, I preferred hearing the entertaining anecdotes about a man who always went out of his way to inject a little more fun into everyone’s lives.

My dad was the family chronicler of his father’s life. He had written Billy’s biography, a bestseller entitled The Courage of the Early Morning, named for my grandfather’s trademark habit of going out to face the enemy alone at first light. While the book had primarily focused on the drama in the air, there were also the stories about Billy the family man, the bon vivant, and the prankster, and my dad would regale us with these often. The tales about Billy kept him alive for all of us.

One of my favourite yarns was about the time Billy hosted a dinner party for a large table of well-heeled guests where everything was served backwards. The dinner started with coffee, then dessert, and so on, finishing with cocktails. Even the servers came into the room backwards. I always thought it would be fun to try that myself.

My grandfather was also very fond of dogs. Dad told me Billy liked Chow Chows — those fluffy Chinese dogs that look like lions — so once, during another dinner party, he placed two of them as a centrepiece in the middle of the table.

“How did he ever get them to stay there?” I asked when I heard this story for the first time.

“He just had a way with them,” was the reply I got.

I needed no further convincing that my grandfather had been no ordinary human being when my Granny Bishop, Billy’s widow, told me why Billy never wore a watch. He couldn’t, she said, because whenever he did, within a short period of time the hands would start going backwards, speed up, and the watch would stop. Some believe it happens to people who have a strong magnetic field or electric current around them.

It was also my grandmother who described Billy to me as a flame that blazed so strongly that it sucked every bit of oxygen out of the room, and while I was never exactly sure what she meant by that, it also seemed an appropriate description of my father. When Dad was in the room, it was difficult to focus on anything or anyone else. He was constantly on, feeling a need to perform, whether it was before an audience of one or of many.

I sometimes imagined when I entered a room that Billy might have been there, and I had just missed him. Once or twice I even tried to see if I could contact his spirit. The Ouija board seemed a good way to give that a try. I gingerly placed my fingertips on the heart-shaped piece of wood used to communicate with the spirits and asked the board the obvious question.

“Is my grandfather Billy Bishop here?”

On the top of the Ouija board are two rows set in a semicircle that contain the letters of the alphabet. This allows anyone on the other side to spell out a message. But the words “yes” and “no” also appear on the top corners.

Just in case he might not have heard me the first time, I said, “Billy, it’s me, your granddaughter, Diana … the Boobit. Are you there?”

My young and impressionable self would have taken any movement toward “yes” as a clear sign of his intent to contact me. That’s when my hands started to tingle. Or maybe I just imagined it.

I waited … Nothing.

And so I made a trip back to my father’s underwear drawer to sneak another look at my grandfather’s medals, an activity that always made me feel close to him. They were heavy in my small hands. They felt powerful, important.

I did get the medals back home safe and sound the day I took them to school — back into the underwear drawer. (A few years later, believing that his father’s medals belonged to all Canadians, my father had the good sense to donate them to the Canadian War Museum in Ottawa, where they are on display. I am told they are insured for several million dollars.)

My father kept his own medals — a more modest collection, to be sure — in a desk drawer in his den. But he never talked with us, at least not when I was a child, about his own war experiences. He talked only of Billy’s achievements, which were recounted almost like fairy tales, stories about our family’s shining first knight of the air.

Thankfully, my father had been at work all day and hadn’t noticed Billy’s medals were missing. I likely would have gotten into some serious trouble if he had, but it would have been worth it.

From that day forward Billy Bishop became a big part of my identity. I would hear the kids at school whisper when I passed in the hall — “Do you know who her grandfather was? Billy Bishop, the First World War flying ace!” I saw how they looked at me afterwards. I felt special, but also as if something more would always be expected of me. I stood a little taller and straighter, hopeful that Billy hovered nearby, watching over all of us — but especially over me. I needed a superhero, someone to make me feel proud, and within whose protective aura I could feel safe.

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