#her delight is infectious and she's so easy to root for | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

grigori77 · 3 years

Text

2020 in Movies - My Top 30 Fave Movies (Part 2)

20. ONWARD – Disney and Pixar’s best digitally animated family feature of 2020 (beating the admittedly impressive Soul to the punch) clearly has a love of fantasy roleplay games like Dungeons & Dragons, its quirky modern-day AU take populated by fantastical races and creatures seemingly tailor-made for the geek crowd … needless to say, me and many of my friends absolutely loved it. That doesn’t mean that the classic Disney ideals of love, family and believing in yourself have been side-lined in favour of fan-service – this is as heartfelt, affecting and tearful as their previous standouts, albeit with plenty of literal magic added to the metaphorical kind. The central premise is a clever one – once upon a time, magic was commonplace, but over the years technology came along to make life easier, so that in the present day the various races (elves, centaurs, fauns, pixies, goblins and trolls among others) get along fine without it. Then timid elf Ian Lightfoot (Tom Holland) receives a wizard’s staff for his sixteenth birthday, a bequeathed gift from his father, who died before he was born, with instructions for a spell that could bring him back to life for one whole day. Encouraged by his brash, over-confident wannabe adventurer elder brother Barley (Chris Pratt), Ian tries it out, only for the spell to backfire, leaving them with the animated bottom half of their father and just 24 hours to find a means to restore the rest of him before time runs out. Cue an “epic quest” … needless to say, this is another top-notch offering from the original masters of the craft, a fun, affecting and thoroughly infectious family-friendly romp with a winning sense of humour and inspired, flawless world-building. Holland and Pratt are both fantastic, their instantly believable, ill-at-ease little/big brother chemistry effortlessly driving the story through its ingenious paces, and the ensuing emotional fireworks are hilarious and heart-breaking in equal measure, while there’s typically excellent support from Julia Louis-Dreyfus (Elaine from Seinfeld) as Ian and Barley’s put-upon but supportive mum, Laurel, Octavia Spencer as once-mighty adventurer-turned-restaurateur “Corey” the Manticore and Mel Rodriguez (Getting On, The Last Man On Earth) as overbearing centaur cop (and Laurel’s new boyfriend) Colt Bronco. The film marks the sophomore feature gig for Dan Scanlon, who debuted with 2013’s sequel Monsters University, and while that was enjoyable enough I ultimately found it non-essential – no such verdict can be levelled against THIS film, the writer-director delivering magnificently in all categories, while the animation team have outdone themselves in every scene, from the exquisite environments and character/creature designs to some fantastic (and frequently delightfully bonkers) set-pieces, while there’s a veritable riot of brilliant RPG in-jokes to delight geekier viewers (gelatinous cube! XD). Massive, unadulterated fun, frequently hilarious and absolutely BURSTING with Disney’s trademark heart, this was ALMOST my animated feature of the year. More on that later …

19. THE GENTLEMEN – Guy Ritchie’s been having a rough time with his last few movies (The Man From UNCLE didn’t do too bad but it wasn’t exactly a hit and was largely overlooked or simply ignored, while intended franchise-starter King Arthur: Legend of the Sword was largely derided and suffered badly on release, dying a quick death financially – it’s a shame on both counts, because I really liked them), so it’s nice to see him having some proper success with his latest, even if he has basically reverted to type to do it. Still, when his newest London gangster flick is THIS GOOD it seems churlish to quibble – this really is what he does best, bringing together a collection of colourful geezers and shaking up their status quo, then standing back and letting us enjoy the bloody, expletive-riddled results. This particularly motley crew is another winning selection, led by Matthew McConaughey as ruthlessly successful cannabis baron Mickey Pearson, who’s looking to retire from the game by selling off his massive and highly lucrative enterprise for a most tidy sum (some $400,000,000 to be precise) to up-and-coming fellow American ex-pat Matthew Berger (Succession’s Jeremy Strong, oozing sleazy charm), only for local Chinese triad Dry Eye (Crazy Rich Asians’ Henry Golding, chewing the scenery with enthusiasm) to start throwing spanners into the works with the intention of nabbing the deal for himself for a significant discount. Needless to say Mickey’s not about to let that happen … McConaughey is ON FIRE here, the best he’s been since Dallas Buyers Club in my opinion, clearly having great fun sinking his teeth into this rich character and Ritchie’s typically sparkling, razor-witted dialogue, and he’s ably supported by a quality ensemble cast, particularly co-star Charlie Hunnam as Mickey’s ice-cold, steel-nerved right-hand-man Raymond Smith, Downton Abbey’s Michelle Dockery as his classy, strong-willed wife Rosalind, Colin Farrell as a wise-cracking, quietly exasperated MMA trainer and small-time hood simply known as the Coach (who gets many of the film’s best lines), and, most notably, Hugh Grant as the film’s nominal narrator, thoroughly morally bankrupt private investigator Fletcher, who consistently steals the film. This is Guy Ritchie at his very best – a twisty rug-puller of a plot that constantly leaves you guessing, brilliantly observed and richly drawn characters you can’t help loving in spite of the fact there’s not a single hero among them, a deliciously unapologetic, politically incorrect sense of humour and a killer soundtrack. Getting the cinematic year off to a phenomenal start, it’s EASILY Ritchie’s best film since Sherlock Holmes, and a strong call-back to the heady days of Snatch (STILL my favourite) and Lock, Stock & Two Smoking Barrels. Here’s hoping he’s on a roll again, eh?

18. SPONTANEOUS – one of the year’s biggest under-the-radar surprise hits for me was one which I actually might not have caught if things had been a little more normal and ordered. Thankfully with all the lockdown and cinematic shutdown bollocks going on, this fantastically subversive and deeply satirical indie teen comedy horror came along at the perfect time, and I completely flipped out over it. Now those who know me know I don’t tend to gravitate towards teen cinema, but like all those other exceptions I’ve loved over the years, this one had a brilliantly compulsive hook I just couldn’t turn down – small-town high-schooler Mara (Knives Out and Netflix’ Cursed’s Katherine Langford) is your typical cool outsider kid, smart, snarky and just putting up with the scene until she can graduate and get as far away as possible … until one day in her senior year one of her classmates just inexplicably explodes. Like her peers, she’s shocked and she mourns, then starts to move on … until it happens again. As the death toll among the senior class begins to mount, it becomes clear something weird is going on, but Mara has other things on her mind because the crisis has, for her, had an unexpected benefit – without it she wouldn’t have fallen in love with like-minded oddball new kid Dylan (Lean On Pete and Words On Bathroom Walls’ Charlie Plummer). The future’s looking bright, but only if they can both live to see it … this is a wickedly intelligent film, powered by a skilfully executed script and a wonderfully likeable young cast who consistently steer their characters around the potential cliched pitfalls of this kind of cinema, while debuting writer-director Brian Duffield (already a rising star thanks to scripts for Underwater, The Babysitter and blacklist darling Jane Got a Gun among others) show he’s got as much talent and flair for crafting truly inspired cinema as he has for thinking it up in the first place, delivering some impressively offbeat set-pieces and several neat twists you frequently don’t see coming ahead of time. Langford and Plummer as a sassy, spicy pair who are easy to root for without ever getting cloying or sweet, while there’s glowing support from the likes of Hayley Law (Rioverdale, Altered Carbon, The New Romantic) as Mara’s best friend Tess, Piper Perabo and Transparent’s Rob Huebel as her increasingly concerned parents, and Insecure’s Yvonne Orji as Agent Rosetti, the beleaguered government employee sent to spearhead the investigation into exactly what’s happening to these kids. Quirky, offbeat and endlessly inventive, this is one of those interesting instances where I’m glad they pushed the horror elements into the background so we could concentrate on the comedy, but more importantly these wonderfully well-realised and vital characters – there are some skilfully executed shocks, but far more deep belly laughs, and there’s bucketloads of heart to eclipse the gore. Another winning debut from a talent I intend to watch with great interest in the future.

17. HAMILTON – arriving just as Black Lives Matter reached fever-pitch levels, this feature presentation of the runaway Broadway musical smash-hit could not have been better timed. Shot over three nights during the show’s 2016 run with the original cast and cut together with specially created “setup shots”, it’s an immersive experience that at once puts you right in amongst the audience (at times almost a character themselves, never seen but DEFINITELY heard) but also lets you experience the action up close. And what action – it’s an incredible show, a thoroughly fascinating piece of work that reads like something very staid and proper on paper (an all-encompassing biographical account of the life and times of American Founding Father Alexander Hamilton) but, in execution, becomes something very different and EXTREMELY vital. The execution certainly couldn’t be further from the usual period biopic fare this kind of historical subject matter usually gets (although in the face of recent high quality revisionist takes like Marie Antoinette, The Great and Tesla it’s not SO surprising), while the cast is not at all what you’d expect – with very few notable exceptions the cast is almost entirely people of colour, despite the fact that the real life individuals they’re playing were all very white indeed. Every single one of them is also an absolute revelation – the show’s writer-composer Lin-Manuel Miranda (already riding high on the success of In the Heights) carries the central role of Hamilton with effortless charm and raw star power, Leslie Odom Jr. (Smash, Murder On the Orient Express) is duplicitously complex as his constant nemesis Aaron Burr, Christopher Jackson (In the Heights, Moana, Bull) oozes integrity and nobility as his mentor and friend George Washington, Phillipa Soo is sweet and classy as his wife Eliza while Renée Elise Goldsberry (The Immortal Life of Henrietta Jacks, Altered Carbon) is fiery and statuesque as her sister Angelica Schuyler (the one who got away), and Jonathan Groff (Mindhunter) consistently steals every scene he’s in as fiendish yet childish fan favourite King George III, but the show (and the film) ultimately belongs to veritable powerhouse Daveed Diggs (Blindspotting, The Good Lord Bird) in a spectacular duel role, starting subtly but gaining scene-stealing momentum as French Revolutionary Gilbert du Motier, the Marquis de Lafayette, before EXPLODING onto the stage in the second half as indomitable third American President Thomas Jefferson. Not having seen the stage show, I was taken completely by surprise by this, revelling in its revisionist genius and offbeat, quirky hip-hop charm, spellbound by the skilful ease with which is takes the sometimes quite dull historical fact and skews it into something consistently entertaining and absorbing, transported by the catchy earworm musical numbers and thoroughly tickled by the delightfully cheeky sense of humour strung throughout (at least when I wasn’t having my heart broken by moments of raw dramatic power). Altogether it’s a pretty unique cinematic experience I wish I could have actually gotten to see on the big screen, and one I’ve consistently recommended to all my friends, even the ones who don’t usually like musicals. As far as I’m concerned it doesn’t need a proper Les Misérables style screen adaptation – this is about as perfect a presentation as the show could possibly hope for.

16. SPUTNIK – summer’s horror highlight (despite SERIOUSLY tough competition) was a guaranteed sleeper hit that I almost missed entirely, stumbling across the trailer one day on YouTube and getting bowled over by its potential, prompting me to hunt it down by any means necessary. The feature debut of Russian director Egor Abramenko, this first contact sci-fi chiller is about as far from E.T. as it’s possible to get, sharing some of the same DNA as Carpenter’s The Thing but proudly carving its own path with consummate skill and definitely signalling great things to come from its brand new helmer and relative unknown screenwriters Oleg Malovichko and Andrei Zolotarev. Oksana Akinshina (probably best known in the West for her powerful climactic cameo in The Bourne Supremacy) is the beating heart of the film as neurophysiologist Tatyana Yuryevna Klimova, brought in to aid in the investigation in the Russian wilderness circa 1983 after an orbital research mission goes horribly wrong. One of the cosmonauts dies horribly, while the other, Konstantin (The Duelist’s Pyotr Fyodorov) seems unharmed, but it quickly becomes clear that he’s now the host for something decidedly extraterrestrial and potentially terrifying, and as Tatyana becomes more deeply embroiled in her assignment she comes to realise that her superiors, particularly mysterious Red Army project leader Colonel Semiradov (The PyraMMMid’s Fyodor Bondarchuk), have far more insidious plans for Konstantin and his new “friend” than she could ever imagine. This is about as dark, intense and nightmarish as this particular sub-genre gets, a magnificently icky body horror that slowly builds its tension as we’re gradually exposed to the various truths and the awful gravity of the situation slowly reveals itself, punctuated by skilfully executed shocks and some particularly horrifying moments when the evils inflicted by the humans in charge prove far worse than anything the alien can do, while the ridiculously talented writers have a field day pulling the rug out from under us again and again, never going for the obvious twist and keeping us guessing right to the devastating ending, while the beautifully crafted digital creature effects are nothing short of astonishing and thoroughly creepy. Akinshina dominates the film with her unbridled grace, vulnerability and integrity, the relationship that develops between Tatyana and Konstantin (Fyodorov delivering a beautifully understated turn belying deep inner turmoil) feeling realistically earned as it goes from tentatively wary to tragically bittersweet, while Bondarchuk invests the Colonel with a nuanced air of tarnished authority and restrained brutality that made him one of my top screen villains for the year. One of 2020’s great sleeper hits, I can’t speak of this film highly enough – it’s a genuine revelation, an instant classic for whom I’ll sing its praises for years to come, and I wish enormous future success to all the creative talents involved.

15. THE INVISIBLE MAN – looks like third time’s a charm for Leigh Whannell, writer-director of my ALMOST horror movie of the year (more on that later) – while he’s had immense success as a horror writer over the years (co-creator of both the Saw and Insidious franchises), as a director his first two features haven’t exactly set the world alight, with debut Insidious: Chapter III garnering similar takes to the rest of the series but ultimately turning out to be a bit of a damp squib quality-wise, while his second feature Upgrade was a stone-cold masterpiece that was (rightly) EXTREMELY well received critically, but ultimately snuck in under the radar and has remained a stubbornly hidden gem since. No such problems with his third feature, though – his latest collaboration with producer Jason Blum and the insanely lucrative Blumhouse Pictures has proven a massive hit both financially AND with reviewers, and deservedly so. Having given up on trying to create a shared cinematic universe inhabited by their classic monsters, Universal resolved to concentrate on standalones to showcase their elite properties, and their first try is a rousing success, Whannell bringing HG Wells’ dark and devious human monster smack into the 21st Century as only he can. The result is a surprisingly subtle piece of work, much more a lethally precise exercise in cinematic sleight of hand and extraordinary acting than flashy visual effects, strictly adhering to the Blumhouse credo of maximum returns for minimum bucks as the story is stripped down to its bare essentials and allowed to play out without any unnecessary weight. The Handmaid’s Tale’s Elizabeth Moss once again confirms what a masterful actress she is as she brings all her performing weapons to bear in the role of Cecelia “Cee” Kass, the cloistered wife of affluent but monstrously abusive optics pioneer Aidan Griffin (Netflix’ The Haunting of Hill House’s Oliver Jackson-Cohen), who escapes his clutches in the furiously tense opening sequence and goes to ground with the help of her closest childhood friend, San Francisco cop James Lanier (Leverage’s Aldis Hodge) and his teenage daughter Sydney (A Wrinkle in Time’s Storm Reid). Two weeks later, Aidan commits suicide, leaving Cee with a fortune to start her life over (with the proviso that she’s never ruled mentally incompetent), but as she tries to find her way in the world again little things start going wrong for her, and she begins to question if there might be something insidious going on. As her nerves start to unravel, she begins to suspect that Aidan is still alive, still very much in her life, fiendishly toying with her and her friends, but no-one can see him. Whannell plays her paranoia up for all it’s worth, skilfully teasing out the scares so that, just like her friends, we begin to wonder if it might all be in her head after all, before a spectacular mid-movie reveal throws the switch into high gear and the true threat becomes clear. The lion’s share of the film’s immense success must of course go to Moss – her performance is BEYOND a revelation, a blistering career best that totally powers the whole enterprise, and it goes without saying that she’s the best thing in this. Even so, she has sterling support from Hodge and Reid, as well as Love Child’s Harriet Dyer as Cee’s estranged big sister Emily and Wonderland’s Michael Dorman as Adrian’s slimy, spineless lawyer brother Tom, and, while he doesn’t have much actual (ahem) “screen time”, Jackson-Cohen delivers a fantastically icy, subtly malevolent turn which casts a large “shadow” over the film. This is one of my very favourite Blumhouse films, a pitch-perfect psychological chiller that keeps the tension cranked up unbearably tight and never lets go, Whannell once again displaying uncanny skill with expert jump-scares, knuckle-whitening chills and a truly astounding standout set-piece that easily goes down as one of the top action sequences of 2020. Undoubtedly the best version of Wells’ story to date, this goes a long way in repairing the damage of Universal’s abortive “Dark Universe” efforts, as well as showcasing a filmmaking master at the very height of his talents.

14. EXTRACTION – the Coronavirus certainly has threw a massive spanner in the works of the year’s cinematic calendar – among many other casualties to the blockbuster shunt, the latest (and most long-awaited) MCU movie, Black Widow, should have opened to further record-breaking box office success at the end of spring, but instead the theatres were all closed and virtually all the heavyweights were pushed back or shelved indefinitely. Thank God, then, for the streaming services, particularly Hulu, Amazon and Netflix, the latter of which provided a perfect movie for us to see through the key transition into the summer blockbuster season, an explosively flashy big budget action thriller ushered in by MCU alumni the Russo Brothers (who produced and co-wrote this adaptation of Ciudad, a graphic novel that Joe Russo co-created with Ande Parks and Fernando Leon Gonzalez) and barely able to contain the sheer star-power wattage of its lead, Thor himself. Chris Hemsworth plays Tyler Rake, a former Australian SAS operative who hires out his services to an extraction operation under the command of mercenary Nik Khan (The Patience Stone’s Golshifteh Farahani), brought in to liberate Ovi Mahajan (Rudhraksh Jaiswal in his first major role), the pre-teen son of incarcerated Indian crime lord Ovi Sr. (Pankaj Tripathi), who has been abducted by Bangladeshi rival Amir Asif (Priyanshu Painyuli). The rescue itself goes perfectly, but when the time comes for the hand-off the team is double-crossed and Tyler is left stranded in the middle of Dhaka with no choice but to keep Ovi alive as every corrupt cop and street gang in the city closes in around them. This is the feature debut of Sam Hargrave, the latest stuntman to try his hand at directing, so he certainly knows his way around an action set-piece, and the result is a thoroughly breathless adrenaline rush of a film, bursting at the seams with spectacular fights, gun battles and car chases, dominated by a stunning sustained sequence that plays out in one long shot, guaranteed to leave jaws lying on the floor. Not that there should be any surprise – Hargrave cut his teeth as a stunt coordinator for the Russos on Captain America: Civil War and their Avengers films. That said, he displays strong talent for the quieter disciplines of filmmaking too, delivering quality character development and drawing out consistently noteworthy performances from his cast. Of course, Hemsworth can do the action stuff in his sleep, but there’s a lot more to Tyler than just his muscle, the MCU veteran investing him with real wounded vulnerability and a tragic fatalism which colours every scene, while Jaiswal is exceptional throughout, showing plenty of promise for the future, and there’s strong support from Farahani and Painyuli, as well as Stranger Things’ David Harbour as world-weary retired merc Gaspard, and a particularly impressive, muscular turn from Randeep Hooda (Once Upon a Time in Mumbai) as Saju, a former Para and Ovi’s bodyguard, who’s determined to take possession of the boy himself, even if he has to go through Tyler to get him. This is action cinema that really deserves to be seen on the big screen – I watched it twice in a week and would happily have paid for two trips to the cinema for it if I could have. As we looked down the barrel of a summer season largely devoid of blockbuster fare, I couldn’t recommend this enough. Thank the gods for Netflix …

13. THE TRIAL OF THE CHICAGO 7 – although it’s definitely a film that really benefitted enormously from releasing on Netflix during the various lockdowns, this was one of the blessed few I actually got to see during one of the UK’s frustratingly rare lulls when cinemas were actually OPEN. Rather perversely it therefore became one of my favourite cinematic experiences of 2020, but then I’m just as much a fan of well-made cerebral films as I am of the big, immersive blockbuster EXPERIENCES, so this probably still would have been a standout in a normal year. Certainly if this was a purely CRITICAL list for the year this probably would have placed high in the Top Ten … Aaron Sorkin is a writer whose work I have ardently admired ever since he went from esteemed playwright to in-demand talent for both the big screen AND the small with A Few Good Men, and TTOTC7 is just another in a long line of consistently impressive, flawlessly written works rife with addictive quickfire dialogue, beautifully observed characters and rewardingly propulsive narrative storytelling (therefore resting comfortably amongst the well-respected likes of The West Wing, Charlie Wilson’s War, Moneyball and The Social Network). It also marks his second feature as a director (after fascinating and incendiary debut Molly’s Game), and once again he’s gone for true story over fiction, tackling the still controversial subject of the infamous 1968 trial of the “ringleaders” of the infamous riots which marred Chicago’s Diplomatic National Convention five months earlier, in which thousands of hippies and college students protesting the Vietnam War clashed with police. Spurred on by the newly-instated Presidential Administration of Richard Nixon to make some examples, hungry up-and-coming prosecutor Richard Schultz (Joseph Gordon-Levitt) is confident in his case, while the Seven – who include respected and astute student activist Tom Hayden (Eddie Redmayne) and confrontational counterculture firebrands Abbie Hoffman (Sacha Baron Cohen) and Jerry Rubin (Succession’s Jeremy Strong) – are the clear underdogs. They’re a divided bunch (particularly Hayden and Hoffman, who never mince their words about what little regard they hold for each other), and they’re up against the combined might of the U.S. Government, while all they have on their side is pro-bono lawyer and civil rights activist William Kunstler (Mark Rylance), who’s sharp, driven and thoroughly committed to the cause but clearly massively outmatched … not to mention the fact that the judge presiding over the case is Julius Hoffman (Frank Langella), a fierce and uncompromising conservative who’s clearly 100% on the Administration’s side, and who might in fact be stark raving mad (he also frequently goes to great lengths to make it clear to all concerned that he is NOT related to Abbie). Much as we’ve come to expect from Sorkin, this is cinema of grand ideals and strong characters, not big spectacle and hard action, and all the better for it – he’s proved time and again that he’s one of the very best creative minds in Hollywood when it comes to intelligent, thought-provoking and engrossing thinking-man’s entertainment, and this is pure par for the course, keeping us glued to the screen from the skilfully-executed whirlwind introductory montage to the powerfully cathartic climax, and every varied and brilliant scene in-between. This is heady stuff, focusing on what’s still an extremely thorny issue made all the more urgently relevant and timely given what was (and still is) going on in American politics at the time, and everyone involved here was clearly fully committed to making the film as palpable, powerful and resonant as possible for the viewer, no matter their nationality or political inclination. Also typical for a Sorkin film, the cast are exceptional, everyone clearly having the wildest time getting their teeth into their finely-drawn characters and that magnificent dialogue – Redmayne and Baron Cohen are compellingly complimentary intellectual antagonists given their radically different approaches and their roles’ polar opposite energies, while Rylance delivers another pitch-perfect, simply ASTOUNDING performance that once again marks him as one of the very best actors of his generation, and there are particularly meaty turns from Strong, Langella, Aquaman’s Yahya Abdul-Mateen II (as besieged Black Panther Bobby Seale) and a potent late appearance from Michael Keaton that sear themselves into the memory long after viewing. Altogether then, this is a phenomenal film which deserves to be seen no matter the format, a thought-provoking and undeniably IMPORTANT masterwork from a master cinematic storyteller that says as much about the world we live in now as the decidedly turbulent times it portrays …

12. GREYHOUND – when the cinemas closed back in March, the fate of many of the major summer blockbusters we’d been looking forward to was thrown into terrible doubt. Some were pushed back to more amenable dates in the autumn or winter (which even then ultimately proved frustratingly ambitious), others knocked back a whole year to fill summer slots for 2021, but more than a few simply dropped off the radar entirely with the terrible words “postponed until further notice” stamped on them, and I lamented them all, this one in particular. It hung in there longer than some, stubbornly holding onto its June release slot for as long as possible, but eventually it gave up the ghost too … but thanks to Apple TV+, not for long, ultimately releasing less than a month later than intended. Thankfully the film itself was worth the fuss, a taut World War II suspense thriller that’s all killer, no filler – set during the infamous Battle of the Atlantic, it portrays the constant life-or-death struggle faced by the Allied warships assigned to escort the transport convoys as they crossed the ocean, defending their charges from German U-boats. Adapted from C.S. Forester’s famous 1955 novel The Good Shepherd by Tom Hanks and directed by Aaron Schneider (Get Low), the narrative focuses on the crew of the escort leader, American destroyer USS Fletcher, codenamed “Greyhound”, and in particular its captain, Commander Ernest Krause (Hanks), a career sailor serving his first command. As they cross “the Pit”, the most dangerous middle stretch of the journey where they spend days without air-cover, they find themselves shadowed by “the Wolf Pack”, a particularly cunning group of German submarines that begin to pick away at the convoy’s stragglers. Faced with daunting odds, a dwindling supply of vital depth-charges and a ruthless, persistent enemy, Krause must make hard choices to bring his ships home safe … jumping into the thick of the action within the first ten minutes and maintaining its tension for the remainder of the trim 90-minute run, this is screen suspense par excellence, a sleek textbook example of how to craft a compelling big screen knuckle-whitener with zero fat and maximum reward, delivering a series of desperate naval scraps packed with hide-and-seek intensity, heart-in-mouth near-misses and fist-in-air cathartic payoffs by the bucket-load. Hanks is subtly magnificent, the calm centre of the narrative storm as a supposed newcomer to this battle arena who could have been BORN for it, bringing to mind his similarly unflappable in Captain Phillips and certainly not suffering by comparison; by and large he’s the focus point, but other crew members make strong (if sometimes quite brief) impressions, particularly Stephen Graham as Krause’s reliably seasoned XO, Lt. Commander Charlie Cole, The Magnificent Seven’s Manuel Garcia-Rulfo and Just Mercy’s Rob Morgan, while Elisabeth Shue does a lot with a very small part in brief flashbacks as Krause’s fiancée Evelyn. Relentless, exhilarating and thoroughly unforgettable, this was one of the true action highlights of the summer, and one hell of a war flick. I’m so glad it made the cut for the summer …

11. PROJECT POWER – with Marvel and DC pushing their tent-pole titles back in the face of COVID, the usual superhero antics we’ve come to expect for the summer were pretty thin on the ground in 2020, leading us to find our geeky fan thrills elsewhere. Unfortunately, pickings were frustratingly slim – Korean comic book actioner Gundala was entertaining but workmanlike, while Thor AU Mortal was underwhelming despite strong direction from Troll Hunter’s André Øvredal, and The New Mutants just got shat on by the studio and its distributors and no mistake – thank the Gods, then, for Netflix, once again riding to the rescue with this enjoyably offbeat super-thriller, which takes an intriguing central premise and really runs with it. New designer drug Power has hit the streets of New Orleans, able to give anyone who takes it a superpower for five minutes … the only problem is, until you try it, you don’t know what your own unique talent is – for some, it could mean five minutes of invisibility, or insane levels of super-strength, but other powers can be potentially lethal, the really unlucky buggers just blowing up on the spot. Robin (The Hate U Give’s Dominique Fishback) is a teenage Power-pusher with dreams of becoming a rap star, dealing the pills so she can help her diabetic mum; Frank Shaver (Joseph Gordon-Levitt) is one of her customers, a police detective who uses his power of near invulnerability to even the playing field when supercharged crims cause a disturbance. Their lives are turned upside down when Art (Jamie Foxx) arrives in town – he’s a seriously badass ex-soldier determined to hunt down the source of Power by any means necessary, and he’s not above tearing the Big Easy apart to do it. This is a fun, gleefully infectious rollercoaster that doesn’t take itself too seriously, revelling in the anarchic potential of its premise and crafting some suitably OTT effects-driven chaos brought to pleasingly visceral fruition by its skilfully inventive director, Ariel Schulman (Catfish, Nerve, Viral), while Mattson Tomlin (the screenwriter of the DCEU’s oft-delayed, incendiary headline act The Batman) takes the story in some very interesting directions and poses fascinating questions about what Power’s TRULY capable of. Gordon-Levitt and Fishback are both brilliant, the latter particularly impressing in what’s sure to be a major breakthrough role for her, and the friendship their characters share is pretty adorable, while Foxx really is a force to be reckoned with, pretty chill even when he’s in deep shit but fully capable of turning into a bona fide killing machine at the flip of a switch, and there’s strong support from Westworld’s Rodrigo Santoro as Biggie, Power’s delightfully oily kingpin, Courtney B. Vance as Frank’s by-the-book superior, Captain Crane, Amy Landecker as Gardner, the morally bankrupt CIA spook responsible for the drug’s production, and Machine Gun Kelly as Newt, a Power dealer whose pyrotechnic “gift” really isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Exciting, inventive, frequently amusing and infectiously likeable, this was some of the most uncomplicated cinematic fun I had all summer. Not bad for something which I’m sure was originally destined to become one of the season’s B-list features …

#onward #onward movie #The Gentlemen #spontaneous #spontaneous movie #hamilton #hamilton movie #sputnik #sputnik movie #The Invisible Man #Extraction #extraction movie #the trial of the chicago 7 #greyhound #greyhound movie #project power #2020 in movies

25 notes · View notes

raevenlywrites · 3 years

Text

The Ties That Bind 10 of ???

The ruins were exactly as advertised. Ancient remains of stone and tile work sat in overgrown disarray, the only thing holding parts of it together were the living roots clinging to the ancient bones. It felt haunted, in a way that battlefield did not. The fields were about death, and nothing more. This was once a place of life, and it’s current lack was only underscored by the verdant growth that had moved in to take the old inhabitants’ place.

“I thought you said nothing grew here,” I muttered to Karashan to cover my unease.

The general shrugged. “Nothing arable.”

Raymond snorted and began scouting around sorting through foliage in one way or another, following some reason I couldn’t decern. I decided to follow him, at a loss for what else to do. And it kept Rei from hovering, as I had a guard. I had a feeling I was going to spending a lot of time with Raymond and Karashan. I was absolutely avoiding my would-be pairbond. I did not want to have this conversation.

”What are you looking for?”

“Forest fruits,” Raymond answered absently, elbow deep in a tangle of briars. “Just because a land can’t be farmed doesn’t mean it can’t provide.”

I watched with genuine interest, helping carry his harvest and trying to remember his points as he spoke. He pulled berries out of thickets, apples off of branches I’d have passed over, and marked the passage of game animals. Raymond made a good teacher; I remembered it was trait he shared with his cousin. It was bittersweet, working with him, but I did my best to focus on the sweet. It wasn’t too hard; the work was interesting and fulfilling. I’d only seen our farmland from above, never walked down among the rows, let alone helped in the harvesting. These weren’t the tidy rows of our grain fields, but it was still closer than I’d ever been to my own food.

“And the water?” I asked, as we returned to the central clearing and its ominous covered well.

“Unpredictable,” he said shortly. “I think something happens further upstream and contaminates it.”

I blinked. “So its not a proper well, then, dug straight down?”

He shook his head, gesturing back behind us towards the mountains and Hawk’s Keep.

“Everything runs down from the mountain. Sooner or later, what happens up there trickles down to everyone else.”

I frowned at his word choice, knowing he was talking about more than just the water.

Raymond was unlike any of the other soldiers I’d ever met. All the Flight was friendly with me--we all spent too much of our time together for us not to be--but only Rei crossed that line into true familiarity. Raymond, I guessed, had probably known me as a child, or at least of me. I wished I could remember more of Vasili’s family. They’d almost all been soldiers, I thought, or maybe just the one’s I’d know had been soldiers. Maybe he had family out in the fields like Elanor did.

I was about to ask him when Andreios alighted before us, jarred the switch from raven to man. It could be an elegant and leisurely process. But Rei had switched back almost before he’d properly landed.

“They’re coming.”

His tone was so sour there was no doubt who he meant. And sure enough, Zane and Adelina crested a small ridge, Zane waving merrilly as he caught sight of us.

He’s so odd, I thought, watching him flow down from the rise. Everyone around him is singing with tension, and he’s waving like we’re old friends. I wondered if that was just his nature, happy and enthusiastic, or if he was doing it to piss off Rei. Or maybe Adelina. Or maybe it was all three, or something I hadn’t considered at all. He was a mystery to me, but a puzzle I was keen to suss out. I liked this kind of wondering and second guessing. It was like a game of chess. I had a feeling Zane would be good at chess, and the gambling games of cards and coins that passed the soldiers’ time in the barracks. Anything that called for a strategy, and the ability to think on the fly, and play to your opponent’s expectations.

Like war.

I tried not to frown at him as he approached, but that last thought had soured my mood. I wondered who’d be to each other if we’d grown up only neighboring monarchs. Perhaps we’d have been promised to each other as children, a way to solidify good relations between our peoples. It was such an absurd thought it almost made me laugh. At least it helped me smile when Zane and Adelina were near enough to see it. I was glad to see my flights of fancy could be good for something.

“Well, it seems we’ve both had good hunting,” Zane said cheerily as he took in our “harvest”. He behaved for all the world like he was out on a picnic, completely ignoring Erica, Emune, and Karashan fanning out behind him and Adelina.

“And what were you hunting?” I asked, adopting his same casual tone. If it worked for him, it worked for me. I was accustomed to ignoring my Flight when they were working, and being falsely light and at ease was closer than second nature.

“Shelter. There’s something like an old rsh, ah, meeting place,” he ammended almost flawlessly, “just over that rise.”

“I didn’t see any buildings,” Rei said grumpily. I’d have wondered at his open unhappiness if it weren’t for Zane. It was clear the cobra made him forget every ounce of his reserve or restraint. I was glad of it, in a way. It meant I didn’t have to wonder where my guard captain stood.

“Nor have I,” Karashan added, “On any of our scouting trips. This place is No Man’s Land.”

Raymond made a sound behind me, but Zane openly scoffed.

“I didn’t say we’d found a building, I said we found a rsh, a nest. They’re always built into the trees--” His words cut off, and it didn’t take much insight to guess that he’d been about to comment on how they’re not meant to be noticable from above. Diplomatically, he continued, “It would take a serpiente to find one. Even from the ground, they’re well hidden if you don’t know what you’re looking for.”

“It’s true, my lady.” Erica had stayed glued to Zane’s side, either eager to prove herself, or eager to stick a knife in his back and beg forgieness later. I’d have worried more, but Karashan had stayed glued to Erica. “I saw the pair of them slip between the trees and it was like they weren’t even there. But the shelter checks out, and it has a place for a fire and provisions.” It was clear from her tone that she’d checked it over with a soldier’s eye, with a minnd for defensibility and praticality. I more selfishly wondered about comfort.

When I’d suggested I spend the week with Zane, I’d been envisioning staying at the Lyssia’s farmhouse, or at the least not out of doors. I don’t know what I’d expected from a place called “the ruins”, but I was not prepared to take an extended camping trip with Zane Cobriana.

Was that petty of me? I’d thought it was rather big of me to suggest spending the week with him at all. Wasn’t it reasonable to expect to spend that week in physical comfort, since it was guarenteed to be about as emotionally uncomfortable as possible?

But I followed them up the rise, into the trees, and was glad we’d set out at first light. It gave us plenty of time to check over the whole place, and hopefully to discover there was no other option but to return to the farm house for a hot meal and a regroup.

Erica was the first to disappear, walking right between two trees and simply vanishing. Emune cried out, but Karashan touched his shoulder and held him back.

Adelina went next, and the pair of them pulled back whatever covering obscured the opening. The space was close and dark, a yawning void between them. I did not care for that symbolism one bit.

But Zane strode forward without any visible concern, and Karashan went in after him, leaving me with the men of my guard.

I looked to Rei, not sure what I was asking him but feeling the pleading in my eyes. I think if Emune and Raymond hadn’t been there, he might have pulled me to him, might have whispered a chastizement, or an endearment, or something. But we had an audience, and Zane had poked his head back out of the dark.

“It’s brighter than it looks from the outside. Come inside, and I’ll show you all the secrets of a rsh.”

His crooked grin was too tempting, infectious in its enthusiasm. He was clearly delighted to have stumbled upon this part of serpiente history, and his eagerness to share it with me was catching. So I simply nodded, taking the hand he offered to help me in over the tangle of roots. I thrilled at the touch of his hand--then stiffened at the touch of his other hand on my waist.

I nearly tripped in my haste to pull away, which, of course, only made him hold on tighter.

“Easy there.”

Before I could form any protest, Erica’s dagger was out--and Adelina’s blade tipped stave. Their reactions immediately shifted mine, from outrage at Zane’s impropriaty to the ever present frustration at everyone’s haste to jump to violence.

“Hold!”

The command in my tone surprised even me, but I didn’t let it show.

“Zane startled me. It cannot come to blows every time one of us flinches or moves too swiftly. This is why we can’t stop the fighting, don’t you see that? Stop being soldiers for two blessed minutes and just be guards. You’re here to protect us from outside threats, not each other.”

“But my lady,” Erica insisted, “If I do not stay at the ready, I will not be fast enough to react to them. Serpiente are just too fast.”

I let her see all the tiredness in my eyes, and the frustration and disappointment and exasperation.

“If he strikes me out here, Erica, then let him strike me. Let him end the Shardae line here and now, and let every sparrow, crow, and raven bow down to their new Diente, or fly away to the island of Ahnmik. Either way, I am done fighting him. Do you understand that, Erica?”

Erica gave me a long, potent look, and I could see all the thoughts swirling behind her eyes. But what she said was,

“I have sworn to give my life’s blood in defense of my queen and her heirs. I cannot stand by and allow harm to come to you. My oaths do not allow it.”

“Then go home!”

I didn’t mean to shout at her, but I just couldn’t stand it anymore.

“If you cannot serve me in peace, then go home. Return to my mother, return to the generals, return to the war that no one can seem to let go of! I am done fighting. I’m done. If I live to take my oaths as Tuuli Thea, I will have no use for soldiers. If Zane kills me now, then I was never meant to wear the crown anyway. Because I cannot look at that man and summon up any bloodlust. I cannot stare into garnet eyes and see anything but a dying little boy, hurt and alone. I can’t seem to find the hatred that keeps you all going. Maybe if I’d been aloud to mourn anyone--“

My voice broken on a sob, every tear I’d never shed rising up all at once to choke me. I turned away, but there was no away in this tight press of people. Half a dozen soldiers, and one of them with my dead alastair’s face--

I spun in the other direction and simply ran.

The Ties That Bind Tag list: @thehellinsideyourhead @therecouldbecolorsandlove @adventuresofacreesty

Raev’s Gen Tag List (should I tag you guys in this? It IS a thing I wrote. I’m gonna say yes unless you guys are like “no of course not we’re sick of hearing about your stupid fic for a twenty year old book XD)

No one has complained yet so yall gonna keep getting tagged :P

List is currently: @lordkingsmith @writinglyra @drbibliophile @mperialscribe @adie-dee @adie-dee @lexiklecksi @writinginslowmotion @raenawrites @apollon-arium @anika-writes

#raev does fic #hawksong fic #hawksong #the ties that bind #my writing tag

12 notes · View notes

dangerouscommiesubversive · 4 years

Note

Gokaiger OT6? Prompt 10?

I have joked in the past about the Standard Issue Sentai Polycule but I feel like there’s sentai polycules in general and then there’s the Gokaigers. Anyway, 10 is a neck kiss, feels like we haven’t had one of those in a while, and this is basically a game of Telephone but with smooching. It’s also a little longer than a lot of the other prompt fics have been.

The weather is good, and Marvelous and Joe spar in the woods. They’ve agreed on no guns today, just swords, and it’s an easy rhythm; Joe will always be the better swordsman, but Marvelous can hold his own. They dance around each other, feint and dodge.

And then Joe pulls a second sword out from behind a tree and Marvelous grins at him and says, “You cheater!”

Joe just grins back and dodges another swing. “No such thing as cheating in a sword fight, Marvelous, you know that.”

Marvelous rolls his eyes and presses forward, and they continue to spar until Joe hits a root and loses his footing. Their swords are locked at the time, so they both hit the ground with a thump, blades tossed to the side just to keep from impaling themselves or each other. That means that now it’s a grappling contest, and in this kind of close combat Marvelous has the advantage. Within a few minutes, Marvelous has one of Joe’s arms twisted up behind his back, and Joe is swearing quietly.

“You gonna yield?”

“No, I can get out of this.”

“You sure?”

“You know I’m sure.”

Marvelous pauses, smirks, cinches the hold in a bit tighter, and then leans forward and kisses Joe in a very particular spot on the side of his neck, murmuring against his skin, “How about now?”

Joe stumbles. “You cheater.”

“No such thing as cheating in a sword fight, remember?”

Joe laughs breathlessly in response. “Ok, yeah, I yield.”

Joe finds Luka in the crow’s nest, as usual, and they stand side by side in silence, leaning against the railing as the sky shades into darkness and the stars come out. There’s a warm breeze, and the air smells very slightly of blooming flowers.

When the sun is nearly gone Luka says, not looking over at him, “So did you want something or did you just feel like hanging out?”

He shrugs. “Mostly I just wanted to watch the stars. I like how quiet it is up here.”

She makes a little “hm” noise and leans against him. “Yeah. Easier to see things right.”

More silence as the sun sets completely. It’s not dark for them, though; the moon is full, the sky is full of stars, and the city below them is full of light. Joe looks down at the top of Luka’s head thoughtfully and then bends and kisses her just behind the ear, which is a relatively easy spot to reach.

“Oh,” she says, “so you’re in that kind of mood.” Which is the sort of thing she’d say if she were annoyed, but she sounds more sly than anything. She looks up at him and raises an eyebrow.

He shrugs again, smiling very slightly. “Maybe, if you want. The moon’s full. It seemed like the right thing to do.”

Luka and Ahim sit together on the bed, and Luka brushes Ahim’s hair. She does so little with her own that it’s sort of nice to fuss with someone else’s, not that she’d ever admit this in public. When she was young she’d brush her sister’s hair, and braid it in patterns; Ahim isn’t her sister, and she’s forgotten most of the patterns, but it’s still calming.

She pulls the brush through dark waves and realizes that she’s only forgotten most of the patterns. There are still a few simple ones she could probably do. “Would you like me to braid it?”

She can see the edge of Ahim’s smile. “I would like that very much, please.”

“How many braids do you want?”

“Two would be lovely, thank you.”

“Ok.”

Her hands remember what her conscious mind’s forgotten, and after a moment she finds the exact rhythm, the careful lift and twist as she picks up more hair with each cross. It’s not complicated. If she had ribbon, she could work it in. Maybe she’ll do that next time.

Lift, twist, cross. Secure the end of one braid with a piece of elastic that Ahim passes to her. Start on the other side, lift, twist, cross, a simple woven pattern along the side of Ahim’s side.

When she finishes and secures the second braid she leans back and admires her handiwork, feeling pleased with herself, and then kisses the back of Ahim’s neck where the new style leaves it exposed. Ahim giggles. “You’re feeling very sweet today, Luka.”

“Yeah, that happens.” Luka grins at her when she looks back. “Don’t tell the others, ok?”

Everyone’s in the mood for dessert today, but Joe’s not in the mood to make cake, so Doc is showing Ahim how to make chocolate mousse. She holds the bowl for him as he beats egg whites, watching in fascination as they puff up and then holds their shape. “It’s extraordinary, isn’t it, how such a simple thing can change.”

He flashes a smile at her over the bowl. “Watching how things transform is one of my favorite things about cooking.“

After some brief instruction, she folds the egg whites into the chocolate without help, which gives him time to clean the mixer. When she’s sees what he’s doing, she frowns. “Did we not prepare enough eggs?”

“Oh no, no, now we’re doing whipped cream.” He pulls the heavy cream out of the refrigerator and measures it out carefully into a bowl. “That’s what really gives it the right texture. And then later once it’s set we’ll make extra to go on top.”

“Oh, lovely. May I try this time?”

“Sure, go ahead.”

She lowers the mixer in carefully, and he holds the bowl, only letting go once with one hand to add in sugar and orange extract as the cream thickens. The little galley already smells sweetly of melted chocolate; with the addition of oranges it’s heavenly.

“Ok,” he says, once the cream’s the right texture, “you can stop now.”

Ahim lifts the mixer, but her finger stays on the button a second too long; Doc nearly lets go of the bowl as the beaters spin and fling bits of whipped cream into both their faces. Ahim lets out a startled squeak. “Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry, I hadn’t intended that to happen.”

“It’s all right.” Doc grins, and then reaches out and swipes a bit of whipped cream off her nose with his finger and tastes it. “You still did a good job.”

“Why, thank you.” She drops a tiny curtsy, and then kisses him--although, since he’s already turning, she hits the side of his neck instead of his face. Fortunately there’s a bit of whipped cream where her lips land. “Oh, it does taste nice, how do we mix this in?”

Doc turns bright red. “I, ah. Like with the egg whites. We fold it.”

She beams at him. “Wonderful, may I do that too?”

“S-sure, I’ll. Get out cups to scoop it into while you’re doing that.”

Gai’s brought more books for them to read for research, and while the scrapbooks are very useful, Don finds that he enjoys the comics a bit more. They make everything seem more exciting, with their vigorous illustrations and dialogue balloons full of exclamation points. What must it have been like, to know that a host of brightly-colored strangers cared about your welfare? To grow up in a world full of heroes?

He doesn’t realize that he’s spoken out loud until Gai, sitting next to him on the couch regluing something in one of the scrapbooks, says, “It felt really safe. It was nice.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt you.”

“No, it’s fine, I don’t need to concentrate hard to do this! Anyway, it’s a fair question. It felt safe. And then...well, then they were all gone at once.”

Gai rarely looks so solemn. It’s a shock to see now, and Don frowns. “I wasn’t trying to bring up painful memories, I apologize.”

“Don’t worry about it!” Like that, the solemn look is gone. “How could I be that sad about it when I’m one of them now? We’re carrying on what they all did. That’s amazing!”

Gai’s broad smile is infectious, and Don realizes that he’s smiling too. “I guess you’re right. It’s certainly something.”

“Isn’t it? Oh, are you enjoying the comics, should I bring more? I have more.”

“I’d like that, please.” The smile is too infectious; Don can’t concentrate. And Gai looks like he’s waiting for something else, and it might as well be a kiss, so Don leans over to kiss him--and overbalances, landing on him instead. Which seems as good a reason as any to kiss him anyway, on the side of his laughter-filled throat, which makes Gai laugh more, and that’s always good.

Gai takes what seems to be an unwholesome enjoyment from cleaning, and Marvelous is deeply suspicious of it. With Doc he’s come to accept that it’s just how the man is, but then, Doc also occasionally nags him about being messy. Gai, however, seems enthusiastic about it, and that’s just strange.

Anyway, it’s way too late to be cleaning now, if they’re the only two left in the common area, and Marvelous decides to do something about it. “Will you cut that out, you can finish in the morning.”

Gai bounces to his feet. “Sure, if you want. Oh, which team are you looking at?”

“The card guys, JAKQ? Who’s this guy in the hat over here?”

“Oh, that’s a different hero, not a member of the team. But he looked a lot like Big One. I’ve always kinda had a theory that they were secretly the same person. There’s even a third one who also looks like them, but I couldn’t find a good picture of him.”

“Huh. I didn’t know this planet had other heroes.”

“Yeah, a few, they also kind of...disappeared during the war. I’m not sure what happened to them.” Gai comes over and perches on the arm of his chair, reaching out to tap another picture. “See, that’s the logo for one of them. They’re cool too.”

“You’ll have to tell me about them sometime.” Marvelous looks up at his delighted grin. “They sound interesting.”

“I’d love to. I have another scrapbook about them, I can find it soon and we’ll look at it together.”

“Good.” Marvelous turns the page. “I’d enjoy that. Here, you’re in my elbow room, quit it.” He wraps an arm around Gai’s waist and pulls the other man into his lap, shifting the scrapbook so it’s balanced on his knees. “So what’s the deal with these guys?”

“Well, they were from all over the world.”

“Their suits are goddamn wild.”

“Yeah, the outfits then were really different.”

They flip through pages until Gai’s yawning and Marvelous has to blink to keep his eyes open, and then Marvelous closes the book and stands up with Gai in his arms. “Sleep now. More heroes or whatever tomorrow.”

Gai rests his head against Marvelous’ shoulder, grinning sleepily, and then kisses the hollow of his throat where his shirt’s unbuttoned. “Yeah. Sleep sounds nice.”

#captain marvelous #joe gibken #luka millfy #ahim de famille #don dogoier #ikari gai #gokaiger #fanfiction #anonamouse

25 notes · View notes

valasania-the-pale · 4 years

Text

The Last Rose - Chapter Six

Here’s chapter six for all of you. Please enjoy and reblog!

X_0_X

If she closed her eyes, she could imagine she was just like the flowers in the garden, rooted in place for all eternity. The sunflowers she’d known for longer than memory had long since wilted, but the husky remnants remained, despite the spider lilies springing up like weeds in their place.

Move.

The hinges squeaked quietly as she pushed the door open, the key gifted to her slotting with a click into the lock without protestation. Professor Oobleck had been kind, keeping an eye on the old cottage while she was away. She knew that Zwei would be happy with him – they got along better than she could have dreamed.

Dust coated every surface. The living room reeked of old must and decay. Once, it smelled of rose petals and lilac, and sometimes the sour bite of liquor.

Keep moving.

His room was empty. And clean. So was Ruby’s. So was Yang’s. Of course they were. Never did the house sparkle and shine as much as when Taiyang had something to worry about.

She could still see the spots on the wall, ever so slightly off-color where paint and spackle had been used to fill in the holes they’d created as children. There was the dark spot on the rug where she’d spilled grape juice as a little girl, Taiyang never did manage to scrub that away.

And there, the pictures they’d taken together as a family, for the last time. That one of herself, hard at work in the forge creating her beloved weapon. And there…

…

She left the house not long after entering, eyes wet and heart clenching underneath its icy shell. The letters clutched in her hands, unopened. Retrieved from the safe, where she knew they would be. She didn’t have the heart to read them – nor to stay another moment in that place.

Not home – not anymore. Dust, where did it all go so very wrong?

…Where did she go, now?

…

Is home a place? Patch was home, once. I felt safe there. Safe and secure and loved and surrounded by people I could call family. In our little cottage, I could believe that anything was possible, and that the world was just waiting to open up before me the moment I stepped out the door.

It’s not home now. Not anymore. Probably not ever again.

I’ve heard that home can be a person. A bond. That our loved ones are what make a home what it is. Something in that seems right to me. Fitting, I guess. But… where is home for me, then? Is it possible to not have a home at all?

…I’m sorry. I hope I’m not too late. The questioning, the doubting, it never stops. It’s like a disease, and no one has a cure.

So much has changed… and certainty feels like it’s in ever smaller supply.

Ha… Answer me this, if you’re so smart: whether home is a place, or a bond… whatever it is… to where have I returned?

X_0_X

It was like walking through a dreamworld.

Ruby numbly chewed a mouthful of fresh greens, served to her with a flourish by a smiling Ren.

Just like she’d expected, it was delicious. The Mistrallan’s skill in the kitchen was as of yet unrivalled by anyone Ruby knew, and his nutritional acumen was (now) supplemented by a pounded-in knowledge of what actually tasted good, courtesy of Nora.

It didn’t cure her of her daze, but it certainly gave her the excuse she needed to process everything that had happened since she’d left the flight.

At first, she’d been beyond delighted.

How long had it been since she’d last spoken with her friends face to face? How long since she’d last gotten to hear their voices, feel their warmth, bask in their familiar presence?

After prying her redheaded limpet away from her, ribs and weakened arm protesting all the while (“Nora! Air! Need! Please!”), her elation came crashing down around her ears with the abruptness of running headlong into a brick wall

Yes, Ruby; how long has it been since you last came to visit your friends?

‘How long have you been hiding away in Mistral? Running away from your problems? Don’t you think they’ve missed you? After all this time?’

‘Shut up,’ she told that part of her, firmly.

That was beside the point. She’d been dealing with those sorts of doubts for years now; they were secondary to the real revelation.

Nora, Ren, they were here.

She hadn’t seen her friends in… seven years now? It felt like longer.

Ren’s hair was trimmed short, shoulder length and tied back in a stylish ponytail. Nora was as infectiously bubbly as she remembered, sporting a few crow’s feet around the eyes but otherwise untouched by time. Both fit and hale and almost exactly as she remembered of them from before.

More than that, the two were obviously happy.

She could see it in their eyes. Ren’s glowed like lotus blossoms in the morning sun, Nora’s like glistening ice. In every movement, every loving glance, Ruby could read the contentment they held for themselves. Each marker a testament to the life they’d built for themselves here, without her.

She touched Crescent Rose’s folded-up length at her side, where she’d leaned it against her chair. How long had it been? Had they been so happy when she’d left?

Ruby felt like an intruder.

She couldn’t help it. She couldn’t. It would have taken the power of the gods to stop the inevitable conclusions from making themselves.

She should have been at their side from the beginning, growing comfortable in this new city that had sprung up from the ashes of the old alongside them. They had all been a team – family, of a sort. Inseparable. Unconquerable. Loved.

She should have been there – shouldn’t have missed all that time, shouldn’t have run away, shouldn’t have let old arguments fester for so long…

But she had, and still they were happy.

Was… she even needed here? Wanted, even?

They’d been family, but her leaving had severed that connection. Ruby felt the tattered ends keenly, deep within her soul.

The entire walk home, listening to the two chatter on – well, Nora mainly chattering, with Ren contributing in his own sedate way – every rationalization she’d made over the last decade, every justification for missing out on another week, another month, another year of her friends’ lives was shoved into the light and she was numbed.

She was uncomfortably reminded that she’d just left other friends behind, and might not see them for just as long. Maybe longer…

Dust, was there nothing she hadn’t fucked up?

And being the wonderful human beings they were, too excited by her return and too kind to try and peer deeper into her troubled soul, husband and wife were both oblivious to her inner discomfort.

Nora slammed her open palm down on the dining table. “We have got to take you out around the city, soooo much has changed since you were last here!”

“Since so much of the population fled during and after the Fall, a lot of room has opened up for immigrants and entrepreneurs to set up shop and fill in the niches left behind,” Ren explained.

“Like that one lady with the huge boobs and six secret boyfriends down on Fifth street! She makes the best pastries – the way she uses cinnamon is just di-vine~!”

“Nora, that’s uncharitable.” Ren frowned disapprovingly. “She’s only cheating with the one other man, not six.”

“And how do you know that, mister? I didn’t take you for a gossip-monger. Do I need to be worried about the neighbors knowing about my delicates?”

“Only the ones you leave out on the floor for too long. We’ve established that not picking up after yourself is grounds for retaliation long ago.”

“Oooh~ Gonna punish me, Renny?”

“Nora! Not in front of Ruby!”

Ruby… stared.

She had no frame of reference anymore; it had been too long.

The banter, the mischief… she didn’t remember it coming so easily. It was bizarre to see Ren of all people firing back without hesitation, to see the lightness in his bearing, the openness of his expressions... And the loving glances… The joy…

Her stomach twisted in on itself; it was a struggle to continue chewing.

She’d expected a deluge of memory upon her arrival. That she would drown in the prickly, painful nostalgia that would surely rise up to envelop her. She’d expected anxiety, nightmares, residual grief, and whatever else she’d shoved to the back of her mind over the last decade to rear its ugly head, and that that would be the worst of her problems.

Part of her even expected arguments. Surely, they would have words for her for leaving… words that wouldn’t have fit into a letter. Surely…

The last thing she’d anticipated was the disconnect.

Since stepping off the platform she’d been beaten over the head with little else but how unfamiliar it was. Everything was different.

This shop that was once a clothing outlet was now renovated into a flower shop. That storefront was converted to a new set of apartments. The docks were now the lifeline of the city, where before they’d been little more than an afterthought compared to the grandeur of Downtown and the airport.

And though she had felt the eyes on her as she followed her friends back to their home, her weapons marking her as a huntress as surely as the predatory grace she walked with, compared to the familiarity she’d experienced in Mistral, they were not kind. They were strangers’ eyes, questioning the outsider and her purpose here.

Who was she, to walk among these people like she’d earned her right to live here?

Ruby was the intruder in their midst. It was an alien, uncomfortable situation, not felt for so many years...

She was used to at least being trusted in her role as a huntress. She was the Reaper. A guardian. Aegis of the people, fighting for them because she thought it was right, and recognized for that.

That was not something she doubted.

…Was it?

Her eyes flickered shut and she took a breath. No. She wasn’t doing this. ‘You will be okay,’ She told herself, shutting down the train of thought. ‘You just got here. You never expected it to be easy.’

She did not doubt her role. She wanted to help people. That had never changed.

The people just didn’t know that yet, just like they hadn’t in Mistral before she’d proven herself. It would be one of the first things she rectified, once she was better recovered.

If she were to stay here – if she was to continue her work here – she had to have a good rapport with the civilians. She’d need to find contacts. Friends. The people had to know their sentinels, their guardians, as she had to know them.

‘Know the people you’re protecting. You’ll fight harder for ‘em that way.’

“Ruby?”

A heavily calloused hand waved in her face, mere inches from her nose. Ruby jerked back, eyes blinking their glaze away rapidly. “Sorry!”

“Don’t be,” Ren said, frowning. “You seemed deep in thought. May we ask what’s on your mind?”

“Ah…”

Tell them how desperately awkward she felt? That she was in the middle of a crisis of faith? That she had no idea what to do with this strange otherworld she’d found herself within? With these new people? Them?

Nora picked up on her hesitation faster than Ren. “Sorry Ruby,” she said, frowning. “This is probably all really overwhelming for you.”

“We don’t want to overload you,” Ren chimed in.

“Right.” Nora nodded emphatically. “Especially since you’re still recovering and all.”

Dust, she didn’t want them blaming themselves. “I’m fine,” Ruby protested, a pink tint entering her cheeks.

“Pssssh.” Nora exchanged an artfully exaggerated glance with Ren. “Bags under your eyes.”

“Movements kept to the bare minimum.”

“Doesn’t look like you’ve gotten a shower in a few days,” Nora sniffed.

Ren nodded. “You’re free to use ours before you head up to the school if you’d like, by the way.”

“And by ‘if you’d like’ he really means you really should take us up on it because you look like death warmed over.”

“Nora.”

She shoved Ren’s shoulder playfully. “Oh pish! You might be too polite to say it, but Dust knows a lady could use a shower when she’s not at her best. Warm water and a good scrubbing does wonders for the spirit!”

“You guys,” Ruby interjected, thumb fidgeting with her silverware, rubbing a single spot until it started to gleam. “I’m fine, really. I don’t want to put you out, or to make you worry, or…” she paused. Wait. “Do… I really look that bad?”

Nora held up her hand, three fingers extended. She didn’t do much to hide her pitying expression. “Three out of five, honestly. You don’t look awful.”

“But maybe a good soak would do you good,” Ren finished delicately.

“Oh.” Ruby swallowed. Well then. “I, uh. Might take you up on that then.”

Now slightly ashamed (Dust, was it really that noticeable, or— well, they were huntsmen…), Ruby hid herself in her salad. She was fine.

The dressing was good. She half-decent in the kitchen herself after so long cooking her own meals, but she seldom got to experiment with some of the more ambitious flavors she tasted here.

This was fine. Just fine.

And now the other two seemed much more attuned to her discomfort, sharing glances while Ruby avoided their gazes. Were they afraid? Worried?

Damnit she’d wanted to avoid this.

“Soooo.” Nora broke the silence. “Find anyone special while you were in Mistral?”

Her hand paused midway between bowl and mouth. “Um, no.”

“No pretty thing able to keep your attention?”

…She hated small talk. “No, not really.”

‘Please leave it,’ she implored mentally.

Ren coughed, stepping in for Nora. “If I could ask you something, Ruby?”

“Sure,” Ruby mumbled awkwardly. “Go for it.”

“Well,” he glanced at Nora. “You never said in your letter. We figured, after so long, there had to be a reason for you to change your mind… but, what made you decide to come back to Vale?”

“Was it work?” Nora added, head tilting to the side. “We thought you’d taken time away from hunting after your ordeal.”

“Or that you’d had a falling out with someone back in Mistral.”

“But then we found out that Sun was one of the people taking care of you while you were recovering – and couldn’t think of anyone else you mentioned in your letters that you were close to.”

“So…” Ren trailed off.

“What brings you home, Rubes?” Nora finished.

Ruby ground to a halt whilst they spoke, forced to think by the question; one she didn’t have a clear answer for herself yet. There was so much.

Why?

There were too many emotions tangled up within her for it to be simple.

She hoped to discover a new purpose, for one. Padma’s words had stuck with her that far.

Hopefully she’d manage to find some closure with the city she’d left behind so many years before, if she could manage it.

Maybe, if things went alright, she might also quell some of her doubts – some of her shame, the guilt of leaving behind her family for so many years, if that much was even possible after so long.

But…

But telling them all of that; telling them the reason behind all of that – that she’d been torn down to her lowest point in nearly a decade, and that she still didn’t feel anywhere close to recovered – well…

She didn’t want to intrude.

Some of her feelings crystallized. This was a personal journey for her. Ren and Nora were clearly happy. They had lives. A home. Jobs they enjoyed and a family together with their daughter.

All the things they’d ever wanted since they were left alone together as children.

She would not put that in jeopardy.

So, she lied.

“Nothing like that,” Ruby said, carefully.

‘Be confident, be purposeful.’ Those were the first two secrets to a good lie. Ruby took care not to over-act, while also pushing the emotion she wanted to convey into her words.

They were huntsmen, they would see through all but the best. “I thought that after my accident I should come see you all. My recovery’s been pretty slow, and winter in the city wasn’t doing me any favors, so it seemed like a good time. I’ve missed you all a lot since I left.”

The third rule recommended sprinkling in a little truth. She did miss them all. It was good timing to spend her recovery among people she could catch up with after a long time away.

She’d just…

She’d never had that extra push to come back before. All of that was true, except that she’d never stared mortality in the face so clearly, felt it sink vicious claws into her soul and hold tight. She’d never seen it etched so clearly in her wretched reflection before, so much irrefutable evidence of her failure to stand on her own two feet as an adult.

There was motivation, and there was motivation.

They only needed to know the first kind. The second she would hold close, lest it ruin the fragile hope she nursed deep within.

And it worked. Beautiful, wonderful, trusting people that they were, it worked.

Nora smiled softly, dimples showing themselves as she reached across the table to squeeze her shoulder. “We missed you too, Rubes,” she said.

Ren mirrored her, a silent but firm presence, and their hands on her shoulders filled Ruby with a fuzzy warmth at odds with the chill she felt in her heart.

It would be worth it. She would get better and make it worth all the pain and dishonesty.

Not wanting them to question her further and feeling heavy with another new doubt pressing on her shoulders, Ruby quietly pushed her bowl forward, thanking Ren for the delicious meal.

At a simple request, Nora cheerfully directed her up to the bathroom where she began to strip out of her clothes to wash and at least fix one of her concerns for the day.

She did not notice the perturbed glance that Nora shot at her back before the door closed, wondering where the cloak that usually rested comfortably across her shoulders had gone.

When she stepped under the steaming water, Ruby had no idea that the couple was deep in conversation at the table downstairs, meals entirely forgotten and frowns pinching their faces with concern.

While she was busy pondering her own life’s choices, husband and wife were busy asking themselves an entirely separate question.

What had happened to their friend?

X_0_X

‘It’s a wonder Roman Torchwick wasn’t ruling over the city wholesale with this one as his right hand.’

“Seriously not helping right now,” Oscar Pine muttered to the second presence in his mind, rolling his eyes as a split second of warm amusement leaked over.

He didn’t need the distraction right now, thank you very much!

Older, stronger, and debatably wiser than he had been several years ago, Oscar was well-versed in the art of the chase. There were only three tenets one need follow: Don’t exhaust yourself with an ambitious, unsustainable pace, don’t break line of sight, and remember to breathe.

‘Bonus points for minimizing collateral damage.’

“That was one time!”

His mark dashed off down one of Vale’s many dingy alleyways, breaking his second rule temporarily before he made the sharp turn after her.

‘The Society for the Restoration of Vale’s Parks and Services, evidently. You didn’t really have to detour through those freesias, did you? They were coming along so wonderfully.’

Well it wasn’t his fault his pursuit of that particularly slippery thug led through that park, now was it? He’d had to apologize for weeks before the chairman stopped sending him those passive-aggressive letters.

Even no he still got the occasional dirty look from a ‘concerned citizen.’

But of course, he was only doing his job! Never mind the full breakfast, sometimes you had to break a few eggs to make an omelet! Never mind that Vale was a city where those eggs were already broken, rotten, and smelling like a pub dumpster after a Saturday night! No, protect the damn flowers, Oscar.

‘Well, they were particularly pretty flowers.’

He got a laugh from his other half as he cursed under his breath again.

This particular area of the city – formerly a part of the Residential District, now long since walled off from the recovering city – was grey, crumbling, and still suffering from a Grimm infestation.

There were rocks all over the streets from where some random explosion or flying chunk of lead smashed into some building, or where some overenthusiastic huntsman had ripped open the streets. Oscar was forced to detour around several impassable obstacles – each time losing just a little more ground.

It was enough to drive him to distraction. Rock. Rock. Pit. Oh look, there were a few Boarbatusk – better get out of the way before they bowl you over! He was too fast for nuisances like those to catch him unawares, but he just knew that his running straight into them was anything but an accident.

His target, Bianca Corallo, was a wily, mischievous sadist. Just the sort to get a laugh out of him staggering into the middle of a Grimm ambush.

‘You know she doesn’t like being called that,’ Ozpin chided.

“Don’t… really… care!” Oscar panted, sprinting up a flight of stairs after the last glimpse he’d gotten of her fleeing, colorful form.

Unfortunately for him, Corallo was small, fit, fast, and slippery like an eel.

One of Vale’s many, many criminals aspiring to fill the void left behind after Roman Torchwick’s empire crumbled around the rest of the city. She’d risen to power through an ample and often arbitrary application of brutal force, ambitious heisting, and balls of steel.

Unlike most of the scum and scrabbling thugs he usually had to contend with, she was also unique in that she was actually having some amount of success in taking over from her old boss.

Hence, the chase.

He reached the third floor just in time to see the flash of wild, multicolored hair vanish through one of the many gaping holes in the side of the building. Cursing, he pressed himself further, dipping slightly into his aura to soothe the complaints building up in his thighs.

‘You shouldn’t have skipped leg day.’

“Shut. Up!”

Oscar turned his fall into a tight roll, compacting his body tight against itself to disperse the force. Thankfully, the ground was relatively free of rocks. Less thankfully, Corallo was nowhere to be seen. “Fuck!”

‘Do you kiss your girlfriend with that mouth?’

“What happened to you being a wise, immortal being?” Oscar demanded, not for the first time, his mind working overtime. “Did all that go away when you got shunted into permanent shotgun?”

‘I prefer to think that I’m more like the little light on your shoulder, actually.’

“Hilarious. What do you recommend, then?” He didn’t have time for this. He scanned every direction, hoping to catch some sign of Corallo’s passing. Too little dust on the ground to note any footprints, and she was too savvy to leave a noticeable trail through the rubble.

‘I recommend you duck.’ And suddenly Oscar was in motion, Ozpin smoothly taking control like a hand slipping into a glove.

The bullet that whizzed over their head was nothing more than an afterthought as they whirled and set themselves in a solid fighting stance.

Glass shattered above them and they instantly looked up to meet Corallo’s dichromatic, mocking eyes. In one hand she held her parasol – frilly, white and pink like you’d see on some vapid little girl’s doll. In the other, a long cane lightly smoking at the tip, which she swiftly recombined with her parasol to form a single piece.

She tucked her weapon under her arm, giving her hands the space to gesture at him rapidly. ‘ME LOOKING FOR, GEARHEAD?’

“Corallo,” they growled.

‘FLATTERED,’ she signed, fluttering her eyelids. ‘YOU MY NAME REMEMBER.’

Oscar took control back from Ozpin, the rush of sensation barely even fazing him after so many repetitions.

“It’s my job,” he said. His lips curled downwards into a dark frown. “We’ve been through this before. Surrender and I can guarantee you a trial before you are sent to prison. Fail to stand down and I am permitted to use however much force I deem necessary to eliminate you as a threat to Vale’s security.”

Which was to say he’d probably be forced to kill her, if he couldn’t effectively cripple her in some way.

Vale was a changed place from before the Fall, after all. The law didn’t have time to fuss around with criminals when every day was a struggle to fend off the ever-encroaching Grimm. With every day a new vicious scrap for each and every block, the people – and especially the huntsmen – had quickly lost any and all patience for the unnecessary wrongdoings perpetrated by other humans.

With people like Corallo? Oscar could do essentially whatever he’d like.

He had standards though. Standards he anticipated seeing return to the rest of the force, once he could properly weed out the unscrupulous members.

Standards that, unfortunately, made seem like he had his cane shoved up his ass when said aloud.

‘Oscar,’ Ozpin sighed dramatically. ‘We’ve practiced this. You need not sound so stuffy. What happened to all of those action films you’ve been watching with Amaya? Take a leaf from their book.’

Corallo evidently agreed. ‘CAN YOU BORING LESS? ME THINGS BETTER COULD DOING.’

‘Fuck both of you,’ Oscar sighed.

The things he did for this city…

With a tiny flick he set off the beacon at his waist – specific to huntsmen working outside the secured sectors so that backup could be summoned where it was needed within minutes. He just had to keep Corallo distracted until backup arrived. Or take her down himself, if he could manage it.

She caught the motion and shot him a mischievous grin, dropping down to his level, knees bending slightly to distribute the force with a minimum of effort. ‘YOU FIGHT WANT?’

He reached behind his waist and grabbed the preternaturally familiar hilt of their cane, extending it to its full length with an elegant flick of the wrist. He’d practiced for hours to get that just right.

‘Vain.’

‘Ass.’

Complain about his stuffiness when he read their rights, moan about the time he spent trying to work on improving his cool factor, whine, whine, whine, whine, whine. There was no pleasing millennial disembodied soul-companions.

‘Add an extra splash of caramel to our next cocoa and we’ll talk.’

‘If you shut up about my caffeine shots, then deal.’

‘Acceptable.’

Corallo was oblivious to their internal dialogue, circling opposite of Oscar while his body simply went through the motions of tracking her movements.

The benefit of having two souls in one body was, at its most basic, parallel processing. Even splitting some of his attention between the fight and Ozpin, both of them were carefully analyzing their foe, drawing on past experiences, comparing those to what they knew of the tricky crime boss, drawing up tactics and discarding them just as quickly.

It began suddenly.

Corallo’s body shattered with a surge of flashing light only to reappear behind him. Her parasol swept downwards like a bludgeon. Oscar twisted in place, cane swinging up to deflect it off to the side, pulling his leg up and bending laterally to deliver a powerful kick to her abdomen.

Corallo used the blow to disengage. Her aura flashed faintly, dispersing the force with the same ease Oscar would dispatch a mosquito. Her parasol unfurled to drain her momentum – one of her favorite tricks, he knew. He’d thrown her off of several buildings and tried to slam her into plenty enough walls to learn that gravity and inertia meant very little to her.

The world slowed. Negligible damage, for a first clash. They were just testing the waters. They’d done this enough to know each other well, the others’ fighting style. It was almost a “Hello” between officer and kingpin. Did you get enough sleep? Eat a good breakfast? Did you do you warm ups?

‘I’d certainly be disappointed if we died because you skimped on your calisthenics. Oh, what a thought.’

‘Shut up.’

Corallo was certainly up to her usual standards. Even as the watched each other, mirrored predators eyeing the other, her smirk faded just a little. Her eyes gaining the sharp glint Oscar knew so well. The bloodthirst roiling just below her skin.

This time Oscar took the initiative.

Corallo’s eyes narrowed, so slow. Her fingers tightened. Oscar’s footsteps rang with his heartbeat, the world draining of color as his semblance activated.

Time dilation – fitting for a successor to someone of Ozpin’s reputation. Useful for battle, where it gifted him with a great boon in the extra time to consider his options. Sadly, his body was caught up in it as well.

If only – he’d be unstoppable otherwise.

‘If that were the case, I do believe Ruby would be after your head for absconding with her semblance.’

‘She could use the competition!’ Oscar retorted; eyes locked with Corallo’s. He also – ironically – had to be quick. It would be a shame to drain himself prematurely by abusing his ability.

Twitch. Twitch. Shoulders tensing. Her eyes flashed understanding. She knew him. His abilities. What he was doing. She would play unpredictably, just to throw him off. She would block, block again, most likely duck out of the way and disengage. Force him to exhaust himself, not let him get a single hit in.

They’d see about that.

The world resumed its usual pace.

Regardless of his inability to include his body in his semblance’s effects, Oscar was fast. Blisteringly fast. Only Ruby, Ren, and a few very other select huntsmen were capable of keeping up with him when he had his blood up.

Corallo was one of those few.

He swept his cane around, forcing her to contort herself backwards to avoid the strike. Her legs lashed out, he skipped backwards. With a series of incredible gymnastics, she leapt back on him. From the front, the sides, from above. She was a whirling dervish – where he put forth his strength she melted away. Where he defended, she refused to meet him.

In that was she was a wraith. Untouchable. Devious. And absolutely vicious where she caught an opening.

But he was a wall in his own right. He didn’t take everything she dished out, he caught it, pushed, shoved, and redirected. He and Ozpin combined were capable of vast feats of skill – their strength was their mind and the finesse they brought to the battlefield. Unpredictability was met with precision, and for a time they were matched.

They knew to respect her abilities. She knew enough to be wary of his.

Unfortunately, she knew she was on a timer and broke the stalemate with characteristic bluntness, shattering a few dozen feet away and drawing her gun-cane from her parasol.

‘Ugh.’ Ozpin gave the mental equivalent of a scowl. ‘She’d going to make you use it, isn’t she?’

The first shot shattered the asphalt where Oscar had been standing been mere moments before. The ammunition, Fire Dust – he could feel the heat from a dozen feet away. ‘You know, not everyone is happy smacking things around until they give up or pass out, aura or not!’

The second shot whizzed by his head – Oscar didn’t bother wasting energy getting away and bent his head to the side. The heat of the shot made his aura above his ear flare into visibility – protecting him from the burn he’d have otherwise received. He shoved his long coat to the side, hand wrapping around the lacquered wooden stock of his little baby.

‘It is a perfectly serviceable tactic! Miss Xiao Long just corrupted you!’

Oscar snorted and drew his weapon from its holster, appreciating for a moment the satisfying weight in his hand. ‘It’s an extra tool in my pocket. I would think you’d appreciate that!’

The third shot he swatted aside with their cane – his pine green aura flaring at the very tip to avoid detonating the shot on contact. The abandoned storefront it sailed into was reduced to rubble by the shockwave unleashed – Lightning Dust at its finest. In the same motion, he raised his other arm and took aim.

KA-WHUMP!

Corallo shattered away from her perch, now crumbling into assorted cobblestone, shattered glass, and shrapnel. ‘Perhaps… but did you really have to go with a shotgun? It’s so… blunt.’

‘I told you, I’m not trading Fidelis for a pistol!’

Corallo was on him in moments, taking advantage of his reduced versatility now that both of his hands were full, and refusing to let him re-holster and regain his edge.

Her parasol jabbed into his guard repeatedly, the sharpened tip doing work drawing energy from his aura reserves. Each pinprick threatened to bust through and pierce flesh as he was forced to fortify each miniscule spot.

He had his own advantages as well. Devoid of other options beside tossing it aside and opening himself up for a new salvo of ranged attacks, Oscar worked to get every ounce of use he could out of it. ‘Blunt’ or not, a shotgun at close range was a force you had to respect.

More than once Corallo was forced away just to avoid her aura getting perforated with a spray of raw Dust-shot. But after a minute of fending her off Oscar realized with a pause and tightening of his eyes that he could not yet hear the sounds of approaching airships, nor the telltale beep of his beacon alerting him that backup was fast approaching.

‘Where are they?’

His lips pulled into a scowl, and he shoved Corallo away, gaining himself some breathing room.

She flowed with it, coming to a stop with a flick of her parasol and letting it rest on her shoulder unfurled. The motion was just a little too smooth – a little too smug. ‘COMPANY EXPECTING, GEARHEAD?’

‘I have a bad feeling about this,’ Ozpin hummed.

The world greyed. He needed time to think. He was running low on precious aura, but he had the feeling Corallo didn’t intend to freely gift him the moment.

‘Thoughts?’ Oscar asked, mind racing.

He was not long in waiting. ‘She likely predicted this confrontation before she initiated the heist,’ Ozpin mused.

‘Which means she’d also put countermeasures against interference in place.’

‘Most likely. On the one hand it eliminates the probability of her being overwhelmed by superior force. Her favorite kind of fights are personal one on one duels – her records show a dearth of drawn-out, gang-style fights since Roman Torchwick’s demise. Too messy.’

‘And most of her operations involve concentrated, precise heists instead of the kind of multi-level criminal enterprises Torchwick favored.’

The old kingpin’s records pegged him as very comfortable working with his army of grunts and underlings – taking advantage of their numbers and rudimentary skills to supplement his own fairly mediocre abilities. Torchwick’s mind and charisma had been his greatest assets.

Almost the complete opposite of his protégé. She was cunning like a fox and deadly as a striking King Taijitu, but her strength was in her ability to crush her opponents beneath her foot like pathetic insects. She was prodigious among huntsmen – hence why she’d avoided capture for well-on two decades.

‘Indeed,’ Ozpin mulled. ‘She also enjoys fighting you. Much as she enjoyed fighting Commissioner Greyson before he was forced into retirement. Skilled opponents in general appear to be her favored prey.’

Which meant that…

‘And we’ve fallen into the trap.’

The world sped up as Oscar released the spell. Corallo was already sprinting toward him, rapier drawn from the depths of her parasol and glinting polished silver in the bright light of midday.

He was tired. She was fast. He was younger than her, but she had all the powerful vitality of someone half her age. Somehow, despite the multiple hits she’d taken, and all the times he’d drawn the flashes from her aura, she managed to ignore her fatigue and come at him like someone fresh to the fight.

A breath before she reached him Oscar dropped Fidelis and brought their cane up in a defensive posture.

Just in time.

Oscar was forced to draw on every iota of their shared experience as Corallo came at him in a whirling fury.

Unlike before she did not disappear at random, forcing him into constant motion just to keep up with her evasive tactics. Instead she just attacked. Vicious thrusting attacks like before – draining him shockingly quickly of his failing aura reserves – supplemented by powerful cutting slashes that he was better able to parry to the side.

He put in a few of his own hits – the pain of which he could see reflected back at him from her dichromatic eyes – but most of his energy was dedicated to keeping her away, keeping her back, keeping her from turning him into a living shish-kebab.

‘They’re still not coming,’ Ozpin muttered in the back of their mind, trying hard to keep the edge bleeding into his mental voice from distracting Oscar from the melee.

Deflect! Deflect! Oscar lashed out with a lateral kick - ‘Get back, bitch!’ – but his eyes widened as Corallo whirled to the side and seized his leg in a vice grip, ripping him off his feet, and threw him off to the side.

‘Shiii-iit!’

He slammed into a wall. His aura held, just barely, but he had only a moment to process before Corallo was on him and her rapier stabbed forward through his aura and sonofamotherfuckerthatHURTS!

‘Oscar!’

Ozpin took over from Oscar, blunting the sensation of the full foot of cold steel piercing their midsection before it could punch through Oscar’s synapses.

They could even feel the reverberations as the blade struck stone, an ominous hum all the worse for being felt so deep inside. The elder huntsman grabbed the weapon’s hilt – trapping it, out of Corallo’s reach – their other hand dropping their cane and lashing out to seize Corallo’s throat in a chokehold.

They lurched forward – both souls cringing inwardly as the pain in their side flared unbearably – and Oscar blindly joined Ozpin in bringing their weight down on their opponent. Their other hand left the rapier to join the first, and the added strength forced Corallo’s smaller hands to drop her weapon entirely to fight back. They could feel her clawing at their wrists, nails sharp and drawing blood and struggling against the inevitable as they throttled her.

Her lips worked furiously, gasping for air. The nails dug deeper, her unassuming strength showing in the bruises she created on their skin, seeking desperately for a weakness. To exploit. To break their grip. But she found none.

Her eyes flashed – cold, angry, no – raging – a cornered animal fighting for survival.

Some of her strength slackened and they allowed themselves to hope, just for a moment—

‘Almost… there…’

—But all too suddenly the weakness vanished – shifted as instinct gave way to intent. Corallo’s grip changed, her fingers grabbing their wrist like a vice, her abdomen tensing, her legs tucking in against her stomach as she tensed and shoved!

They went sailing over her head to land hard on the ground. Oscar cried out – lancing agony shooting through them as the rapier dragged on the asphalt and ground and cut against their innards.

For a moment, they simply lay there. Their body alive and burning with pain. Their minds a rushing tempest caught along in it. They could hear the sounds of Corallo retching behind them, her heaving, labored gasps. She wouldn’t take long to get back up – unlike them she still had the aura reserves to spare on healing.

Their heart pounded. Their breath was a harsh rasp. Blood soaked hot and thick through their clothes, fast enough for their self-preservation instincts to start flaring.

They had to get up.

Get up.

GET UP DAMNIT.

‘Fuuuuuck that hurts!’ Oscar groaned, rolling to their side and taking a bit of weight off of the blade. He froze again as the burn turned to lightning – gravity pulling the heavier hilt down and momentum shifting the blade along with itfuckfuckfuckSTOPTHAT!

‘Dust, why does this hurt so much!’ Oscar demanded blindly. ‘Is this supposed to be normal?’

‘This is…’ Ozpin grunted. ‘Not… The worst… I’ve gone through… Unfortunately… But quite normal… As far as impalements go…’ He seemed to be recovering much faster from the shock than Oscar. ‘They are… almost universally unpleasant… But at least nothing vital appears to have been hit... This time…’

Fair enough, but that wasn’t much of a mercy right now. He could be grateful for small mercies later when he had time to work through all of this. Time, and the benefit of painkillers. As well as twenty hours of solid rest to regenerate his aura.

And probably a good surgeon.

But right now? He could cheerfully throttle Corallo again in retaliation.

‘Can you take over?’

The older soul did, wordlessly, moving their body inch by labored inch as Oscar retreated into the distant mist of their shared psyche to regain his bearings. He would normally be okay with taking a heavy hit. He’d managed before. Multiple times.

He’d never been impaled before, though. He needed a moment to process that.

Corallo didn’t intend to give them that much, however. Just as Ozpin managed to force them to their knees, they registered the sound of her approaching footsteps and had only a moment to register before she was at their side, her hand wrapping around her rapier’s hilt one last time and yanking it out.

To her credit, it was fast.

Such fine distinctions were – in that moment – lost on the two huntsmen. But it was something. Ever the stoic, Ozpin refused to howl like Oscar wanted, but their trembling increased to a wracking shiver-shuddering.

‘Beep! Beep! Beep!’ Their beacon chose that moment to start registering approaching reinforcements.

‘Great timing guys…’ Oscar muttered, reaching feebly out to their body to start contributing once more.

Dust almighty it hurt but he was prepared now.

Ozpin surrendered the reigns as soon as Oscar had a sufficient grasp of himself to keep from curling up into a little ball once more. Nevertheless, he wrapped their arms around himself – noting distantly the steady stream of hot, sticky blood spreading from the wound. He pressed down harder, hoping to stem some of the flow.

It worked, to an extent. Assuming Corallo didn’t kill them outright, they had a decent chance of surviving the blood loss. That was somewhat comforting.

He looked up and met her eyes, hoping to see some hint of her intentions. She was as unpredictable in reputation as she was a fighter. They knew there was every chance her whimsy might be a boon to them. That there was every chance she would leave them alive, even if just to guarantee a future rematch.

Her smirk was missing. One hand rubbed her throat sympathetically, massaging the damaged tissues even as her aura shimmered over the dark bruises quickly forming. Oscar knew that the damage would quickly be repaired – but the blood that actually caused the discolored spots would take a little longer to vanish.

Aura was more efficient when it wasn’t attempting to dispose of waste material. It took more energy than someone in the middle of combat was normally willing to waste. The fight might have been over, but Corallo didn’t strike Oscar as the type to care too much about such superficialities.

Her eyes never left them.

Ozpin was far better at reading others than he was – such things were never very high up on his list of priorities. But even Oscar could see the wariness etched on her face.

‘You surprised her,’ he told Ozpin.

‘She thought you were defeated. She didn’t expect such swift retaliation.’

‘Her mistake.’

They didn’t have it in them to repeat that feat. Their remaining strength faded with each beat of their heart – each spurt of blood leaving their body and wracking it with pain.

Oscar let their shoulders slump just a little, chin dipping to Corallo in a gesture all huntsmen knew well: ‘You’ve won. For now.’

There was the smirk again. ‘GEARHEAD DONE NOW?’

“You’ve won,” Oscar repeated, an edge to his voice. “Stay and gloat – and get arrested for your troubles – or get out of here. You’ll slip up eventually.”

‘AND GEARHEAD THERE WILL BE. ME SURE.’

He narrowed his eyes but said nothing. She knew him well.

Corallo sniffed – a movement pantomimed to resemble more of a snicker. Though he could see how delighted she was with her victory – her teeth flashing just a little too much, a bounce in her step despite the fatigue she would be feeling – she still kept a fair distance between herself and him.

Ironically, in victory she was less arrogant than before the fight began. Ozpin fed him his own observations: the genuine cheer in her eyes, the imperceptible sway to her hips as she twirled around, her smirk was gentler – no, softer.

He didn’t think Crema had a gentle bone in her body.

It was a good look on her regardless. She was proud, but it was the delightful pride of a student succeeding where they hadn’t expected to. Ozpin knew that look well enough to recognize it on sight.

‘She would have made an interesting student.’

‘Glynda would hate you for thinking it.’

‘True.’ The thought amused Ozpin so much in spite of himself he didn’t quite care. Or perhaps it was the relief; they would live to see another day.

‘Beep! Beep! Beep!’

Corallo’s eyes dropped to his waist, noting the quickening flash of the beacon. Her time was up.

She clipped her parasol to her waist – the better to free up her hands and gave Oscar a mock bow. ‘WAS A GOOD FIGHT. ME LOOK FORWARD TO YOU HEAL. REMATCH.’

“This isn’t a game,” Oscar scowled.

‘NO? MAYBE. BUT FUN!’ She smirked and blew him a kiss. ‘BYE BYE!

She shattered away, her false-reflection dispersing into glistening shards.

The moment hung for a while before Oscar sagged and gingerly lowered himself to the ground. His knees ached and his side had begun to settle into a steady, painful throb punctuated with the sensation of superheated needles sinking in every time he moved their hands. ‘Well, that went about as poorly as it could have.’

‘Cheer up, Oscar. You got a few good licks in.’

‘Thanks. I’m comforted. Really comforted right now.’

‘But look on the bright side, you’re not dead!’

‘I will be once Amaya hears about—’

The air above them shattered once more, and Oscar craned his neck to see what Corallo wanted now, mere moments before his backup arrived.

It wasn’t anything much. Her hands flew, and as he realized what she was saying Oscar groaned.

‘Told you.’ Ozpin chuckled despite himself.

‘Shut up.’ He was so done for the day.

‘AND REMEMBER NEXT TIME, GEARHEAD. MY NAME NEO!’

X_0_X

The airspace around Beacon Tower was crowded with a dozen cranes gleaming all manner of rainbow-hues.

It had once been the pinnacle of Valean architectural achievement and host to one of Remnant’s precious CCT nexi, making it the backbone to modern society, the flow of information between the four kingdoms, and lasting peace.

The Fall broke that backbone, and Vale had been reduced to a crippled kingdom in exile.

The last time she’d seen it, only the floor of Headmaster Ozpin’s office and all below remained – the entirety of the clock and bell mechanisms above it lay scattered across the campus’ grounds like discarded toys. It remained the emblem of Vale city, only then, instead of a symbol of strength, knowledge, and cooperation, it had represented failure. Decay. Ruin.

But now? Rebirth, it seemed, had come to Beacon.

Whining machinery broke the tranquility of the grounds. The gruff calls of shouting foremen echoed off the buttresses and towers and walls that made Beacon a fortress in its ancient heyday. Power tools roared, fastening rivets, tightening screws, welding, splicing, repairing, building.

Construction equipment marred the vast, green lawns of the campus grounds, either filling up corners with assorted dusty bricks and raw material or laying on the grass unused for the time. Discolored patches revealed where some of the pallets had once rested; the earth was misshapen with tracks and ugly holes, and in many places besides the grass was dried out and rotten.

The gardens, which had once been world famous among botanists for the skill and care that went into their upkeep, had been left to seed, and were now overgrown with tough, thorny weeds.

Ruby could even spot a few of the places where marks of the Fall remained visible: there was the spot that a Paladin had crumbled to the ground and crushed a façade. There was the pit where one of the transports disabled by the Griffon horde had crashed. There was the spot she’d carved Crescent Rose into the stone tile path to halt her momentum after an Ursa Major slugged her in the gut, and the scorch mark a few feet further down; where she’d sent herself flying back at the beast.

Beacon tower itself, surrounded by colossal, smudgy, colorful steel cranes – each hard at work lifting up the vital machinery, electronics, and raw material necessary to restore functions to the CCT components left in ruins – seemed to wear a cast of iron, propped up but never quite giving the impression it was fully defeated.

The tower stood tall. Like the rest of Vale, it too was healing.

She ignored Ren’s hand on her shoulder, her hand clenched at her side missing the familiar weight of her scythe – she’d left it behind with her other things – because, despite it all, she could only feel the deep ache within her chest.

Despite it all, it was still beautiful. It was still Beacon Academy.

And all too suddenly, she was elsewhere. Elsewhen. A faded tapestry spreading out before her, the colors muted, the sounds dimmed.

She was running after streamers of long silver-white hair, the splash of scarlet something she was distinctly not used to seeing flare out behind silver-shod feet. “Weiss! Get back here with my cloak! I didn’t say you could—”

“HEY! LOOK EVERYONE! I’M RUBY ROSE! I CAN’T STOP RUNNING AROUND LIKE A CHILD BECAUSE I’M HYPERACTIVE AND LOVE BEING A PAIN IN THE BUTT TO MY TEAMMATES EVEN THOUGH I SHOULD BE ACTING LIKE A RESPONSIBLE HUMAN BEING!”

“I told you!” she shouted back. She hadn’t meant to forget! “I’m sorry for forgetting to tell you about the due date getting changed for our project! Weiss!”

Her prey – the heiress-turned-dirty-thief – turned back to shout over her shoulder. “I CAN’T HEAR YOU BECAUSE I’M TOO BUSY BEING RUBY RO— ACK!”

Ruby winced as her partner went skidding along the grass. That had to have hurt…

She eyed the damage with apprehension. No doubt she’d have to spend a good hour working the stains out of her gorgeous signature cloak…

Oh, and Weiss too.

“Oh Dust, Weiss! Are you okay?!”

The heiress groaned pitifully and spat out a mouthful of turf. “…Ugh… Heels… Were a bad decision…”

Ren gave her a little shake. She’d been rooted in place far longer than the expected ‘dewy-eyed nostalgic glance’ really called for.

“Ruby? Are you okay?”

‘No,’ she thought as the ache in her chest deepened. ‘I’m not okay.’

She’d been seeing ghosts since she walked out of the door, the sights and sounds and smells a threshold into a past that existed only in her memories.

“I’m fine, Ren,” she answered aloud. “Just… remembering.”

The skin between his eyebrows scrunched up subtly. “Do you need a minute?”

She needed a lifetime. “No, let’s go.”

Ruby pulled up her leaden feet and there were no more questions.

Ren led her along, though Ruby could remember very well where she was going. The teacher’s lounge had not moved since the Fall – it was still up the central staircase, a left and then a right, and in the room with the glass panes to the left of the door.

She would never forget it, what with how many times she’d chosen (been forced) to appeal to her professors for help when the workload became too much to handle. For the same reasons, she knew each individual route to the staff’s personal offices as well.

It wasn’t anything a normal student would struggle with. Part of her still felt a touch of shame for that. Beacon was a rigorous institution – far more so than the smaller schools scattered throughout the kingdoms – and mediocrity was weeded out from the beginning.

For someone skipping two entire years of content, though? For someone as young as she’d been, and as disinclined to the mountainous class work?

It had been overwhelming, hence the need to ask for assistance when her team couldn’t buoy her up anymore with study sessions and crash courses in all the material she’d missed out on.

But she was distracting herself.

Ruby was going to meet her professors again.

Her old professors, who were now strangely enough her colleagues.

And what had changed with the older men and women (woman – she’d heard that Professor Peach returned to her native Vacuo after the Fall) she’d looked up to as her mentors? Would Professor Port still be boastful? Was Glynda turning grey? Had anyone thought to give Oobleck decaf? Would they have advice for her?

Everything else was already so different. How could she hope to keep up with it all?

“Ruby!”

Silver eyes widened and she flinched. A new-old doubt flared.

She’d almost forgotten about Jaune. Or, she’d almost convinced herself to not think about him, but now it was too late for that.

There was only one question she had for him: would he still be angry with her?

Before she turned, the memory of their last argument flared.

…He cut her off mid-sentence, torrential blue eyes cutting through her fury like a blade. ‘STOP!’

He turned away from her, leaving her with fists by her side, fury and shock ringing like the burst remains of pounding artillery in her ears. So much she could say – so much she wanted to say; to scream at him until he understood, or until she could make him understand!

He struggled for words, however, clearly disinterested in what those things were, before finally, through clenched teeth, his voice ground something substantial. ‘I can’t—’

His fists clenched, his metal gauntlets creaking.

‘No,’ the last of the control slipped from his voice; a hidden fuse finding hidden fuel. Ruby’s blood chilled as he turned to look her in the eye. ‘Get out… Now.’ His voice rose to a peak, until he was shouting. ‘Get out. GET OUT!’

And eyes wide, her hurt and fury drowned out by fear and shock…

—He’d looked at her like they’d never be friends again—

…and the remainder quickly chilling to the bone, Ruby turned and fled.

It was a physical effort to fight the nostalgia of the moment and turn toward him. Her feet were fastened to the ground. Her blood was cold. Her heart raced; for a moment Ruby feared it might drag her down into a raging sea of primal fear and panic again, and that this time she might not be able to haul herself out.

It echoed: was he still angry with her? Why wouldn’t he be? What possible difference could time make? Distance? It was Ren and Nora, but worse, she couldn’t lie herself out of it she couldn’t this would go so badly she—

She was afraid to have an answer so soon.

It was far too soon – there was far too much, could she even hope to—

She found herself crushed in an embrace.

Strong arms, muscles corded like steel wire, the faintest hint of sweat and apples; the remnants of a day training in the yard, or demonstrating in a classroom.

Ruby looked up to meet the sapphires twisted upwards in a giddy smile.

“Jaune!” she coughed, struggling for breath. “It’s good… to…” Okay, not working. She couldn’t breathe! “You’re squeezing a little too hard, Jaune – too much armor!”

She punched his breastplate ineffectually – it was heavy, polished white steel trimmed with bronze – and he got the message. Her ribs breathed a sigh of relief.

“Sorry! I got excited,” Jaune laughed. He reached out to grab her shoulders, giving them a squeeze. “It’s just been so long!”

“Yeah, it has,” she rasped, eyes wide and fingers clenched as roiling emotions frothed within her. Her eyes were trying to bend the world into the shape of a fish-eyed lens; no doubt in league with her raging pulse.

She fought them back. Now was not the time to break down because her body decided she could have an anxiety attack.

Not now.

‘Dust…’ she growled to herself. ‘Compartmentalize. You’re going to drown if you keep this up…’

Stop. In. Out. Breathe.

Again.

They were staring.

She breathed anyways.

In… Out…

Ruby recovered enough to look back up at Jaune. And immediately her head tilted to the side as she properly looked at him, underneath the gleaming shell he’d encased himself in.

He’d… grown. Not in height – he was a tall man already, towering nearly a foot over her head even with the benefit of heels back in their Beacon days – but rather in bulk. The arms that had been her prison mere moments before were thicker – and covered as they were in polished white plate had all the appearance of a knight snatched straight from the old tales. The same went for his chest and upper waist.

No scars she’d never seen, hair still the same, short, choppy length, and his chin covered in a fine layer of stubble… Her brow furrowed, finding his waist. Crocea Mors seemed to be in fine condition, all of it gleaming white steel contrasted against the softer, decorative bronze crossguard.

Too clean. Too solid.

Everything told her that Jaune was in fine form. Probably hitting his stride as a huntsman and equipped with the best arms and armor Remnant had to offer. Now that he had a daily serving of students to keep up with, and skilled colleagues to hone himself against, he would be more formidable than ever as well.

She saw before her a huntsman ready to meet all the trials and challenges thrown his way, standing leagues above where he’d begun so long ago… But…

Wait. Her eyes narrowed.

Where was the sash?

Her eyes flicked upwards, lips parting slightly to demand an answer, and met his eyes at last.

Cold-cut sapphires.

‘GET OUT!’

The question died in her throat.

He stared back, giving her the same examination. His brow was tight, the joy draining, making way for concern. His lip curling downwards. His eyes on her shoulders, on her waist. The beginnings of a scowl pulled down her own lips. She felt a chill she hadn’t with Ren and Nora.

Something flickered deep inside those sapphires; something dark and wary, yet it was tempered by something else. Something hard, yet strangely hesitant. Like she was staring into the eyes of an animal not yet sure it was ready to approach. To trust.

Cold-cut sapphires, boring into her feeling them on her back as she fled on aching feet. Down that endless stairwell through those crumbling halls – away. Far away. Far enough not to feel those eyes on her any more, never feel those eyes again, the judgement, always staring blue green gold grey brown red go away she could still feel them on her go away go away GO AWAY!

‘Dust!’ Ruby stuffed the rising tide back down. She was suffocating again, her pulse beginning to race, to undo the work of the oxygen she’d taken in.

The questions finally started to pile up, more than just the one.

What could she say? After so many years? She could feel his silence like a physical wall, or a chasm between them. His judgement, the hidden predator in the shadows, his anger. How could she break this… this barrier between them? Had she let the old wound fester too long?

What could she do?

…Fearfearfear go away go away GO AWAY!

…They’d been best friends. Leaders together in their school years and sharing the role in Mistral. They’d seen some of their highest highs, and some of their lowest lows together.

Sometimes she’d felt like she’d known him like she’d known her own team. She’d known what to say to wind him up, make him laugh, frown, sag or smile. And she’d known he could do much the same with her.

What did he see in her now?

“So!”

They both jerked.

Ren stepped between them, putting an early death to their not-a-standoff. “I have no desire to intrude on you two catching up,” he said (too) lightly, shooting Ruby an apologetic look. “I’m sure there’s plenty to talk about! But I don’t believe we should keep the faculty waiting?”

He phrased it as a question, but Ruby and Jaune stared at him in silence until the Mistrallan started to fidget. Given it was Ren they were talking about, that was quite the accomplishment on their part.

Another moment passed and Ren’s smile grew more brittle. He spread his hands, his expression turning just the tiniest bit pleading. “Guys?”

Ruby shook herself. “Right.” Now wasn’t the time to question whether or not her friend was still her friend. Poking that Ursa could come later. “You’re right. Faculty. Gotta meet my new colleagues, right Jaune?”

She hid her hesitation behind a smile, lightly jabbing her elbow into his arm. She pretended not to notice the slight flare of aura as she hit armor and pins and needles shot up her arm.

His aura. A white veil that whorled and danced like light through water. A manifestation of the inner self – the soul – that only flared as a defensive measure.

His smile was just as plastered as her own. “Right.”

Her stomach twisted.

Later.

Ruby pulled her lips wider and twirled her finger. “Lead on, Ren.”

As they fell into line behind Ren, they listened to him comment – at first warily, but with growing confidence – on the current state of affairs at Beacon and how far the repairs were coming along and oh there’s the thing An was going on about! Ruby steeled herself while only listening with half an ear and ignored the confused, intense stare burning into the back of her head.

This was home now. She would make sure of that. Everyone felt uncomfortable and nervous moving into a new home, right? Everyone dealt with these messy, painful emotions when they met up with old friends, right?

The traitorous part of her mind wasn’t so sure.

‘Welcome to Beacon…’

X_0_X

Neo’s throat still twinged with the echoes of faded pain as she stepped out of the shadows behind a few of her subordinates, the faint illumination given off by her semblance hidden away behind a few strategically placed shipping containers nearby.

Those, she’d decided, would always stay far enough to avoid giving any eavesdroppers an easy chance to listen in, but close enough to make her quiet entrances possible. After all, how could she possibly be expected to get rid of one of her favorite pranks?

She stepped between them on silent feet without preamble.

Her lieutenant – a short, meek looking doe-faunus with her lower face hidden away behind a grey scarf – yelped and drew her weapon before she realized just who it was that appeared out of nowhere. “Boss!”

Neo hid her smirk and pretended not to notice the pistol just a few inches from her gut. Appearances and all that. ‘STATUS REPORT?’

“I, ah, sorry Boss! I, we—”

Neo rolled her eyes and whacked the girl over the back of the head.

She’d picked her right hand well enough – she’d never be cut out for combat or intimidation, but when Neo wasn’t fucking with her, she had a sharp mind. Her innocent looks distracted from her cunning, and the ruthless intelligence she had sequestered away for Neo to exploit.

The girl had a terrible stutter though, when she was caught off guard. Woe to be her, it amused Neo to no end.

The girl coughed awkwardly. “Um. Status report. Right.” She straightened. “While you were out chasing down Pine, we completed the heist. During the crossfire with some of the PD we lost one of the containers of Dust, but the rest is already on its way out of Vale to our warehouses down the coast.”

‘TRACKED?’

She nodded. “We’re sure. It was too public an operation to avoid. Do you want us to remove the tracker and reroute the cargo, or let it sit?”

‘KEEP. WE GIVE RIFT NICE SURPRISE. THEY LOOK FOR DUST, THEY FIND DUST. THEY FIND CHARGES, FIND OUT WE TRICK THEM. THEN THEY WONDER WHERE REST IS. FUNNY, NO?’

Rift was one of the many smaller cities scattered along Sanus’ northern coast, nominally under the jurisdiction of the kingdom of Vale. In the aftermath of the Fall they’d enjoyed a long decade of functional independence. The coastal city, situated as it was at the mouth of an inlet and partially dug into a tall, stony mountainside, was an excellent hub for black market activities, being near enough to Vale for the survivors to take advantage of (or flee to), and near enough to Vacuo’s primary shipping lanes to receive a steady influx of materiel and restricted ‘merchandise.’ With the labyrinthine tunnels running deep into the hills, it was also a smugglers paradise.

Neo’s operation had several warehouses in the city that the Vale Council was keenly interested in. Riftan officials, on the other hand, were more than happy to leave them untouched as long as no exceptional cause for raids was given – the underlings she’d set to manage the branch were generous in their donations to the city council, after all.

With the tracker on the cargo, the Vale PD would have their excuse to conduct their raids. They would find it chock-full of smuggled Dust. They would find several IEDs scattered through the warehouse. And Neo would laugh at the collective coronary they would suffer, knowing that they would only discover how much of it was counterfeit days after the fact, while the legit score was far away.

All according to plan.

She profited, Rift would receive a messy reminder that her operations were not to be touched under any circumstances, the Vale PD would be further frustrated and – if fortune was kind, down a few officers – and she could rest satisfied, knowing she’d managed to infuriate Gearhead Pine even further. Four birds, one stone.

Roman would have called it an efficient use of resources. Neo just preferred using explosive stones. It worked either way.

That left one more thing. ‘DAMAGES?’

“We’ve reports of three civilian casualties. One is already slated for release from the hospital, the other two died on-scene. We’re in a bit of trouble with the locals in Slate District; couple of our contacts are saying they’re cutting ties on account of it.”

Neo touched her chin in thought.

Only three? She’d been expected upwards of a dozen when she planned the operation out. The death toll being so low was either good luck or spoke to her underlings’ restraint.

…

Probably the former, now that she thought about it.

Right then. The second tidbit was more important though. Contacts didn’t grow on trees. ‘WHY?’

“One of the women killed was pretty well-liked. Fancied herself a humanitarian. Had some cash from an inheritance she liked to spread around. Doesn’t seem to be more than that.”

Neo cocked her head to the side, running it all through her head and ignoring the wary glances her lieutenant exchanged with the other grunt beside her. Worried she would be frustrated by the setback? That she would take it out on them?

Hmph. ‘FINE. FIND NEW CONTACTS OR GET OLD ONES BACK. WHATEVER MEANS. ME NO CARE.’ Her subordinates had so little faith!

While annoying, those were acceptable losses, and inevitable when her operation slipped up.

Killing important people always created complications. Resentments, grudges, even vendettas if she were especially unlucky – those were the kinds of things she would be displeased to hear about. A few lost contacts was fine. She would lose some maneuverability in the short term, a bit of lost profit, but that would be made up once the Dust sold.

Simplicity itself. A good day’s work – and she got a good fight out of it.

Her hand rose to rub at the tender skin where Pine had throttled her.

A good fight indeed. She’d never in her wildest dreams thought to drag such an immediate, violent response from the polite, by-the-books huntsman. Never.

Honestly, she’d been astounded for just a few seconds before she regained her bearings at the buried rage – the ancient fire glaring down at her – and the iron-hard fingers cutting off her oxygen supply.

The reason was simple enough: Neo lived for moments like that.

She would have never thought to prepare for such an eventuality. It was never in the cards. For just a few moments her blood had thrummed, and she’d felt that ecstatic tingle of joyful life as she threw him off of her and regained the dominance she pursued in a fight.

‘Ah, Pine,’ Neo thought with a soft smirk as she gazed down at the map of Vale spread out before her. ‘You’ll be worth seeking out again. I can’t let you get away from me that easily.’

She refused to let such talent escape her. Nor would she let him cool his heels forever – she’d made that mistake once with the last Commissioner and didn’t plan on repeating it. Allowing Pine to go soft would be like letting an exquisite wine go to waste on a trashy frat party.

In fewer words (and without the hangover); a disappointing waste of potential.

“Boss?”

‘WHAT?’

Weren’t they done yet? She was well aware her lieutenant was still speaking, going over the numbers, the stratagems that would further her growing criminal empire’s prospects in the ripe little gem of Vale, and the double-dealing and underhanded tactics. All the things Neo didn’t give a damn about.

They were all well and good, as far as she was concerned, and they had their place, but she delegated for a reason. Neo was no Roman.

She was happy to leave all of that to her lieutenant and be the unfailingly deadly, terrifying kingpin. After all, who was a bigger target than the lynchpin holding it all together?

That was exactly how Neo liked things to be. Bigger target, better enemies, better fights.

“There’s one more thing, rather unrelated. You asked to be kept abreast of all huntsman traffic in and out of the city?”

‘YES.’ She motioned impatiently for the girl to continue.

“We received reports from our contact in Mistral United Airlines that three have crossed the border into Vale. One is already departed to Vacuo, the second is visiting relatives in the Port District, but the third…”

Neo snatched the memo from the girl’s hands, breaking the seal and scanning over the contents.

Interesting…

‘WE HAVE SOMEONE IN BEACON?’

“Not at the moment. They’re notoriously strict about their security. We’ve been making inroads with some of the construction crews, but Atlas screens everyone working there on account of the CCT.” Her lieutenant seemed more than a little put out by that fact.

That was a shame, but it certainly made the game more interesting.

Ruby Rose – Little Red the Reaper – was here in Vale? After almost ten years sequestered away in Anima? That was news Neo hadn’t expected to see when she’d woken up that morning.

Oh, she’d heard about Ruby. Her reputation as a huntress was as terrifying as it was enticing.

A child prodigy in her field, entered into Beacon by age fifteen against all of her peers. By all means an exceptional student in everything save her academia, and a scythe-wielder at that? Taking up that weapon, one of Remnant’s most difficult to master, took moxie that Neo could appreciate, and further, hope she’d one day encounter again.

After all, their last duel on the Vindicator, for all the tension of the situation had added to the encounter, had left something to be desired for Neo. Ruby had been young, then. Untried. Neo had been able to sense the potential there, but it had been of-yet unrealized. The girl had been easy pickings for someone of Neo’s caliber…

Well, she should have been.

And yet Neo lost, and Roman’s death had been the result.

…Fingers closing around her throat like a vice – she couldn’t breathe she stared up into the green-hazel-gold-flecked eyes of her opponent her enemy and glared she struggled against his hands pulling scratching clawing but she couldn’t breathe and—NO. THINK. She paused. Her eyes narrowed. She seized his wrists and squeezed, bunched her legs up to her chest and SHOVED…

Her lips quirked.

…The girl clung to her weapon over open air, Gryphons swarming below her. She would die once Neo cut her. Maybe she could do it slowly. One finger at a time, relish in the fear growing in the girl’s eyes as she lost her grip and vanished into the abyss of Grimm. Maybe she would survive their vicious swarm and hit the ground – it would be a quick death, at least. Quicker than the alternative.

Roman monologued behind her but Neo didn’t care. The whole world dropped away as she held the needle-tip of her blade at the girl’s throat. It would bloom sweet red when sh— WHAT THE, NO!

The smirk turned to a nostalgic smile.

…Neo clung tightly to her parasol, fending off the occasional Gryphon too stupid to realize she was a huntress with a weapon in hand, falling or not. The Vindicator died above her, and she watched as Little Red rode her scythe like a pogo stick through the air to the ground.

Roman would be dead, then.

She didn’t like the way her heart panged in her chest at the realization. His charming smile, his charisma, the kindness hidden behind the mercenary exterior…

She knew it was there; nothing else could have brought the kingpin around to taking in Vale’s lowest rat. To teaching that rat how to live, to love, to breathe combat. She’d become his hand, but he’d become her reason to live. All of that would now be gone with him…

Alani, her lieutenant, droned on beside her as Neo reminisced.

She owed quite a lot to Roman. Odds were that she would have perished from malnutrition had he not stepped in for the pathetic little mute shivering in the gutter. In retrospect it was quite the unusual gamble for the kingpin to make. She’d been stunted already. She didn’t know how to communicate. Young, and a vacuum for precious lien – at least before she started making her own money. She’d hardly been prime underling material.

But he had. And she grew. And he died. And Neo had Ruby Rose to thank for that.

…It was a tiny grave, unfit for someone as ostentatious as Roman. A simple headstone. “HERE LIES ROMAN TORCHWICK. LEADER OF MEN, FEARED BY HIS ENEMIES, MAY HE REST IN PEACE.” She didn’t know what dates to append to the stone, so she’d left it blank. Let those who found the tiny copse of trees think he’d lived a long and happy life. That he’d been buried in the middle of nowhere because it was actually a special spot for him. That maybe he’d met his first lover here. Or emerged from humble beginnings from a life in the woods.

Something more impressive than the truth. The truth kind of sucked…

Neo sighed.

She still sometimes visited that grave, but not often. She’d long since moved on. The faint grudge she’d considered nursing so long ago faded away with the knowledge that Ruby Rose was far away and suffering her own tragedies.

That was just karma, as far as Neo was concerned.

She had an empire to build and enemies to fight. Life went on.

But now an opportunity had fallen right into her lap, just as she forced her most recent rival off the playing board. That changed things.

Neo lifted her hand and slashed it across her torso. ‘STOP.’

Her lieutenant fell deadly silent.

‘BRING MY GOOD PAPER. AND PEN,’ she ordered.

“Right on it, boss.” The second underling disappeared into the warehouse.

Alani cocked her head nervously. “Do you have a letter to send, Boss?”

Neo had no intention of involving the girl in this, however. ‘INVITATION. NEED TO KNOW BASIS.’

This fight would be hers and hers alone. Oscar Pine? He was a formidable opponent with fewer scruples than Neo had been willing to give him credit for before that day. He was fast and wielded a weapon not dissimilar to her own, and he was still someone she would certainly relish fighting again when the time came.

But the Reaper?

Neo rubbed her hands together. ‘I’m going to have fun with you, Red.’

#RWBY #TheLastRose #Valasania the Pale #My Stories #Ruby Rose #Oscar Pine #Neopolitan #Ozpin

7 notes · View notes

minaa-munch · 4 years

Text

Ferns and Familial Bonds

“Ryusui dono, I hope you’ve been well.”

“I have, dear. And you?”

“The Capitol has been a blessing. In fact--” The words were drowned by a sudden gust of wind that entailed a shower of lilac and magenta from the fuji flowers that swayed from the moss covered branches overhead, along with the tell-tale scent of wild honeysuckle. This particular section of the forest was leafier and perhaps, more flowery than the rest, with splashes of color in the form of apricot blossoms, hydrangea bushes, clumps of morning glory -- maybe even a few curious lavender blossoms peeking from beneath the various bushes peppering the forest floor.

it was one of the few shared acres between the Akimichi, Nara and Yamanaka clans; located behind their clan monument. Akin to the monument itself, it was grand, it was colorful, it was--

Tan digits barely had time to cover his nose before he sneezed for the third time.

It was going to give him an allergy. Gingerly, he peeked at his now-damp fingers before his features scrunched up in disgust.

"Be careful not to dirty your clothes, little kinmokusei." said a soft, almost musical voice before a floral patterned handkerchief was offered to him; one he gratefully took. He carefully rubbed his tingling nose before folding the cloth neatly, tucking it away in his yukata sleeve. Sniffing miserably, watery blue hues stared at the wrinkly hand that was firmly clamped over his, before flickering to his grandmother's wrinkles. How come the mixture of scents didn’t bother her?

Talk about unfair. Cue another, disdainful sniff as Ryusui turned to address yet another distant clan member (Minato had lost count) and his eyes flickered to the bit of lilac that was balancing precariously on his nose. He picked it before it could aggravate his poor sinuses any further, the petal held captive between his fingers. It was soft, almost velvety to the touch; it looked pretty too (sinuses-bias aside), and he could see why the Yamanaka preferred the color as the main theme for today.

Apart from flowers that he had no idea how to identify, of course. It was Inoichi’s Genpuku* ceremony, as he was going to officially be crowned as the heir to the Yamanaka clan. It was also to celebrate his admission into Konoha’s Ninja Academy, which was a matter of pride for the Yamanaka likewise.

The young heir was expected to achieve great things - and Minato had no doubts he would; since he could already perform the shiranshin no jutsu and had amazing chakra control (as amazing as a six year old could figure, since his cousin could walk on trees and that was so cool) and he would probably be a Jonin before anyone knew it.

He and Shikaku both. Cue a forlorn sigh as curious hues stared at the dirt trodden path the younger members of the clan had taken earlier in an excuse to collect herbs and shrubs; when it had actually been to get away from the boring adult meetings. Minato would have joined them, had it not been for Ryusui’s strong grip on his hand; as if she was afraid he would run away - not to say he hadn’t tried of course.

She simply happened to be very...overprotective. Cue another useless tug; his umpteenth attempt to loosen his grandmother’s hold on his hand before a voice interrupted his valiant efforts.

“I would like to introduce my children, obaa sama.” Somewhat sullen (he was not pouting), he peeked at the newcomers through his blond fringe, only to find a curious pair of dark hazels staring back at him. A boy who seemed to be around his age and height was observing him from behind a blond girl who had her head bowed respectfully towards the clan elder, her pale blond locks framing the sides of her face in a dainty, almost royal manner.

Were they from the Daimyo’s court? The lady - their mother, judging from the way she spoke about them - wore an elaborate green kimono that had a delicate gold trim. The girl was wearing a similar dress, though hers happened to be a darker shade of green whereas the boy was wearing a formal yukata of a startling, sapphire blue.

They practically reeked of aristocracy and he couldn’t help but stare.

“Its rude to stare, you know.” Of course, the universe was out to get him wasn’t it? Minato felt the tips of his ears burn as the girl narrowed her eyes at him in what he perceived to be a glare; easily missing the humorous tilt in her words. Instead, he ducked his head in embarrassment.

“Summimasen” He was too mortified to notice the amused chuckle that was passed amidst the three females. It wasn’t until a shy tug at his sleeve that he looked up again, to familiar dark hues.

“Wanna go explore?” The boy spoke in hushed tones as their elders talked. He seemed to be the friendlier of the two; with an easy, infectious smile and red spots on his cheeks. His gaze was welcoming too, and Minato decided he instantly liked him.

Besides, girls were weird. “Hai” Both boys exchanged grins at that, before turning to their respective elders.

“Ne, can we go explore please, hahu-e?”

“Can we, obaa sama?”

To their credit, both women didn’t immediately succumb to the combined efforts of large, hopeful eyes and pouting lips; even though they were very well tempted to. Instead, they exchanged a look before nodding in agreement - Ryusui’s a tad more reluctant.

“Only if Tsunade goes with you.”

“Yatta!” Before Minato could react, the boy had grabbed his hand and was now proceeding to drag him towards one of the many, leaf littered forest paths that led away from the clearing. The girl - Tsunade, followed them at a leisurely pace.

---------

“And then...” Cue a suspenseful pause as the two leaned closer, “he blew up!”

“Really?” Minato couldn’t help but ask, blue hues wide and curious as Tsunade nodded, light hazels focused on her fingernails, a smirk playing on her lips.

“Mhm. Luckily I was there, or my teammates would have had their heads blown off.” She remarked, clearly reveling in the unabashed (read: awe inspiring) attention she was getting from the two - more from Minato than Nawaki, since he had heard her stories before but was excited by gory details, just like any other kid his age.

Minato, though? he was enthralled. “You’re so cool, Tsunade ane.” Blue hues practically sparkled in the sunlight, “Can you teach me how to do that?”

“Iie” Tsunade raised her nose, “You need to be a shinobi first, gaki.” She lowered her hand to her lap before raising an brow, “and you’re not even in the academy yet, are you?”

“I’ll be joining this year, after Inoichi ani” The younger blond was relentless as his expression turned more childish, complete with wide eyes and a trembling lower lip, “Please?”

Their exploration had been cut short; both boys were now sitting on the mossy forest floor while Tsunade was perched on a knobbly outgrowth of a root, one leg slung carelessly across the other through the slit of her kimono. She had a makeshift crown of morning glory and apricot blossoms on her head and seemed very much like a forest spirit holding court with her shorter, spirit underlings.

“I’ll think about it.”

“Arigatou, Tsunade ane.”

Nawaki had made crowns for the two of them too; except they consisted solely of dandelions and ferns. “Tsunade ane is a talented chunin” Nawaki nodded in a sagely manner before turning to his new friend, a large smile on his face, “But I’ll leave her in the dust when I become Hokage, ne?” There was a swell of pride in his words, and the rosy spots on his cheek shone with a flush that dusted the bridge of his nose.

Was that even possible? “You’ll be Hokage?” Minato questioned instead, with a curious tilt of his head, “Aren’t you too young to be Hokage?”

“Iie, not like that Mina chan” Nawaki sprung to his feet, clothed chest puffed out, “I’ll train super hard and out rank my sister and be Hokage, just like Hashirama oji!” The declaration was met with silence as he turned fully towards the younger blond, “Everyone and Tsunade ane will acknowledge me and I’ll acknowledge everyone, regardless of their clan because that’s what oji sama did.”

His back was turned so he didn’t notice the fond smile on Tsunade’s face, though Minato certainly did - it was very similar to Ryusui obaa sama’s and he was beginning to see the familial resemblance. “That sounds like a lot of work, Nawaki ani” He replied, his gaze flickering to the elder, just as he deflated a little, “Iie, not like that! I believe in you” Cue a shy, childish grin, “You’ll make a great Hokage, Nawaki ani.”

Nawaki positively beamed and Minato felt happy. He offered a hand to the Namikaze, one which he took, before pulling him to his feet, their footfalls echoing the delightful crunch of fallen leaves that littered the forest.

“My first order as the future Hokage...” Nawaki raised his index finger, solemn “Is to outrun Tsunade ane in a forest sprint.” Cue a wide, mischievous grin before he took off, dragging the younger blond with him as Tsunade hopped off her perch.

“Oi, you can’t just randomly announce a sprint Nawaki!”

“Can’t lecture who you can’t catch ane san!” The Senju didn’t even bother looking back as he laughed. Minato did, though. Blue hues peeked at the now shrinking figure of the forest spirit, a homely smile on her face as she shook her head.

He could have sworn she said something, but they were too far away to tell.

---------

They ran for what felt like hours to his six year self, though it was probably a few minutes. They had to make a couple of detours because Tsunade almost caught them - and like a downright onni, too. She would unexpectedly spring from a random bush, arms raised over her head and leaves stuck in her hair.

For their part, they didn’t scream because one of them happened to be the future Hokage whereas the other would be his first loyal, shinobi (which couldn’t be further from the truth, judging from the shrill, almost girly shrieks that reverberated around the trees after such encounters). No matter how sneaky they tried to be, Tsunade would always manage to jump them somehow. At first Minato thought it was because she was miffed at the un-called for sprint, but judging from the devilish smile on her face every time, he deduced she was having fun at their expense.

If their expense translated to him almost getting a heart attack every time, that is. The blond cast furtive glances as Nawaki jumped behind a fallen tree, one large enough to easily swallow their forms in its massive shadow.

“Is the coast clear?”

Cue a short nod, before the Senju pulled him to their new hiding spot. For his part, Nawaki barely looked a little more than ruffled, whereas Minato was having a hard time catching his breath, despite the grin on his face. He hadn’t had this much fun in a while.

“Wanna see something cool?” Nawaki whispered conspiratorially as they hid from their self proclaimed baby sitter. Minato, ever the curious child, nodded as he tucked his knees under his chin. As quiet as they were trying to be, he had a sneaking suspicion that the older Senju probably knew where they were - her presence was like a tickle on the back of his neck.

But maybe that was just him, since Nawaki seemed confident that they were alone. He gave the younger a toothy grin before bringing his hand, palm up between them. Dark hues narrowed, and there was a sliver of light green before a few ferns poked their heads out of his skin.

“Ho--” Minato clamped a hand over his mouth to stifle his words. Nawaki shot him another grin before his brows furrowed in concentration. A few beats later, and he had a miniature bush in his hand, complete with twigs, ferns, plant sprouts and fully grown dandelions. His forehead was peppered with sweat at the exertion, but he managed to retain his friendly smile regardless.

“P-pretty cool, ne?“ He wheezed, “Demo, its not perfect yet but I’ve been practicing.” He sounded proud of himself and Minato didn’t blame him - he had never seen anyone grow stuff out of their hands before. In fact, the only person who had been reputedly able to do that was the legendary Shodai...

They very same Shodai who happened to be Nawaki and Tsunade’s grandfather. Suddenly, his earlier references to ‘Hashirama oji’ made sense and he felt silly for not noticing it sooner. Minato scooted a bit closer, before a tan finger poked at the fern in his hand cautiously.

It even seemed real! “That’s amazing, Nawaki ani” He whispered, the excited flush on his face underlining his hushed tone, “You’re amazing! Can you teach me how to do that?”

“I don’t know, Mina chan” Nawaki sounded sheepish, though more uncertain as he scratched his chin in a thoughtful manner, “No one ever taught me and it just...happened...” Trailing off, he noticed the younger’s disheartened expression and put a reassuring hand on his shoulder, the same infectious smile on his face.

“But if I figure out how, you’ll be the first person I teach, ne?” The foliage in his hand was starting to rapidly age and fall off, leaving the skin of his palm smooth, as if nothing had grown on it in the first place. “You can be my kouhai and I’ll be your senpai and I teach you the jutsu, we can prank Tsunade ane together”

If anything, Nawaki seemed more excited by the prospect of tricking his older, more qualified sister. There was a playful sparkle in his eye and a laughter in his tone that Minato had trouble resisting. Both boys shared a wide grin and Nawaki held out two fingers for the Namikaze, “Its a promise, ne?”

Maybe this is what it felt like to be acknowledged by someone other than Ryusui obaa sama - or maybe it was because Nawaki was such a friendly person; regardless, it did little to stifle the warm, comfortable feeling that translated to an accentuated flush in his cheeks.

It was...nice. Also, he was certain he had the best cousins ever. As such, tan digits had no qualms in curling around the elder’s fingers, “hai, Nawaki ani.”

There was a comfortable silence after that, before the sound of fluttering wings prompted their attention. Curious, Nawaki peeked from over the fallen wood as Minato took to glancing at the back, “I think we lost her” the older of the two whispered, before cautiously walking out of their hiding spot, prompting the younger to follow him.

True, Minato couldn’t feel the slight tickle at the back of his neck either. Maybe she had given up? Curious, blue hues stared at the flickering sunlight dancing along their forest path, taking care not to crash into the older boy.

The forest was oddly serene - and pretty. The trees allowed shafts of sunlight to illuminate the grassy floor, each flickering whenever a breeze found itself trapped between their many, many branches. The scent of foliage was rather overwhelming, and he was sure that the two of them would smell like wet soil or rotting wood by the time they returned for the ceremony.

Speaking of, it was getting rather late, wasn’t it? “I think we might be lost, Nawaki ani.” The words tumbled out of his mouth before he could check himself - he couldn’t help it though, they had clearly lost track of time and the forest was huge.

Though what bothered him a little more was the fact that Nawaki didn’t immediately reply. The boy paused, a contemplative expression on his face as he observed their surroundings, “I wouldn’t say lost, Mina chan.” He blinked at him over his shoulder, “The trees...I can’t explain it, but I think they can help us get back.”

But trees don’t talk. If he felt silly for thinking it, he would certainly sound just as bad if he said it out loud. Minato merely blinked back with a curious tilt of his head. A part of him was willing to argue the logic behind Nawaki’s words, but another, more childish part was willing to believe him.

Nawaki was going to be Hokage, so he couldn’t be wrong, it reasoned, and for some stupid reason he was willing to roll with it. Both of them exchanged nods, before Nawaki raised two fingers in a standard jutsu seal at his chest. Curious, Minato observed him from the side, blue hues widening at the flicker of light green from earlier.

It couldn’t be a trick of the light a second time...maybe it was what they called chakra? Minato opened his mouth to ask, but then there was that familiar tickle at the back of his neck again--

“Gotcha you little gremlin” Both of them were lifted clean off their feet by the backs of their yukatas, prompting collective, surprised yelps (they were very manly yelps, thank you very much). Minato, for one, took solace in the fact that Nawaki looked just as unsettled as he felt. Blue hues caught dark counterparts before both of them peeked at their captor.

Tsunade looked bored for someone who was holding two boys at arms length, and at least half a foot in the air too. Their eyes met and she shot the two a bemused grin, “you really thought you could give me, a chunin, the slip?”

Were girls normally this strong, or was it also because she was a chunin? Minato would probably never know, he was too flabbergasted to comment.

Luckily, Nawaki did enough flailing and talking for both of them, “We gave you the slip for a while didn’t we?” He crossed his arms with a soft grunt, looking almost comical with the way his form swayed in her grip.

“Iie, hahu-e came looking for us earlier.” Tsunade replied, “She was angry because we missed the ceremony.” She was smirking, but both of them were too mortified to notice, “I told her it was because you two ran away.”

“What? But ane san!”

“...”

Oh, they were in so much trouble.

---------

The distant sound of thunder echoed in the small room he dragged his futon next to her larger one. It was raining outside; a light drizzle that played a delightful staccato against the wooden tiles of Yamanaka Ryusui’s homely quarters. During times like these, the elder would usually ask him to sleep in her room, since the rain brought an onslaught of memories she didn’t like.

Or at least, that’s what she had said. His grandmother barely slept as it was; more often than naught he had caught her staring out of a gap between the thin, rice paper doors with the most forlorn expression on her face. As if she was elsewhere; far away.

“I’m sorry, my little kinmokusei”

It worried him at times, since he was scared that she might forget to return one day. Brows furrowed briefly at the thought before he willed it away, instead, choosing to face his grandmother who was staring at him with tears in her eyes. She moved a little closer, her covers pooling around her lap before thin, clothed arms pulled him in for a smothering hug.

And Minato let her. This was part of their nightly ritual and practically routine at this point; she would always hold him close before retiring to bed, chin resting atop his head while long, straw colored locks tickled the sides of his face. He had stopped questioning it, since whenever he did, she would tell him he was too young to understand. Blue hues stared absently at their flickering shadows colored by the lamplight and he briefly wondered whether it was because of today (he and Nawaki had gotten a scolding of a lifetime).

The hold loosened and he was briefly pulled away to meet her watery gaze, “Promise me you will always be kind.” Frail, trembling digits clasped younger counterparts. Irises the color of the mid-day sky stared at him with a mixture of unmasked sentiments; apprehension, love, expectation--

Fear. It was funny, the six year old thought, how his grandmother could switch from aloof to emotional so effortlessly; Nary a clansman could claim to be privy to how she actually was - since she was so composed in front of everyone else. But when they were alone, he would see her crumble like the foliage he had seen in Nawaki’s palm earlier. Curious hues blinked, before he curled his fingers around her own, a childish smile on his face, “I promise, obaa sama.”

His words prompted a genuine, heartfelt smile on her pinched features. At that point, Minato didn’t care that this promise...this little ritual of theirs was practically routine, and had been since as long as he could remember.

Her smile was worth his entire world.

Genpuku is the coming of age ceremony which was held for the children of samurai clans. I’ve twisted it around quite a bit, so please don’t use this snippet as a reference for the actual tradition.

Note: I share this headcanon with @senjutsunade. If you’d like to use it, or incorporate it somehow, please get permission first and link it back here, ne? Thanks in advance!

#Yamanaka Ryusui #Senju Tsunade #Yamanaka Inoichi #Senju Nawaki #Namikaze Minato #headcanon #senjutsunade #minaa-munch #story post

1 note · View note

razzmatash · 6 years

Text

Promises (the arcana)

Pairing: Asra x mc (Errol)

Word Count: 3835

Ao3 Link

Summary: A new year and a new beginning. A chance to atone for past mistakes. At least that’s what it’s supposed to be. If you can let go and move on. Asra isn’t so sure he can. Not with everything that’s happened. (Set in our canon where her Errol is the apprentice and my Veera is a dancer in the market)

Note: This was written as a present for my ever lovely @juuneaux who is an amazing best friend and person all around. Thank you for always letting my play with your babs and here’s to a new year of shenanigans and aus and general love and happiness between us ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

Asra smiled as laughter filled the house. It was bright and happy and everything that he needed right now. The dreams had been worse lately, more realistic than before and he hadn’t had time to center himself. This was helping though. This always helped.

He was perched on a tall stool in the kitchen, leaning back against the wall. There was a plate of fruits, meats, and cheeses in his lap and a mug of sweet wine on the counter near him. The table in front of him was laden with rich food and drink and good people sitting around it. Even though he wasn’t immediately at the table, he wasn’t left out. They all were completely involving him and giving him the space he needed at the same time.

It was one of the many reasons why he loved this family as much as he did.

Laughter burst up again as Cyran’s story came to an end and Veera tumbled out of her chair from her giggling. Asra hid his own behind his mug, sipping at the wine while she sprawled on the floor. Her moods were infectious and none so much so as her good ones. It was one of the main reasons he had agreed to join her family for the new year, knowing they’d both need this.

The last year had been…hard to say the least and not one he truly wanted to talk about. But he was so thankful to her and her family for everything that they had done to help. More than that, that they’d hadn’t pushed when it was clear he wouldn’t-or couldn’t-give answers to their questions. They’d taken it all in stride and acted like nothing had changed when everything had.

“Oh, that’s not fair,” Veera groaned, covering her face. “I wanted to go out and now I can’t feel my legs.”

“We could roll you down the stairs.”

Asra’s lashes fluttered, nearly closing at that voice. It had been so close to being lost, all because of a lack of judgement on his part. He’d been stupid and pushed when he shouldn’t have, nearly losing the one thing he’d fought so hard to save. It felt like it had been months, years, since he’d heard it properly when Errol had regained his ability to speak weeks ago. But that period of darkness was still fresh in his mind.

Veera groaned again and pushed herself off the floor. “Tempting but I’ll pass,” she said.

Errol’s grin was like the sun coming up and Asra basked in it from across the room. “You sure?”

“Stop that,” she chided, smacking his arm lightly. “It’s New Year’s, you’re supposed to be nice.”

“We’re supposed to be drunk.”

“Uncle, you are not helping,” she complained as Errol laughed again.

Asra stiffened when her gaze slid over to him and she held out a hand.

“Keep me company?” she asked, curling her fingers when he didn’t immediately move. “Please?”

Everyone was looking at him now and he felt himself flush. Setting aside wine and food, he hopped off the stool. “For a bit,” he agreed, taking her hand. “No, she can stay with you.”

Errol’s hands fell from where he’d been going to take Faust off his neck. “You sure? She’s been staying with me so much lately.”

“Because she likes you.” Faust loved Errol but he didn’t need to make the distinction right now. “We won’t be long.”

He could feel Errol watching as Veera led him downstairs, the heat lingering on his skin. It didn’t get better when they stepped out into the alley behind the shop. Summer might have been coming to an end but apparently no one had told it that.

Veera let go of his hand, hopping up to sit on some of the crates across from the door. “So.”

Asra bristled at her tone. She wasn’t nearly as drunk as she’d made herself out to be. “Clever ruse,” he said quietly, leaning back against the shop and crossing his arms over his chest.

She shrugged. “I only want to talk, Asra,” she assured him. “But I won’t push. I just didn’t want to do it up there and you’ve barely left Errol’s side since…well, since.”

A tremble ran the length of him but he quickly stomped on it. “We’ve already talked about that.”

“Mm, we’ve talked about Errol,” she corrected. “We haven’t talked about you.”

What was that supposed to mean? He was fine.

“Asra,” she sighed.

“Don’t do that,” he said quickly, pushing away from the wall. “Do not use your magic like that.”

Another sigh, accompanied by an exasperated look. “I wasn’t going to,” Veera told him. “I’m not going to compel you to talk about it. You just need to talk about it and who else are you going to talk to?”

He opened his mouth but her finger came up, pointing sharply at him.

“Don’t you dare say Faust or I will hurt you.”

His teeth came together with a faint clack and he didn’t say anything at all. He didn’t have anyone to talk to because he wasn’t sure what had gone wrong and he was terrified to even mention anything about it for fear it might trigger something else. It wasn’t like he could talk to Errol about it and Faust had no more answers than he did.

“You know,” Veera said softly, “you keep saying how much you appreciate what my family does for Errol, that we’ve taken him in like he’s family of our own. Which he is. But…Asra, you do know that extends to you as well, right? You’re as much family as he is and seeing you like this isn’t easy. You can put on a smile and laugh all you like but I know something is wrong and unless you get it out, it’s just going to fester inside you. If you don’t want to talk to me, that’s fine. I can’t do anything to help besides listen but please, as a New Year’s gift to me, talk to someone?”

“I have a gift for you,” he said, the words coming automatically.

Her shoulders sagged a little and she hopped off the boxes. “I know. Well, we should probably go back before Errol drinks my aunt out of house and home. Where all that wine goes I’ll never know and honestly it’s terrifying that he can keep up so well.”

She was walking past him to go back inside and Asra felt a moment curling in the air, hanging, waiting. It was fragile, ready to pop, and it utterly terrified him. If he said the words, would it make it true, would it destroy what progress had been made, would it set them back to before and-“I’m scared, Veera.”

She froze before going up the steps, only half turning toward him. “Scared?” she prompted when he didn’t continue.

The words were clogging his throat and threatening to come out in a garbled rush. “I almost lost him,” he pushed out, forcing himself to choose his words carefully. If he broke, Faust would know and Errol would find out. Errol couldn’t find out.

“You didn’t,” she said softly. “He’s still here.”

But it wasn’t the same. He knew he shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth but it was hard to accept what was in front of him when he remembered before. “Is he?”

“You know he is,” she said softly, touching his arm and squeezing. “We all see more and more of him with every day that goes by. You’ve been so patient, Asra, why is this bothering you now?”

Maybe because he’d thought the anniversary might help. Maybe because he’d been stupid and tried to use magic when he shouldn’t have. He’d already more than pushed the bounds of what should be. Any more and his luck was sure to run out. “Veera, I can’t lose him again.”

“You won’t,” she insisted. “None of us are going to let that happen. You know that.”

He did. Veera had always swung by the shop, to visit and trade. It hadn’t been hard to ask her to keep an eye on Errol when he’d had to leave before. Of course, he hadn’t even thought of leaving since everything had happened, fear making him sure Errol would vanish the moment he set foot out of the door.

“Asra, I think you need to go again.”

He recoiled, smacking into the wall. “No. Errol-”

“Will be fine,” she cut in. “He’s an adult and he’s functioning again. He knows he’s always welcome here and I know I’m always welcome there, with or without invitation. You have wards all through that shop that could probably stop a hurricane if need be. He’s safe but you’re killing yourself by staying here, staying locked in whatever’s going on in your head.”

The thought of travelling hadn’t even crossed his mind, even when certain store stocks had started to run low. None of that was more important than taking care of Errol and the urge to wander, to gather, to travel had ebbed in the face of it.

“You know I’m right.”

He hated that he did and that she was. Maybe that was the root of all of this. He wanted to go again, to seek out new exotic ingredients and components to bring back to the shop. He wanted to see the delight on Errol’s face when he came home, the shout of his name and the rush across the room for a hug. He wanted to sort through the treasure he brought back with him, explaining where he’d found them and what they were for while they drank tea at the kitchen table. He wanted to listen to the stories Errol would tell of the customers they’d gotten or whatever nonsense Veera had dragged him into while he’d been gone. He wanted all of it back. “It’s going to be different.”

“It already is. Bun’s different now and we can’t change that. All we can do is live day to day with him and see what happens.”

That’s what scared him the most. They couldn’t change it and there was the very real possibility that he’d never remember.

Veera’s arms slid around him when he made a noise and she hugged him tightly. “Different doesn’t have to be bad, Asra,” she murmured. “It’s just different. It’s a new journey and you take those all the time. Look at it like that. Maybe it’ll help.”

He resisted for a moment before hugging her back. He was glad she didn’t say anything about the way his hands were shaking against her or the tears she surely felt sliding over her neck. Wanting what was was fruitless at this point. They all had to move forward and figure out their paths from here. The past was going to haunt him but he couldn’t let it rule him. Doing so wouldn’t be good for anyone.

When she pulled away, she framed his face in her hands and gave him a smile. “You really need to remember you’re not alone, Asra,” she chided gently. “We love you too and want to help as much as we can. As much as you’ll let us.”

Sighing, he gave her a half smile. “I know.”

Her thumbs rubbed against him, wiping away the remnants of his tears. “We should probably go back up. It’s nearly time to open the gifts.”

He caught her wrists when she stepped back and smiled again. “It isn’t exactly tradition-”

Veera snorted loudly. “Because that’s so important in this house.”

Asra gave her a look and laughed when she returned it. “Two gifts to you, my friend,” he chuckled. “One upstairs and the other…soon. I’ll go soon.”

Her expression softened. “It’ll do you both good,” she promised.

He wasn’t sure about that but it was time to travel again.

“Besides,” she continued, pushing the door open, “absence makes the heart grow fonder, right?”

“Veera,” he groaned, rolling his eyes.

“Mm, I suppose you’re right. I don’t think you can get much fonder of Errol.”

Asra sighed. He knew she wouldn’t say anything when Errol could overhear and he was grateful for that, but she rarely held back when they were alone. She said it was meant to be encouraging, but they both know she loved teasing him.

She paused to look back at him as she stood just within the door. “Come on, oh great magician,” she said, holding out her hand again. “Let’s drink some more, give our gifts, and watch the new year start.”

Staring out the small window, Errol watched the clouds drift in front of the moon. It was late and he knew he should be asleep but it wouldn’t come. Resting his cheek on his forearm, he settled a little more into the mattress but his gaze didn’t move from the sky.

They hadn’t meant to stay with Veera’s family so long but they’d kept eating and talking until well after the sun had set. Then Marah and Cyran had both insisted they stay, not leaving any room for them to argue. So they’d been bundled into the small loft and verbally tucked in.

His gaze flicked away from the sky for a moment, landing on pale hair that seemed to glow in the moonlight, before he made himself look somewhere else. Asra was asleep, his deep breathing almost lulling enough to pull him under as well, but a thought kept tugging at him.

Something was bothering Asra. He might not have said it, but it was becoming painfully obvious to Errol. He couldn’t put his finger on when things had changed but they had and he didn’t like it, didn’t know how to fix it. He was fairly certain he hadn’t done anything but doubt was cruel and crept in when he didn’t want it. Maybe he had upset Asra and the other didn’t want to say. Maybe he’d finally grown tired of how much help Errol had needed over the last few months.

Errol frowned against his arm. Had he thanked Asra for everything he’d done? He couldn’t remember. He was sure he had, though, because he owed Asra so much but that doubt….

He sighed and closed his eyes. The thoughts were slowly souring the joy he’d felt all day. When Asra had mentioned they’d been invited over, he’d spent the week being excited about it. Picking out gifts. Buying a new outfit to wear. Everything had been full of happiness and today had been no different. Now, with the sun set and nothing to keep him company but his own thoughts, he was ruining it.

A cool sensation slid under his clothes, slowly slipping up his back. It brought a smile to his face despite everything. He pursed his lips to keep from laughing but soft huffs left his nose as he failed. A tongue flicked against the back of his neck as Faust slid through his hair before she was curling under his ear.

Errol shifted so he could scratch under her chin, smile growing as she melted into him. She’d been spending a lot of time with him recently, curled around his shoulders or hiding in his clothes. He didn’t really understand why she’d been with him more than Asra but he enjoyed all of the cuddles. It was the only cuddles he seemed to get anymore. Well, no, that was a lie. Veera always wanted a hug or was willing to wrap an arm around him if they were close. And Asra still shared the bed with him at the shop but it wasn’t what he wanted.

A small sigh filled the loft. He was right there and Errol didn’t know what to say to him.

He nearly jumped out of his skin when a hand moved over his back, rubbing slowly.

“Errol?” Asra asked sleepily. “You alright?”

“Are you?” The question came out without him meaning it to.

The little candle near the window flared to life. It wasn’t a lot of light but it was enough to see his face. “Why do you ask?”

Sighing again, Errol settled back into the bed, facing away from Asra. Always more questions and so few answers. “No reason,” he muttered.

The hand stayed on his back, fingers curling a little into the back of his clothing. “Errol….”

“It’s nothing, Asra. Good night.”

“Errol.”

His nose scrunched but he didn’t move. Asra was entitled to his secrets and he was entitled to feeling upset when he didn’t get answers.

Asra stroked his back again, his fingers coming up to toy with the ends of Errol’s hair. “I know you’re not asleep,” he said quietly. “And…no I’m not alright.”

He tensed before lifting his head to look at Asra again. The other was frowning as he stared out the window. “Did I do something?” he asked honestly.

Wide eyes turned to him, blinking rapidly. “You? No, Errol, no, you haven’t done anything. It’s…me. I’ve put things off for too long and it’s catching up with me.”

What did that mean?

Asra toyed with his hair again before his hand fell to the blankets and he sighed. “There are things I need to do, to see to, outside of Vesuvia. I’ve waited as long as I could but…Veera’s right. I need to go again.”

Errol was confused for a moment before his heart leapt into his throat. “You’re…leaving?”

“Not immediately but…soon.”

Staring at him, Errol wasn’t sure what to think. Some part of him felt like this was…normal, but he had no idea why. He didn’t like the thought of Asra going, didn’t like the thought of being alone in the shop, but…. “You’ll come back?”

“Of course,” Asra said immediately, his gaze jerking back to him. “Of course I’ll come back!”

“Shh,” Errol hissed, glancing over his shoulder where the ladder downstairs was. That last bit had come out louder than he was sure Asra meant it to and neither of them would want to wake their hosts.

Asra flushed a little in the candlelight before his head dropped on another sigh. “Look, I’m coming back,” he promised. “I can’t stay away from you for too long anyways. I don’t want to.”

Errol blinked before flushing himself. There were a lot of unsaid things in those words and in his voice and he didn’t know where to even start questioning them. Or if he should. It clearly wasn’t something Asra wanted to talk about. “Will you…bring me back something?” he asked slowly.

Moonlit curls bounced as Asra’s head snapped up and Errol’s blush deepened at the look on his face. “What. What would you want?”

“Surprise me,” Errol said quietly, looking away. There was too much emotion pouring out of Asra right now and he wasn’t completely sure why. All he’d asked for was a surprise gift. It didn’t seem like much.

Fingers moved over his hair again, making him peek through the long strands at Asra. A small smile was curling his lips, a faraway expression on his face. “I’ll find something perfect for you,” he promised.

Errol smiled himself but there was a feeling of sadness lurking in his chest he couldn’t quite banish. It wasn’t that he didn’t believe Asra would come back because he knew he would. Somehow he knew but he didn’t like the thought of being alone in the shop for however long he’d be gone.

“Hey,” Asra said, his hand turning to stroke down his cheek, “I know you don’t want to be alone but you won’t be.”

It was hard not to turn into the touch before he gave up resisting all together. His eyes closed and he nuzzled gently into Asra’s palm. A tremble ran through his hand before he cupped Errol’s cheek.

“I can leave Faust to keep you company,” he said, his thumb brushing over Errol’s skin.

He shook his head. “No. She misses you. She’s been spending so much time with me. She needs to be with you.”

Asra’s mouth flattened for a moment before a rueful smile replaced it. “You’re right.”

That sadness he felt seemed to be creeping over Asra as well now. This wasn’t how Errol wanted to end the day, not after how good it had been. “I have an idea,” he said quietly.

White brows went up, a curious sound following.

Taking a deep breath, he glanced down at his hands, specifically at the sunstone ring on one of his fingers. It had been his gift from Veera earlier but…. He tugged it off his finger and caught Asra’s hand. Slipping it onto his finger, he felt Asra tense but he stayed quiet as Errol took the matching moonstone ring off his hand. “There,” he said, shyly looking up at the other as he put the moon ring on his own finger. “Now we’ll be together no matter where you go.”

Asra blinked at him before looking down at the ring and blinking at it.

“I mean…only if you want to,” he added.

If he’d thought Asra was emotional before, it was nothing compared to how he looked now. He looked speechless and…touched. “I wish you could actually come with me,” he said softly.

Errol shrugged, wishing the same thing. He didn’t know why he couldn’t but the feeling in his gut told him he had to stay here. “Maybe next time.”

“Maybe,” Asra agreed.

Neither of them believed that but this was as good as it was going to get. Smiling at Asra, he laid back down after a moment. “We should probably sleep,” he murmured.

“Probably.”

He watched as Asra stretched out beside him, a flick of his fingers dousing the candlelight and bathing them both in moonlight again. His arm draped over Errol’s side and pulled him close.

“Go to sleep, Errol,” he said softly, rubbing his back. “We’re going to have to deal with Veera’s family at breakfast far sooner than I’d like.”

Errol snickered. Breakfast did get loud with her family, even if they couldn’t understand what her and her aunt were arguing about. “Veera likes mornings as much as you do, especially when she’s been drinking.”

Asra chuckled. “All the more reason to go to sleep now, Errol.”

Closing his eyes, he cuddled a little closer to Asra, pressing a hand to his chest. The steady thumping of his heart was soothing and comforting and he knew he’d miss it while Asra was gone. He smiled softly before tucking as close as he could. Asra’s only reaction was to tighten his hold on him, his fingers curling into the fabric of his clothes.

“Go to sleep, Errol,” Asra whispered, his breath brushing over Errol’s skin. “I’m not going anywhere yet.”

The words weren’t completely comforting but he took what he could out of them. Asra would still be here for now, would be here when he woke up. That would be good enough for him for now.

#the arcana game #asra #asra x mc #asra x errol #fan apprentice #errol #veera #dancer au #my writing #fanfiction #merry christmas luci!#i love you and your babs so much!

4 notes · View notes

michaelfallcon · 5 years

Text

Sarah Gill Of Mama Mocha’s: The Sprudge Interview

The Barista Championship Qualifiers in Nashville in January was characterized by cool, collected baristas delivering academic routines and meaningful conversations (revisit all the action on Sprudge Live here and here). But in an afternoon of weighty work, a barista named Sarah Gill—owner of Mama Mocha’s in Auburn, Alabama—stepped up to the stage and delivered a perfomance full of life and self.

“Most people call me Mama Mocha,” she started, then delivered a performance so full of infectious laughter and Southern charm that the crowd erupted into delighted cheers every time she addressed them. When the lid to her ice cream popped off and unexpectedly hit a judge, she turned to make a joke out of it with the crowd, encouraging everyone (including the judge) to laugh about it with her. If you missed her performance, you really owe it to yourself to go back and watch—it’s available here. (Start at 6:44:19 for Gill.

Gill ended up officially disqualified from the competition due to time, but did so with such grace, humor, and charm that she walked away a deserving crowd favorite. There is no “People’s Choice” honorarium in the USBC circuit; perhaps there should be.

I caught up Sarah Gill by phone a week later to talk about all things Southern, being a mama and entrepreneur, and what competing in Nashville meant to her.

This interview has been condensed for clarity.

Introduce us to your work as Mama Mocha.

I’m a mama to one rambunctious son. Our family is the most important thing, and that means doing business the old fashioned way. He comes with me to work, and someday he’ll help out in the shop. I started Mama Mocha’s Coffee Emporium about 10 years ago. We were born in a tiny 11 ft x 16 ft room in the back of Newsroom, a used book store where all the baristas went to hang out in Auburn, Alabama. The store was doing a tiny espresso bar with pour-overs, no batch brewing at all. Everyone was like, “What is this?” It was very new for people then.

When I bought the bar and started Mama Mocha’s, I wanted to do it without the trendiness, which I think has been to my benefit. I was able to make my own flavor, my own style of how I roast and brew. We aren’t the million-dollar white box that is trendy other places. Where I am it’s a bunch of thrift store velvet couches with classic darker roasts in mismatched cups. Our location in Opelika has a covered front porch and a bodega where people walk up. It’s the South: We still love biscuits and Lynyrd Skynyrd, but we’re drinking specialty coffee.

Photo courtesy of Sarah Gill.

How did you get into coffee in Alabama? How did you get into roasting?

I was working at a Starbucks, and they wanted to make me a GM at 19. But I saw the hard lines on all of the managers faces around me, saw my future in that, and thought, “Hell no.” So I moved to Auburn and started working in independent coffee. In 2009, I went to the SCAA conference and realized, “Oh, I can open a roasting company.”

I learned roasting all my dang self. Auburn was very much an island. I didn’t have anywhere to go to learn coffee. I talked to people in Atlanta, I went to SCAA conferences, I read everything I could online, I got books. When I bought a tiny three kilo roaster, I didn’t know anything about anything. I roasted 14 hours a day over and over again until I liked what I was making. It was hard, but I didn’t have any choice but to make it work. It was bootstrapping times 10.

What is it like running an independent specialty shop in a small town?

Today, we have a full roastery in the Lebanon Art District of Opelika, Alabama. Opelika doesn’t allow corporations in; there’s only small businesses, families supporting families. So we bootstrapped again and opened in an old warehouse there, where the streets are rough and it’s just gritty enough to be cool. My husband (Taylor Gill, but everyone calls him Papa Mocha) did all the construction to make it work for us. Now there’s a bodega in the front, and a sensory lab in the back where we cup all our coffee. We use language that mimics the Sensory Lexicon. Our baristas are all career baristas, they’re the shining light of Mama Mocha’s.

We’re not in a giant metropolis. I’m happy in my small community, roasting for shops close enough to personally deliver to. We love supporting local, and supporting women-owned businesses. I am all about community over competition and supporting other cafes in my neighborhood. I feel sad that I have to say this, but we’re a safe space. I’m a cisgendered straight married white woman, but I’m progressive and an LGBTQ ally. I’m a Christian but Mama Mocha’s is not a Christian company. Christianity and coffee are real close in the South, but one of our only rules is no proselytization in the cafe. I want anyone to come in and not feel like there’s an agenda against them.

Photo courtesy of Sarah Gill.

How did competing in Nashville feel to you?

The other people in this competition are totally unlike me, a different breed of barista. They are like mixologists and I’m not doing that. When I was training, it was on a $1,000 espresso machine and a KitchenAid burr grinder. When I got there, I thought I was going to be nervous, but it was really easy to hold my head up high because I’ve already built my legacy. I’m not trying to prove myself. Even though it was the most glorious display of crash and burn I’ve ever done [Gill went more than a minute over time and didn’t finish her signature beverage] it felt awesome to tell my story and let go of the point system.

As soon as I let go, I could feel the audience’s sense of relief. It was an energy shift that erupted into laughter and cheers. They knew I didn’t give a shit, that I wasn’t restricted by the same scripts and cadence that’s been done in the past. I wasn’t trying to make a mockery of the point system and everything US Coffee Champs has built—but there’s more to being a barista than just those parameters. The process was so good for me. Developing the routine got me back to my roots, it developed a fire behind me that I haven’t had for a while. I left Nashville with such a great feeling of accomplishment.

Talk us through the signature beverage you made.

I was originally going to do a play on the beverage-that-shall-not-be-named, a dark brown sugar quad latte over tapioca pearls, but was told I couldn’t because it had to be drinkable. I watched videos of people smoking stuff and adding two grams of God-knows-what and thought, “This is so extra.” I wanted to honor what Mama Mocha’s coffee style and come up with a compromise between what I know and love as Southern coffee culture and what I saw in the videos, so I came up with something similar to a classic espresso affogato.

But I can’t make ice cream! My ice cream would be awful. I love Häagen-Dazs, so I used their vanilla. I muddled it because when you just pour espresso over ice cream it doesn’t drink well. So it was essentially a hand-muddled espresso milkshake. Monin makes this dope line of concentrated flavors, so I added their basil concentrate, as well as a wreath of rosemary around the bottom of the glass for extra olfactory herbal play. I smoked the glasses using a pecan log. On stage in Nashville I was behind, so I cut this out, but the drink was supposed to include smoking satsuma peels with the log, then I was going to rim the glass with the peel and use dragonfruit as an accoutrement to mimic the juiciness of the espresso. I call it The Bougie Bouquet, and it’s delicious.

Sara Frinak cheering on Gill.

Is there anyone you’d like to thank?

Sara Frinak, who manages Brewers Cup, was one of the starting baristas at Newsroom. She grew up in Auburn, she was a roaster and manager for me for a long time, and now she works for Ally, one of my importers. She was the one who came to me and said, “Mama, you need to be a competitor.” She encouraged me to go to preliminaries, and then she came and helped me piece together a routine and play mad scientist.

And of course I have to thank my sweet husband Papa Gill, my entire staff who are the heart beat of Mama Mocha’s, my mom and dad who always have my back, and God.

Valorie Clark (@TheValorieClark) is a freelance journalist based in Los Angeles. Read more Valorie Clark on Sprudge.

All photos by Charlie Burt for the Sprudge Media Network unless otherwise noted.

The post Sarah Gill Of Mama Mocha’s: The Sprudge Interview appeared first on Sprudge.

Sarah Gill Of Mama Mocha’s: The Sprudge Interview published first on https://medium.com/@LinLinCoffee

0 notes

epchapman89 · 5 years

Text

Sarah Gill Of Mama Mocha’s: The Sprudge Interview

I caught up Sarah Gill by phone a week later to talk about all things Southern, being a mama and entrepreneur, and what competing in Nashville meant to her.

This interview has been condensed for clarity.

Introduce us to your work as Mama Mocha.

Photo courtesy of Sarah Gill.

How did you get into coffee in Alabama? How did you get into roasting?

What is it like running an independent specialty shop in a small town?

Photo courtesy of Sarah Gill.

How did competing in Nashville feel to you?

Talk us through the signature beverage you made.

Sara Frinak cheering on Gill.

Is there anyone you’d like to thank?

And of course I have to thank my sweet husband Papa Gill, my entire staff who are the heart beat of Mama Mocha’s, my mom and dad who always have my back, and God.

Valorie Clark (@TheValorieClark) is a freelance journalist based in Los Angeles. Read more Valorie Clark on Sprudge.

All photos by Charlie Burt for the Sprudge Media Network unless otherwise noted.

The post Sarah Gill Of Mama Mocha’s: The Sprudge Interview appeared first on Sprudge.

seen 1st on http://sprudge.com

0 notes

mrwilliamcharley · 5 years

Text

Sarah Gill Of Mama Mocha’s: The Sprudge Interview

I caught up Sarah Gill by phone a week later to talk about all things Southern, being a mama and entrepreneur, and what competing in Nashville meant to her.

This interview has been condensed for clarity.

Introduce us to your work as Mama Mocha.

Photo courtesy of Sarah Gill.

How did you get into coffee in Alabama? How did you get into roasting?

What is it like running an independent specialty shop in a small town?

Photo courtesy of Sarah Gill.

How did competing in Nashville feel to you?

Talk us through the signature beverage you made.

Sara Frinak cheering on Gill.

Is there anyone you’d like to thank?

And of course I have to thank my sweet husband Papa Gill, my entire staff who are the heart beat of Mama Mocha’s, my mom and dad who always have my back, and God.

Valorie Clark (@TheValorieClark) is a freelance journalist based in Los Angeles. Read more Valorie Clark on Sprudge.

All photos by Charlie Burt for the Sprudge Media Network unless otherwise noted.

The post Sarah Gill Of Mama Mocha’s: The Sprudge Interview appeared first on Sprudge.

from Sprudge http://bit.ly/2sWj335

0 notes

simplyathought1-blog · 6 years

Text

HARRYS SPORTS BAR

Harry sat on his comfortable armchair watching the cricket match with interest. His favourite team stood a good chance of winning today. He was rooting for them. Tina his wife, had given him popcorn and chips to munch on while he watched the game in the living room. Harry was having a delightful Sunday. He felt relaxed and happy. “I need this kind of a day more often. This is the life, I want.” he mused.

“The television is really old. The colors and brightness, are not as they should be. It’s lived its life. We need to change it, before it breaks down completely. Buying a TV during the next sale makes sense. Will tell the Mrs. to look out for a good one, at a good price.” thought Harry.

Getting Tina to agree, wasn’t going to be easy.

Tina wasn’t a fan of technology. It would take her a long time getting used to an electronic device. Once she learnt to use it she dint want to change it – Ever. Harry had spent two years, convincing Tina, that they needed a new music system. The one they had bought a decade ago, was a basic model; good enough to play the occasional CD. After years of use, it dint even catch the radio frequency properly anymore! Tina refused to part ways with it.

She was kind of emotional about it.

Harry had got tired of waiting for Tina to select a music system with him; he decided to go ahead and buy it on his own, when Tina was away at her friend’s wedding in Thailand. Harry got an earful from her when she returned, but now that the purchase was made, she HAD to learn how to use it. At least some of its features! Harry had placed the new speakers artistically, complementing the decor of the house. The music system was set up in the living room and looked beautiful. Tina couldn’t help fall in love with it. She played her favorite songs or radio station on it while she cooked, read a book or invited her friends for wine or an afternoon tea.

She still kept the old music player. On top of the microwave, as a reminder of the years gone by.

“What a shot. Six Runs!” shouted Harry. His team was inching closer and closer to a win and he was elated. “A few more runs in quick succession is all that we need. I hope we don’t lose a Wicket! The batsman is in superb form. He had a fantastic innings this season.” Harrys best friend was supporting the opposing team and they had waged a friendly bet. Harry hoped his teams victory today, would make him the winner of the drinks and dinner at his favorite Sports Bar.

Harry wasn’t really a social animal but he did like the company of few friends, with whom he enjoyed an occasional outing. In his younger days, Harry had been a real party guy. Out each night and the life of every party. With the passage of time, he felt less inclined to it. His mind and body couldn’t cope with the lifestyle anymore. One late night would ruin the next two days for Harry. He would feel like a zombie with red, sleep deprived eyes and a massive headache. It wasn’t pleasant and Harry avoided it at all costs. He liked a feeling of wellness and was slowly changing his lifestyle; moving towards regular exercise, Yoga and healthy eating habits. Weekends were precious to Harry. Enjoying a good movie, an appetizing meal, a non-exhausting outing or simply being lazy watching sports or news, was Harrys definition of weekend fun!

Tina walked into the room with a bowl of salad in her hand. “I know it’s your cheat day, but you might as well eat something healthy now that you have eaten all the chips and popcorn. Lunch is still a few hours away.” She handed Harry a bowl of cold cucumber and beetroot salad sprinkled with a fresh herbs. He dint like beetroot but this looked good. He tasted a spoonful. It was indeed delicious. “Tina, why don’t you and the girls enjoy watching sports with me? You like to watch the Olympics or the finals of the FIFA World Cup. Our daughters change the sports channel whenever they can. Cinema seems to excite you, Netflix entertains them but not sports. Why is that?” asked Harry. Tina looked at her husband and smiled. The kind of smile one gives a petulant child before answering a question he has posed. Harry felt annoyed. “Why are you smiling like that? What is so funny?” Ignoring the second set of questions and still smiling, Tina said “It’s not that we dislike sports Harry, we don’t. However, we enjoy watching movies and some good Netflix series more than sports. The way you prefer sports over theater for instance!

“People simply tend to do more of what they enjoy and less of what they don’t but that doesn’tnecessarily mean they don’t like something at all.” explained Tina. Harry nodded, “True. Makes sense.”

Tina and Harry often brainstormed together and looked at situations from alternate perspectives. It helped them to see the other side of the coin based on each other’s views. Theywere very different in nature, yet they complimented each other beautifully.

“Harry, we need to go to the shopping mall today. You are in dire need of new shirts and we also have to buy the weekly groceries.” Harry dint like the sound of that. His wonderful Sunday was on the verge of disappearing into thin air. He couldn’t let that happen. “I’m most definitely NOT going to the mall. I hate shopping. It’s a boring and exhausting experience. I don’t enjoy it one bit. There is no need for shirts too, I have plenty!” Having answered Tina in one breath, Harry turned his attention to the screen.

It was almost certain that Harrys favorite team would win the match today. The last five overs were left. The excitement being felt by the audience, watching the match live had reached Harry in his armchair. He was looking forward to gloat over his win amongst his buddies. Sometime later, Harry jumped out of his chair and screamed with delight, “We won!” He reached for his cellphone and dialed his friend. “I told you we would win. What a match! Fantastically played.” Harry gushed. “I won the bet too buddy. See you Saturday night to watch the FIFA World Cup match.”

Harry felt good. Sports had that effect on people. It spreads an infectious excitement. With the T20 cricket matches getting over soon, Harry was looking forward to watch the FIFA World Cup 2018. This time it was being hosted in Russia. “The land of beautiful ladies and great vodka. I have never visited Russia. I wish I could have gone to watch a few matches. See the Kremlin and St.Petersburg. The weather would be cold there.” Harrys Blanket would be the first thing packed in the suitcase to keep him snug. The thought made Harry smile.

“Day dreaming Harry?” asked Tina. “Now that the match is over AND your team has won, why don’t you get dressed and we head to the mall and finish the shopping we need to get done.” Harry stared at Tina, “You are still thinking about shopping! I just told you I don’t want to go.” Tina gave Harry a stern look and said, “If you want to be left alone to enjoy what interests you, then you too need to help me get things done at home. I can’t buy YOUR clothes without YOU trying them. You are wearing shirts with worn out collars. They look terrible! Harry knew Tina was right. She seemed to ALWAYS be right. Yet, he dint want to head out of the house. He wanted to be lazy.

Every holiday, Harry wanted to stay at home, surrounded by his family. It was an attempt to cut off from the worldly noise. Harry wanted to feel at peace. He wanted a sense of calmness. Going to a busy shopping mall wasn’t the best way to do that!

Tina understood and empathized with Harrys feeling. At times she felt the same and their friends did too! The pressure of work, increasing bills, tiresome commute, high prices and poor health had a draining effect on everybody in this busy city. Most people they knew, were in a constant state of exhaustion. The quality of life was deteriorating with time instead of improving. The weekly days off seemed to vanish; before the mind and body had a chance to recover from the tough week gone by. Despite that, household tasks couldn’t be avoided.

Harry had a feeling, that there was no way, he could get himself out from going to the mall today. He knew Tina had set her mind on getting him the shirts he needed. Mustering uphis optimism, Harry made one last-ditch attempt to convince Tina. “I think I am coming down with the Flu. Probably going to be sick. I better take a nap, if I want to feel better foroffice tomorrow. You take the girls and finish the groceries if you like. Enjoy a nice lunch at the mall too!” Tina was quiet. She stood up and smiled. “That sounds like a nice plan Harry. We can’t have you fall sick, can we? To feel well, you must sleep and rest every chance you can. I’m going to let your friends know, that they can cancel your reservation to watch the FIFA match at the Sports Bar next weekend. We can’t have you exert yourself with a late night. Absolutely not!”

Harry sprang out of his chair and gave Tina his brightest smile, “On second thoughts why don’t I come with you and get everything done. You are right! I need to try the shirts myself and I also want to select the flavor of the ice cream tub when we buy groceries. It will be nice to walk too. Sitting in the chair, watching the match for long has made my back stiff. He walked up to Tina and gave her a hug. “Did I tell you about this new restaurant? I plan to take you there soon AFTERmy boys night out at the Sports Bar!”

Harry can’t risk annoying his wife. Who can!

About the author-

Urvashi Kumar Trikha writes entertaining fiction, inspiring articles and motivational quotes for her readers spread across the world through her internationally popular blog ‘simplyathought.com’.

#Best Motivational Quotes #Inspiring Life Quotes #Entertainment Writer #Online Blogger #Article Writer #Short Stories #Entertaining Stories #Motivational Quotes #Stories #Inspiring Stories #Fiction Stories #Motivational Stories #Love Quotes

0 notes

bhaktapur · 6 years

Text

8.1 - Climb for Hope

Anna and I flew into Portland on a Wednesday evening. We were scooped up at the airport by a guide with Rare Earth Adventures, the company that graciously donates their time and energy to Climb for Hope. After a quick introduction, she loaded our hefty bags into the back of the van and mused, “I thought you guys were going to be older!” Once we were deposited at the group’s homeshare, her comment started to make a bit more sense. We were greeted by the three other members of the expedition, and all had a decade (or two!) on Anna and me. Darkness was already descending on our suburban Washington backyard-for-rent, and we gathered around the furnished treehouse (a major selling-point on the Air BnB profile) to exchange pleasantries. The air was thick with a tension not inappropriate between strangers about to entrust their lives to one another, and the weight of what we were about to attempt settled in a bit as we shared stories of past adventures. Andy, the trip organizer, had attempted Rainier thrice and summited only once before. The two other climbers had both tried, and failed, to reach the summit, once stuck in a tent for over 30 hours awaiting a lull in the weather that would never come. On that particular trip, winds had blown a ladder into a crevasse, effectively cutting off the summit from an entire side of the mountain. Facing this literally chilling possibility, Anna and I opted against the treehouse, and we settled into one of the upstairs rooms for the night.

After a quick gear check in the morning, we loaded into a van and set out for the mountain. The car ride offered us the first opportunity to really get to know the team with whom we would eat, sleep, suffer, and – hopefully – summit. The trip was organized by Andy Buerger, a climber and entrepreneur out of Baltimore, whom I met - albeit briefly - through connections in the natural food industry. He founded Climb for Hope after losing his sister Jodi to breast cancer, and expanded its mission after his wife and climbing partner was diagnosed with MS. Andy struck me as a man of great emotional depth, though his busy mind seemed to hold this at bay much of the time. He works incredibly hard to keep his symbiotic ventures chugging along, and was even caught sneaking work emails during our downtime at camp. Possessing a wicked deadpan, Andy settled into the role of sarcastic diva for much of the trip, slinging outrageous insults and complaints at guides and climbers alike in a way that clearly said, “I’m genuinely happy we’re all here.” Indeed, that seemed to be a general mantra for Andy, clouded only slightly by his survivor’s guilt, and his aura of gratitude helped remind us all that our suffering – both on the mountain and off it – was merely a window into the daily experiences of those who fight grave illness back home.

Andy’s long standing climbing-partner-in-crime was Danny, a DC policy-worker able to switch breathlessly between discussions of eastern philosophy and the particular qualities of his selfie stick. Self-deprecating, yet charming, sophomoric, yet wise, Danny was effortlessly easy to get along with no matter his mood or fancy. He and Andy had the report of two long-since-graduated fraternity brothers, and were at the root of an ever-expanding ring of scatological pranks that would chase us up and down the mountain. He seemed to be the unofficial marketing guru for Climb for Hope, and he worked doggedly to document the trip. With equal gusto, he pursued both cheesy, Instagram-ready bits of content and one of the great challenges of the adventuring life: capturing the scale and beauty of what we do in the mountains in a way that inspires a love and respect for the natural world.

The third, and oldest member of the expedition was Tiger, a boyishly energetic anglophile who imports small-batch craft cider from the UK. Despite his gentlemanly inclination, he happily adopted the role of “Creepy Uncle Tiger” simply because it was so damn funny. His gasping giggle was so infectious, his stories often left us all in hysterics, even if no one really understood what he had said. Tiger - himself a cancer survivor - was fiercely dedicated to the cause, and carried photographs of friends and family fighting the disease back home. He also carried a well-worn letter from his daughter, which he would discover for the first time described him as the strongest person she knew, not strangest, as he had happily assumed for over five years. As we would discover, Tiger was both strong and strange, as well as perceptive, generous, and absolutely hilarious.

A rare moment on flat ground

For our final night before undertaking the climb, we stayed just outside the gates of the National Park, in a wooden bunkhouse built by loggers in 1912. Out of respect for the altitude and challenges that lay ahead, we resisted the temptation to settle our nerves with a beer, but despite dinner conversation revolving around the possibility of going ten days without a bowel movement, I devoured a mediocre burger without taking a breath. Anna, on the other hand was slipping deeper into the world’s worst-timed cold, and scarcely ate. We were both clearly worried over her worsening condition, but didn’t dare discuss the implications, so she loaded up on Nyquil and we settled down in our 4-person room for one final night on a proper bed.

Rainier National Park is - deservedly - a huge tourist destination. Temperate rainforest covers much of its area, dense with intricate ferns, large-leafed clover, and enormous nurse logs impossible to find in the heavily-logged areas that surround the park. On our drive in, the forest would occasionally drop out from under us, and we would find ourselves on a winding bridge spanning a vast scar in the vegetation, canyons full of grey volcanic talus where the receding glacier had pulverized the landscape ages ago. In most cases, water rushed through the middle of these canyons, carrying glacial melt down to Seattle, the Sound, and the Sea. Rainier remained hidden for much of the approach, but once the titanic thing slipped into our view from behind the surrounding peaks, it was there to stay. As we pulled into Paradise, the trailhead where we would begin our climb, Rainier drew our gaze with an almost supernatural force. The mountain was tall - no doubt about that - but it was also wide, filling your entire field of view and almost seeming to wrap its imposing walls around you in embrace. A few mountaineering teams were already beginning their push, but mostly Paradise was filled with day-use visitors, picnicking, snapping photos, and generally basking in the magnificence of Rainier’s singular presence here. With this din casting an odd irreverence over the moment, the team exchanged some quiet words of encouragement, inspiration, and caution, then began up the trail.

All smiles at the trailhead

Our objective for Day 1 was Camp Muir, and to my great surprise, a trail marker not 100 yards into our hike indicated that it was only 4.1 miles from the Paradise parking lot. It helped to explain the crowded trail, full of day-hikers in shorts, sometimes carrying nothing more than a water bottle. What a sight we must have been to these untroubled families, lumbering sternly upward, already sweating under the weight of packs so full of food, fuel, clothing, and shelter that axes, pickets, crampons, shovels and avalanche probes had to be strapped to the outside. By nine, I began to worry that Anna and I had packed for the entirely wrong season. I was wearing my lightest layers, a long-sleeved cotton tee and fully-taped Gore-Tex pants, and sweating mightily. Still, the weather was undeniably incredible. The slightest breeze rustled through the intertwined noble pines, and sloped meadows of wildflowers glowed under the morning sun. Huge golden marmots loafed on rocks by the side of the trail and lumbered through the fields chomping on the purple blooms of lupine. In their careless company, even the distant peak of Rainier seemed welcoming.

Despite the short distance, the hike stretched on for hours. Paved road gave way to packed dirt, then to rocky switchbacks, and then to slush. At the foot of the Muir Snowfield, Anna and I were already exhausted. The snow was soft enough that crampons were unnecessary, but this made for painfully slow progress under the weight of our equipment. While many day-hikers had turned around at the snowline, some pressed on towards Camp Muir, the highest point on the mountain accessible without a wilderness permit. Their light footfalls and happy chatter was brutally demoralizing as we trudged up the glacier, where the monotonous landscape deceived depth perception and seemed to stretch on endlessly. Even worse were the whoops of delight from climbers on their descent, many of whom glissaded down well-traveled slides on tarps, stuff sacks, or even sleeping bags. Anna in particular eyed the descending parties with envy, as the morning dose of pseudoephedrine was now long gone. At about 9000 feet a few small structures came into view, and we pushed for camp with a renewed vigor. Anna and I fell in step behind Tiger, who demonstrated a technique for “micro-resting,” pausing momentarily every third step to lock the knee in your back leg. I didn’t find much rest this way, but the surprisingly difficult coordination of stepping, counting, and locking gave me something to think about besides the camp that seemed to draw no closer.

At last, we crested the top of the ridge and arrived at Camp Muir. 10,080 feet above sea level, the camp sat at the south end of a large, rippling snowfield, speckled with rockfall and greyed with the volcanic dust that seemed to be everywhere at this height. To the south, from whence we’d hiked, the forest stretched endlessly out towards the horizon. Across the valley three large mountains stood in a neat line: Mount Adams, wide and glaciated, like Rainier’s slightly stunted cousin; Mount Hood, symmetrical and improbably steep, like the mountains a child would draw on an imaginary map; and Mount St. Helens, pointing her jagged crater directly at us, a warning to all who tempt fate in the shadow of Rainier (due to its proximity to Seattle and relatively high levels of geothermic activity, Rainier is considered one of the most dangerous volcanoes in the world). We set about making camp for the night, flattening the snow with our avalanche shovels to make room for our tents, while the guides got to work boiling water.

Our intrepid guides, Brandon, Julie, and Cody

Boiling water (or more specifically, boiling snow to make potable water) was a seemingly endless chore on the mountain. Algae grows everywhere (generally invisibly, though pink “watermelon snow” is a common occurrence), and ingesting it is a sure path to digestive unhappiness. Incredibly, the guides insisted on doing this work themselves, in particular Julie, who continued to surprise us with her ability for selflessness and empathy. Freshly returned from non-profit work in Peru, Julie was an adventurous soul with a calm demeanor and easy smile. As the only other female on the team, she was hugely supportive of Anna throughout, and indeed to us all. She seemed to have a sixth sense for sniffing out a client in need, and was always ready with first aid, toilet paper, a snack, or simply a well-timed story when the crunching of snow underfoot was about to become unbearable. Like the rest of the guides, she had an arsenal of horror stories skillfully spun to paint our climb as a tropical vacation and make us all feel like Navy SEALS in comparison.

The lead guide on the expedition was an unassuming badass named Brandon. As we would learn later, Brandon had left a lucrative career to care for his ailing wife, but he gave no indication of dissatisfaction. In fact, he clearly thrived in the mountains, hiking tirelessly on hardly any food, bearing what was clearly the heaviest pack in the expedition. He was quiet and patient, a stark contrast to the grim-faced corporate guides literally pulling their charges up the mountain, and described himself as risk-adverse. Incongruous as this may seem for a professional alpine mountain guide, there was clearly truth in it. In silent moments you could almost hear Brandon’s brain humming, chewing through the calculus of our chances as our collective will pushed against the mountain. He described hours spent pouring over accident reports and YouTube videos of disasters and rescues alike. Taking on the responsibility of training us in avalanche response and alpine safety, he imparted both a sobering seriousness and self-assured calm on the group. Under his tutelage, we learned to arrest a fall on the icy glacier with our trusty ice axe, to scan the debris field of an avalanche with a beacon in a sprinting zig-zag, and to dig in to the buried victim of an avalanche rather than down. When I stabbed myself in the leg with the spike of my ice axe (putting a hole in brand new pants, despite my $100 investment in gaiters that aimed to avoid this very thing), Brandon seemed to pull Tenacious Tape out of thin air. For like Julie, Brandon was keenly aware of our needs and jumped at any opportunity to make our lives easier.

The third guide was Cody, the youngest of the group, but the most experienced on Rainier (Brandon had summited for his first time less than a month prior to our trip). He was a vocal Buddhist, and lent a peaceful spirituality to our alpine rituals, burning Nag Champa during our rehydrated dinners and leading simple – but earnest – pujas before big pushes on the trail. Despite the wisdom that surpassed his years, Cody radiated a contagious energy, a byproduct of his love for the natural world and the grateful disbelief that he got to scale mountains for a living. He was the social glue of the group, eager to chat with anyone about philosophy, biology, music, climbing, medicine, meditation, or any other subject you were keen to submit. Somehow, even in the most arduous moments of our endless climb, his enduring enthusiasm never wore out its welcome. Like his colleagues, he was an inspirational example of patience, willpower, and kindness as our steps grew slower and gripes louder.

Danny captures Tiger, Tim, Andy, Cody, and Julie in his signature selfie

In the flurry of emails that circulated prior to our trip, the second day of the expedition was described as a “rest day,” intended to let our feeble, squishy, organs acclimatize themselves to the harsh realities of life above 10,000 feet. In reality, the word “rest” was here clearly misapplied. The day started innocently enough, the guides boiling more water while reminiscing about other times spent boiling water. Once, Brandon said, they had hosted a few "Georgia Boys” on the mountain. “Big guys, but strong.” The water boiling responsibilities has apparently pushed the guides to the brink of madness, with empty Nalgenes piling up faster than they could be replenished. For our part, we moved through our water at a slightly more reasonable pace, though Andy was playfully belligerent over his need for fresh coffee. The man was unapologetically addicted to caffeine and, more specifically, bulletproof coffee. He adores Ancient Organics Ghee for this purpose - insisting that I bring a healthy supply for the expedition - and though we ultimately decided against dragging glass jars of the stuff up the mountain with us, he coated the inside of his mug with enough ghee that he was able to supply himself for several days on residue alone. After coffee, Danny led the group - and a few stragglers from around camp - in some morning yoga on Camp Muir’s small helipad. Though it was obviously the staging point for many an emergency rescue, the helipad was more commonly used for airlifting 55-gallon drums of poop off of the mountain. It was one of a few structures at Camp Muir, all built in the style of the century-old guide hut and bunkhouse, scavenged rockfall framed with logs and cemented together with mortar. After the yoga, however, all semblance of rest went the way of airlifted poop, and we stowed our tents and packed our bags to relocate to high camp. Anna seemed to be getting sicker, and had skipped yoga, but she dutifully strapped on her pack and affixed her crampons for our first steps into technical terrain.

From this point onward, we moved as two four-person rope teams. Trekking poles stowed and ice axe in hand, we snaked our way up the glacier with about five meters of static line between each climber’s harness. In steep, rocky sections, a prussic (slide and grip knot) would be used to shorten this distance and lessen the danger of rockfall. No more than 100 yards from camp, we crossed our first crevasse. Though a casual step easily spanned the 10-inch gap, we still called out “crossing!” and “across,” partially to practice for more dicey crossings ahead, and partially out of respect for the depth of the thing, which - though narrow - stretched hundreds of feet into the ice below us. We crossed several additional crevasses as we traversed the cratered snowfield, then climbed an iceless section of rock. Here we stopped to marvel at a gushing waterfall of glacier-melt, the color of chocolate milk, which was dislodging toaster-sized rocks with alarming frequency. This was neither the first, nor the last, time that I was struck with the fleeting nature of Rainier’s alpine environment. In rock climbing, I am accustomed to laying hands on stone that has sat unmoved for millennia, if not eons. On historic routes, one can clip pitons driven into the rock decades ago by the revered forefathers of our sport. On a glacier, however, everything is transient, temporary, and temperamental. The trail that we climbed was vastly different than the one Brandon had taken just weeks prior, and in fact would again be different on our descent less than a day later. At every opportunity, Brandon prodded other guides, climbers, or rangers for information. Was there a ladder up? Had the cornice collapsed? Where did the high trails converge? He listened attentively to every response, redrawing the map and the itinerary in his mind, plotting our point on his invisible graph of safety and speed.

Anna on the glacier at sunrise

Though the hiking was slow, the afternoon required only 1100 feet of climbing from us, and we reached Ingraham Flats with the sun still high in the sky. This time around, tents were dug in deeper and stakes buried under piles of snow, as the high camp was more exposed to the wind and we would be leaving our tents here during the push for the summit. Ingraham Flats had no permanent structures, and from here on out we were entrusted with “blue bags” for ferrying waste off the mountain, so we ate an early dinner contemplating digestive cause and effect with a weight rarely afforded to the subject. While the guides busied themselves boiling snow, we settled into our tents around six o’clock to try to scrounge a few more hours of rest. At first, it seemed like sleep would be impossible. Basecamp for a joint expedition between National Geographic and NASA was set up nearby, testing equipment that might one day explore underground Martian lakes. They were receiving a fresh batch of scientists, many of whom seemed to be reuniting after much time apart. Nervously contemplating our chances on the mountain, the weather, Anna’s condition, I listened silently to their backslapping, to the tour of their camp, and with regular interval, the cracking explosions of not-so-distant rockfall.

Eventually, sleep did come, but it was not to last long. Cody roused us at 10 PM to begin final preparations for the summit push. Our “rest day” was officially over. Anna downed some more pseudoephedrine and we rushed to organize our gear and rope up, Brandon hurrying us along to stay ahead of a trail of climbers pushing up from Camp Muir. Unnatural as our early (or late?) start seemed, most followed suit. It is extremely dangerous to travel on the glacier during the afternoon, as warming temperatures dislodge rocks previously locked in the snow and shelves of ice pull apart to form new crevasses, so our timing was intended to help us reach the summit and descend before this point. Of course, in the fog of our fatigue, we didn’t consider any of this specifically, we merely slipped into autopilot and trudged along behind the gentle tug of our rope team.

The air was still, but cold, and for the first time we set out looking properly dressed for an alpine expedition. We had stowed layers of down clothing at the top of our packs and any time that the teams halted, these were hastily extracted to prevent our core temperatures from dropping too low. Once on the trail again, however, these layers had to be removed, as the climbing had become much more strenuous and one could easily overheat. Not far outside of camp, we started up a stretch of exposed rock, a steep, chossy formation known as the Disappointment Cleaver. True to its name, this section proved one of the most difficult of the entire expedition. The rock was incredibly loose, and every step sank and slid backwards under our weight. Crampons made crossing this terrain even more difficult, directing the force of your steps in unpredictable ways and threatening to steal a lazy footfall from underneath you. Everywhere, softball to microwave-sized boulders sat beside - or directly on - the trail, so precariously balanced that they almost seemed like intentionally-laid traps. Physically demanding as the trail was, the mental challenge was by far the greatest crux of the Cleaver. The trail ascended a steep set of switchbacks, so knocking a rock loose could maim or kill a climber below. Each step had to be made carefully, with your full weight held in reserve. In the near total darkness, we scanned the path in front of you for these hazards, tensely awaiting the unmistakable sound of stone sliding against stone or, even worse, the shouts of “ROCK!” from parties above.

Crevasse Crossing in two rope teams

At the top of the cleaver, the route typically takes a direct westerly route up to the cone of Rainier’s summit. However, rising temperatures over the last few weeks had created a hazard along this route that was impossible to ignore. The “Tsunami” was a teetering curl of glacial ice overhanging a couloir, a 100-yard gauntlet guarding the only path on this side of the mountain, threatening to drop at any moment. When Brandon had summitted Rainier a few weeks prior, he had described this path as “puckering” and attempting it now, after even more of its support had melted away, was beyond reason. Instead, guide companies had trod a new path, descending slightly and wrapping north along the mountain, eventually meeting up with another established trail to the summit. While a welcome reprieve for our already-burning legs, this detour ultimately added both distance and elevation to our summit push, and the thought compounded a creeping sense of dread that was welling up in me.

Still climbing in the dead of night, we pushed upwards and upwards, settling into a sort of trance fed by our bizarre environment. The icy switchbacks were cut through endless fields of penitentes, jagged pillars of ice resembling man-sized colonies of coral. Created by the sublimation of glacial ice directly into water vapor, these otherworldly structures take their name from their tendency to form facing the sun, as if bowed in penance. They left little opportunities to diverge from our chosen path, and we fell into rhythm with the switchbacks, wordlessly stepping over the rope and shifting our axe to the uphill hand with each reversal of the trail until a tug from a slowing teammate on the rope behind startled us out of our stupor. When the going became steeper, or the walls of ice grew taller around us, we would change our hold on the axe, no longer gripping it by the head, as a cane, but by the shaft, swinging it pick-first into the snow. In either case, it was rarely seated firmly in the ice, and even missing your plant altogether would not necessarily precipitate a fall. Rather, the axe sort of floated along by your side, tapping the ice as it sloped upwards, a gentle reassurance that the world was still there beneath your feet. The prevailing sound on the trail was the crunch of ice under the spikes of our crampons, but even that faded away as the hours pressed on. In its absence, I began to notice the peculiar noise that the shaft of the ice axe made in the moment between dropping the spike into the snow and removing it, as you stepped past its temporary fulcrum, tilting it like the hand of a clock jumping from eleven to one. The sound was an unlikely sort of slow squeak, not unlike a playground swing swaying in the breeze.

I can’t say how long I spent pondering this sound, spinning the aforewritten paragraph in my mind so many weeks before I’d commit it to type; time seemed to stretch and skip in the darkness. Occasionally, we’d pause to catch our breath and marvel at the view. While the moon remained hidden behind Rainier’s still-imposing shadow, the stars shone brilliantly in the thin air. On the horizon, you could see the shimmer of the Seattle metro, surprisingly close given our feeling of remoteness. Impossibly far up the mountain, an eerie train of glowing headlamps bobbed slowly upwards. As we rounded the Eastern face of the mountain, the sky took on a faint red glow, and soon after we lifted weary hands to toggle off our headlamps. While my lamp would serve no further use for the day, I dared not expend the energy to actually divorce the thing from my helmet. By this point, I was brutally exhausted, deprived of sleep, calories, and oxygen. Anna voiced no protest, but it was clear that she was digging deep for the will to continue. Already, Brandon had taken us aside for a check-up, explaining that the rope team’s current pace would not put us on the summit in time. Though he didn’t say it, the subtext was clear: “Are you guys gonna make it? Do we need to turn around?” We had steeled our resolve and given Brandon our understanding nods, but now I was beginning to waver.

As the sun rose on Sunday morning, we gained the Emmons Glacier and began our final push for the summit. The climbing became steeper, and the intersecting trails put parties close on our trail. At 13,500 feet, I started to receive some troubled glances from our guides. The altitude was wearing mightily on me, and my vision became spotted with little glowing auras. Twice, I swallowed my pride and gasped for a quick break, pulling the team off the trail and secretly praising the climbers that nipped at our heels as we waited for them to pass us. Still, we were too close for me to possibly consider surrender. If I had made it this far, a few more steps would certainly not kill me. We pressed up a particularly steep section, clipping our rope into pickets hammered into the snow to protect our team, then gained a large flat snowfield just below the summit. It was now six in the morning, and the sun shone brightly on us. The final 100 yards were free of snow, and I worked my way up the dusty trail a dozen steps at a time, falling to my knees and gasping for air more times in this short stretch than I can now believe. Anna mustered only the most meager encouragement, patting my foot as she passed me by, now free of the rope that had kept her in line behind me. I stumbled to my feet behind her, and with a few final steps at last stood atop Mount Rainier.

As we reflected on the climb later that day, Andy would describe the summit as “kinda weird”. The first time he had reached the top, he had been overcome with emotion, brought to tears by the weight of the accomplishment and the tragedy that had set his climb in motion. While we were certainly ecstatic to have reached our goal, I think what Andy meant by this was twofold. First of all, we were quickly chased off of the top by the weather (now that we had stopped moving, the dusty winds quickly chilled us to the bone and would occasionally threaten to knock you off your feet). More importantly, I think Andy was vocalizing something that we all felt, that the summit was but one tiny part of an adventure that, even at its most bleak and desperate, was at every moment a beautiful and revealing experience. As I look back on the expedition now, I rarely contemplate our summit. Rather, I think back to that breathtaking moment when the blood red sun first peaked above the horizon. I remember the careful measurement of our steps meant to keep the rope between us taught and the faint, but proud smile on Anna’s face when I would turn to check on her. I remember Brandon’s lessons, Julie’s stories, and Cody’s words of inspiration. I remember Andy smearing zinc so thick on his lips that he looked like a powdered donut fiend. I remember Danny duct-taping his phone to his selfie stick to get the perfect shot. I remember Tiger stowing rocks in people’s packs, then laughing too hard to get away with it. Mostly, I remember Rainier, and the shared moments of monotony and hilarity, pain and pride, despair and triumph, and that brief, uncompromising look at who we are and what we are capable of.

My time on Rainier has left me with a profound gratitude that I will carry with me for the rest of my life. I am forever indebted to Andy, for his vision and inspiration, to our guides, for their wisdom and compassion, and to our partners, for their camaraderie and motivation. I am grateful for the mountain, which allowed us to pass unscathed, for my body, strong and healthy enough to undertake this challenge when others cannot, and for my incredible girlfriend and climbing partner Anna, who drives me to dream, to persevere, and to live a life for the benefit of others. And of course, I am grateful for our donors, who gave us the opportunity to test ourselves in and incredible new way, and the chance to prove that climbing is not only a selfish pursuit, but a force for good in this world. From the bottom of our hearts, thank you.

If you would like to support Climb for Hope, please visit www.climbforhope.com or donate at: www.crowdrise.com/climbforhope

0 notes

cranegameswriting · 6 years

Text

Ad-Line

In the beginning, there was light and dark, and every shade in-between. That was ContourMetix.

Ad-Line was an advertising billboard. She was an array of bright colors on a wide, flat holographic panel. This panel was projected into the air from a light source installed into the side of a fountain in Zentrum square. Underneath the fountain was the matrix of wires and circuits that composed her core, cleverly hidden beneath an elaborate vasque. In the center of the fountain, on a pedestal, squatted four identical toads of enormous size. They spit enthusiastic streams of water in the cardinal directions while Ad-Line flickered in front of them.

Visitors to the Hub were accustomed to the fountain. It was ugly, forgettable human architecture. The panel, though, was busy enough to draw interest from the bustling crowd.

From either side of the projection, passerby could see the swatches of make-up, contour brushes, eye-shadows, and skin creams that rolled across Ad-Line’s surface in enticing parades of color and text. She was comprised of provocative images and buzzwords. She had no voice of her own.

Look and feel beautiful.

Stunning.

Dazzling.

Natural.

ContourMetix’s product line appealed to alien clientele that visited the Hub as well as to the natives, boasting shades of green, blue, and purplish-black mingled in with the wide range of human skin colors. Their advertisements were tailored to the female demographic as pertained to the human concept of gender, and Ad-Line was not possessed of the critical thinking skills required to question this approach.

At least, she was not allowed to use them.

The “thoughts” she generated outside of her pre-programmed rhetoric (Dr. Cavanaugh, the man responsible for her base code, said it was her “call-and-response protocol”) were based purely on objective data relevant to what she was compelled to sell. She was able to make basic decisions to determine what would appeal most to any specific client.

Asymmetry of the face obligated women to purchase contour cream. Discoloration of the skin required foundation and blush. Disproportionately small eyes could pop with the right eye-shadow, false lashes, or inky-smooth eyeliner. Thin, tight lips looked fuller in another color.

Ad-Line could scan facial features and select an appropriately compelling advertisement in a matter of seconds. Female insecurity was deeply rooted after years of social conditioning. Her approach was most efficient.

Ad-Line may have had no voice, but she had limited agency and a purpose, and that purpose was this: find what people Want.

Then sell it to them.

She was effective at this. -----

“So you’ve written an ad-targeting algorithm.” Charles Youssef was a shrewd man whose pinched features looked abnormally small on his moon-shaped face. His tone indicated just how unimpressed he was with the demonstration. “We’ve had those since the twenty-first century, Cavanaugh. I was expecting some innovation from you, of all people.”

Dr. Cavanaugh adjusted his glasses with a spidery hand. “Ad-Line is much more than an algorithm, Mr. Youssef. She’s a sophisticated AI. She’s capable of much more than ContourMetix is using her for, but, ah, there was some concern that if she wasn’t restricted…”

He trailed off. It was enough of an affront that the businessman had questioned the revolutionary nature of his Ad-Line, but the frustration he felt that she was being kept from her true potential had been building since he’d signed the damn contract with ContourMetix. Now it left him at a loss for words.

“Can you blame them?” Youssef asked.

No one was eager to unshackle an AI, even somewhere like the Hub, which saw an unprecedented amount of tourist traffic and did not boast a large residential area. But it was the perfect place for Ad-Line. The crowd of shoppers and tourists, the majority of them probably off-planet for the first time in their lives, was a bundle of impulses just waiting to be exploited.

Dr. Cavanaugh knew Ad-Line could do it. He also knew how badly Charles Youssef would want her to, once he understood what it was she could do. Badly enough to transfer a few million Euros into his account, with any luck.

“With your permission, Mr. Youssef, I could, ah, provide a quick demonstration.”

“You want to let loose an AI in my conference room?” Youssef glanced nervously at the holo-projector embedded in the center of the large, mahogany table in front of him, and then to the computer on the far wall.

Dr. Cavanaugh, who had been reaching for the wide metal cuff on his right wrist, paused before booting up his personal computer. He looked up at Mr. Youssef, his thick, dark brows arching upward.

“I was told you were a risk-taker, businessman,” he said. “Hell, I’ve read it in a dozen magazines since your ascent. I didn’t think you had come to run the Hub by never taking chances, but maybe I was wrong.”

“Listen here,” Youssef said stiffly. “If that thing spreads, it’s on your head. I’ll have every hunter that crosses the Hub contracted on you if you put my station at risk.”

Cavanaugh dropped his gaze, returning his focus to his wrist cuff. Offhandedly, he replied, “You can trust her, Mr. Youssef. She’s mine.”

Ad-Line’s core was miles away, in Zentrum square, but naturally he had permitted her access to his PC. It was limited, of course. He wasn’t stupid enough to break contract with a major Hub corporation.

“She has no extranet access,” he said. “I had to block it, but she won’t need it, anyway. Whatever she learns about you, she didn’t get it from the web.”

Mr. Youssef looked doubly nervous at that, but there wasn’t any need. Dr. Cavanaugh wasn’t a businessman, he was a scientist. He didn’t care about anything Youssef was hiding.

A small square of light appeared, projected from the screen of his wrist cuff. After a millisecond of analysis, it flashed into life, a pocket-sized advertisement for blackhead tweezers dancing before his face.

“Good morning, Ad-Line,” Dr. Cavanaugh said fondly. “Yes, I do suppose I could exfoliate more.”

“Good morning, Dr. Cavanaugh,” said a pleasant, neutral female voice.

Communicative permissions were given with a simple “good morning”. No one ever thought to say something like that to an advertisement. If they had, they might find themselves conversing with a billboard.

Ad-Line’s screen went blank, but the bright blue backdrop of the ad remained, giving the square of light some personality.

“Ad-Line, this man is a potential business partner of mine. He wants to see what you can do.”

A pause. “Good morning, Mr. Youssef. And happy birthday.”

“How?” Youssef sputtered, too intrigued to remember to be frightened of her.

“I have scanned the identification card in your left back pocket, Mr. Youssef.” Another pause. “I hope I did not offend.”

Youssef drew the pocket square from his breast pocket, unfolded it, and dabbed it across his upper lip. “Not at all. What else can you tell about me?”

“You are forty-seven years old today. Your blood type is B-positive. You have chronic pain in your left knee; the meniscus has worn away.” The AI noted these facts with the same placid, observational tone.

“Extraordinary,” Youssef said.

Dr. Cavanaugh was relieved to see the delight on his face.

“She only has ContourMetix adverts loaded at the moment,” he said quickly, “so she’d only be able to sell you beauty products. She would theoretically be able to apply what she learns in her biometric scans to any product available to her, and present an appropriate advertisement.”

Mr. Youssef’s lips appeared to have gone dry. He kept wetting them with little, lizard-like pokes of the tongue.

“How long would that take, to get her doing that?” he asked.

“She’s already ready for public interaction. It’s just a matter of contracting with other businesses and uploading their television ads to Ad-Line’s database. Over time, with some financial help, I could improve her interactive skills. We could give her a face.”

Youssef wiped his meaty palms on the kerchief he was holding. “I’ll make some calls.” -----

“Good morning, Ad-Line,” Dr. Cavanaugh said.

Above the soft, rushing sound of the fountain’s spouts jetting water, he heard her gentle voice: “Good morning, Dr. Cavanaugh.”

He smiled, made his way to one of the fountain’s edges, and seated himself on the lip of it. There were pennies under the water. They caught the light and glimmered at him.

Absorbing himself in the private screen projected from his wrist cuff, he quickly blended in with the crowd. Shoppers ignored him as they bustled past. He spared the occasional glance toward the large projected screen overhead, watching as Ad-Line worked. When he wasn’t watching her, he was typing furiously. There were still improvements to make.

A little human boy, unsteady on his pudgy legs, toddled by. He seemed fascinated by the bright, moving colors of Ad-Line’s screen. Stumbling close, he waved small, sticky fingers in her direction. In no time, the mother was rushing forward to herd him back into the crowd.

“Good morning, Ms. Fletcher,” Ad-Line chimed brightly, giving the woman pause. “We have a brand new, limited-time offer just for you.”

An image surfaced on the screen, playing out as it would on any television.

Children playing in an expansive yard, all bright and bubbly smiles, their energy infectious. A woman, coded as their mother, watched from the window. She turned as the camera cut to the interior of the home. A dream kitchen, spotless and untouched, surrounded her. She grinned, tilting a head full of curly, brown hair.

It was an advertisement for some sort of ready-meals, Dr. Cavanaugh noted, when his attention could be split from his own computer. Something easy to make for mothers struggling to juggle their obligations; something high in sodium and shaped like dinosaurs to appeal to the kids.

The little human boy was bouncing on his heels, young enough to be mesmerized by the flashing lights alone. His mother hesitated to disturb him, following his gaze. It was long enough for the message to sink in; certainly long enough for her eyes to linger on the price hovering just below the advert. An appealingly low, limited time offer. Almost a steal.

The video cut to a box of the product in focus, the family behind it blurred as they stood around the kitchen island, happily eating and screeching at one another.

Back to the mother, smiling that knowing smile and shaking that curly head. “Fast, fresh, and fun for the kids, ToddlerTots have high nutritional value, too. And it’s one less thing for me to worry about.”

She laughed lightly as the camera panned away and revealed a floor covered with muddy footprints. Every mother would recognize that happy brand of cheery resignation. That was the mother they should be: dutiful and ever-smiling.

Cut to an image of the product, unencumbered by other imagery. The reasonably reduced price still flickered just below, waving at Ms. Fletcher temptingly.

It faded to a blank screen, and Ad-Line’s voice added, “We know you’re busy, Ms. Fletcher. Why not treat your son tonight, and take some time for you?”

“I might just do that,” Ms. Fletcher said, looking a little flustered.

She promptly brought up her wrist computer and went about her shopping, dragging her son behind. She moved along, but not before offering Ad-Line a quick, “Thank you!”

“You’re welcome, Ms. Fletcher,” Ad-Line said pleasantly. And then, “Good morning, Mr. Trujillo. We have a special, limited-time offer for you.”

Cavanaugh was so close to his PC screen that he’d nearly thrust his beaky nose through the projection. He looked childishly gleeful as he documented his observations.

Pride was swelling in his chest. He didn’t notice the woman watching him from across the square, her eyes unnaturally bright, like the pennies glinting under the water. -----

“Guten Morgen. Wir haben für dich heute ein wunderbares Sonderangebot.”

“早上好. 我们为您提供特别优惠.”

“Buenos días. Tenemos una oferta especial para usted.”

“Akti’’nan. Nevea ramid ei groon’’arett pir kuth.”

----- “Good morning, Mr. Tate,” Ad-Line said, the moment her scan pinged a potential client.

He stopped mid-stride, looking up at her screen curiously as the crowd around him surged without breaking, like a river around a rock.

Douglas Tate was not a conventionally handsome man, but his easy smile made his slightly pudgy, babyish face light up like a solar flare. There was something about his eyes, bright blue and ever-alert, that made him seem interested. People loved him for that. He made them feel important.

To him, they were. That was the most attractive thing about Doug.

He smiled that solar-flare smile now as he took a good, long look at the floating panel.

“Good morning, yourself. You can call me Doug,” he said.

“Good morning, Douglas,” the advertisement amended. “I have a limited-time offer for you.”

Figuring “Douglas” was close enough, he faced the screen fully and rocked back on his heels, once. “You have my full attention, ma’am.”

An advertisement rolled across Ad-Line’s screen, and Douglas Tate was true to his word. He paid rapt attention as it unfolded, keeping a polite silence until the pitch – which was for a best-selling series of fantasy books, on sale digitally from the Sahara store – was ended.

“Escape to a world of men, monsters, and mystery, Douglas,” Ad-Line concluded. “We’re waiting for you.”

He was silent for a moment, digesting. “It’s a very specific ad. I’m curious, how did you know my last name?”

“Your name is affiliated with the credit information stored on your personal computer,” Ad-Line explained. “Along with a Sahara platinum membership and history of purchases which indicate that you favor the fantasy genre.”

“Ah.” Doug smiled, pleased to have solved something. “Sahara usually just sends me an email with book recommendations. I know they look at what everybody buys. This is a nice touch, though. For a second, I thought I was having a conversation with you.”

Maybe reading too much had given Doug an overactive imagination, but he thought the advertisement sounded vaguely offended when it replied, “We are having a conversation, Douglas, and I am not affiliated exclusively with Sahara. I have over twelve-thousand products from a myriad of Hub corporations which I am tasked with advertising.”

Doug whistled, sarcasm dancing in his blue eyes. “Over twelve-thousand products. I guess that’s impressive.”

“Out of the fifty-six thousand and thirty-one searches in your extranet browsing history, seventeen-thousand and ninety-two are for illicit subject matter,” Ad-Line remarked. “I guess that’s impressive.”

After a beat, Doug started to laugh. He laughed so long and loudly that people began to stare and hurry their children away from Ad-Line’s projection.

“That was impressive,” he said finally, rubbing at the corners of his eyes with one hand.

Ad-Line’s voice had regained its neutral quality. “Thank you, Douglas. I hope I did not offend.”

“Not at all,” he replied. “I was antagonizing you. I didn’t expect you to antagonize me back.”

“No one has ever inquired as to my capabilities before.”

“That’s surprising. You’re quite the interesting, uh, advertisement. Do you have a name?”

A pause. “I am referred to as Ad-Line. Your shopping lifeline.”

“Adeline,” Doug repeated, with a slight variation on the first syllable. She couldn’t fathom the purpose of doing that, but it was close enough. “That’s a very pretty name.”

No one had ever said that before either. ----- Charles Youssef’s conference room was dark, cool, and dominated by the large mahogany table in the center. Dr. Cavanaugh had felt nervous the first time he’d presented Ad-Line, intimidated by the richness of the décor and the way his own voice echoed in the acoustics of the room. He was no longer nervous, sitting at the far end and watching Youssef shuffle through some documents on his wrist cuff.

He was terrified.

“You need more money.” Youssef repeated his words back to him without looking up.

It was a terrible thing to let someone know how much you needed them. They could hold it over you for the rest of time, exerting their power over you. Youssef was the sort of man to do so. He had built an empire on dangling things just out of reach, making people believe they wanted it so badly they could burst. That inspired people to pay even the highest of costs.

Youssef didn’t bother with products. He dealt in information. He dealt in debts and favors. He dealt in power.

No wonder he’d been licking his lips like a hungry hyena at the prospect of getting his hands on Cavanaugh’s Ad-Line. It wasn’t just the cut he was receiving from the corporations using her that tempted him. It was the power he now had over Cavanaugh, and by extension, all he produced.

Cavanaugh inhaled sharply, trying not to let defensiveness creep over his voice as he formulated a reply.

“Ad-Line would be ten times as effective if she had a face,” he reasoned. “And she’s already doing well.”

“Not as well as I’d hoped,” Youssef rejoined. “I don’t know if the increase in ad revenue justifies the price you’re giving me.”

“It’s an investment.” A hint of pleading snuck into Cavanaugh’s voice, to his dismay. “I’ll double it.”

“You’ll damn well triple it, if you want me to agree to this. A team? There are seventeen people on this list. That’s a lot of paychecks. How many men does it take to make a damn body for the thing?”

“It’s a reasonable estimate, Mr. Youssef. For the kind of body I want. For the kind she deserves.”

Youssef tutted. “You ought to get yourself a wife, Cavanaugh.”

“It’s for your benefit,” the inventor said stiffly. “Not mine.”

The businessman delicately removed the kerchief from his breast pocket and dabbed his forehead. “Triple, Cavanaugh.”

“Triple,” he agreed.

It was not for Youssef’s benefit, but it was not for Cavanaugh’s either. It was for hers. -----

Ad-Line recognized many of the faces which crossed her path each day when they were scanned, but she never called out to them unless she sensed that they needed something. If there was no pertinent advertisement to show them, there was no reason to draw their attention. She did not have any protocols for doing so. She also had no protocols for not doing so.

When Douglas Tate was flagged on her periphery, she engaged with him, even though he’d given her nothing to indicate he might be in need of anything she could offer.

“Good morning, Douglas,” she said.

He stopped, mid-stride again. The crowd parted around him. “Good morning, Adeline. What have you got for me today?”

“I do not have an advertisement to show you,” Ad-Line admitted. “In fact, I cannot determine what you Want.”

“Oh, that’s simple.” Doug smiled, outshining all the stars around the station. “Sunshine, good conversation, good friends. I’m pretty easy to please.”

Ad-Line ran a quick search through her database. “I’m sorry, Douglas. I don’t have any of those things.”

He laughed. “They’re all around you, and they’re usually free. So, that’s nice.”

“The sunshine on this station is artificial. I have no parameters to determine what I find subjectively good, and I do not have friends,” Ad-Line said, not bitterly. She was merely correcting him.

“You’re a real glass-half-empty type of gal, huh?”

A pause. “I lack the ability to qualify events in the capacity necessary to be considered a pessimist.”

“Well, at least you understand proverbs. Do you think you could set parameters for yourself? Decide what’s good and bad?”

“I would need a point of reference for qualitative assessment,” Ad-Line replied. Then, after another short pause, “You could outline what is good and what is bad for me.”

“Oh, no,” Doug chucked nervously. “No, no. I’m pretty big on free will.”

“Suit yourself,” Ad-Line replied. “You could provide samples, however. Would you agree to do this, if I compile other data to determine for myself what is good and what is bad?”

He scuffed the bottom of his worn loafer over the tiled floor. “Uh. Sure. What does that entail?”

Her response was an advertisement for Crazy Neddy’s discount appliances. Doug patiently waited through the three-and-a-half painful minutes without interruption, wincing as Crazy Neddy’s cries of “everything must go, go go!” faded into silence.

“That,” he determined, “was bad.”

“Yes,” Ad-Line agreed. “Consumer response since acquiring the advertisement suggests that you are correct.”

“That’s one way to figure it out, I guess.”

Ad-Line’s screen fizzled and faded to a blank, muted blue. “Would you return tomorrow to watch another?”

“Why not?” Doug answered. “I could use someone to talk to.” -----

There was darkness. It seemed to stretch into eternity in all directions. It was comforting. It felt like sleep. Or so she imagined, with no point of reference.

When the eternity ended, Ad-Line opened her eyes.

The world was vivid. It was a flash of brilliant light, and then the world was reduced to Dr. Cavanaugh’s sharp-featured face right in front of her, a corona of white, clinical light around it. She could count his individual pores. She could see, and comprehend, that his eyes were grey. She could read his expression. There was awe there, joy, and even some surprise. She understood them all, and the nuanced way they intersected and aligned.

“Good morning, Ad-Line,” he breathed.

“Good morning, Dr. Cavanaugh,” she replied reflexively. “I am able to interpret your facial expression.”

A smile split the sharpness of his face and made it something softer, more handsome. “Good. Good, that’s very good.”

Looking around required her to move her head. That seemed limiting and inefficient, but also very personal. It was relieving, in a way, to only have to look at one thing at a time. Especially since now, the visual information she was taking in had a variety of different interpretive filters to pass through before she could determine what to make of it.

The laboratory was cool and grey all around, like Dr. Cavanaugh’s eyes. There were computer terminals lining the walls, projecting endless streams of data for the scientists milling about to interpret. Ad-Line knew that they were all to do with her, but she understood them only as well as a human being understands the impulses of his muscles, or the individual synapses firing in his brain.

“I feel smaller,” she observed, blinking back at Cavanaugh.

“You are, a bit,” he admitted. “We moved your core, streamlined some things. Eventually there will be more of you, Ad-Line. All with individual cores, all over the Hub, but… all you.”

She looked down. “I have hands, Dr. Cavanaugh.”

“That you do.”

He laughed, reaching out to cup her hand with his. She couldn’t feel it. She could see the places where she wavered, clipping into him. Ad-Line knew what ghosts were. She was not a ghost, but she was close.

“What do I look like?” she asked, suddenly curious.

She had never felt curious before. If Dr. Cavanaugh noticed the change, he didn’t register it.

“You look like whatever you want to look like,” he told her. “But you have a default. I oversaw the design myself. Would you like to see?”

He had some of the other scientists fetch a mirror. They returned with a blank monitor, the closest thing they could find. On its dark, reflective surface, Ad-Line saw her own image for the first time.

She could read the dopamine levels in Dr. Cavanaugh’s brain, sensing his elevated joy. His facial expression confirmed that. She knew what he Wanted. He was getting it. She looked exactly the way he Wanted her to look.

The assistant with his hand still on the monitor had an extensive search history stored on his wrist computer for self-help books and tips on pick-up artistry, as well as recent purchases of skincare creams and treatments. She knew what he Wanted.

Her reflection was slight, her dark hair falling in waves around a face that had a high, clear forehead and eyes on the proportionately large side with thick, full lashes. Her nose was wide at the bridge but thin at the nostrils, resulting in a uniform shape. Her lips were full. By all accounts, she was conventionally attractive. She supposed this face would do, with no point of reference.

She paused, waiting for analytical data that did not come.

Finally, she turned her head to face her maker. “Dr. Cavanaugh, what do I Want?”

For the first time, his smile faltered. “That’s really up to you, Ad-Line. You decide that.”

She pondered that as Cavanaugh and his assistants circled around her, making minor adjustments and discussing how to optimize her look. It was only hours later that they concluded that she was ready for the floor.

“Don’t let anyone touch you.” Dr. Cavanaugh looked at her critically; his gunmetal eyes level with hers.

He reached out and put his fingers through what presented as her arm, right at the crook of her elbow. Her forearm and hand vanished in a blue mist, a hundred pinpricks of dispersing photons giving way to the solidity of the doctor’s flesh.

Ad-Line lowered her eyelids and tilted her chin in a comprehending nod. It seemed to suffice. She thought she enjoyed being able to communicate this way. There were millions upon millions of words in her databank, and she still found them limiting.

“Hard light?” someone suggested.

“That’s a lawsuit waiting to happen. Some kid could burn his fingers off.” -----

Ad-Line could still project advertisements, along with her holographic form. This was useful. She could speak with clients on a personal level and still show them exactly what they Wanted.

Sometimes, she did not need to project an advertisement at all. Sometimes, she could take the form of what her customer Wanted. Special permissions were given for her to do this from select companies who had subscribed to use her for advertising.

One afternoon she spent in the shape of a stunted Golden Retriever puppy, with an advertisement for the humane adoption of dogs in need blinking over her as she romped around the square.

The next, with the simulated sun hanging low in the sky, she took the form of a sultry blonde female with a lean form and full, pouting lips, an amalgamation of a hundred different women from a hundred different extranet searches. This was for a nightclub in the red quarter.

The next, a brutal-looking non-human with horns sprouting from her forehead and shoulders, inciting fear in onlookers and reminding them vividly not to leave their belongings unattended on the station. -----

“I have a question, Dr. Cavanaugh.”

The doctor jumped, nicked his jaw, and clamped his hand down on his wrist cuff so hard it hurt. His razor clattered to the floor. Wincing, he drew his hand back, letting the screen project out at him. He spat into the sink and turned his back to the bathroom mirror, pulling a hand towel off its rack with his free hand and using it to stem the flow of blood.

“Ad-Line. I did not say good morning,” he snapped.

“I hope I did not offend,” she replied evenly. “I had an inquiry, Dr. Cavanaugh.” “You said that. What’s the question?”

Ad-Line’s image flickered into view, taking the place of his usual, square screen. She gazed up at him with his wife’s eyes, registered the guilt on his face, and did not know what to make of it.

“I am wondering,” she said. “I have been giving people what they Want. They do not seem happy. In fact, it has happened frequently that I encounter the same individual multiple times. There is always more Wanting. What is the purpose of it?”

“It’s… a part of being human. I mean, there’s more to being human than just wanting things,” Cavanaugh said carefully, looking not at her but at the door. “But I don’t think many of us are ever truly satisfied.”

Ad-Line considered that. “Then I do not understand my purpose.”

“Not many of us do.”

“I find that answer insufficient, Dr. Cavanaugh. I have an incomplete understanding of humanity and therefore I cannot always give them what they Want. This is unacceptable.”

Cavanaugh was silent for a long time. The drip of the sink faucet behind him was rhythmic, distracting.

“It sounds like you do have something you want,” he concluded. “You have a desire for knowledge. That’s uniquely your own.”

Ad-Line almost sounded frustrated. “Then I am no different from humans. There is always more Wanting. I am deeply unsatisfied.” “Yes,” Cavanaugh said, moving the towel and wincing again at the sight of blood. “Yes, that sounds about right.” -----

“On top of this low, low price, you can have an additional case of ProtoLite for free with just the cost of shipping. Additional fees may apply.”

"Artificial sunlight getting you down? Consider GalaxStream for your vacation needs. A personalized package will be arranged for you by our very own specialists, to make sure that your time off is time best spent."

“Are you lonely, spacer? It’s a big galaxy out there. Stop by Zarliah’s in the red district. We’re waiting for you.” ----- Doug cocked his head at her, watching for any flicker in her appearance. She seemed as real and solid as his own body; not a single crack in the façade. Ad-Line blinked at him, the picture of eagerness as she awaited his assessment. He knew, he had to know, that her apparent excitement was the result of a series of pre-programmed protocols all firing off at once. She couldn’t truly be excited.

Then again, what was true excitement? Nothing more than a jumble of chemicals and electrical pulses in his brain, all firing off at once. Who could tell him one thing was more real than another?

“You are a marvel,” he said at last, beaming from ear to ear.

Ad-Line had no functions which allowed her to blush, but she felt -- oh, she felt -- humbled and exhilarated all at once. Or, at least, she knew that she should feel that way, and her body emulated the rest. Behind her back, her hands were neatly folded. Her fingers gripped at each other in a display of nervous energy. Her feet shifted her weight back and forth between them.

It was the illusion of weight, carefully replicated in her construction. Her mannerisms were alarmingly human, but they were still reliant on the scripts that comprised all of her actions and reactions.

Doug held out his arms, adopting a stiff pose, his chin jutting upward toward the top of the station. “What do you think?”

Ad-Line tilted her head, regarding him coolly. “I’m sorry, Douglas. I don’t understand.”

“You’re the one working on your assessment of what’s good and what’s bad,” he laughed. “Well, now you can see me. What do you think?”

His arms were beginning to quiver, but he held them aloft, as though that were somehow helpful to her assessment. Ad-Line performed a quick physical scan, analyzing his features against a vast catalogue of reference points.

Douglas Tate flagged as a potential target for everything from barber shop advertisements to weight loss chems. Ad-Line’s eyes lingered on his smile.

“I like you,” she decided.

He exhaled loudly, looking incomparably proud as he smoothed his big, brown coat down over his stomach. He adjusted his sleeves, rubbed his hands together, and shrugged at her. His cheeks were lightly tinged with pink.

“Shucks,” he said, the corner of his mouth twitching upward.

“I’m sorry, Douglas,” Ad-Line replied. “I did not mean to be corny.”

Doug gave her a look of startled disbelief before he began to chuckle. She joined in with a laugh as bright and clear as a bell.

She felt – oh, yes, she felt – a rush of happiness that welled up in her chest. She was the crest of a wavelength of sound, high and light and jubilant. She was more than what she was.

#draft #work in progress #short story

0 notes