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tailorvizsla · 4 years

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A Proper Mandalorian Courtship - Chapter 4

Title: Fire (Or Some Mando Slice of Life) Pairing: Paz x OFC, OFC x OMC, Paz x Reader Word Count: ~6800 Rating: PG-13 Warnings: Sort-of graphic description of an injury and its treatment.

Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 📚 My Master List 📚

Tag List: @hdlynn @princessbatears @ffiiggyy

If you want to be tagged, let me know! :)

[flashback]

Paz returns to the karyai. Zephyr is with Norj in the nursery, safely shielded from the shit-show that is about to happen. Three minutes after his return, Armorer strides back into the room amidst pure silence. Mere seconds later, Zeli and Liam slink into the karyai, buckets firmly back in place. Neither even dares to look up as they come stand in front of the table where Armorer is standing. She stares at them for several moments. The silence drags on, his heartbeat roaring in his ears.

“You broke your Oath. Why?” Armorer asks, in a tone that some might regard as casual.

Paz knows better than that. Armorer is livid. She has probably gone from incandescent rage to calm and back several times. They take too long to respond, and she finally loses her temper.

“Why?” Armorer barks sharply at them.

“I have no explanation,” Zeli says, her voice wavering slightly.

“I have no explanation,” Liam says hoarsely.

Like a cold autumn breeze rasping leaves across the ground, whispers erupt through the crowd, and sends a wave of prickles down his flesh.

“The Tribe cannot come to a decision regarding your punishment,” Armorer says, her voice like ice. “Twelve votes for marriage, twelve votes for exile.”

The two of them exchange a look between themselves. He knows what they are thinking: there are twenty-eight adults in the Tribe; since the Alor usually abstains from these votes, the stalemate should have been broken.

“One individual abstained from the vote,” Armorer says, her tone calm and cold. “Thus, the decision falls to me.”

She withdraws her own dagger. Though beautifully ornate, it is honed to a lethal edge. It has taken many lives over the years. It is only fitting that it decides their final fate with the tribe. She does not hesitate to drive the blade under the tongs. Marriage. It shocks him to his core. Of all the people here, he thought she would vote for exile. She withdraws, her entire body tense. No one dares to argue, though he can hear angry mutterings.

“You will marry,” Armorer says flatly.

“What about – “ Zeli starts to say.

Zeli dares to look at him. Paz tightens his jaw, biting into the sides of his cheeks to avoid the caustic response. Here, right now, he feels no sorrow. Only anger. Pure unadulterated rage. While he simmers, Din growls. She quickly looks back down.

“What about Zephyr?” Liam finally asks.

How could a buir even hesitate to ask about their child’s wellbeing? Paz is beyond disgusted with Liam.

“What about Zephyr?” Armorer repeats, enunciating each word carefully. “Did you think to ask yourself that before you bared your face to Zeli?”

“Did Paz see our faces?” Liam asks.

“No,” he responds. “I did not look.”

“Then why take our helmets?” Zeli asks quietly. “I would have thought you would want us gone…”

Paz does not look at either of them.

“My Oath to this Tribe comes before anything else. If I had not acted – if I had walked away, pretending I had not seen what I saw, I would be complicit in this blatant disregard for the Oath we all swore,” Paz says, every word carefully modulated to remain as neutral as possible. “I did what I could to ensure the best possible outcome for Zephyr, which is more than I can say for either of you.”

More muttering, though it is a lot quieter than before. To drive the knife in deeper, he continues. He cannot help himself.

“Regardless of what has been done to me, I am no liar. I still have my honor and my integrity.”

This time, everyone remains silent.

“Do you wish to exchange vows?” Armorer asks, her voice silky soft.

“We…we will exchange them,” Liam says.

His voice is hoarse. Pained. Paz feels his lip curl in disgust. The two adulterers turn to one another. Quietly, they exchange their vows. With each word, Paz feels his stomach tighten to the point of pain. He wants to throw up, but he forces himself to witness their farce of a marriage.

This is not how it is meant to be. The riduurok – the marriage bond – is formed from love. To a Mandalorian, especially one as conservative as him, marriage is an oath of loyalty, fidelity, and unconditional support.

Marriage comes from a love that is formed from mutual admiration and acceptance; from whole-hearted, joyful surrender to ones’ other half. It comes from the type of respect that grows deep, strong roots. It culminates with two people joining their lives as one, from the moment the vows are spoken until the day they go marching far, far away.

Marriage is not the love that is formed from passion, lust, and deceit. When the heat leaves their hearts, and the nights grow cold, their roots will dry and weaken. They will not grow together and become one. There will only be rot stagnation until there is only distance and bitter resentment. He can only pray that Zephyr does not suffer further.

When they finish exchanging their vows, Armorer sighs and retrieves her dagger. One by one, the others follow suit. No one looks at them. Paz turns to exit. He will not be able to make them suffer the way he wants, but at least he can make them hurt a little. He can make them know how much he despises them for what they have done. Before he leaves, he pauses next to the newlyweds.

“My congratulations to the newlyweds. It is my greatest hope that the two of you will find peace and prosperity together,” he says calmly, coolly. “My gift to you.”

He reaches into his pocket and withdraws the ceremonial blade he had hoped to give her one day. Then he flicks it down onto the table, embedding the tip into the table before Zeli. She lets out a choked sob. Liam exhales and looks away.

“Paz,” Zeli starts to say.

“Please, ner vod,” Liam tries to say. “I am so sorry – “

“Do not ever address me by name again, demagolka,” he hisses at them, finally unable to keep his temper under control. “You are dead to me.”

He turns around before either of them can speak to them. From there, Paz heads back to his room. He hesitates at the door for just a moment. Then he exhales. The sooner he gets this done, the easier it will be. Entering, he finds Din already in the process of cleaning out Zeli’s property, tossing everything carelessly into a crate. He pokes through whatever Din has already packed to make sure nothing of his accidentally ends up in there. Paz unfolds another crate and starts going through the main room, listening as Din occasionally mutters an expletive or insult.

He finds several things that had once been at home with his – her second pair of boots, a bright pink sock, and a book. All of it goes straight into the crate. Piece by piece, he removes her from his life, each article erasing part of their eight years together. Like all other wounds, this pain will eventually heal, but he will not be the same as he was before. He can only hope that his new course in life will allow him to become a better man.

From here, he watches Din strip the bedding off the mattress. He balls it up and dumps it in the bottom of another crate. Paz turns away as Din flips the mattress over. Paz has never been one to get emotional about objects, but he cannot sleep there. He will replace it eventually, but it will do for now. A firm knock at the door makes his shoulders tense. He hadn’t the foresight to tell them to stay away, that their belongings would be left at their door.

Din is at the door before he can respond.

“What?” he asks.

A gloved hand pushes a basket into his arms.

“Take care of alor’ad,” Neten says. “He’s the only one…who can kick our asses the right way, you know?”

“Thanks,” Din says gruffly. “I’ll let him know.”

He shuts the door. Before Din can put the basket down, there is another knock. This time, it is more insistent. Din opens the door again.

“Hey, Reva - what the fuck – “

“Damn it, Djarin,” comes Revala’s voice. “Grab the other end, would you?”

“Let me put this down,” Din says indignantly.

Paz watches as Revala and Terys push a mattress into the room, brand new and still wrapped. He blinks a few times in utter confusion.

“Uhm…where did this come from?” Din asks, as he backs into the room, holding his end steady.

“Eh, Terys just had a spare one laying around,” Revala says briskly. “Thought the old man could use better support for his back.”

“Yeah, we got sick of hearing him bitch about it,” Terys says. “Every other fucking day. My back this, my back that.”

The other man drops a linen bag onto the couch.

“We’ll just help tidy up,” Terys says, going straight to the bedroom.

Paz watches in silence as the two of them swiftly push the old mattress toward the door.

“Don’t want to hear you bitching about your back, okay?” Revala asks, her voice choking up.

Suddenly, Paz realizes that Terys and Revala had been planning on moving in together. That they had bought the mattress for themselves. He did not even suspect they had been in a relationship, much less being at the point of moving in together. Sudden guilt wracks him.

“Yeah,” Paz says. “I won’t. How much – “

“If you even think about trying to pay me back, I will stab you in the kriffing balls,” Terys says flatly.

“You just want any excuse to touch his balls, don’t you?” Revala asks in a saucy tone.

“Oh, fuck off,” Terys snaps.

Paz holds both hands up in surrender. The two of them disappear, bickering between themselves. Paz helps Din set the bed up on the makeshift frame. It hangs over the edges a bit, but it will do until he can replace the frame. Din unpacks the sheets and snorts.

Paz stares at the monstrosity Din has lifted out of the bag. The sheets are a violent shade of pink with fluorescent green stripes. As if the eye-watering combination is not bad enough on its own, whoever had designed the pattern also included lines of tiny black taun-tauns running parallel to the stripes.

“Holy hell,” Din breathes. “That man has no taste.”

Paz hears the grin on Din’s face, and he can’t help himself. From losing two people he once loved all the way to his Tribe rallying behind him to support him through the clusterfuck his life has suddenly become…today has been a bizarre, surreal ride of emotions. He can only laugh. Hard. Din chortles a bit, though he is clearly worried about him.

“I’m keeping them,” Paz announces.

“You’re insane,” Din retorts.

“They’re great,” Paz shoots back as they get the bedding back in place. “They add…uh…character.”

Nothing in the bag matches. One pillowcase is fluorescent orange, while the other is black. The flat sheet looks like someone spilled a child’s watercolor palette onto a dirty tissue. It might have been bleached by accident at some point, but he cannot tell. At least the thick blanket is a relatively normal shade of brown, despite being made of cheap velour-like fabric.

“They certainly add something,” Din says, as they take a step back to survey the horror scene laid out in front of them, “But I’m not sure it can be called character.”

Paz nods, suddenly sober.

“Hey…thanks,” Paz says to Din.

Din responds by grabbing him by the chest plate and headbutting him hard enough to make his teeth rattle in his skull.

“If you need anything, send me a message,” Din says.

Cheekily, he reaches into the basket Neten had brought by. He grabs a beer and a handful of the snacks. Then, with a jaunty salute, Din leaves. After locking the door, Paz goes to the basket and takes out the alcohol. He pops the cap and takes a big swallow. He grimaces. Far too bitter, no flavor. He drinks it anyway.

Turning to the bottle is an unhealthy coping mechanism that has claimed a number of his brethren, but he has no plans to make it a habit. Tonight, he just wants to be numb.

[end flashback]

“My fayshe feels funny,” Paz says to Din, who sighs.

“Doctor Shen, Paz is starting to slur his words,” he calls out through the door.

No one responds.

Paz tilts his head to the doorway as Doctor Shen and Armorer argue in the main room. Well, it really is not an argument. The two of them are just repeating themselves over and over in different ways, trying to tell the other what needs to happen. Armorer says the bucket does not come off due to the Oath. Doctor Shen says that the bucket comes off. The two of them have been going around in circles for a while now, long enough such that the pain medications were starting to lose their edge. It is not until Doctor Shen brings up the fact that traumatic brain injury can render him completely useless to the Tribe that Armorer relents.

“Then we blindfold you,” Armorer says.

“How the fuck do you expect me to treat him with a blindfold on?” Doctor Shen asks in exasperation.

“That is the only way,” Armorer says.

“Can I use the deep tissue scanner?” Doctor Shen asks bluntly. “I technically won’t be looking at his face – just the bones and tissue underneath the skin.”

Armorer falters.

“Can you assure us that you will not know his identity?”

“Yes,” Doctor Shen stresses.

“Very well, do what you must to ensure Paz’s health and preserve his identity,” Armorer says.

“We are going to discuss this oath with the rest of the Tribe, Armorer,” Doctor Shen says flatly. “There must be an exclusion for medical professionals.”

“Doctor Shen – “

“Armorer,” Doctor Shen hisses through her teeth.

“I will leave you to your work, Doctor.”

Paz snickers as Armorer gracefully concedes defeat. It has been such a long time since he has last witnessed Armorer backing down from a fight. Then again, there is an unspoken rule – the chief medical officer outranks even the Alor when it involves someone’s health.

Coming into the room, Doctor Shen wheels the bed over to the deep tissue scanner. She positions the arm of the machine over his head. Then Din takes over, draping a sheet over everything to keep him from being seen. Once it is set to the deep scan mode, he removes his bucket. He grimaces as the bright light stabs straight through his pupils and into the back of his head.

“First of all, how many times have you gotten your nose broken?”

“Lost count,” he remarks.

“Fuck’s sakes. Hunters,” Doctor Shen hisses. “Stay still. You’re going to feel a bit of a tickling sensation in your teeth. I’m trying to set the bone fragments without causing further damage.”

Searing pain jolts down the side of his face. Paz gasps.

“Only a sadist would call that a tickle,” he groans.

“Din, jab this into his neck, right into the jugular.”

“What is it?” Din asks.

“Painkillers,” Doctor Shen says. “Now go do it before I take it back.”

“Aye, Doctor,” Din says. “I’m gonna stab you, okay?”

“How long have you been wanting to do that?” Paz asks.

“Stop moving,” Doctor Shen growls.

Din laughs as he jabs him in the neck. After a few seconds, Paz feels his head swim.

“N-now that…that’s the good shit,” he slurs out. “C-can’t f-feel my face.”

“That particular cocktail contains a bacta infusion as well as anti-inflammatory drugs that are targeted specifically to brain tissue. There’s also a mild muscle relaxer in there for your neck muscles. So, hopefully, that’ll keep you still.”

Paz relaxes, nearly falling asleep as Doctor Shen works to reposition the bone fragments in his face through the equipment. Once his nose is put back together, she gives him another injection to stimulate the bone cells and help support the bacta infusion. She reaches under the blanket, wearing latex gloves.

“Alright, I have to do this part by touch, since I can’t look at your face,” she says. “Stay. Still. I don’t want this falling into your mouth or your eyes.”

With one hand resting on his cheek, Doctor Shen’s other hand disappears. Then it returns with a strip of quick-set stabilizing bandage. She quickly maneuvers it into place. It heats up uncomfortably as it dries.

“That will keep the bridge of your nose in the right shape,” she says. “You can wear the bucket, but please be careful putting it on and taking it off for the next few days.”

“Sure thing, doc,” he says.

Din returns to his side and slides his bucket under the sheets.

“Hey, you cleaned it out,” Paz says. “Thanks, ner vod.”

“Your neck is fine, no damage to any of the nerves, muscles, or vessels,” she says. “But those muscles are going to hurt if you agitate them again before the bacta can do its job. I don’t want you doing anything stupid, Vizla.”

“I won’t do anything stupid,” he insists.

“You’re a hunter,” she retorts sharply.

“Point taken,” Paz says. “Nothing more vigorous than light sparring, then?”

“No sparring at all,” she says. “You can lift weights and jog for the next week. No sparring until I’ve had a chance to check your muscles again.”

“Can I go shooting?”

“Handheld blasters only, nothing heavier than a child,” she says.

“Fine,” he says. “Light shooting.”

“Alright, I’m happy with where you are right now health-wise,” Doctor Shen starts to say.

“Does…does this mean I can leave today?” Paz asks as he carefully puts his bucket back on.

Then he reaches out blindly, trying to remove the sheet from his face. Doctor Shen takes the sheets away, tossing them at Din. The unspoken command is clear to them both. Din goes and puts the sheets into the bin to be washed and sterilized.

“Absolutely not,” Doctor Shen says in an exasperated tone. “You have a concussion, Paz. We take brain injuries seriously around here. Your ass is staying in that bed overnight. In the morning, I’ll decide if you can leave.”

“Doctor Shen, please,” Paz says. “I have something very important that I need to do.”

“No. Your only job right now is to heal.”

“Please? It’s extremely important,” Paz insists.

“What is so important that you want to risk further brain damage?”

“Well…I have a date,” Paz says. “So, surely, you understand – “

Her head shoots up.

“Oh, no,” Doctor Shen says. “You are staying in bed and you are cancelling your plans.”

“But – “

She turns around slowly. Paz swallows as the inky black visor of her helmet tilts down toward him.

“Alright, I’m cancelling my plans,” he says. “No problem at all.”

“Good,” she says, pacing closer to his bed, looming over him. “I would hate to have to pull rank on you.”

Paz grimaces to himself under the bucket. The last thing he wants to do is piss off Doctor Shen. He knows she will make him stay another night if he mouths off. So, wisely, he stays where he is, hoping to be put out of his misery soon.

Din sends a message, informing him that he will be getting him some clean clothes. Paz sighs and closes his eyes. Doctor Shen allowed him to wipe some of the blood off with wipes, but everything from the chin down is saturated in blood. Once she can confirm the bacta is working and that the pain medications have not caused any adverse reactions, she will let him have a proper shower.

When you see Din come out of medical, you approach.

“How is he?” you ask, trying to keep the worry from your voice.

“Concussed,” Din sighs. “Idiot broke his nose, but he’ll be fine once the bacta kicks in.”

You nod. A broken nose and concussion aren’t too bad.

“Does he need anything?” you ask.

“Nah, he’ll be – “

Din suddenly stops talking as he tilts his head. Then slowly, he turns his head to look at you. You wait, hoping there’s something you can do.

“You know what, I think he might need a clean set of clothes,” Din says, in an odd tone. “But I need to take care of some stuff. Can you grab him something to change into?”

You jump at the chance to help Paz.

“Absolutely,” you say. “Did Doctor Shen specify visiting hours, or - ?”

“He’s going to have a checkup in two hours,” Din says. “Take stuff to him then. He’ll appreciate whatever you bring him.”

“Okay,” you say. “I can handle that.”

Din nods. A few minutes later, a message from Din pops up in your HUD, containing Paz’s door code. Immediately, you return to your room and grab one of your larger storage bags. Chewing on your lower lip, you consider what he might need for an overnight stay in medical. Pajamas, clean clothes for tomorrow, and toiletries. A small smile crosses your face – he will need his snacks, too. Warmth spreads across your cheeks as you stride down the hallway toward the officer’s quarters.

Paz always enjoys eating whatever you cook, even when it means he sneaks something off behind your back. You have long since started making extra so he can have some as well. He is also considerate and polite, a far cry from some of the coarser company available in the Tribe. You decide that you will be as considerate with him as he is with you.

Once at his door, you type in the code and let yourself in. His room is huge, you think enviously to yourself, as you look around. He also seems to have half the armory stacked on tables and in bins around his room. Along wall, he has a large table with neatly organized tools and a few partially assembled blasters.

Turning toward the bedroom, you hesitate. This is his bedroom, his personal space. You almost feel like you are trespassing here. Taking a deep breath, you shake your head, and move forward. Din gave you his code. If he didn’t trust you, he would not have given you access to Paz’s private space. You step in and head toward the shelves opposite the end of the bed. There, you find his clothes. Tonight, he will need pajamas, so you grab one of the soft-looking flannel sets. For tomorrow, you grab a suit, a set of padding, and a cowl in matching dark grey.

In one of the boxes on the lower shelves, you find compression shirts, shorts, and socks. Those are also added to the bag. Finally, you find his shower caddy and grab it as well. Once you are finished there, you leave the bedroom, and come into the living space. Stopping by the couch, you pick up the book on the table and add it to your bag. From there, you make your way through the karyai and into the kitchen.

He will need something edible to keep his strength up. You’ve had hospital rations before and they are unpleasant, to say the least. No flavor, no spice, and certainly no heat. Doctor Shen says that the rations are bland to ensure the patient can rest and heal, but you think she secretly enjoys the torture.

In the bottom of one of the bins, you find your cake supplies. You check the time. One hour and fifty-two minutes before you can see him and drop off supplies. Plenty of time to make him a small cake and get him some snacks. Exactly two hours and a minor burn later, you finish your gift to Paz. One small tray of uj’ayali cake, made with your dwindling stock of spices, syrup, and wine. You wrap the entire thing in parchment paper and include a fork.

Then you go to the stasis unit in the corner and steal some of the cheeses, crackers, and a small container of pickles. There, something to tide him over. In one of the bins, you find some apples. You take two for him so Doctor Shen cannot complain about him eating too much cake.

You would not do this for anyone else. You love your Tribe, but Paz is special to you. Nervously, you stop that train of thought before it can even depart the station. Paz is your friend first and foremost.

Glancing around, you take in your mess. It is extensive. Well, that all can wait until later. Paz needs you more than anything needs to be cleaned up. You turn the lights off and make your way to medical, hefting the bag onto your shoulder. You wait patiently inside the main room, listening as Doctor Shen scolds Paz for something or another. When Doctor Shen steps outside of the private room, she does a blatant double-take.

“What can I do for you?” she asks.

“I’d like to see Paz,” you say. “Is it okay if I go in?”

Doctor Shen pokes her head into the private room.

“You okay with seeing more visitors, buckethead?”

“Depends,” comes Paz’s voice. “Who is it?”

“Shu’shika,” Doctor Shen says.

“Sure,” Paz says. “Send her in.”

You step in, noting that Doctor Shen is watching you, her head cocked to one side. As soon as you come into the room, she follows you to the doorway, carrying a tray of equipment. Paz is resting on the bed, his legs crossed at the ankle, and his boots on the floor.

“Hey,” you say, echoing his words from earlier.

“Hey,” he repeats. “So, uh, what brings you here? What is all this, anyway?”

“Din said he has some really important stuff to work on, so I volunteered to get you some supplies,” you say to him. Digging into the bag, you grab his book and hand it to him. “Din sent the code for your door, by the way, I didn’t like break in or anything.”

Paz’s head jerks up at your words.

“Din…sent you the code?”

“Yes,” you say. “He was in such a rush to go finish his work. I hope you don’t mind?”

“Not at all,” he says, in an odd sort of tone. “I am so glad I cleaned up last night.”

You laugh as you hang the bag onto one of the wall hooks.

“I also came to see if you’re okay,” you say quietly, “And to see if you’d like some company?”

He nods in response.

“You want to stay and keep this cranky idiot company?” Doctor Shen asks, as she goes to the deep tissue scanner in the corner.

Paz growls as you sit down next to him.

“Well, of course,” you say. “Why wouldn’t I come see Paz?”

“I don’t mind,” Paz says. His voice takes a mischievous tone. “You did say you didn’t want to speak to Lyras. So now you don’t have to talk to him.”

You laugh, relief filling you. Then you clear your throat a bit.

“I…I also wanted to give you this,” you say, holding the tray to him.

He takes the tray from you, still slightly warm from the oven. He unwraps it and stares down at your offering to him.

“Uhm…my buir always said to eat plenty of uj’ayali if I was injured,” you say.

Inexplicably, you feel yourself blushing cherry-red, the heat filling you all the way down to your bellybutton.

“Where the hell did you find uj’ayali?” Doctor Shen asks.

“I-I made it,” you stammer out.

Oh, gods above, why did I even come here?

“You made this for me?” Paz repeats, his tone so gentle that your breath catches in your throat.

You nod earnestly at Paz. Thankfully, he does not seem too weirded out by your forwardness. In fact, he might even sound a bit happy at it.

“You made… You made - ?” Doctor Shen asks.

You can feel her incredulous stare through her bucket.

“I have some of that wine that you like,” you admit softly. “I kept a few bottles…for a special occasion.”

“Thank you,” he says, his voice sounding almost awed. “I really appreciate it, Shu’shika.”

“I’ll go finish something else,” Doctor Shen says, backing toward the door. “Uh…somewhere else.”

She shuts the door, leaving the two of you alone. As much as you appreciate the doctor, you are grateful that she has work to do. You have not had a lot of time with Paz in the past few weeks, so you would like to make the most of your visit with him today.

“Would you like to try some?” you ask. “I can wheel the privacy curtain over, if you’d like. We can…we can hang out. Since we can’t go shooting.”

Hopefully, he will not think that you are being clingy.

“Yeah,” he says, “I’d like that.”

You beam at him. You have no idea why Doctor Shen would say he is cranky.

Doctor Shen finishes putting her equipment into the autoclave just as Din carefully peers into the room, edging in as if expecting to be attacked. She looks up at him. He has to know about you and Paz. She goes to him.

“Did you know about Paz and Shu’shika?” she asks him in a low tone.

“Yes,” he says. “Are they - ?”

“Yeah,” Doctor Shen responds. “I’ll let her stay until I close down for the evening.”

Din nods just as they hear what seems to be a minor explosion down the hallway. Doctor Shen almost purses her lips as she hears Garan’s familiar bellowing. There is nothing new about this situation – some idiot hunter has rightfully earned their tongue-lashing from Garan. He takes nothing from anyone, especially not hunters.

“What’s all the noise down the hallway for?”

“I don’t know,” Din says. “Maybe someone left the water on again?”

They listen for a few moments, the occasional shout drifting back to them. She turns back to Din.

“Is Paz serious?” she asks.

Doctor Shen knows you well – after all, she has been caring for you for years now. Even as a child, you tagged along after her, pestering her endlessly with your questions and tendency to injure yourself. She was there when you put your bucket on at thirteen. She watched you grow up to become a skilled, competent, and hard-working member of the tribe. It is everything that she could have wanted for you.

“Dead serious,” Din responds. “He’s been thinking about this for a while. He went to Armorer two nights ago to talk to her about courtship.”

Doctor Shen feels relief fill her stomach. If there is a hunter she trusts, it is Paz. He is a good man and will not take advantage of you. Doctor Shen knows that you are an adult, but she still sometimes sees the little girl you used to be, complete with a busted lip and two scabby knees.

“Good,” Doctor Shen says to him. “Shu’shika might be a walking disaster, but she is our most precious disaster.”

Someone taking an interest in you was bound to happen eventually. She cannot help but to be overjoyed that it is a hunter of Paz’s caliber. Before Din can respond, they hear Garan shout your name.

“Where is she?” Garan roars. “If she’s not already dying, I’m going to kill her – “

Din grabs the surly mechanic by the chest plate and shoves him back out into the hallway.

“She’s busy,” Din says in his most menacing tone. “You will leave her alone.”

Undeterred, Garan shoves him back. This time, Din slams him up against the wall, pinning him in place with one arm against his chest plate and one finger pointed at his visor.

“I. Do. Not. Care,” Din hisses.

“This is the third time her carelessness has gotten something caught on fire,” Garan growls. “That little shit – “

“That little shit is busy,” Doctor Shen says from the doorway, her voice like ice. “Go back to the kitchen and take care of the mess. I’ll send her by later.”

Garan snarls but eventually concedes. Din grabs him by the shoulder and forcefully marches him away from medical. Doctor Shen goes to listen at the door. She hears only your combined laughter. Nodding to herself, she goes back to working on cleaning the equipment.

Din makes sure to keep Garan going forward to avoid letting him interfere. It is rare that you and Paz can spend more than a few minutes alone, so he wants to ensure that the two of you have as long as possible to talk and get to know each other a little better.

“Why the fuck are you even involved?” Garan asks moodily.

“It’s none of your fucking business,” Din says. “Workshop, I assume?”

“Yes.”

He escorts Garan to the workshop, where they pick up the parts they will need to replace the melted circuitry and charred air vent. Din carries the bag without protest, even as Garan complains with every single step. In the karyai, they find Dezha and Armorer at the kitchen window, watching as Terys finishes putting the flames out. Jalyn is by the backmost kitchen vent, trying to waft the smell of burnt wine and sugar out with a tea cloth. Din knows better – Jalyn is just here to snoop like the shameless little gossipmonger he is. Regardless, Din shoves Garan into the kitchen and bodily blocks the doorway.

“What is the problem?” Armorer asks, looking between the two of them.

“Just making sure Garan fixes everything in time for dinner,” Din says.

“Apparently, poor wittle Shu’shika is so busy I can’t yell at her for her carelessness,” Garan snaps moodily in his direction as he starts unpacking the components onto the counter.

“Yes. She is busy,” Din confirms.

Terys puts the fire extinguisher into the cabinet. Then he looks across the counter. Din can see the wheels turning. A few seconds later, Terys looks up sharply, having come to the logical conclusion.

“Did she make her special uj with wine syrup?” Terys asks slowly.

“She didn’t clean up after herself,” Garan interrupts as he shoves a pile of dirty dishes over. “And she didn’t even leave any for us. Brat.”

“Yes,” Din confirms. “Just for him.”

Garan continues grumbling as Armorer and Dezha look at each other. They come to the same conclusion.

“I will help you tidy up,” Dezha cuts in smoothly. “We can overlook this minor mistake.”

“Again?” Garan asks, turning to Dezha. “This is the third time, Alor. This has got to stop. We can’t afford to keep replacing everything her kriffing hands touch.”

“I am aware of that,” Dezha says. “But we will overlook it this time. I’ll talk to her when she is finished.”

Din leads the cleanup effort by picking up the charred pot. He tosses it straight into the trash bin. He will have to buy a new pot before Hannah discovers one is missing. Din pauses. Then again…Hannah will overlook any mistake as long as she knows that Paz is trying to court you. Din wonders if he can enlist their cook’s help in ensuring the process is as smooth and painless as possible for the rest of the Tribe.

Armorer starts sweeping the powder from the fire extinguisher into a neat pile on the floor, while Dezha works on wiping the counters down. Jalyn just keeps fanning the acrid air toward the vent. Judging by the wide grin on his face, he seems to have caught on already, though Din cannot fathom why he is still here. At long last, Garan seems to realize that something isn’t quite right. In the middle of replacing the filter, he pauses, and looks around, slowly taking stock of his present company. Everyone is quickly working to put the kitchen back in order in time for dinner.

“Why are you all here?” Garan asks slowly.

“Good question,” Hannah says, as she puts her apron on. “Why the hell are you crowding into my kitchen, anyway? And why do I smell smoke?”

“It was a minor incident,” Armorer says, cutting Garan off. “We are rectifying the problem.”

“Minor?” Hannah asks, picking up the charred remains of her pot out of the trash. “Did Shu’shika set another pot on fire? Gods above, someone needs to have a serious talk with that girl.”

“That’s what I tried to do earlier,” Garan says, “But nooo, Din said she was too busy to get a proper tongue-lashing for her kriffing carelessness.”

Din looks at Hannah.

“Shu’shika is looking after Paz,” he says diplomatically.

Hannah blinks, turning to look at him.

“Shu’shika…and Paz?” she asks.

When Armorer nods, Garan drops his wrench onto the counter. It goes clattering onto the floor. Garan wordlessly stares at each of them in turn. The only sounds that can be heard are Jalyn’s snickers and the sound of the tea cloth he is flapping at the vent.

“You’re shitting me,” Garan says as he shakes his. “Oh, no. No, that is not happening. I absolutely forbid it.”

“And what authority would you have to interfere?” Armorer challenges immediately, coming forward a step, her hand falling to the hammer tucked into her belt.

Din cracks his knuckles threateningly, though he is certain that his muscle will not be needed here. Armorer is lethal with her hammer. Garan sinks down to a seated position on the counter and rests his face plate in his hands.

“We are not going to survive this,” Garan says in a defeated tone.

“That is an unfair over-exaggeration,” Armorer scolds. “They are good together, Garan.”

“Do we know when he intends to propose? He won’t make us – her wait too long, will he?” Hannah asks nonchalantly, as she starts sorting through the ingredients for dinner.

No one is fooled by her tone. Everyone knows where her mind is – the bonfire feast. Hell, Din has found himself thinking about what he will bring back to celebrate their marriage. He has already purchased a scope for Paz and set aside a small piece of bes’kar for you. Now, he needs to figure out what food he is bringing, but that can wait until later. He doesn’t expect the two of you to marry for at least six months, if not more.

“Paz managed to give himself a concussion before they could go on their first date,” Din says. “It isn’t happening for a few months at least.”

Hannah and Armorer both seem to sulk at his words.

“You know, it might not be so bad,” Terys says. “He’s a bit older, you know. He will look after her. Maybe get her trained up so she can actually start participating in hunts on the regular?”

“We can only hope,” Garan sighs dejectedly. “We can only hope.”

Jalyn puts the cloth down and picks up his cane. Carefully, he picks his way back to them. Din wonders what the little shit-stirrer is going to do next.

“Oooorr,” Jalyn says, somehow splitting a single-syllable word into three. “Imagine what it’s going to be like once he finally knocks her up. Can you imagine them having a few Vizla brats with his temperament and her propensity for accidental arson?”

Silence fills the kitchen. Garan lets out a low noise of distress. Armorer and Dezha exchange a look. Din thinks that any child that you and Paz name as your own will be perfect the way they are, even if they end up being prone to damaging their surroundings. Hell, under the right conditions, that could be a benefit in combat.

“Regardless of their unique personality traits,” Armorer says. “Anyone who interferes will be made to regret their actions most severely. Be sure to pass that along with your gossip, Jalyn.”

“Please, everyone here wants more children to look after,” Jalyn says dismissively. “If there was a way to get them married tonight, we would do it.”

Garan picks up the bottle of wine and checks it. There is a quarter of it left. Garan shrugs to himself and lifts the front of his bucket. He chugs the wine down straight from the bottle. He wipes his mouth with the back of his gloved hand and lets out a rude belch.

“May the gods take mercy on us,” he says.

demagolka - someone who commits atrocities. Paz chooses this word because they risked hurting a child just so they could carry on an affair.

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little-lee-stories · 3 years

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Alright guys, you know that I’m not feeling 100% able to talk about politics these days - and especially not on election night when so many of us are biting our nails and watching the numbers come in and seeing states flip from blue to red to blue to red every other minute (oh? Just me, you say? Fair) - but I feel like this is really important for everyone to hear:

Regardless of who wins, regardless of who you voted for, one thing this election is going to prove is just how important our individual right to vote is. Like I said, I’ve been watching the numbers - I’m seeing gaps of less than 100,000 votes in multiple states, and gaps in the 200-400,000 vote range for many more. I’m no voting analysis expert, but from the look of the past...4 hours? As initial vote counts have come in across the country, I can say with certainty that the number of states that are “sure wins” for either candidate this election can be counted on One Hand.

Yes, Electoral College and vote counting won’t be finished tonight and blah blah blah. We can talk about all that another day when I’m not so anxious and it’s not the middle on the night for everyone. My point is - most presidential elections have less than a dozen “key states” or “swing states” to win an election on; this election so many states can flip on a dime and the counts are so close that out of all 50 states, there are far more we’re unsure about than ones we are. And that is huge, it is mind-blowing, it’s even kind of terrifying and exhilarating all at once.

That said, I’ve heard often, especially this year and in this particular presidential election, people questioning how much their vote actually matters. What difference does one person make? Why should I go to all the trouble? Why not just abstain from voting if it’s majority rule? And not just from strangers or people angry about the American voting system, this year I literally heard it from the mouth of coworkers, neighbors, and my very own partner.

So I say to all of you, to every single American that sees this (only because I would never say things about voting in countries that I am not from and don’t know as much of their voting laws and practices as I do the USA’s): this is the year when you find out how much your vote really means, regardless of who you voted for or when and where you voted. I have been in/heard of towns - that’s right, those places big enough to be called something but too small to be important - with populations bigger than the voting gap that are in some states this year. Yeah, I’m saying if One Single Town with a population of, say, 99,000 decided not to vote as a collective this year, that could literally change who all of Florida (29 freaking votes, guys. Florida is in like, the top 5 for states with the most votes in an election, if not then definitely top 8) votes for this year. 100,000 or 200,000 seems like a much smaller number now, yeah?

Well guess what? That’s how close this shit is. That’s what this ENTIRE ELECTION is boiling down to. And now that it’s happened once, how can anyone think things are going to “be normal” ever again? Even if YOU don’t realize it, there are people all over the country watching those numbers tick up and seeing it for themselves - Every. Single. Solitary. Vote can make a “life or death” change in a close election. From this point forward, every election could be this close, because people who didn’t even think it was POSSIBLE before now know their vote can turn the tide.

I don’t want to hear a single American ask if their vote really “matters.” Not after tonight. Not ever again.

Because tonight proves it does, and it will, up to and until the American voting system itself is changed, and even still it most likely will thereafter. Your vote matters. Because your vote becomes ten votes, becomes hundreds of votes, becomes hundreds of thousands of votes, literally turns the tides and changes history. Never forget that.

#politics #venting #that said just to make my stance clear:#fuck t*ump and every single person that votes for him #also fuck people who don’t vote for stupid reasons for good measure #it’s one thing to be unable to vote #mentally physically or because of a corrupt system #but it is literal BULLSHIT to throw away your right to vote on the basis of ‘I don’t really like either candidate so 🤷‍♀️’#BULL #SHIT #there’s a reason the right to vote is considered a RIGHT and something that symbolizes FREEDOM AND DEMOCRACY in America #and to have idiots just giving up their right to vote because they don’t really like either candidate??#or using their vote for something equally stupid like writing in a dead fucking gorilla??#(I’m looking at you 2016)#that’s spitting in the fucking face of like. EVERYTHING you idiots think is good and important in America #veterans? fought wars so you can vote. you’ve officially spit in their face #politicians or political views you believe in? voting makes them happen. you’ve spit in their face #THE SUPPOSEDLY GREAT FOUNDING FATHERS AND THE IDEALS THEY BELIEVED IN WHEN THEY CREATED OUR COUNTRY??#IDEALS THAT YOU IDIOTS HOLD UP AS SIGN OF ‘TRUE AMERICAN PATRIOTISM/IDEALS’??#IDEALS THAT YOU TAKE FOR GRANTED OR MISINTERPRET FOR YOUR OWN SHITTY AGENDA?#SPIT. IN. THEIR. FACE.#SHAME ON YOU FOR WASTING PRIVILEGE YOU WERE BORN INTO THAT OTHERS WOULD KILL TO HAVE #AND GOOD RIDDANCE TO BOOT I HOPE YOU ASSHOLES FALL OFF A CLIFF OR GET RUN OVER AND DIE BECAUSE YOURE TOO STUPID TO LOOK WHERE YOU STEP #*clears throat* sorry about that guys I did not mean to rant in the tags #I just feel very strongly about certain things is all

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dysphoric-affect · 4 years

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Judge For Yourself

As this decade ends and a new one begins, I find myself waxing reflective, as I’m sure many of you are, about what gaming has brought us over the last ten years and where it’s poised to head next. Just to be clear, when I say what gaming has brought us, I don’t simply mean the new consoles and games that have come out during that time, but even more broadly the trends in game development on the one hand and in the gaming community on the other.

It’s also noteworthy that the 2010’s mark the first decade in human history where social media has been a prevalent part of our daily lives the entire time. The ability to share our interests and opinions with anyone anywhere is now a power in everyone’s hands. This has correlated with the growth of gaming, leading to the ability for the communities surrounding a game to support each other and inform the public at large about every facet of a given game much more easily, making games more approachable than ever before. In this respect, the ubiquitous nature of social media has impacted gaming for the better.

Unfortunately, this is not the limit to the impact such outlets have been able to have. With the ease of ability to share your opinion with anyone around the world has naturally come the ability for negative opinions to be disseminated far more easily and widely than ever before, too. While everyone is certainly within their right to avail themselves of that resource and share their feelings when they don’t enjoy something, or at least are let down somewhat by it, it is to me quite another matter if one is to deliberately encourage negativity in others in the gaming community, whether out of seeking validation they are “right” or more simply for the sheer act of garnering attention toward their existence and validating them as a person more generally. With our lives being limited in length and with there being enough daily sources in said lives to incur negative feelings from for any of us, I am of the opinion that nobody who makes their modus operandi encouraging negativity deserves the dignity of our attention, lest we encourage more of the same.

Yet, clearly my opinion doesn’t seem to be shared by as many as I wish it was. Everywhere you look, the monster of toxicity now runs rampant. While that expression may have preceeded this decade, this is the one in which it truly manifested itself into the household expression it is today. We now exist in a state where a single cut feature by a given developer to make room for a newer idea within a given series or trying to do anything different in general will be met with angry backlash online by people who denounce the game in question as “trash” and the developer as “dead” or deserving of going under.

Claiming any given game’s quality in such a derogatory way and wishing those who made it would go out of business for offending our delicate sensibilities as consumers when they put a great deal of time and effort into such projects and when their failure would hurt their livelihood and that of the families they are supporting would be excessive enough even if it were the case that those making such statements had all played the games in question in any particular case. I probably don’t need to tell you that this is rarely the case, however. A great deal of this kind of vitriol often comes before a game has even been released, with those angered professing a certainty about how series/developer-destroying a new aspect of the story or gameplay will be that betrays a great deal of hubris on their part, a hubris divorced of any experiential basis. This has grown to the extent we now find games being judged on their graphical quality in advance of release, in spite of the fact that graphics are one of the last things finished in the development of any video game.

Even once games have come out and are deservedly open to full critique born of playing them, it is often the case that those condemning them haven’t even played the titles in question still. Many who claim they have are curiously absent the kind of specific, detail-oriented knowledge one would expect anyone who has first-hand experience to be able to provide. Others will admit they haven’t but claim they are informed enough because of seeing the reviews and various critiques on social media that they “know” it’s quality in essentially the same way as anyone else who has played it. Any equivocation between experiencing a thing for itself and experiencing someone else’s opinion of a thing as essentially the same thing is a false equivocation, especially when someone else’s opinion isn’t even based on actual experience of a thing, as is so often found to be the case right now with the gaming content in question.

I hardly need point you to specific examples of this, because if you are interested enough in gaming to be reading this post, then you know the sort to which I’m referring. There are any number of YouTube “content creators” - and I use that in the loosest conceivable sense of the label - who have clearly made their entire approach to content based around promoting and fanning the flames further of any current trend of toxicity within the gaming community. A facade of “concern about the creation of better games and better practices by game studios” scarcely hides the interest in drawing the sheer number of hits negative content is liable to incur for them, a likelihood which I’m not naive enough to believe isn’t something they aren’t aware of in advance and actively working to solicit. One has to wonder, at a certain point, how many of these creators even believe in the viewpoint they draw attention to, or how much they truly care about games in general, for that matter. I’ll not be naming any such “content creators” here, as I feel no obligation to draw the curious toward giving their content more attention when it has already garnered more than it deserves, but as I said, if you’re reading this...you know the kind I’m talking about.

As a snowball starts an avalanche, so too has it become the case that these specific instances of toxicity create a greater issue than what to me seems really called for in most situations as well, as in recent time I’ve noticed a new trend in more offical gaming publications online picking up on these cases and reporting it as a newsworthy story, rather than such controversies staying on the forums they used to be relegated to. Forum users’ message board comments and their online handles are now even being quoted in stories about such controversies in a manner not dissimilar in tone from what one might expect of the eyewitness of a car accident, though I have genuinely seen such stories about the latter published with less somber an overtone than stories about the unfair cost of some DLC.

This state of affairs is so ridiculous to my perception as to be laughable, but for the fact that its ever-growing and tangible impact on the gaming community is so corrosive. For a community centered around a medium we seek out and take part in to feel delighted and entertained, we have a preoccupation now with relishing in feeling hate toward various aspects of it, or at least in watching others do so, which is hardly better as it is encouraging such behavior by gifting it the dignity of attention. Look at the number of views and comments any given negative article or video on a controversy has, and compare that to the aggregate of those on anything related to more positive content concerning the same game, or simply news about the game in general which is neutral in judgement, and the difference will tell you the tale in where we currently sell our time and attention.

I’ve said before in this blog and I will say it again: my goal here is to promote positive content in relation to being a gamer. However, considering my interest in promoting a healthy positivity in the gaming community - one not irrationally positive but not irrationally negative, either - and looking forward to the next decade and what changes it will bring to gaming, I felt compelled to speak up and pass my indictment on the current toxic culture of the gaming community. We should be ashamed things are in this state, and we should all do what we can to put a stop to it. Again, not a stop to any criticism - that is needed, and vital at that - but the excessive, unproductive and profiteering-oriented hate-mongering that is so prolific.

A simple way to start is to abstain from watching videos of that nature and checking out other kinds of content which are clear from the surface to be promoting that kind of toxicity. Beyond that and more simply, even, we can also just discuss what we love about games more. It’s not that we don’t still talk this way about them, but we certainly could stand to do it more. The more we vote on the tone of content we would like to see with what we are all choosing to talk about, the more we discourage the toxicity that divides and corrodes this community.

Further, I would encourage more people to depend less on reviews and try out titles for themselves. Borrow from friends or check out titles through one of the various subscription services available these days if you are wary of paying the full cost for a title you may not enjoy; there are plenty of options that minimize the cost to you as a gamer to get the most accurate assessment of how quality a game is to you: first-hand experience. I. The end, no reviewer is ever going to have their finger on thhe pulse of how you would feel about a game as much as you will have yourself playing it, so don’t let these people decide for you how good something is to you.

In the end, I’m essentially just asking that we try to be a more happy and thankful community around this medium that gives us so much reason to feel that way toward it. I hope you’ll do your own part, and together that we can make the next decade of gaming an even brighter one for all of us. Let’s make it so when we look back at the end of the 20’s and what gamers were like during it, we can say unequivocally that we’re a gamer and proud of it, not just out of love of games, but knowing what that represents in the quality of tthe people who play them. I look forward to being there with all of you through it.

———-

Thanks for reading this post! If you enjoyed it, please consider leaving a like, commenting and following, and especially reblogging so it can reach more people. Any support like this is greatly appreciated. Happy New Year, gamers.

#games #video games #gaming #online gaming #microsoft #sony #nintendo #pc games #pc gaming #xbox #playstation #nintendo switch #toxicity #content creator #2019 #2020 #retrospective

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fwdthinker · 7 years

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THE DREAM OF MY CHILDHOOD FRIEND AS A BULL (2014)

Photograph: Erzherzog-Johann-Brücke, Graz

I dreamt one night that I was about to fight in an arena with my best friend who became a bull in the ring. I really envisioned him as an animal in the dream. It's hard to remember all the details of a dream you had ages ago, but I remember fractions, small pieces of what happened in that dream, and when I woke up, I remember the feeling of betrayal. This state, the state of feeling betrayed changes a man and goes unbelievably far, making you more caucious, makes you doubt people more in general, twists your perspective on even your closest friends. You begin looking at them as your enemeies, like they mean you harm, sometimes you despise what makes them different from you, what essentialy makes them, them, but thats probably the side-effect of any low in your life. Naturally, the most malicious hatered and disgust goes to the person who betrayed you. Back when I was a kid I hated when I made friends with someone and that someone just goes off and plays with some other kid made extremely jealous and yes, betrayed. Kidish stuff, I cried a lot when somebody didn't call me to play. Nowdays I don’t think much of that, it’s kinda wierd, it’s kinda cute but I'm a wierd kid with wierd dreams, and the dream I'm trying to wrap my mind arround still bothers me. By the time the dream was over, something gained a real influence on my decisions. It binded with my naked consciousness. After these dream sequences i felt like changed forever. When that dream came to mind, I felt like my body was filled with this cold gooey green liquid, which spread from my lungs and my heart to the brain and the rest of the body. I felt this emptiness overcoming me, and at the same time feeling kinda thirsty. Something inside me shut off, it was as if this matter was killing my emotions and inserting this blankness inside me, like somebody inserted corrupted floppy disk in my brain. It transfered itself into the reality and I was left with this feeling of a dream, that became more powerful as more i thought of it. I acessed it knowingly from time to time to process it, to be intentionally sad, and other times it just came to me. Years later it would come to me whilst I was stimulating my senses with music or movies from the TV or my Sony Walkman. Suddenly, as if a huge low hit me, and i would leave this world and float into the sun. And It was the same feeling of emptyness, but this time it had a visual manifestation of a sunset which was very warm. If you would paint half of the paper blue, the other half of the paper reddish orange, and a yellow sun in the middle, that is how I felt. I know it sounds weird, but imagine: firstly, not feeling anything arround you, your vision is overtaken by this picture of a sunset in which you get so absorbed that you see nothing more(it is like somebody inserted something in your brain a foil for a retro projector), and feeling empty and overtaken by this feeling that you know lacks something bigger, but is just so mesmerising that you cannot move at all untill it passes. Afterwards I usually felt that my stomach was missing or something else in my torso area. I just felt this massive hole inside me. I would usually drink a lot of water in order to fix myself. I drank enormous ammounts of water afterwards, sometimes I drank so much water that I felt like I was going to pass out.

The original dream sequence didin't go on for just one night, it just kinda stuck and i dreamt the same thing three or more nights in a row. Knowing i was stuck in this dream chain, i got very scared that i will never dream anything else. This was a really dark dream that i didn't want to go back to. Back then I was in elementary school. And being a nine year old kid in an industrial city, where i moved to at the age of 6, because of the good-hearted intention of my parents judgement that this dirty town would be the place where i would recieve a proper education, friends and overall a better enviroment. But the decision wasn't based on my future alone, thats just a story to make things sounds sweeter than they actually are. In truth, there were many much more practical, believable and overall more realistic reasons why my parents chose to move. My mom worked in Zenica for a very long time. She would take the bus every day to go to work, sometimes my dad would drive her, but the bus is as she likes to say "more convinient and it doesn't cost gas or your fathers time" My father, back then, was busy with leading the political scene in my Birthtown, he was the Canton president and a local representative of the BDP party. He was very absent during my childhood, i remember him always working and mumbling at the table, i once caused a short circuit to go off and he said "What are you doing? Stop that." but didn't get up from the table and just continued to mumble and look at the imense papers he stacked at his office table, which was by the way in the same room as the living room was, where basically everything was. But as the poles sank, and as the top dog went down as a breeze, his efforts fell into the water of a stream which carried them away into underwater cave where they were left unpraised, undone and worthless.. He basically got very angry with politics in general and chose to never mess with it again, so we moved. He didn't vote from that day on.

I gained a couple of friends here, some of them for life, some of them for a year, some chose to change schools later, whether for practical reasons like moving to a different part of town or for thinking the school didn't appriciate them enough as students or something. I was a grade B student, my whole life. I was always a grade B student. My first grade was a B. I was always far from perfect. Maybe I had two or three times in my life a complete visual representation of what i was talking about in my head. My friends were grade A students, mostly. This one kid that lived down the street for me, his parents were very strict, so i mean, he had to get it right all the time. This other kid which i went to play with on the first day of school and we played from then on often was horrible at writing and reading and stuff, but very good at everything else. What bothered me about these people is that they weren't very eager to play with me, all of the time. I guess I wanted attention all the time. Maybe it wasn't that they weren't eager. I think i saw them back then as a little bit cold-hearted. I was a very warm "little person" if you may call it, i was naive, fat and a little bit slow at times. But everybody reffered to me as "good person Ned" instead of just ned. I said my feelings all the time, and most of the time got hurt. I was very polite, and all the grannies said that. I really liked being polite to older people. They are so easy to accomodatte and impress. I didn't meet somebody who behaved in a similar way, or posessed the same manners i did. Untill I met, Marco.

The same events continiued to occur every time closed my eyes at night. There are three elements of this dream, the audience/the sequenced surroundings where there were the people, cheering for the bull. And then in the middle of it all, there was me and Marco. We used to be really good friends friends but he had this really crazy grandmother, who was very caring of him, but in a very exaggerating kind of way, i can't explain. For me it always felt wierd when she showed up. I could find many examples of her unusual behaviour, but luckily she wasn't in this dream. This dream represented everything Marco isn't. Marco was a nice guy, a really nice guy, he wasn't very clean though, he didn't clean his fingernails and he cut them once in a month or less. There was this black filth, which was made up of mud and germs beneath his fingernails. He didn't shower or bathe much, and he only ate one brand of chocolate, which is kinda wierd, I guess. It's like he based everything upon feeling like it or not. In guess you could say he is mildly authistic, if you were a regular kid you would've think of him as a bit retarded and look down upon him constantly. That guy could drink a tower of sparkling water in a day, because he loved the stuff, Marco didn't do much except study when his grandparents forced him to, and play videogames all day. His mother left him to live with her parents to move to Germany, and I don't know if thats the only reason for it, but I can say this woman looked very coquette and my guess is she went there to become a prostitute or something. - Even though I am talking about real people here I won’t abstain from bashing them, everybody gets what they deserve. There were rumours about that, I don't know how i managed to hear them, since I was a kid and I didn't take interest in gossip Also, I am not stating this to be true, I‘m just saying the woman looks like your average hooker. Even though I played a huge role in Marcos life back then I was a pawn to them and they didn’t really appreciate me as a person or marco’s friend even, they just looked at me as this toy that comes to their door and plays with him. The golden example of his grandmothers uncanny behaviour is when she would come into the room bring a whole bag of chips for us, and say to me; "Could you let Marco sit on that chair, that one is more comfortable for him" The chair I was sitting on was a black fake leather office chair with armbands that were padded with some kind of soft material which was really satisfying to touch.I didn’t understand why I had to get up for Marco to sit, if he wanted to sit he would ask me to sit there, or just take the damn chair like all kids do. I immediately said “OK no problem”, but as i was standing up, Marco said, "Granny please get out of my room" and she said "But he is already standing up, go sit down" and then he would start screaming at her and when the screams got really loud she would say "Ok ok I'm leaving, I'm leaving" as she exits the room. Such events would happen very often, I mean, those two had a really wierd dynamic. I suppouse it was always like that. I mean it is weird, nobody wants to be in my place hearing all that. -That is private made public right here on this blog, Extra! Extra! Read all about it!- Grandmother, Bianca took him in when he was little and he had problems with breathing, he had a bunch of problems, and has them still. His teeth are crooked and black, his nose is slimey and goo comes out of it all the time. He is a very heavy breather, he makes wierd noises with his mouth and never closes it fully because he needs it to breathe, he only likes one kind of bread and which is like a white baguette that you need to bake in the oven. He doesn't eat any other type of bread, serriously. He is very closed to the outter world, i mean, everything he still does is play video games. I can't say if his grandmother spoiled him, or that he is retarded or even autistic, because i don't hang out with him anymore and ruining the fun we had and talking about him badly would be a shame honestly. We used to be close. You can’t really talk badly about him, nobody talked badly. That was one of the prime rules in our class. You could pick on any of the kids, start fights, hit them with pieces of chalk or even throw a rock at them but dont pull that shit on Marco. We would hang out and play video games and do kids stuff, he had a playstation two, which for todays standards is garbage. I don't play video games nowdays, cause i'm fairly busy and i can't afford it anyways. My parents never let me do that, because I had “epilepsy” which is another wierd story for another time. Marco was a good human,call him autistic,but he was good in his heart. I would bet anybody a million dollars that he never had a bad thought in his head. He was just there, existing, in this tiny microspace his grandmother constructed to be is eternal playground. It is pretty sad when i look back on it now. Once i went to his profile page on facebook which we created for him together and saw the same face expression he had when he was a kid( he didn’t change his profile picture) the one with the open mouth hanging. Maybe if it wasn’t for his obnoxious grandmother i would’t stop hanging out with him, who knows. not because of him but because of his grandmother who was bossing you arround where and how to sit all the time. And I don't blame her for ruining Marco, i mean who is to blame, he wouldn't have a home if she didn't take him in, and Marco had his own conciousness, he could try to go outside more and meet new people and be a lad, but he didn't feel up to the task, so he picked the cozy office chair and a Play Station 2, or it was picked out for him. I don’t know There is no one to blame in the end. It is just how it is.

In the dream I was sitting in a room with Marco. He was talking about how he is training hard to win this match in the arena tomorrow, which is completely the opposite of the real life Marco i hung out with. This Marco was so pumped to win, he talked about all of his moves, everything, his strategy, his game plan, how he managed to get ready in such a short time(i don't remember how it was really a long time ago that dream) and I fought opponents too, I think. In the previous battles when the opponent was down you had to finish him, exactly like the gladiator. The fighting stage looked a lot like the Roman Colloseum but at night and there were huge lights shining with blinding intensity. Maybe at this time i was acknowledging death, so that acknowledgement crossed over to my dreams, i'm not sure. The next day Marco was battling me in the arena, and he didn't hold back. He didn't hold back at all. We didn’t even shake hands at the beginning of the fight. It was like this thing that I felt superior next to got injected with some kind of advanced strength serum and it backfired making him an evil monster, destroying everything in his path. I felt betrayed cause I was begging him to stop and i didn't. I was fighting back ofcourse but for some reason he had this immense power and I couldn’t land one hit. I became afraid of him, and my hands were missing strength. In the end, I didn't want to hit him because i knew that this wasn't Marco that was hitting me. In other words, i was trying to summon Marco back, I was trying to make him realise that this was wrong. It was like this bond between us was being broken and I was the one trying to hold it all together. At the same time i was realising that he was going to kill me and that he had no intention of holding back. Pure pain took over my heart as I saw that. I respected him, I knew how good of a person he was, but in that dream, knowing how much more pain that metamorphosis caused me, i felt truely betrayed and in a sense I was shattered.

In the final moments when I woke up Marco's horn pierced my abdomen and swung me across the air. There was a green goo from Marco's eyelids and horns. It seemed like i was infected with this madness that changed him. I woke up feeling sick, and I screamed in pain. My parents came into the room and they comforted me, asked me if i need to vomit. I tried that but nothing came out. It just hurt badly. The next day I didn't go to Marcos, i stayed home. I didn't feel good. I was having slight nausea all day and couldn't eat anything during this period. Me and Marco took different paths that day. After a while i couldn't look at marco with the same interest as before. I felt disgust. I didn't feel like talking to him, at all. Nothing he said was interesting to me, whenever he tried to make a joke i was feeling slightly sorry for him so i laughed a fake laugh and added something onto his joke while looking far from his eyes as possible. It was obvious we won’t hang out anymore. One day I went out with some other kids and we never talked again. I eventually made new friends and moved on. Marco stayed the same forever.

I guess why this dream has a meaning to me is that it was my first morally conciouss dream. Even though it was one of the strangest most alien experiences in my life and words are futile to describe it. It transnformed me through a very wierd metaphysical bodily experience into an unpure child, running the streets with the other unpure children. I got the twist I needed.

#metaphyics #story #upbringing #non-fiction #school #childhood #writing #blog #photography #black and white

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