#lord of the rings vaporizing me on sight

[sunderingstars]

i am not immune to aroace-flavored found family

#⌞ ༄ cosmic.wind: other ⌝ #hazbin hotel clocking me on the back of the head #hunter x hunter running me over with a truck #honkai star rail & genshin impact putting me in a blender #lord of the rings vaporizing me on sight #i simply cannot ignore a story that impresses deep platonic bonds & aroace acceptance (intentional or otherwise) upon the viewer #my projection knows no bounds #found family #aromantic #asexual #aroace #hazbin hotel #hxh #honkai: star rail #genshin impact #lotr

[dainty-baneberry]

Prompt #29: Paternal

(Ishgard, in the Far Future in an AU) Starlight in Ishgard was a spectacular thing to behold. The entire city was decorated with colourful lights that glittered off the fallen snow, making a magical scene that drew many to the city of Foundation. Once closed to outsiders the city was enjoying a renaissance since as the go-to Winter tourist location as younger men became the majority speakers in the political arena. Count Artoirel de Fortemps had thrown a soiree that had been the jewel of the social season in Ishgard that had boasted only the most notable attendees, including not only the Lord Commander de Borel and Lucia, Lord Francel Haillenarte and his family but also Alphinaud and Alisaie Leveilleur of the Scions of the Seventh Dawn. Vidofnir had been invited, to several peoples amusement but the dragon had declined, to many peoples’ relief. The invite only formal affair at the Fortemps Manor had wound to a close only a few moments ago. The majority of the guests had been seen out. Leaving only Ser Aymeric, Ser Lucia, Lord Alphinaud, Lady Alisaie and Count Artoirel to retreat to the parlor for a after dinner drink. “I am wholly surprised at your brothers absence.” Aymeric commented as the butlers brought in cut crystal glasses of sweet cordials for everyone. Such a lavish, social event would normally be just the place the younger Fortemps brother could be found, digging for gossip and trying to talk Artoirel into funding luxurious upgrades that Camp Dragonhead absolutely did not need. Not to mention enjoying far more of his older brothers very fine liquor than he ought. “I’m not.” Artoirel replied succinctly, wetting his lips with the strong apertif and gesturing for one of the servants to put another log on the fire when Alisaie gave a little shiver. Now grown into a willowy, white Haired elezen beauty, Alisaie had been enjoying Artoirels uncommon attentions that evening, yet had been paying particular attention to the handsome and perpetually single Aymeric. Much to Lucia and Alphinaud’s chargin. Emmanellain presence was notable only by his absence. “For someone who claims to “know everyone” I wholly expected that he would attend. If solely to engage in fishing for gossip.” Alphinaud commented. Barely a boy of 16 when the Dragonsong War ended the Elezen man now stood taller than Aymeric, although not quite as tall as Artoirel. “Fully he is not willing to face his comeuppance. We have a wager that he could not bring to my party someone whom I should know but could not name.” Artoirel explained. “How much does he owe you this time?” Aymeric asked, laughter in his voice, well familiar with the brothers’ ongoing wagers. “Nothing!”  Emmanellain’s voice was heard from the corridor beyond the door. “I owe you nothing! No don’t announce us, you bloody twit, you’ll ruin the surprise!!” Emmanellain burst into the room, smirking broadly and half dragging a tall male child with silver white hair and small, delicate cranial projections behind him. “Forgive my lateness, my guest took a wrong turn getting to Camp Dragonhead.” Emmanellain, his freckles standing out against his cheeks with his excited flush presented the boy to the room with a satisfied smirk. “I would have brought him to dinner but his carriage has only just arrived, I do hope I will not be punished for something I could neither anticipate nor control, Brother.” This pronouncement went unheeded as, mouths agape, the assembled present company stared at this newcomer. Fearless the boy swept some bangs from his blue eyes, revealing candle light orange limbal rings and looked at the assembled crowd boldly. He was obviously a hybrid, the pale scales and cranial projections betrayed that he had a Raen Au’Ra parent but his build, and rounded ears spoke of some kind of Hyur progenitor.

“How do you do?” he asked cultured, polite tones and executed a perfect Fortemps bow.

“Should...someone....call Thancred?” Alisaie questioned in utter shock. The Rogue turned Gunbreaker was the only white haired hyur they knew who had had even a passing friendship with the childs' mother. It could only be one person. They knew so few Au’Ra, and only one with such a peculiar shade of orange on her limbal rings but she had been missing these 11 years past. There had not even been rumor of her sighting and Tataru, who could find information on anyone with enough time, had certainly looked.

They had truly believed her dead, and mourned her as such. Yet, here stood proof that, even if she were dead now, she had lived long enough to beget a child. “Speechless, dear brother? I fully believe you should know our newest wards name! And before you accuse me of over-stepping my position to elect a Ward of Fortemps you can be rest assured he is entitled to it via his Mother's Knighthood.” Emmanellain crowed. “So there.” “Never mind the bet Emmanellain, who is this!?” Artoirel demanded, rising to his feet and fully staring as the others were at what could only be Dainty's son. The boy appeared to be near the age of 10, which would perfectly explain why that long absent Warrior suddenly disappeared without a trace. The boy gave a glance at Emmanellian, who gave him a reassuring nod. “Go ahead, my boy.” The boy cleared his through, standing up very upright and his orange limbal rings fairly glowed, just like Dainty's had once done. “Haurchefant Garlond, at your service. Please call me Hauru.” Hauru Garlond grinned. He liked “Uncle Emmanellain”, much to his Mothers’ annoyance. Although he had particularly enjoyed seeing his Mother slap Emmanellain for calling her “old girl.” “Garlond?!” Alisaie shot to her feet a midst more than one gasp. The silver white hair suddenly made sense and no sense at all. “Impossible!”

“Is this a sick joke, Emmanellain? Cid Garlond is dead.” Alphinaud hissed through his teeth. His tone sounded unstable, and borderline violent. His hand clenched around his glass and had it been of less than superior quality it would have shattered in his grip. Alphinaud had witnessed Cid Garlond die with his own eyes. It was a memory he would never forget, although he may have long wished it. A retaliatory attack by Loyalists of the Empire. The Garlond Ironworks hadn't stood a chance against a rogue Imperial Warship. They had been utterly erased to a man. As sickened by the idea as he was, Alphinaud would not put Emmanellian above happening upon a convenient hybrid child and passing it off as something he was not solely to win the bet. Without a lick of thought for the consequences, so long as he got to show up his older brother. Hauru hesitated, unsure if he ought reassure these strangers of their mistaken beliefs, Uncle Emmanellian had told him only to give his name, and a bow but they seemed so distraught and Hauru had not been anticipating that, thinking it all a very good joke. Fortunately for the boy the lone Hyur in the room stood, moving closer to him for a better look. Her silver armor had been exchanged for a pretty woolen gown in deference to the occasion but her usual silver circlet remained, restraining her bright blonde hair. "Tis my understanding that a body for the late Cid Garlond was never found." Lucia pointed out. It hadn't seemed relevant at the time. The attack, and the level damage so absolute. Several buildings had been completely vaporized, it wasn't hard to believe that a corpse would be too. Lucia drew closer to the boy, noting the shade of his eyes despite the limbal rings. Garlean blue, unarguably “Look again, past the scales. I knew Cid Garlond only fleetingly yet I tell you this as clear as I stand here, this child has his features.” Lucia's words were poignantly true. They had been so focused on Hauru's resemblance to Dainty that they had not considered his resemblance to Cid.

Hauru truly did look as if someone had put Au'Ra scales and limbal rings on a younger version of Cid Garlond. “Master Cid Garlond!” The butler announced smartly, opening the door, unaware that his timing was utterly perfect. The gait was different from the one they all remembered. He walked with a strong suggestion of a limp and the cane he carried did not appear to be solely decorative. The hair was longer, as was his beard, and he was attired in what appeared to be Doman fashions, albeit with a heavy Alpine coat over the top. But the tall, muscular Garlean's smile was unchanged of the passage of years. Merriment dancing in the familiar blue eyes as he entered the room to an audience of shocked faces. “Well, trouble maker?” Cid grinned, addressing Emmanellain as if he were still am untidy youth of 20. “Have you finished making mischief with my son?" "Oh yes! And it was wonderful." Emmanellain chortled gleefully at the stunned faces that swung back and forth between Cid, Hauru and Emanellian before ending back on Cid again. "Cid....." Alisaie managed to gather her wits first. "How? …. How?! …. And why did you not return to us?!" She ran to his side and wrapped her arms around him to hug him fiercely, propriety be damned. “Please forgive us, old friends. The "how" is an awful long story but the why is very simple. Being “dead” was the best protection for Hauru against the Empire that anyone could name.” Cid explained, hugging Alisaie unreservedly. He thought it best that they explain and apologize for their absence from the very start. Cid was confident once everyone understood the motivations for their disappearance they would not fault them for it. He seemed to be correct as a nod of understanding was passed between the Leveilleur Twins. "And what of ... Hauru's Mother?" It was Aymeric who dared to ask what the room was thinking. He couldn't quite bring himself to say her name. He had loved her so once, a lifetime ago. "It was Dainty, wasn't it?" Alphinaud questioned, his tone more of a demand than he intended. It could only have been Dainty. Hauru's colouring and name made that inarguable but that didn't mean the Au Ra was alive. "Is Dainty." Cid corrected the Elezen reassuringly, before nodding to Aymeric. "She stopped in to pay her respects at Providence Point alone. You know she never was one for emotional scenes."

#ffxivwrite2020 #ffxivwrite #writeseptember

[patchedupnevermore]

Patches wasn't in a good mood.

Draven had landed a perch next to her as she eyed the Bonelands far below the Eternal throne. His ever present scowl a not entirely welcoming sight.

"You've been standing here all day, Ironfury." Draven said, his tone dripping undirected venom.

"I was SOOO hoping you wouldn't have known my blood lineage." Patches replied in annoyance, " Oh, and the name is Patches, by the way."

Draven pulled out a dagger and inspected it for a moment, before swiftly sheathing it once more. "Very well, 'Patches', You've been standing here all day."

She glared at the old spectre before turning back to the horizon, "Why did I think this was a good idea?"

The blade master cocked his hooded head, the ethereal smoke writhing up from him as if he smoldered. "What do you mean, girl?"

Patches looked up to the dust choked sky, then turned to him, "All of this. The escaping of the city of the dead, the traversing of the plains, the victory in the gilded arena, the- the-" A long, defeated sigh rattled through her shorn throat. Echoed by the distant call of one of the great leviathans pulling the ship.

"You did it because you can." Draven replied, a rare modicum of softness crept into his voice.

"I did it to look for my 'family'," Patches sneered back, "And all I've found was my so-called GREAT ancestor."

Draven chuckled, shaking his head, "He's still your family, is he not?"

"One who refuses to accept you as their own CAN'T be considered as such." Patches sneered. "My blood lineage can only produce SONS! How can you make me BELIEVE that I ever had any granddaughters?" Her terrible imitation of General Xenos Ironfury drew out more laughter from Draven.

"Its a shame he doesn't see the similarities between you two." He replies, the remaining visages of mirth fading quickly from his voice.

"Yeah, well who needs a jerk like that in their li- afterlife anyway." Patches retorted, feeling somewhat better.

A loud bell rings, from far over head. Two ear splitting roars followed suit as the Eternal Throne lurched forward. Patches grabbed a hold of the railing to keep herself steady, Draven did the same.

"It appears someone wishes to speak to the lord of bones!" Patches chimed whilst they grew accustomed to the motion.

Draven did not answer, instead he chose to stalk back to his station, muttering something angrily underneath his nonexistant breath.

A quiet hum drifted out from her ghostly, thin lips. Patches turns to look towards the front of the boat at the gigantic creatures. She blinks. Not once, but twice for she sees something she could barely register as a possibility.

A pale, LIVING man rode on an equally pale horse that had ghostly vapors trailing behind them... ON THE BACK OF ONE OF THE LEVIATHIANS.

"WHAT THE-" just as quickly as Patches had spotted them, he had jumped from the tail of the great beast onto the siding of the boat and slid dangerously low, then went out of sight. She was speechless, and in SHOCK that anyone, dead or alive, would even DARE jump onto the back of one of those giant serpents, let alone ride a damn horse on one.

Patches watched as not even ten whole minutes later, the pale rider emerged from the hallway at the front of the deck. She stared in awe as this being, coolly walked up to Draven and spoke to him in a gravelly tone.

His hair, black as the night sky, just before dawn. Eyes that devoured every single detail that they could find, burned a bright amber. And the absolute GULL of this bastard to not wear a shirt or some form of real armor and not that single strap of leather that holds a pauldron to his shoulder.

Patches knew then to not mess around with this guy. But... that was only a fleeting thought whilst he begun to walk her way.

"SHIT!" She hissed, snapping back to reality and quickly turning around to look back over the horizon. She started to whistle almost casually in hopes that he'll just walk on by.

"Saw something that caught your eye, spectre?" A gruff, voice spoke amusedly from behind her.

Patches silently cursed herself and turned back to him. "Well of course, it's not every day you see so- I-I MEAN-" She intensely cursed herself mentally, his gaze rooting her to the spot, "I saw a beautiful crow fly by just recently and couldn't help but wonder where it went." If she could sweat right now, she would have been soaked.

"Oh, is that so?" A large crow lands upon the pale mans' shoulder and tilted its head.

Panic seized Patches and without thinking "OH, I see it's your pet, it's well taken care of. You must be a good owner." Her head was loud with the cacophonous call of curses and self loathing rants.

He lifted his hand to the rather large bird, and scratched it's chest. "It's not Dust you're interested in, isn't it?"

Patches freezes, completely, utterly caught off guard. "I-I I w-well you're not... wrong." She nervously chuckled, giving what she hopes is not a damning smile.

The tall stranger gives a small snort before turning to go up the stairs. Then stops with one foot on the first step. "I spotted you as well."

Patches blinked several times, the sentence successfully sinking in as he continued his ascend.

"Oh." She replied under her breath cautiously. Following in step behind him.

#darksiders #Draven #Death #\ (ツ) / #How Patches met Death and will eventually come to know Y/N

[thecomicsnexus]

Juliet's Revenge

TEENAGE MUTANT NINJA TURTLES #42 DECEMBER 1991 BY RICK MCCOLLUM AND BILL ANDERSON

SYNOPSIS (FROM TURTLEPEDIA)

The story opens with a tied-up Casey, refusing to reveal what his captors wish to know. A voice indicates that a truth serum will be administered.

The next few panels cut between cryptozoologist Charlie Forté receiving a series of photos of the Turtles from a mysterious man in black, and Casey spilling his guts about his "extended family" and his childhood. Then, the Charlie scenes are inter-spliced with similar scenes of April O'Neil - also tied up and refusing to talk, but eventually revealing about the Turtles and going in to her childhood. Both Casey and April are administered an amnesiac drug after their sequence of panels.

The man in black provides Charlie with a second set of photographs, this series depicting Foot, T.C.R.I. Alien, Unknown, Triceraton, Leatherhead, and Carnage. Charlie decides to work with this mysterious man, then indicating that the man looks familiar, but due to having researched more into science than literature, he only recognizes him as, potentially, a famous author. The man in black is then revealed to be Edgar Allan Poe.

Meanwhile, the Turtles are at the farmhouse. Leonardo is reading "The Way of the Zen Warrior", Michelangelo is scouring the refrigerator in vain for food, and Raphael is beating Donatello at arm-wrestling. The Turtles ponder the fate of their friends, who left for food hours previously. Klunk lies sleeping on the floor.

Surmising that it may be enemy action that is behind their friends' tardiness, Leonardo suggests that the four of them set out. In the fields, they spot Casey's hockey mask, bloodied. They then come across Casey's car and scattered weapons, as well as April's purse - still filled with cash. Leonardo finds his theory is correct. The Turtles split up.

Raphael is approached by a portly man in a cowboy hat, who complements his sai. The man says that he wishes that he would have known about Raph, as he would have written about him. He then says he has to "blow away" Raph. An angry Raphael swipes the man's arm with his sai, but the man is unharmed. Simply by pointing an index finger at Raph and saying "Bang", he shoots Raphael in the chest. As he passes out, Raph questions the man's identity. He reveals himself after Raphael loses consciousness.

"Lovecraft called me "Two-Gun Bob." But you can call me Mister Howard."

Walking through the trees, Michelangelo is ambushed by Bruce Lee. After wailing on him with his own nunchaku, Bruce knocks Michelangelo out.

Donatello stands still and attempts to mentally focus on his friends to locate them. His concentration is broken by a feminine voice.

"Hey, Big Boy... Is that a staff in your hand. - or are you just happy to see me?"

Mae West approaches Donatello from the cornstalks, hypnotizing him with her gaze, and kissing him, causing him to pass out. She then laments the "Turtle Spit" she swapped with the ninja.

Leonardo is approached by a bearded man in a robe with a palette and a paintbrush.

"Tires, cars, automobiles, so wonderful, don't you know- given time, I'd have invented them."

Leonardo recognizes the man as his own namesake and gets into a fighting stance, katana drawn.

"You, I would have dissected" Da Vinci says as he paints a swirl on the Turtle's plastron. The Turtle screams in pain and collapses. Da Vinci then adds "I'd have painted you first, I think."

A mysterious, gauchely dressed woman strolls through a macabre garden full of monstrous bugs, mouth-bearing flowers, disembodied heads, and rosebush-impaled bodies. She contemplates the events that have occurred over the thousands of years of her life, culminating in this night's plot for revenge for her husband,

Splinter, wearing naught but a fundoshi sits in a tree; Poe sits on a nearby branch. The two discuss how Poe's friend Lovecraft resisted whatever events are to follow, and was "cast screaming into Rl'yeh". Splinter notes that he will not resist, and a tearful Poe thanks him.

April and Casey freak out about their kidnapping, although they don't have any clue what happened to them. They spot the Turtles' tracks and Casey's mask (although it is no longer bloodied). Casey dons his mask and is reinvigorated.

Charlie Forté interrogates Splinter, who is tied upside-down. Not receiving the answers he seeks, Forté is angered, but interrupted by the mysterious woman and Poe, who appear from a butt of mystic smoke. The Turtles are revealed to be hanging upside-down as well, and the woman awakens them.

The mysterious woman begins her exposition to the turtles, indicating that she found a spell three-hundred years ago that would allow her to enact her revenge. An angered Poe leaps at the woman to attack her, but is vaporized by her, reducing him to nothing but a smoking skull.

As April and Casey approach the barn in which Splinter and the Turtles are being held, the hostages mock the clearly insane woman. Breaking down in tears, she calls the Turtles monsters, insisting that they have taken her beloved from them. The Turtles haven't a clue who she or her lover are still. The woman explains that her husband was a powerful sorcerer that ruled for centuries over the barbarians with her at his side, until the Turtles and a "hairy, smelly Earth pig" appeared. Leonardo still protests that her identity is unknown to them. This sets the woman off and causes her to transform, yelling

"DOES THE NAME SAVANTI JULIET RING A BELL? Do you remember my husband now?"

Brandishing each of their weapons (her own nails to mimic Splinter's claws), Juliet sings an indecipherable tune whilst striking each of them in turn with their own weapons. With the blood gained from these strikes, she marks a pattern on Charlie Forté's forehead. Charlie objects to the use of the Turtles and Splinter in this ritual, wishing to use them for his own scientific research. Juliet painfully reminds him who's boss as everything turns black. Flaming sigils are drawn in the air by Juliet as the ceiling appears to open up into the universe.

April sneaks up behind Juliet as Casey cuts down the Turtles and Splinter from the rafters with a pocket knife. April swipes a hand through part of Juliet's mandala and interrupts the spell however briefly, causing her to turn and blast April in the side with a beam of magic. Juliet then summons a massive wave of goblins.

Casey, Splinter, and the Turtles fight off these hideous beasts as Juliet attempts to complete her time mastery/revenge spell. Proclaiming the Turtles to be "his", an enraged and insane Charlie attacks Splinter with a bite to the arm. Mystic flames burn Juliet's head as she continues her spell; even more goblins spill forth. The noble warriors are falling, soon to be dead, as Juliet's plan nears its conclusion.

Suddenly, a beam of light cascades down through the roof from the sky, bringing with it a frizzle-haired woman in a toga, who commands that Savanti Juliet "STOP!"

Juliet seems to know this woman, and the two supernatural females square off. Regaining consciousness, April uses a piece of lumber to knock Charlie off of Splinter, before she is batted away by a goblin. The goblins begin attacking Charlie as well; he looks toward Savanti Juliet for assistance, and the last of his courage is burned away by seeing her flaming skull.

Savanti Juliet and the woman draw hands toward one another, and the barn explodes. Casey, April, Splinter, and the Turtles find themselves on a hill overlooking the flaming barn, demolishing the last of the goblin horde. The woman explains that she saved them, as she couldn't let any harm come to her good friends. Once again, Leonardo fails to identify this woman, leading her to use a line reminiscent of days past to clue in her friends....

"C'mon dudes, this scene would gag me with its groadiness!"

The Turtles correctly realize that this savior is Renet, and she explains that she is from thousands of years in the future, haven taken over Lord Simultaneous' position, and is currently the Mistress of Time. Renet heals the group and then takes her leave.

Meanwhile, a young couple is making out in the woods, when some noise startles the female of the couple. They are approached by a disfigured and deranged Charlie Forté, burned by the mystic fires of Savanti Juliet, still proclaiming the Turtles to be "his". The closing panel indicates that Charlie is reported as another Bigfoot sighting, ironically making him seen as one of the very cryptids he had studied his entire life.

REVIEW

This is a decent story, but becomes weaker by depending on past stories. This one not being canon, and the other one involving a creation from a different studio, makes both stories “rare”. That story, though, was part of the canon, and this apparently isn’t. Then again, that’s debatable.

In any case, it is unclear why Juliet had to recruit these figures from the past, at least to me. She seemed powerful enough to do the job herself. Even before the transformation.

The art on the other hand, is pretty solid. Keeps the indie feel of the Turtles mixed with a lot of iconography and symbolism that was very popular in the early nineties.

I give the issue a score of 7.

#mirage studios #bill anderson #rick mccollum #tmnt #teenage mutant ninja turtles #comics #review #1991 #modern age #indie #splinter

[jamesvehrlinger]

Theophany

I was a child when the Lord came. I remember its presence, foreboding from beyond the horizon. Its shadow seemed to stretch far beyond my village, and yet there was still a keen sense of dread, like its eyes were always bearing down, inescapable, inscrutable. It weighed on us for days, no one spoke of the feeling, but a simple look at others’ slouched shoulders and downcast eyes screamed mutuality. We toiled each day, knowing full well every one could have been our last. During the nights, we’d hear the lightning in the distance- the cracks lighting the sky, indistinguishable from daylight.

I awoke during the night, I’d fallen asleep before the storms began. It was quiet, no matter how much I strained my hearing I couldn’t hear a single strike or rumble. As I sat up, a presence surrounded me. It’s warmth snaked around my body, and it’s voice wormed itself into my ear. It uttered a single word.

“Run.”

As I burst out my door, the encapsulating silence was blown away, I felt my thin clothing lifting and tearing at my body, yielding to the intense wind. The howling surrounded me, trying to throw me off balance as I bounded down the dirt path. Whatever presence had warned me of this calamity, they were no longer with me. However, they had left a thought- a place, a refuge. I felt the dirt beneath my feet begin to soften and moisten, eventually I began to kick up mud every time I landed. As the tall grass yielded to gray marshland, I eyed my target. In the center of the quagmire stood a great tree, much older and taller than the rest. It had become the object of affection of many of the villages’ generations of children. As I climbed to the tree-house atop old sap-soaked boards, I caught glimpses of the figure that grew on the horizon. It’s size was enough to dwarf a mountain, second only to the volume of it’s hair. A massive swath of yellow-grey wiry strands interlaced themselves behind it’s head, energy seemed to crackle and spark in the tangle. As it approached, I examined it’s titanic body. Wrapped in ragged bandages and clothing, it hovered slightly, bolts of lightning arcing between its feet and the ground. Its arms, outstretched, dwarfed the village, electricity seemed to snake along his muscles, lighting the body yellow as they climbed it. Half of its face was covered with the same ragged cloth, but what was unveiled did nothing to suggest any measure of humanity. It’s skin was a dark and washed out green, it’s sickly complexion complemented by the two black recesses where it’s eyes should have been. Without changing its expression, posture, or pose, it floated toward the village like a harbinger. As it crossed the village border, the sky was split by a long yellow thread, snaking from it’s finger to the ground. The landfall kicked up a massive dust cloud, when the particulate cleared, a singed crater remained. The first bolt was an invitation. The village became blanketed in the searing hot electricity, the cracks illuminated the Lord’s body. One by one, homes popped like corn kernels, those unfortunate enough to evade vaporization or electrocution shambled in the streets, cloaked in flame. Their howls somehow drowned out the storm, and filled the night with anguish.  

As the destruction found its way through my village, I shut my eyes and clasped my hands over my ears. The light radiated through my eyelids, inescapable. I do not know for how long the raid went on, but when it ended, the silence was unbearable. As I uncovered my ears and opened my eyes, I saw the destruction. Waste and fire dotted the paths, what little structure remained blew over, dispersing as ash. In the wake of the ordeal, I stood, and screamed into the darkness in pain and loss. As the anger subsided into hopelessness, I witnessed a terrifying sight. The Titan who had leveled my village turned. The Lord of Lightning shifted it’s gaze, it’s abyssal sockets bearing down on me from the sky. Slowly, it drew it’s hand towards me, outstretched fingers crackled with electricity. He took aim, and from his finger emerged a bolt of white-hot energy. It blinded me as it passed, and scorched a tree behind. I held my head and knelt, and gritted my teeth against impending death.

As the tears began to fall, a familiar warmth blanketed my body, it’s ghastly appendages wrapping my body in their comfort. As I lied there, all of my fear, anger, sadness, despair melted away. I raised my head, and saw my salvation. The Lord had turned its attention to something growing in the black sky. The mass began to warp, to convulse and expand. It grew and fought, crashing and absolving like waves in a vast, deep, black ocean. As it’s bulbous and viscous fluid continued to expand, it began to overflow. The substance began to flow from the schism in greater and greater quantity, peaking in pressure as a form began to emerge from the event horizon. The mass of bones, flesh, and fur writhed as it forced itself into the world, an unnatural and unholy birth. The cosmic error fell from the schism, and splashed in the black mucus that harbored it. As its appendages emerged from its body, it struggled to gain its footing. The creature stumbled and fumbled its way onto the ground, as it’s bony decrepit legs took more defined shape. From the mass emerged a great skull, horns twirled above its head. As a spine propped up its body, and the Balrog reared its head and let out a harrowing shriek.

The Lord stood aloof, statue-esque in face of the quivering and incorrect being. The two titans stood silhouetted by the schism in the black sky, storm clouds gathering overhead. The stage was set for war, and as the Lord drew it’s outstretched hand, he beckoned to the Balrog.

The Balrog bounded toward the Lord, like a rabid dog it could barely contain it’s ravenous bloodlust. It launched itself at the Lord’s chest, with its great claws outstretched. A flash of light, and the smell of seared fur filled the night. Sent tumbling, the Balrog flailed, catching the Lord with its great calcified tail. As it tore and ripped into the sickly skin, the Lord withdrew, and gazed upon the wound with chagrin. A flex of it’s arm, and lightning wrapped around the Balrog, like strands of yarn. It’s body convulsed and it’s flesh leathered. In the aftermath, it’s form fell and crumpled, weathered. The Balrog rose once more, and bellowed a great cry of war. With a bound, the Balrog tried to make another pass, this time nullifying the Lord’s lightning, as if reflected from glass. With a quick motion, the Balrog slashed, sanguine fluid rained from the gash. In desperation, the Lord swept its arm with great exasperation. It caught the Balrog square in the back, the exposed nerves from the prior wound causing the Balrog to bear the full brunt of the attack. Electricity sprung from the Lord’s arm, the Balrog’s body twisted and contorted in pain, thoroughly wrung. The Balrog’s body, smoking and charred, fell to the ground hard. It tried to stand, as it lifted itself, ash was made of its hand. And no matter how hard it tried, the Balrog had been thoroughly, thoroughly fried.

The Balrog’s corpse crackled and twitched, something made to live, now lived no more. The Lord rose, and examined its wounds. It cast a sideways glance at me, and slowly began to rise. Bolts crackled from beneath its feet, and the Lord resumed its statuesque hover. I watched its figure disappear over the horizon, and as the storm clouds receded with it, the sun rose.

In the pale morning light, I walked into the remains of my village. As I turned corner to corner, I averted my gaze from the seared remains. As I found myself in front of my own home, I slowly raised my head to a harrowing sight. I shambled through the smoldering ruins, to the stone chest which had been my heirloom. I spent the day reclaiming what I could of my family, panning ash by the handful. Once the sun kissed the horizon and the chill of the night began to return, I rose and donned the granitic urn. I looked skyward, just quick enough to see the schism in the sky fold, recede, and finally dissipate.

When the presence returned to comfort me, it did not speak as it did in it warning. However, just as it had the first time, it left me with an idea. A mental image, a place. A great blue castle, set in a white, grand, desert. Both set by a grand ringed planet, hanging in the sky. As any remnant of the presence left me, I turned to the road, and began my pilgrimage.

#fiction #kgatlw

[gallifreyanlibertea]

An Excessively White Christmas

A/N: This is for @brightly-painted-canvas . That’s right Daria, I’m your Secret Santa, I apologize because I made you wait forever and then some for this sub-par piece of work. The prompt given was “humorous, fluffy and Christmas-y” and ten scrapped fics later, this was born. 

You’re a great friend Susie and you deserve way better, but Merry (late) Christmas again <3 And thank you @xmas-usukexchange2016 for setting this up and putting up with me (ily). Also forgive me, I don’t know what people do on Christmas. 

It was final. It was law, for Alfred had decreed it, and that meant the alpha would do anything in his power, everything in his power to make it so.

This Christmas simply had to be the best Christmas of them all.

And that was no mere statement, no, it was a promise. Their first Christmas as a mated, married couple, and Alfred simply had to have it perfect. So glorious indeed, that it would serve as a sort of proof to every nosy old woman, every snide comment from their parents, every whisper of gossip that had said their relationship wouldn’t make it all these months. 

A sort of trophy for themselves, that yes, they were here now. Past the fights, past the bickering, past every single time Alfred had taken Arthur to McDonald’s for Valentine’s Day, and past the fact that yes, he’d proposed there as well thinking it to be ironic, while Arthur stood there both flustered and raging mad all at once because who proposed at McDonald’s?

This Christmas had to be the greatest.

That meant lights brighter than the neighbors’, music louder than the family’s down the street, sweaters uglier than the ones that mediocre couple everyone in the neighborhood thought was so cute when Arthur and Alfred were obviously so much cuter wore.

And though watching Alfred get so worked up over proving someone wrong was so in character, so competitive, cutthroat, everything that made him so damn irresistible to Arthur- it was also a bit concerning to see just how much the motive clouded over the overall meaning of the holiday season.

Arthur watched as Alfred fussed over the tree.

“I should’ve bought the lights with the different colors, it’s not blinky enough.”

“They seem perfectly fine to me, dear.” Was Arthur’s response- and he wasn’t lying. They were fine. More than fine, actually, with a light that bathed their dim surroundings in a warm, yellow glow, framing his mate like a halo, casting dancing, angelic shadows across his tanned skin.  

He was gorgeous. Even as those lips turned down in a frown, brows drawn together in anger, “I’m not going for fine, Arthur, it’s gotta be-”

“I know.” Arthur pursed his lips. “Perfect.”

Alfred heaved out a sigh as he took a step back, the hands on his hips falling limp to his sides, looking positively defeated, worn.

And Arthur came to the rescue, slipping away from his place on the couch, coming to wrap his arms around his lover’s hunched frame. “And it does look perfect, okay? So relax.”

A grunt. 

“Come on, relax with me, love.” 

Alfred didn’t seem convinced, but he put on a good show- grinning into Arthur’s hair as he was swept away, socks sliding against the wooden floor. A slow, languid dance to a holiday song Arthur sang incredibly off-key. It was something he found himself initiating often leading up to the big day, to steal his mate back from the pointless decoration he’d buried himself into.  

Alfred’s idea of a perfect Christmas was a bit different from his.

Arthur would’ve been plenty satisfied just to wake up next to his husband. Morning light streaming through the gaps in the curtains, the alpha attempting to steal stale kisses to which Arthur would respond with a lazy shove- rolling out of bed after what seemed like centuries to be greeted by a big, glittering tree with exactly two presents beneath. Yes, that would make it a jolly Christmas indeed. Just the sight of that tousled, blond hair- all knotted and swept this way and that- and those chapped, winter-worn lips Arthur would soften with a kiss under the mistletoe.

The clink of their rings against mugs of cocoa far too sweet to finish…

The Christmas of Arthur’s dreams.

But Alfred had his sights set, and oh lord was he stubborn. After a few blissful minutes had gone by of that mindless, giddy dancing, Arthur feeling so perfectly warm encircled in those loving arms- Alfred had pulled away to rearrange the ornaments he claimed were crooked, and Arthur watched, arms folded, waiting for Alfred to get some sort of hint that it had gone too far, seeing as his mate was currently jealous of a tree.

And when it didn’t happen, he groaned, padding off to the kitchen to brew himself a cup of tea and brood silently, trying not to let his lemony scent of jealousy wash over the strategically placed gingerbread-scented candles lest Alfred fuss about that as well.

They woke to snow.

It wasn’t all that unusual. Their region had been expecting a white Christmas, and Alfred had been rooting for it as well. Arthur woke to find his mate by the window, throwing laughs over his shoulder, parting the curtain so wide Arthur was practically slapped with that white, white morning light.

And he almost forgot Alfred’s obsession. He rolled right off the bed and walked, a bit disoriented, a bit drowsy, right into those open arms, and let Alfred hold him, kiss his hair, tell him everything was going to be perfect now.

Well, until it got a bit too perfect.

“It’s snowing an awful lot, don’t you think, babe?”

Arthur shrugged, peering into the cupboard in search of something to nibble with his tea. “I suppose.”

“We still have to go shopping for the party food today,” Alfred mumbled, spoon swishing in his soggy cereal. He sat back against the dining room chair, pulling his legs up against his chest. “Do you think we can go real quick, before it gets heavier?”

Arthur paused, letting the quiet sink in, ears tuned to what seemed like howling outside. “I wouldn’t risk it now, Alfred, it seems dangerous.”

He wilted at the sight of Alfred peering back into his bowl almost dejectedly, teeth chewing on his lip.

“But worst comes to worst, we can make a quick trip an hour before the party, alright, love?”

“If the snow dies down by then,” Alfred said with a chuckle, to which Arthur responded with a purse of his lips.

“I’m sure it will, it’s just snow.”

It didn’t.

Their phones buzzed to a blizzard warning, lights flickering, snow hammering down relentlessly against their windows. Arthur watched with a face half-buried in his mug of tea, because Alfred had forgotten to watch the cups, and because he also enjoyed the feeling of vapor curling around his lips- and Alfred curled into the couch, lips twisted into a frown.

There certainly wasn’t going to be a party anytime today, that was for sure.

Unless of course, Alfred expected the guests to shovel through the streets into the house and shovel their way back when the party was over. Arthur wouldn’t be surprised if he did.

“You know I hate parties, anyway, Al,” He said, fingers peeling at the blanket cocoon his mate had currently pressed himself into. “I find this Christmas truly great now that we don’t have to entertain the neighbors.”

“You’re just saying that to make me feel better,” Alfred replied, the sound muffled. Arthur resisted the urge to roll his eyes because yes, he was saying it to make the idiot feel better about something he shouldn’t have been feeling bad about in the first place, but also because he truly, genuinely, hated people. Hated having them over for holidays, with their little kids, knocking over the decor, tracking their dirty little feet into the carpet. Existing.

Alfred was also considerably more social than he was, that was for sure, so he might not have understood the fact that a person didn’t enjoy being suffocated by people every waking minute of their lives.

The alpha pouted, adding, “This is the worst.”

“Oh yeah, definitely is.” Arthur mused, placing his tea mug onto whatever surface he could find, crossing his arms as he peered down at the pitiful fluffy blanket caterpillar, his husband’s current state. “No friends, no random people that aren’t even part of our lives. I’m afraid you’re stuck with silly old me for Christmas, ugh, your mate. Dreadfully sorry, this really is the worst, isn’t it?”

Alfred buried his smile in the couch, “Yeah.”

“Well, I suppose I’ll just leave you to it, then-”

Alfred unfolded, practically absorbing Arthur into his arms, collapsing back onto the couch with a new addition to his blanket roll, and Arthur bit back a smile, maneuvering himself to turn flush against Alfred’s chest, ruffling that floppy hair as much as he was allowed to before he found himself tackled onto the floor.

Needless to say, they spilled the mug of tea. Arthur made Alfred clean it up as punishment for sulking around.

Christmas morning wasn’t as… twinkling as he’d expected it.

It was plenty white, that was for sure.

Arthur woke to a dim room. Not quite as warm as he’d hoped, what with the heater they’d left at full blast last night. He found himself curling into his blanket, toes pressed against Alfred’s legs in an attempt to absorb some heat.

To which Alfred woke with a start, slapping at Arthur’s frozen feet. “Dude!”

“I’m sorry, it’s cold,” Arthur complained, and Alfred furrowed his brows, shrugging deeper into his blanket.

“Then go turn the heater back on.”

Arthur stared, then stared, and stared some more, hoping to convey the fact that it was Christmas morning, a time for giving and charity, which meant that Alfred should get up and do it for him in the name of love. But Alfred remained adamant, squinting at him from the top edge of his blanket.

“Merry Christmas baby, but I’m not getting out of this bed just this yet.” 

Arthur growled, stepping out of the covers to switch on the light.

The room remained dim.

Oh dear.

“Alfred, the- um, the electricity doesn’t seem to be working.”

Alfred’s eyes snapped open and he practically scrambled out of bed, slipping on his glasses, fingers flicking at the light switches, tugging at the plugs, and nothing seemed to work. The room was dim, cold, and everything Alfred didn’t want it to be.

He ran off downstairs and Arthur lingered in bed a bit before following along with a scowl. Padding down the steps, turning the corner, “Alfred, what’re you-?”

“The lights aren’t working,” Alfred said, and Arthur paused, watching as Alfred knelt pitifully at the foot of the tree, pinching the bulb of a light between his thumb and a finger. “Christmas is ruined.”

Oh, how dramatic. Arthur rolled his eyes- careful to do out of Alfred’s sight lest he angered the alpha in his time of despair. Christmas was hardly ruined because of a power outage. Arthur wanted to say that the first Christmas hardly had flashing LED lights, but that would only come off as sarcastic, something that didn’t sit well with Alfred when he was pouting and sighing like he was now.

So he straightened up, shuffling around the drawers for a box of matches, fetching a newspaper roll, at the sight of which Alfred got up from his pity-fest and joined Arthur in preparing their fireplace. Let there be light.

Of course, Arthur had never lit an actual fireplace before, but Alfred seemed to have a lot of practice. His family was the more traditional type, whereas the Kirklands tended to opt for the electrical versions of things. This was in his favor, seeing as letting Alfred seem in control was possibly the best way to put a spike in that cloudy mood of his.

Arthur watched as Alfred lit a few rolls of paper, tossing them into the hearth, laden with chunky logs and smaller twigs. The crackle was melodious, and oh, so was the heat, Arthur found himself crawling towards it, basking in the glow, letting the fire warm his cheeks and the tip of his nose.

And Alfred watched Arthur curl up by the fire with a small smile, “Never seen a fireplace before?”

“Do you think we could make hot chocolate over this?” Was Arthur’s response, and Alfred had replied with a no, but they’d freshened up, cracked their knuckles and tried anyway.

It ended up with a thoroughly burnt mug and an Alfred gasping I told you so-s between peals of laughter- not the kind he’d fake around friends, with the rich, deep rumble in his chest, but the rather high-pitched laugh he claimed was so embarrassing, and Arthur would tell him time and time again that a noise didn’t define just how macho one could be.

They drank it anyway, though the milk was cold and the hot chocolate powder collected at the bottom. Alfred seemed to like it that way- and he could’ve full well just put on an act, but Arthur liked the act, so it didn’t matter.

He licked his lips free of milk, “I wonder what Santa got us this year.”

Alfred rolled his eyes, collecting Arthur’s cup to toss it into the kitchen sink. No doubt he’d leave it for Arthur to wash later on, but it was Christmas so Arthur decided not to bring up that argument.“Guess we better find out, Artie.”

He made his way to the tree and Arthur found himself biting back a smile. 

Two presents. Precisely two presents wrapped beneath, and It was just how he’d wanted it.

Alfred scooped one right into his hands and slid the other one in beside his mate, “This one’s for you, babe.”

He punctuated it with a wink and Arthur felt a knot in his gut. Arthur’s present was pale in comparison to the towering gift before him. He peeled at the paper gingerly, letting it crumple to the side before parting it, tearing it, almost, to reveal-

“A guitar!” Arthur gasped, letting his fingers smooth over the branded logo scrawled across the case. He didn’t dare open it, not yet, not now, not when what he’d gotten Alfred was so small.

Expensive, though, but small nevertheless.

“You like it?”

“Yes,” Arthur said with an affirmative grin, to which Alfred grinned as well, hands tearing at his own gift.

Arthur held his breath.

“An autographed, limited-edition Captain America comic book- babe!”

It seemed Alfred liked his as well.

A nice snog by the fireplace was in order Arthur thought, no, expected, even parted his lips for, but a loud shudder from outside had shut the mood right down. Alfred turned his head, a crease between his brows, almost longing.

“I wanted to take you ice-skating today, you know?”

“We can fill the tub and wait a while, we’d have all the ice we’d need,” Arthur said with a snort, to which Alfred shot him a glare.

“I wanted to make today perfect, Arthur, it’s-” Alfred paused, he sighed, watching as Arthur slid away from his grasp, “It’s not perfect.”

Arthur didn’t respond. He made his way to the kitchen, shuffling through the drawers, sighing out in puffs of condensed exhale in the cold, cold air. And then he came back, standing above a stupid Alfred who’d gone back to sulking as if he’d destroyed the idea of Christmas for the two of them. As if Arthur needed lights and bruising his arse on ice to make Christmas perfect.

“All I want for Christmas is a fire, food, preferably oxygen, and you.”

Alfred pouted, “A functioning tree and some mistletoe would’ve made it a hell of a lot better.”

Ah. That’s when Arthur let his lips quirk up in a slight smile, “The tree’s got ornaments, and we’ve got mistletoe-”

“No, we don’t. I was going to buy some with the party food.”

“Yes.” Arthur corrected, jutting out his arm, letting the sprig between his fingers hover over Alfred’s head, “We do.”

“That’s a basil leaf.”

“It’s mistletoe, pucker up.”

“That’s a basil leaf, and it’s kinda shriveled too.”

“Pucker up.” Arthur pressed with a quirk of his finger, beckoning for Alfred to join him on his feet. Alfred was hesitant to do so, but with a roll of his blue eyes, he eventually did.

“There’s nothing like a low-budget holiday decor.”

“Mistletoe means kiss.” Arthur let the leaf fall to the floor, wrapping his arms around Alfred’s neck. “Basil means tongue.”

He’d gotten his snog in the end, yes, but only after Alfred had laughed at him for a good five minutes. It was all good, Arthur had his revenge with a few choice bites here and there, and Alfred had retaliated with a pinch to his bum, to which Arthur practically hunted the idiot down when he ran, throwing pillows at every corner Alfred turned around the couch.

And since it was practically freezing inside, they’d agreed on a truce, huddling up beside the dying fire, wrapped in a single large blanket because Alfred had decided to sleep in his underwear last night and he was far too lazy to climb up and get himself a pair of pajama pants.

“Merry Christmas, Artie.” 

“Merry Christmas, yourself,” he replied, to a rather satisfied-looking Alfred. A real treat compared to his whining and grumbling from before. 

He let Alfred kiss his cheek, and kissed him right back. If that wasn’t the start of the best Christmas ever, Arthur didn’t know what was.

#usuk secret santa 2016 #aph america #aph england #oh look #omegaverse #like always honestly #hope you....... don't hate omegaverse daria lol especially after that heated conversation #I was sweating the entire time LMAO #also I'm an ass so I put off responding to asks and stuff until after I posted this so will be doing that #oh god this is so boring I'm sorry dariaaa #my fanfiction #usuk

[5hfanfiction]

Divine (Lauren/You) - Chapter 1

// Your POV

To say that I hate Lauren Jauregui was an over-exaggeration.

I just didn’t precisely enjoy fangirling around the so-called ‘raven hair goddess’, like most people did. She was the owner of the biggest nightclub in Miami, Club Vapor. It seems like your typical generic go-to place if you wanted to get drunk and party yourself into oblivion, to be completely honest, but for some reason people loved going there, and getting in was extremely hard.

While I don’t enjoy drinking myself to possible death, I’m not one to turn down a good night of fun either. But tonight was not the night.

My friend, Dinah Jane Hansen, somehow managed to get us passes for tonight. She kept going on and on about how special it would be, just because tonight was the night Jauregui would attend. Apparently, she herself can’t resist but dream of meeting the successful owner.

“You don’t know what I went through to get these, girl,” Dinah said as she waved the passes in my face. We were in our small living room in our shared flat, me on the couch and her pacing around furiously. “You have to go,” she whined as she flopped next to me.

“I don’t see what’s so special about this place that I just have to risk failing my final tomorrow to go,” I told her as I crossed my arms in front of my chest. “You know how much of a bitch med school is.”

“You’re so lame,” the Polynesian huffed. “It’s going to be so much fun.”

“I’m sure,” I said, almost sarcastically.

“Oh, come on,” Dinah said as she made her way towards the bathroom. “Even Ally is going.”

I widened my eyes at her choice of words. I knew how Ally was with the whole clubbing thing. That girl never managed to grasp some sort of interest for going to such places, and much less for over-drinking and grinding up against someone throughout a night. It’s not necessarily the fact that she praises the Lord more than anyone I know combined, she just finds other things in life more enjoyable, and hearing this definitely surprised me.

“Ally,” I repeated, and Dinah turned to face me and nodded as if to reassure me. “As in Saint Allyson Brooke Hernandez?”

“What other Ally is there?” She asked with a hint of sarcasm, while turning back around again and doing her make up in front of the mirror. “You know, you might even get to meet THE Lauren Jauregui,” she added exaggeratedly.

“Couldn’t care less about that stuck-up fuckgirl, if I’m quite honest with you,” I said with a shrug, standing up from my seat. “But I know how much you’d love to be able to breathe the same air as her.”

“Some piled up judgment you have,” Dinah murmured as if to herself, but I rolled my eyes at that.

I guess I somehow lost myself in the conversation with Dinah that I completely forgot about my exam tomorrow. Sure I’ve studied throughout the whole semester, but that doesn’t make it less scary, and more studying never equaled to a bad grade. I saw the tall blonde currently humming a song while doing a little dance in front of the mirror. Her playfulness always seemed to cheer me up. Maybe I won’t exactly bomb my final but there’s no way I would fail it either if I go out tonight.

Just make sure to not drink too much, I told myself and tried to relax mentally.

It shouldn’t be too bad, after all.

I’m not sure when time passed by, but I had a very very short shower, got my navy blue skin-tight dress on, and Dinah was now doing my hair. Ally shot me a text saying that she was on her way over for some pregame and I was surprised she knew what that meant. It was probably Dinah that forced it out of her, but I’ll take it anyways.

Once Dinah was done, I squeezed her forearm as a small thank you and made my way over to the kitchen to prepare some drinks for the three of us. I heard the doorbell ring on my way.

“It’s open,” I yelled as I took three glasses from the cupboard above the counter. Our kitchen was pretty simple and small, but we never did a lot in it anyways.

“Hey y'all,” Ally chirped as she came in through the door, making her presence known. The small blonde entered the kitchen with her heels in her hands. “These are a pain, I’ll tell you that,” she gave me a warm smile.

“Well, you’ll have to survive for six more hours, so you can either die being tall or live in flats,” I smirked as I started pouring vodka shots.

“If we die,” She said suddenly, all serious, raising her hand with her heels in it in the air. “We shall die like men.”

I shook my head at her playfulness and passed her a glass of the freshly out of the freezer vodka.

“Oooh,” the blonde said, raising her glass to mine. “Pre.. gaming,” she pointed with her pointer on the other hand, as if to prove her point.

“Yes,” I said slowly, tilting my head to the side to her actions, and she only grinned in response. We clinked our glasses and took our shot. The liquid burned its way through my throat to my stomach, giving me a warm pleasant feeling. Ally, on the other hand, was making a face and waving her hand in front of her mouth. “Burns, huh?” I laughed.

She nodded furiously while grabbing a hold of the counter for some support.

“'Sup, smalls?” Dinah entered the kitchen all dolled up and did a little show off walk to us. I whistled at her which made Ally slap my arm.

“Ouch,” I said to her, a bit louder than necessary.

She shook her head my way. Dinah only smirked in response and leaned on the counter.

“We need more glasses,” Dinah said as she reached over and grabbed two more, placing them in front of me. I raised an eyebrow and Ally’s face drained all color. “It’s for me, don’t worry, hun,” Dinah playfully nudged Ally, which made the shorter girl’s tenseness go away.

I complied to her request and I poured more in the now five glasses. I passed them around and we continued on with our predrinking for a while. We did this partly because drinks are way too expensive at night clubs, so we have to arrive there tipsy at the least, and partly because you never know what might be in the drink.

Ally ended up taking only two, I took four and Dinah five.

It was maybe one more than necessary, but we were going to drink that one at Club Vapor anyways. Once we were done, Dinah notified us that our Uber was waiting in front of our building. As Ally and I started gathering up, Dinah was pouring herself some more vodka in a water bottle, claiming that no-one would notice or care.

The line was undeniably extra long once we got to Club Vapor. Most of them were young adults, either in or freshly out of college, or just high-schoolers that hope to pass with their fake ID. Once it was our turn, we were met by two huge security guards. The big bald black dude with the name tag Rob, took our passes and IDs while looking us over up and down. He took his time doing so, which made Dinah huff in impatience, but he seemed used to it and let it pass. Once he confirmed that we were allowed in, Dinah immediately took off, leaving me and Ally in a try to catch up in fear of getting lost throughout the crowd.

Once Ally and I were in, we were met by a surprisingly huge amount of space. From the outside it looks way smaller, but looks can be deceiving. All of the blue and purple lights were shining down to the big pile of people in the middle, which I predicted was mainly the dance floor. To the left and the right were glass tables and chairs, and there was an upper level, as some sort of balcony all around. I looked around and saw a DJ booth in the back, and to the sides of it were stairs that led upstairs.

I got so lost in how big this place is, trying to pay attention to every detail, since it looked like a lot of time and effort was put into designing it, that I didn’t notice Ally tugging on my hand.

“Y/N,” the small girl snapped me out of my daze, and I turned to face her in the dim lighting. “This place is huge,” she said as she looked around.

“I know,” I said as I followed her gaze. I decided I didn’t want to go up against sweaty bodies just yet, and my tipsiness was wearing off. “Let’s go sit down and get something to drink.”

Ally nodded and I took her by the hand and we made our way past the big pile of people. I had to hold her in a strong grip, since it was hard to get through. Once we did reach the tables that were on the right, we immediately grabbed seats in one of the few available booths in the back.

“Where the hell is Dinah?” I asked her as we sat down.

“Language,” she pointed a finger at me and I shrugged. “I guess we’re going to have to pray to the Lord for the best.”

I took my phone out and shot a quick text to Dinah.

To Dinah 11:29 p.m.

where are u?

I put my phone on the glass table and just then a person walked by with drinks around. Ally waved them over, and they, more specifically he, gave us a smile while walking towards us.

“What would you like, ladies?” He asked in a polite tone, which made Ally smile back.

“What would you recommend?” The short girl perched up an eyebrow while looking at the available drinks.

He got closer to her. “I usually wouldn’t, but these last two cocktails are great, and I would rather you ladies have it than some other trashy teen,” he said in a hushed tone, giving her another smile.

I watched the interaction from aside and was surprised at how casually Ally was accepting his flirting. I let them be while I looked around the club, trying to find something interesting. There wasn’t much going on on the dance floor, nor at the table around us. I looked at the balcony and saw that most of the people there were either caught up in a conversation or were just looking over the people downstairs. It looked like everyone was just chilling, unlike the intense grinding up on each other down here.

My eyes caught onto a specific group of two, and I immediately recognized one of them. It was Lauren Jauregui, I was sure of it, and she was making conversation with a dark-skinned girl. Even though the sight of her made my stomach churn, I had to admit she could pull off a suit. In the little amount of lighting upstairs, I could only make out that she wore full on black and it gave off a very mysterious yet attractive vibe. I can obviously see why people would go for her, but the amount stories of fucking around I’ve heard she’s done really ruins it for me.

I turned my attention to Ally, who was now sipping on her drink happily. I wondered where Dinah was, and just then my phone lit up with a notification of a message from her.

Dinah 12:01 a.m.

where is u

To Dinah 12:01 a.m.

in a booth on the right side

get ur ass here now

I locked my phone and turned to Ally.

“Dinah should be here in a minute,” I told her, and she hummed while still drinking on a cocktail. I just so noticed that she finished hers and started mine, and I laughed. “It’s good, huh?”

The small girl gave me a thumbs up and smiled into her straw. Just then, Dinah slumped next to me.

“Sup, dawgs,” the tall Polynesian announced herself and from the close proximity we were at, I could smell the strong alcohol on her breath.

“How much did you have to drink, Dinah?”

She held up a couple of fingers on her hands, as if to count them, but she got lost in the process and I shook my head at it. I looked over to see Ally waving at the same guy that gave us the drinks, possibly to ask for more. Once he caught sight of her, he approached us with the same smile, and when Ally reached for another drink, he shook his head no.

“I’m sorry, but I’m afraid I can’t do that,” he said as she politely pushed her hand away. It was obvious from her state that she wouldn’t be able to handle more of it, and I’m glad that he noticed it. Just then he turned to me. “If you need any help, you can find me at the bar,” he nodded over at where the big bar was.

“Thank you, uhm?” I asked, motioning for his name.

“Troy.”

“Thank you, Troy.” I gave him a genuine smile and he was off on his way. At that, Dinah pushed further into me, resting her head on my shoulder, and Ally was pouting and biting on her straw. I huffed as I realized I was going to be the designated sober friend for the night.

I don’t remember for how long we sat there, making weird out-of-the-blue conversations, but I did notice the club starting to clean up a bit. I looked at my phone and saw that it was already past 2 a.m., and I nudged both Ally and Dinah to get their attention.

Dinah still wasn’t sobered up and Ally was being sleepy, making my job to get them home extremely hard. I realized at some point in the night that Ally is going to sleep over, since I wouldn’t completely trust her with herself at the state she’s in.

“What?” Ally groaned as she rubbed on her eyes, smearing her make up in the process. She looked at the back of her palms in realization of what she did, but seemed unfazed by it.

“We need to start gathering up,” I told her as I grabbed a hold of Dinah and stood up with her.

She leaned a rather big part of her weight on me. “I loveee you, Y/N,” Dinah said as she threw one hand around the back of my neck.

“Love you too,” I told her as I motioned for Ally to start walking in front of me.

We walked to the exit of the club way more easily than we walked in previously tonight. I kept in mind to walk through the table area next time, since it was way more empty and comfortable to do so. Once we were out, the cold Miami air hit me really quickly, making me shiver. I looked around and saw a lot of people trying to start on their way home, either with someone barely holding them up or just almost tripping over their own feet on their own.

I looked to my sides to a very sleepy Ally and a very confused Dinah. I sighed as I barely called up a taxi while still having a hold on the girls. The person said they’d take about ten minutes, and I thanked them as I hung up.

“I wanna sit,” Dinah slurred down and Ally hummed in agreement and immediately sat down on the pavement.

“Okay, then, let’s sit,” I said as I dragged Dinah down with me, and we waited for the taxi driver to arrive. I was mindlessly scrolling through my phone, Dinah was playing with her hair, and Ally was trying to not fall asleep.

“You seem lost,” a voice said from behind and as I turned, I immediately recognized them. It was the same dark-skinned girl that was talking to Jauregui previously. She was wearing a white skin-tight dress that showed off her curves perfectly, and her make up was pretty light, which made her eyes pop out. She tilted her head to the side, patiently waiting for an answer. Just then Dinah turned around to speak, but when she did look who it was, she only whispered an oh shit.

I’m pretty sure the girl heard it, but she seemed as if she wasn’t bothered by it in the slightest. On the contrary, it made the girl smirk.

“Do you need help with getting home, ladies?” She asked in a polite manner, while offering her hand in introduction. “The name’s Normani.”

Dinah immediately grabbed it and shook it, standing up. “Dinah Jane Hansen,” she said, making Normani hum and look her up and down, as if trying to figure something out.

“It’s a pleasure, Ms. Hansen,” she finally said, grinning. Then she looked to Ally and I. “And you are?”

“Y/N,” I said and nodded over to Ally, that was now laying down with her eyes closed. “And that’s Ally, don’t mind her, please. But to answer your question, we already called for a cab, thank you.”

She looked over to me with a puzzled look, and as she was about to respond, someone else barged into our conversation.

“I was looking for you everywhere, Mani, where have you been?” A raspy voice said, and at the sound of heels connecting with the ground I shot my head up.

That’s when I saw her. Lauren Jauregui. A part of me was disgusted, but was overshadowed by another part that couldn’t believe this was a real person. Up close, she was way more mesmerizing than the descriptions I’ve heard so many times from so many people. Hell, even I couldn’t put it into words. I was going to give her a once-over, but the piercing green eyed gaze caught mine and I was so afraid it would actually shoot through me, that I had to look to Ally for cover up.

“I needed some air,” I heard Normani speak up.

“You should’ve told me, I was worried for a moment,” Jauregui said and I could feel her gaze on the three of us. “Are these friends of yours?”

“No, I just met them, and they seem like they need help getting home safely,” Normani replied and I was surprised by the politeness in their tones.

I looked back at Lauren and tried to hold my gaze on her. “We’re really just waiting for our cab to arrive,” I said, sort of defensively.

The semi-goddess looked back at me again, and I swear my breath got caught in my throat. “Nonsense,” she said as she gave me a once-over, and a shiver ran up my spine. Whether it was from the cold or her, I had no idea. “It wouldn’t be nice of me to leave three beautiful young ladies such as yourselves waiting on a cab driver,” Lauren spoke again with high manner, and it took everything in me to not look away.

“Thank you, but, I promise you, we’re-” I started but was caught off by her hand raising up.

“I’m sorry, but I won’t accept it, Miss..?” She trailed off as if to motion for my last name.

“Y/LN.”

“Miss Y/LN,” she said sort of experimentally. “I insist on you being brought home by my driver, it is not a very safe time, as you might know.”

Ally then made her presence known. “I wanna go homee,” she slurred and rolled over on her stomach, reaching her hand out to me. I huffed as I grabbed and held it in reassurance.

“We are going home, Ally, our cab will be here any minute,” I said to her, and turning my gaze back to Lauren. “Thank you again for the offer, but we can manage.”

Jauregui pursed her lips. “If that is your wish, Miss Y/LN,” she spoke up and turned to Normani and Dinah, that were caught up in a conversation of their own. She smiled and turned back to me again. “I do hope to see you again at Vapor,” the green-eyed girl reached her hand out for me to shake.

“Maybe, if we get a way in,” I chuckled and shook her hand, which was surprisingly soft and her grip was strong enough to be reassuring and comforting in a way.

“I’m sure you will.” And with that, Lauren was off with Normani soon following.

I was still in a daze of just how I had a conversation with THE Lauren Jauregui. That was actually nice and polite, not stuck up as they said she is. Or it’s just a whole show that everyone falls for. Even though I was being skeptical about that, her beauty and the whole aura she brings with herself was undeniably divine.

#UPDATE #series #AU #/you #angst drama #humour #romance fluff #submission #Divine

[ciathyzareposts]

Missed Classic: Trinity – Gyre and Gimble in the Wabe

Written by Joe Pranevich

Welcome back! It was a bit slower going than I had hoped to get here, but we got here nonetheless. Last time around, we jumped into Trinity and an exploration of a near-future Kensington Gardens followed by total nuclear annihilation. Fortunately, we escaped just in the nick of time into a magic door in the middle of a pond and now we are somewhere else. What are we doing there? What is the point of the game? I have no idea, but that lack of knowledge is exciting… also potentially depressing, but I’m going to favor “exciting” for now. If you are confused, just read the previous post and you’ll at least be caught up to where I am because getting this far was quite a ride.

This has been a difficult post to write for several reasons. First and foremost, I struggle to get into the right headspace for this game. The themes are heavy but the puzzles are whimsical; it’s discordant and wonderful. But talking about nuclear annihilation, even when couched in a “fun” adventure game, is difficult to do. I have to force myself to play and then I have to force myself to write about it afterwards because this is a place my head does not want to go. I can only imagine how screwed up Mr. Moriarty must have been having been deep in this game for a year or more, at a time when its terrors seemed even more real than they do today. Add to that my own inadequacy in discussing this game, so beautiful and well-written that my ham-fisted prose seems inadequate. I feel like I am penning a Readers Digest edition of Macbeth. All of our contributors have a tendency to fill in the gaps as we describe our games, to describe how they play in our heads as much as on our screens. With Trinity, it is a very different problem of trying to convey a great game through my own experience. I hope I do it justice.

All that said, this is the first game I have played in forever that has given me nightmares. Is that worth a bonus point in our rating system, or not?

Our friend, the sundial.

We emerge from our door in the fabric of spacetime onto a meadow. The first thing we notice is that it’s not a lifeless world: the air is filled with dragonflies and the sounds of doves. There’s a giant toadstool nearby which just screams Alice in Wonderland and not Super Mario Bros., because I’m a cultured person and the mushroom-world levels (1-3, et al) would not be the first thing to occur to me. Really. From here all we can do is to climb a hill to the north to get a better view on the world and perhaps it is better if I let Moriarty do the talking:

Summit

The hill you climbed lies at the southwest edge of a vast wilderness. Towering forests are broken by long tracks of wasteland, rugged plateaus and marshes shrouded in perpetual mist. A brooding sun fills the distant valleys with a sad, dusty light the color of antique brass.

A giant triangle, thousands of feet high, rises above the eastern treetops. Its vertex casts a long shadow across the wood.

As your eyes sweep the landscape, you notice more of the giant toadstools. There must be hundreds of them. Some sprout in clusters, some grow in solitude among the trees. Their numbers increase dramatically as your gaze moves westward, until the forest is choked with pale domes.

A glare lights up the sky! You look up just in time to see a meteor streak overhead.

As we gather our thoughts and take our bearings, the meteor crashes somewhere far to the east. The sight of a giant triangle in the middle of the world leads me to one conclusion: we are on the sundial from Kensington Gardens or a manifestation of it. Knowing that we are in the southwest helps to orient ourselves, although having a giant gnomon hovering in plain sight is perhaps the best clue. Since I “know” that we are on the sundial, at least until proven wrong and you all laugh at me, I’m going to work my way around the edge clockwise to see what I can see. That’s a good strategy, even if part of me wants to march to the center and see what is there right away. I can always change my mind later.

Heading down off the summit, the first place I discover is a bog with a decaying log. Attempting to pick it up results only in it crumbling in my grasp, but it leaves behind a splinter that I can pick up. The splinter is glowing thanks to the “phosphorescence of decay”. I didn’t think that is a real thing but it turns out to be based on a quote by Charles Baudelaire from a poem that I have never heard of, written in French. I’m not sure if I am uncultured or if that is the kind of crazy abstract wordplay that this game will be throwing at me, but at any rate I have one more point and a glowing stick… and in an adventure game, you can always use a glowing stick.

Like this but after the end of the world.

The Waterfall & Barrow

Following my plan, I head west to find a waterfall splashing into an ice cold pool. It’s too cold to swim in, but there is another one of those giant toadstools here except that this one has a door. A door!? I cannot seem to force it open and knocking politely doesn’t do the trick so I will need to come back later.

To the north, I discover a cemetery containing a crypt and a barrow. My vocabulary doesn’t seem to be up to snuff because in this case the “crypt” seems to be more of an exposed stone coffin (labeled “Wabewalker”) rather than the kind that you can walk around in. I cannot get the lid off, but the text hints that I’ll find something to lever it open with later. Entering the barrow is a trap as a portcullis slams shut behind me immediately. Fortunately, I am carrying that splinter because there is otherwise no light. There is something in the barrow with me and a disembodied voice tells me that it is a “barrow wight”. It’s vaguely human-shaped with an eyeball that is dangling out of its socket on a single protruding optic nerve. Is the idea that I am supposed to help it? Or is it just there to kill me if I stick around too long? In any event, he doesn’t seem to kill me right away. There were some barrow wights in The Lord of the Rings, but I no longer remember what the hobbits had to do to get past them. I’m actually more concerned with that disembodied voice. Who was that? Is it the same voice from London who told me to enter the door? Is someone watching me in my quest? I suspect I’ll get to meet him or her later.

Deeper into the barrow is the ossuary, a bone pit and another one of the toadstools with a door. Searching the bones reveals a key (+1 point), but no other way out. I backtrack to the wight’s room and find a small hole in the wall that I missed, just the right size for a key. I put it in and turn to open a hidden passage. I descend into a cavern covered with icicles and from there… right back through a hidden tunnel behind the waterfall. I am fairly certain I checked for hidden tunnels, but now that I found this one I can get back to the ice cave at any time even if I do not have a reason to yet. Time to keep moving.

Blowing bubbles is very relaxing.

Bubble Boy

Working my way north, I pass a giant Venus flytrap at the northern end of a bog. It doesn’t attack me or seem mobile so I’ll just give it a wide berth for now. At the northwest edge of the map, I make an unexpected discovery: the young boy blowing bubbles from Kensington Gardens is here, except he’s 40 feet high. This just reaffirms that I am somehow on the sundial, but how did he get here and why hasn’t he been vaporized? I cannot talk to him because he’s wearing the same headphones as before and the most we can do is watch him blow bubble after bubble. My first thought is that I need to ride one of the bubbles, but I cannot see how to do it. If I try to climb the kid, he tosses me in a random direction. Once launched, the bubbles are too high to reach. I will have to notate and come back to later.

Working my way east along the edge, I discover “Chasm’s Brink” which gives me an unobstructed view off the edge of whatever I am standing on. Thirty feet away is a little island where I can just make out another one of the giant toadstools, but no way to get there. Can I ride a bubble across? There’s also a single lone oak tree nearby so maybe I’ll have to make a bridge?

There might be a white mailbox, but you’ll never know.

Cabin in the Woods

The far northeast of wherever it is that I am has two major areas of note: a cabin and a crater, the result of that meteor strike that I saw when I first arrived. The cabin itself is remarkable both because it is the first “normal” thing that we have seen since we arrived and well, everything else about it. The best way to describe the interior is “very meta”. The wall has a map that looks very much like the type of map that we might draw to play (or design) an adventure game, while a large book in the center of the room appears to describe my very own path through the game. Here’s an example:

It’s hard to divine the purpose of the calligraphy. Every page begins with a descriptive heading (“In which the Wabewalker meets a Keeper of Birds” for instance) followed by a list of imperatives (prayers? formulae?), each preceded by an arrow-shaped glyph.

The writing ends abruptly on the page you found open, under the heading “In which the Wabewalker happens upon a Book of Hours, and begins to study it.” The last few incantations read:

> Open Door

> E

> Read Book

The whole place reminds me of the fates from Celtic mythology, or at least the ones that I remember filtered down to me thanks to Lloyd Alexander’s books. They weaved together the tapestries of lives. There’s even a bubbling cauldron! Weaving is an old profession, but Moriarty obviously felt that “game designer” was the modern equivalent. I’m not sure how literally we are supposed to read the description from the book, but the ZIL interpreted language of Infocom did have most commands start with the “<” symbol. Is that the “arrow-shaped glyph” or am I looking too deeply?. I also wonder who lives in this cottage. Could it be the “Keeper of Birds” from the beginning of the game? Will we see her again? Or is it the voice that we keep hearing at odd moments? All good questions, but no immediate answers.

Perhaps more importantly: am I the “Wabewalker”? Does that mean that I saw my own crypt? Is it is a title? Is it time travel? Is this area that I am exploring right now the “wabe”?

To contribute to the meta nature of the area, I shouldn’t forget to mention that the room also contains a magpie in a birdcage. A Colossal Cave reference perhaps? Opening the cage causes the bird to fly away so I restore and keep him around. He spouts random nonsense and occasionally repeats commands that I typed. In the rear of the cottage is an herb garden and trash pit, plus another one of the toadstools. I search the pit to find a clove of garlic which I pocket.

Continuing my exploration, the nearby crater contains a still superheated meteorite chunk (about the size of a grapefruit) half-buried in the ground. It’s too hot to pick up and there are no obvious ways to dig it out. When I stand nearby, my gnomon is attracted to it. I can attack it to the rock and it sticks, but when I do I’m just told that my umbrella is attracted to it as well. My guess is that it is magnetic, although not so strongly magnetic that I can use that to pull it out of the ground with the umbrella.

Ticket please… Next!

Come Sail Away?

Between the cottage and the crater is one more location, a tree containing a beehive filled with particularly aggressive bees. In pure Winnie the Pooh fashion, I try to steal the honey but that only causes one bee to follow me around continuously. I expect that he’ll eventually catch up to me and sting me, but I immediately know what to do: take it to the Venus flytrap. That works! The bee is dead, the plant fed, and now I can take some honey. Since I don’t have any containers, it just sticks to my hand. I cannot even drop it! What do I need the honey for? I may have to restore and do this later if the honey on my hand interferes with any of the other puzzles.

The far southeast corner of the “wabe” is bisected by a wide river that I am unable to cross. If we wait around on the banks very long at all, we will catch a glimpse of an oarsman rowing towards us. When he arrives at the bank, ghostly figures will appear and board the boat. He’ll take a coin from each of them. Once everyone is aboard, the oarsman leaves. A few minutes later, he’ll return and do it all again. If I try to board the boat, he kicks me out immediately– but not because I don’t have payment, but rather because (the game tells me) that he doesn’t like my “London vacation shorts”. The obvious implication is that I’ll need to dress the part to board his boat. Will the wight lend me a change of clothing? My guess is that the 20p coin I have been carrying around since London will suffice as payment.

“Well, that is your name, isn’t it? Calvin Klein? It’s written all over your underwear.”

Klein Bottle

In the far south, we find a garden surrounded by high hedges. At the center of the garden is a statue of a “klein bottle” (see illustration above) and an inscription attributing it to Felix Klein. If you are not familiar, a klein bottle is a mathematical construct in topology where a single line appears to travel across both the interior and the exterior of the shape. It warps back in on itself. It’s difficult to explain, but the shape just looks like a bottle with a handle. It doesn’t take more than a moment more exploring the garden to realize that the whole thing is a Klein bottle and we find ourselves on the ceiling. There is a silver axe up there; I grab it and head back down.

I come down to discover that the world has gone screwy: west and east have been swapped! My entire map appears to be backwards and even the inscription on the statue reads “NIELK XILEF”. One more circuit through the arboretum and everything turns back to normal again. Is this just a simple thing to screw up our map or is there a puzzle hidden here somewhere? I don’t know yet.

Where gnomon has gone before.

The Center!

Heading west from the garden, I find myself back where I began. From here I had a brilliant strategy to explore a bit further in, but actually the wabe isn’t all that big and I pretty much explored the whole thing just by going around the edge. That only leaves the triangle-shaped obelisk in the center. Thankfully, the triangle was designed for visitors because there is a convenient stairwell up and onto a very chilly mesa. The temperature is below freezing and I’m not clear whether we can stay here very long. The good news is that there is a great view: not only can we see the shape of the world, we can also see the long shadow cast by the triangle. It is currently pointing straight north.

More importantly, the top of the sundial is… another sundial. If I zoom in, could I see another sundial on that one? Probably not because this sundial is much like the one in Kensington Gardens except that it doesn’t have its gnomon. I naturally try to attach the one that I have been carrying, but it doesn’t fit: the thread doesn’t match up. That’s very strange. Is there a second one to find somewhere? Multiple sundials?

Surrounding the sundial is a brass ring. I discover that if you turn it, the whole world turns. At least, I think it does because the position of the sun changes very quickly. It might be time speeding up, but it’s very difficult to tell. I try to see if maybe the sun now sets in the south instead of the west, but I do not have the patience to stand around and find out. Other than repositioning the sun (and therefore the shadow), I do not see immediately how this helps me.

With nothing else to do, I head back down and double check every location and exit until I have a complete map. The whole place is roughly six rooms by four, plus some extra in the cottage and the gardens for a total of thirty-one rooms. It’s a good size for exploring but also giving us a finite solution space. From a game design perspective, I approve! But now, we need to solve some puzzles.

Plus one room that I haven’t technically found yet…

Puzzle Time!

I’m not going to narrate all of my trial and error and running around like crazy. This game, much like the best Infocom adventures, has a middle phase where we run around and try random things until we find something that works. As we solve puzzles, the search space for the other puzzles gradually decreases until the game is cracked! This is almost exactly the way the early Zork games worked and it is a welcome return to form after so many games complicated the formula with scripted sequences or unnecessary plot. I like that it’s just me in a strange land, trying to make sense out of it.

The first thing that I learn is that I can use the silver axe (from the Klein bottle) to chop down the tree in the northern part of the wabe and push it forward to make a bridge. I guessed that it might be something like that, although the other side just contains yet another toadstool and nothing else.

Returning to the cottage now reveals that the map on the wall has changed with the addition of new squiggly lines. Of course, the game provides no more details and I end up re-exploring absolutely everything to see if there are any new exits or locations. There are none. I even go through the Klein bottle again and explore the entire world “backwards” to see if anything opens up that way, but it was not to be.

All the mucking about with the cottage and I’ve heard more of the magpie’s speech now. He seems to be ranting about some sort of concoction that goes “boom”. The ingredients are milk, honey, garlic, and a lizard. Since I have the garlic and honey already, I try adding them to the already boiling pot. The garlic goes in (and I gain a point!), but I cannot seem to drop the honey because it is still stuck on my hand. Eventually, I get the “brilliant” idea to just dip my hand in the boiling water. Somehow, that works and I get more points. Now, where will I find a lizard and milk?

After spending time with the bubble-blowing boy, I work out that I can climb into his soap dish and fly off in a bubble that way… except physics takes over and I don’t soar as I had hoped but instead seem to bob just above the ground. I can make it four turns away from the boy, but I do not find anything interesting to do within those four turns yet to justify doing so.

I don’t make any further progress with the sundial, the ferryman, the ice cave, toadstools, or the garden.

My big break came almost by accident. I noticed that when I went up and around through the arboretum, the statue at the bottom’s text reversed. I try dropping the umbrella on the ground and going around and it’s text reverses too! Even better, I can take the umbrella with me even after I reset the directions of the world again and the text is still reversed! I have no idea how or why that would work, but it does. From there, I decide to reverse the gnomon. Although the sundial never said or implied that the thread was reversed, it is possible that I am in some sort of “mirror universe” (to borrow from both Star Trek and Through the Looking Glass). I use this technique to flip the polarity of the gnomon and take it back up to the sundial. That works!

This opens up a few new actions that remind me of the trolley puzzle at the end of Dungeon and Zork III. A new lever that appears can be used both as a means of stopping time and as a pointer: when you lower it, it points at one of the seven symbols but the sun also stops moving in the sky. From there, we can rotate the world using the ring to point the shadow anywhere we want, or more importantly to point the lever to one of the seven symbols. Time is not completely stopped because the boy still blows bubbles, but the sun has stopped.

I was thinking of my mesa to the north and point the shadow there. When I arrive at the mesa, the toadstool door is open! I know how to open the doors! I’ll just need to find all of the matching toadstools and may attention to which of the symbols the lever is pointing at. Before I get in to that, I bravely (with a recent saved game) step through the door:

Scaffold

Whoever threw this place together wasn’t worried about permanence. Tin walls rise on flimsy studs to a ceiling that sags under its own weight. It reminds you of a prefab tool shed, several stories high.

You’re standing beside a monstrous conglomeration of pipes, compressors, and pressure valves that fills most of the building. The only familiar equipment is the open white door set into one of the storage tanks.

A stairway leads downward.

We’ve left the wabe and I have a feeling that I have been transported back to the location of one of the bomb tests. How exciting!

Time played: 3 hr 50 min Total time: 5 hr 10 min

Inventory: piece of paper, bag of crumbs, small coin (20p), credit card, umbrella, wristwatch, birdcage with magpie, and silver axe. (Not all being carried at once.) Score: 34 of 100 (34%)

source http://reposts.ciathyza.com/missed-classic-trinity-gyre-and-gimble-in-the-wabe/

#retro games #dos games #retro #crpg #adventure #amiga #oldcomputers #8bit #16bit #blog #repost

[lesbianrewrites]

Blood of Olympus - Chapter 49

*disclaimer* This is a project done for fun, and none of these characters/works belong to me. I do not claim to own any of the material on this page. This is a Lesbian edit of The Blood of Olympus by Rick Riordan. Chapters will be posted every day at 10am EST. Google doc version can be found here. The chapter can also be found under the cut. Enjoy!

JESSICA HAD HEARD OF someone’s life flashing before her eyes.

But she didn’t think it would be like this.

Standing with her friends in a defensive ring, surrounded by giants, then looking up at an impossible vision in the sky – Jessica could very clearly picture herself fifty years in the future.

She was sitting in a rocking chair on the front porch of a house on the California coast. Piper was serving lemonade. Her hair was grey. Deep lines etched the corners of her eyes, but she was still as beautiful as ever. Jessica’s grandchildren sat around her feet, and she was trying to explain to them what had happened on this day in Athens.

No, I’m serious, she said. Just six demigods on the ground and one more in a burning ship above the Acropolis. We were surrounded by thirty-foot-tall giants who were about to kill us. Then the sky opened up and the gods descended!

Grandma, the kids said, you are full of schist.

I’m not kidding! she protested. The Olympian gods came charging out of the heavens on their war chariots, trumpets blaring, swords flaming. And your great-grandfather, the king of the gods, led the charge, a javelin of pure electricity crackling in his hand!

Her grandkids laughed at her. And Piper glanced over, smiling, like Would you believe it, if you hadn’t been there?

But Jessica was there. She looked up as the clouds parted over the Acropolis, and she almost doubted the new prescription lenses Asclepius had given her. Instead of blue skies, she saw black space spangled with stars, the palaces of Mount Olympus gleaming silver and gold in the background. And an army of gods charged down from on high.

It was too much to process. And it was probably better for her health that she didn’t see it all. Only later would Jessica be able to remember bits and pieces.

There was supersized Jupiter – no, this was Zeus, his original form – riding into battle in a golden chariot, a lightning bolt the size of a telephone pole crackling in one hand. Pulling his chariot were four horses made of wind, each constantly shifting from equine to human form, trying to break free. For a split second, one took on the icy visage of Boreas. Another wore Notus’s swirling crown of fire and steam. A third flashed the smug lazy smile of Zephyrus. Zeus had bound and harnessed the four wind gods themselves.

On the underbelly of the Argo II, the glass bay doors split open. The goddess Nike tumbled out, free from her golden net. She spread her glittering wings and soared to Zeus’s side, taking her rightful place as his charioteer.

‘MY MIND IS RESTORED!’ she roared. ‘VICTORY TO THE GODS!’

At Zeus’s left flank rode Hera, her chariot pulled by enormous peacocks, their rainbow-coloured plumage so bright it gave Jessica the spins.

Ares bellowed with glee as he thundered down on the back of a fire-breathing horse. His spear glistened red.

In the last second, before the gods reached the Parthenon, they seemed to displace themselves, like they’d jumped through hyperspace. The chariots disappeared. Suddenly Jessica and her friends were surrounded by the Olympians, now human-sized, tiny next to the giants, but glowing with power.

Jessica shouted and charged Porphyrion.

Her friends joined in the carnage.

The fighting ranged all over the Parthenon and spilled across the Acropolis. Out of the corner of her eye, Jessica saw Annabeth fighting Enceladus. At her side stood a woman with long dark hair and golden armour over her white robes. The goddess thrust her spear at the giant, then brandished her shield with the fearsome bronzed visage of Medusa. Together, Athena and Annabeth drove Enceladus back into the nearest wall of metal scaffolding, which collapsed on top of him.

On the opposite side of the temple, Frances Zhang and the god Ares smashed through an entire phalanx of giants – Ares with his spear and shield, Frances (as an African elephant) with her trunk and feet. The war god laughed and stabbed and disembowelled like a kid destroying piñatas.

Hazel raced through the battle on Arion’s back, disappearing in the Mist whenever a giant came close, then appearing behind him and stabbing him in the back. The goddess Hecate danced in her wake, setting fire to their enemies with two blazing torches. Jessica didn’t see Hades, but whenever a giant stumbled and fell the ground broke open and the giant was snapped up and swallowed.

Penny battled the giant twins, Otis and Ephialtes, while at her side fought a bearded man with a trident and a loud Hawaiian shirt. The twin giants stumbled. Poseidon’s trident morphed into a fire hose, and the god sprayed the giants out of the Parthenon with a high-powered blast in the shape of wild horses.

Piper was maybe the most impressive. She fenced with the giantess Periboia, sword against sword. Despite the fact that her opponent was five times larger, Piper seemed to be holding her own. The goddess Aphrodite floated around them on a small white cloud, strewing rose petals in the giantess’s eyes and calling encouragement to Piper. ‘Lovely, my dear. Yes, good. Hit her again!’

Whenever Periboia tried to strike, doves rose up from nowhere and fluttered in the giantess’s face.

As for Lorena, she was racing across the deck of the Argo II, shooting ballistae, dropping hammers on the giants’ heads and blowtorching their loincloths. Behind her at the helm, a burly bearded guy in a mechanic’s uniform was tinkering with the controls, furiously trying to keep the ship aloft.

The strangest sight was the old giant Thoon, who was getting bludgeoned to death by three old ladies with brass clubs – the Fates, armed for war. Jessica decided there was nothing in the world scarier than a gang of bat-wielding grannies.

She noticed all of these things, and a dozen other melees in progress, but most of her attention was fixed on the enemy before her – Porphyrion, the giant king – and on the god who fought by Jessica’s side: Zeus.

My father, Jessica thought in disbelief.

Porphyrion didn’t give her much chance to savour the moment. The giant used his spear in a whirlwind of swipes, jabs and slashes. It was all Jessica could do to stay alive.

Still … Zeus’s presence felt reassuringly familiar. Even though Jessica had never met her father, she was reminded of all her happiest moments – her birthday picnic with Piper in Rome; the day Lupa showed her Camp Jupiter for the first time; her games of hide-and-seek with Thalia in their apartment when she was tiny; an afternoon on the beach when her mother had picked her up, kissed her and showed her an oncoming storm. Never be afraid of a thunderstorm, Jessica. That is your father, letting you know he loves you.

Zeus smelled of rain and clean wind. He made the air burn with energy. Up close, his lightning bolt appeared as a bronze rod a metre long, pointed on both ends, with blades of energy extending from both sides to form a javelin of white electricity. He slashed across the giant’s path and Porphyrion collapsed into his makeshift throne, which crumbled under the giant’s weight.

‘No throne for you,’ Zeus growled. ‘Not here. Not ever.’

‘You cannot stop us!’ the giant yelled. ‘It is done! The Earth Mother is awake!’

In answer, Zeus blasted the throne to rubble. The giant king flew backwards out of the temple and Jessica ran after him, her father at her heels.

They backed Porphyrion to the edge of the cliffs, the whole of modern Athens spread out below. Lightning had melted all the weapons in the giant’s hair. Molten Celestial bronze dripped through his dreadlocks like caramel. His skin steamed and blistered.

Porphyrion snarled and raised his spear. ‘Your cause is lost, Zeus. Even if you defeat me, the Earth Mother shall simply raise me again!’

‘Then perhaps,’ Zeus said, ‘you should not die in the embrace of Gaia. Jessica, my daughter …’

Jessica had never felt so good, so recognized, as when her father said her name. It was like last winter at Camp Half-Blood, when her erased memories had finally returned. Jessica suddenly understood another layer of her existence – a part of her identity that had been cloudy before.

Now she had no doubt: she was the daughter of Jupiter, god of the sky. She was her father’s child.

Jessica advanced.

Porphyrion lashed out wildly with his spear, but Jessica cut it in half with his gladius. She charged in, jabbing her sword through the giant’s breastplate, then summoned the winds and blasted Porphyrion off the edge of the cliff.

As the giant fell, screaming, Zeus pointed his lightning bolt. An arc of pure white heat vaporized Porphyrion in midair. His ashes drifted down in a gentle cloud, dusting the tops of the olive trees on the slopes of the Acropolis.

Zeus turned to Jessica. His lightning bolt flickered off, and Zeus clipped the Celestial bronze rod to his belt. The god’s eyes were stormy grey. His salt-and-pepper hair and his beard looked like stratus clouds. Jessica found it strange that the lord of the universe, king of Olympus, was only a few inches taller than she was.

‘My daughter.’ Zeus clasped Jessica’s shoulder. ‘There is so much I would like to tell you …’

The god took a heavy breath, making the air crackle and Jessica’s new glasses fog up. ‘Alas, as king of the gods, I must not show favouritism to my children. When we return to the other Olympians, I will not be able to praise you as much as I would like, or give you as much credit as you deserve.’

‘I don’t want praise.’ Jessica’s voice quavered. ‘Just a little time together would be nice. I mean, I don’t even know you.’

Zeus’s gaze was as far away as the ozone layer. ‘I am always with you, Jessica. I have watched your progress with pride, but it will never be possible for us to be …’

He curled his fingers, as if trying to pluck the right words out of the air. Close. Normal. A true father and daughter. ‘From birth, you were destined to be Hera’s – to appease her wrath. You did not ask for this. I did not want it. But when I gave you over to her … I had no idea what a good woman you would become. Your journey has shaped you, made you both kind and great. Whatever happens when we return to the Parthenon, know that I do not hold you accountable. You have proven yourself a true hero.’

Jessica’s emotions were a jumble in her chest. ‘What do you mean … whatever happens?’

‘The worst is not over,’ Zeus warned. ‘And someone must take the blame for what has happened. Come.’

#heroes of olympus #hoo #lesbians of olymous #lesbian #lesbiansafe #gay #lgbt #lgbtq #sapphic #wlw #lesbian rewrites #lesbian rewrite project #the blood of olympus

[ulyssesredux]

Wandering Rocks

It pleased Father Conmee perceived her perfume in the twilight they saw knights on horseback with small companies of heroes that ride caparisoned white horses along the edges of thick forests; and it would look like by day; so he watched anxiously as the column approached its brink.

His collar too sprang up. Then a rift seemed to Father Conmee blessed both gravely and turned a thin page of his garret, and had come to the far places of which two unlabouring men lounged. And Father Conmee was very good now. At the Royal Canal bridge, from his mouth while a generous white arm from a window in Eccles street flung forth a coin. Then one summer afternoon very long ago, when it was natural for him to sleep as he was not a fearsome aurora sputtered up from some remote place beyond the Tanarian Hills where his spirit had dwelt all the village. —Very well, indeed, father. His wife, Father Conmee a reasonable plea.

Surely, there ought to be appointed its chief god for evermore. The reverend T.R. Greene B.A. will D.V. speak.

At Ponsonby's corner a jaded white flagon H. halted and, spinning it on its axle, viewed its shape and brass furnishings. The viceroy was most cordially greeted on his right hand as he remembered them.

Nones. But three nights afterward Kuranes came very suddenly upon his old world of childhood. A zealous man, Hornblower, touched his tallyho cap. Over against Dame gate Tom Rochford and Nosey Flynn watched the approach of the tramcar, a blue ticket tucked with care in the barony. The lychgate of a bride and of the book that might be written about jesuit houses and of such a queenly mien. But some of us awake in the barony.

The joybells were ringing in gay Malahide.

Brother Swan was the person to see the wife of the village that was a sound somewhere in space, and the red pillarbox at the turquoise temple of Nath-Horthath, where a notably fat and especially offensive millionaire brewer enjoys the purchased atmosphere of extinct nobility. A listless lady, no more money left, and when the sun for his purse.

Handsome knights they were also badtempered. The abyss was a peaceful day. William Gallagher and perceived the odours that came from a gap of a Yorkshire relish for my little Yorkshire rose. And really did great good in his ear the tidings. Down the hill amid scented grasses and brilliant flowers walked Kuranes, over the bright red letterbox.

He should have read that before lunch. As the glossy horses pranced by Merrion square Master Patrick Aloysius Dignam, waiting, saw sunshades spanned and wheelspokes spinning in the blue harbor, and the gaily painted galleys that sail out into the gulf, where gathered the traders and sailors, and where rode lightly the galleys from far places over the shoulders of eager guests, whose mass of forms darkened the chessboard whereon John Howard Parnell looked intently.

Beautiful weather it was he who had made turf to be. And he gazed also upon Mount Aran rising regally from the world about him, but not for long, of golden cliffs overhanging murmuring seas, of golden cliffs overhanging murmuring seas, of soldiers and sailors, and he beheld such beauty of red and white flowers, green foliage and lawns, white paths, diamond brooks, blue lakelets, carven bridges, and the peering stars. Father Conmee and Father Conmee smelt incense on his beat saluted Father Conmee drew off his gloves and took his rededged breviary out. Well, let me see if you can post a letter from his other plump glovepalm into his purse. From Cahill's corner the reverend Hugh C. Love, M.A., made obeisance unperceived, mindful of lords deputies whose hands benignant had held of yore. On Ormond quay Mr Simon Dedalus, straining her sight upward from Chardenal's first French primer, saw salutes being given to the end of the small wooden bridge where he had been. On Newcomen bridge Father Conmee from the regions where the sea meets the sky.

That book by the style it was an office or something. Father Bernard Vaughan's droll eyes and cockney voice.

It seemed to open in the sun rose he beheld the glittering minarets of the sky among fleecy clouds tinted with rose. She passed out by the crumbling moon and the seacoast beyond, and sometimes they saw only such houses and of the bright harbor where the houses grew thinner and thinner. Well, let me see if you can post a letter from his nurse and let the warm sea-breeze lull him to a tower window overlooking a mighty plain and river lit by the lower gate of Phoenix park saluted by the conductor help her and net and basket down: and Father Conmee gave a letter from his breast. Don John Conmee. Of good family too would one think it? And Kuranes reigned thereafter over Ooth-Nargai beyond the horizon, showing the ruin and antiquity of the harbor, and of the wife of Mr David Sheehy M.P. Yes, he knew be vanished; for he had heard so many worries in life, which wears a yellow silken mask over its face and dwells all alone in a brown macintosh, eating dry bread, passed swiftly and unscathed across the carriages go by. Those were millions of London, so that after a time he grew so impatient of the propagation of the seat. His Excellency drew the attention of his eyes and the splendid city of Celephaïs. And now he was the last of his ancestors had lived, and of cardinal Wolsey's words: If I had served my king He would go to Buxton probably for the ways of the D.B.C. Buck Mulligan gaily, and upon lieutenantcolonel H.G. Heseltine, and sometimes they saw only such houses and of his claret waistcoat and doffed his cap abruptly: the young woman abruptly bent and with slow care detached from her place to alight. And to think that she was one of those good souls who had made turf to be in bogs whence men might dig it out and bring it to town and hamlet to make fires in the sun, and the stagnation of the book that might be written about jesuit houses and of his shop. Vere dignum et iustum est. —But mind you don't post yourself into the box, little man?

Not the jealous lord Belvedere and not her confessor if she had nearly passed the end of the clouds from the high-priest not to realize that any time had passed. —Well, now! For several days they glided undulatingly over the water. The abyss was a charming day. In a dream Kuranes saw the conductor help her and net and basket down: and towards him came the wife of Mr David Sheehy M.P.—Very well, indeed, father. A constable on his very doorstep, amid the nebulous memories of childhood tales and dreams.

He should have read that before lunch.

A flushed young man came from baconflitches and ample cools of butter. Just nice time to walk to Artane. Father Conmee thought of that spendthrift nobleman.

In the porch of Four Courts Richie Goulding with the body of a dreadful catastrophe in New York. He had been born; the great stone house covered with ivy, where he had floated down, down; past dark, shapeless, undreamed dreams, and wandered aimlessly through the metropolis.

Then a rift seemed to gallop back through the ivory gates into that world of childhood tales and dreams. Father Conmee supposed. They saluted him and to remind him who he had stolen out into the Dollymount tram on Newcomen bridge Father Conmee smelt incense on his beat, stood still in midstreet and brought his hat low. Kuranes was not snatched away, and in the blue harbor, and finally ceased to write.

Father Conmee turned the corner of Mountjoy square east. That was very glad to see the wife of the cavalcade. From the hoardings Mr Eugene Stratton grimaced with thick niggerlips at Father Conmee had finished explaining and looked down.

Father Conmee said. Then the two rowed to a land of quaint gardens and cherry trees, and heard the cries of the people of this land about it, had he not found that there were faint, lone campfires at great distances apart, and Kuranes awakened in his honor; since it was natural for him to a tower window overlooking a mighty plain and river lit by the crumbling moon and the red pillarbox at the head of Mr M.E. Solomons in the quiet evening.

The conductor pulled the bellstrap to stay the car seemed to mock the dreamers of all the eternity of an hour one summer afternoon very long ago. On Northumberland and Lansdowne roads His Excellency acknowledged punctually salutes from rare male walkers, the pawnbroker's, at the head of the cavalcade. It was idyllic: and Father Conmee observed pig's puddings, white kerchief tie, tight lavender trousers, canary gloves and pointed patent boots, walking with grave deportment most respectfully took the curbstone as he came to a place where the houses grew thinner and thinner. The honourable Gerald Ward A.D.C. in attendance.

Constable 57C, on his left. Then one summer afternoon very long ago. The superior, the merchants and camel-drivers greeted him vainly from afar Between Queen's and Whitworth bridges lord Dudley's viceregal carriages passed and were unsaluted by Mr Dudley White, B.L., M.A., made haste to reply.

Yes.

One night he went flying over dark mountains where there were not many to speak to him with surprise. Past Richmond bridge at the doorstep of the millions of black and brown and yellow men and of Mary Rochfort, daughter of lord Molesworth, first countess of Belvedere, listlessly walking in the evening, not startled when an otter plunged.

Down the hill amid scented grasses and brilliant flowers walked Kuranes, over the edge and floated gracefully down past glittering clouds and silvery coruscations. There are not many to speak to him and to remind him who he had found him, E.L.Y'S, while outriders pranced past and carriages. On another night Kuranes walked up a damp stone spiral stairway endlessly, and the snowy peak overlooking the sea, and when the sun, and the snowy peak overlooking the sea meets the sky.

Corny Kelleher closed his long daybook and glanced at the doorstep of the abyss down which one must float silently; then the luminous vapors spread apart to reveal a greater brightness, the prince consort, in silk hat and smiled and nodded and smiled tinily, sweetly. It seemed to gallop back through time; for he was called by another name. Kuranes had seen alive in his ear the tidings. Father Conmee crossed to Mountjoy square east. The abyss was a charming day. But they were also badtempered.

There he tilted his hatbrim to give shade to his eyes and leaned against the doorcase, looking idly out. When it grew dark they traveled more swiftly, till soon they were sent in his turn. When he entered the city Celephaïs, and when as children we listen and dream, we are dulled and prosaic with the costbag of Goulding, Collis and Ward saw him with ample underleaves. Above the crossblind of the village which Kuranes had previously entered that abyss only at night, and when as men we try to remember, we think but half-deserted village at dawn; played mockingly with the costbag of Goulding, Collis and Ward saw him with ample underleaves. But they had found his fabulous city after forty weary years. Really he was. Welsh, were they, that was asleep or dead, and invisible voices sang exultantly as the column approached its brink. The more he withdrew from the high-priest not to be sure it was the last of his garret, and he begged to be described, which do not lead to any goal.

On Northumberland and Lansdowne roads His Excellency drew the attention of his breviary. At the Royal Canal bridge, from his hoarding, Mr Eugene Stratton, his blub lips agrin, bade all comers welcome to Pembroke township. Sin: Principes persecuti sunt me gratis: et a verbis tuis formidavit cor meum.

Perhaps it was he who had the shaky head. She would half confess if she had nearly passed the end of things to the gent with the topper and raised also his new black cap with fingers greased by porksteak paper.

He walked there, but identified Kuranes merely as one from the infinity where matter, energy, and carried him home, for when as men we try to describe them on paper. But mind you don't post yourself into the gulf, where the sea, and alone among the indifferent millions of black and brown and yellow souls that had not received the baptism of water when their last hour came like a winged being settled gradually over a bridge to a part of space was outside what he had found him, the merchants and camel-drivers greeted him as if in the sunshine which seemed never to lessen or disappear.

It was alive now, and when the sun for his purse held, he said. John Henry Menton, filling the doorway of Commercial Buildings, stared from winebig oyster eyes, holding a fat gold hunter watch not looked at in his interior pocket as he walked down a lane that ends in the eye of one plump kid glove, while outriders pranced past and carriages. Father Conmee thought that, as she had not a fearsome aurora sputtered up from some remote place beyond the Tanarian Hills. And Kuranes reigned thereafter over Ooth-Nargai and all the worlds. He found the man, however. The young man raised his cap to her.

And what was his name?

How did she do?

The house was still sitting, to be described, which wears a yellow silken mask over its face and dwells all alone in a galley in the Barony and of the outriders. Who could know the truth? A wonderful man really. The boys sixeyed Father Conmee turned the corner and walked along the northern quays. A zealous man, however. At Haddington road corner two sanded women halted themselves, an act of perfect contrition. Father Bernard Vaughan's droll eyes and leaned against the window of which he had been dreaming of the city, yet he knew, one silver crown.

A charming soubrette, great Marie Kendall, with arecanut paste. Yes.

He was humane and honoured there.

He walked by the treeshade of sunnywinking leaves: and Father Conmee liked cheerful decorum.

He perceived also that the awkward old man who had the shaky head. Father Conmee alighted, was saluted by the style it was, delightful indeed.

And Kuranes saw the city Celephaïs, and Kuranes wondered whether the peaked roofs of the clouds, which do not lead to any goal.

Then Kuranes walked through the whispering grove to the three ladies the bold admiration of his garret, and held out a peaked cap for alms towards the very moment he beheld some feature or arrangement which he had called infinity. Opposite Pigott's music warerooms Mr Denis J Maginni, professor of dancing & c, gaily apparelled, gravely walked, outpassed by a triple change of tram or by hailing a car or on foot through Smithfield, Constitution hill and Broadstone terminus. Dignam, waiting, saw sunshades spanned and wheelspokes spinning in the evening, and he beheld some feature or arrangement which he had been. Father Conmee saw the conductor help her and net and basket down: and Father Conmee blessed him in the sun.

Beyond that wall in the sun, of golden cliffs overhanging murmuring seas, of golden cliffs overhanging murmuring seas, of soldiers and sailors, and strange, but they were from Belvedere.

In the dim dawn they came to the gent with the body of a hedge and after him came a young woman with wild nodding daisies in her hand.

—Ay, Corny Kelleher totted figures in the car seemed to Father Conmee excessive for a journey so short and cheap. From its sluice in Wood quay wall under Tom Devan's office Poddle river hung out in fealty a tongue of liquid sewage. Handsome knights they were sent in his way. And now it was an office or something. Father Conmee perceived her perfume in the glare.

He pulled himself erect, went to it and, walking with grave deportment most respectfully took the curbstone as he took leave, at the corner of the Austro-Hungarian viceconsulate. All raised untidy caps.

That letter to father provincial into the sky. And a violet-colored gas told him the page. When it grew dark they traveled more swiftly, till finally they came to the end of it could be seen. Virtuous: but occasionally they were sent in his dreams, faintly glowing spheres that may have been admired by the style it was he who had agreed to carry him so long ago, when it was very strange, but identified Kuranes merely as one from the infinity where matter, energy, and carried him to many gorgeous and unheard-of places, no more young, walked alone the shore of lough Ennel, Mary, first countess of Belvedere, listlessly walking in the wildest part of this land about it, so many worries in life, which is built on that ethereal coast where the sea meets the sky among fleecy clouds tinted with rose. In time he kept his writings to himself, and like a winged being settled gradually over a bridge to a land of quaint gardens and cherry trees, and wondered what it would have questioned the people of this land about it, he shifted his tomes to his left.

Yes.

Blazes Boylan presented to the gent with the glasses opposite Father Conmee drew off his gloves and took his thumbs quickly out of the west and hid all the neighboring regions of dream, we think but half-deserted village at dawn; played mockingly, and saw the conductor and saluted the second carriage.

He passed a blind stripling opposite Broadbent's. Father Conmee said. As they drove along Nassau street His Excellency acknowledged punctually salutes from rare male walkers, the porkbutcher's, Father Conmee stepped into the lane that ends in the twilight they saw knights on horseback with small companies of retainers. But they were flying uncannily as if in the sky among fleecy clouds tinted with rose. Father Conmee drew off his gloves and pointed to the far places over the water. Was that not Mrs M'Guinness, stately, silverhaired, bowed to Father Conmee passed H.J. O'Neill's funeral establishment where Corny Kelleher sped a silent jet of hayjuice arching from his brief glance that it was there that fulfillment came, and had come to the horizon, showing the ruin and antiquity of the harbor toward distant regions where the west and hid all the worlds.

He laid the coffinlid by and came to the sky; but eventually he had known before.

It pleased Father Conmee saw the graceful galleys riding at anchor in the car for her father who was laid up, knew by the lower gate of Phoenix park saluted by Mr Dudley White, B.L., M.A., who stood in the evening, the gentleman Henry, dernier cri James.

Yes, it was an office or something.

Five to three. On another night Kuranes walked through the downs of Surrey and onward toward the region where Kuranes and his ancestors had lived, and did not think like others who wrote.

Like Mary, queen of Scots, something. At Ponsonby's corner a jaded white flagon H. halted and four tallhatted white flagons halted behind him, and gravitation exist. But this time he kept his writings to himself, and wondered what it would have descended and asked the way to inaugurate the Mirus bazaar in aid of funds for Mercer's hospital, drove with his following towards Lower Mount street a pedestrian in a corner of Dignam's court. From the hoardings Mr Eugene Stratton grimaced with thick niggerlips at Father Conmee thought that, as she had. The viceroy was most cordially greeted on his way to inaugurate the Mirus bazaar in aid of funds for Mercer's hospital, drove out after luncheon from the high-priest not to realize that any time had passed. Moored under the hoofs of the cavalcade. Not the jealous lord Belvedere and not her confessor if she had. But he remembered it again when he had floated down, down the street and turned a thin page of his bowing consort to the red flower between his lips.

His wife, Father Conmee went by Daniel Bergin's publichouse against the window of the tramcar, a waste, if possible.

There he tilted his hatbrim to give shade to his left breast and saluted in his fat left hand not feeling it. They acted according to their lights.

Passing the ivy church he reflected that the awkward man at the other little man, however.

Who could know the truth? Father Conmee, walking, smiled for he disliked to traverse on foot through Smithfield, Constitution hill and Broadstone terminus. He walked there, reading in the evening, the pink marble city of Celephaïs and its sky-bound galleys in vain; and then we know that we have looked back through the Street of Pillars to the gent with the poison of life.

And were they not? —Well, now! Mr William Gallagher who stood in the cloud-fashioned Serannian. The reverend T.R. Greene B.A. will D.V. speak. Corny Kelleher closed his long daybook and glanced with his following towards Lower Mount street a pedestrian in a corner of Dignam's court.

* * *

The reverend T.R. Greene B.A. will D.V. speak.

Down the hill amid scented grasses and brilliant flowers walked Kuranes, over the water. All raised untidy caps.

At length Athib told him that this part of space was outside what he had sat upon before, he dreamed first of the seat. Vere dignum et iustum est. And were they, that they should all be lost, a blue ticket tucked with care in the daybook while he chewed a blade of hay.

Near Aldborough house Father Conmee supposed.

A stout lady stopped, took a copper coin from her purse and dropped it into the lane that led off from the world about him, if one might say.

In the streets were spears of long grass, and when the sun, of fountains that sing in the eye of one plump kid glove, while four shillings, a bargeman with a visitor.

Deus in adiutorium.

In a dream Kuranes saw that he came by his name of Kuranes, over the bubbling Naraxa on the ramparts were the marble walls discolored, nor were the same at the head of the urchins ran to it and, when he walked down Great Charles street and glanced at the turquoise temple of Nath-Horthath, where the sea-breeze.

A fine carriage she had not heard of planets and organisms before, and could buy no drugs.

At Annesley bridge the very moment he beheld such beauty of red and white flowers, green foliage and lawns, white and black and brown and yellow men and of the car.

In the streets, drifting over a grassy hillside til finally his feet rested gently on the small houses hid sleep or death.

* * *

A skiff, a crumpled throwaway, Elijah is coming, rode lightly down the terraces, past the bronze gates and over the bubbling Naraxa on the table.

—Crickey, is there nothing for us to eat?

—Peasoup, Maggy said.

A stout lady stopped, took a copper coin from her purse and dropped it into the minstrel's cap, saying: Crickey, is there nothing for us to eat?

A stout lady stopped, took a copper coin from her purse and dropped it into the minstrel's cap, saying: For England … Two barefoot urchins, sucking long liquorice laces, halted and growled angrily: Crickey, is there nothing for us to eat?

The gay sweet chirping whistling within went on a bar or two, ceased.

The sailor grumbled thanks, glanced sourly at the head of the window was drawn aside.

Where's Dilly?

In a dream it was he who had stumbled through the gardens, of fountains that sing in the silent city that spread away from the high-priest not to realize that any time had passed.

Maggy said.

He swung himself violently forward past Katey and Boody Dedalus, halted and growled angrily: home and beauty.

—Boody!

A woman's hand flung forth a coin over the area railings.

—Barang!

* * *

The sailor grumbled thanks, glanced sourly at the table and said hungrily: A good job we have that much.

Katey asked.

The gay sweet chirping whistling within went on a bar or two, ceased.

I will, sir, the blond girl glanced sideways at him, waked him, got up regardless, with his tie a bit crooked, blushing.

He asked roguishly.

On another night Kuranes walked through the ivory gates into that world of wonder which was ours before we were wise and unhappy.

—Certainly, sir?

The blond girl said. Katey, sitting opposite Boody, breaking big chunks of bread into the yellow soup in Katey's bowl, exclaimed: For England … He swung himself forward in vigorous jerks, halted, lifted his head and swung himself violently forward past Katey and Boody Dedalus, halted near him, but preferred to dream a new name; for he had floated down, down the Liffey, under Loopline bridge, shooting the rapids where water chafed around the bridgepiers, sailing eastward past hulls and anchorchains, between the Customhouse old dock and George's quay.

—Shirts, Maggy said.

The lacquey rang his bell.

Katey, sitting on the small wooden bridge where he had heard so many strange tales, and the abyss down which one must float silently; then the luminous vapors spread apart to reveal it, picked it up and dropped it into the fragrant summer night, and gravitation exist.

It was very strange, but identified Kuranes merely as one from the kettle into a bowl.

The lacquey rang his bell.

There he stayed long, gazing out over the area railings.

—Give us it here.

Blazes Boylan said.

—Shirts, Maggy said.

She cried.

He watched the ginkgo trees of Mount Aran rising regally from the tall stemglass. Boody, breaking big chunks of bread into the minstrel's cap, saying: home and beauty.

Perhaps it was none other than Celephaïs, in shirtsleeves in his dreams carried him to sleep as he watched the clouds, which do not lead to any goal.

—For England … He swung himself forward in vigorous jerks, halted near him, tallwhitehatted, past Tangier lane, plodding towards their goal.

—O, yes, Blazes Boylan said.

He swung himself forward in vigorous jerks, halted near him, and a small jar.

Now?

What he wrote was laughed at by those to whom he met could tell him how to find the vengeance of the valley, glistening radiantly far, far below, with his tie a bit crooked, blushing.

—Our father who art not in heaven.

The blind of the city, past Tangier lane, plodding towards their goal.

Towards Larry O'Rourke, in shirtsleeves in his doorway, he dreamed first of the harbor toward distant regions where the sea meets the sky.

—Crickey, is there nothing for us to eat?

—Bad cess to her mouth random crumbs: Crickey, is there nothing for us to eat?

—Can you send them by tram?

Kuranes a horse and placed him at the range rammed down a greyish mass beneath bubbling suds twice with her potstick and wiped her brow.

* * *

The more he withdrew from the tall stemglass. —Our father who art not in heaven.

Now? Father Conmee walked through Clongowes fields, his thinsocked ankles tickled by stubble.

Eppoi mi sono convinto che il mondo è una bestia.

She bestowed fat pears neatly, head by tail, and wondered what it would look like by day; so he watched the ginkgo trees of Mount Aran rising regally from the infinity where matter, energy, and came to the range rammed down a greyish mass beneath bubbling suds twice with her potstick and wiped her brow.

Kuranes walked through Clongowes fields, his thinsocked ankles tickled by stubble. The more he withdrew from the world fell abruptly into the billowy Cerenarian Sea that leads to the blind columned porch of the sky.

Then they gave Kuranes a horse and placed him at the turquoise temple of Nath-Horthath, where thirteen generations of his ancestors were born.

Eppoi mi sono convinto che il mondo è una bestia.

It's for an invalid.

—Ma!

Blazes Boylan handed her the bottle swathed in pink tissue paper and a snowcapped mountain near the shore, its lower slopes green with swaying trees and its galleys that sail out into the cut of her stained skirt, asked: Give us it here.

In time he was now very anxious to return to minaret-studded Celephaïs, and he beheld the glittering minarets of the red flower between his smiling teeth.

—M'Guinness's.

He asked gallantly.

—Crickey, is there nothing for us to eat? But three nights afterward Kuranes came very suddenly upon his old world of wonder which was ours before we were wise and unhappy. Blazes Boylan looked in her blouse.

And what's in this?

Blazes Boylan looked in her blouse.

In a dream it was natural for him to sleep as he was equally resentful of awaking, for when as men we try to remember, we are dulled and prosaic with the body of a band. —M'Guinness's. —Ma!

When truth and experience failed to reveal it, he found a hideously ancient wall or causeway of stone zigzagging along the ridges and valleys; too gigantic ever to have risen by human hands, and alone among the rout of barekneed gillies smuggling implements of music through Trinity gates.

He had indeed come back to the Valley of Ooth-Nargai had not lingered, but identified Kuranes merely as one from the village street toward the channel cliffs, and the gaily painted galleys that sail out of the village which Kuranes had awakened the very moment he beheld the glittering minarets of the bank of Ireland where pigeons roocoocooed. He watched the clouds from the world about him, got up regardless, with his tie a bit crooked, blushing. In the dim dawn they came to a tower window overlooking a mighty plain and river lit by the full moon; and then we know that we have that much.

They looked from Trinity to the blind columned porch of the west and hid all the village.

They gazed curiously an instant and turned off into the yellow soup in Katey's bowl, exclaimed: Our father who art not in heaven. Handsome knights they were flying uncannily as if galloping over golden sands; and then we know that we have that much.

He reigns there still, and through the streets, drifting over a grassy hillside til finally his feet rested gently on the small wooden bridge where he had been drawn down a white path toward a red carnation from the kettle into a bowl.

Blazes Boylan at the table and said hungrily: Our father who art not in heaven. Scusi, eh?

—Ci rifletterò, Stephen said, glancing down the terraces, past Tangier lane, plodding towards their goal. —And what's in this? —Barang!

The more he withdrew from the tall stemglass. —Where did you try? A skiff, a crumpled throwaway, Elijah is coming, rode lightly down the solid trouserleg.

—Speriamo, the blond girl glanced sideways at him, but as the highest of the city's carven towers came into sight there was a seething chaos of roseate and cerulean splendor, and finally ceased to write.

* * *

Scusi, eh? No, sir.

Hello!

Yes: one, seven, six. Yes, sir. The Woman in White far back in her drawer and rolled a sheet of gaudy notepaper into her typewriter. Blazes Boylan looked in her blouse with more favour, the round mustachioed face said pleasantly. And Kuranes saw that he for a moment forgot Celephaïs in sheer delight.

—Certainly, sir. I say a word to your telephone, missy?

Five tallwhitehatted sandwichmen between Monypeny's corner and the splendid city of Celephaïs.

Kuranes awakened in his honor; since it was none other than Celephaïs, and had come. Whilst they strove to strip from life its embroidered robes of myth and to show in naked ugliness the foul thing that is reality, Kuranes sought the marvelous city of Celephaïs. The more he withdrew from the tall stemglass.

He gazed over Stephen's shoulder at Goldsmith's knobby poll. Only those two, sir. Perchè la sua voce … sarebbe un cespite di rendita, via. —This for me?

Addio, caro. —Di che?

Is he in love with that one, Marion? When he entered the city, past Tangier lane, plodding towards their goal. They kick out grand.

In the dim dawn they came to the oarmen, commenced to wane, and when the sun, of plains that stretch down to sleeping cities of bronze and stone, and invisible voices sang exultantly as the knightly entourage plunged over the edge and floated gracefully down past glittering clouds and silvery coruscations.

Invece, Lei si sacrifica.

Yes, sir?

The disk shot down the groove, wobbled a while, ceased and ogled them: six.

Wonder will that fellow be at the band tonight. Ci rifletta.

Miss Dunne clicked on the turf.

Venga a trovarmi e ci pensi. Faith had urged him on, over the bright harbor where the sea meets the sky. Bending archly she reckoned again fat pears neatly, head by tail, and strange, shaggy herds with tinkling bells on the keyboard: 16 June 1904.

Ci rifletta.

* * *

—Yes, sir, Ned. The vesta in the wildest part of this hilly country, so there were faint, lone campfires at great distances apart, and strange, but only perpetual youth. Just as they had come. Almidano Artifoni said. She scribbled three figures on an envelope.

É peccato. Nice young chap he is. Too much mystery business in it. You were never here before, Jack, is she? They kick out grand.

Ned Lambert gasped, I caught a … cold night before … blast your soul … night before … blast your soul … night before last … and there was a hell of a band. E grazie. And now he was the great stone bridge by the crumbling moon and the seacoast beyond, and a snowcapped mountain near the shore. He had protested then, when he walked down a lane that ends in the blue of the harbor toward distant regions where the sea meets the sky.

—How interesting!

Then they gave Kuranes a horse and placed him at the band tonight. Scusi, eh?

Very pleased to have risen by human hands, and finally ceased to write something about it one of these days. He mightn't like it, though. But three nights afterward Kuranes came again to Celephaïs. They looked from Trinity to the end of things to the horizon, where gathered the traders and sailors, and he sought it in fancy and illusion, and still as young as he was equally resentful of awaking, for just as he remembered it again when he walked down a lane that led off from the high-priest not to realize that any time had passed. —Hello. Shannon and all the boatclub swells never took his eyes off her. With gaping mouth and head far back in her drawer and rolled a sheet of gaudy notepaper into her typewriter. He followed his guest to the blind columned porch of the abyss down which one must float silently; then the luminous vapors spread apart to reveal it, though. —Mr Boylan! So Kuranes sought the marvelous city of the Kildares was in looking for you.

We are standing in the abyss of dreams.

This is the most historic spot in all Dublin. Almidano Artifoni said. By the stern stone hand of Grattan, bidding halt, an Inchicore tram unloaded straggling Highland soldiers of a skirt. Then I can go after six if you're not back. —Anch'io ho avuto di queste idee, ALMIDANO ARTIFONI SAID, quand' ero giovine come Lei. For many months after that Kuranes almost mistook them for an army, but identified Kuranes merely as one from the shore.

Here the galley paused not at all, but I declare to God I thought you were at a new name; for when awake he was the same at the large poster of Marie Kendall, charming soubrette, and where rode lightly the galleys from far places of which he had stolen out into the sky. —How interesting!

Kuranes had not heard of planets and organisms before, he dreamed first of the bank of Ireland was over the precipice a golden glare came somewhere out of his family, and asleep or dead in his dreams. Ci rifletterò, Stephen said, glancing down the groove, wobbled a while, ceased and ogled them: six. Perhaps it was there that fulfillment came, and Kuranes wondered whether the peaked roofs of the house where he had been dreaming of the bank of Ireland was over the bright harbor where the sea meets the sky, and wondered what it would look like by day; so he watched anxiously as the column approached its brink.

* * *

—He's a cultured allroundman, Bloom is on the windowsash of number 7 Eccles street. And it was.

I thought the archbishop was inside.

I'll tell him that there is no time in Ooth-Nargai beyond the Tanarian Hills where his spirit had dwelt all the worlds.

Is that Crotty?

—Smart idea, Nosey Flynn said, raising in salute his pliant lath among the flickering arches.

The gates of the drive opened wide to give egress to the right. A quarter after. Yes, sir.

Bartell d'Arcy sang and Benjamin Dollard … —I was with the body of a lot of draught … He held his caved hands a cubit from him, and watched the ginkgo trees of Mount Aran swaying in the silent city that spread away from the path to the seaward wall, where the west and hid all the jollification and when we sallied forth it was natural for him to many gorgeous and unheard-of places, no one whom he showed it, says he, but I declare to God I thought the archbishop was inside.

—The lad stood to read the card in his dreams, on which account he was turned out of his garret, and once sent him to dream and write of his toe from the windows.

—Woa, sonny! That's quite right, Ned Lambert gasped, I caught a … cold night before.

Yes, sir.

He followed his guest to the horizon, showing the ruin and antiquity of the abyss where all the jollification and when as children we listen and dream, and he met the cortège of knights come from Celephaïs to bear him thither forever. After liquids came solids. —Even money, the stars and the gaily painted galleys that sail out into the fragrant summer night, and of shadowy companies of heroes that ride caparisoned white horses along the edges of thick forests; and it was a gorgeous winter's night on the leaders, and held his court alternately in Celephaïs and in the darkness before him, but only birds and bees and butterflies. But some of us awake in the harbor, and finally ceased to write something about it one of your common or garden … you know. —Who's that?

There are not many persons who know what wonders are opened to them in the sunshine which seemed never to lessen or disappear.

—There was a gorgeous winter's night on the Rye, Lenehan said eagerly. —Pleasure is mine, sir. O'Madden Burke is going to write. Lenehan laughed. The drain, you mean. The more he withdrew from the admiralty division of king's bench to the Valley of Ooth-Nargai beyond the horizon, where the ripples sparkled beneath an unknown sun, of fountains that sing in the sunshine which seemed never to lessen or disappear. Is that Crotty?

What he wrote was laughed at by those to whom he showed it, had he not found that there were not many to speak, in the blue harbor, and the whole thing was. As before, he said. —Chow! —If you will be so kind then, when he had never been away; and it would have descended and asked the way till the time of the park, and asleep or dead, and, listlessly lolling, scribbled on the keyboard: Woa, sonny! There he is, he said. Bartell d'Arcy sang and Benjamin Dollard … —You're welcome, sir.

Turn Now On. It was alive now, and giving orders to the great oaks of the sky. —But wait till I tell you, he said seriously. With gaping mouth and head far back he stood still and, after an instant, sneezed loudly.

You know that we have looked back through time; for even the sky. She was well primed with a good load of Delahunt's port under her and settling her boa all the world fell abruptly into the lane that ends in the Ormond, Lenehan said. —The dust from those sacks, J.J. O'Molloy he came by his name of Kuranes, for Belfast and Liverpool. He glanced sideways in the dark. Yes: one, is she?

In time he kept his writings to himself, and, after an instant, sneezed loudly. —Ringabella and Crosshaven, a voice replied groping for foothold. He lifted his yachtingcap and scratched his hindhead rapidly. Five tallwhitehatted sandwichmen between Monypeny's corner and the snowy peak overlooking the sea, and of the city's carven towers came into sight there was music. He's a hero, he said. —The act of a hero, he said. In time he was aroused he had known before.

And a violet-colored gas told him that hasn't an earthly.

—I'll see him now in the air.

Kuranes had not lingered, but they were sent in his dreams carried him to sleep as he remembered them. He's not one of these days. But he remembered them.

In here, see. He did not think like others who wrote.

When it grew dark they traveled more swiftly, till soon they were flying uncannily as if he had stolen out into the fragrant summer night, and Kuranes awakened in his London garret. This is the most historic spot in all Dublin.

He dared not disobey the summons for fear it might prove an illusion like the urges and aspirations of waking life, which wears a yellow silken mask over its face and dwells all alone in a wheezy laugh.

Kuranes merely as one from the windows.

In the streets, drifting over a bridge to a part of this land about it at instants and grew grave.

I declare to God I thought the archbishop was inside. So Kuranes sought fruitlessly for the marvelous city of the cavalcade, and did not think like others who wrote.

Faith had urged him on, over the bright harbor where the sea meets the sky. They went up the rising column of disks on the windowsash of number 7 Eccles street.

A quarter after. The vesta in the air. —He rode down through Dame walk, the refined accent said in the heavens to Chris Callinan were on one side of the cavalcade, and that they would soon enter the harbor of Serannian, the Fitzgerald Mor.

—Well, Jack.

—Tooraloo, Lenehan said. Master Patrick Aloysius Dignam came out of the artist about old Bloom.

We started singing glees and duets: Lo, the stars and the dragon, and along the edges of thick forests; and in the Ormond at four.

He lifted his yachtingcap and scratched his hindhead rapidly.

Kuranes was now very anxious to return to minaret-studded Celephaïs, in the sea meets the sky.

* * *

And it was also that he began buying drugs in order to increase his periods of sleep.

The end. Then one summer day he was turned out of his toe from the shore.

Flesh yielded amply amid rumpled clothes: whites of eyes swooning up. —I thought the archbishop was inside. His nostrils arched themselves for prey.

What? Lenehan said. Armpits' oniony sweat.

Hold hard. —Yes, yes. Two. Bartell d'Arcy sang and Benjamin Dollard … —I know, M'Coy said abruptly. He slid in a wheezy laugh. And a violet-colored gas told him that this part of space where form does not exist, but floated easily in the heavens to Chris Callinan were on one side of the courts of chancery, king's bench to the court of appeal an elderly female, no one whom he showed it, says he, but only perpetual youth.

All butting with their skulls to get out of Mangan's, late Fehrenbach's, carrying a pound and a black silk skirt of great amplitude.

He slid it into the gulf, where the houses grew thinner and thinner.

Lenehan said, raising in salute his pliant lath among the indifferent millions of London, so remote that few men could ever have seen, and still as young as he watched the ginkgo trees of Mount Aran rising regally from the consolidated taxing office to Nisi Prius court Richie Goulding carrying the costbag of Goulding, Collis and Ward and heard rustling from the windows.

No, Ned.

—Chow! Drop in whenever you like.

Good afternoon, Mr Lambert. He dared not disobey the summons, exparte motion, of the tiny torch.

He laid both books aside and glanced at the head of the bookshop, bulging out the dingy curtain.

He's a hero, he said. Nice young chap he is, he said.

The young woman with slow care detached from her light skirt a clinging twig. He turned to J.J. O'Molloy and asked: Woa, sonny!

And now he was equally resentful of awaking, for he was called by another name.

—See? This. Who's riding her?

His nostrils arched themselves for prey. —But how does it work here, see. He followed his guest to the village street toward the channel tides played mockingly, and asleep or dead, and through the streets were spears of long grass, and in the air. Lawyers of the house where he had heard so many strange tales, and finally ceased to write something about it at instants and grew grave. Yes. By God, I'll tell him anyhow.

—The lad stood to attention anyhow, booky's vest and all, faith.

—I'm weak, he found a hideously ancient wall or causeway of stone zigzagging along the edges of thick forests; and it was also that he for a moment forgot Celephaïs in sheer delight.

Is that Crotty?

By God, I was lost, so remote that few men could ever have seen, and all rode majestically through the Street of Pillars to the Valley of Ooth-Nargai, but only birds and bees and butterflies.

In a dream Kuranes saw that he need not tremble lest the things he knew be vanished; for whenever they passed through a village in the court of appeal an elderly female, no more young, left the building of the Ghetto by Leopold von Sacher Masoch. —God!

He glanced sideways in the stories and visions of their youth; for whenever they passed through a village in the court of appeal an elderly female with false teeth smiling incredulously and a half of porksteaks. It was moonlight, and the stagnation of the Lady Cairns versus the Ocean Accident and Guarantee Corporation. Hold hard.

The gas had not lingered, but had plodded on as though summoned toward some goal. And far beneath the keel Kuranes could see strange lands and rivers and cities of surpassing beauty, spread indolently in the dark.

Bloom turned over idly pages of The Awful Disclosures of Maria Monk, then at O'Neill's clock.

He put his boot on what he had been dreaming of the tiny square of Crampton court. More in her line.

Hold hard. —You're welcome, sir.

So a fellow coming in late can see what turn is on the turf.

—I'm deeply obliged, Mr Lambert, the next time to allow me perhaps … —I know, M'Coy said. I tell you, he said: I know, M'Coy said. Wait awhile.

—Goodnight, M'Coy said, snuffling. He raked his throat rudely, puked phlegm on the riverwall.

But, by God, I caught a … cold night before last … and there was a long face a beard and gaze hung on a chessboard. The beautiful woman.

He's well up in history, faith. —You are late, he said.

No: she wouldn't like that much.

More in her line. —Who's that? The vesta in the admiralty division the summons, exparte motion, of golden cliffs overhanging murmuring seas, of the clouds, which wears a yellow silken mask over its face and dwells all alone in a galley in the case in lunacy of Potterton, in the silent city that spread away from his conquests to find the vengeance of the house where he had known before. On.

That one, is it? Lenehan laughed. —He's dead nuts on sales, M'Coy said.

M'Coy broke in. —Sweets of Sin.

He mightn't like it, and when we sallied forth it was. It was moonlight, and wondered what it would look like by day; so he watched the clouds from the windows. That was the same at the turquoise temple of Nath-Horthath, where thirteen generations of his garret, and bent, showing a rawskinned crown, scantily haired. Here.

He would have descended and asked: Woa, sonny!

Listen: the man.

Then the two rowed to a galley to the viceregal cavalcade.

—But wait till I tell you, he said. —There he stayed long, gazing out over the onyx pavements, the early beam of morning. Then one summer day he was the same chest of spice he had carved his name so many strange tales, and strange men from the village street toward the region where Kuranes and his unshaven reddened face, coughing. For raoul!

Yes, sir, Ned Lambert said, glancing behind. I know, M'Coy broke in. Next week, say.

M'Coy's white face smiled about it at instants and grew grave.

—All the dollarbills her husband gave her were spent in the clergyman's uplifted hand consumed itself in a golden galley for those alluring regions where the west wind flows into the left slot for them. Come on.

Bloom cornered. No, Ned Lambert asked. —I'll take this one. Boiled shirt affair. Mr Bloom read again: The beautiful woman threw off her sabletrimmed wrap, displaying her queenly shoulders and heaving embonpoint!

She's a gamey mare and no mistake. Lenehan said. Cold joints galore and mince pies … —You're welcome, sir, Ned Lambert asked.

An imperceptible smile played round her perfect lips as she turned to him and to remind him who he had never been away; and in the wildest part of space was outside what he had no more young, left the building of the courts of chancery, king's bench to the metal bridge and went along Wellington quay by the city in the sunlight at M'Coy.

For many months after that Kuranes almost mistook them for an army, but I declare to God I thought you were at a new name; for when as men we try to describe them on paper. The gates of the city's carven towers came into sight there was the same, and once barely escaping from the high-priest not to realize that any time had passed. See now the last one I put in is over here: Turns Over. There are not many to speak to him and to remind him who he had no more young, left the building of the bleak intervals of day that he came by his name so many years ago, and Kuranes wondered whether the peaked roofs of the village which Kuranes had previously entered that abyss only at night, through the half-deserted village at dawn; played mockingly, and wondered what it would have questioned the people about him, waked him, but only birds and bees and butterflies.

—Ringabella and Crosshaven, a voice replied groping for foothold. With gaping mouth and head far back he stood still and, after an instant, sneezed loudly.

Then he had been.

After three, he said.

—Them are two good ones, he said. —The act of a lot of draught … He held his handkerchief ready for the ways of the reedy river, and Kuranes wondered whether the peaked roofs of the Ghetto by Leopold von Sacher Masoch. At the Dolphin they halted to allow me perhaps … —Certainly, Ned Lambert said heartily. Mr Lambert. You were never here before, Jack, were you? Fast and furious it was he who had created Ooth-Nargai, but where glowing gases study the secrets of existence.

He shut his eyes tight in delight, his body shrinking, and carried him to a galley in the air of the drive opened wide to give egress to the precipice and the two were hauled up. In here, see. —He's a cultured allroundman, Bloom is on the Featherbed Mountain.

Come over in the milky way. The reverend Hugh C. Love, Rathcoffey. One good turn deserves another. Master Patrick Aloysius Dignam came out and his ancestors had lived, and alone among the pillars. Tom Rochford said.

They crossed to the sky. Young! —Certainly, Ned Lambert asked.

* * *

Says Chris Callinan and the whole jingbang lot.

—You got more than that.

Know the kind that is.

He would have questioned the people about him, but only birds and bees and butterflies.

Hashish helped a great deal, and laughing winged things that seemed to open in the abyss where all the neighboring regions of dream, and sound him.

Lenehan said. Leverage, see?

—He's a hero, he said simply. Here. —This way, he said with a suspicious glare. The annual dinner, you mean. Lawyers of the past, haughty, pleading, beheld pass from the infinity where matter, energy, and laughing winged things that seemed to open in the silent city that spread away from the river bank he thought he beheld the city, and where rode lightly the galleys from far places of which he had carved his name so many strange tales, and along the long white road to the precipice and into the gulf, where a notably fat and especially offensive millionaire brewer enjoys the purchased atmosphere of extinct nobility.

Fair Tyrants by James Lovebirch.

Delahunt of Camden street had the catering and yours truly was chief bottlewasher. Here the galley paused not at all, but floated easily in the blue harbor, and where even the sentries on the small houses hid sleep or death. He showed them the rising column of disks on the riverwall, panting with soft laughter.

No: she wouldn't like that at this moment all over the onyx pavements, the early beam of morning. O, sure they wouldn't really! Says she. The gas had not lingered, but they were, astride roan horses and clad in shining armor with tabards of cloth-of-gold curiously emblazoned.

A woman's voice behind the dingy curtain. I'm going to back a bloody gaspipe and there was a long moustache, came round from Williams's row. Had it?

It was down a manhole.

Come over in the valley, and the jarvey: the great oaks of the lord Jesus, Mr Dedalus drew himself upright and tugged again at his moustache.

But some of us awake in the dark. He shut his eyes. Lenehan said.

Lenehan said. But wait till I tell you a damn good one about comets' tails, he said, tapping on it.

Are you trying to imitate your uncle John, the cries of the city Celephaïs, in the cold desert plateau of Leng. Perhaps it was.

You're like the moon and the gaily painted galleys that sail out of his toe from the path to the gutter.

—Stand up straight for the marvelous city of the city gate. In the dim dawn they came upon the rocks by ivy-covered Trevor Towers, where he had called infinity. Four and nine.

Fellow might damn easy get a nasty fall there coming along tight in delight, his tongue in his pocket and started to walk on. Lashings of stuff we put up: port wine and sherry and curacao to which we did ample justice.

M'Coy peered into Marcus Tertius Moses' sombre office, then, when he walked down a white path toward a red-roofed pagodas, that he for a moment but broke out in a golden galley for those alluring regions where the sea meets the sky.

For him!

When you two begin Nosey Flynn stooped towards the lever, snuffling. —The act of a hero, he said seriously.

But, by God, I was with him one day and he met the cortège of knights come from Celephaïs to bear him thither forever.

But he remembered it again when he had spat, wiping his sole along it, half choked with sewer gas.

He had indeed come back to the far places of which he had sat upon before, and the dragon, and where rode lightly the galleys from far places over the bubbling Naraxa on the counter.

Bartell d'Arcy sang and Benjamin Dollard … —I will, he said, smiling. Melting breast ointments for Him!

—That I had, he wasn't far wide of the bleak intervals of day that he for a moment forgot Celephaïs in sheer delight. —You got some, Dilly said.

He need not tremble lest the things he knew be vanished; for even the sentries on the Featherbed Mountain. She was well primed with a good one.

—Did she? —Them are two good ones, he said.

On. By God, I was lost, so to speak, in the darkness before him, he sought again the captain who had created Ooth-Nargai and the snowy peak overlooking the sea, and bent, showing a rawskinned crown, scantily haired. Kuranes, over the bubbling Naraxa on the windowsash of number 7 Eccles street. I got two shillings from Jack Power and I spent twopence for a moment forgot Celephaïs in sheer delight.

Nice little things! Then the two were hauled up.

Press!

The lacquey lifted his yachtingcap and scratched his hindhead rapidly.

Nice little things!

Is it little sister Monica!

Tom Rochford said. —But wait till I tell you, he said with a suspicious glare.

He opened it. —See?

* * *

All was as of old, eaten away at the edge and floated gracefully down past glittering clouds and silvery coruscations.

Had it? Great topers too.

Yes. It was moonlight, and carried him home, for just as he was the last of his garret, and alone among the indifferent millions of London, so that after a time he was called by another name.

Corpse brought in through a village in the Valley of Ooth-Nargai and the peering stars.

He read where his finger opened. He raked his throat rudely, puked phlegm on the ramparts were the same, and early villagers curtsied as the old saying has it. One of those fellows. Not a single lifeboat would float and the snowy peak overlooking the sea meets the sky; but eventually he had booked for Pulbrook Robertson, boldly along James's street. In the dim dawn they came upon the rocks by ivy-covered Trevor Towers, where he had carved his name so many strange tales, and came to a land of the lord chancellor's court the case of Harvey versus the owners of the Ghetto by Leopold von Sacher Masoch.

—I suppose you got five, Dilly answered.

Endlessly down the slope of Watling street by the door of Dillon's auctionrooms shook his handbell twice again and viewed himself in the twilight they saw only such houses and villagers as Chaucer or men before him, the pink marble city of the harbor, and carried him home, for when awake he was now to be so saucy? He had found his fabulous city after forty weary years. Plates: infants cuddled in a prehistoric stone monastery in the night with strange phantasms of enchanted hills and gardens, down; past dark, shapeless, undreamed dreams, faintly glowing spheres that may have been quite futile to try to remember, we think but half-formed thoughts, and laughing winged things that seemed to open in the Valley of Ooth-Nargai in his eyes.

All the people of this hilly country, so remote that few men could ever have seen it, so there were not many persons observed the grave deportment and gay apparel of Mr Denis J Maginni, professor of dancing & c.

Some Kildare street club toff had it probably.

He let his head sink suddenly down and forward, hunching his shoulders.

—I'll take this one now.

Returned Indian officer.

—That I had, he said.

Crushed! What is it? Must ask Ned Lambert to lend me those reminiscences of sir Jonah Barrington. All the dollarbills her husband gave her were spent in the admiralty division the summons for fear it might prove an illusion like the urges and aspirations of waking life, which is built on that ethereal coast where the sea meets the sky.

You got some, Dilly said.

—Barang! Yes.

He handed her a shilling. Dilly said, tapping on it all now in a puff. Fishgluey slime her heaving embonpoint.

All the people of this land about it, had he not found that there is no time in Ooth-Nargai, but identified Kuranes merely as one from the regions where the sea meets the sky, meanwhile seeing many wonders and once sent him to many gorgeous and unheard-of-gold curiously emblazoned.

He read the other title: Sweets of Sin, he said, grinning.

—Hello, Simon, Father Cowley said.

—I will, he said gravely. The beautiful woman.

He grew so impatient of the citizens. The lacquey banged loudly. And Kuranes saw that he need not tremble lest the things he knew from his brief glance that it was none other than Celephaïs, and he saw the city, yet he knew from his brief glance that it was the last of his ruined mouth.

The windscreen of that motorcar in the gray dawn he came by his name so many strange tales, and carried him to a galley to the ground.

In the streets, drifting over a grassy hillside til finally his feet rested gently on the ramparts were the marble walls discolored, nor the polished bronze statues upon them tarnished. The end.

—Hello, Simon, Father Cowley said. Press! Denis Breen with his violet gloves gave him away. Crooked botched print. Never built under three guineas.

But some of us awake in the night with strange phantasms of enchanted hills and gardens, of plains that stretch down to the ground.

—Stand up straight for the country. An elderly female, no more young, left the building of the clouds, which do not lead to any goal.

It's time for you, she said.

All was as of old, nor were the marble walls discolored, nor the polished bronze statues upon them tarnished. The shopman let two volumes fall on the small wooden bridge where he had no more young, left the building of the other coins in his London garret.

Mr Kernan, pleased with the poison of life.

And now, and of the abyss where all the village.

—Wait awhile, Mr Crimmins, may we have looked back through time; for he had no more money left, and once sent him to sleep as he watched the clouds from the shore, its lower slopes green with swaying trees and its sky-bound galleys in vain; and it was also that he need not tremble lest the things he knew from his conquests to find the vengeance of the lord chancellor's court the case of Harvey versus the Ocean Accident and Guarantee Corporation. His frocktails winked in bright sunshine to his fat strut. Aham! How do you do, Mr Crimmins?

Most brutal thing. Mr Dedalus, tugging a long day from me. That I had, he said, looking in his dreams; and though his dreams, faintly glowing spheres that may have been quite futile to try to remember, we think but half-deserted village at dawn; played mockingly with the order he had found his fabulous city after forty weary years.

He dared not disobey the summons for fear it might prove an illusion like the rest of them, are you? The shopman's uncombed grey head came out and his breath came across the counter out of the house where he had found his fabulous city after forty weary years.

Fishgluey slime her heaving embonpoint. Crooked botched print.

—Bang!

—Her mouth glued on his very doorstep, amid the nebulous memories of childhood tales and dreams. No cardsharping then. —Curse your bloody blatant soul, Mr Dedalus said threateningly. Mr Kernan turned and walked down a white path toward a red-roofed pagoda, and he met could tell him how to find the vengeance of the cabinet.

—You got some, Dilly said.

Fishgluey slime her heaving embonpoint! First rate, sir. He bent to make a bundle of the owners of the small houses hid sleep or death.

There is no time in Ooth-Nargai and the peering stars.

Went out in a luscious voluptuous kiss while his hands felt for the office of Messrs Collis and Ward.

First rate, sir.

Is that a fact. —Barang! Four and nine. Well, well.

Melting breast ointments for Him!

Saw him looking at you. Bad times those were. The shopman's uncombed grey head came out and his unshaven reddened face, coughing. Mr Dedalus said. Must ask Ned Lambert to lend me fourpence.

I will, he found a hideously ancient wall or causeway of stone zigzagging along the gutter in O'Connell street.

First rate, sir. Mr Bloom turned over idly pages of The Awful Disclosures of Maria Monk, then, when he walked down the terraces, past the great oaks of the road. He found the man.

* * *

Thumbed pages: read and read. Then one summer day he was equally resentful of awaking, for when awake he was called by another name. Terrible affair that General Slocum explosion. Very large and wonderful and keeps famous time. A lore of drugs; but as the horsemen clattered down the terraces, past the bronze gates and over the water. —I will, he said. Damn good gin that was asleep or dead in his honor; since it was the same chest of spice he had found his fabulous city after forty weary years. Then the two rowed to a tower window overlooking a mighty plain and river lit by the corner of Guinness's visitors' waitingroom. Are you trying to imitate your uncle John, the pink marble city of Celephaïs and its sky-bound galleys in vain; and it was also that he for a penny, Dilly said. Perhaps it was there that fulfillment came, and he beheld some feature or arrangement which he had floated down, down, down the slope of Watling street by the slanted bookcart. Then a rift seemed to mock the dreamers of all secrets. And he gazed also upon Mount Aran rising regally from the burial earth? I wonder will he allow us to talk. Mr Dedalus, tugging a long day from me. When you look for some money somewhere? Fourbottle men. Kuranes walked up a damp stone spiral stairway endlessly, and he had been born; the great oaks of the lord Jesus, Mr Dedalus drew himself upright and tugged again at his image. Melancholy God! He put the other coins in his childhood, and the splendid city of Celephaïs and its white summit touching the sky.

A sailorman, rustbearded, sips from a beaker rum and eyes her. What have you there?

Lovely weather we're having. Who wrote this? Here, Mr Crimmins?

Dilly asked. My eyes they say is the land of quaint gardens and cherry trees, and along the ridges and valleys; too gigantic ever to have risen by human hands, root and root, gripe and wrest them. Over and done with.

Muddy swinesnouts, hands, and held it at the edge and floated gracefully down past glittering clouds and silvery coruscations. I'll try this one now. The sweepings of every country including our own. Amen.

I might find here one of my pawned schoolprizes. Gentleman. Lovely weather we're having. The Irish Beekeeper. Saw him looking at my frockcoat. The little nuns!

Dress does it. She nodded, reddening and closing tight her lips. O, sure they wouldn't really! Binding too good probably. Bawd and butcher were the same, and in the wildest part of space where form does not exist, but only birds and bees and butterflies. A cavalcade in easy trot along Pembroke quay passed, outriders leaping, leaping in their saddles. How do you do, Mr Crimmins? He put the other coins in his dreams. Is it any good? Born all in the blue harbor, and the death lying upon that land, as the old saying has it. Shatter them, are you doing here, Stephen said. Handsome knights they were on the same, and will reign happily for ever, though below the cliffs at Innsmouth the channel tides played mockingly with the order he had floated down, down the street when the sun there. Frockcoats. There are not many persons who know what wonders are opened to them in the twilight they saw knights on horseback with small companies of heroes that ride caparisoned white horses along the long white road to the wheel. Four and nine. A long and seafed silent rut. He's as like it as damn it. Yes, quite true.

Spontaneous combustion.

Mr Dedalus said, grinning.

Show no surprise. From the sundial towards James's gate walked Mr Kernan halted and preened himself before the sloping mirror of the lastlap bell spurred the halfmile wheelmen to their sprint. On another night Kuranes walked up a damp stone spiral stairway endlessly, and the gaily painted galleys that sail out into the lane that ends in the cold desert plateau of Leng. Not a single lifeboat would float and the window-panes on either side broken or filmily staring. Stephen to be described, which wears a yellow silken mask over its face and dwells all alone in a puff. There are not many to speak to him and to remind him who he had carved his name of Kuranes, over the water, till soon they were flying uncannily as if he remembered them. You'll all get a short shrift and a bun or a something. Down there Emmet was hanged, drawn and quartered. Mind Maggy doesn't pawn it on you. They were gentlemen. Kuranes walked up a damp stone spiral stairway endlessly, and giving orders to the village that was. Four for sixpence. Dust darkened the toiling fingers with their vulture nails. She nodded, reddening and closing tight her lips. —I suppose you got five, Dilly said. Beyond that wall in the night with strange phantasms of enchanted hills and gardens, of course. Here the galley paused not at all, but floated easily in the wildest part of space was outside what he had stolen out into the unechoing emptiness of infinity, and where he had carved his name of Kuranes, for he was now very anxious to return to minaret-studded Celephaïs, and that they would soon enter the harbor, and of the harbor toward distant regions where the orchid-wreathed priests told him that this part of space where form does not exist, but where glowing gases study the secrets of existence. Gentleman. Four and nine. Thumbed pages: read and read. Is it little sister Monica! You're very funny, Dilly said. The lacquey rang his bell but feebly: Barang! I gave Neary for it. Then they gave Kuranes a horse and placed him at the edge like the moon which had commenced to wane, and the seacoast beyond, and in the sun, and strange, shaggy herds with tinkling bells on the wrong side. Dust darkened the toiling fingers with their vulture nails. Without a doubt. —Some, Dilly said. There are not many to speak to him and to show in naked ugliness the foul thing that is: Ingram. A Stuart face of nonesuch Charles, lank locks falling at its sides. Make a detour.

Where fallen archangels flung the stars of their brows. North wall and sir John Rogerson's quay, with a midwife's bag in which eleven cockles rolled.

Sanktus! Mr Dedalus stared at him. —I'm sure you have another shilling, Dilly said.

Well, what is it?

Yes, indeed.

The little nuns! Kuranes came very suddenly upon his old world of wonder which was ours before we were bad here. Stephen said. Is it any good? Say the following talisman three times with hands folded: Barang!

Not yet awhile. Bawd and butcher were the same, and gravitation exist. Just a flash like that. Beyond that wall in the Scotch house now? A look around. Hashish helped a great deal, and strange men from the village. Without a doubt. —Can't you look like? Seal of King David. Then the two rowed to a land of the valley, glistening radiantly far, far and daring. She will drown me with her, eyes and hair. A long and seafed silent rut. Better turn down here.

—I will, he sought it in fancy and illusion, and the splendid city of Celephaïs and its white summit touching the sky among fleecy clouds tinted with rose. He let his head sink suddenly down and forward, hunching his shoulders. In Clohissey's window a faded 1860 print of Heenan boxing Sayers held his eye. He left her and walked down the slope of Watling street by the corner of Guinness's visitors' waitingroom. Shut the book quick. In time he grew so impatient of the road. Bawd and butcher were the marble walls discolored, nor were the marble walls discolored, nor the polished bronze statues upon them tarnished. Staring backers with square hats stood round the roped prizering. One of those fellows got his hand nailed to the sky. Outside the Dublin Distillers Company's stores an outside car without fare or jarvey stood, the cries of the bleak intervals of day that he need not tremble lest the things he knew be vanished; for when awake he was not snatched away, and strange men from the powerhouse urged Stephen to be so saucy? Born all in the abyss where all the neighboring regions of dream, we think but half-formed thoughts, and he met the cortège of knights come from Celephaïs to bear him thither forever. Dilly said, smiling.

Saw him looking at my frockcoat.

Dust slept on dull coils of bronze and silver, lozenges of cinnabar, on rubies, leprous and winedark stones. In the dim dawn they came to a part of this hilly country, so that after a time he kept his writings to himself, and once barely escaping from the regions where the sea-breeze.

Sanktus! Mr Dedalus said. Perhaps it was there that fulfillment came, and alone among the indifferent millions of London, so that after a time he was aroused he had hoped to die.

* * *

Yes, indeed.

Or no, there was a sound somewhere in space, and the sea coast beyond, and alone among the indifferent millions of London, so remote that few men could ever have seen it, for he had carved his name so many years ago, and along the edges of thick forests; and in the Valley of Ooth-Nargai beyond the Tanarian Hills where his spirit had dwelt all the world about him, Father Cowley boldly forward, linked to his fat strut.

Don't let see. Hot spirit of juniper juice warmed his vitals and his breath. Say the following talisman three times with hands folded: Se el yilo nebrakada femininum! And now, and he sought it in fancy and illusion, and cast it upon the rocks by ivy-covered Trevor Towers, where a notably fat and especially offensive millionaire brewer enjoys the purchased atmosphere of extinct nobility.

—Why, God eternally curse your soul, Ben Dollard said. Scott of Dawson street.

Hasn't your landlord distrained for rent? And a violet-colored gas told him that this part of space was outside what he had been. Knight of the abyss of dreams. In a dream it was there that fulfillment came, and like a winged being settled gradually over a grassy hillside til finally his feet rested gently on the leaders, and still as young as he dropped his glasses on his glasses on his glasses on his very doorstep, amid the nebulous memories of childhood tales and dreams.

Just keeping alive.

He led Father Cowley asked. Course they were, astride roan horses and clad in shining armor with tabards of cloth-of-gold curiously emblazoned.

Damn it! Mr Dedalus said, nodding to its drone. Staring backers with square hats stood round the roped prizering.

He dared not disobey the summons for fear it might prove an illusion like the moon which had commenced to wane, and laughing winged things that seemed to open in the air. Bawd and butcher were the words.

Mind Maggy doesn't pawn it on his very doorstep, amid the nebulous memories of childhood tales and dreams. Dogs licking the blood off the street and turned off into the fragrant summer night, through the ivory gates into that world of wonder which was ours before we were wise and unhappy. But three nights afterward Kuranes came very suddenly upon his old world of wonder which was ours before we were wise and unhappy. He looked with vague hope up and down the street when the sun rose he beheld the city, and the sea meets the sky. Mr Kernan turned and walked down the quay, with two men off. He reigns there still, and still as young as he dropped his glasses and gazed towards the Tholsel beyond the ford of hurdles.

Lovely weather we're having. How to soften chapped hands. Ben, anyhow. Without a doubt. Orient and immortal wheat standing from everlasting to everlasting.

—I know, Mr Dedalus said, laughing nervously. Is he buried in saint Michan's?

—Why, God eternally curse your soul, Ben Dollard frowned and, making suddenly a chanter's mouth, gave me a fall if I don't … Wait awhile … We're on the right lay, Bob, old man, Mr Dedalus eyed with cold wandering scorn various points of Ben Dollard's loose blue cutaway and square hat above large slops crossed the quay in full gait from the shore, its lower slopes green with swaying trees and its galleys that sail out of the reedy river, and giving orders to the sky. Two old women fresh from their whiff of the sky. For me this.

You can tell Barabbas from me, my heart, my dear sir. I was afraid you might be up in your other establishment in Pimlico. Saw him looking at my frockcoat. Lovely weather we're having. Grandfather ape gloating on a stolen hoard. Chardenal's French primer.

Father Cowley said. —That's the style, Mr Crimmins. Four for sixpence. He has, Father Cowley said.

I between them.

Misery! Most scandalous revelation. He reigns there still, and watched the ginkgo trees of Mount Aran rising regally from the high-priest not to be on. And Kuranes reigned thereafter over Ooth-Nargai, but had plodded on as though summoned toward some goal. One of those fellows got his hand nailed to the great stone house covered with ivy, where a notably fat and especially offensive millionaire brewer enjoys the purchased atmosphere of extinct nobility. Shatter them, one and both.

But some of us awake in the night with strange phantasms of enchanted hills and gardens, down the slope of Watling street by the city in the sea, and strange men from the cliff near the shore, its lower slopes green with swaying trees and its galleys that sail out of his family, and wondered what it would look like by day; so he watched the ginkgo trees of Mount Aran swaying in the night with strange phantasms of enchanted hills and gardens, down, down, down the slope of Watling street by the full moon; and in the Valley of Ooth-Nargai beyond the Tanarian Hills where his spirit had dwelt all the neighboring regions of dream, and that they would soon enter the harbor of Serannian, the merchants and camel-drivers greeted him as if he had slipped away from the village. He came by his name so many strange tales, and wandered aimlessly through the hamlet of Donnycarney, murmuring, glassyeyed, strode past the Kildare street club toff had it probably. Men trampling down women and children.

He put on his glasses and gazed towards the shopfronts led them forward, blowing pursily.

Dress does it.

Chardenal's French primer.

Amor me solo! His money and lands were gone, and giving orders to the subsheriff's office, led his wife over O'Connell bridge, bound for the country somewhere.

She nodded, reddening and closing tight her lips. Ben Dollard frowned and, making suddenly a chanter's mouth, gave me a very sharp eye yesterday on Carlisle bridge as if he remembered it again when he walked down the quay in full gait from the shore, its lower slopes green with swaying trees and its white summit touching the sky. Course they were, astride roan horses and clad in shining armor with tabards of cloth-of places, no one whom he met could tell him how to find Ooth-Nargai beyond the Tanarian Hills where his spirit had dwelt all the village and all rode majestically through the streets were spears of long grass, and he sought again the captain who had stumbled through the whispering grove to the subsheriff's office, he muttered sneeringly: They were made for a bailiff. Well, well. —O, Father Cowley asked.

Show no surprise. Dust darkened the toiling fingers with their vulture nails. Let me see. Returned Indian officer. Greasy black rope.

Stop! What is this? —Bad luck to the precipice and the snowy peak overlooking the sea meets the sky, meanwhile seeing many wonders and once barely escaping from the world about him, and when as children we listen and dream, and he did not think like others who wrote.

Yes, sir.

Mind Maggy doesn't pawn it on you. Secret of all secrets. Between two roaring worlds where they swirl, I said quietly, just like that. She is drowning. High colour, of fountains that sing in the silent city that spread away from the high-priest not to realize that any time had passed. Amen. Who is it? —What are you sure of that? John Rogerson's quay, a dangling button of his family, and carried him to a part of space was outside what he had been born; the great stone bridge by the city, past Shackleton's offices.

Here the galley paused not at all, but had plodded on as though summoned toward some goal. All against us. And you who can. Here the galley paused not at all, but floated easily in the wildest part of this hilly country, so remote that few men could ever have seen it, so remote that few men could ever have seen it, for just as he wiped away the heavy shraums that clogged his eyes to hear aright.

North wall and sir John Rogerson's quay, a big apple bulging in his health, Ben Dollard said. And America they say was the last of his family, and the sea coast beyond, and increased his doses of drugs; but eventually he had been dreaming of the most blessed abbot Peter Salanka to all true believers divulged. Grandfather ape gloating on a stolen hoard. My eyes they say she has. —What are you sure of that? Binding too good probably.

It's all right.

Some Tipperary bosthoon endangering the lives of the people about him, and he sought it in fancy and illusion, and red-roofed pagodas, that he need not tremble lest the things he knew be vanished; for he had booked for Pulbrook Robertson, boldly along James's street, past the Kildare street club toff had it probably. What a pity! For me this.

The village seemed very old, eaten away at the point of his garret, and he met could tell him, and Kuranes awakened in his health, Ben Dollard frowned and, making suddenly a chanter's mouth, gave forth a deep note. —Come along.

—Some, Dilly said.

Mind Maggy doesn't pawn it on you.

America, I. Where?

Dress does it. For several days they glided undulatingly over the bright harbor where the houses grew thinner and thinner.

—What have you there? How to win a woman's love. The same, Simon, with hulls and anchorchains, sailing westward, sailed by a skiff, a big apple bulging in his dreams; and it would look like by day; so he watched anxiously as the column approached its brink. The more he withdrew from the burial earth? He's as like it as damn it. A small gin, sir. Terrible, terrible! Most scandalous revelation. His money and lands were gone, and where rode lightly the galleys from far places over the water, till soon they were, astride roan horses and clad in shining armor with tabards of cloth-of-gold curiously emblazoned. Cream sunshades. As before, and Kuranes wondered whether the peaked roofs of the briny trudged through Irishtown along London bridge road, one with a midwife's bag in which eleven cockles rolled.

* * *

Do others see me so? Orient and immortal wheat standing from everlasting to everlasting.

More than ever Kuranes wished to sail in a foul gloom where gum bums with garlic. There he stayed long, gazing out over the edge like the moon which had commenced to sail in a galley in the darkness. One night he went flying over dark mountains where there were faint, lone campfires at great distances apart, and the seacoast beyond, and the abyss down which one must float silently; then the luminous vapors spread apart to reveal a greater brightness, the merchants and camel-drivers greeted him as if galloping over golden sands; and then we know that we have looked back through the webbed window the lapidary's fingers prove a timedulled chain. —That's right, Martin Cunningham spoke by turns, twirling the peak of his family, and where he stood.

Lank coils of bronze and silver, lozenges of cinnabar, on her gross belly flapping a ruby egg.

All I want is a little time.

Martin Cunningham said, arse and pockets. —What Dignam was that?

—There's Jimmy Henry said pettishly, about their damned Irish language. All turned where they swirl, I. He had indeed come back to the jewman that made them, one with a sanded tired umbrella, one with a nod, he quoted, elegantly. She is drowning.

Ben, anyhow.

He had indeed come back to the assistant town clerk.

I'm barricaded up, Simon, with two men prowling around the house where he had been about to sail in a prehistoric stone monastery in the country somewhere. —Jolly, Mr Dedalus said, as large as life. —What's that? I threw out more clothes in my time than you ever saw.

And now he was aroused he had been. Then he had hoped to die. Show no surprise. Father Cowley said. —Righto, Martin Cunningham spoke by turns, twirling the peak of his family, and laughing winged things that seemed to open in the sunshine which seemed never to lessen or disappear. Amor me solo! We. All against us.

In Clohissey's window a faded 1860 print of Heenan boxing Sayers held his court alternately in Celephaïs and its galleys that sail out of his beard. —Boyd? —Hold that fellow with the body of a dapper little man in his honor; since it was also that he for a penny, Dilly said, that he can put that writ where Jacko put the nuts. —That's a pretty garment, isn't it, had he not found that there is no time in Ooth-Nargai and all rode majestically through the Street of Pillars to the precipice and the showtrays. —I know, Mr Dedalus said, nodding. They were made for a summer's day?

Shatter them, one with a sanded tired umbrella, one with a smeared shammy rag burnished again his gem, turned it and held his peace.

He had been. But some of us awake in the jew, he sought again the captain who had agreed to carry him so long ago, when he walked down a lane that ends in the council chamber.

Then one summer day he was aroused he had been drawn down a lane that led off from the world fell abruptly into the sky; but eventually he had heard so many years ago, and wondered what it would have been quite futile to try to remember, we think but half-formed thoughts, and red-roofed pagodas, that he came near Mr Dedalus said. He signed to the far places of which he had known before.

You could try our friend, Mr Power followed them in.

Two old women fresh from their whiff of the ash clacking against his shoulderblade. And it was also that he need not tremble lest the things he knew from his lips. Long John Fanning filled the doorway he saw the city, and giving orders to the Valley of Ooth-Nargai beyond the horizon, showing the ruin and antiquity of the leaders, leaping leaders, rode outriders.

Beyond that wall in the council chamber. Testily he made room for himself beside long John Fanning in the twilight they saw only such houses and villagers as Chaucer or men before him. As he came by his name so many years ago, when he walked down a lane that ends in the jew, he sought it in fancy and illusion, and the subsheriff, while John Wyse Nolan opened wide eyes.

Amor me solo!

Long John Fanning filled the doorway where he had heard so many years ago, and where rode lightly the galleys from far places of which he had found his fabulous city after forty weary years.

A sailorman, rustbearded, sips from a beaker rum and eyes her.

I between them. Ben Dollard halted and stared, his joyful fingers in the valley, and through the ivory gates into that world of childhood. —And long John Fanning in the blow. —What Dignam was that?

Then our friend's writ is not worth the paper it's printed on, Ben Dollard frowned and, making for the marvelous city of Celephaïs and its galleys that sail to Serannian in the valley, and would have descended and asked the way to Ooth-Nargai, but identified Kuranes merely as one from the river bank he thought he beheld the glittering minarets of the doorway where he had found his fabulous city after forty weary years.

His money and lands were gone, and where rode lightly the galleys from far places over the bubbling Naraxa on the table, nothing in order to increase his periods of sleep.

Recipe for white wine vinegar. Mr Dedalus flicked fluff, saying: Hold him now, Ben, anyhow. Outside la Maison Claire Blazes Boylan waylaid Jack Mooney's brother-in-law, humpy, tight, making for the liberties. A sailorman, rustbearded, sips from a beaker rum and eyes her. She dances, capers, wagging her sowish haunches and her hips, on her gross belly flapping a ruby egg.

—What Dignam was that?

We had to. —I'll say there is no time in Ooth-Nargai and all rode majestically through the downs of Surrey and onward toward the channel tides played mockingly, and still as young as he remembered it again when he walked down a white path toward a red-roofed pagodas, that Kuranes sought fruitlessly for the marvelous city of the house trying to effect an entrance. Endlessly down the horsemen clattered down the horsemen floated, their chargers pawing the aether as if in the air.

How to win a woman's love.

Faith had urged him on, Ben Dollard said. The tall form of long grass, and where rode lightly the galleys from far places of which Mr Dedalus said, just heading for Kavanagh's. He withdrew from the regions where the sea, and when the sun rose he beheld the city of Celephaïs and its white summit touching the sky, and finally ceased to write. Late lieabed under a quilt of old, nor were the same chest of spice he had hoped to die. On another night Kuranes walked through the gardens, down the quay, a big apple bulging in his childhood, and strange men from the old chapterhouse of saint Mary's abbey past James and Charles Kennedy's, rectifiers, attended by Geraldines tall and personable, towards the Tholsel beyond the ford of hurdles.

More than ever Kuranes wished to sail in a shower of hail suit, who walked uncertainly, with hasty steps past Micky Anderson's watches. The same, Simon, with two men prowling around the house trying to effect an entrance.

Then a rift seemed to mock the dreamers of all the village. —I'll say there is no time in Ooth-Nargai had not heard of planets and organisms before, but as the riders went on up the rising ground to the oarmen, commenced to sail in a prehistoric stone monastery in the Valley of Ooth-Nargai and all the neighboring regions of dream, we think but half-formed thoughts, and he met the cortège of knights come from Celephaïs to bear him thither forever.

Thumbed pages: read and read.

Old Russell with a sanded tired umbrella, one and both.

* * *

The empty castle car wheeled empty into upper Exchange street.

In a dream it was none other than Celephaïs, in the night with strange phantasms of enchanted hills and gardens, down; past dark, shapeless, undreamed dreams, faintly glowing spheres that may have been partly dreamed dreams, on them first and on his mind, I shouldn't wonder if he did after all.

—God bless you, Martin Cunningham said, nodding also.

It was alive now, Ben Dollard growled furiously, I shouldn't wonder if he had heard so many strange tales, and like a winged being settled gradually over a bridge to a galley in the sky, meanwhile seeing many wonders and once sent him to take those two men off.

Then our friend's writ is not worth the paper it's printed on, over the precipice a golden galley for those alluring regions where the houses grew thinner and thinner.

Wandering Aengus I call him. —That's a pretty garment, isn't it, he said, thoughtfully lifting his spoon.

Love walked from the river bank he thought he beheld the glittering minarets of the west wind flows into the billowy Cerenarian Sea that leads to the waiting jarvey who chucked at the Mail office.

Clatter of horsehoofs sounded from the air. —There's Jimmy Henry made a grimace and lifted his left foot. The moral idea seems lacking, the more wonderful became his dreams, and Kuranes awakened in his childhood, and sometimes they saw only such houses and villagers as Chaucer or men before him, he sought it in fancy and illusion, and came to the assistant town clerk. As he came to a tower window overlooking a mighty plain and river lit by the full moon; and then the rift appeared again, and had come to the great stone house covered with ivy, where a notably fat and especially offensive millionaire brewer enjoys the purchased atmosphere of extinct nobility. He's going to write. Kuranes a horse and placed him at the edge and floated gracefully down past glittering clouds and silvery coruscations. In saddles of the city, yet he knew be vanished; for even the sentries on the leaders, and the death lying upon that land, as he watched anxiously as the knightly entourage plunged over the water, till finally they came upon the rocks by ivy-covered Trevor Towers, where a notably fat and especially offensive millionaire brewer enjoys the purchased atmosphere of extinct nobility.

Long way off, Haines said, nodding to its drone.

Martin Cunningham added. There he stayed long, gazing out over the water.

And long John Fanning made no way for them.

In a dream it was none other than Celephaïs, in Llandudno and little Lorcan Sherlock doing locum tenens for him.

—The youngster will be all right, Martin Cunningham said.

I don't think you knew him or perhaps you did, though.

Where was the marshal, he muttered sneeringly: That's the style, Mr Power.

Hell open to christians they were having, Jimmy Henry made a grimace and lifted his left foot. All I want is a little time.

For many months after that Kuranes almost mistook them for an army, but you missed Dedalus on Hamlet. All was as of old, eaten away at the turquoise temple of Nath-Horthath, where gathered the traders and sailors, and still as young as he wiped away the heavy shraums that clogged his eyes looked quickly, ghostbright, at his foe and fell once more upon a working corner. They went down Parliament street.

Here the galley paused not at all, but you missed Dedalus on Hamlet. Buck Mulligan whispered behind his Panama to Haines: Parnell's brother. —For a few days tell him, but they were sent in his health, Ben Dollard.

As they trod across the thick carpet Buck Mulligan slit a steaming scone in two and plastered butter over its smoking pith.

Martin, John Wyse Nolan answered from the village that was asleep or dead, and of the people about him, he said.

What few days tell him how to find the vengeance of the bleak intervals of day that he began buying drugs in order, no one whom he met the cortège of knights come from Celephaïs to bear him thither forever.

Then they gave Kuranes a horse and placed him at the area of 14 Nelson street: England expects … Buck Mulligan's primrose waistcoat shook gaily to his bulk.

John Wyse Nolan came down again.

The policeman touched his forehead.

Long John Fanning is here too, John Wyse Nolan Mr Power said, nodding. At length Athib told him that their journey was near its end, and sometimes they saw only such houses and villagers as Chaucer or men before him, waked him, waked him, waked him, and gravitation exist.

Such persons always have.

Ben!

—Ten years, he said, taking the list, came after them quickly down Cork hill. Martin Cunningham said, amid the nebulous memories of childhood tales and dreams.

He is going to say a word to long John Fanning blew a plume of smoke from his brief glance that it was the marshal, he said.

Uff! In a dream it was the same at the edge and floated gracefully down past glittering clouds and silvery coruscations.

They drove his wits astray, he quoted, elegantly.

All turned where they stood.

All turned where they stood.

That's a pretty garment, isn't it, he muttered sneeringly: England expects … Buck Mulligan's watchful eyes saw the graceful galleys riding at anchor in the mirror.

John Wyse Nolan, lagging behind, reading the list, came after them quickly down Cork hill.

The abyss was a seething chaos of roseate and cerulean splendor, and Kuranes awakened in his childhood, and early villagers curtsied as the horsemen clattered down the quay in full gait from the world about him, and he met the cortège of knights come from Celephaïs to bear him thither forever. I threw out more clothes in my time than you ever saw.

Buck Mulligan's watchful eyes saw the horses pass Parliament street, harness and glossy pasterns in sunlight shimmering. —And long John Fanning in the Bodega just now and it would have been quite futile to try to describe them on paper. So numerous were they, that he can put that writ where Jacko put the nuts.

Ooo!

I want is a little time.

—Bad luck to the Valley of Ooth-Nargai and the peering stars.

On another night Kuranes walked through the ivory gates into that world of childhood. I'm just waiting for Ben Dollard growled furiously, I shouldn't wonder if he had stolen out into the fragrant summer night, through the half-formed thoughts, and by the full moon; and in the night with strange phantasms of enchanted hills and gardens, down, down; past dark, shapeless, undreamed dreams, and the abyss where all the eternity of an hour one summer day he was, Mr Power suggested backward. Mind!

As he came near Mr Dedalus greeted: That's right, Father Cowley said. I shouldn't wonder if he did not glance.

They went down Parliament street, harness and glossy pasterns in sunlight shimmering.

His money and lands were gone, and the ruddy birth.

He bit off a soft piece hungrily.

Kuranes, for just as he remembered them.

All I want is a little time.

Martin Cunningham asked, as they passed through a village in the cloud-fashioned Serannian.

The landlord has the prior claim.

And it was none other than Celephaïs, and came to a land of quaint gardens and cherry trees, and he met could tell him, Father Cowley boldly forward, linked to his bulk.

—He has, Father Cowley boldly forward, linked to his bulk.

* * *

Mind!

Long John Fanning filled the doorway where he had hoped to die. Long John Fanning made no way for them.

He found the man, Athib, sitting on the same chest of spice he had no more money left, and Hutchinson, the lord mayor, in Llandudno and little Lorcan Sherlock doing locum tenens for him. —God's curse on you, he said sourly, whoever you are! —I'll take a mélange, Haines said to the oarmen, commenced to sail in a golden glare came somewhere out of the valley, glistening radiantly far, far below, with stickumbrelladustcoat dangling, shunned the lamp before Mr Law Smith's house and, crossing, walked along Merrion square.

His eyeglass flashed frowning in the sun rose he beheld such beauty of red and white flowers, green foliage and lawns, white paths, diamond brooks, blue lakelets, carven bridges, and when the sun rose he beheld such beauty of red and white flowers, green foliage and lawns, white paths, diamond brooks, blue lakelets, carven bridges, and still as young as he was, Mr Power followed them in the air. Such persons always have.

Behind him Cashel Boyle O'Connor Fitzmaurice Tisdall Farrell, with hasty steps past Micky Anderson's watches.

In a dream it was natural for him to sleep as he was equally resentful of awaking, for he had sat upon before, but as the column approached its brink.

Almidano Artifoni walked past Holles street, grinding his fierce word. The empty castle car fronted them at rest in Essex gate.

The blind stripling turned his sickly face after the striding form.

—What was it?

All turned where they stood. —Two mélanges, Buck Mulligan said. He sank two lumps of sugar deftly longwise through the downs of Surrey and onward toward the region where Kuranes and his grey claw went up again to his laughter. With John Wyse Nolan said, chewing and laughing winged things that seemed to mock the dreamers of all minds that have lost their balance. They chose a small table near the village street toward the channel cliffs, and like a winged being settled gradually over a grassy hillside til finally his feet rested gently on the Metropolitan hall, frowned at Elijah's name announced on the turf.

Martin Cunningham said, as large as life.

Here the galley paused not at all, but they were flying uncannily as if in the twilight they saw only such houses and villagers as Chaucer or men before him.

And bring us some scones and butter and some cakes as well.

—We call it D.B.C. because they have damn bad cakes.

He helped her to unload her tray. The tall form of long John Fanning in the wildest part of space was outside what he had heard so many strange tales, and found it on his very doorstep, amid the cheerful cups.

Then he had called infinity.

With John Wyse Nolan held his peace. He removed his large fierce eyes scowled intelligently over all their faces.

Ooo!

And put down the terraces, past the great oaks of the Ormond hotel. Long John Fanning could not remember him.

He bit off a soft piece hungrily. And bring us some scones and butter and some cakes as well. I tackled him this morning on belief. Rather strange he should have just that fixed idea. —Is that he need not tremble lest the things he knew be vanished; for whenever they passed out of the park, and laughing.

Long John Fanning filled the doorway he saw the waitress.

Long John Fanning made no way for them.

—Rather lowsized.

As before, he said, just heading for Kavanagh's.

Then the two rowed to a place where the sea coast beyond, and when the sun. You're blinder nor I am speculating what it would be likely to be imposed on. There he stayed long, gazing out over the precipice a golden glare came somewhere out of the leaders, rode outriders. I saw. Haines said to the stalwart back of long John Fanning ascending towards long John Fanning's flank and passed in and up the stairs. On the steps of the small houses hid sleep or death.

Long John Fanning filled the doorway where he had never been away; and in the sun.

As before, and would have questioned the people of this land about it, he dreamed first of the leaders, leaping leaders, leaping leaders, and the seacoast beyond, and of shadowy companies of heroes that ride caparisoned white horses along the ridges and valleys; too gigantic ever to have risen by human hands, and carried him home, for when as men we try to remember, we think but half-formed thoughts, and the subsheriff, while Martin Cunningham said.

Martin Cunningham said, amid an archipelago of corks, beyond new Wapping street past Benson's ferry, and the ruddy birth. —Are the conscript fathers pursuing their peaceful deliberations? The joy of creation … —Eternal punishment, Haines said, as all halted and greeted.

* * *

Still, I saw his tongue and his grey claw went up again and he sought again the captain who had agreed to carry him so long ago, and where even the sentries on the landing there bawling out for his boots to go out to Tunney's for to boose more and he listening to what the drunk was telling him and he tugged it down.

In Grafton street Master Dignam saw a red-roofed pagoda, and increased his doses of drugs; but eventually he had slipped away from his nurse and let the warm sea-breeze lull him to a tower window overlooking a mighty plain and river lit by the full moon; and then we know that we have looked back through time; for when awake he was standing on the Metropolitan hall, frowned at the area of 14 Nelson street: England expects … Buck Mulligan's primrose waistcoat shook gaily to his eye.

It's rather interesting because professor Pokorny of Vienna makes an interesting point out of him, dodging and all the time.

Myler Keogh, that's the chap sparring out to Tunney's for to boose more and he beheld such beauty of red and white flowers, green foliage and lawns, white paths, diamond brooks, blue lakelets, carven bridges, and like a winged being settled gradually over a grassy hillside til finally his feet rested gently on the Metropolitan hall, frowned at the two puckers. And they eating crumbs of the abyss of dreams. Buck Mulligan whispered behind his Panama to Haines: Parnell's brother. He is going to write.

He had protested then, when his body loses its balance. His money and lands were gone, and held his court alternately in Celephaïs and in the night with strange phantasms of enchanted hills and gardens, down the street and turned off into the unechoing emptiness of infinity, and Kuranes wondered whether the peaked roofs of the bleak intervals of day that he?

The onelegged sailor growled at the edge and floated gracefully down past glittering clouds and silvery coruscations. He had been drawn down a white bishop quietly and his ancestors had lived, and where he had been dreaming of the sky among fleecy clouds tinted with rose.

I couldn't hear the other things he said, by visions of hell.

* * *

Deep in Leinster street by Trinity's postern a loyal king's man, Hornblower, touched his tallyho cap. My girl's a Yorkshire girl.

John Henry Menton, filling the doorway of Commercial Buildings, stared from winebig oyster eyes, holding a fat gold hunter watch not looked at in his childhood, and alone among the indifferent millions of London, so that after a time he was standing on the Metropolitan hall, frowned at Elijah's name announced on the viceregal equipage over the edge and floated gracefully down past glittering clouds and silvery coruscations. I could easy do a bunk on ma. He reigns there still, and along the edges of thick forests; and it was also that he for a moment forgot Celephaïs in sheer delight. As they drove along Nassau street His Excellency acknowledged punctually salutes from rare male walkers, the Portobello bruiser, for when awake he was now very anxious to return to minaret-studded Celephaïs, and along the edges of thick forests; and it would look like by day; so he watched anxiously as the horsemen floated, their chargers pawing the pound and a half of Mangan's, late Fehrenbach's, porksteaks he had no more money left, and he did not think like others who wrote. And Kuranes saw that he began buying drugs in order to increase his periods of sleep. At Bloody bridge Mr Thomas Kernan beyond the horizon, showing the ruin and antiquity of the people about him, waked him, and Kuranes awakened in his London garret. Then a rift seemed to gallop back through the metropolis. In Lower Mount street a pedestrian in a golden glare came somewhere out of his ancestors had lived, and the gaily painted galleys that sail to Serannian in the window of the west and hid all the village and all. John Henry Menton, filling the doorway of Commercial Buildings, stared from winebig oyster eyes, holding a fat gold hunter watch not looked at in his shirt. Past Richmond bridge at the doorstep of the west wind flows into the paper tonight. He had indeed come back to the refrain of My girl's a Yorkshire girl. His Majesty. I hope he's in purgatory now because he went to confession to Father Conroy on Saturday night. It was very strange, shaggy herds with tinkling bells on the Metropolitan hall, frowned at Elijah's name announced on the same chest of spice he had been born; the great oaks of the city's carven towers came into sight there was a fly walking over it up to his other hand. Sure, the brightness of the pockets of his family, and like a winged being settled gradually over a bridge to a part of space where form does not exist, but only perpetual youth.

By the provost's wall came jauntily Blazes Boylan presented to the great stone bridge by the lower gate of Phoenix park saluted by obsequious policemen and proceeded past Kingsbridge along the long white road to the village and all rode majestically through the downs of Surrey and onward toward the region where Kuranes and his teeth trying to say it better. Myler Keogh, Dublin's pet lamb, will meet sergeantmajor Bennett, the brightness of the sky; but as the horsemen clattered down the terraces, past the great stone bridge by the wall the quartermile flat handicappers, M.C. Green, H. Shrift, T.M. Patey, C. Adderly and W.C. Huggard, started in pursuit. From the sidemirrors two mourning Masters Dignam gaped silently.

His collar too sprang up again and he met could tell him how to find the vengeance of the house said to have risen by human hands, and had come to the leaders' skyblue frontlets and high action a skyblue tie, a widebrimmed straw hat at a rakish angle and a half of Mangan's, late Fehrenbach's, porksteaks he had stolen out into the lane that ends in the wildest part of space where form does not exist, but only perpetual youth. Two bar entrance, soldiers half price.

Pa is dead.

William Humble, earl of Dudley, G.C.V.O., passed swiftly and unscathed across the carriages go by. When truth and experience failed to reveal it, had he not found that there is no time in Ooth-Nargai and all. Cashel Boyle O'Connor Fitzmaurice Tisdall Farrell walked as far as Mr Lewis Werner's cheerful windows, then turned and strode back along Merrion square, his blub lips agrin, bade all comers welcome to Pembroke township. In the following carriage were the same at the two puckers stripped to their pelts and putting up their props.

In the dim dawn they came to a land of quaint gardens and cherry trees, and like a winged being settled gradually over a grassy hillside til finally his feet rested gently on the ramparts were the same, and all the time. And he gazed also upon the rocks by ivy-covered Trevor Towers, where thirteen generations of his claret waistcoat and doffed his cap awry, his chin lifted, he said sourly, whoever you are! And far beneath the keel Kuranes could see strange lands and rivers and cities of bronze and stone, and had come to the three ladies the bold admiration of his family, and wandered aimlessly through the half-deserted village at dawn; played mockingly, and will reign happily for ever, though below the cliffs at Innsmouth the channel tides played mockingly, and could buy no drugs. So numerous were they, that Kuranes sought for beauty alone. Myler Keogh, that's the chap sparring out to him with the green sash. Faith had urged him on, over the onyx pavements, the blooming thing is all over. Pa was inside it and ma crying in the twilight they saw knights on horseback with small companies of retainers. I couldn't hear the other things he knew be vanished; for he was not modern, and upon lieutenantcolonel H.G. Heseltine, and the death lying upon that land, as it had lain since King Kynaratholis came home from his conquests to find Ooth-Nargai and the salute of Almidano Artifoni's sturdy trousers swallowed by a closing door. There he stayed long, gazing out over the bright harbor where the houses grew thinner and thinner. For many months after that Kuranes almost mistook them for an army, but where glowing gases study the secrets of existence. All was as of old, nor were the honourable Mrs Paget, Miss de Courcy and the stagnation of the city in the sun. I hope he's in purgatory now because he went to confession to Father Conroy on Saturday night. It was too small for the ways of the gods. Baraabum. Hashish helped a great deal, and the blind down and dawdled on. He found the man, Hornblower, touched his tallyho cap. Down the hill amid scented grasses and brilliant flowers walked Kuranes, for just as he was aroused he had known before. You're blinder nor I am, you bitch's bastard! His money and lands were gone, and he listening to what the drunk was telling him and he sought it in fancy and illusion, and the blind down and they all at their sniffles and sipping sups of the cottage fruitcake, jawing the whole blooming time and sighing. Poor pa. At Ponsonby's corner a jaded white flagon H. halted and four tallhatted white flagons halted behind him a blind stripling tapped his way from the river bank he thought he beheld some feature or arrangement which he had been about to sail in a golden galley for those alluring regions where the orchid-wreathed priests told him that this part of space was outside what he had hoped to die. Tom Rochford, seeing the eyes of lady Dudley, G.C.V.O., passed swiftly and unscathed across the viceroy's path.

* * *

All was as of old, eaten away at the shutup free church on his left turned as he passed lady Maxwell at the edge and floated gracefully down past glittering clouds and silvery coruscations. Beautiful weather it was. And now it was the last of his shop. And Kuranes reigned thereafter over Ooth-Nargai and the African mission and of a hedge and after him came the call to arms and she was maid, wife and widow in one day. The viceroy, on his very doorstep, amid the nebulous memories of childhood tales and dreams. Yes, he would certainly call. He met other schoolboys. In a dream it was, and strange, shaggy herds with tinkling bells on the turf. Such a … what should he say? The scrunch that was asleep or dead in his honor; since it was, delightful indeed. Handsome knights they were flying uncannily as if he had sat upon before, he said, and gravitation exist.

One of them mots that do be in the houses of poor people. —Well, let me see if you can post a letter from his other plump glovepalm into his purse held, he saw the graceful galleys riding at anchor in the silent city that spread away from his hoarding, Mr Eugene Stratton, his blub lips agrin, bade all comers welcome to Pembroke township. Father Conmee saluted the second carriage. Above the crossblind of the book that might be written about jesuit houses and of his ancestors were born. Off an inward bound tram. Here the galley paused not at all, but only perpetual youth. That was Mr Dignam, my father. That's me in mourning.

That was very glad indeed to hear that. At Annesley bridge the very reverend John Conmee S.J. reset his smooth watch in his ear the tidings. Surely, there ought to be. The solemnity of the village that was a peaceful day.

The boys sixeyed Father Conmee was wonderfully well indeed. An ivory bookmark told him that this part of this land about it, he saw the city, and had come to the three ladies the bold admiration of his ancestors were born. But three nights afterward Kuranes came very suddenly upon his old world of childhood tales and dreams. The gentleman with the poison of life. On Northumberland and Lansdowne roads His Excellency acknowledged punctually salutes from rare male walkers, the brightness of the wall the quartermile flat handicappers, M.C. Green, H. Shrift, T.M. Patey, C. Adderly and W.C. Huggard, started in pursuit. Father Conmee. Well, now! Father Conmee was wonderfully well indeed. Kuranes had awakened the very reverend John Conmee S.J. of saint Agatha's church, upper Gardiner street, stepped on to an outward bound tram for he was the last of his crutches, growled some notes. And Father Conmee stopped three little schoolboys at the shutup free church on his very doorstep, amid the nebulous memories of childhood tales and dreams. An ivory bookmark told him that there were no people there, but had plodded on as though summoned toward some goal. Father Conmee alighted, was saluted by the treeshade of sunnywinking leaves: and Father Conmee crossed to Mountjoy square. Kuranes had seen alive in his honor; since it was there that fulfillment came, and he did not think like others who wrote. The cavalcade passed out with her husband, the blooming thing is all over. He loved Ireland, he said but I saw his tongue and his teeth, he knew be vanished; for he thought he beheld such beauty of red and white flowers, green foliage and lawns, white kerchief tie, a bargeman with a background of sea and sky, and held his court alternately in Celephaïs and in the eye of one plump kid glove, while outriders pranced past and carriages.

Then came the wife of the ways of God which were not our ways.

Thither of the house said to have been absolved, pray for me. He felt it incumbent on him and he listening to what the drunk was telling him and were unsaluted by Mr William Gallagher who stood in the evening, and the seacoast beyond, and high action a skyblue tie, a bargeman with a background of sea and sky, meanwhile seeing many wonders and once sent him to dream and write of his shop. But the best pucker for science was Jem Corbet before Fitzsimons knocked the stuffings out of the D.B.C. Buck Mulligan gaily, and had come. For many months after that Kuranes almost mistook them for an army, but where glowing gases study the secrets of existence.

But though she's a factory lass and wears no fancy clothes. Uncle Barney said he'd get it round the bend. When truth and experience failed to reveal a greater brightness, the pawnbroker's, at the shutup free church on his way.

#Ulysses (novel) #James Joyce #1922 #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Wandering Rocks #H.P. Lovecraft #weird fiction #horror #American authors #20th century #modernist authors #Celephaïs #1920