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rotworld · 7 months

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2: Warped Reflection

(previous)

on your way to prismville, you find an empty town.

->contains mild gore, dubiously consensual touching

One of the trees isn’t a tree. You’ve been keeping an eye on it since you pulled over.

Lunch is your leftovers from Henley Creek. You reach into the box you keep strapped into the passenger seat, half a dozen eggs cushioned by checkered cloth, and watch the thing creep closer. It’s the only cottonwood in a line of aspens. Spindly, bare branches swivel and twitch without wind to move them, bending at joints they shouldn’t have like radio antennae. Even when you’re looking directly at it, watching its gnarled bark shift ever so slightly ahead of its neighbors in the smallest, slowest inchworm increments, your brain struggles to recognize this as movement. It leaves no tracks, no trailing roots or dragging mud in the earth behind it. It seems like it’s always been where it is now.

The eggs are ripe, the shells crunchier. The jam-colored insides form clots of salty pearls that split on your teeth like roe. You lick a cloudy dribble of yolk from the corner of your lips and use your last napkin. It doesn’t look all that different from the other crumpled balls of bloodied tissue stuffed into a trash bag in your backseat. You lean over and pull your hand-drawn map out of the glove compartment, adding a tree with wiggling, finger-like branches to the blank space between Henley Creek and Prismville. You don’t plan on backtracking, but someone else coming south might need to know. While your right hand sketches, your left hand rests in your lap, wrapped in bandages. The pain comes and goes. You feel dead-end sinew twitching, trying to move something you no longer have.

Home is northeast, your heart says. You start the car and pull back onto the road. In the rearview mirror, you see the tree’s trunk twisted and bent. Every limb, every twig, every prickly little branch has curved downward, grasping like aerial roots for the empty space where you were just parked.

[NOW PLAYING ON THE RADIO: NEVERLAND BY LA SCALTRA]

There’s rain just briefly. Water sprinkles the windshield and glistens on the road. There’s a peculiar odor you can’t identify. It smells the way ice tastes or wind feels, whispers and almost somethings. You see shapes in the road and have just enough time to stop, tires squealing, the eggs in the box knocking against each other. It’s a woman in a brown shawl and two young children clinging to her skirts. They walk slowly. She tilts her head, staring directly into your headlights. The wicker basket on her arm is full of thorny weeds, wildflowers and budding, sepal-wrapped eggs. You hold your breath and don’t move a muscle until she and the children cross the road and vanish into the underbrush.

The highway narrows, three lanes merging gradually into a single rough, uneven road. There’s a river ahead and a covered bridge across. Ancient wooden planks groan and rattle beneath your tires. It’s colder on the other side. You see a rust-eaten sign wobbling on metal stilts, jutting out of an overgrown flowerbed. Something corrosive has taken a chunk out of the corner and bit through the gold lettering, leaving only “LCOME TO NEW RIDGEWAY.” A mirror is propped up against one of the signposts.

The fog thins but only a little. You drive slowly between brick apartment blocks and gently lit storefronts. For a while, you don’t see anyone. Not on the road. Not dining under the striped cafe awning on the corner or in line at the burger drive-thru. Not along the riverwalk, or at the post office, or at the crosswalk. There are a handful of cars parked on the street but no one inside. But there are mirrors—thousands of them. Full-length rectangles lean against utility poles and sidewalk trees. A row of small circles in brass frames line an alley, echoing infinite reflections at one another. Hand mirrors dangle from a fire escape, ribbons tied around the handles and looped through the metal walkway.

The abandonment seems recent. Lights are still on. The grass is neatly manicured. “Free Bagels!” proclaims the local bakery’s chalk sign on the sidewalk, the door propped open. You poke your head inside and think you spot movement behind the counter, but it’s just a mirror.

Your bewildered reflection stares back at you. It cocks its head sharply like a curious bird. Then it smiles.

You’ve got one foot in your car and the keys in the ignition when something stirs the fog. A person, the first you’ve seen here, slips out of an alley. Glancing back and forth and ahead and behind him, he walks casually but quickly like someone afraid to draw a predator’s eye. He’s thin and delicate-looking, tugging nervously at the long sleeves of a black turtleneck sweater, long blond hair feathering across his shoulders.

He’s at your window in just a few long strides, knocking softly but frantically. His voice is muffled and he’s nearly whispering but you catch what’s probably “please,” “help” and “be here soon.” You’ve neither rolled down your window nor unlocked your car but he’s presumptuous or maybe desperate, crossing quickly to the passenger side. He tugs uselessly at the door handle and peers at you with wide, teary eyes.

Your fingers perch on the button to unlock the door, indecisive. Then you hear the dragging; stone grinding against stone. A woman lurches through the fog, her suit jacket hanging open and her tie loosened. There’s blood on her shirt but something else, too, watery and dark like motor oil or ink. She moves with a lopsided, lumbering gait because of the sledgehammer she’s dragging behind her.

“Please,” the man says, louder this time. “Please, please, please don’t leave me out here, please!” The woman moves faster. She wraps both hands around the sledgehammer’s long wooden handle and you make your choice.

The doors unlock and the man flings himself into your passenger seat. He’s startled by the box of eggs but quick enough to catch himself against the dash when you slam your foot on the gas. The woman doesn’t give chase but you don’t slow down, watching for anything else moving in the fog.

“Thank you,” the man says. He’s crammed himself into the space in front of the passenger seat, folding his arms over the egg box and peering up at you. “Thank you so much. Can you just—I don’t live far from here. Take a left at the light there.”

“Is it safe?” you ask him.

“Yes. Everything’s just fine as long as you stay inside. Follow this road a while. I’ll tell you when to turn.” His jeans are fraying at the knees and he picks at them occasionally, his nails unusually sharp. He lifts himself just high enough to peer out the window occasionally but mostly he looks at you. His eyes are vivid green. “Why did you help me?” he asks.

“Why?” you repeat, not expecting the question. “You thought I’d just leave you there?”

“You thought about it. I wouldn’t have blamed you.” He plucks at his sleeves again, tugging at them until they cover all but his fingertips. “The Drift is dangerous. So many things pretending to be people. I could’ve been one, but you let me in anyway. Ah, it’s this turn coming up. Go right.”

“I like to see if I can help,” you say. The suburbs are just as dead as downtown. The bins are out for trash collection. A garage door is wide open, an unwound gardening hose snaking around the back of the house. You think you see curtains move in an upstairs window, but you aren’t sure. “If I have to fight, I’ll fight. But I try to help first.”

“It’s that one. The house with a birdbath on the lawn. I’m Elisile, by the way,” he says, managing a small smile. Then he frowns. “You look…disappointed.”

“Oh, no, sorry,” you say quickly. “Just lost in thought. This one, you said?”

“Yes, this one.” He’s watching you while you pull into his driveway. “You’re…one of those, aren’t you? Not just a courier, but…you look so normal…” You put the car in park and unlock the door, not looking at him. “No, I’m—I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean…I used to have a friend in the Stillwoods. She was one, too.” He winces as he squeezes himself out of the small space and gets out of your car, rolling his shoulders and stretching his legs. “Sorry. And thank you again,” he says, offering a soft smile. His eyes are an earthy brown. You blink, startled. Was that the color they were earlier? “I’d ask you to come in but I don’t have much to offer,” he says. His soft laughter dies in his throat as his gaze shifts down the street. You see a car in the rearview mirror, screeching erratically down the street.

“I should probably go, huh?”

“No. She’ll run you off the road,” he says quickly. “Come on. We’ll wait her out.”

You don’t like the idea of leaving your deliveries unattended but the car swerves onto the curb and into the grass, smashing the birdbath. Elisile practically drags you with him up the steps. He doesn’t stop to fumble with his keys. It’s unlocked. He doesn’t think to lock it behind him as you stagger into the entryway so you do it for him, slipping the deadbolt into place just as something hard and heavy slams into the front door.

“We should be alright now.” The house is silent. Dust dances in a beam of strangled sunlight. The hallway is furnished with soft carpet, potted plants and a decorative glass dish sitting on a narrow table off to one side. Elisile watches you take in your surroundings. He’s smiling. Not in a cruel, menacing way but warm and comforting. He looks delighted when you notice the mirrors lining the hall. “I never did explain what happened here, did I?” he muses. “You never asked. That’s so…unusual.”

Elisile takes a step forward and you lurch back, stumbling. There’s a pile of shoes beside the door. Adult’s and children’s. The welcome mat has little paw prints running across it.

“You have to be careful with mirrors in the Drift,” he says. “You know all about that. Special glass, special chemicals. Your car’s all up to code, but in New Ridgeway? These are the old style. Thinner. Easier to move through.”

“Why?” you ask, feeling blindly behind yourself for the doorknob. You’re not careful and slam your wounded hand against it, pain radiating all the way up to your shoulder. He’s coming closer but he’s not stopping you. His eyes flick down to your bandages with interest. “Why would you—why fill a town with them?”

“Why do you help people you shouldn’t, child of the road?”

Your fingers fumble with the deadlock and that’s when he lunges. He goes for your hand, squeezing the tender, throbbing spot where your little finger used to be and slamming you up against the door. He’s cold against you. His breath is frigid and his skin leeches your body heat.

“I’ll tell you why,” he whispers, brushing his knuckles against your cheek. “Because you’re trying to go home but you can’t, so you take what you can get. And they’re close enough, aren’t they? When you’re lost together, you almost feel safe.” You twist out of his grip, fumbling with the lock just long enough to feel his cold fingers ghost across your shoulder. Two stumbling steps out the door, you freeze.

The woman you saw before is right there, clawing to the door on her hands and knees. She’s bruised and bloody, her sledgehammer lying in the grass by her feet. There’s something on top of her. It’s a person, you think. It is, for just a second. Then it shifts and shimmers, fractaling into other shapes. Human, animal, celestial bodies, unnatural angles, it wraps a hand—a claw? A tendril, silver and reflective—around her throat and pulls until she arches uncomfortably, tilting her head up at the thing with a scream caught in her chest.

Elisile’s fingers curl beneath your chin and he guides your gaze back to him, standing beside you in the grass. “You’re more like us than you are them,” he says. “There’s no home for you here. There never will be, no matter how useful you are.”

“Home is northeast,” you tell him. Your voice quivers. His gaze softens with pity. The woman in the grass reaches out with one trembling hand, the other clawing and pulling at the thing around her throat. It squeezes tighter. Its changing fingers and feathers and insectoid limbs hold her head still. Something sharp pricks the corner of her eye. A gushing wound spreads across her forehead. The thing starts to settle, shapes smoothing, colors flattening. It has her eyes.

“I can be your home,” he offers. “I can give you everything they can’t.” His eyes are deep blue, and probably not his. He leans in, pressing his lips to your cheek. It’s cold and sharp. You feel a bead of blood slide down your chin. When he cups the back of your neck, you push him away. You hear him sigh as you rush to the woman, past her and the thing and the toppled birdbath, grasping clumsily for the sledgehammer. It’s heavy and the space of your missing finger still stings. The metal wedge drags through the dirt as you struggle to lift it with your fumbling grip.

“You’ll never find it,” Elisile says, the kindness gone from his voice. His words are flat and emotionless but that welcoming smile and those warm, changing eyes remain. “You’ll search forever. You’ll wander until you die. You’ll do everything they say but you will never be welcome. Do you understand? No matter where you go, child of the road, it. Won’t. Be. There.”

You swing the sledgehammer and the thing shatters. Shards of light and cold and wriggling shape burst apart with a shrieking hiss, black blood spattering your face. It’s cold and stinging. Trying to wipe it off your chin cuts up your fingers. The woman heaves and sputters, clutching her bruised throat. Blood trickles from a gash across her forehead and drips into her eyes.

Elisile is gone. The door to the house is wide open. The sledgehammer slips from your trembling hands.

“Hey, are—are you still there?” the woman says hoarsely. “I saw you earlier, right? In town? I need help getting to my car. Like, now. Before it comes back.” She tries to stand and winces, catching herself with her hands. She’s keeping her weight off of her right leg. “God, I must look insane. Listen, I’m not one of those things. I'm cleanup crew. Check me! Glass mimics are cold to the touch and they don’t sweat. I’m bleeding red, right?”

She’s warm when you sling her arm over your shoulder and help her to her feet. She makes a pained sound and leans more of her weight against you. There’s a leather messenger bag in the passenger seat of her car and papers scattered around the back. Her medical supplies are in the trunk.

“Hey. Whatever it told you, don’t sweat it,” she says. “They like to fuck with people. It’s all mimicry, just copying stuff they’ve overheard. They don’t really get humans, you know? They don’t know what we feel, why we do things.”

“Right,” you say weakly.

“Ugh, I need a shower. You know what the closest town is? There’s fucking nothing out west.”

“Prismville’s somewhere north, but—”

“Civilization! Thank god.” She slaps a few bandaids on her forehead and wipes the rest of the blood on the sleeve of her suit jacket, tossing it haphazardly into the backseat. “Talk later, alright? You lead, I’ll follow. Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

You nod, dazed. You don’t have it in you to argue. You hear the woman’s car stutter before it starts. She gives you a thumbs-up in the rearview mirror. You hesitate before pulling out of the driveway, glancing up at the house. There’s no one there. The mimic has retreated for now, moved on to easier prey.

You rub the cut on your cheek where he kissed you. If no one else had been in danger, if you’d been all alone, would you have let him hold you? Would you have let him sink his teeth into your lips? Your neck? Somewhere even more tender? Would you have given him your eyes if he promised you somewhere you could always come back to, knowing it must be a lie?

Home is northeast, says the heart. Your throat constricts and it’s hard to breathe as you ignore the pull and drive due north instead.

(next)

#rotpeach writes #goretober #the drift #i promise this will not just be “weird vague things happen the novel” lol it'll start to make sense #hopefully. potentially. eventually

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originalwinnercheesecake · 2 years

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Palisman for Plaismanless Adult Witches

Yeah I wanted to do more witch and Palisman pairings, they are one of my favorite parts of the owl house. Well I noticed that most of my idea’s and pairings are for children, but since the previous generation where born and raised under Belos’s control, many of them do not have Palisman either, so why not fix that? Here are picks for the coven heads, the parents, and other adults we frequently see. Note I am giving some of the villain/bad adults palisman as well, it was kinda fun thinking up what they would get. Boshca, Gavin, Hermunclus, and the Glandis principal all have Palisman even though they are antagonists (Well the Glandis principal probably is based on how he runs his school). So I figure each character has some kinda drive that the palisman link to (Boshca and Maya) or some palisman are made with harsher desires than others.

Darius Deamonne: One of the easier ones because his voice actor already told fans that if Darius had a palisman it would be a hawk. The only question left is what breed of hawk? I looked at several breeds (Extra note here I am now pretty sure that Gwendolyn Clawthorne’s palisman, Hawk-sly, is a Ridgeway Hawk. The picture I saw of one showed a hawk with a white head, like a bald eagle). For Darius I would say the classic red-tailed hawk would be best. It is strong, sharp eyed, lightweight, master of the sky, and has some of the most elagent and individualized plumage of any Hawk. Red-tailed hawk for Darius.

Raine Whispers: I saw a post that said Raine’s voice actor was asked the same question as Darius, and they answered that Raine would have a Penguin, they also said that Raine’s penguin would either be named Gatsby or Waddles ( Raine Whispers and Mabel Pines meeting, and introducing their same-named-animals to each other, then talking about bard hobbies they do with them). Once again we just need to choose a breed. Now the classic penguin model is an emperor penguin, but for obvious reasons that will not work for traitor to the throne, rebel leader, Raine Whispers. neither would a king penguin or a crown penguin. I would say the best type of penguin for Raine would be the african penguin. It is slim, has an adorable and still fairly well known black and white stripey design. Is both strong and fast, mates for life, and has no affiliation to outdated system’s of monarchs.

Eberwolf The Huntsman: I looked and looked to see if any one had asked Eber’s voice actor about palisman but found nothing (Why ask the other two but not Eber’s?), so It looks like I will have to pick based on what I know about Eberwolf... I pick a tarantula/giant spider. Sipders are small, fierce, master hunters, like Eberwolf. Spiritually they represent connections and interwoven webs between others. Eberwolf is deeply contected to the beasts on the isles through beast keeping, and the CATT”s since as people have pointed out he is the one who keeps Darius and Raine focused, and is generally the first to move. Also you know how Principal Bump has a staff for Frewin, but normally carries him around on his head? I cannot see Eberwolf carrying a staff around. He runs everywhere, and when he is not running he rides on giant worms (or on Big Bro Darius’s shoulders). So I am imagining that Eber would have a staff just for flying to places when needed, but for ground work the spider would climb on to his back and its legs would turn into backpack straps, so that he could carry them hands free.

Terra Snapdragon: Now we are getting into the “what type of palisman would the baddies bond with”. Terra was surprisingly easy. A poison dart frog. This is a very colorful tropical frog. It’s also very tiny, only about the size of a thumb nail. Terra would not need a staff either, she could probably wear it like a jewel. This frog size makes it look harmless, and again it has really nice, bright, vibrant colors,.. those are a warning, because it’s small fragile looking body is loaded with toxins, and prolonged exposure is hazardous to your health. Just like Terra.

Adrian Graye Venworth: A mouse. We all know who, or should I say what Adrian is based off of; and we all know who, or should I say what its mascot is. No need to make this one harder than it has to be.

Hettie Cutburn: She was a bit harder than Terra. I kept going through witch doctor animals, and really dangerous animals that could hurt you. I finally settled on an electric eal. Just because a patient does not need electroshock therapy, just because it offers no benefit to said patient, is not any reason for Hettie to not suggest shock therapy.

Mason: A beaver It’s brown, burly, good at construction, and I do not think they are all that chatty. With what little we got to see of Mason, him and beaver’s share these traits

Vitimir: A Skunk. Okay I do not think Vitimir is evil. Firstly until I know more about him, Osran, and Mason I am labeling them all as "dumb pawns who could not see that they were being tricked". Secondly the fact that he wears a mask around people unless they start a fight, and only then does he blow acid/poison clouds at them, kinda makes him seem more defensive than out right malice. Like he does not initially want to hurt anyone, but is gonna protect himself in a fight.. But with his “special ability” and the resting anger written clear on his face, I cannot deny that he would be a very unpleasant person to not be on the right side of. A skunk is another animal with a fume related “special ability”, that if encountered you do not want to be on the wrong side of.

Osran: I know nothing about Osran and have some questions as to how Belos managed to trick an elderly Oracle so easily?... Well intelligence isn’t a requirement for being a witch (in this universe), neither is it one for having a palisman. Since Oracle track members fight with ghosts, I will give Osran a little Casper looking ghost palisman. Casper was kinda short-sided too if my memory stands.

Alador Blight: Another pretty easy one as well (this is assuming that the little rat from CATH was not a palisman, but a regular pet). Alador loves butterfly’s and moths. I picked a moth because they are sorta more interesting in meaning. Spiritually a moth means great change is around the corner. In some cultures they are seen as messengers of tragedy,because they are creatures of the dark. (Alador made the abomitron’s that gave the emporer more power, and when he agreed to an increased work week he left his kids more vulnerable to his wife’s abuse). But some cultures also think that moths can mean good changes because they fly towards the light (Alador also said he makes security systems for protecting peoples homes. When he found out just how far down his wife had sunk he destroyed the factory, took the kids, and left). Now moths have as many different breeds as birds. I am going to go with a lunar moth for Alador. They're large, have uniquilly shaped, very aerodynamic wings, and are a beautiful iridescent green with black circles. Very nice to watch, and who knows what inspiration he could gleam from it.

Odalia Blight. A cotton mouthed snake. Okay this women is a snake in the grass, she is tricky, and she is toxic. But she is not a rattle snake or a cobra. Those you know right away are bad news and you should avoid at all costs. From a distance Odalia seems like a sweet middle-aged women, who is trying to balance work, and family, while making it fun for herself. So I am picking a cotton mouthed for her. From a distance they look a bit like a common, harmless, grass/rat snake. It's only when you get closer and see the flattened head that you know they are poisonous. Its only when you get close to Odalia that you notice just how sinister her eyes and smile are.

Harvey Park: Gilbert cannonly has a pig, so I only need to pick for Harvey. I know little about Harvey. In EE when we meet him and Gilbert, Harvey seems the more stern. Well after TTBK a really brilliant fan (not me) wrote a great analysis on Harvey and Gilbert, and the way they seem to handle both magic back then, and parenting now. They said Gilbert was/is more laid-back and optimistic, while Harvey, more than just being stern, is very direct and take charge. If Harvey see’s something that needs to be done, he is not going to wait around or call someone to do it (That will probably be Gilbert if Harvey’s attempt makes it worse) He will role up his sleeves, grab some tools, and try to do it himself. So I will give him a gopher. Because Gopher’s are hard working, independent rodents, who like it best when the are up to their necks in mud and dirt.

Perry Porter. Perry is a former Oracle track witch who is actually a nice guy. He is a news reporter, a single father, brings his son on T.V. with him sometimes, and once let Willow have his mic during a live petrafication event because she had something to say about it. I would say he seems to have similar views as Bump's as far as loyalty to the system. He does his job, but also encourages safe exploration for kids. If the show were longer I might have shipped him with Camila (Eda is with Raine, these two are both single, their kids get along, and he looks kinda similar to her first husband so she would probably find him handsome). I am going to give him a dog, more specifically a Husky. Smart, kind, historically were used to carry mail before air mail became possible

Camila Noceda: I know she is not a witch, but I am choosing to use her. A bangle tiger. She is a tiger mom.

Morton: Everybody remember the kitty palisman that looked like Mew? I want to give Morton one that looks like Gloom or Vileplume. Those are pokemon perfume and potion makers frequently had.

Steve: In my previous post I said he should adopt the purple thing of indeterminable species from Hunting Palismans (I kinda wondered if maybe it was supossed to be a horseshoe crab, one comment I got suggested sting ray). If he cannot adopt them, then maybe a scorpion palisman. Hear me out. We see during his road trip with King, that Steve likes bugs. Steve is not a poisonous guy, he might be the sweetest guy in the Boiling Isles. But he says he was not always like this when he was younger. Scorpions are their most poisonous when they are young, and it lessons with age. 5Steve has gotten better as he grew up and went through life. Also I looked up there meanings and while some of them are not good, scorpions can symbolize light &dark, as well as endings and beganings, more specifically rhe idea that an ending is not really the end. This can reflect how Steve grows to feel about the Emperor’s Coven and his decision to quit.

The Hexside Illusion Teacher: Okay we will discuss her palisman in just a second. Can we discuss her lack of a name first? This is like the best teacher at Hexside (Bump is the best adult, but he is the principal, not a teacher). She deserves a name. I am headcanoning that her name is Mrs.Henrietta Heyfear. Then I am giving her a unicorn palisman. They are large, caring, and powerful, just like her.

Kikimora: (this is after the Emperor is dead, and she cannot just hand one over to him to be eaten) Kikimora always saw herself as this great, and powerful, highly skilled member of The Emperor’s Coven. At the end of it all she was never more than an annoying, yapping, lapdog. Give her chihuahua or Yorkie to match.

Severine: The bipedal deamon who quit the Emperor’s Coven to go back to the Tiny Cat Coven. A kittycorn.

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myhauntedsalem · 1 year

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The Ridgeway Ghost

In Wisconsin folklore there is a famous tale called the Ridgeway Ghost. This ghost story was often told during Wisconsin’s pioneer days.

The following is the story of how the belief in this “ghost” was used to dissuade bad behavior.

Sightings of this ghost occurred along an old military road, a 25-mile stretch–known as the Ridge Road– that ox driven wagons traveled in the Lead Region of this state.

The early mining communities of Blue Mounds and Dodgeville in Iowa County book ended this 25-mile stretch. The settlement of Ridgeway that this ghost was named for was halfway between these two mining camps.

The ghost used this settlement as its headquarters.

It was said…

This ghost is unusual in that it can change its’ shape.

This phantom was a man with a whip that chased the living.

Or this ghost was a headless horseman.

Or even creepier–this entity was a fierce beast like creature or ball of fire.

People warned…

This haunting was the result of a bar fight. Two brothers–14 and 15 years old–had the misfortune to be involved in a saloon brawl in the 1840s.

A rowdy threw the 14-year old into a fireplace where he burned to death. The other brother managed to escape but froze to death on his way home.

A Respected witness…

Doctor Cutler of Dodgeville was the first person to see this ghost in the 1850s.

He stated the face of the ghost appeared on a pole on his wagon as he was driving home one night–just as he passed the home of the deceased brothers.

Most frightening of all…

This entity would attack travelers and then would immediately disappear.

Several witnesses, including a well-liked man named John Lewis, who saw this ghost were then plagued by ailments and died.

Locals started to refuse to go out at night alone.

Along this 25-mile stretch, between Dodgeville and Pokerville, were at least a dozen saloons each with a worse reputation than the last.

Gamblers, miners and “toughs” frequented these establishments.

Tavern fights often broke out between drunks and robberies and murders were a common occurrence.

Many of the miners and locals were Welsh and Cornish folk–both these cultures were steeped in old superstitions.

As the story goes the Ridgeway Ghost was manufactured to help rid the region of the disreputable element, which hung out in these saloons.

Practical jokers then helped to spread the growing belief in this ghost. It only took a few “pranks” which then threw the entire region into a panic.

In 1910 when the town of Ridgeway burnt down it is said that this entity moved to the woods near Mineral Point.

#The Ridgeway Ghost #paranormal #paranormal phenomena #ghost and hauntings #ghost and spirits #haunted salem #myhauntedsalem

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pbandjesse · 1 year

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I am having a nice day.

I slept alright last night. I woke up in a pretty good mood. James had already gone to work. And I took my time getting together. I got washed up and dressed. My hair is still bothering me but it's now mostly because I think I want a hair cut. But also maybe I want to grow it out?? I'm going to leave it alone for now. Even if it's driving me crazy.

I brought my knitting today to get caught up. And I stopped for breakfast. I was still a little early so I ate in the parking lot before I went in.

I held hands with James for a minute before I went to get ready for my group. I had an assembly line and then a tour. Easy peasy day.

And they were excellent kids. Just super sweet. My real issue was the teacher was a little miserable. When the school got there James accidentally called over the intercom for the other school that was coming. But I was right there and called for Adam to come out to get the other bus.

But when I got on the bus there wasn't a teacher. Sometimes they already head in, to pay or whatever, so I figured that was just that so I spoke to the kids. Gave them instructions and started to take them in. And when I did that their teacher like. Panicked? I am not sure but she was like "were going in now???" But like. Mad at me? And I was like. Huh?? Is this bus one group? Everything okay?? And she was like yeah but she (meaning Jessica) said ridgeway and not to come in. Frowning and scowling the whole time. And I called to Jessica and she said it's all good bring them in, oh they are one group! Excellent.

So I just ignored the weird energy. And got the kids in and dropped things off. I gave them some instructions and we went back to the assembly line.

And they did so good. I had a few children with special needs. So I checked with their adults on what they would be comfortable doing. And got them situated.

And it was a really fun time. They did a great job with my questions. A few of them were honestly to excited! So many questions. So much to tell me. But it was fun.

We finished up the cars. Watched a video. And got to go and chill in the car and play for a little until lunch.

During lunch I enjoyed a conversation about prepping with Cindy and Jordan. Cindy told us about the bunkers her neighbors growing up had and Jordan told us about a dream he had where he was the "keeper of the culture" and protecting artifacts in a bunker during the end of the world.

My tour was great. It started. A little late because even though I gave them a 5 minute warning. But like. Then they didn't start cleaning their tables and lining up in groups until we came to get them. Annoying but whatever.

The tour was going really well. Until we started running into other groups. Because when I had made the tour route this morning I messed it up again!!! And so we lapped over each other and so I had to go out of order and then do the hallway with the umbrellas. Which was fine but man. Annoying. And then I felt bad for messing up. Everyone said it was okay but still made me feel dumb.

Once the day was done I got some hugs from the kids. Sweet babies. And then they were heading out. And I was heading to the front desk to cover for James.

I would have some great conversations with a few guests of the museum and I had lots of time to knit and almost am caught up. People also wanted to know about how my loom works and it was fun showing it off and encouraging others to try it!

Soon after 2 James would take the desk back over and I would head out.

I had a 40 minute drive out to camp. And I was happy to be there. It was beautiful out. Tomorrow is not going to be as nice weather wise. But that's alright. I was still happy to be there.

I checked in with Elizabeth and Heather. We talked about the possible full time a little. Made a plan to actually sit down sometime soon. And then I went to start pulling everything out. The gator was being fixed so I would have to do it by myself.

I was not looking forward to this. So I started with the art building. I put things out. Started checking the walkies. Things were alright. I didn't have enough outlets so I would ehsd over to the lodge to try to find some there.

Which is where I ran into Joe. Who said there was one gator that was mostly working! So I would head over to the tool shed and got the gator and it was a little jumpy and hard to turn but it drove just fine.

I was proud of my k turns. I got turned around in a tight space and that is like. Wildly difficult. But I did it! And got everything packed on and then delivered it all to the locations. Took a while. I would work from 3 until about 430. I enjoyed driving around.

Once I was done there I checked in with Heather and Elizabeth again. And got some stuff printed. And then it was time to go home.

There was a lot of traffic so I took a back route to 83. And while I was not happy about driving directly into the sun, it was a nice drive and I would get home by 515. And James was making corn on the cob and vegan fried shrimp.

I would finish ironing my sweatshirt for camp. And I decided to embroider a line to be the ground and I love how it came out. I might add more stuff later. Like stars or something. But I'm happy.

Dinner was good. And I was feeling good. I am tired. But I have been enjoying watching judge Judy on TikTok with James.

We had some packages to open. The stickers I designed came!! They are smaller then I expected so next time I'll order the next size up. I also got my new sandals!! And they are so cute!! I can't wait until I can wear them.

Now though I am ready to take a shower. I think I will wait to wash my hair until tomorrow because I'll be out in the rain a bunch. I hope the day goes smoothly and is fun.

I hope you all have a great night. Sleep well my friends. Be safe!

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samanddeanwerehere · 1 year

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The Winchesters 1x13 Hey, That’s No Way To Say Goodbye Map

Great group of locations in this episode, and 100% found (though I am making an assumption that the bar location is a set - it has that look). The bus station is a beautifully restored art deco airport where you can dine at the restaurant located inside. The site of the big confrontation with the Akrida queen is an abandoned naval complex on Poland Ave that is not publicly accessible, but does have a little visibility from outside the gate on Dauphine St. There's returning locations like the Winchester Garage, the Campbell House (though the footage here is reused from 1x08) and the Carver Theater. And of course the road where Mary and John are driving during the Ramble On montage, which is on Ridgeway Blvd which runs through the Bayou Sauvage National Wildlife Refuge.

Don’t see the location for a scene on the map? It was probably shot on set or a private interior. Feel free to drop a line in the ask box with questions!

Then and Now locations photos from this episode.

#spnlocations #winchesterslocations #supernatural #the winchesters #tw 1x13 #hey that's no way to say goodbye #new orleans #episode map

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vision360tours · 2 months

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Home for Sale - 3415 Ridgeway Drive Unit 1, Mississauga, ON L5L 0B9 Virtual Tour: https://tours.vision360tours.ca/3415-ridgeway-drive-unit-1-mississauga/

#Home for Sale #Mississauga #Ontario #Vision 360 Tours

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kontji · 2 months

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JOB LISTINGS AND OPPORTUNITIES FOR WEEK OF FEB. 18 – 24, 2024

HELP WANTED Career Fair, Sat. March 2, 10 am – 1 pm, Hickory Hill Community Center, 3910 Ridgeway Rd. (City of Memphis; Multiple Positions) Helper/Service Tech/Installer, Bryko HVAC, 5302 Crestview Drive (Apply in person or call 386-2538) Roll off Driver (Call Greg at 553-1186) Panel Tech, Thermal Economy (Apply online at www.thermaleconomy.com/panel-technician-job-application) Technician…

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#Arkansas #career #Jobs #Memphis #Mid-South #Mississippi #opportunities #Tennessee

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reviewadvisers · 1 year

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Finding the Right Tyres for Your 4X4 in Birmingham

The Right Tyre Size

The primary factor to consider when choosing the right tyre size for your car is the size of the tyres. Thats because a tyre will have a different size depending on its type and design. For example, if you are looking for 4x4 tyres in Birmingham, you need to make sure that you choose the right size for your car to ensure good performance, fuel economy, comfort, durability and noise reduction.

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Tyres are the most essential part of your vehicle. They are the only point of contact between your vehicle and the road, and thus it is essential that you maintain them. If youre not careful about the tyres, you will face various issues, both in terms of safety and convenience. So, it is essential that you keep in mind all the aspects before buying a new set of tyres. But there are times when you dont have time to buy tyres, or if you know there is a problem with your vehicle and you are not sure whether you can fix it or not, then you need to buy a set of tyres that are compatible with the vehicle. With the current situation, you would get an idea of which tyres are the best according to your requirements.

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Tyres are one of the most significant components of a vehicle, and they play an important role in the security, overall performance, and comfort of your car. Whether you need to replace the tyres on your car or have some other sort of issue with them, you should be aware of the benefits of having quality tyres, like those offered by Ridgeway. When purchasing tyres, you should keep the following things in mind: The tyres must be able to withstand the pressure of the vehicle. The quality of the tyres must be able to withstand the stresses placed on them. The tyres must be in a good state of repair and in good working order. The tyres must be capable of performing the work to be performed by them. The tyres must be of the highest quality, like those offered by Ridgeway. Manufacturers claims of their products are not to be taken lightly. When purchasing tyres, there is a wide range of options available. The tyres offered by different companies may be wildly different. This can be due

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Tyres Birmingham is a popular option for 4X4 cars due to their superior grip and ability to handle tough road conditions. 4x4 tyres are also popular among drivers who do a lot of highway driving because of their superior fuel efficiency and improved ride quality. As a car owner, you know the importance of tyres, as they are the only part of the vehicle that comes in contact with the road. It is crucial to know where to buy 4x4 tyres Birmingham for the best quality products. Here are a few of the best places to purchase 4x4 tyres: One of the best places to buy 4x4 Tyres Birmingham is...

Choosing the Right Tyres

A cars best friend is its tyres, and its easy to forget that tyres are the only contact point between your vehicle and the road. When a vehicle is moving, the tyres are churning out every bit of traction and grip that they can produce. But as soon as the vehicle stops, the tyres have to stop and grip the road surface. This is why its important to make sure that the tyres youre choosing are the right ones for your needs. There are a lot of different types of tyres available on the market, each with its particular benefits. You need to determine which type of tyre will best suit your needs.4X4 Tyres Tadley is the right choice for your vehicle.For those in Birmingham, Mobile Tyre Fitting Birmingham is an excellent option.

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Goodyear Tyres Redditch

The tyres are the most important part of your vehicle, as they are the only parts that make contact with the road. Goodyear Tyres Redditch play a crucial role in the safety and performance of your vehicle, so it is essential to take proper care of them. By using the best quality tyres, you can improve the performance of your car. There are many factors that affect tyre performance, and this blog will help you to understand them better. Tyre inflation pressure is one of the most important factors that affects tyre performance. Research shows that the tyre pressure can either improve or decrease tyre performance. To maintain the correct tyre pressure and improve the performance of your tyres, it is important to keep an eye on tyre performance.

4X4 Tyres Birmingham

At Tyre Savings, we offer a wide range of 4X4 Tyres Birmingham for you to choose from.

#Tyres

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kartalaeid · 1 year

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Conspiracies are a leitmotif of talk radio, even its organizing principle--the bond that unites millions of voters, each in a separate car, driving and listening and, from time to time, pounding the steering wheel in frustration. James Ridgeway, The Village Voice, 14 June 1994

Ms. Silverthorne suggests in "Sojourner at Cross Creek" that a leitmotif of Rawlings's life was betrayal or the fear of it, an anxiety that developed following the end of her first marriage, in 1933, and lasting the rest of her life. Jerome Griswold, The New York Times Book Review, 20 Nov. 1988

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getoutofthisplace · 2 months

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Dear Gus & Magnus,

The weather was pretty today and I was glad to come home to you and the Grummer kids playing in the front yard. Magnus is making some progress on that scooter.

Dad.

Little Rock, Arkansas. 2.15.2024 - 5.35pm.

#magnus choate #lane grummer #martin grummer #jacob grummer #ridgeway drive #kids #hillcrest #scooters

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rotworld · 7 months

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3: Eye For An Eye

(previous)

the law of prismville is reciprocity.

->sexually explicit. contains gore, body horror, decapitation, size difference.

She sits on the metal guardrail with a cigarette dangling between her fingers, watching the fog dance. Her hair is auburn and halfway down her back. “Chilly out here,” she murmurs. She nudges an acorn around with the toe of her shoe. Sometimes she leans over your shoulder, watching your pencil move. You mark New Ridgeway with an X inside a circle. Don’t come back here, it means. “Man. You do this all the time, huh? Drive around out here like it’s nothing. What do you do if you get lost? Or stuck in a shift?”

You shrug. “I figure it out.”

She exhales, stretches her arms above her head. Rolls her shoulders until they pop. “Couriers are just built different, huh? Fair enough. I’m not cut out for this shit.” She purses her lips around the filter and closes her eyes. Eventually, the tremors in her hands die down and she holds one out to shake. “Meryl Underhill. Associate Professor, Department of Verisimilibiology. Mimic studies, basically.”

“The University sent you out here?” you ask.

“Cleanup assignment. We do pest control, you know. Not really anybody else qualified.”

“Pest control? With a sledgehammer?”

“I know. Should’ve brought a shotgun. We got a letter last shift from New Ridgeway about some glass mimics nesting in a sawmill, could somebody give it a look, clean ‘em out, et cetera. I think the fucking mimics wrote that letter.”

Elisile said he knew somebody in the Stillwoods. You wonder if that was true. You wonder if any of it was true. “What do you think happened back there?”

Meryl shrugs, blowing out a line of smoke. “Mass exodus. That’s the only thing that makes sense with mirror hoarding like that.”

“They up and left?” you say, incredulous. “The whole town? Why?”

“No clue. I just got into town last night and it was already empty. Must’ve happened during the shift.” She looks at your map again, sparse as it is. Henley Creek in the center; New Ridgeway, no man’s land; the little starburst of Prismville, all in a line. Highway squiggles snake out of Verlinda in five directions and go nowhere, vanishing into the vast unknown. The whole thing might be obsolete in a day or two, or a week. “Makes you wonder, doesn’t it?” Meryl says. “What kind of apocalypse works that way. It’s gotta take years and god knows how much money to import all those mirrors, sneak ‘em past border inspection. What kinda thing goes so slow you can wait that long to run from it, but when you leave, you gotta go to a whole other fucking dimension?”

You sit in silence, watching the road for a while. The sun’s setting, somewhere beyond the fog and the clouds, a shadowy gloom settling over the Drift. A harsh wind rattles the trees. Something yips and screeches far away. Meryl shivers. “We should get moving,” you say gently.

“Yeah,” she says, clearing her throat. “Yeah, yeah. Definitely. Damn, I shoulda brought better shit to trade. Honestly I’d give my kidney for a bed right about now.”

“They barter in Prismville?” you ask.

She chuckles as she limps back to her car. “You’ll see.”

[NOW PLAYING ON THE RADIO: LUNA (MOON OF CLAIMING) BY CEMETERIES]

Night strips the roads of detail. Everything beyond the gaze of your headlights is shadow play, mere shape and silhouette. The path slithers, jagged sidewinder, down corridors of evergreen. The underbrush goes thin and patchy beyond the guardrail, tufts of hardy wildflowers swaying in your wake. You crest a hill and below, nestled in a crater-shaped valley, city lights glitter like grounded stars.

The Prismville welcome sign is suspended on a highway overpass, blocky lettering affixed to a metal scaffold. It’s not neon but it glows like it in your headlights, sanded gemstones scattering slivers of rainbow. Ahead is the busiest, most bustling city you’ve ever seen. There’s traffic—real traffic like you’ve only heard of it, bumper to bumper, crawling snail’s pace through intersections. The roads are glassy and glittering, geode avenues shimmering with bands of indigo, cyan and pale shades of rose. Highrises of gigantic quartz cut a jagged, angular skyline and the streetlights are capped with prismatic crystalline shades like painted glass.

It’s dark, you realize. Bright enough to see, but dimmer than you expect a city this size. They keep the lights low where they have them, strangled and split through thick gemstone panes. It’s a full moon tonight but the clouds seem thicker here, slow-moving. They form wispy, dangling funnels and hide the stars.

The first hotel you spot has a holographic courier sticker on the automatic doors. Meryl parks beside you, off to grab a luggage cart before you can stop her. “It’s the least I can do,” she says. You don’t have much to deliver but the crate’s unwieldy and you don’t want to risk dropping anything. The lobby is opulent, black marble veined with gold. What you mistake for potted plants by the door is carved stone, thin stalks of obsidian topped with emerald leaves and pale chalcedony blossoms. An artificial waterfall trickles softly behind the front desk. Someone, somewhere, is playing the piano.

“Thanks for the escort. And, y’know. Saving my ass,” Meryl says, the closest you’ve seen her to sheepish. “I owe you one. If I ever make it back to the University and you’re ever in the neighborhood, ask around for me.” She drags herself to the front desk as soon as one of the receptionists are free and you find a quiet place to sit, settling on a leather sofa. Shrugging off your backpack, you check your map again, widening the boundaries of Prismville. You stretch your legs and watch people come and go.

You’re far from the only late night traveler. Guests, new arrivals, and the hopelessly lost trickle in and out. Two women in cocktail dresses link arms on their way to the elevators. A man in a suit keeps checking his watch, watching the circle drive outside the front doors. A child sits unattended on the couch across from you. She might be nine or ten. Long, unruly hair hangs in her face but you feel her staring intently. Strangest of all is the table of miners still in mud-covered boots and uniforms, playing cards around a table. One of them is covered head to toe, features obscured by a hard hat and respirator mask with the long tube hooked to a canister at their hip. They hiss something that makes the others laugh uproariously.

“You’ll have to tell the front desk.”

You flinch, startled. Someone walked right up behind you, a hand resting on the couch beside your shoulder. He’s wearing gloves. The leather crinkles when he shifts slightly, noticing your discomfort.

“Didn’t mean to sneak up on you,” he says. He’s average height, tall but not too tall. His hair is neither particularly long nor short. He wears a white button up and black slacks. Unremarkable, except for the gloves. There’s some kind of glittering dust on the palms. “This is a big city. They’ve got more than one courier spot. If you tell the front desk, they’ll call the other locations, get everything organized. Very efficient.”

“Thanks,” you say.

He smiles, waves. Walks away. The man checking his watch looks up and the two of them leave together. You’ve already forgotten what he looked like.

But he was right. The front desk handles everything. A few phone calls later and grateful strangers arrive. The specimen jars go to a petite woman in a University sweatshirt. “They didn’t make any noise, did they?” she asks.

“I don’t think so,” you say. She looks relieved and hands you a hefty hardbound tome. There is no text on either cover. The edges of the pages are gilded. “Where do you want me to take this?”

“Oh! No, it’s for you,” she says kindly, shaking her head when you offer it back. She leaves before you can stop her. That’s strange, you think. Maybe it’s a local custom to pay couriers.

The letter is for an older man in a wool coat. He rips open the seal and reads it in front of you, sighing deeply. He shoves a bottle of wine at you and turns to leave without a word.

“Atticus Gosse, where do you think you’re going?”

The man freezes. The lobby is utterly still and silent. The miner in a mask stands from the table, and only now, as the dangling, teardrop diamonds of the crystal chandelier scrape their helmet, do you realize just how enormous they are. They saunter closer, their footsteps sounding like grinding stone. Their voice is a brittle rasp, wheezing and muffled through the filter of their mask. They speak slowly with small, slight hand gestures. Their gloves, like the rest of their clothes, settle strangely on their body, saggy and shapeless in places, clinging tightly to hard lumps and ridges in others.

Atticus frowns tightly. “Do I know you?” he says tersely.

“Gosse,” the miner sighs. “You’re making me look bad. What’s the law in Prismville, hm?”

“I paid them.”

“A bottle of wine, for news like that?” The miner takes another crunching step forward, beside you now. The rough material of their glove settles on your shoulder. It feels more like reassurance than a threat, but you’re still intimidated by their shadow falling over you. You have to crane your neck to peer into the darkened portholes of their mask. Something glints inside. “You got the cheap stuff, too. Not that it matters what it cost, but you wouldn’t even drink this swill yourself. That,” they point to the letter crumpling in his fist, “is near priceless to you. Isn’t it? Are you seeing the problem here? You’re a tourist but you know better, I know you do. What’s the law?”

Atticus tries to speak but all that comes out is a sharp, wispy sound; chalk squealing softly on a blackboard. He touches his throat with a shaky hand, eyes wide, disbelieving. Blood trickles from the corner of his mouth. You don’t know what’s happening but you feel like it’s your fault. “He really did pay me,” you insist. “And he didn’t have to. Nobody usually—”

The miner squeezes your shoulder, hard. A warning. “The law of Prismville is reciprocity,” they say. Atticus sinks to his knees convulsing, nails raking desperately over his own neck. He scratches and claws at himself until his fingers are wet and red, until he’s torn through his skin and sunk his fingers into the glistening meat underneath. There’s something there, protruding between muscle and tendon. Thorny starbursts. Hard mineral growths. Gemstones, you realize, veiny and bloodsoaked. He tries to pull them out but his fingers are slick and trembling. He makes a strangled sound and something rattles in his chest. The blood he vomits on the floor is gritty like sand.

“What’s that even mean to you, Gosse? You spit in the waiter’s face when they bring the check?” The miner lets you go and lumbers forward. Atticus is bleeding from the eyes and ears now, thick and sludgy like lava down a volcanic slope. He coughs up a chunk of tourmaline with grimy bits of esophagus clinging to its jagged edges. One massive gloved hand seizes his head just as he starts to droop. The miner lifts him off the ground without even a grunt of exertion and carnelians scatter from the yawning wound in his throat. Their other hand grasps his shoulder. You watch in horror as they start to pull.

Atticus comes apart like a ragdoll with its seams snipped. Skin stretches taut, splits, unravels, and finally snaps apart with another gush of slow-moving blood. It oozes onto the floor in a long, igneous clot. Small, colorful stones skitter across the marble floor. His head leaves behind a gaping, ruby neck wound studded with turquoise and zircon, harder and sharper than bone. The body slumps and the miner, soaked in quickly drying, hardening garnet blood, looks at you.

“Take what you’re owed, courier,” they say. You don’t move. You see yourself reflected in the black portholes of the mask, shrinking back. “But it’s all yours. As much as you want.” They hold out the head by the hair as though you might find it enticing. You shake your head.

“No. No thanks,” you say quickly.

“The law of Prismville is reciprocity. You did a service. Now you get paid.”

“I don’t want…that.” You’re acutely aware of the silence now that it’s crept back in the absence of someone struggling and trying to scream. “If you really want to pay me, then—if you have any eggs…”

“Eggs?” the miner repeats. You can’t tell if they’re angry or just incredulous.

“Please,” you add.

They chuckle, dropping the head atop the body. “You poor thing. Of course. Let’s get you some eggs.”

Just like that, gentle ambience washes over the lobby again. Chatter, laughter, the tinkling notes of the piano, back like they were never gone. Someone in a staff uniform begins collecting the gruesome gemstones. Someone else wheels in a cart of cleaning supplies. You flinch when the miner approaches you. They bend slightly, plucking your last delivery from the luggage cart; the crate. It should take a crowbar to pry off the lid but they snap it open with barely a flick of their fingers, peering at the contents. “Perfect, thank you. Now I owe you, too.”

“Just eggs,” you insist fearfully.

“You’ve never been here before, have you? I’m sorry, I really must’ve scared you with all this.” They nod towards the elevators. “Come upstairs. Rest a while. You don’t have anywhere to be, do you?” You stammer an excuse as they reach up, lifting off their helmet and setting it in your lap. They have no hair but strange, swirling stone in the shape of it. The straps of their mask are pulled taut over twisting rock formations, white and gold-speckled granite forming frozen waves and nautilus curls. When they unlatch the clasps and pull off their masks, your breath catches in your throat.

She’s pale like limestone but prettier, a colorful sheen across her skin like the inside of an abalone. The striated stone of her hair forms delicate, framing curls around her face. Her lashes are glossy onyx and and her eyes banded agate. Full, nacre lips curl into a smile and the sound of her facial movement is the scrape of stone. “Do I still scare you?” she asks, her voice the same breathless rasp even without the mask muffling it. You’re too stunned to answer. She chuckles and nods towards the elevator again. “Come on, courier. Let me do something for you.”

She takes up most of the elevator, ducking slightly to fit inside. You squeeze against the wall but it’s impossible not to brush against her. The texture of her body is distinct even through a bulky layer of clothing. You feel curves; dips and grooves; some sharp, prodding things. “Call me Iridesce,” she says. “Welcome to Prismville. I’m a supervisor at the chameleite mines.” She studies you, smile widening at your confused expression. “You’ve seen chameleite before. They call it other things, depending on its tinge. It’s used for construction in some places. Computer parts. Proofing mirrors. Jewelry, of course. It’s extremely malleable. I could show you how we treat it sometime, if you’d like it.”

The numbers tick higher as the elevator rises. You’re headed to the sixteenth floor, the very top. PENTHOUSE, the label reads beside the button. “What are the laws here, exactly?” you ask. “You said reciprocity. I just want to make sure I don’t, uh…”

“Earlier? Ah.” She tucks the crate one of her arms. Her other hand settles on your back, gently rubbing. Her fingers are unusually long; you can feel them through the glove. She digs them into your muscles, easing tension you didn’t realize was there. “It’s simple. Reciprocity. If you receive, then you give something back. The value must be equal. Not monetarily, of course. Sentiment. Meaning. Intention matters most.”

“I’m not sure I understand. Who decides what something is worth?”

She just smiles. The elevator stops, doors sliding open. Iridesce leads you through a winding labyrinth, black walls inset with swirling crystal panels. The penthouse is at the very end of a hallway and just as luxurious as the rest of the hotel. Iridesce sets the crate aside and sheds clothing across the floor as she walks deeper inside. A thorny patch of amethyst and rose quartz grows from one of her moonstone shoulders. Her stone skin is open in places. Honeycomb indentations litter her chest and torso, little mouths of geode full of glittering crystal, but she is smooth between her legs.

She perches on the edge of a canopied bed, parting the velvet curtain with one large, long-fingered hand. A ridge of aquamarine glitters in her wrist.

“Courier,” she says, beckoning you with one curling finger and half-lidded eyes. “Come here, precious. The road’s eaten into you. Let me soothe those aches.”

“You don’t need to,” you say, but you go to her. Her fingers aren’t as cold as you expect, the warmth faint, buried somehow. They’re perfectly smooth as they trace your jaw and lure you closer. She’s close enough to kiss and then she dances away. Your palms sink into the mattress as you crawl forward, beneath the shadow of the canopy. The bed is enormous, easily able to accommodate both of you, but she pulls you into her lap. Her thighs are thick and veined with swirls of sapphire like porcelain.

“But it’s my pleasure,” she murmurs, massaging your shoulders. “Repayment doesn’t have to be a chore. And you’re so lovely.” Her lips are softer than you expect. The kisses are chaste at first, fleeting. She eases off your jacket and slips her hands under your shirt, teasing you, flicking her thumbs over your nipples. “Do you want what I’m offering, courier?” You nod and she chuckles, cupping your chin. “Don’t be shy, my sweet. Have as much as you like.”

The next kiss is hungrier. She coaxes your mouth open and her tongue is warm and wet, licking into you. One hand stays on your chest but the other slides down, clutching your waist. You’re reminded of just how much larger she is; the spread of her palm alone wraps around your body, her spidery fingers clutching nearly halfway around you. She guides you into a languid grind. The grooves and bumps on her thigh create pleasant friction. She hisses when you move your core against them.

“Does that hurt?” you ask. She makes a pleased sound, a hum of laughter, her breath fanning across your lips.

“Mm. Just the opposite,” she says. She reaches down and lightly scratches the end of her finger against one of the rounded gems embedded in her skin. Her eyes fall shut and her hips jump beneath you. “Why don’t you keep rubbing yourself on them, hm?”

You lose your shirt next. Iridesce strokes the newly-exposed skin, sliding her hands up and down your sides. Your hands settle on her chest, cupping the heavy spill of her breasts. They’re firm, the first part of her that looks as stiff as it feels. But when you drag the pad of your thumb over the rose quartz embedded along her collarbones, she grips you tightly. You keep stroking them as she draws you in for another kiss, gaping softly into your mouth.

It stops too soon, too suddenly. Iridesce pulls away and stops you from following, pressing her finger to your lips. “Everything off, my dear,” she whispers. The concentric mineral rings in her eyes have widened like a dilated pupil. “Let’s see if I can fit inside you.”

You watch her as you strip off your pants. She knows where you look and lets her legs fall apart. There’s nothing there. Smooth stone, not even adorned with little gemstones like her hips. You wonder if she’ll use her hands—they’re smooth and long, surely satisfying, large enough that just a finger or two could fill you—but then she twists to reach into the bedside drawer. You hear the click of plastic. She drizzles cool, clear lube into one of her hands.

“Come back to me, lovely. In my lap like before, but facing away.” The textures of her body rub into your skin. It’s not unpleasant, nothing too hard or sharp unless you dip your fingers into the jagged geode openings. You settle atop one of her thigh crystals and it’s warm, startlingly so. She spreads your legs wider. One hand holds your hip and the other reaches down, feeling for your entrance. She traces her finger all around the opening, teasing. Her breath warms your ear as she eases just the tip inside. You lean your head back against her shoulder. “That’s it,” she whispers. “Relax. Oh, you’re so tight. Are the roads lonely?”

“Ahh—sometimes,” you stammer.

“You won’t be lonely tonight.” She stretches you slowly, murmuring praise against your ear. She’s up to two fingers before long, slow, deep strokes that reach just the right spot inside you to make your breath hitch. “Should we stop here?” she asks. Her tone is airy and teasing. She doesn’t mean it, but you still whine when her hand stops moving. “You’re such a small thing next to me, and you’re already squeezing so tight. It doesn’t seem like you can take much more.”

“Please.” You’re begging before you’ve really thought about it. You stroke her thigh, thumbing those raised spots that make her moan. She presses her lips to the nape of your neck and curls her fingers inside you, pressing against that same spot until you whine. You’re not happy when she withdraws her fingers but then she reaches over again, grabbing something from the drawer again.

Impossibly long and as thick as your arm, it’s the same shimmery color as her body. The head is a tapered mushroom shape and there are bulging veins carved along the shaft. The underside bulges slightly, studded with small bumps the same size as her thigh crystals. Iridesce grips it by the base, laying the entire length between your legs so you can feel its strange, pulsating heat against your skin. You give it a light, testing squeeze, cupping the throbbing bulge along the bottom, and Iridesce inhales sharply. She rocks her hips against your back.

“Here, courier. Take what you’re owed,” she murmurs. She urges your legs apart again, spreading you over her lap. The toy—if that’s what it is—slides in easily until you reach the thick flare at the base of the head. Iridesce gives you short, shallow thrusts but you can feel it’s not enough. Her movements are shaky, the hand on your hip squeezing hard enough to leave bruises. There’s a pause, a shared grunt when she pulls it out. Then she’s pushing you down on the bed and rolling you over onto your back.

You’re struck again by her size, how completely she takes up your vision looming over you. “Legs up, darling,” she says, her voice ragged. You struggle to hold them yourself so your knees go over her shoulders. The spongy tip of the dildo pushes back inside you, and then it goes deeper. The first small, bumpy ridge drags just the right away against your inner walls. You think you’re full by the second but there’s still so much more. Iridesce starts a rhythm she can’t maintain, slow, steady thrusts becoming faster and harder.

“You’re—oh, you’re perfect!” she moans. You didn’t realize how gentle she was being before, but now she’s pounding you with the full length and you can barely breathe. You’re full now, you’re sure of it. You’re stretched as far as you can go and twisting your hands in the sheets, the bed shaking and your thighs trembling over her shoulders. Beneath her, seeing her lashes flutter against her cheek and her lips part in a soft moan, hips moving, you can’t tell whether the thick cock inside you is in her hand or between her legs. “Cum for me, precious,” Iridesce whispers, thrusting harder, fucking you into the mattress. “I want to feel you fall apart.”

She kisses you, trails her lips from your cheek to your neck and sinks her teeth into your skin. The length inside you drills fast and deep and throbs, the bulge rippling, every little bump massaging your inner walls, and it’s all you can take. You cum with a cry and arch into those last frantic thrusts. Iridesce swallows your moans and buries the tip of the dildo as deep as she can. It twitches, little sharp movements like a dry orgasm, before it gradually softens inside you.

Awareness becomes foggy and distant. Your thighs ache. There’s something hissing—water running. You’re lifted, carried into another room. Hot water engulfs you and you sigh, leaning into the pleasant pressure of Iridesce’s hands on your scalp. “I should order us some room service,” she muses, kissing your shoulder. “Maybe after we luxuriate for a bit, hm?”

You nod in agreement, relaxing against her chest. She rests a hand on your thigh and you feel the striations of the stone like muscle fibers. It occurs to you suddenly that she is what the man downstairs was becoming. “Have you…?” You hesitate, unsure of what to ask or if you even should. She hums encouragingly. “Have you ever…not repaid someone the way you should’ve?”

“A long time ago,” she tells you. “A long, long time ago. Prismville was hardly a town then. I stole little things here and there, just to make him mad. Well…not just for that.”

“Who?”

Iridesce laughs and strokes your hair. She never answers you.

(next)

#rotpeach writes #goretober #the drift #normally i try to arrange things so my octobers are quiet and orderly lol but i was unlucky this year and havent had as much time as id lik #so please bear with me i will try and get to asks soonish!

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