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honeyynymphh · 1 year

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| a little nightmarish, a little maudlin (good golly go get this kid some laudanum!) |

(Dracopia) Cardinal Copia x FemReader rating: T (will be E) word count: 3k chapter: 1 of 2 warnings: none (for now)

A storm hits while on your way home from a party and your coach breaks down. Surely the church you passed by will offer shelter until you can safely return home?

read on A03

16th September 1893 London

The coach rocked across the muddy roads, sending you falling across the seat. You couldn’t believe how fast the weather had turned. It was only a mere hour ago you were outside on the terrace of Lady Grainger’s estate enjoying that first chill of an autumnal breeze as you tried to escape a rather amorous suitor. While the soiree had ended on high spirits, you were desperate to return home to your bed. However, it looked as if your journey were to be an uncomfortable one. Perhaps it would have been wiser to have listened to your older sister and returned early with her and your brother-in-law. But it had been weeks since you’d been out of the house, let alone to a party! And how long had it been since you had heard music? And drunk something that wasn't watered-down sherry? And going to the modiste had been an absolute dream—even if it meant listening to your sister complain about your choice of fabric. The past few months had so been full of fear and unease with all those disappearances. It had left the local law enforcement utterly bamboozled and every person on the street had been eyed with suspicion. And you had been left to wallow in absolute boredom.

It had suddenly all come to a stop only last month. Weeks had passed and there had been no further disappearances or bodies found in dark alleyways. The town had feared that another madman was on the loose, another Jack the Ripper stalking the streets and taking women with ease every few days. It had been difficult to discover any details, your sister having had all the newspapers immediately confiscated and instructing the butler to cut out anything that would potentially cause distress. All you had had were the rumours that flew around at the tea shop and the gossiping old biddies that frequented the dry and tedious charity teas. And then you hadn't even had that! Your sister and brother-in-law insisting that you stay inside the house when the last few girls that had disappeared had been from your own social circle. After week after tedious week of being sequestered away with your unruly nieces and nephews even the weak tea and repetitive questions of why you were not yet betrothed sounded downright delightful— how you had longed for even the driest of charity luncheons. Your sister meant well but being locked away and only allowed outside with your sister's mother-in-law was definitely the worst sort of torture imaginable.

The wheels squelch as they rock through the thick mud and you glance out the carriage window to see the heavy clouds in the sky as fat droplets of rain burst against the glass pane. Lady Grainger had announced a not-so-small soiree to celebrate the end of terror. Nobody had gone missing for the past two months and everyone had declared the nightmare officially over. You thought it strange that it had suddenly ceased but you were not going to question it. After reading nearly every single book in the library at least three times and having tried (and spectacularly failed) to master the pianoforte you were desperate for any sort of entertainment. The whole point of this trip to visit your sister was so that you could find a suitable match, and instead of being here for the Season you’d been here nearly six months.

You definitely had too much ratafia this evening and the swaying of the coach was not helping matters. While Lady Grainger was a bit overbearing, she threw a good party. Her large home was towards the outskirts of town and it was nearly an hour's ride but her beautiful gardens and decadent ballroom were more than worth the long journey.

A large slash of lightning blares across the sky and you feel the wheels of the coach rock as the rain thunders against the roof. You fling your hands out, satin-covered fingers fumbling at the leather seat as you try to steady yourself. The rain continued to pelt against the coach and you could feel the way the wheels were sliding through what was now surely thick mud. It was so easy to picture that knowing look on your sister's face when you eventually arrived home. Despite losing nearly every round of faro—your reticle was feeling much lighter than it had at the beginning of the evening—the party had been immensely enjoyable. Even listening to Mrs Henderson prattle on about her son Henry while she was wearing one of her horribly garish turbans had been pure heaven after being shut in for so long. Admittedly, the novelty had worn off rather quickly. The ratafia had definitely helped on that account.

It seemed now that you had enjoyed too much freedom and Mother Nature was seeking to dampen your spirits quite literally. The coach came to a stop before you heard the sound of the driver jumping down and then a knock on the coach's door before it opened. The sound of the wind wiping outside assaulted your ears and you shivered from the biting cold.

“‘Scuse me, Miss, but we are gonna have to go via the long way ‘round.” He looks at you apologetically as the rain tries to slink into the coach as if it were seeking shelter from the storm. “There's some big fallen branches on the path, I can’t be getting the ‘orses past ‘em.”

You sigh. Of course this would happen. With a nod, you gesture for the driver to continue and sit back against the leather squabs. All you want is your bed and some honey tea. While tonight had been wonderful, you also had to spend tomorrow afternoon attending a luncheon with Mrs Henderson and you just knew you were in for more tales about how marvellous her Henry is. If you had to listen to another word about that foppish idiot you were going to stick your embroidery needle in that woman’s eye. Which was a terrible thought, but Henry was incredibly dull and always stood on your feet during dances. Your sister had been incredibly angry when you had fabricated names on your dance card to avoid him this evening.

A loud crack of thunder startles you as the coach shakes across the path. It felt unnaturally freezing now and you pull your cloak around you tighter. Another crack bursts against the sky and you feel the ground shake before the coach abruptly stops, sending you flying across the seats and onto the floor.

The door to the coach flew open, the sound of the storm outside like a maddened animal. “Miss! Are you all right?”

Sitting up you rub your forehead. It smarts something fierce and when you take your hand away you can see the ivory fabric is spotted with blood.

Drat. These were your very best gloves.

“Miss?” the driver repeats, trying to wrangle his body away from the storm outside.

“Yes, I think so.” You try to sit up, your head stinging and knees aching from the harsh impact. “I think I just bumped my head but I will be all right.” You glance past the driver to look at the pelting rain and the trees straining in the gale. “What happened?”

“The horses were frightened." The driver looks stricken, his pale face drawn and pinched as he tried to wipe the damp strands of hair out of his face. "They bolted and I hit the side of the road. The coach is busted, Miss.”

Maybe this was your punishment for your unkind thoughts about Mr Henderson and his old hen of a mother.

You can feel the panic well in your chest. “What are we going to do?" you ask. "My sister will worry greatly if I do not return home.”

The poor man scrunches up his face as he tries to speak over the howling winds. “We passed a church. I think I saw they ‘ad a light on, Miss.”

A church? Out here? “Are you certain?”

“Yes, Miss.”

You sit there a moment, staring at the storm as it raged outside. What were you to do? The coach creaked under the gale, the wood groaning under you. You suck in a resigned breath.

"If you are sure, let us go," you say, making to step out.

"I can go 'ave a look first if you want, Miss?" the driver offers, blocking you from exiting the coach.

You shake your head firmly, you were not being left alone out here. What if he never came back?

Seeing you were not to be swayed, the driver takes your hand and helps you out of the broken coach. The rain splatters against your cloak and batters your hair, plastering it to your face in a matter of seconds.

“This way!” The driver shouts, pulling you by the hand as you try to run along the ruined road.

Your feet squelched and skidded, your slippers filling with mud and clinging uncomfortably to your stockinged feet as you hurried. It was hard to see far into the distance but you could make out the shape of a looming building and candlelight that flickered in the high windows.

As you approach, you realise that the driver had been wrong. It was no small parish church but a large cathedral. Gothic spires reached for the angry heavens above as the rain lashed against the building. Candlelight was indeed flickering from many of the arch windows and you feel the hope bubble in your chest at the sight, though you couldn’t help but be puzzled. You had never heard of a parish out here, it seemed to be in the middle of nowhere on this abandoned road. As you both hurry through a small gatehouse and down a cobbled path, your hands clutching the sodden skirts of your dress, you see the large double doors and let out a sigh of relief as you huddle under the portico.

The driver’s loud knocks on the door were lost to the wind as you anxiously waited. Your feet were frozen and soggy, and your head ached. How you wanted to simply be in bed.

Finally, the door creaks open and a nun's face peers out.

“Can I help you?” she asks.

“Please forgive the intrusion at such an hour,” you begin, “but my coach has broken down and I am unable to return home. Is it possible for me and my driver to stop here until morning?”

The woman looks from the driver and back to you, her eyes flicking to your forehead before a smile stretches across her face.

“Of course,” she said and swings the door open.

You follow her inside, the driver close behind you. There are few candles lit as you enter the large foyer, making it hard to discern much in the low candlelight. Another nun appears as if out of the shadows and gently leads the driver down another hallway.

There is only the sound of your squelching feet and the nun's even footsteps along the flagstones as you walk. The wind whistles across the stone and you shiver, a draft pulling at your sodden cloak and dress.

“I am Sister Agnetha," says the nun as you take a turn down a hallway. "Do forgive the cold."

You tell her your name, again thanking her for the hospitality but she waves it off.

“Think nothing of it, my child,” she says. “It is not often we have visitors. The Bish—Cardinal—has been away to the homeland and I am afraid things are a little…bloodless around here without his direction.”

You shiver again. Wondering if this place was a convent of some sort. You were certain nobody had mentioned this place before. And it would certainly be something Lady Grainger would have an opinion on—she had an opinion on everything. Especially a place as run down as this with its drafty hallways and lack of decadent rugs.

“Cardinal?” you question. While you didn’t exactly pay that much attention during Sunday service you at least knew there were no Cardinals in the church.

The nun turns her beaming face to you, her eyes too bright in the low light. “A recent promotion, we are all very proud. He has only just returned.”

You simply nod, what did it matter? Besides, your eyes are too busy trying to take in all the details and trying to ignore the squelch of your shoes as you leave a path of mud. The dark hallways are adorned with intricately woven tapestries and paintings though you cannot distinguish anything clearly.

The nun finally stops before an ornately carved door and opens it. There is another nun inside, a large poker in one hand as she tries to coax flames to life inside the grate of a large fireplace. The room is sparse save for a sturdy wooden bed, a small armchair and a set of drawers shoved in a corner. But while it may be sparse it was grand, the bed was carved with flowers and fruits and the small armchair and set of drawers looked like something out of the royal palace. It seemed so strange that a rundown abbey would be furnished in such a way. The rectory back home had been full of simple furnishings and Father Daniels had proclaimed that a man needed no decadent furniture to be satisfied.

On the farthest wall, three large arch windows have their heavy drapes pulled back and you can see the trees outside bending in the wind as they are pelted by the heavy rain. Water drops down your back and your brand new dress clings to your skin as you stand there dripping in the middle of the room.

“Sister Amelia will find you some clean clothes." Sister Agnetha gestures to the nun attending the fireplace. “And something to warm you up.”

“Thank you," you say as Sister Amelia leaves with a furtive glance at you. "This place is so beautiful, even in the dark." Your eyes roam over the stained glass detailing on the large windows. “It must be so wonderful in the sunlight.”

“I suppose it must.”

What a strange thing to say.

“Thank you again for your hospitality." You watch as the nun draws the drapes shut, though there must have been cracks in the glass for they flutter slightly. "I do hope I can thank the Cardinal in the morning.”

“He is not particularly fond of mornings.”

"Neither am I." You try to laugh but the nun ignores you when Sister Amelia returns, a bundle of clothes under one arm and a teacup of something steaming in the other. You take it gratefully, the porcelain is chipped but warm and you hold it in your frozen gloved fingers. "Thank you."

They leave you then, the door creaking behind them and closing with a loud click. The light from the fire is enough to illuminate the room and you can see the Sister has left you a towel along with clean clothes. Placing the teacup down, you strip off your soaked clothing, ruined gloves and undergarments before placing them on the armchair by the fire.

You wring out your hair as best as you can, pins and pieces of ribbon falling to the floor as you unpick your hair in an attempt to dry it. It was going to be a tangled mess no matter what you did and you give up. Picking up the nightgown you stare at it. It was very old-fashioned but the fabric was soft, though it was not nearly warm enough to block out the cold seeping through the stone. How did they stand it here? It was only autumn and yet it was so horribly cold in this building. It felt like the middle of Winter. Sinking down onto the hearth you rub your hands in front of the fire. What an ordeal this had been.

On your knees, you whisper a quick prayer before grabbing the teacup and draining it. It was bitter though there were hints of honey and what had to have been whiskey. You didn't particularly care what it was as it was hot and it raced through your veins in an instant. Once your fingers and toes had warmed by the flame, and your head no longer aching, you race to the bed and duck under the covers. The bed creaks and you try to bury yourself in away from the draft. It smells like incense and ink and you twist from side to side to try and get comfortable.

It must be early morning when you’re in that hazy place between sleep and consciousness. Everything is a haze and you’re dimly aware of the bed you lie in. There is something warm and wet against your forehead and you brush it away, your hand coming into contact with something cool and firm. That jolts you awake and you hastily sit up, blinking in the darkness. The fire has burned low, only the dim glow of embers in the grate as your one source of light. You stifle a gasp as you watch several rats scurry along the floor and through a small gap in the stonework.

You shudder. This abbey didn't feel like a place of God at all. And while not the most devout, you clasp your hands together and scrunch your eyes tight.

"Dear Heavenly Father, please forgive me for my transgressions and lack of faith. Please guide me now and help me to see the light. Amen."

The silence sucks at your words and you bite your lip, keeping your hands clasped and eyes shut as the back of your neck prickles. Quickly you snap your eyes open, twisting your head around the room yet seeing nothing. You realise your heart is racing and you take a deep breath, easing yourself back into the bed and under the blankets.

As you lie there, staring up into the high ceiling, you cannot shake the feeling that someone is watching you. NEXT CHAPTER

------------------------ I am aware this is super trope heavy but I love gothic literature. I mostly wrote this for myself (even though now that this part is published I shall never gaze upon it again).

The second part shall be added soon, sorry there is no Copia in this part!

#sorry this is kind of boring lmao #this is set in victorian era btw #because i can #fanfic #the band ghost fic #cardinal copia x reader #dracopia x reader #fic: a little nightmarish #vampire au #historical au #my-writing

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catshavenolord · 1 year

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FROGS!

Twelve fantastic frogs for your fantasy adventure games!

The frog supertable is a pamphlet inspired by and expanding on the AD&D frog subtable. It includes twelve giant frogs, two tables of froggy flavor, and three original magic items.

Check out the full pamphlet with art by @evlynmoreau-blog and @whereischaosprincess on my Itch page, or keep reading below for the full text.

The Frog Supertable

A table of twelve fantastic frogs for fantasy adventure games inspired by the Advanced Dungeons & Dragons™ frog subtable (Dungeon Masters Guide p. 185). Creature stats are provided in the CRACK! format for general compatibility with most old-school adventure games.

What Kind of Frog Is It?

Type 1d100 Giant 0–12 Killer 13–21 Poisonous 22–29 Flying 30–34 Vampire 35–39 Flying Vampire 40–42 Skeleton 43–52 Ghost 53–61 Demon 62–71 Fire 72–89 Fog 90–94 Ice 95–100

All frogs in this table are large, roughly the size of a bear, and are most likely to appear in marshes, jungles, or other wet places, but may choose to visit other locations from time to time.

What Is It Doing?

1) Swallowing a large slug whole 2) Licking its eyeballs clean 3) Wallowing in a mud puddle 4) Jumping on a giant lilypad 5) Stalking prey through tall grass 6) Climbing a tree 7) Protecting its pond of tadpoles 8) Lounging on a pile of gold 9) Sunbathing 10) Burrowing under a large tree 11) Up to its eyeballs in murky water 12) Croaking a loud mating call 13) Attacking some lumberjacks 14) Sleeping under a big leaf 15) Sniffing out a tasty treat 16) Eating a spell scroll off a dead wizard 17) Fighting a colony of ants 18) Staring at the moon and stars longingly 19) Performing a demonic summoning 20) Sitting smugly on a large toadstool

Frog Parts

1) Moist eyeballs 2) Sticky tongue 3) Tasty liver 4) Sharp claws 5) Concealing mud 6) Fiery spleen 7) Buoyant fat 8) Rubbery skin 9) Strong bones 10) Poison glands 11) Fly-filled stomach 12) Prophetic appendix 13) Healing fluids 14) Vocal sac 15) Pointed fangs 16) Musk nodes 17) Stringy tendons 18) Stretchy webbing 19) Acid pouch 20) Green blood

Magic Items

Frog Whistle

(3 Charges)

Frog-shaped whistle of dark wood. Emits a high-pitched sound that repels most frogs.

Recharge: Boil in water with a frog’s vocal sac

Gliding Gloves

(2 Charges)

Webbed gloves made of flying frog skin. Allow the wearer to glide up to 40 ft. After jumping.

Recharge: Ride on the back of a flying frog in flight while wearing the gloves.

Demonic Amulet

(5 Charges)

Demon frog eye set in gold on a chain. Same effect as Demonic Gaze.

Recharge: Replace with a new demon frog eye.

The Frogs

Giant Frog

(5d8) dAC 12, HP 3d8 (14), +2 bite (2d4), S 15, ML 7 – Tongue: May attack up to 10 ft. away with tongue (+4 to hit) dealing 0 damage but sticking to the victim on a successful attack. As a reaction, the victim may attack the tongue (dAC 12) to escape. Victims smaller than the frog are immediately pulled to its mouth, taking 8 damage. Victims equal to or larger than the frog take two turns to be pulled in. On a natural 20, the victim is swallowed. They may attack (dAC 18) up to three times to attempt to escape.

Killer Frog

(3d6) dAC 12, HP 2d8 (9), +1 bite and talons (x3) (1d4), S 14, ML 12 – Vicious and cannibalistic.

Poison Frog

(2d6) dAC 12, HP 3d8 (14), +2 bite (2d4), S 14, ML 6 – Poisonous: Creatures who touch or are bitten by the frog must save or be poisoned. The poison is weak, and they gain +2 on the save roll. On a failed save, take 1d4 damage and hallucinate dancing, color-changing frogs for 2d12 turns.

Flying Frog

(4d8) dAC 12, HP 3d8 (14), +2 bite (2d4), S 15, ML 8 – Glide: may glide up to 80 ft. when jumping from a high place or 40 ft. if jumping from the ground. A successful attack while gliding deals an additional 1d6 damage and knocks the victim prone. Vampire Frog (2d6) dAC 14, HP 4d8 (18), +3 bite (2d4) S 12, ML 12 – undead; Life Drain: regains HP equal to damage dealt by successful attacks.

Flying Vampire Frog

(1d6) dAC 14, HP 4d8 (18), +3 bite (2d4) S 12, ML 12 - undead; Life Drain: regains HP equal to damage dealt by successful attacks; Glide: may glide up to 80 ft. when jumping from a high place or 40 ft. if jumping from the ground. A successful attack while gliding deals an additional 1d6 damage and knocks the victim prone.

Skeleton Frog

(3d8) dAC 12, HP 2d8 (9), +1 bite (2d4), S 14, ML 12 – undead; at 0 HP frog collapses into a pile of bones that will reform in 1d4 turns unless burned to ashes.

Ghost Frog

(1d8) dAC 12, HP 3d8 (14), +2 bite (2d4), S 15, ML 11 – undead; immune to non-magical damage; Chill Bite: on a successful attack victim must save or spend 1d4 turns frantically seeking a source of heat.

Demon Frog

(2d6) dAC 16, HP 5d8 (23), +4 bite (1d12), S 11, ML 10 – Demonic Gaze: creatures who look at the frog’s eyes must save or take 1d6 damage and be haunted by visions of all-consuming fire for 1d6 turns.

Fire Frog

(2d6) dAC 14, HP 3d8 (14), +2 bite (2d4), S 15, ML 8 – immune to fire; Flame Breath (x3 per day): 30 ft. cone of fire dealing damage equal to the frog’s current HP. Affected creatures may save for half damage and will catch on fire on a failed save.

Fog Frog

(3d4) dAC 12, HP 3d8 (14), +2 bite (2d4), S 15, ML 8 – Fog Cloud: may breath a cloud that completely obscures an area 50 ft. long, 40 ft. wide, and 20 ft. high.

Ice Frog

(2d6) dAC 14, HP 3d8 (14), +2 bit (2d4), S 15, ML 8 – immune to cold; Ice Breath (x3 per day): 60 ft. line of ice dealing damage equal to the frog’s current HP. Affected creatures may save for half damage and will freeze for 1d4 turns on a failed save.

#ttrpg #dnd #dnd homebrew #frogs #osr #nsr #monsters

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stones-x-bones · 3 years

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Dreamstalker || Solo

Bex didn’t remember falling asleep, but when she woke up next, she wasn’t where she last remembered being.

She was in a bed, inside someone’s house. No...inside Morgan’s house. She couldn’t remember how she got there, had she been there all along?

Something fluttered above her, casting a dancing shadow across her face. She blinked against the harsh light above, lifting a hand to block it out before sitting herself up slowly. The world spun a little and she blinked, rubbing her eyes, before taking a glance around. She was still in Morgan’s house, laid out on a daybed. Niamh slept peacefully next to her, the little patter of her chest going up and down as she did. But as she looked around again, she found the house empty.

“Professor?” she called out tentatively, her voice cracking as she did so. The anxiety that was building in her stomach only increased when she realized her voice echoed. It shouldn’t have done that in a house, right? Sliding from the bed, she made her way into the kitchen, but found it empty. Just a cold tea pot, and two cups, filled but never drank from.

“Professor?” she tried again, a bit louder this time. But still there was no response. Bex swallowed hard and made her way towards the front door, checking each room along her way. But the house was empty, a hollow shell of itself. It didn’t feel right.

Something wasn’t right.

The door creaked open in the eerie silence, louder than it should have been. The world outside was hazy, as if a fog cloud had rolled in and permanently nestled itself over the town. Even Bex knew this wasn’t normal. She almost slammed the door shut again, wanting to ignore the strange things going on, just like she always did. But before she could, something fluttered above her head again and she jumped, swatting at it, only stopping when she realized it wasn’t attacking her.

It was a small bird, with sharp talons, a sharper beak, and eyes that she felt like she might have recognized. It landed on the railing outside and squawked at her, a high pitched noise she’d never heard before.

It took off in the next second and Bex flinched, startled. “Hey-- w-wait!” she called out, taking off after it. Somehow, she felt drawn to it. Her feet pattered against the ground, sloshing in something wet, despite there being no rain clouds. She slowed to a stop and looked down at her feet. Mud coated them, splashed up her legs as well. It was caked to her tights, and she knew without even having to check that they were ruined. A dread filled her-- she couldn’t come home in ruined clothes again. Her parents would be livid.

Oh, fuck-- her parents. She needed to go home and let them know she was okay. She hadn’t checked in yet. She turned on her heel and headed straight for her house. It didn’t even occur to her to find a ride. She blinked and in the next moment she was outside of the gates, staring up at them. They seemed taller than usual, towering above her, almost like a prison cell. Slowly, she pushed through them and headed inside. “Hello?” she called out tentatively, and her voice echoed through the empty halls. “Mom?” No response. “Dad?” Nothing. “...Vanessa?”

Suddenly, the world around her grew dark. Bex recoiled into herself and looked around, but the little birdy was nowhere to be found. She was alone again. A booming thunder shook the earth around her and she shrieked, jumping out of her skin as she took off, running as fast as her flats would let her. Maybe if she ran far enough, she could escape the darkness. Maybe if she ran fast enough, she could leave it all behind.

But every turn she took, the darkness followed. Just when she thought she was free, it was there again, consuming everything behind her. She ran and she ran, but it always caught up. She ran down Main street, she ran to campus, she ran until she didn’t recognize where she was. Her feet tripped on themselves and she face planted into a pile of leaves and mud. The darkness began to creep up around her and she turned on her side, curling up.

“Stop it,” she cried, “please, stop it. Go away, go away! This is just a dream. This has to be a dream.” Hands clasped over her ears. Voices were whispering to her. They were ringing in her ears, she couldn’t make them stop. She’d heard them before, in her head. When she’d been at the library, or walking down the street, or at the store. She always heard other people’s voices, ever since she was little. Her parents had told her to never tell anyone, to stop talking about it, to ignore them. And so she had. She’d done what they’d told her to and she’d ignored it and now it was coming back to haunt her.

And then, through the voices, a softer, more familiar one. “Bex?”

Bex’s eyes opened and the darkness disappeared. Sunlight was streaming in from the treetops above her, and even the fog seemed to have lifted a little. She could hear the trickle of a nearby river.

“Mina?”

But Mina wasn’t there. She was alone. Bex could feel the disappointment deep inside of her. But before she had time to wallow in the feeling, that stupid little bird from before flew right at her. Bex swatted at it again, and this time it circled her head a few times, nipping at her hair. “Hey!” she called out, turning in circles to try and grab it. “Stop that!”

It gave another caw, in a lilt that almost felt as if it were mocking her. “Hey!” she snapped. It grabbed her hair again and tugged and took off. “Hey, wait!” she called out, and began to give chase. Around her, the trees fell away. It was only when she felt something sticky on her shoe that she looked down and realized the mud had turned to...ice cream?

She stopped mid-stride and glanced around. Cotton candy was growing on the trees, and there were giant pizzas floating in the sky.

“This...this is a dream,” Bex said to herself in a nervous giggle. “This has to be a dream.” Somehow, she missed the darkness. She missed the dark and the voices and the fear because at least they were familiar. This was...insane. Totally, and utterly insane.

The little sparrow like bird swooped back in as if to snap Bex from her daze and tugged on her again before taking off. She shook her head and blinked. Right, she was supposed to be following the bird. Right, she knew that. She knew that? How did she know that? However she did, it was better than staying here. She turned a blind eye as a house cat the size of a lion took a casual stroll down the other side of the street, a child placed happily upon its back, and focused back on the bird instead.

It led her down a familiar street, to a familiar driveway, back in the woods. Bex had only been there once, but it was a place she would never forget. As she rounded the corner, and left the strange fish rain and pizza clouds behind, the Vural cabin came into view. The little bird that had led her here landed on the fence in front of her and tweeted gently. Bex looked up at the cabin, fog swirling around it, the light from inside casting eerie shadows on the mist. She glanced at the bird and even though this was a dream, she realized why she recognized its eyes.

“Nell,” she muttered. Whatever was going on, Bex knew she’d been led here for a reason. She could just feel it.

Just like she could feel that this was more than just a dream.

#solo #wickedswriting #dreamstalker

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blurhawaii · 4 years

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yuletide 2020

dear yuletide writer,

hello and happy yuletide! i’m pretty sure my letters get longer and longer every year and yet i’m still terrible at putting what i like into words. just know that the prompts are just suggestions--if you’ve got something else in mind, go for it. and sorry this is so disjointed.

likes:

dysfunctional relationships eg. codependency, messed up father/son dynamics, enemies to lovers, power imbalances.

vulnerability in men, uncertain intimacy.

UST, slow burn, first times.

magical realism/cosmic horror. weird hints of it in an otherwise normal universe.

redemption arcs.

found family.

big loyalty kink. love it when trust is earned and kept.

praise kink.

open and honest communication between partners.

polyamory. it’s the journey of them getting together and making it work that interests me the most. or how a couple goes about bringing in a third person.

stories set in canon. or a divergence of canon. fix-it fics.

dark/bleak fics. don’t be afraid to drag characters through the mud. happy endings are welcome but i like the struggle.

i’m fine with anything from gen to porn but would be happiest with something in the middle.

canon typical violence is fine and to be expected from some of my choices.

characters and their relationships are more important than plot for me.

dislikes:

AUs that are completely disconnected from canon e.g. high school, coffee shop AUs.

established relationships

crossovers

genderbending

feminisation of male characters

fics that are entirely fluff

A/B/O fics

PWP

mpreg

first person fics (i have no problem with second person fics tho if you think that could work.)

The Departed (2006) *Billy Costigan *Sean Dignam

one of my favourite films ever. i request it every year so you can't really go wrong with this as i'm just thirsty for anything.

most of my love is for dignam and his tough love attitude towards his job and the undercovers he's responsible for. i am endlessly endeared by his wild card quality, expletive fueled speech and hair trigger temperament. the father/son relationship with queenan that’s contrasted against billy’s father/son relationship with queenan. his complete disregard for everyone else in that office, especially sullivan. and how despite all of that, it's obvious that he cares. i don't think you could do a job like that and not care, and it’s those few and rare moments where we see him soften around billy --we need you, pal-- that's what i would like to see more of. that juxtaposition of good cop/bad cop coming from the same guy. shipping fic is preferred but whatever you are comfortable with is fine. due to the nature of the film i am perfectly comfortable with violence and the screwed up relationship they are bound to have. the friction born of the situation vs the fact that they need each other to get through this is what i am all about.

things that really get me with these two: codependency, power imbalances, the enemies to lovers trope, vulnerability, the whole constructing intricate rituals which allow you to touch the skin of other men thing they have going on, as seen in the gif above.

fics where billy survives are my usual go-to. i'd love something that explores the angst of billy's ‘where the hell were you when i needed you’ reaction towards dignam following queenan’s death all the way up to the ending, and beyond that assuming billy lives.

i’ve spent far too much time thinking about the line --why don’t we just meet up, sweetheart, let me buy you an ice cream. the jokey seriousness of it just kills me. if you can somehow write that happening in a believable, in character fic you would earn my eternal respect. whether that’s a clandestine meeting during billy’s undercover period or some kind of post-film scenario where dignam makes good on his promises, i have no idea.

daemon au - very curious how this would impact going undercover. daemons expressing feelings that the characters otherwise can’t. the intimacy of touching/comforting each other’s daemons.

soulmate au - either having their names on each other or their first words. this is admittedly a longshot but interests me for the same reason the daemon au does, because i’d love to see how this would work in a universe where you’re undercover.

time loop/groundhog day fic where things go better. or worse, i guess.

Godless (TV 2017)

*Roy Goode *Bill McNue *Alice Fletcher

i’m a massive fan of westerns. the harsh way of life, the violence, the isolation, drawn out revenge plots, the murkiness of good vs evil or sheriff vs anti-hero, the importance of honour and heroism and how that differs for men and women, especially in this universe and its town full of widows. having said all that, i’m still very much a sucker for cool cowboys in a shallow female way.

my favourite thing to do is turn every love triangle into an ot3. so i’d love a fic post canon where roy comes back once he realises his found family is just as important as his real family. i imagine bill would try to do the gentlemanly thing of bowing out and letting roy and alice be together but i’d love for alice to have the agency of choice, getting to have her cake and eating it too by choosing both roy and bill. however you jigsaw them together my main thing here is that i don’t want bill to get left out.

i feel the roy/bill aspect in particular could be explored a lot more. i love the earned mutual respect and how easily they move around each other during the gunfight at the end. (bill’s deteriorating eyesight side plot fascinates me, how it goes with his loss of purpose and comes back when teaming up with roy to defend the town.) the usual ideas of western masculinity get all twisted around when roy and bill are in the presence of alice and they both seem kind of subby towards her, which yes please. the way alice kisses the scar she gave roy and the fact that he simply lets her is *chef kiss*

i’m actually very okay with letting them be soft with each other after all of their tragedy.

honest communication between partners could work wonders here.

Locke (2013)

*Ivan Locke *Donal

i honestly think this film is an underappreciated masterpiece. a hour and a half long car ride that's totally compelling, and it's all down to tom hardy and his welsh accent that's not even welsh. of all the relationships broken down, strengthened, or tentatively started, it's the one between ivan and donal that interests me the most. you're given just enough background to know there is a history between these two. whether donal is his right hand man on the project or is just an assistant that effectively gets promoted because he's the only one still there willing to take ivan's call. either way, there's trust there, on top of the shared knowledge of donal's capacity to get drunk on the job --this has clearly been a problem before-- but ivan still trusts him enough to get his baby of a building built when he can't be there personally, and that fascinates me.

the film ends very much in a lurch and i can't bring myself to see the ending in a positive light. a baby with a woman he doesn't particular like is not a recipe for a fresh start and i honestly can't see ivan not following up on the progress of his building.

i have this image of ivan sleeping on donal's couch because his wife won't take him back, bethan realises she just wants the baby and not him, he's lost his job and he has nowhere else to go and so he's just backseat driving this buildings construction through donal’s position. you've got this man who's lost everything and an alcoholic just wallowing together, maybe clinging to the idea that with this buildings success, they can fix themselves.

i also ship it and if you manage to take it in that direction i would be totally into that too. i guess i'm just looking for something post film with these two.

i don't know anything about concrete farming tho so feel free to fudge that as much as you need to.

The Boys (TV 2019)

*Billy Butcher *Homelander

what i like about this show is that it’s dark, it’s violent and the relationships between the characters are about as fucked up and convoluted as you can get. i am specifically interested in the relationship between billy and homelander and how the power is constantly shifting. i’d love something that just takes into account every horrible reason why they want to kill each but also all the reasons why they haven’t. ship fic is more than welcome.

details that interest me the most:

all the bizarre family dynamics - their shared bad relationships with their fathers. loved the scene where billy learns about homelander’s childhood and how that tiny humanising moment might affect his view of the man. especially in season 2 where we see them both interacting with ryan. love the inverse of homelander trying to be a good dad and billy wanting absolutely nothing to do with the kid. i wish we could have seen more of the dynamic immediately following the cliffhanger at the end of season 1. what happened between that moment and billy waking up somewhere else. maybe some kind of bizarre hostage situation family in this small suburban home.

i am fascinated by the idea of having the buffer of both becca and ryan between them. not being able to kill each other at the end of season 1 because of the deal becca made, and then again at the end of season 2 with homelander not wanting to be seen as a villain in front of ryan. maybe billy doesn’t ship ryan off at the end of season 2. maybe he thinks he can keep him safest by raising him himself and you get this weird co-dadding situation where the kid is the only thing keeping them from killing each other.

the public cleaning of the slate post-season 2 with billy not being a wanted man any more and homelander having to appear as a united front with the seven. would love something with billy pushing things in public because homelander can’t do anything about it.

homelander’s desperation to be loved. the potential of obsessive one sided relationships.

thank you writer and best of luck.

#yuletide #yuletide 2020

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meenasmoon · 7 years

Text

Singing in the Moonlight Ch 10: You’re Not There

“Johnny! Johnathan Bannerton! Come ovah and give your mum ah hug!” A woman’s voice echoed out of sight of the camera and the lens revealed a tiny yard covered in green grass and a variety of toys. Suddenly a little gorilla toddler burst out of the bushes and ran towards the camera at full speed. He was covered in dirt and leaves and was wearing nothing but his diaper.

“Oh mah goodness! Look at you child! You’re a bloody mess!” The toddler just giggled and continued to run for the camera. The camera was jiggled around as the toddler collided with the camera operator. It was sent flying through the air and landed somewhere in the grass with the lens pointed towards the pair wrapped up in an embrace.

The filthy toddler had been captured by a beautiful female gorilla who didn’t seem to register than her pristine sundress was now smeared with mud. Rather she was paying more attention to the wriggling child in her arms. She was peppering every inch of him with little kisses, laughing along with his high-pitched squealing.

“Oh I’ve got you noh you little bally. You cannot escape mummy!” She yelled out and the toddler laughed along with her as he squirmed desperately. After another round of kisses the female gorilla released the baby and retrieved the camera. She carried it over to the back door of a little house. The toddler had his entire body pressed against it, trying fruitlessly to reach the door handle and escape.

The woman snatched him up into her arms and the camera was knocked around a bit until they were inside and a large male gorilla filled the lens.

“Wot is garn on ‘ere?” The male asked, his rough, heavily accented voice booming, but still soft with love and affection, “Looks loike our boy got into a bit of trouble.” He let out a gravelly laugh that was rich with humor and affection.

When the female spoke you could tell that she was smiling just by the sheer happiness in her voice, “Ohh yes he did. And noh he’s getting ah bath!” The toddler immediately began struggling harder and the camera was handed to the male as the female grappled with him and headed towards the bathroom. The last thing that the camera saw before the screen went black was the female’s back, the toddler draped over her shoulder as he pouted adorably.

Ash closed the door to Johnny’s room quietly, puzzling over what exactly she had seen in there. It had been over a week since the hospital incident and Meena’s grandfather was recovering at home. The elephant was considerably cheerier, but was rarely seen outside of practice now that she spent the majority of her time working or helping her mother take care of her grandfather. Ash had a sneaking suspicion that all Meena really did was hover over him and spoil him with treats.

Ever since they left the hospital and returned to their apartment, Ash had noticed that Johnny was particularly subdued after the hospital and as the week went on he retreated to his room and spent most of his time buried under the covers and watching movies.

Ash had let him wallow for a week, keeping an eye on him just in case she needed to intervene. While he had seemed sad, and quiet, Ash let him be only because, at the same time everyday, he would sit down at his piano and play what sounded like an unfinished song.

But today the piano was silent, the videos almost constant, and he hadn't even emerged for food. Ash shot the door another worried glance and then grabbed her cell phone, dialing a familiar number.

Meena answered amidst the sounds of chaos of her home. Her grandfather was arguing with her mother about his freedom in the house and Meena's grandmother was giving Meena baking directions. Meena fit the phone in between her shoulder and her ear and cheerily greeted her friend.

"Hey Ash! What's up?"

"Hey Meena." Ash sighed and spoke quietly into the phone. Meena immediately sensed that something was wrong and handed the baking off to her grandmother so that she could focus on her friend.

"What's wrong Ash? You sound off..." she asked worriedly and Ash was silent on the other line for what felt like an eternity.

"It's about Johnny." Meena's heart froze in her chest at her friend’s words and she waited with bated breath for what Was wrong, "Something's up with him. Can you come over?"

"Yeah. Yeah I-I'll be right over." Meena's reply came out in a rush of anxious breath and as soon as Ash hung up the phone she was a flurry of motion. She tore off her apron, threw on a jacket and raced towards the front door.

"I'm going out!" She called behind her as she slammed the door and ran as fast as she could to the bus stop. Luckily, she managed to catch the bus that was waiting at the stop and as soon as she boarded it took off towards downtown.

The entire ride she fiddled with her jacket, various scenarios flying through her head at a million miles a minute, each one only raising her anxiety another notch. By the time she reached the stop next to Ash and Johnny's apartment she was a veritable ball of nerves. She fumbled her way up the stairs and before she could even knock on the door Ash wrenched it open.

Meena had seen Ash's face through a variety of expressions but this level of concern and confusion was a new one. Before Meena could even open her mouth to unleash the tirade of questions that were ready to burst from her Ash pulled her to Johnny's door and cracked it open.

"He's been like this since we came home from the hospital that day." She whispered and then went quiet as the two girls peeked through the door and watched the scene that was unfolding on Johnny’s TV.

The camera stealthily moved through the halls of a familiar home until it reached a closed door. Slowly, it opened the door a crack and peeked through at the clandestine happenings of the room.

A little gorilla in spaceship pajamas with unruly bedhead stood on a stool at the counter opposite the door, trying his best to stir a concoction in a bowl so big it was probably half his size. To his left, a curvy female gorilla wearing a robe and slippers was chopping fruit and watching her son with a critical eye.

“Noh what does daddy fancy ohn his pancakes?” She asked him, her soft voice filled with mirth when her gap-toothed son grabbed a bag of chocolate chips and shook them excitedly.

“Chocolate chips mummy!” He declared and Eloise Bannerton laughed loudly and snatched the chocolate chips away from her son before he could pour them into the batter.

“No I’m pretty sure that’s your favorite love. What does daddy fancy?” She asked again and the little boy pouted adorably as he reached for the bag of pecans.

“Daddy loikes pecans.” He grumbled and then began struggling with the bag of pecans, trying desperately to wrench open the bag. Eloise chuckled again and gently took the bag from her son, opening it rather easily. They poured the pecans into the batter and then Johnny kept stirring as his mother heated up the plan.

Eloise took a couple chocolate chips out of the bag and booped her son on the nose before popping the chocolate morsels into his mouth. Johnny giggled and gave his mother a bright smile as he chewed his treat.

“I love you my sweet.” Eloise pulled the boy close and peppered his face with kisses, prompting him to struggle playfully and release a round of shrieking giggles.

“I love ya too mummy!” He declared loudly and Eloise released him with one last kiss on his unruly bedhead.

At that moment the cameraperson pushed open the door and Marcus’s booming voice filled the small kitchen, “’Owabaht sum love for dad? Those pancakes ready yet?”

His demand was only met with indignant yells as his wife and son descended on him, ushering him out of the kitchen until the screen went black.

“We’re going in. He shouldn’t be alone.” Meena whispered and Ash nodded her confirmation as they slowly opened the door and wordlessly walked into the room. Johnny was curled up in his bed, surrounded by tissues with red-rimmed eyes and tearstained cheeks. He looked startled that they were there, but both girls just climbed into his bed and snuggled up next to him. Johnny let his confusion evaporate as he relaxed into their comforting embraces. He ended up curled up against Meena’s side, his head resting on her shoulder as Ash clasped his arm and rested her head on his shoulder too.

They sat for what felt like forever before Johnny finally spoke in a voice that cracked with disuse, “I ‘ate ‘ospitals.” His voice grew thick with emotion and his friends tightened their grip on him, as if they alone could keep him grounded, “It’s where I lost me mum.”

He stared at the TV in his room as the screen prompted him to move onto the next video. “I been in ‘ere makin’ this video for ‘er.”

He pressed play on the remote and his soft voice came through the speakers, accompanied by a slow but thundering beat that captured their attention and emotions in its tractor beam. And then the home videos started.

I only got you in my stories

And you know I tell them right

I remember you and I, when I’m awake at night

So give it up for fallen glory

I never got to say goodbye

I wish I could ask for just a bit more time

Parents were lined up on either side of a kids soccer field as their children raced across the field, chasing desperately after the soccer ball.

The camera zoomed in on Johnny who was wearing a right green and yellow soccer jersey. He was running at full tilt towards the player in the red jersey that controlled the ball and was getting dangerously close to the green team's goal.

Little Johnny forced the red player to kick the ball out of bounds and suddenly the green team had control of the ball again.

The camera panned over to Johnny's mother who was decked out in all green and was cheering at the top of her lungs for her son.

“Yah Johnny! Spiffing shoh love!” The posh in her came out as she yelled exuberantly at her son, watching proudly as he took his position on the field and tried desperately to ignore his exuberant mother.

“Go get ‘em son!” Marcus called out from behind the camera and Johnny gave them an embarrassed little wave before turning his attention back to his teammate.

Johnny’s teammate threw the ball into play and the game moved towards the other team’s goal. Johnny was running like a little black bullet, calling for his teammate to pass the ball to him. When he remained open and unguarded Eloise went off.

“What the bloohming hell are you doing out there?!” She roared angrily, gesturing wildly to Johnny as Marcus chuckled and captured every minute of it, “Pass the bloohming ball to my sohn!! Learn to play foohtball you little-!”

Marcus quickly cut her off as some of the other parents were starting to stare, “Oi love! It’s just a kiddie footie game, not the bloody premiere league.”

Eloise looked at her husband sheepishly and shrugged before turning around just in time to see Johnny get the ball and make a break for the goal. They both started cheering loudly, jumping up and down in their excitement. The other parents watched them like they were circus freaks but neither parent paid attention, their every sense focused on their son.

Johnny expertly dodged the defensemen, using moves that were far too advanced for the other children, but he had been practicing them for months. He took a moment to set up his shot and then kicked the ball with all of his might. The goalie didn’t even have time to jump for it before the net caught the ball.

Eloise and Marcus went crazy, the camera knocking around crazily as the referee called the game and all of the kids went running back to their parents. Johnny was at the head of the pack; his grin so wide that he looked like his face might break in half. The camera dropped to the ground as the family embraced in the middle of the soccer field.

Every step I take, you used to lead the way

Now I’m terrified to face it on my own

Meena’s blue eyes were filled with tears unshed as she watched the family videos that kept popping up on the screen, moving along with Johnny’s sad song, and bringing an onslaught of emotions with them. Suddenly she wasn’t just comforting Johnny as he mourned his mother, she was remembering her father.

When her mother dropped her off at the firehouse that morning Meena had practically leapt out of the car in her excitement. She dashed across the driveway with a hurried wave in her mother’s direction. She burst into the cavernous garage, weaving in between the two fire trucks that gleamed red in the bright lights. She knew the firehouse layout as well as her own so in no time she found herself in the mess area. This was usually where she found her father, who had become the unofficial cook for his team.

Sure enough he was standing in front of the counter, busily chopping vegetables as the small radio blared music in the background. Meena’s father had never been discriminatory in his music choices and he could be found dancing along to hip-hop, country, and even rock. But his favorite music of all time was R&B. His deep voice echoed softly through the room as he followed the singer through the song, most of the time badly off key. Meena’s face lit up with a huge grin as she set down her backpack and rolled up her sleeves.

As she came into her father’s line of sight he looked up and gave her a small, warm smile, “Hey baby cakes.” He nodded towards an empty cutting board and paring knife that were waiting for her on the other side of the counter, “You gonna help your old man?”

“Sure thing Daddy.” She smiled back and grabbed a squash, expertly chopping it up on her cutting board. They both knew that one of Meena’s favorite pastimes was cooking, and she would never pass up an opportunity to improve her skills, even if it was just a simple stew and rolls. Without looking up from his task, her father prompted her for information.

“So how was school today honey?” He asked simply and Meena frowned a little at the thought of school. She proceeded to tell him all about their new lessons and her recent assignment grades, hoping that it would keep him from asking for any more details. He nodded and voiced little affirmations as she talked, but he was a quiet man, and unlike his exuberant wife he rarely pushed for information. So it was a rare thing that when Meena stopped talking he questioned her again.

“Still having trouble with those kids huh?” He asked and Meena looked down at her cutting board, unwilling to meet her father’s eyes. The sound of him chopping ceased and Meena braced for his next question, but it never came. Instead he just turned up the music and began to sing along louder. It was a familiar song and soon Meena found herself joining in, her sweet voice overpowering his low baritone as she perfectly matched the notes and rhythm of the song. They sang along with every song as they prepared the meal until the other fire fighters started to trickle in and hang out around the tables, waiting for the food to be ready.

Meena went quiet in front of the other animals but her father did not, his loud voice still booming along. Slowly, she grew comfortable enough to sing along as quietly as she could, her father’s quiet confidence and love for music winning her over in the end. When a well-known song came on the radio most of the fire fighters joined in and suddenly the room was filled with a myriad of different voices with different levels of talent. Meena, soothed by the familiar motions of cooking and the camaraderie around her, finally let her full voice loose as the singer barreled through a solo. She didn’t notice the room go quiet as the firefighters watched her in awe but as soon as the song was over she was startled by the loud applause and whistles of approval that filled the room in place of her voice.

She immediately turned scarlet and hid behind her ears bashfully. The cheers died down a little bit and Meena looked up just in time to see her father clapping along with the others, a proud smile practically breaking his face in half. Meena had only seen his smile that big a few times, when he was truly happy. A warm bubbly feeling stirred up in her stomach and she smiled shyly back at him, withdrawing slightly from her protective shell exposing her smile for everyone to see.

“That’s it baby girl.” Her father said softly, and she had never been more proud of herself.

You're not there

To celebrate the man that you made

You're not there

To share in my success and mistakes

Is it fair?

You'll never know the person I'll be

You're not there

With me

Once again the screen flared to life to reveal a dark room where the only light came from the stage in the front. A small, modest piano was settled on the center stage and behind it a crudely made poster board declared that it was the annual elementary school talent show. The room was suddenly filled with applause as Johnny walked onto the stage, dressed in his dark jeans and a white button up with a loose tie. On top of his head was a black fedora, angled rebelliously and sunglasses covered his brown eyes.

He took his seat on the bench just as the applause died down, and nodded to the teacher in charge of sound to cue up his track. His little fingers deftly moved over the keys, playing the opening notes just before his happy little voice joined in with the song. It was an old favorite of his parents’ and every time it had come on the radio they would slow dance to it. Johnny had grown up with that song as an integral part of his life. It was the song his parents played after he went to bed; it was a song that reminded him of their love.

Naturally it was the song that he chose to play when he entered the school talent show. His performance was as beautiful as it could be for a small child, his little fingers dancing on the keys as he fought the smile that naturally tried to bloom on his face. He did have a cool, Billy Jackal persona to keep up after all. The rest of the track caught up with him, drowning out the piano but not his voice.

Suddenly the camera shifted from the boy onstage to the woman sitting in her seat, her hands clasped and her cheeks wet with the happy tears that flowed like a water spout from her golden eyes. She was mouthing the lyrics along with her son when Marcus’s large hand enveloped her smaller one, bringing it to his lips so that he could bestow a slow and reverent kiss on her knuckles. Eloise smiled at her husband and then their attention turned back to their son as he jammed along to the song onstage.

When he finished with a little added flair on the piano, they stood up and cheered loudly, the crowd laughing when Johnny tipped his hat and then strutted off the stage like a musical bad boy. The last thing the camera showed before it stopped rolling was Eloise laughing joyfully at her son, her eyes filled with pride.

Though I know that you're not there

I still write you all these songs

It's like, you still got the right to know what's going on

As I struggle to remember how you used to look and sound

Sometimes I still think I can spot you in the crowd

Ash felt nostalgia hit her like a brick through a glass window and her heart dropped to her feet as memories that she had tried desperately to repress up until this point forced their way to the surface.

She was only seven and still filled to the brim with a hope and optimism that is all to often slaughtered in the real world. As soon as she and her foster siblings finished dinner she would sneak away from the chores up to the room that she shared with the three other girls that lived in the tiny apartment. She would leap into her tiny bed and dig her journal out from between her mattress and the box springs. She meticulously chose her favorite colored pencils and began to chronicle that day’s events, adding in little pictures and designs as her innocent heart decided that they were necessary.

The journal was the only thing that she did consistently as her curious mind often encouraged her to try out new ways of doing things and she hungered for new experiences. Her foster home wasn’t as bad as some of the ones that she had been into in the past but she still didn’t feel like she belonged. None of her foster siblings wanted to play with her because of her sharp quills and her foster parents often became frustrated with the mess that she inevitably left behind when quills would come out.

So every night she would write in her journal and stare out the window at the night sky, the city that surrounded her, wondering where her parents were looking that night. In her mind it was an absolute fact that her parents had lost her one day and had yet to find her. Every night they must search the city, block by block, looking for their little girl. There was no way that they would just leave their little girl alone in the world, in a place where she wasn’t loved.

In her free time Ash had learned all that she could about what having a family was like. The books that she had in her room and at school serving as her only source of information. She learned that families came in sets: two children, two parents. The dad worked and the mom stayed home and baked cookies and did chores. Ash could practically taste her mother’s chocolate chip cookies. She had always heard that cookies from a mommy tasted better cause they were made with love.

She also learned that families lived in cute little houses and not dirty old apartments. She was very relieved to learn that her parents had a house away from the city. She did not like having to share a room with three other girls. They always complained about her quills.

She also learned that families were always happy. And that’s how she knew that her foster parents did family wrong. They were usually unhappy with her, or each other, or sometimes her foster dad got mad at the TV. After she had exhausted every book that showed a happy little family, Ash would lay back and dream the night away, thinking about her perfect family, just waiting for her to make them whole again.

And so everyday she would write in her journal, a story for her parents, so that when they found her she would know how to fit back into the family, and they could learn all about her.

Every step I take, you used to lead the way

Now I’m terrified to face it on my own

Meena got off the school bus that day, humming happily along with the music that trickled out of the new headphones that she had gotten for her fourteenth birthday. She had practically refused to remove them since she had gotten them, they were her favorite thing in the world. She walked happily down the street towards the tiny house that she lived in with her parents, now singing softly under her breath. She turned the corner to her street and her brow furrowed in confusion when she saw cars and her father’s fire engine surrounding their house.

For a few minutes she struggled to recall whether or not her father had a barbeque planned for tonight. That was the only reason that her house had ever been surrounded by that many cars, well that and celebrations. There wasn’t a holiday today so the crew must be waiting inside for her to help get dinner started. She already began assembling a menu in her head and she picked up her pace towards her house.

When she got to the yard her excitement overwhelmed her shyness and she broke into a run, her stomach growling hungrily. She ran up the steps and burst into the house in a whirlwind of excitement, half expecting to be mobbed by hungry fire fighters when she walked in. As soon as the door closed behind her something in the air told her that something was off. It smelled like singed fur and the house was way too quiet with all of the crew here. She shed her backpack, letting it land on the floor with a dull thud, and wandered through the house, looking for everyone.

She finally found them gathered in the living room, her mother surrounded by the crew, all still wearing their gear and stinking of smoke. Meena stopped in the doorway and felt her heart sink frantically as she took in the scene before her. None of the crewmembers could seem to look her in the eyes, but before they looked away she could see the blatant grief on each of their faces.

It didn’t hit home until she saw her mother, slumped on the couch and sobbing silently while the chief tried to comfort her. Clasped in his hands, was a familiar singed helmet. Meena felt the breath fly out of her body like it was trying to escape the realization that was dawning on her. Her brain could only process one thought; her father was nowhere to be seen.

“Mom…” Her voice was soft, lost as her mother looked up and met her baby blues with red rimmed brown eyes, “Where’s dad?”

Her mother didn’t answer, but the chief stood up and slowly walked towards her, “Meena honey I’ve got some bad news. Your dad-“

In an uncharacteristically rude move Meena cut him off, her voice simultaneously hard as stone and crumbling under emotion, “Where is my father?” Her demand went unanswered as the chief continued to slowly move towards her, until he was close enough that Meena could see the tears in his eyes.

“Meena-“ He tried again but now Meena’s swirling emotions created a combination of anger and despair.

“Where is my daddy?” She asked brokenly, tears breaking free and racing down her cheeks like a waterfall. The chief wordlessly looked down at the helmet that was still clasped in his hands, too emotional at the sight of her devastation to answer.

“Where is HE?!” She screamed, and suddenly she was wrapped up in her mother’s embrace and her anger turned to sobs, the only thing that she could think to say was no. She couldn’t believe it and yet the evidence was abundant that her father was gone. The two women sobbed in a tight embrace for what felt like forever before another pair of arms joined them.

Meena looked up to find that the chief had joined them , and one by one the other fire fighters joined in on the hug until Meena was completely surrounded by the people that she loved.

“He was a hero sweetie.” The chief whispered but Meena didn’t reply, because all she could smell was smoke and all she could hear was her father’s happy humming. And then she was silent, and the only thing that could be heard was her mother’s sobs.

You're not there

To celebrate the man that you made

You're not there

To share in my success and mistakes

Is it fair?

You'll never know the person I'll be

You're not there

With me

It was midnight and Ash snuck around her room, shoving her meager possessions into a ragged backpack. She was dressed in grunge style clothing and her face was dominated by a triumphant smirk as she stuffed cash that she had been making on the side into her suitcase. Lance had said that tonight was the night, they were finally breaking out of the hellhole that she had lived in for years. She shoved a couple more articles of clothing into her bag and instinctively lifted the corner of her mattress to stare at the journals that were lying there innocently.

She had been writing in them for as long as she could write, but the year that she turned thirteen, reality had finally gotten to her in the form of Lance. He had educated her on what being in the foster system meant for their chances of having a loving family of their own. He had come in like a wrecking ball and shattered every truth that she had known up until that point.

She had hated him for it in the beginning but then he started to teach her properly about love. He remade her by showing her how she should act if she wanted someone to love her and slowly she changed from a bright hopeful child to a sullen teenager, in love with the only ever porcupine that had decided to tell her the truth.

And why shouldn’t she believe him? He was another porcupine, he knew her struggles with her quills and how foster parents reacted to them, and he was older, more experienced. And so she latched onto him and she learned to love him the way that he wanted her too, changed herself so that she could have that elusive sensation that she had been chasing since she was a child. To be loved.

She would follow him anywhere, and tonight he was an adult, and he was taking her with him into the city. Ash looked at the journals with a new level of scorn, disgusted that she used to be so naive that she thought her parents would come for her. Lance said that they were probably dead or in jail so she had focused on him, on loving him instead of pretend parents.

Ash gathered up the journals, her gaze still locked on the covers, all of which she had decorated with glitter and stickers. She almost opened one, her broken heart curious and yearning for the feeling of certainty that her parents were out there, that her perfect family could exist. Before she could even crack the cover the door opened quietly and Lance was standing in the doorway, his backpack thrown over one shoulder and his guitar clasped in one hand.

“Ash. You comin’ babe? We gotta hurry this up.” He whispered and Ash was suddenly pulled out of her thoughts and back to her reality where the only animal that would ever love her was waiting. it was time to throw away fantasies and follow the best that she could get. She through the journals haphazardly into the garbage can and grabbed her bag.

“Yeah I’m coming.” And she left without looking back, despite the ache in her heart.

Time can heal your wounds if

You're strong and standing tall

I've been doing all of that, it didn't help at all

They say you'll grow older, and it'll get better still

Yes, I will, but no it won't

They don’t get it,

The camera panned over a public park and landed on a picnic table where various presents, food and drink and a huge homemade cake dominated the surface. The camera showed everyone at the table including Uncle Dominic and Uncle Barry, some of Johnny’s childhood friends, and his father. His father and his uncles were teasing him about becoming a man and that they got him bad presents. Johnny just laughed and wriggled away when they decided to take turns giving him noogies.

Johnny ran over to his friends and the camera caught them all running around the park playing with water guns and enjoying the summer day. After about an hour the kids showed signs of tiring and the camera was passed off to Johnny’s father as his mom called the kids over for cake. They came sprinting back to the table like little heathens and eagerly clambered into their seats, practically bouncing at the prospect of getting sweets.

“Alright noh you little buggers. We must sing happy birthday to the birthday boy.” She admonished them and Johnny sat proudly in front of the cake, waiting for the song to begin. Eloise started it off, her soft voice bringing the rest of the party in until they reached the proper volume for the rest of the park to hear them. When the song was over Eloise cut the cake and handed out pieces to all of the kids, giving Johnny his first for luck.

The kids practically inhaled their cake and by the time they were ready for the parents the hand-frosted, homemade cake was reduced to only a couple slices. Johnny then proceeded to open his presents, starting with his friends. He cheered happily for all of the toys and gift cards that he got, politely thanking each friend just like his mother had taught him. Finally he came to the present from his parents. It was in a long rectangular box that was almost too big for Johnny to carry.

Johnny tore into it, and his eyes went wide with excitement when he unearthed a brand new skateboard, still secured in its box. It was the exact one that he had been asking for all year, the top of his wish list for his birthday and Christmas. His friends gathered around to admire the skateboard as Johnny took it out of the box and held it reverently. It was a little big for him, and he would need to grow into it, but it was perfect for a growing gorilla.

One of the kids suddenly suggested that they go try it out and all the others cheered in agreement. Johnny rose to go with them, but hung back a second to thank his parents. He easily slipped into his mother’s embrace, holding her tight as she did the same to him, “Thank ya mummy. I love it.”

“I knew you would darling.” She replied and gave him and loving kiss on the forehead. In that moment the camera was able to capture the look in her soft golden eyes as she gazed down at her baby boy like he was her entire world, like everything she knew could collapse but as long as she had her baby she would get through it. And then the moment was broken as Johnny rushed over to his dad and slammed into his legs, hugging them in a tight little grip that made Marcus chuckle.

“Thanks dad!” He exclaimed as he looked up at his father, pure love in his little brown eyes. “Yer welcome son. Nah go enjoy tha’ thing wif yer mates.” Marcus urged him on and suddenly the little boy was off like a rocket, his skateboard held victoriously over his head as if he could conquer the world with a plank of wood and four wheels.

'Cause you're not there

To celebrate the man that you made

You're not there

To share in my success and mistakes

Is it fair?

You'll never know the person I'll be

You're not there

With me

The video ended and left the trio silent as the cuddled against each other, each one nursing their own wounds and drawing strength from their companions. The screen had been blank for an eternity before Ash finally spoke up, her voice uncharacteristically choked with emotion as she laid her head on Johnny’s shoulder.

“That was…that was beautiful Johnny.” She choked out and Johnny reached over to gently squeeze her hand, offering what support he could, “Do you want to talk about it?”

Johnny’s grip on her hand tightened for a second and then loosened as he released a breath and warily nodded his head, “Y-Yeah. I…It’s time.” He sat up a little bit, trying to swallow back the knot of emotion that had taken up residence in his throat. He looked at his friends, his face vulnerable and almost childlike in his uncertainty as he began his story.

“Me mum and I were drivin’ back from a piano recital one night.” his eyes looked misty as he relived the memory before their very eyes, “I was asleep in the back seat…”

Raindrops lashed angrily at the windshield of the car as Eloise drove steadily through the streets of the city, focusing on the streetlights as indicators for where she was. The clouds had threatened downpour all day but they had held out until that night when she and Johnny were driving home from his piano recital. She cursed quietly to herself as she slowed down to squint at a nearby street sign, barely able to see through the sheets of rain coming down on them.

Marcus hadn’t been able to come to the recital because he was working late in the garage. He had been beating himself up about it for days since he found out but Eloise had understood. They needed the money and Johnny would have other recitals that he could come to. She couldn’t help but wish that he was with her tonight as she nervously drove through the deserted streets.

No one in their right mind was out driving in this storm but Johnny had been exhausted after the recital and had quickly fallen asleep in the back seat. Eloise was just focused on getting her son home to his bed. At the thought of her precious boy she smiled and looked back at him in the rearview mirror. He was so peaceful, passed out against the window, his breath fogging up the glass.

Suddenly another car came out of nowhere and rammed into the passenger side of their car so hard that the sound was practically deafening. Eloise frantically tried to look back at her son, not even paying attention to the fact that the car was rolling violently and her old seatbelt was fraying with each turn. The last thing she saw was Johnny’s frightened brown eyes snapping open from sleep to the horror. And then her head hit the pavement.

Johnny lifted up his shirt to reveal the scar that ran down the length of his torso, barely concealed by his thick black hair. Ash winced sympathetically and Meena gasped aloud, her tentative hand coming out to touch it gently, soothingly. Johnny felt a warm feeling radiate out from where she touched and he reluctantly watched her withdraw her hand, taking the warm feeling with her.

“I got this from a piece of the window, broke me arm and I got a concussion.” He sighed and pulled his shirt down back into place, “But me mum lost ‘er life.” His voice was hoarse from crying and though the pain of losing his mother was still real and painful it felt better knowing that the two people closest to him knew about it.

The girls immediately pulled him back down into their cuddle pile and they silently embrace each other for a second before Meena found her voice, trying in her own way to show Johnny that she understood his pain, that she had felt it and still did, “M-m-my dad died in the line of duty. H-he was a… he was a f-firefighter.”

“I never knew my parents.” Ash chimed in as well, every inch of her stubborn tough girl persona screaming at her to keep her pain inside where no one could ever see it, despite the good feeling that releasing it brought. Their tight circle of comfort seemed to grow closer as they revealed their hurts, finally letting their new family see the scars that covered their heart. Tears were shed on both sides as emotions were spilled out and sorrows were shared, their connection thrumming stronger with each word or action. After a few hours they were all empty of tears, their emotions drained and their past hurts reduced to a dull throb. in healing Johnny the girls were surprised to find that they had found healing as well.

“We all lost someone.” Meena finally whispered as she clasped both of their hands and brought them to her heart, “But we found each other. I know for a fact, that it was always you guys that I was looking for.” She gave them a meaningful look, which they both returned.

Words ceased and the rest of the day was spent eating takeout, watching movies, and just being together, letting their friendship banish the demons that lurked in the shadows.

First

#sing the movie #johnny x meena #johnny's mom #sad but good for you #singing in the moonlight #you're not there #first post from Spain #enjoy

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tagamark · 5 years

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Masai Mara Game Report: February 2019

New Post has been published on https://tagasafarisafrica.com/masai-mara-game-report-february-2019/

Masai Mara Game Report: February 2019

Weather and grasslands

February was a dry and dusty month to begin with, strong north easterly winds would blow in the late afternoons. Late in the month on the 23rd and 25th of the month we received some heavy rainfall that had come through from the west side of the Reserve. This weather pattern that is from the west of the Reserve can often be with strong winds. A total rainfall of 81mm was received in the last days of the month. Humidity has fluctuated between 55 – 90%.

The Mara River had dropped to a very low level with many catfish being seen floating down the river and hippo densities were congregating into what was left in the slightly deeper pools. On the 23rd the area received 28mm of rain and this pattern must have affected the north/east areas of where the Mara River starts, because by the 24th of the month the river had risen considerably taking away many of the dead catfish with the flow.

Mara River hippos – photo credit Will Fortescue

Grass levels had started to look very dry and short, and in many areas on the open grasslands, grass levels have been grazed down very low. Since the rain in last few days of the month much had recovered enough to induce a green flush. Water levels in the north of the marsh had also improved with the recent rainfall although lower down the marsh byways are still dry.

On the plains:

Many resident zebra have been seen coming down from the east and congregating on the short grass plains south of the Musiara marsh. Good numbers can be seen on Topi plains, Silanga and Malima Tatu.

Zebra have also been filing down in the west and crossing the river at the main crossing points: there have been some good sightings of zebra crossing and the resident crocodiles were certainly active!

Topi have also been seen starting to congregate and males can be seen ‘rutting’ – west of Topi Plains and Malima Tatu have good sized herds. There are some large herds being seen congregating on posee plains in the south of the Reserve. Some females in these topi herds have given birth and this is considered very early for Topi and completely out of their normal breeding months which is generally September/October – the months that Topi and Coke’s hartebeest calve down. Male Topi form ‘leks’ that they hold and lure females: on lower Paradise Plains there are some small herds with male leks being seen. Topi prefer a good leaf structure and will be seen where the grasses are favorable. Generally speaking, Topi possess one of the most variable social and mating systems of all the antelopes. Coke’s Hartebeest will be seen in smaller herds and the lower reaches of the Bila Shaka is a good place to see Coke hartebeest.

Elephant in the early months of February were plentiful within the marsh; earlier on the Warburgia trees were fruiting which drew them into the camps. Governors’ Camp had good sightings and movements of elephant. A particular recognised breeding herd with many young calves, has been passing through the camp frequently – they appear to like passing through at meal times! Since the rain, elephant seemed to have moved out into the Trans Mara. A male elephant had been seen to collapse and later died in the evening of the 24th near the Double Crossing; the authorities are not sure the cause of death.

Eland are also in small herds yet well scattered across the open plains – they are varied feeders meaning they will graze and browse. Eland are very habituated on the open plains particularly if there is new growth of grass which has come through. The larger of the breeding herds is being seen in the east marsh grasslands – there are some larger dominant bulls seen on their own and not far from these breeding herds. Sexual dimorphism is well expressed in the eland that shows a larger and heavier body, a well pronounced dewlap and a heavy matt of hair on their forehead.

Giraffe are also being seen again whereas in January they were seen less seldom. Masai Giraffe are ‘catholic browsers’ and can travel long distances in search suitable browse fodder, whilst favouring the many acacia species. A bachelor herd of young males were seen for sometime between the camps and along the fringes of the riverine woodlands.

Giraffe being seen along fringes of riverine woodland – photo credit Will Fortescue

Cape buffalo will be seen in large breeding herds and again well spread out here in the Musiara areas; there are two large herds frequently seen – one is near the Bila Shaka riverbed and the other on the west fan of Rhino Ridge. Solitary males are commonly seen within the west marsh between the camps. Hippos have been seen spending more time out of water whilst feeding, or since water levels in the river has receded to such an extent, many hippo and in particular the males are pushed out to seek further refuges. They will rest in deep riverine growth to ward off direct sun as they have no epidermal layer and are sensitive to ultraviolet light. We have also seen some friction and unease between pods in the river: as water levels recede, pods encroach upon one another and this causes aggression between dominant pod males. Hippo fights between one another can result in deep wounds with those large canines that they posses.

Olive baboons are ever present along the riverine fringes of the woodlands, many young infants that have reached about six weeks old have started riding ‘jockey style’ on their mother’s backs. Olive Baboon social behaviour is very much a ‘matrilineal’ society. Within a troop of baboons there is a very complex hierarchy based on mother-daughter lines of descent and male strength. A female baboon is born into whatever rank her mother was – similar to that of a princess becoming a queen like her mother – and a male will establish their place within the troop by fighting one another for dominance. Because of this, female baboons stay in the same troop their whole lives and male baboons will leave the troop when they are mature enough.

Often associated with the hierarchy of Olive baboons are Impala: breeding herds of impala will frequent both woodlands and open ground and males form bachelor herds and will keep to the periphery of larger breeding herds. A fine sight is to see female impala running whilst throwing their hind feet high into the air, this is phenomena know as ‘empty kicking’. It is a spectacular sight expressing energetic enthusiasm. Females or ewes give birth after seven months gestation to a single fawn and then after a week will join the main herd with other fawns. Fawns together form a crèche. A good sized herd of males in varying ages can be seen close to Governors’ Camp in the east marsh grasslands. Unlike other kinds of antelopes, male impalas communicate vocally by ‘roaring’ at a very high volume. With a modified larynx, these roars from dominant males or rams can be heard up to 2 kilometers away, giving them a reputation for being one of the loudest and noisiest ungulates before the breeding season. Male impalas also produce a secretion from a gland on their foreheads to advertise their status to rivals and can be seen rubbing and thrashing their foreheads against brush and bush.

Impala on the Mara plains – photo credit Will Fortescue

Black-backed jackals are evident across all habitats and will be seen in monogamous pairs and also with older pups in tow. While these canids roam the open plains, Thomson Gazelles are also plentiful on the shorter grass plains. Some female gazelles have given birth and Jackals are one of the main predators that hinder the fawns. Grant’s Gazelles are also seen although in smaller herds and in coarse grass areas (they are more of a varied feeder to that of Thomson Gazelles), named after the Scottish explorer Lt Col James Grant in 1860-61.

Warthogs and their piglets are plentiful with lion and leopard feeding of them heavily. Warthogs live in sounders which include their offspring and one or two sows from a previous litter which act as nannies. Boars have started mating; they will be heard and seen chasing sows. The boars sport more warts on the long faces than the sows; these are in fact cartilaginous growths and act as buffers when sparring. Warthogs will also wallow in mud to get rid of insects and to cool down on a hot day. Like pigs, warthogs don’t have sweat glands to cool themselves. Warthogs also have padding on their knees: they kneel down to eat lower grasses and like all ‘suids’, warthogs will also be seen taking rumen contents from the remains of lion and hyena kills from that of herbivores.

Cape Hares are also being seen and can often be spooked as one drives around, although generally nocturnal, spending the day hidden in long grass or under bushes, with their ears laid flat. They are mostly solitary, the young, one or two are born above ground with fur and with their eyes open, compared with rabbits, which are born underground, naked and with their eyes shut. They feed on coarse vegetation, which is cropped close to the ground, leaves, roots, berries and bark. Hares and Rabbits are Coprophagous meaning they re-ingest their first dung pellet. Due to the digestive system of rodents and rabbits, coprophagy is necessary to supply many essential nutrients. Bacterial synthesis of nutrients occurs in the lower gastrointestinal tract in these animals where little absorption is on first ingestion. The eating of their feces later on provides a secondary method for obtaining these nutrients.

Spotted hyenas are still very prominent and in large clan numbers, the east marsh and Olare Orok areas have large numbers of Hyena, there is a den here with young cubs of varying ages. Spotted Hyena competes heavily with the resident lion prides. They scavenge and are completive predators that run their prey down similar to that of wolves and dogs, a large heart gives way to great stamina.

Larger Cats:

Lion:

Marsh lioness are nine in total now: Yaya, Spot, Dada, Kito, Rembo, Kabibi, Little Red and two of Yaya’s sub-adult females. Spot has two cubs – a male and female that are six months old and unfortunately Little Red lost her one cub – we are not sure what happened. Very sadly, Yaya lost her two cubs in January, it has latterly been reported that they were killed by two of the Paradise Pride lionesses, and not the male lion ‘Chongo’ that was originally suspected.

Rembo and Kabibi who are in the west marsh woodlands have four cubs between them; three are to Kabibi and one to Rembo – these cubs are three months old. Later in the month they have all moved to the Bila Shaka river bed area. Lioness Dada is still in the west marsh woodlands and is with lioness Kito; they have six tiny cubs between them. Kito’s cubs are estimated at about one month old, they have been hiding in a fallen tree – she has not taken them out yet. Dada’s cubs are now two months old. Unfortunately some aggressive baboons have pulled the tails off two of them – which is most likely the reason they have been undercover for so long. They have been feeding off zebra, buffalo, Topi and warthog.

Rembo & Kabibi with cubs – photo credit Moses Manduku

Dada and Kitos tiny cubs of which there are six in total – photo credit Moses Manduku

The six male lion coalition reside and monitor much of the east marsh, Bila Shaka and Topi Plains areas. ‘Chongo’ the male is more often seen in the Bila Shaka river bed. These six males have sired the cubs of the Marsh Pride lionesses; the most dominant of the six males, ‘Baba Yao’, has also sired the majority of the cubs to the Madomo/Ridge Pride and he is often seen with these females. On the 27th February, in the Bila Shaka area – Chongo the male was seen feeding off the remains of a Topi, which was most likely to have been killed by lioness Little Red.

The Madomo/Ridge Pride has five lionesses, two 2-month old cubs and also two sub-adult lionesses. They are being seen hunting and residing on Topi Plains and will also hunt in upper areas of the Olare Orok River. Earlier on in February they were seen hunting as far as the east Musiara grassland plains; this is a very active pride and has grown from three lionesses to a total of 19 members in just three years by two males – Lipstick and Blackie – both of which have now gone. Many of the older cubs have now left and ventured out of the Musiara area.

Leopard:

The female leopard Saba of the Olare Orok has two young cubs estimated at three months old. She is being seen very often hunting Impala, Thomson and warthog piglets. Her previous offspring who is 22 months old is also being seen in her home range.

Romi the female leopard has two cubs that are estimated at 7 months old – she is being seen frequently too and latterly she was seen hunting in the lower Bila Shaka river bed areas. This is a long haul from her normal haunts of the BBC campsite and woodland areas of the north marsh.

Female leopard Romi relaxing right outside Little Governors’ Camp – photo credit Will Fortescue

The female leopard Siri with her male sub-adult cub, is often being seen near the Chinese hill and also within the Serena pump house area of the Mara River. The male sub-adult cub is sixteen months old now so he should be old enough to leave his maternal mother and start life on his own soon. This male sub-adult is being seen more often on his own.

The large male leopard of the lower crossing area has been seen again, he has been named ‘Sujaa’ by the local guides, and during the migration of some years ago he had stashed over five yearling wildebeest into a Boscia tree by the cul-de-sac crossing points!

Leopard sighting near Governors’ Camp – photo credit Will Fortescue

Cheetah:

The five male cheetahs are still being monitored and seen in Hammerkop grasslands in the southern reserve; they also will cover large distances and can be seen in a few days as far as the Talek River and double crossing. They have been feeding off Impala, Thomson, young Topi and zebra foals and yearlings.

A single male has been seen hunting in the East marsh grasslands, the southern Bila Shaka area and also recently within the west marsh grasslands. He was seen recently near the ‘Lake Nakuru’ area.

Imani the female with three cubs estimated at nine months old has been seen earlier on in the month in the east side of the Murram pits and deep into the Olare Orok Conservancy, but she has been seldom seen by camp guides recently.

A single female is also being seen more and more: she has been sighted on Rhino Ridge and also near the Double Crossing. There are many Thomson gazelles and their young fawns here on these open grasslands. She has been seen latterly many times near the Double Crossing on the Olare Orok side in last week of the month.

There was a single male cheetah being seen on Paradise Plains and also in the lower Bila Shaka river bed, latterly he had moved again to the upper Talek area and has been seen to cross the Talek river and hunt in the southern reserve on the posee plains.

Mara Game Report by Patrick Reynolds

Post courtesy of Governors Camps

African Safaris by the Pioneers who Live in Africa

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dragonageroleplay88-blog · 7 years

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Chapter I: Part IV: Bastian / Killian / Yara

Bastian walked along the old-stone paths of Denerim, moving with grace and elegance between the decrepit houses that littered the greenery and the natural scapes of the city. Bastian loved to walk in Orlais, particularly by the waterfront with the warm breeze of summer in the air or under a vault ceiling held high by columns, topped with flaming bronze and searing gold. Orlais was always beautifully alive - the heart of the city beat with a grand and noble heritage that each and every Orlesian felt in their bones. The city of Denerim was alive too as Bastian left the Estate. But, it was a different kind of liveliness. When he first arrived, Bastian was delighted to see birds flocking in the city. He thought that for all the city’s inherent failings, he would be able to listen to bird-song. But, even the sound of the birds mirrored the chaos of Denerim, full of forced fricatives and uneasy melodies. The streets were bustling with Denerim denizens, shouting at the top of their lungs like beasts howling at the full moon. Merchants roared, peasants wallowed in the mud, women whistled from doorways and windows and templars cursed those that past with a contemptible ignobility, trudging through mabari shit. It was anarchy. Bastian, drawing his robes around him, could find very little in the city that he found pleasurable. He was furious at having to stay there. But, even Bastian could not disrespect the wishes of Empress Celene. Bastian meandered through the city, putting as much distance between him and the Estate of Arl Eamon. The guard templar he had enchanted with illusions, crippled with fear and anguish at the gates of the arling, would surely be reprimanded and castigated for letting a wanted man, unarmed and defenceless, slip through his fingers. Gregory Pinnen would be irate. For the first time since leaving the arling, Bastian smiled at the fool’s unhappiness. The path carved between the houses led to a small wall, upon which one could sit and watch the people come and go. It was higher up and slightly closer to the main gate, further from the foul stench of the central area, which brought bile rising to the back of Bastian’s throat. At least there, Bastian could try to forget how long more he had to spend in Denerim. If the negotiations continued the way Pinnen prefered, Bastian would be stripped of his duchy by the time he returned to Orlais. Resting his arms on the stone wall, brushing stones and pebbles from the surface, he heard the sound of arguing echoing from the street below. Bastian craned his neck over the wall and listened intently to the venomous words spat back and forth between two elves, locked in a war of words neither seemed prepared for. The elves, who bore a striking resemblance to each other, would have been thrown to the lions in the Grand Game, but it provided momentary entertainment. A temporary reverie. However, idle entertainment soon turned to a deep interest as the argument reached its climactic conclusion. One of the elves transformed into a cat, disappearing between the feet of passerbies. Shape-shifter. Bastian had heard of such mages: powerful and skilled. She would be feared by many. She would be hounded by the templars. Bastian, partly for his own gain, was about to follow the shape-shifter when one of his attendants came running towards him. “Your Grace! Your Grace! La Capitaine! La Capitaine!” Yara was quick to go back inside the infirmary after her sister up and left, as a cat. If Kilian was awake, she would ask for payment. If not, she’d sit by his bedside and wait for him to wake up. She could pretend that she’d been by his side the whole time, which would perhaps compel the Orlesian to repay her. Considering she’d only gotten herself involved in his business because she wanted money, she would be very angry to go home with less money than when she’d started. She couldn’t care less what would happen to her sister. Perhaps, a cruel human boy would beat her to death, or a Mabari would crunch her little neck. As long as she didn’t come back, anything would do. Although the infirmary’s healer eyed her harshly when she requested to go back to Kilian, he didn’t deny her request, as he remembered her from a few moments earlier, when she’d exited. Yara walked past the entrance, to Kilian’s bed, and sat at the foot of it. Nightmares plagued Kilian’s dreams. He remembered little of the ride to Denerim from the Wilds, but what he did remember was pain, sweat, and cursing. He fazed in and out of consciousness, but when he woke up, Ashara was there to ease his suffering. He was glad for her, and before he was put under by the Mages tending to his wound, he made a mental note to thank her. When his eyes peeled open as if they were stitched together, he saw her, sitting at his bedside. He saw her ears, then her… brown hair… golden eyes… As he began to blink away the haze, he quickly realized it was not Ashara, but Yara, the one she called her sister. They didn’t look much alike, he concluded. However, most Elves blended together for him. He groaned as he tried to sit up a bit, his abdomen sore, but no longer wounded. He decided it best to keep back. “Bonjour,” he said to the Elf sitting beside his bed. “How long have I been asleep? Have I been here long?” Bastian rushed, but didn't run, to the infirmary where Veteran Captain Killian Drakus was being healed for wounds on the battlefield. Killian Drakus, loyal bodyguard to the Empress, one of the most influential and most respected soldiers of the Winter Court, bleeding out as an arrow pierced his chest. Bastian's attendant guided him through the streets to the infirmary, where Bastian wasted no time at the reception. He simply walked through. The Matron, a stern looking woman, opened her mouth to protest, but nothing came out. Bastian never liked being stopped when he was busy. It bristled with him. Bastian drew back the curtain surrounding Kilian Drakus' bed and stepped inside, surprised to find the soldier sitting up in his bed, with one of the elves he had seen arguing at his side. Drakus' face was drained, the colour faded from his skin, bruises and blood peppering his features. The elf - possibly the shapeshifter, but Bastian sensed nothing special about her, unless she was very adept at concealing her magic - sat by his side, blood in her hair and dirt on her clothes. "La Capitaine, you're not dead. How fortunate - the Empress will be pleased. The Fereldans can at least get something right." Yara was about to answer his question, when a rather grandiose looking fellow entered the makeshift room in which Kilian had been healed. Just from his clothes, she could tell right away that he was Orlesian, and when he spoke, he confirmed it for her. It seemed Kilian had friends in Denerim. She raised an eyebrow at his words. “Was that a compliment or an insult?” At this point, she turned back to Kilian to answer his question. “An hour, maybe. If that. As your Orlesian comrade says, Fereldans can get something right.” Kilian furrowed his eyebrows when the man walked in, trying to sort everything out. He ignored his comment for a moment, turning to Yara and nodding. “Thank you,” he simply said with a tight smile - something many Orlesians grew used to. He looked back to the Orlesian a few feet from him, questioning why fashion from Orlais was so sought after in other parts of Thedas. He thought for a moment, knowing he’d seen the man before, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. He was young, maybe even a decade younger than Kilian himself. “The Empress has more pressing matters on her agenda,” Kilian muttered. “And you are?” Bastian chuckled softly at the bristling nature of the elven voice, his words creeping under her skin without intention. She would be easy pickings for the crows, Bastian thought with a devilish grin. Standing in the makeshift little room, Bastian understood that the elf had no magic of her own. She was mundane and uninteresting. Captain Drakus has an air of exhaustion. His movements were slow, his voice heavy and his face gaunt. Whatever Mage had healed his wound had stopped at the arrow head - any healer worth their gold and silver would have accomplished more. “I am Duke Bastian de Prosperu, La Capitaine,” he said with a flourish. “I am the Empress’ representative in Denerim, in light of what happened in Kirkwall.” Turning to the elf, Bastian had a wicked thought: “You may go now.” Some pleasure at last. Yara had to stifle a laugh as the pompous man introduced himself. She’d always thought Orlesian people were funny, considering their ridiculous clothing and how easy they were to rob. This one, the Duke, seemed quite proud of himself, for whatever reason. Of course, she just saw him as amusing, before he treated her as if she was the help. Ah, so he was arrogant. Interesting, indeed. Yara actually laughed this time, turning to face him. “I’m sorry, but I’m not a servant. I’ll stay here as long as I please.” It wasn’t like she was going to leave without money in her pockets, anyway. From the look the Orlesian gave her, Yara could deduce he thought lowly of elves. Maybe she could knock him down a few pegs. Kilian raised his left hand to silence any comment Duke Bastian might have made in regards to Yara being a servant. “It’s quite alright,” he spoke up. “If it was not for her, I would be dead right now…” His eyes glared around the room then. No one was around, save for the three of them. Completely alone. Where was their Mage? He looked back to Yara. “Where is Ashara? Surely she didn’t leave; this is where she was supposed to be headed anyway.” Bastian smiled brightly, his eyes lighting at the thought of playing a game with the young elf, like how a cat toys with mouse before it is made prey. Bastian had already gotten under her skin: though her lips curled into a smile and she had stifled laugh, Bastian knew his comments had found their mark perfectly. “I never said anything to the contrary, Captain,” Bastian said softly, feigning innocence, “You both assume I make comment on her status, that I looked down upon her. A dangerous proposition; do not judge one book by its cover. I was merely stating that her job in saving you was complete. Though a veteran captain should never have shot so easily.” Bastian circled Drakus’ bed, stepping to the sideboard where potions and medicines, herbs and flowers, books and charms lay scattered haphazardly on top. The workings of a healer - one without much care. “If you are referring to the other elf, she is long gone, is she not, my dear?” Bastian said without looking at the elf by the bedside, enthralled in the magic worked by the healers. Bastian suppressed the smile on his face, waiting for a reply. Such fun Yara was about to admit that she had taken her leave, but the fancily-dressed man spoke before she could. She paused, and narrowed her eyes at him. How could he know? Had he seen their interaction? Must have. Kilian definitely wouldn’t be happy knowing that she was gone. “We got into an argument. She got angry and went who-knows where. I decided to stay here and make sure you were alright.” And also that you would pay me back. Yara turned back to Bastian, and gave him an unsettlingly sweet smile. “Call me ‘my dear’ again and you’ll find a dagger buried in your throat.” Kilian groaned, letting his head fall back onto his pillow. “Arrêtez,” he snapped. “I was almost killed, and within a minute of waking up, the two people greeting me are at each other’s throats.” Where is the rest of my cavalry? “I will see if we cannot track Ashara before she gets herself killed by Templars,” he finally muttered after a moment. He turned to Yara, his jaw set. “Thank you for everything you’ve done; I’ll see to it that you are rewarded.” Bastian chuckled at the outburst in the small room, the light curtain drawn around the bed not offering the rest of the infirmary much protection for the snapping jaws of the Veteran Captain. “Your daggers will not save you, my dear, nor will they save the Mage.” Bastian spoke with confidence, his voice like a gentle river flowing over the riverbed, hiding the vicious and playful tones beneath. “She is long gone, I am sure. Your soldiers will not find a Mage who does not wish to be found. But, I will. Rest La Capitaine, your tongue moves much too quick. It may be cut from your mouth if you are not careful.” Bastian put the bottles of medicine back on the bedside table, smiling at the elf and the Orlesian soldier: “I will find, your cat of a sister - before the templars you so kindly offered her to, find her first.” Yara glared at the Orlesian noble. “You are truly lucky that we are in an infirmary, or else I would have killed you. If you truly find it important to find my sister, so be it. Don’t expect a reward from me, you will do it of your own volition.” She may be my sister, but she’s no family of mine. Kilian swung his legs over the side of the bed, his teeth gritting, and his hand clutching his ribs. He would need to take the next few days easy, but soon enough, this would subside. He had faced worse injuries. Letting out a few, shaky breaths, he pushed himself from the bed and onto his feet, slowly straightening his back, ensuring that the wound did not re-open. He thought of Ashara - of where she might have gone. “I only just met her,” he spoke in Orlesian to the Duke - Bastian, he thought he heard him say. “In the Korcari Wilds, south of here. She said she was looking for a woman - a witch. If she is not there, then possibly hunting the Dalish clan that has been moving from site to site. They could be anywhere, and they are hostile, especially during these times.” Bastian clucked his tongue at Killian, smiling gracefully as the Captain swung his legs out of the bed. He should be resting, Bastian thought, He should be, but he’s not. Fool. He will do more damage than good, open fresh wounds barely closed. Magic is not a panacea. Bastian nodded, speaking to Killian in his native tongue. The words were polished, his rhetoric soft and lilting, like a summer breeze: “She will not have gotten far. I would expect her to still be within the walls of the city; a cat can only jump so far. I will find her.” Turning on his heels, Bastian smiled at the young elf. She was easy pickings and he enjoyed watching her anger brew beneath the smile she used to try and hide it. Eventually, all irritation came crashing to the shore as all waves do, and when it did, Bastian would have his moment. “You, my dear, would not stand a fighting chance. La Capitaine, I shall inform the Empress of your viability. I am sure she will be pleased that her guard has not been killed by cowards.” With a twisted smile and a dark pleasure, Bastian pushed the curtain aside and left without another word.

#Script #Bastian #Killian #Yara

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