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robininthelabyrinth · 3 years

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A-Yuan wasn’t the only child among the Wen Remnants, just the youngest.

Children's Day - ao3

Lan Wangji carefully scooped up the boy out of his hiding place, tucked beneath a pile of stones, sick with fever and fast asleep.

It was a good hiding place. If Lan Wangji hadn’t played Inquiry and demanded to know if there were any living beings around in this cursed place of death, he would never have found the small child.

He remembered him – this was little A-Yuan, who Wei Wuxian had taken down into town to play, the one Lan Wangji had bought all those toys for in his confusion, the one who called him rich-gege. Barely more than two years old, having never known anything but war.

He was all that was left, now. There was nothing else left in the battlefield.

No one else left.

Lan Wangji closed his eyes in pain.

I’ll care for him for you, he promised Wei Wuxian’s ghost, wherever it might be now. Now that you cannot.

I’ll take him back to Gusu to raise as my own – wishing you were by my side.

-Earlier-

“Sect Leader!” one of his aides cried out when he staggered back into camp. “What – who’s that?”

Jiang Cheng looked down at the girl in his arms. She was – four, maybe? Five? He had no idea.

She looked a bit like Wen Qing.

“I found her hiding in the corner of the battlefield when she made a noise,” he said hoarsely. “The Wen sect remnants…by the time I got there, they were almost all dead already, all her family. She’s – she’s young. It didn’t seem right.”

Wei Wuxian always liked children, he thought vaguely to himself as he looked down at her. It wasn’t so much of a surprise that he would keep one there…in fact, if he thought back to that horrible meeting they’d had that one time he’d come to the Burial Mounds to try to talk to Wei Wuxian, he thought he remembered there being a small child there. This must be her.

She was bigger than he remembered, but that was what happened with small children, wasn’t it?

“Her surname is Wen?”

“No,” Jiang Cheng snapped automatically, and his aide took a step back from his vehemence. “The Wen sect is dead, you understand? All of them. The cultivation world refused to allow them to live, that much is obvious enough. Her surname…”

He looked down at her.

I failed Wei Wuxian, he thought grimly. I won’t fail his legacy.

“Her surname will be Jiang.”

-Earlier-

“We found this child hiding in the Demon Subduing Cave,” one of the guards reported, looking nervous. “Lianfeng-zun – what do we do with them?”

Jin Guangyao frowned down at the child, judging the child’s age to be about five or six – maybe seven, considering the likelihood of malnutrition at the Burial Mounds. If they were any younger, he would’ve said that the child ought to just execute them as useless; any older, and he would’ve had no choice but to declare them an enemy combatant, and thereby order them executed.

At this age, though…they were still young enough to be taught to forget their current surname, and to learn new loyalties, and yet old enough to perhaps remember a little of what they had learned, living as they had for a few years with the inventor of demonic cultivation.

Jin Guangyao glanced at the papers in his hands, full of barely legible scribbles, laying out powerful new spells and interesting ideas. They would help Xue Yang with his work – but not as much as a helper would, and naturally they’d just brutally executed all the other ‘helpers’ that might have been available.

Not exactly Jin Guangyao’s personal preference, but he wasn’t the one leading the Jin sect army.

Still, his father, who had been the one leading, had retired to his tent, and now Jin Guangyao was the one with the power, left to be in charge of mopping up. That, in turn, gave him a little more leeway, which meant he could implement his own thoughts, rather than badly thought out instructions.

“Put the child in my tent,” he said, and smiled. “The poor thing must have gotten lost and entered the battlefield – after we arrived. You understand?”

The guard saluted deeply. “Lianfeng-zun is kind and beneficent,” he said, and his expression was worshipful. “I will tell the others that the child is from some distant Jin branch.”

Jin Guangyao hadn’t intended for him to do that, but – well, he couldn’t exactly refute it now, could he, and anyway there were worse things to happen. Everyone would know that he had kindly taken in some orphaned child of war, which would be good for his reputation.

He smiled and nodded, and thought of the future.

-Earlier-

“Well, shit,” Nie Mingjue said, staring at the trio of children: nine or ten years old, he thought, maybe a little older, two girls and a boy. They stared back at him, wide-eyed and terrified – they were very clearly trying to sneak off the Burial Mounds down the back way.

Nie Mingjue rubbed his face, glad that he’d insisted on doing the forward scout work before the attack tomorrow morning himself rather than let it go to someone else. He hadn’t wanted to come to this blasted place in the first place, being that he still wasn’t sure exactly what had gone down with Wei Wuxian, who’d been a good man once. But good Nie cultivators had died at Lanling City at Wen Ning’s hands, the Jin sect claiming that that brutal attack was at Wei Wuxian’s instigation, and at the Nightless City at Wei Wuxian’s hands directly, and he didn’t have any evidence to exculpate the man, either; he had no grounds to look the families of those Nie cultivators in the eye and tell them not to pursue vengeance against the man who had slaughtered their brothers and fathers and sons, sisters and mothers and daughters, like they meant nothing.

They deserved vengeance.

Just as he had, for his father.

But at the same time…

“You’re all surnamed Wen, I take it?” he asked, and they slowly nodded. “Dafan Wen?”

Another nod.

“Wrong answer,” he said, making a snap decision. This wasn’t like his father at all, not really; he had wanted to kill Wen Ruohan, who had done the deed himself, while these children clearly hadn’t done anything. “Swear to me here and now that you won’t seek revenge for your sect or family, and you can be surnamed Nie instead.”

They looked at each other.

“Your family didn’t send you to run away because they wanted you to take revenge,” he said. It was a guess, but he could tell from the way their shoulders sagged that he was right. “They wanted you to live. Well?”

They swore.

He took them home.

-Earlier-

She tripped and fell flat on her face.

“Hey, girl!”

She looked up, eyes wide with terror – she hadn’t expected to be caught so soon – but the cultivator in front of her didn’t strike her down. He was a young man, just a few years older than her, and he looked nice, kneeling to help her up.

“Are you all right?” he asked. “Did you get lost?”

Lost? From where would she get lost, exactly?

Despite that, she nodded.

“I’m sorry to hear that. Here isn’t a good place, though – we’re going to have a battle tomorrow…can you tell me where you’re from?” He frowned. “Or – can’t you speak?”

An idea suddenly came to mind, and she shook her head, lifting up her hands to mime signs like the ones she’d seen Lady Wen and her brother use sometimes when they needed to talk without disturbing others.

“Doesn’t talk,” he murmured to himself. “Clothing of white, ripped all to ribbons –”

She’d torn out any trace of the red sun. White was a common color, but she was old enough to know that she couldn’t let anyone know she was surnamed Wen.

“Oh, I’ve read about this before! Are you a bird yao that’s cultivated to humanity?”

What?

She’d been thinking of trying to pass as a traumatized war veteran, but she was only fourteen, after all; it wasn’t very believable. Of course, it was a lot more believable that bird yao – who would leap to that conclusion?

“My surname is Ouyang,” the man said, smiling brightly at her. “You should come back with me – I can teach you to speak, and we can give you a name…how about ‘Luo’ as a surname? That has to do with birds. Or we could surname you Bai, instead, since your clothing is white! Or maybe -”

She smiled helplessly at his nonsense. What a silly, cheerful man! Maybe she’d overestimated his age, he couldn’t be more than two or three years older, at most, and his brain was clearly not in the right place, filled up to the brim with romantic stories and adventure tales instead of facts.

It was a nice change, actually.

She accepted his hand as she stood.

Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad.

-Earlier-

Lan Wangji had returned home and submitted to a dreadful punishment. The elders he had injured on Wei Wuxian’s behalf were either in treatment or recovering.

As for the rest that had been at the Nightless City…

Many were dead.

Lan Qiren landed in the Burial Mounds, lips pressed tightly together.

He knew he was taking a risk in coming here to Wei Wuxian’s lair – no matter what Lan Wangji thought, whatever good points he’d had in the past, the man was now little better than a mad dog. He’d caused the death of three thousand people just the day before, three thousand innocents that hadn’t had anything to do with anything; why would he hesitate to attack his old teacher?

There was already talk of a siege – Jiang Cheng himself had promised to lead it, to wipe off the stain on the Jiang sect’s record, and the Jin sect had been right behind him. Even Nie Mingjue had been dragged in against his will, suborned by his sect members’ need for vengeance. As for the Lan Sect…Lan Xichen had looked so stricken by the thought that Lan Qiren had volunteered for the grim duty, despite Lan Qiren having never been much of a fighter and even less of a general. He intended to take only the smallest possible contingent, and to limit their work as much as possible to cleansing the dead rather than killing those who remained there – that much, at least, he could do for his nephew.

Either way, though, no matter his powers, Wei Wuxian would not live out the week.

If Lan Qiren desired vengeance, he need only wait.

And yet, here he was.

Alone, practically unarmed – and here nonetheless.

An old woman came out from the cave and squinted at him.

“It’s over,” she said sadly. “Isn’t it?”

Lan Qiren looked at her. One of the Wen remnants that Wei Wuxian had surrounded himself with, he assumed; the ones he’d given up his comfortable life for, claiming he was only acting as a righteous man ought. Perhaps he even had thought he was, back then.

Perhaps he really had been, back then.

“Yes,” Lan Qiren said, and cleared his throat. “After what he did at the Nightless City – the verdict is unquestionably death. But the rest of you…there are armies coming, and armies are not known for their leniency, especially not on passerby with the wrong surname. But they’re not here yet. There’s still time to flee – if you go now, you could take on a new surname and find some quiet place to live on.”

Lan Wangji had said they were civilians. Civilian life was to be prioritized above all else.

Lan Qiren was only doing what he must.

Despite his well-meant warnings, however, the old lady shook her head.

“There’s nowhere to go, and we won’t give up our surname,” she said, polite but stubborn to the last. “But thank you for taking the time to come here to tell us.”

“Wangji said that there were children here,” Lan Qiren insisted, ignoring her refusal. “If you won’t flee with them, at least send those that are old enough out on their own, and hide the younger ones. Tell them to forget their surnames – most people won’t rampantly murder children, so there’s a chance they’ll make it through, and live. Can you deny them that, just for pride?”

That gave the old woman pause.

“We’ll do what we can,” she said, and then eyed him. “How good are you at medicine?”

Lan Qiren frowned. “I can’t provide care –”

“She’s already dead. Come help anyway.”

The woman in question was not already dead, but dying – she was in her late teens, seventeen or eighteen at most, and she was in labor. From the glassiness of her eyes, the redness of her cheeks, and the threadiness of her pulse, it was clear that infection had long ago set in. It was not an exaggeration to say she was dead, little better than a corpse.

She was little more than a child.

“I don’t want her to die alone,” the old woman said. “But if you stay with her, I can use the time to try to take care of the rest. You’re not wrong, I suppose – the children, at least, deserve a chance to live on, even if it means leaving our surname behind.”

Lan Qiren looked down at the woman, unconscious already and unlikely to ever wake, and yet still whimpering. “And her child?”

The old woman looked surprised. “Can a child born like this still live?”

Lan Qiren had almost no medical training beyond the most superficial basics that were the necessity for any battlefield or night-hunt, with one sole exception: he had supervised the births of both his nephews by himself with little aid – his brother’s wife hadn’t wanted anyone else to be present, possibly in an attempt to prematurely enter her grave, possibly just out of spite. He had studied very hard in the days leading up to those births, and knew far more on the subject than most men did.

“It’s possible,” he said. “Unlikely, but – possible.”

He hesitated for a long moment.

“I can take the baby,” he finally said. “Pass him off as some war-orphan child of distant Lan cousins, sent to me on account of their deaths. I could raise him, or else give him to my cousin to raise; he’s got a large enough family that no one would question it.”

“Why would you do that?”

Lan Qiren looked at the woman who was dying, little more than a child herself. “Because of the children I can’t help.”

The old woman was quiet for a little while.

“Very well,” she said, and leaned forward to whisper the name the young woman had thought about for her child into his ear. “That works with Lan as a surname, wouldn’t it? That’s not bad.”

“Not bad at all,” Lan Qiren agreed, and rolled up his sleeves, settling down beside the girl. “Not bad at all.”

#mdzs #lan wangji #jiang cheng #jin guangyao #nie mingjue #lan qiren #original characters #my fic #my fics #children's day #some untamed elements

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canary3d-obsessed · 3 years

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Restless Rewatch: The Untamed Episode 19, part one

(Masterpost) (Other Canary Stuff) (Previous Post)

Warning: Spoilers for All 50 Episodes!

Chilling in Yiling

We start off with Wei Wuxian hanging out in a busy area of Yiling, which is a really dumb place to pick for a fugitive rendezvous.

He's wearing a fashionably distressed brown robe, and a woven disguise hat, that makes him invisible to his enemies until the moment he takes it off, kinda like the mask he wears in his second life. Unfortunately he is a polite boi so he takes off the disguise hat when he goes indoors to get a bite to eat, and promptly gets smacked down by Wen Zhuliu.

Xiao Zhan's stunt double is really good at this wire-pull+table-smash move; this is the second time Wei Wuxian goes crashing through a table (the first one being when Yu Ziyuan was beating him). This time he clutches his now core-less abdomen, in a move we're going to be seeing a lot of, going forward. Abdominal surgery is a bitch. OP can personally attest to this.

Wen Zhuliu provides some comic relief by looking at his hand in puzzlement; he clearly can tell Wei Wuxian has no golden core, but he isn't going to bother telling Wen Chao that.

Wen Chao gloats and steps on Wei Wuxian's hand while Wei Wuxian stares at his shoe and OP wonders, not for the first time, how they make rubberized zig-zag treads in Ancient Fantasy China.

(more after the cut)

This is all happening in the Yiling Wine house where Wei Wuxian will later share the most important meal of his life, the one in which A-Yuan lays claim to Lan Wangji, ultimately giving LWJ a reason to live long enough for Wei Wuxian to be resurrected. If that doesn’t deserve a good Yelp review, nothing does.

Dream a Little Dream of Me

While Wei Wuxian gets ready for his big whump scene, Jiang Cheng is dreaming, and looking absolutely breathtaking in this deceptively simple robe, that's made of a really complex fabric, that catches the light all over its surface. The lighting here is warm and romantic, giving everything a nostalgic glow.

He looks around the courtyard in his dream, and sees Jiang Yanli and Wei Wuxian come running in the gate carrying kites.

A child fetching a kite was the first casualty of the Wen attack on Lotus Pier, so this image may already be a little fraught for Jiang Cheng. In this initial image of his family, Jiang Cheng isn't present as a child, but then his junior self comes running up, to be warmly greeted by his mother.

Jiang Cheng's reaction to the scene playing out in front of him is not a simple one. We've seen him externally expressing his trauma at the fate of Lotus Pier and his family - his anger and his despair - and this dream shows us his private, interior trauma.

His body has been repaired by Wei Wuxian and the Wens, but his psyche has not.

This family interaction can't possibly be one that ever happened. It's too lively, too affectionate, too comfortable. The family he was part of as a young adult was cold, angry, cracked. Families don't change that much in 10 years, unless there's a major trauma that alters things in a fundamental way.

Even the glimpses we got of his childhood contradict this image. This warm group is not the family of "I sent your dogs away" or "wait in the cold until Jiang Cheng lets you in" or "I won't tell Clan Leader Jiang what happened" or "I'm only 11 but I'm in charge of soup and bedtime already"

Jiang Cheng smiles at the affection he sees enacted in front of him, but quickly moves to grief. When a toxic person dies, you don't just lose the relationship you had with them; you lose the hope for a better relationship. Perhaps Jiang Cheng has always imagined this version of his family; now nothing like it can ever come to be.

The pleasant scene vanishes into nightmare, as his mother starts bleeding from her eyes, ew. This is like Nie Mingjue when he qi deviates, but dream Yu Ziyuan is perfectly chill about it.

Jiang Cheng is not perfectly chill about it.

He turns around to see Lotus Pier burning. When he turns back, his family has been replaced with Wen Zhuliu, who is particularly gleeful as he reaches into Jiang Cheng's chest and melts his core.

Jiang Cheng wakes up on the mountain, alone (as far as he knows), and quickly stands and boots up his new golden core.

It's purple, because of course it is. King. The nightmare is gone and he smiles, maybe for the first time since the attack on the pier.

In a moment that is probably going to feel really embarrassing in hindsight, he kneels and bows toward the mountaintops to thank Baoshan Sanren, who is totally not there.

Wen Ning, on the other hand, is there, although we only see a little bit of his belt and robe as Jiang Cheng walks off to Yiling to meet his brother. This entire plotline walks a very weird line in which the audience is told just enough about what’s really happening to be confused, but not surprised.

Do the Whumpty Whump

After some initial roughing up, Wen Chao has his dudes stand Wei Wuxian up so he can question him without actually getting any information out of him at all. They take turns calling each other dogs, with Wei Wuxian saying that when Wen Chao talks he just hears a dog barking. (Of course if he really heard a dog barking he'd be terrified)

Then he says "isn't that right" to Wang Lingjiao, and Wen Chao gets super pissed; don't disrespect me to my woman.

He has his minions do a Nancy Kerrigan to Wei Wuxian's knee and then kick him for a while.

Then they kick the shit out of the camera operator.

Wen Chao is really not about fighting his own fights. He also keeps threatening to have Wen Zhuliu melt Wei Wuxian's core, and Wen Zhuliu keeps popping up his hand and then putting it back when Wen Chao changes his mind, which gets more hilarious every time I watch it. Feng Mingjing’s physical embodiment of Wen Zhuliu is endlessly entertaining, even in scenes where he has literally no lines.

I Ain’t Afraid of No Ghost

Wei Wuxian continues to goad Wen Chao, telling him that more torture is good because then he'll die with loads of resentment. He says that after he dies, he will come back as a ferocious ghost, which is...almost exactly what happens, except he stays alive for the ferocious part.

They go back and forth about the feasibility of this whole haunting plan. Wang Lingjiao is the voice of reason, for once, arguing the "ghosts aren't real and anyway fuck this guy" position.

Wen Chao thinks that he can’t haunt them because of cultivator security hardening procedures soul-calming rituals, but Wei Wuxian wasn't born into a gentry family so didn't have the anti-fierce-ghost treatment that other cultivators get.

This is the only time in the whole of the show when Wei Wuxian says, himself, that he's the son of a servant. He's using his reputation as a commoner to bolster his threats.

Wei Wuxian is working hard to put on a scary-guy persona, which works pretty well on Wang Lingjiao but not as much on the rest of the group. Three months from this time, however, he will have become the scary, vengeful creature he's currently spitballing about. He will also become way, way better at torture than the people who are currently mistreating him.

Wang Lingjiao and Wen Chao go through a whole sequence of ideas about what to do with him. For whatever reason Wang Lingjiao doesn't insist on chopping his arm off even though she's been craving it for ages.

She does gleefully burn his burn some more, causing it to bleed directly into the giant obvious bag he has hanging from his belt leaking resentful energy. Which the Wens do not take away or search.

Wen Chao, incidentally, starts calling him Wei Ying during this encounter, which is rude of him. Tch. Finally Wen Chao decides on a plan, which involves sword-flying effects so terrible that no soul can survive them.

Jiang Cheng is looking for Wei Wuxian in town, wearing a woven hat like Wei Wuxian’s. This...is not a disguise. If you want to be inconspicuous, maybe take that giant piece of silver off of your head.

He hears random people talking about the Wens being in town, and then he apparently looks up at the sky and sees the Wen dudes flying on their swords with Wei Wuxian, but it looks so ridiculous that Jiang Cheng's mind cannot process what he is seeing.

While they "fly," Wen Chao delivers a massive brick of exposition about the burial mounds, while Wei Wuxian looks genuinely frightened. The VFX of random, undifferentiated mountaintops and clouds do nothing to sell this menace, but the exposition is actually pretty good, creating a real sense of disturbance and threat.

Then they toss him in, and we go from the terrible VFX of sword flying to a visual effect that they mercifully did really well throughout the show - the black resentment smoke. This time it catches Wei Wuxian and holds him for a few moments, before dropping him the rest of the way to the ground. It also apparently pulls the turtle sword out of his belt bag, but we don't see that part.

They Say That Every Man Must Fall

Having seen Wei Wuxian at his lowest point (so far) and dream Jiang Cheng also in deep distress, we go to the Dafan Wen sibs, who have also reached a breaking point. Because they helped Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng, they are traitors to their clan - unquestionably so - and are being punished for it, with Wen Ning having been tortured in addition to being locked up.

I see my light come shining From the west down to the east Any day now, any day now I shall be released

You know how Lan Xichen successfully argued for Wen-Clan-Member Meng Yao's life and status, because Meng Yao betrayed Wen Ruohan to help them? Even though Meng Yao killed a bunch of Nie guys? Wen Ning and Wen Qing also betrayed Wen Ruohan and helped the Sunshot Campaign, without killing a bunch of guys. They should have been treated as allies by the four other clans, but they got diddly.

I’ve Been Dead Once

We return to Wei Wuxian in the burial grounds, where he's lying on the ground surrounded by resentful energy and by strained, desperate voices calling his name. This whole sequence is remarkable, since it effectively communicates the horror he's experiencing, through little more than Xiao Zhan's face and good sound design.

I hang around dying to be tortured You'll never be alone in the bone orchard

The voices call four versions of his name. A variety of voices call him Wei Wuxian, Wei Gongzi, and Shixiong, which (I think) is what the young Jiang disciples would have called him. And in the midst of those voices, Lan Wangji's voice, low and calm, saying "Wei Ying." Upon hearing that Wei Wuxian starts to drag himself up.

For a show with definitely no zombies in it, they sure do use the visual language of zombie films for Wei Wuxian's first motions after hitting the ground. Starting with twitching fingers, then gradually pulling himself halfway up and crawling, lurching across the ground. Wei Wuxian comes slowly back to life, the very first member of his army of the dead.

He makes his way across the ground toward the floating turtle sword. Along the way he accidentally grabs the world's most bowlegged thigh bone; the lack of sunshine in the burial mounds puts the skeletons at risk for rickets. All of the skeletons in the show are exactly what you would expect from the practical effects team that made the demon hand and the animatronic dog.

The turtle sword is roiling with resentful energy, and is talking to Wei Wuxian as he crawls toward it, asking if he wants revenge. And what a coincidence, he DOES want revenge.

He grabs the sword and plunges it into the ground in an explosion of resentful energy. (Ground: why you gotta take it out on me?)

The sequence ends with the most compelling, ominous shot of Wei Wuxian's face...a new man.

Soundtrack: 1. I Shall Be Released by Bob Dylan 2. Beyond Belief by Elvis Costello

Writing Prompt: The Day Wei Wuxian arrived, from the POV of a Burial Mounds ghost.

#fytheuntamed #the untamed #the untamed gifs #the untamed meta #cql #restless rewatch the untamed #canary3d-original #my gifs #wei wuxian #burial mounds #jiang cheng

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plantsarefun06 · 3 years

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Creation of Lazarus

"But I know the rage that drives you. That impossible anger strangling the grief, until the memory of your loved one is just poison in your veins. And one day, you catch yourself wishing the person you loved had never existed, so you'd be spared your pain."

-Ra’s al Ghul ----

Ra’s was born in the Arabi desert, to nomads, in 1430. If you asked any person from that tribe what Ra’s was, they would say “A boy with dreams”. Ra’s had dreams of knowledge, dreams of helping others, he dreamed of having a legacy, and a great one at that.

His dreams led him to leave his tribe. He knew that as a nomad, he would never truly achieve what he wished to and the best course of action was to settle down in a great city and continue the measly education that he got as a nomad, and the great knowledge the libraries of the Sultan provided.

His studies led him to a physician. Ra’s requested to become a physician, he wanted to help others, this would offer him an opportunity to study and learn about diseases and ailments, firsthand, and offer him chances to help the sick and injured.

The physician asked for one thing. “I am infirm and soon for the grave. My daughter, Sora, she will need a husband to look after her.” That’s when he heard a yell from the curtain behind the clerk’s desk. A woman swiftly pushed back the curtain to scold her father. “I thought we agreed you’d stop trying to marry me off!”

The girl, clearly about his age, looked at him, let out a quick huff before grabbing his wrist in a vice-like grip and dragging him behind the clerk’s desk, behind the curtain, into what he could now see was a closet, with medicines and serums lining the walls, all filled with cobwebs and dust, clearly having not been used in a while.

“I’ll be honest with you Ra’s… I don’t really like boys much… but I can offer you companionship and support. And if we get married it will make my father’s last days much happier.” He was evaluating what she said as she said it when she quickly looked over to the shelves “And him stop pestering me.” She mumbled more to herself than Ra’s. At that he let out a light chuckle and having thought over her offer gave her his thoughts.

“I admit, I’m more interested in the pursuit of knowledge than women. We might be able to come to some… mutually beneficial arrangement.”

Sora gave a light smile to Ra’s, and he returned it. They both understood the agreement they both had created.

----

Within the year, as they all had expected, Sora’s father had died.

Despite them knowing that the time was drawing near, it was still hard. Sora would never admit it, but she shed a tear at his funeral, watching the bird fly through the skies as he was laid out in the Tower of Silence for a sky burial, traditional for his Zoroastrianism.

To cope Ra’s delved into his studies and found a project of the late physician. He had seen him look over it many times, but he had never been allowed to read the texts. He would simply watch as the physician would spend hours pouring over the texts, before the physician would finally come over and teach him about traditional medicinal herbs and serums and their effects. Ra’s forever acknowledges that he learned more in his months under the physician's tutelage, than he ever did in the library.

He learned of how diseases spread, and the common ways they would extend across the city in the matter of weeks. How if they started within the markets, they would quickly spread across many of the peasants, and other middle-class folk, but they wouldn’t get much farther, and how if the diseases started amongst the slaves, they would spread much faster due to the unsanitary conditions, and they would often then be picked up by someone of upper class, as they traditionally had slaves, and spread.

He was eternally grateful for the lessons he was given. They helped him serve the city in incredible ways. Ra’s performed near miracles for anyone who needed it. His reputation started to grow, some upper-class citizens would refuse to come, because Ra’s would cater to slaves, but others would request the treatment of Ra’s and would always find themselves healed within the week.

But these texts that he found of the physicians, seemed to have some pages with herbs and brews, but the majority held drawings of people, dressed in unfamiliar clothing, all bright, with texts in a script he couldn't begin to understand. He looked among the pages and found what looked to be a cypher in the physician's handwriting. The physician had part of the unfamiliar script figured out… no not script… it was CODE! The texts were coded!

All he would need to do was complete the cypher and he would discover what the texts were for.

----

Ra’s poured hours into the texts and completing the code, with no such luck.

“It’s no good. These codes your father was working on have me beat. I can’t break it…” He called to his wife, who was currently working in the front of the shop after it closed about an hour ago, she was preparing for the next day, he supposed.

“Perhaps I can help?” She poked her head in from behind the curtain to peer at him being over the table.

“Thank you, Sora. A warm bowl of goat’s milk and nutmeg would be most refreshing.” Ra’s commented back to her, without lifting his eyes from the texts in front of him.

He could practically feel the glare she was giving him. He wasn’t entirely sure it wouldn’t burn him with the intensity he could only feel from it, and he wasn’t even looking at her.

“I mean with the code. I learnt much from my father and knew he was struggling to complete his final great work, just as much as you. You’re not married to a servant girl, Ra’s. Warm the milk yourself, and let me see those figures.” The defiance in her tone was thick and her anger was subtle yet tangible. He didn’t understand it but that defiance, and strong will made him want to love her.

He knew that their relationship was built on the agreement of companionship, and for the safety of Sora after her father’s death, but he would be lying if he said that he didn’t love her. Love the way she would snark him when he would ask her to do things, that he could do himself, love how she would hum as she cooked the dinner that they ate every night, her loved how she would ever so lightly furrow her eyebrow when she was concentrated on work.

Ra’s let out a small smile and turned to meet his wife by the curtain. He bent down to kiss her forehead, “Sora… I believe this is going to be a beautiful marriage.” He gave her a light hug before giving her another kiss on her forehead and mumbling to her just loud enough for her to hear, “I’ll go warm some goat’s milk for the both of us, and you can look over the codes, until I get back, and we can work on them together.” He gave her a light squeeze before unraveling himself from her and going off to warm the goat’s milk, and Sora heading over to the table to study the texts.

----

“More code?” Ra’s asked no one in particular. He and Sora had stumbled upon a trapdoor underneath a floor mat in the medicinal closet while cleaning. Ra’s could tell from the hinges alone that it was used regularly. When they opened the hatch they saw that it led down a small ladder, the ladder led to a room, an underground cave almost, despite it being quite dark he could make out the sound of lightly sloshing water and summarized that there was a pool in this cave.

They both held small candles, and when holding them close to the wall they saw it. It was a wall full of more texts! They were familiar enough with the code to recognize that the code from the texts upstairs matched the one in front of them.

A glint of recognition and understanding was in Sora’s eyes. “My father was working on a map of the Tibetan mountains, using the wisdom of the stars and other maps from the libraries of the Sultan. And figuring out the meaning of the code from texts of the ancients. A code showing…” She stopped speaking, her eyes running over a few things before stopping.

“And code of what?” Ra’s questioned Sora’s sudden quietness and turned to give her his whole focus. Her eyes were completely fixed on one drawing. It was of the silhouette of a man, behind him was a circle of purple. The way it was positioned it seemed to be describing the man emitting the purple. Like he was glowing.

He refocused his attention on his wife’s face as she turned to him, “One which tells the way to achieve something men have long dreamed-” he saw the emotions his wife’s face held. Emotions he had never seen in her face before, it was complete and utter disbelief,

“-a wish to change reality.”

----

They soon were able to decipher enough code to learn that the Tibetan mountains was the location of the Temple of Guardians, the holders of two pieces of magical jewelry that possessed the ability, when combined, to grant a wish that could alter reality.

Sora and Ra’s had both packed enough for a 3-week trip on horseback, to the Tibetan mountains, and back. Ra’s had won the argument over who would be going, Sora wanting it to be herself, but eventually agreeing Ra’s would be better suited for the job, considering he grew up as a nomad, much to Sora’s chagrin.

He had been on trek for a week and was taking a rest on the side of the dirt road to fill his canteen with water from a stream he saw nearby, when he saw a flash of light blue and white out of the corner of his eyes. He immediately drew one of the daggers that he carried at all times and started to look around for what he saw.

He hadn’t fought anyone in a decade, last time being a practice spar with his uncle the night before he left to go live in the city alone, and even then, he was only okay, but he did know some forms of martial arts and weaponry in theory. He read about it in some of the texts from the library, while theory may not have anything on experience, it was better than nothing.

He was beginning to think he had either come down with a fever and been hallucinating, or he had simply been seeing things, when after five minutes of surveying the area, he could see that no one had been there.

He walked up to his undisturbed horse and grabbed the reins. Upon lifting himself on the horse he heard a light *jingle*. He looked down to find a small drawstring bag tied around the tip of his saddle. He was used to seeing little drawstring bags, like this one, around the shop. Sora often used them to hold the herbs they used for medical purposes, but he didn’t know why she would have packed it, or why it jingled when it was shaken.

He slowly picked it up, examining it as if it were going to spontaneously catch fire. He slowly undid the knot and overturned the contents of it in his gloved hand.

Out fell two earrings and a ring…

A ring that was a black as dark as the night sky he saw as a nomad child, with a pawprint, greener than any grass or any tapestry he had seen before…

And a pair of earrings red as the blood he had seen countless times as a physician, and five distinct spots, black as the ring…

Both the ring and the earrings looking exactly like the drawings he had seen of the Black Cat miraculous and the Ladybug miraculous he had seen in the texts.

Ra’s had learned many lessons in his life, but one of the biggest, most important of them all: There are no coincidences in the world.

Ra’s had no doubt in his mind that in his hand, he held the two most powerful objects in the universe, two objects that would grant him a wish.

Slowly, a grin grew on his face. He immediately seized the reins of his horse, and turned him around, heading faster than he ever had back to the city.

His father-in-law's final project was finally completed on its way to being completed.

----

The look on Sora’s face was one he had only seen once before, when they first discovered the small area underneath the shop, complete and utter disbelief.

“This… these jewels… are they really the Black Cat and Ladybug miraculous?” She asked wide-eyed, just looking at what Ra’s had set on the counter after barging into the shop, in a ridiculously loud manner, might she add.

“I do believe it is, they practically feel powerful!”

Sora slowly inched her hand toward where the earrings fell on the counter. The moment she gently brushed her finger against one of the earrings, a bright pink light emitted from it, one that forced both Sora and Ra’s to cover their eyes.

Once the light dimmed, they saw something that was not in the texts.

Both Sora and Ra’s were in a state of shock. It was broken when the thing floated up to her face and began to speak, “Hello my name’s Tikki. I’m the Kwami of Creation!” She said, giving a little twirl in the air.

Ra’s, finally able to speak again, asked, “That does not explain much. What is a ‘Kwami’ and why did you suddenly appear when the earrings were touched by Sora?”

“Ooh. A Kwami is an entity tethered to this plane of reality by the jewelry that is sitting on your counter. I’m the entity of creation. When everything came to be, I came to be with it, not before, not after, some people confuse that.” The ‘Kwami’, as they both learned it was, giggled before continuing with the explanation they both needed, “I’m the thing that gives power to that jewelry, without me, that jewelry is just some antique junk.” She finished her explanation.

It made more sense than just ‘magical jewelry’ to have some entity tethered to it. “If you touch the ring Plagg will come out!” She exclaimed before going over to Ra’s and pulling off his glove and grabbing his hand. She pulled his hand from his side and he willingly allowed the ‘Kwami’ to lift his finger to touch the ring.

A second burst of bright light, green this time, came from the ring. This time Sora and Ra’s expected it so it wasn’t too bad. They only had to blink a couple times before they heard a yawn, “Well that was a good cat nap!” The other ‘Kwami’, who he was guessing his name was ‘Plagg’ from what ‘Tikki’ said, “Do you all have some cheese, I’m starving!”

Sora was the one who pulled herself together enough to answer ‘Plagg’s’ question, “There is some food in the cabinet under the basin. You may find what you are looking for there.” Sora gestured to the curtain and both Kwami got the memo, before floating off where Sora indicated the food would be.

Both Ra’s and Sora locked eyes. Their silent conversation led to them both leaving each other's gaze to eye the ring and earrings. They both agreed that they had no idea what had just happened.

----

“That is not a good idea.”

That was the only thing that was said after Sora and Ra’s took them to see the basement beneath their shop that held the texts and the pool. Both of the Kwami were faced away from the texts as ‘they should not see them’. Ra’s gave them an indignant look at their immediate dismissal of their want for a wish.

“This could help hundreds maybe even thousands of people, how is this not a good idea?”

“You don’t understand, the wish has major repercussions, you can always ask for a way to heal the injured and dead, but that wish will have untold side-effects.” Tikki tried to explain to both Ra’s and Sora. The sincerity in her voice was deep, but they did not hear the sadness that lingered in it as well.

“Will you not allow us to make the wish?” Sora asked, tilting her head to the side, as if analyzing the situation.

“We cannot stop you from making the wish, but we must tell you, it will have repercussions, and the one who makes the wish will feel them deeply.” Sorrow again seeped into Tikki’s voice; this time Ra’s noticed it as well.

“Then I will make the wish, I have memorized the incantation and only one of us can make the wish itself.” He pulled the now silver ring and black earrings from his pocket. He placed the ring on his left middle finger. He prepared to force the earrings through his ears, worst case scenario he could use whatever came of the wish to heal himself, only to be pleasantly surprised when the earrings glided through his ear as if he did have a piercing.

Both the Kwami moved to the outstretched hands Ra’s offered and sat down. Ra’s failed to notice the tears in Tikki’s eyes, and the downcast look on Plagg’s face.

The moment he uttered the last syllable, the rush to Ra’s was undeniable. He felt immense amounts of power seeping into his veins.

“I wish to have the means to heal any injury and return any person from death.”

And everything went quiet. All the power he was feeling only moments ago, felt like it was running off him, like dirt would in a shower.

He looked over to see Sora sitting in the ground shielding her face, much in the same manner she was when they first met the Kwami.

Both the earrings and ring started to burn lightly, so he ripped them off and threw them behind him, before running over to Sora and helping her stand.

Ra’s felt at his ear, where he just ripped the earring out, noticing the earrings didn’t leave so much as a scar.

Looking to check over Sora, he saw out of the corner of his eyes a bright green glow.

Both Ra’s and Sora looked over to see a neon, toxic green color at the bottom center of the pool.

It was mesmerizing how the green stretched from a small center at the bottom of the pool out, almost like tentacles, or tree roots growing out in the dirt.

He continued to watch until the entire pool was filled with the green, when he saw the same white and light blue flash out of the corner of his eyes. He tried to turn quickly and catch it, but the only thing he saw was an empty room.

A room empty of both the Black Cat and Ladybug miraculous.

----

Life went on relatively normal for Ra’s and Sora. They cleaned out the basement and removed the texts, as they were no use to him anymore, and cleaned the area.

When finding a name, they settled on one- Lazarus Pit - from a biblical story that Sora’s father mentioned in one of the texts.

He had said ‘he wanted to be able to do the same as the Christian’s god, and revive the dead. And if the wish truly worked, it would be able to, they had yet to try the pit and test the magic that quite obviously resided within it.

----

As time went on, and the pit remained below their feet, Ra’s continued his work as a physician, continuing working miracles without the use of the pit, which was an actual miracle. His reputation grew both of his physician's duties, and of the great mind he held. He was referred to as “the greatest mind of his age” by some.

Ra’s had heard him referred to as this on occasion, but he didn’t realize just how far word of his miracles went until the Sultan’s guard requested his aid in healing the prince who had fallen ill.

As the guards left his shop, leaving him with the letter asking him officially of his aid he immediately turned to Sora with quite possibly the largest smile he ever had on his face, “If I could cure the prince-- our reputation would be made, I’d have the funding to push my research forward-”

He was cut off by Sora who he only realized was rubbing her temple with her hands at his rant, “The prince is nothing but a cruel young aristo-- I’ve caught him leering at me in the Bazaar!”

“Don’t do this Ra’s. We can do without the Sultan’s money!” Sora pleaded to him. She held a look of concern on her face that Ra’s completely ignored, rather thinking about what he could possibly do with the benefits of healing a prince.

“You’re wrong! When I walked through the desert, I nurtured a dream. This is my way to fulfill it!”

Ra’s turned away from Sora, and headed down below the shop, to the Pit.

----

Everything went wrong. And Ra’s had no idea how.

Everything was going fine.

The royal guards had brought the sick prince to his shop as requested by Ra’s. The moment he saw the prince Ra’s knew that he was on his deathbed… he knew the only way to help him was using the Lazarus Pit.

He had the guards bring him down the ladder and he followed them, with Sora by his side.

They dipped the prince in the Pit. They let him wade. It was only seconds, maybe a minute, at most, before the prince burst out from under the water. Certainly not sickly like he was, to the point of not being able to walk, not like he was when he arrived.

For the briefest moment Ra’s lived in this fantasy where the Pit healed the Prince, and Ra’s got the reputation he wanted, the funding he needed, and got to continue the research that he always wanted to. He lived in this fantasy where he and Sora worked side-by-side, studied medicine, and became great physicians known for their miracles.

This fantasy ended when the prince left at Sora his eyes, we're not the same as they were when he went in; they were yellow and feral. There was a snap before the guards were able to subdue him. They only realized that the snap was from Sora’s neck. And Sora laid on the ground with scratch marks on her face, her head bent at an unnatural angle, and a small drop of blood dripping down her cheek, from her mouth.

Ra’s fell beside her body, unmoving, he saw out of the corner of his eyes, the prince stopped struggling in the guards' arms and seemed to gain some form of coherency of the situation, but he could not look away from her. He didn’t even breathe until the guards grabbed him as well and put a bag over his head.

Everything went wrong.

----

They said he killed her. The Sultan was told by the prince’s guards that his son had killed the wife of the physician that treated him for his illness.

That he had snapped her neck. In return the guards were killed. They could not have the truth be spread. It could cause uprising if such rumors were told to others. So, the moment he was told the story, directly from the prince’s guards who had been there, and he got assurance that they had taken the husband -the physician- and put him in the dungeons, and after that assurance was placed, he had his personal guards slit their throats.

It wasn’t hard to say it was the husband who did it. Without the guards to tell what happened, and the physician in such a state of shock he wouldn’t even talk, no one questioned what the Sultan said.

How did this happen again?

Why did the prince look like that?

He looked feral?

His eyes were near yellow?

Why would he attack her?

Why would he kill her?

Why did he seem to be fine after a minute or being restrained?

Why?

They were the only questions Ra’s was asking himself of late.

He was completely unreactive on the outside but was perfectly aware of what was happening. He was perfectly aware of how the Sultan was placing the blame on him. How the Sultan was saying he killed Sora. He killed his wife.

And yet he knew that regardless of the fact he was innocent, he would still be blamed and persecuted for her death. So, he sat still and continued to ask those questions in his head.

How did this happen again?

Why did the prince look like that?

He looked feral?

His eyes were near yellow?

Why would he attack her?

Why would he kill her?

Why did he seem to be fine after a minute or being restrained?

Why?

He knew he was being gagged, tied up, and dragged from his cell from the dungeons beneath the castle. He knew that this is when they would punish him. It would be death.

How he would die?

He did not know.

Likely a public flogging, beating, or torture of some kind before then bend him over a rock and to take his head off.

And to be honest, Ra’s couldn’t feel anything, he was completely numb as his knees, calves, and feet were dragged over the dirt, and cobble leaving long scars. He knew they were supposed to sting, and burn, and just hurt, but he couldn’t feel a thing. He knew that was a bad sign, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care.

He didn’t start to see anything until he saw it. There was a cage in the center of the courtyard, black iron, probably burning hot with the sun as it is, but that is not what caught his eye. It was the body of Sora that laid in it.

He started to feel the burn of the metal as they forced him in the same small cage as Sora. He was forced to curl in on himself as her body lay not 6 inches from him. Sat up against the side of the cage, with rope tied around her neck and waist, keeping her sitting upright, and facing the rest of the unbearably small cage. Her eyes still opened in the same shock they were in when he first was beside her body.

He felt as the cage was lifted up, the burn of the hot metal only worsening, as they carried the cage out to the city walls, to leave him in the desert to die.

----

His eyes never stayed off Sora’s for long. He remembered what her eyes looked like…

… these are not her eyes.

Sora’s eyes held none of what it used to. Her eyes held confidence, charm, they held stubbornness and defiance. All the things that made Sora the woman she was. All the things that were devoid in those eyes.

Those eyes were open and held only one thing: fear. And that was unlike Sora at all. Sora was never afraid.

But maybe she was of death. Maybe her eyes held fear because she realized what was going to happen…

...because she realized she was going to die.

----

Ra’s didn’t know how long he sat in that cage outside the city walls, staring into the unfamiliar eyes.

All he knew was that the trance was broken by the sound of creaking metal. The hinges. And the feeling of hands going under his arms and pulling him up. He had the strength to turn his head and be met with a face that was faintly familiar.

“Who are you?” He weakly rasped out. “Sabih, I’m a slave for the al-Hafiz family. You saved my mother from dysentery four months ago… I figured I owed you the same.”

And that’s all they said. That’s all they said when he walked back towards the al-Hafiz property. That’s all they said after Sabih settled him in the stables and fed him some water and leftover scraps. That’s all they said as Sabih handed Ra’s a small bag with some water, and food in it. That’s all they said before Ra’s returned to the outside of the city walls, and left on a search for the nomadic tribe he was born and raised in.

He didn’t know what to do, but he was going to figure it out, but not do it in that city.

----

It took him a few weeks, and some manual labor in return for supplies, before he found his uncle’s nomads and took control. It was relatively easy.

By the time he had found the nomads he had been able to sort through his mind. Find his priorities.

And right now, he wanted one thing: he wanted the great city to burn.

He wanted them all dead, he just had to be smart about it. He was thankful, now more than ever for the lessons Sora’s father gave.

It would be easy, he would start by giving a disease to the slaves, if the disease would spread quick enough, it could be passed down the classes and severely weaken the city. Especially if the slaves were hit first, considering that the city was built with them as their foundation.

----

The city was ravaged. Those who didn’t die of disease were killed by Ra’s and his men. When the priests of the Zoroastrian Delegation asked if they spared them and their Holy Towers of Silence. Ra’s turned to the man who was the messenger of the request and bared his teeth.

“Kill the priests. Burn their sacred buildings!”

Ra’s stood in before the destruction he caused. He returned to the city a very different man from when he first arrived there.

A man with a different dream…

Ra’s walked back to the old shop. One that he spent much time in. Leading the others down to the opening below the shop to allow them to see the Lazarus Pit.

“Uncle, you are still the leader of our tribe, but the tribe I am describing will stretch farther than the sands of Arabi. Stretch into every land… past the wall of every city.” Ra’s spoke keeping his voice low and authoritarian. His uncle let off a chuckle.

“Oh, nephew. Just like your father. You were always the dreamer. What you speak of it too… fantastical.” His words made Ra’s a bit angry, but a bit smug at the same time. His uncle had no idea what the Pit in front of his very eyes was capable of.

“*tch* My father never had half my vision, Uncle, nor half my talent.”

His uncle just sputtered in response, “But… it would take several lifetimes for one man to accomplish what you speak of!”

Ra’s just smirked at his words, “Yes, uncle. Yes indeed. And it will be quite some journey.”

“I don’t understand.”

Ra’s focused on the pit, reminded of Tikki’s words…

“You don’t understand, the wish has major repercussions, you can always ask for a way to heal the injured and dead, but that wish will have untold side-effects.”

“We cannot stop you from making the wish, but we must tell you, it will have repercussions, and the one who makes the wish will feel them deeply.”

He truly did. The creation of this wish helped him achieve one of his life’s greatest desires, one of his greatest loves, and in return he lost the love of his life, Sora.

And if you are to use the Lazarus Pit to heal physical injuries, you will suffer from temporary loss of sanity.

Truly a balance.

“You will learn in time. Time is something we have a great deal of. The destruction of this city… has unleashed a demon.

And I… Ra’s al Ghul… I am truly the Demon’s Head!”

----------

Heavily based off of Batman Annual Vol. 1 26

‘al Ghul’ translates to Demon’s Head in Arabic. Notice how that ‘al Ghul’ is only used during the quote at the beginning of the story(yes I did use a quote from the Nolan movies. It fit really well), and at the end when he loses it.

This is the closest I could possibly get to DC canon on Ra’s al Ghul’s origin. In the original Ra’s does not create the pits he simply finds them, with the help of maps left behind by the physician. I wrote this because I really wanted a Miraculous created Lazarus pit, but one that also had Sora in it. I really like her for the scene with the goat’s milk (that is comic accurate, you can check) and what happened to her was NOT deserved. I also wanted to show the human side of Ra’s, and how rage drove him to be such an evil person.

Also a headcanon of mine is that any miraculous jewelry that is some sort of piercing, does not actually require a piercing to wear, it will just go through the skin as if there was a piercing.

The ‘light blue flash’ that Ra’s thinks he hallucinated was a holder of the Rabbit miraculous leaving both the Ladybug and Black Cat miraculous to him. This is done because the Lazarus pits are necessary to a stable timeline, not because whatever holder of the Rabbit miraculous is active, thought it was a good idea. They were practically forced.

Ra’s and Sora were closer to each other than anyone else, she was referred to as the love of his life, and they really had a deep bond and when Sora was killed he was broken. In the comic I based this off of, Talia even says, “[...]the death of Sora broke your grandfather’s heart… and forever darkened his soul.” when speaking to Damian.

#maribat #ra's al ghul #sora al ghul #lazarus pit #ml tikki #ml plagg #miraculous fandom #prequel #the blindness of marinette

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galleryofunknowns · 4 years

Photo

Unknown Artist, 'Portrait of a Man', oil on canvas, late 1700s, American?, currently in the collection of the Museo Nacional Thyssen Bornemisza, Madrid, Spain.

The portrait, formerly attributed to Gilbert Stuart (b.1755 - d.1828), was previously thought to be of Hercules Posey (b.1748 - d.1812), an enslaved cook in the employ of George Washington. Below the cut is an edited version of of a Philadelphia Inquirer article written March, 2019, on the life of Hercules and the research undertaken in the portrait.

“This is very different from how Stuart would have done it,” said Dorinda Evans, a Gilbert Stuart scholar and professor emerita at Emory University, who was certain that both the painter and subject had been misidentified.

The other scholars, curators, and conservators appeared unanimous. But there was one more blockbuster twist. The hat, perceived to be a chef’s toque for as long as the painting has been known to modern viewers, was in fact not a cook’s hat at all, Evans said, but a Caribbean headdress similar to one worn by free Dominicans in the West Indies depicted in paintings by the Italian artist Agostino Brunias.

The experts’ verdict: The painting is genuine to the late 1700s, and the unknown subject was a person of noble importance. But it wasn’t painted by Stuart. And the subject wasn’t even a chef — definitively ruling out Hercules and setting in motion a cascade of implications for historians at a moment when interest in him and others enslaved by the Washingtons remains high.

In fact, the conclusions of this meeting of experts, conducted in private two years ago but made public only now, helped spur a researcher last month to discover what might in fact be a record of the elusive chef’s burial place.

That chef just wasn’t the man in this painting.

“No American cook in the colonies dressed like that,” said Evans, noting that the now-familiar chef’s toque did not appear until the 1820s. “It’s a fantasized image of what people want, because people want to have an image of Hercules. And people see the things they want to see.”

The painting, long held as a potential key to the chef’s story, turned out to be a false clue, another myth in a Washington universe full of them, “like the cherry tree and the wooden teeth,” said Mount Vernon senior curator Susan P. Schoelwer, who coordinated the study day along with associate curator Jessie MacLeod.

“There is a real possibility of a sense of loss there. It’s such a powerful portrait,” she said. “There is a real hunger for a dignified portrait of an enslaved person we can identify with as an individual. But when I weigh that against something that … really isn’t what it was supposed to be, I’m always going to opt for being a seeker after truth.”

Hercules the man was very real. He was sold to George Washington as a teenage “ferryman” in 1767 by a neighbor, John Posey, as payment for a debt. And his labors for the Washingtons were well-documented at Mount Vernon and in Philadelphia, where he was renowned for the feasts he cooked at the President’s House between 1790 and 1796. He escaped from Mount Vernon in 1797 — on George Washington’s birthday — and was never captured.

These facts, drawn from house accounts, farm logs, letters, and reminiscences, have fashioned the chef as a hero whose culinary talents earned him special privileges from the Washingtons and an income from selling kitchen scraps that afforded him a notable sartorial style. He was recalled by Washington’s stepgrandson, George Washington Parke Custis, as a “great master-spirit” in the kitchen who, after the meal, would don fine black silks and a gold-headed cane for evening promenades down High Street.

Though he was dressed stylishly, walking the streets of an abolitionist-minded city known as a haven for free blacks, Hercules was still an enslaved man — and he was eventually left in Virginia and set to hard plantation labor.

What became of Hercules after his dash for freedom has long remained a mystery. This painting, now owned by the Museo Nacional Thyssen-Bornemisza in Madrid, was long thought to be a clue.

But fundamental questions about the painting’s relationship to Hercules persisted. They were definitively dispelled in the ultraviolet light of the private study day two years ago when the painting was removed from the walls of Mount Vernon after an exhibition in preparation to be returned to Spain. Paloma Alarcó, the Thyssen-Bornemisza curator who attended, agreed to the examination (and my attendance) under the condition its results not be made public until the museum could conduct its own follow-up studies.

She said that time has now come; the museum has hit a dead end: “We are blind, we must confess. … Maybe we will never know who this guy is.”

This is hardly the first old painting to be misidentified in the often shadowy world of art collecting. Its identification as Washington’s cook was likely added in the mid-20th century to increase the value on a work already misidentified earlier in the century as by Stuart, who famously painted the president in 1796. It remained in private hands and largely unstudied by scholars until it was sold in 1983 to Baron Thyssen-Bornemisza, whose massive collection became the museum, which simply cataloged its previously ascribed provenance as the painting arrived.

But Hercules, as one of the most visible individuals enslaved during that era, in part due to this image, carries extra cultural significance because of the growing dialogue about the founding fathers and their troubling involvement with slavery. And as I shared news of the painting’s removal from the record, it brought a mix of disappointment and resignation.

“Although we always questioned it, it’s kind of devastating to find out it’s not him,” said Erica Armstrong Dunbar, a professor of history at Rutgers University whose book, Never Caught (Atria, 2017), documents the escape of Ona Judge from the President’s House in Philadelphia, where she was enslaved alongside Hercules and seven others. “We don’t have any other such portraits of the enslaved who lived at Mount Vernon.”

On Dec. 15, 1801, Martha Washington wrote to Richard Varick, the mayor of New York City, to thank him for looking into the whereabouts of “my Old Cook Hercules. … I have been so fortunate as to engage a white cook who answers very well. I have thought about it therefore better to decline taking Hercules back.”

What Martha Washington did not mention was that she had already freed her husband’s slaves in January of that year, acting early upon a wish from George’s will with an emancipation that also applied to Hercules.

That New York correspondence has long been the last known clue to Hercules’ fate. And it’s a thread that Ganeshram and Sara Krasne, a colleague at the Westport Historical Society where the novelist is executive director, began to pursue in February with a startling new discovery — a New York City death notice that just might be him.

They looked back to John Posey, Hercules’ previous owner, for more clues. They found one. Krasne uncovered the burial record for Hercules Posey, a Virginia native born in 1748 who was listed in the 1812 city directory as a laborer who lived at 33 Orange St. and who died of consumption on May 15, 1812. He was buried at the Second African Burying Ground in Lower Manhattan — a grave that Ganeshram believes is still under the Christie Street sidewalk on the Lower East Side.

“What are the odds with all these factors — being named Hercules and Posey, being black from Virginia and more or less the same age — of it not being him?” Ganeshram said. “People chose to believe the painting was him [despite all the doubts]. I think this evidence is much stronger.”

A pair of historians agreed.

“She may really be onto something,” said Mary V. Thompson, the Mount Vernon research historian who is soon set to publish her own book on slavery at Mount Vernon. “The name, age, and birthplace information are really compelling.”

“[They] may have found the needle in the haystack,” Dunbar, the Rutgers professor and author, concurred. “I would feel totally comfortable speculating that it was him.”

And so, 222 years after Hercules’ daring escape, the great chef may have been found.

“The portrait was not Hercules, but look what popped up instead,” Dunbar said. “He’s totally not trying to go away — he wants you to know.”

“To think he was right there, and may still be, gives me chills,” Ganeshram said. “Hercules is bigger than the painting, and he always has been.”

LaBan, Craig (2019, March 1). 'George Washington's enslaved chef, who cooked in Philadelphia, disappears from painting, but may have reappeared in New York', Philadelphia Inquirer. Retrieved from https://www.inquirer.com/food/craig-laban/george-washington-slave-chef-cook-hercules-gilbert-stuart-painting-wrong-20190301.html.

#unknown artist #unknown sitter #hercules posey #george washington #martha washington #museo nacional thyssen bornemisza #oil on canvas #1700s #american #gilbert stuart #madrid #black artistry

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farmerlan · 4 years

Text

Farmer Lan’s Rewatch Guide to The Untamed - Episode 2

SPOILER CAUTION APPLIES.

Alright buds we are going to get right into it - no time to waste!

[WWX hangs out by a river/well with XPG (Little Apple aka Xiao Ping Guo aka XPG from now on), cultivator scene with the demon compass argument happens (cute), A-Yan gives WWX an apple and she’s clearly not mentally all there, mountain top A-Yan dance scene with her mom disclosing her tragic story and father’s death to WWX.]

Differences from the novel:

There’s some minor choronological and setting differences between here and Chapter 6. A-Yan was not the person who gave WWX the apple, it was a random girl. There were two separate scenes with cultivators trying to use the compass in the novel, but it was condensed into one in the drama.

WWX bumps into A-Yan in the town at the foot of DFS and hears of her story from townspeople. A-Yan’s story is essentially the same in both versions, but the novel also includes an additional story about how a slovenly/good-for-nothing oaf became seemingly wealthy and suddenly wanted to get married and settle down, except he died on the night of the wedding. This would later be used by WWX to further support his narrative of what’s behind the ‘soulless people’ cases when he explains it to the Gusu disciples.

[Cut to WWX in a forest, A WILD JIN LING APPEARS! Man, I forgot what a little shit he was when he first arrived <3. WWX and JL runs into each other, except JL thinks he is MXY, banter ensues, WWX traps JL with his paper man and drops that awful YOUR MOM line to JL.

Banter continues until JC brings his posse and incredibly sharp jawline to the scene. Seriously, damn. Things are about to get physical before LWJ arrives. Shade is thrown between JC and Gusu & Co., JC literally looks like he is in pain and why oh why does nothing ever work out for him as his subordinate reports that all the spirit nets have been destroyed. JC decides against picking a fight and tells JL he better BRING HIS A GAME TO THE HUNT before dismissing him. LWJ dismisses the rest of the disciples and walks away, leaving WWX alone. Cut to WWX remembering JC + JYL by the river and then he overhears JL’s true parentage and feels baaaaaaad man.]

In the novel, there is further discussion of the LLJ sect and especially JGS in Chapter 7. Seeing JL’s reaction to him as MXY, WWX then correctly deduces that MXY is actually the illegitimate son of none other than JGS, who was known for his philandering ways.

It was also clarified in the novel that locked within the ‘paper man’ WWX sic-ed on JL was the ghost of a man who had died from gluttony, hence why JL could not get up. He was basically being sat on by a really fat man.

A bigger deal is made in the novel of how LWJ is someone who “appears where there is trouble” – JL says this to him in a sarcastic way, but it’s a common theme that runs throughout the novel, that although he can be considered an extremely prominent figure, he takes the time to help or show up no matter how ‘low level’ the situation is. It’s a sign of his strong moral character that nothing is too beneath his attention.

The situation of the night hunt itself is also explained a little bit more in detail – JL is turning sixteen this year, and this night hunt at DFS is basically a debutante ball for him as you have to be past a certain age to participate in hunts. So, in order to make sure he claims the top prize, JC made sure to come with him and also set up the spirit nets. Aww, they ruined his present!

Fun fact: JC very nearly came to blows with LWJ in the novel but chose not to do so because a) he had to consider sect relations between Gusu and Yunmeng and b) he wasn’t sure he would win since they’ve never fought before. HA.

[Gusu disciples run into old man grave caretaker, these are Wen graves! He asks them to go visit the Tiannu Temple and they move on before he can tell them that the goddess statue moooves. Spoopy. WWX also happens upon the Wen graves. Scene between him and WQ and he realizes it’s the statue stirring shit and JL is about to step in the shit that has been stirred.

Scene in the temple with Gusu disciples and JL, shit starts going down, WWX and Gusu disciples gather outside. Gusu disciples realize they ran out of flares and WWX is all like haha prepare to be punished! WWX clarifies the difference between soul-eaters and the goddess status, links it to the ongoing issues with A-Yan. LJY calls him out – he’s only pretending to be CRAZY! ]

There’s no old grave caretaker in the novel and there’s no Wen graves scene. There are ancient tombs around the area that the Gusu disciples explored, but it was only mentioned in passing as part of the larger conversation around what exactly was plaguing the mountain. What happens in the novel is – WWX encounters a spirit dressed in fancy burial clothes, realizes something is wrong because that kind of spirit (the spirit of a corpse) should not be on DFS, puts two and two together and goes off to find JL.

The scenario of WWX explaining what exactly ‘it’ is to the Gusu disciples closely follows that of the novel, except he also adds the explanation around the slovenly oaf’s story. Basically, oaf prays to the goddess statue to be wealthy, the goddess granted him his wish but took away his soul on the night of the marriage. Hence why WWX encountered the wealthy corpse spirit - essentially the goddess split open his grave and gave the oaf the funeral/afterlife offerings that were buried within it, displacing the spirit in the process.

Also the goddess statue ate some humans in the novel but this was probably too graphic for the drama lol.

[JL shows up with the statue hot on his heels, WWX is like but wait we sealed the statue off before! WWX then builds and plays a makeshift bamboo flute. LJY changes his mind – MXY is still crazy after all, and on top of that he’s also a garbage flute player, ha. WN shows up and WWX is all ???, illusion is revealed, WWX posits whoever did this wanted lure out WN, a mysterious man in black scuttles off in the background.

Men rush WN, WN is like, uhm, y’all ain’t shit. WWX then plays WangXian to suppress WN’s rage, draws him towards himself and then we have THE REUNION – eyes meet, lovey-dovey wrist-gripping scene ensues.]

Interestingly, the drama shows JL being thrown to the ground and trying to scurry away/flinching as the statue advanced on him. In the novel, he actually stood right within reach and thought, “If I can’t kill her right here and now, I’ll die – but so what?!” Basically, he was 100% ready to kill the statue or die trying before WN showed up.

In the drama, we weren’t specifically clued in to the fact that WN is currently unconscious due to the nails in his head. In the novel, WWX realizes this instantly because Wen Ning was not capable of sentient thought and had to rely on WWX’s orders.

The drama hints that the whole thing was staged by the mysterious man in black caught scampering away – in the novel, this is not the case. There was no other person ‘operating behind the scenes’, this whole incident with the statue was not an illusion.

The reunion scene is as it happens in the novel, gripping of wrists and all. Ha. I love you directors.

[WWX is outed as the person who summoned WN and JC is like well well well, Shady’s back. LWJ tries to protect WWX, WWX tries to run away but gets whipped and decides to play crazy as JC wonders why Zidian didn’t work.

WWX appears to faint and wishes to go back to the time to 16 years ago, when he was at Lotus Pier and we start our flashback arc. Cute scene where he gets a sugar rabbit (HA I see you) for JYL. They decide to rest in a tavern. JC bickers with WWX and grouses that JYL and JFM always defends him and is reminded that being free-spirited is considered a virtue by the YMJ sect.]

The confrontation between JC, WWX and LWJ follows the novel partly (the whipping, the face-off between JC and LWJ), but the novel goes into more detail.

For one, LJY is like, ‘wait didn’t YOU kill WWX? Why are you saying he’s back?’ to JC in the drama. In the novel, no one claims that JC was the one who killed WWX in the novel – only that he was present at the battle at Nightless City along with the Yunmeng Jiang sect.

Also, in the novel, someone in JC’s sect basically tells says that there’s no way MXY is WWX because WWX would have chosen someone cooler. WWX was flirtatious with girls and a good-looking dude and MXY is a gay lunatic riding a donkey. And also, his flute skills are so, so subpar compared to WWX. Ha. WWX secretly grouses that he would kneel to anyone who’s able to play a nice melody on a dollar-store flute after not having practiced for 13 years. Touché.

In an attempt to get both JC and LWJ off his case, WWX tries to disgust the both of them by going, “JC is NOT my type but you know who is my type? LWJ uwu he’s so attractive” but it totally fails because LWJ does not take the bait. Instead, he says “Well then, I’m taking this man back to the Lan sect with me.” And that’s the end of Chapter 10. See comments on the flashback/timeskip in the summary section below.

The last conversation JC and JYL shares is very interesting. It’s not in the novel, but it really plays into the narrative that “WWX embodies more of Yunmeng Jiang’s values than JC even though he is not a Jiang”, which is also a theme in the novel and kind of a sticking point for JC obviously. One can say that JC takes after his mom, and WWX takes more after JFM.

Overall Thoughts

This is where the divergence from the novel plot line begins to get a little more serious. The novel employs a series of flashbacks scattered throughout the book whereas the drama is essentially one long flashback from Episode 2 through Episode 33. It obviously makes more narrative sense to arrange it that way in a drama series in order to make it less confusing, especially since they’re using the same actors for past and present WWX/LWJ, but just keep that in mind.

With that said, I will stop at Chapter 10 for the purpose of comparing it to Episode 2. Chapter 11 and 12 have essentially both been removed from the drama besides for the cold springs scene, which was also modified. I will discuss these two chapters when we get to Episode 33 (wow, will we ever get there??). Episode 3 picks up at Chapter 13, which is the beginning of the Gusu arc. Chapters will start jumping around (in the novel, the Gusu arc is only Chapters 13-18, and then the Wen Sect/Tortoise of Slaughter is a separate flashback from Chapters 51-59) so I am going to try my best to match them up lol.

Ending the summary on another cute note, in the novel LWJ’s presence is often described as being accompanied by the light scent of sandalwood, which is what WWX smelled before bumping into him in the novel.

#mdzs #mo dao zu shi #lan wangji #wei wuxian #the untamed #episode 2 #cql #魔道祖师 #recap

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lisatelramor · 4 years

Text

Be a Better Me Ch3

AN:I know having Kaito's robot self have more or less biological functions is a little weird. But someone, even Kaito, woulda noticed him not eating. Or bleeding. Or sleeping. So weird almost biology it is.

Chapter 3

Surprisingly it’s Hakuba, not Jii, who barges into the room first.

His hair is a mess and his sleeves are rolled to his elbows with stains on his shirt that can only be ‘blood’. There’s something fragile in his expression like he’s expecting to find Kaito on his deathbed and a deep relief when Kaito meets his eyes with an impassive stare.

“You’re okay,” Hakuba says.

“For a certain value of okay, sure,” Kaito says.

Hakuba scowls. “Don’t even start. You almost died in my arms.”

“I didn’t know you cared that much,” Kaito says, only half sarcastic.

“Of course I care,” Hakuba says. “I might want to arrest Kid, but I never would want to see you dead.”

“Funny,” Kaito says drily, “because that’s what an arrest would get me.”

Hakuba bites his lip, tense as a riled cat. Kaito half expects to be pounced on like a mouse, but Hakuba takes a breath and settles. “Are you in pain?”

“I have a leg that got vivisectioned and reconstructed, a bullet hole in my shoulder and a chest full of dented ribs,” Kaito says. “What do you think?”

“I don’t know,” Hakuba says, “since I don’t know how much you feel in the first place.”

“What, the screaming didn’t make it clear?” It’s cruel to say that probably, and Hakuba goes grey-white, looking sick.

“Right,” he says. “That was a foolish question.”

“It hurts but not unbearably,” Kaito says, taking a bit of pity on him. “Like a deep bruise so long as I’m not moving. I don’t know if I’m on a painkiller or if my system’s just…filtering it out for the moment. I don’t know if I can even be affected by pain killers.”

“You can,” Hakuba says, still pale. “Some. The Professor—you can.”

“Ah.” Kaito doesn’t want to know what Hakuba saw. Well, he knows some of what he must have seen. “I haven’t taken anything since… I wasn’t sure.”

Hakuba swallows, shaking off horrors of Kaito in pieces. “You weren’t always like this,” he says.

“A robot? No.”

“When… How…?”

“Before you met me. As for the how… I can’t exactly say I get the science of it.”

Hakuba’s face pinches. “The whole time.”

“The whole time,” Kaito says tiredly. “I didn’t know for a long time, so don’t feel bad about not noticing. So far as I can tell, the whole point of…whatever it is I am was to mimic human life as close as possible.”

“You didn’t know.”

“Imagine my shock,” Kaito says, “when I found my own corpse.”

Hakuba pales impossibly further looking like he’s going to be sick. He sits heavily. “Corpse.”

“I have all the memories of Kuroba Kaito,” Kaito says as detached as he can make it. “Up to and including the moment of his kidnapping. I don’t have any memories of how he—I died.” He takes a breath. “The body’s in the basement of this building actually. His body. My body. However we’re framing it.”

“Why?” Hakuba asks horrified.

“Kuroba Kaito’s just fine,” Kaito says in a flat, dead tone. “He’s right there, going to school, living his life. Surely the body’s a mistake. It’s not like there could be two of him.” Or three. He still doesn’t know what happened to the remnants of the other robot. He doesn’t really want to look either. More honestly and openly he adds, “I don’t know what to do with it. Him. My mind says I’m him, but he’s dead and I’m not human so who the hell knows.”

Hakuba shakes his head.

“The person who made me and killed him is dead,” Kaito says. “There was another robot, a less…human… robot. It killed the doctor. Tried to kill me. I think something went wrong with its programming or maybe it wasn’t meant to mimic a human like I was. I don’t know. I know I don’t have skin that peels away or rockets in my elbows.” He sees skin peeling in his nightmares often enough.

“It feels like… there should be something…”

“To do?” Kaito gives him a cool stare. “There isn’t. There’s no justice here. There’s a corpse and there’s me, a poor replacement with a dead man’s face.” Doubly true with Kid.

Hakuba’s face twists. “You’re the only Kuroba I know. You said you didn’t even know the difference so how the hell does that make you a poor replacement?”

“Because I’m not him,” Kaito says, voice breaking, mask shattering. “You found me and you saved me, but why? The wires had to be obvious.”

“How could I not?” Hakuba says. “You were dying and aware and bleeding out in my arms, how could I not do everything to keep you alive? You might be mechanical, but you still have breath and a heartbeat and a sharp, human mind.”

“What does it say that a person can be reduced to numbers and code?”

“What does it say that emotions are just collections of chemicals and thought and memory just electric firing in the brain,” Hakuba shoots back.

“I took his place.”

“From what I can tell it sounds more like you keep him living on,” Hakuba says boldly.

Tears well up and Kaito stubbornly doesn’t shed them. “Why does everyone keep acting like I’m human?” he asks.

“In your mind are you any different?” Hakuba asks, like it’s a genuine question.

“I don’t know,” Kaito says feeling small. “I just know that physically I am.”

“Well,” Hakuba says, “I for one can’t believe a mere robot could possibly outthink the entire Japanese police force.”

Kaito snorts bitterly. “Like bots haven’t been beating humans in strategy for ages. Chess masters weep. Try again.”

“Fine,” Hakuba says. “I don’t think a robot would cry from fear and pain and express terror over dying. Or do magic tricks just to see Aoko-chan smile. Or give a damn about whether it can run circles around the Japanese police force, but we both know you have an ego that loves to be satisfied doing just that. You’re as human as can be given the circumstances.” Hakuba boldly sets a hand on Kaito’s good shoulder and Kaito stares at the point of contact. “Regardless of how your current existence started, you’re as alive as I am so far as I can tell, Kuroba-kun.”

It’s profoundly weird to be touched by Hakuba’s words, but Kaito is. It’s almost like they’re friends at the moment, not rivals. Kaito has to look away. “Thank you for not letting me die,” he says after a moment.

“There wasn’t any other choice I would have made,” Hakuba says seriously.

There’s a cough from the door, Jii standing there with a phone in hand and a tense expression. Hakuba looks at him and draws back.

“I should go,” he says. “Now that I know you’re going to survive.” He nods to Jii and walks toward the door, and a tiny part of Kaito wonders if he’ll go looking for Kaito’s body or not.

But that’s not really something important. Hakuba seeing it or not can’t bring back the dead. Jii takes Hakuba’s place at Kaito’s bedside with a sigh and slow, heavy movements that make him look every bit as old as he is.

“You’re not arresting me?” Kaito calls after Hakuba.

Hakuba glances back with the familiar expression of disdain on his face. “Kuroba, if I catch and arrest you, it’s not going to be because you’re bleeding out and vulnerable.” Like it’s obvious that he won’t take advantage of what he knows and yet also isn’t going to stop chasing Kaito. Kaito blinks. Well, Hakuba always has had his own system of honor. Kaito can’t say he understands it though.

He waves and leaves and Kaito looks at Jii to see him watching Hakuba vanish with a conflicted expression.

“Jii?”

Jii shakes his head. “I’m glad you’re okay,” Jii says quietly. “I should have been there last night, ready for anything that went wrong.”

“I’m the one that told you I’d be fine on my own,” Kaito says. “And they hit me six blocks from the heist, it’s not like we were expecting that.”

“Still. I should have been there for you.” Jii passes a hand down his face. He’s old enough to be Kaito’s grandfather, looks every year of that age, worn down and exhausted. “I spoke with your mother.”

“Oh.” Kaito tries to curl into himself but can’t and so just hunches his good shoulder and ducks his chin.

“You didn’t talk with her.”

“I… I meant to eventually.”

“Kaito-bocchama,” Jii sighs, a reprimand and exasperated care all in one.

“It’s not really something to bring up over a phone call,” Kaito says. “I was hoping…” Chikage hadn’t visited in months. When he was sixteen she’d come back every other month for a week or so, but since he turned seventeen… It was a conversation he’d hoped to have in person, or perhaps never at all if it could be avoided, no matter how much it was a needed conversation.

“She’s coming home,” Jii says tiredly.

“For Kaito,” Kaito says, meaning the real Kaito.

“For both of you,” Jii says. “You could use your mother’s support.”

There’s no point in protesting that she isn’t really his mother. Kaito just nods. “Is she… Will there be a burial for him?”

“It’s too soon to say.”

They can’t just keep Kaito in a glass box, forever preserved like some messed up Snow White tribute. It’s not what he’d have wanted. It’s not what Kaito wants. He’s not sure what he does want, but leaving his body in a box like a specimen isn’t it.

“The Hakuba boy has a surprising amount of medical and chemical knowledge,” Jii says after a moment. “There were some things he cleared up from the doctor’s notes last night. He might be able to understand them better than Hiroshi-san.”

“Are you suggesting making Hakuba a proper ally?” Kaito asks with brittle humor. “Hakuba. Hakuba whose father’s the head of Tokyo’s police forces Hakuba.”

“Hakuba-kun isn’t his father,” Jii says, “and he’s proven to care enough to ignore the legal scope of right or wrong.” He sighs again. “Kaito-bocchama, the fact of the matter is neither Hiroshi-san nor myself is an expert in this field, and you’re likely going to need more than what our knowledge can provide long term.”

“Hakuba,” Kaito stresses.

“If he’s willing you might as well take advantage of it. Otherwise we’ll have to start looking elsewhere and it’s harder to be sure who you can trust.”

Trust Hakuba or trust a stranger? Well, irritatingly, it’s pretty clear who he’s more likely to trust. It’s some kind of cosmic irony. The world, Kaito’s learning, seems to have a sick sense of humor or he wouldn’t exist at all.

It’s a scary thought though, the idea of handing over what made this body work and letting Hakuba study it. It might be more trust than he can give to anyone. With Jii he didn’t have much of a choice. “I’ll think about it,” he says.

o*O*o

It takes three days—an astonishingly fast time—for Kaito be up and walking again. In part this fast recovery is thanks to the fact that he doesn’t actually have to heal a bone; a bonus for metal bones he guesses. But on the other hand, the internal healing is taking time. The Professor had tried to explain his understanding of how Kaito’s bio-mechanical processes worked—the synthetic blood, tissue, and skin all having a self-replicating and repair process to keep him operational without needs for frequent major repairs. The technicalities go in one ear and out the other, and Kaito will have to do a lot of reading to get a better idea of how his own body works.

In the time Kaito’s stuck at the Professor’s home, Hakuba visits every day, somehow managing to be far less abrasive than normal, and maybe even verging on friendly. It’s kind of creepy and Kaito will be relieved to get on with their usual bickering banter the moment Hakuba gets over whatever weird combo of guilt and pity he seems to have for Kaito at the moment.

Most of his visits also lead to him studying Kaito though, so maybe Hakuba’s just got science on the brain instead of detective-ing. It had been more than a bit uncomfortable to have him on his knees, examining Kaito’s leg and knee joint.

Kaito’s still not sure if it was because it was Hakuba doing it, or if it’s the implications of having someone on their knees at his feet that was the bigger discomfort, and he’s not going to examine that too closely. The last thing he wants to do is find out how this body might differ on hormonal levels. He’s spent this long pushing those sorts of thought out of his head, he can keep doing that.

His leg’s in a light cast, just to ensure that everything heals up correctly, and Kaito’s already finding it obnoxious. He’s broken bones before, but every time it’s a hassle to deal with. He hobbles in circles on crutches, resigning himself to a week of this at least probably, knowing it could be a lot worse.

Most of all he just wants to go home. No offense to the Professor, but he misses his house and his bed and his doves. He’s always hated being a guest and he wasn’t exactly an invited one this time.

There’s a soft knock on the door to the guest room Kaito’s using and he sighs. Probably Agasa again. He keeps double checking Kaito’s healing and Kaito gets it, really, it’s all experimental and new, but it’s annoying and he’s vibrating out of his skin with how he can’t even literally climb the walls.

“Come in,” he says, less graciously than he should considering he is, of course, a guest. But if Agasa had a problem with Kaito’s attitude he could take it up with Jii because Kaito’s been through so many emotional rollercoaster moments lately he’s done. Just done.

There’s silence and Kaito glances up from trying to see if he could get the crutch to work more comfortably with his still healing shoulder and looks straight into familiar blue eyes. “Kaa-san,” he says numbly.

She stares, doesn’t come closer to hug him or say anything and Kaito remembers; he’s not her son.

“…I didn’t think you’d be back so soon,” Kaito says to break the silence.

“I’d have been here sooner if I could,” she says. There’s nothing in her voice to let on what she’s thinking and Kaito can’t remember ever seeing her so closed off. It’s her version of Toichi’s poker face and it’s an iron wall.

The silence stretches and the guilt rises back up in his gut. “I… should have said something as soon as I re—”

“What did we do for your last birthday?” Chikage asks, cutting him off.

Kaito blinks. “We… went out to dinner with Aoko to that Korean barbecue place. We shared bulgogi and you took me to get a tailored suit because you said it was a good time to have nice formal wear that actually fit.” She’s almost cried because he looked so much like his dad when he was younger.

“When did you lose your first tooth?” Chikage says, showing no reaction.

“When I was six and a half,” Kaito says immediately. “I lost both my front teeth because I messed up a flip and landed on my face.” It had hurt and he’d cried, terrified that he’d lost them for good until his mom explained he was going to lose them anyway. They hadn’t even been very loose, just starting to wiggle. “I drank from the gap with a straw until they started to grow back in.”

Something in Chikage’s shoulders loosens, but her face still remains a wall. “Why are you afraid of fish?”

Kaito flinches, instinctively trying not to remember one of his childhood traumas. “C-can I not answer that? F-finny things are evil and whoever created koi ponds is a sadist.”

“And what wat your first magic trick?”

“Vanishing coin,” Kaito says. “Only I had trouble with it so Oyaji had to show me about four different ways to do it before I was able to get one I could make work. Of course then I had to get all of them right over the next month.”

Chikage closes her eyes and lets out a slow sigh. “Kaito.”

“Yes?”

She shakes her head. “No, you don’t understand. You’re still Kaito.”

He realizes she was testing him. Testing how close to Kaito he was and he curls in on himself. “I’m what’s left of him.”

She shakes her head again, but finally crosses the room to pull him into her arms. “I’m sorry.”

“Why are you sorry?” Kaito asks, off balance and vulnerable, feeling like a child in her arms. He has the memories but technically he’s never been a child. Or, well, technically he isn’t even a year old yet.

“I wasn’t here when you needed me,” she says. “You’ve always been so self-sufficient that I forget sometimes you’re not an adult yet.”

“I’m not a kid.”

“Well you’re my kid, and I haven’t been a very good mother.” She holds him a bit tighter. “I’m going to try to do better.”

“But I’m not your Kaito,” Kaito says.

“You’re not,” she says and it’s almost a relief to hear it even as it hurts, for someone to acknowledge that he isn’t the same. “But I’ll mourn him in my own time and you’re him in every other way that matters. You’re not a replacement,” Chikage whispers, voice shaking, “but you are a part of him.”

“Have you seen…?”

“No. I wanted to see you first.”

And make sure he really is her son, in a way. Kaito closes his eyes. He can feel her shake, crying silently, but he makes no effort to move from the embrace. He needs this too. This is a situation where there is no winner. Her son is dead, and there’s an identical false copy in his place, like Kid pulling of a jewel heist. Kaito just isn’t sure what his flaws are yet, apart from the physical, that mark him out as the fake. He’s lucky that they seem to love him anyway.

Chikage pulls away, wiping her eyes on the back of her hand. “Thank you. I know it’s been you I’ve talked with for months now, but…”

“You had to be sure,” Kaito says, understanding.

Chikage nods. “Are you well enough to come home or are you still under observation?”

Kaito pouts. “I think I’m fine, but Jii and the Professor want to do another day of tests just to make sure my leg is healing right.”

“Jii mentioned it was bad.”

“Well, they replaced the fibula in my leg and had to fix all the connections and my knee joint so…”

She looks a little paler, glancing at his walking cast with new understanding. “You shouldn’t be walking at all.”

“I don’t heal like a human does,” Kaito says with a grimace. “It’s…faster. You’d think I wouldn’t need to heal at all but the bastard that built this apparently liked realism.”

“That’s probably for the better,” Chikage says after a moment. “If you functioned too differently…”

He’d what, stop feeling human? Kaito’s already there, feeling like some unholy science experiment most of the time instead of a robot, but that’s honestly not really better. He’s not going to say that to his mother though. If he was a little more robot he’d hurt less, probably feel less… and possibly end up exactly like the other robot. Shit. Okay, yeah, maybe the realism is for the best.

“Jii said you haven’t had lunch yet,” Chikage cuts into his thoughts, “and that it’s important that you do.”

Kaito grimaces again. “Yeah. Funnily enough, my system processes food for fuel just like a human’s. It’s no wonder I never noticed anything was different. But they have me on a weird diet because apparently the fake skin and all,” he gestures at his leg, “it can self-repair, but it needs certain building blocks to do it. If I see another kale protein shake I am going to throw it at them.”

Chikage laughs, wiping the last of her grief from her face. “I’ll have to see if I can put together something that tastes better.”

“Please. Also I haven’t had sugar in days. I’m having withdrawal.”

“…Can you get withdrawal?”

“I have no idea, but I’m craving chocolate like crazy.”

She snorts. “You always have liked chocolate.” Her hip bumps his good side gently, like the times growing up when he helped in the kitchen. “I’ll see what I can do.”

While Chikage works her magic in the kitchen with help of the Professor and Jii, Kaito gives in to the restlessness and hobbles back and forth around the wide open living area. The Professor, for all he’s an inventor and scientist, seems to also be a bit of a mystery and romance geek. He has a collection of hard-bound novels on a bookcase, and while there’s a few science books in the mix, most of it’s fiction.

Kaito would like to be playing with a deck of cards, or spending some quality time with his doves, but since his cards were ruined along with his Kid suit and he doesn’t have any of his birds on hand, a novel isn’t the worst way to pass time. Although Kaito’s never been a huge mystery fan. He wrinkles his nose at the Sherlock Holmes collector’s edition. Hakuba’d like that.

Kaito has just started in on a romance instead—very tasteful cover full of wistful stares and absolutely no nudity—when his mom wanders out of the kitchen with a blender full of something that looks chocolatey. Jii follows with his hands full of kale like he expects Kaito to choke that down raw. Gross.

“Well, I couldn’t get a concession on the shake, but this will taste a lot better,” Chikage says with a grin. “Plus, chocolate.”

“Heck yeah,” Kaito says.

“You really should,” Jii starts, but Kaito’s mother waves him off.

“One meal isn’t going to hurt.”

So Kaito puts down the book, hobbles over to get a glass, and that’s when the front door opens without even a knock, and a child wanders in with a scowl behind oversized, thick rimmed glasses.

“Hakase, I need a breath of sanity and some help with the watch,” the child says, not looking up as he kicks off shoes like he lives here. “It keeps sticking when… I…” He catches sight of the group standing in the hall between the kitchen and living room. His eyes flick from Chikage’s pitcher, to Jii’s handful of kale and land on Kaito’s crutches, following up to his face where the gaze freezes. “What the hell?”

“Well,” Kaito says, “that’s the first time an elementary student’s sworn at me.”

“Aoko-chan swore at you all the time,” Chikage corrects.

“That was when we were both in elementary school. There’s a difference.”

“Hakase?” the child calls a bit louder, uncertain.

The Professor bustles out of the kitchen. “Ah, S-Conan-kun, I didn’t know you were coming over!”

“What’s going on?” Conan asks. Kaito realizes this is the kid he saw from the Professor’s roof that one time. Clearly he’s pretty close to Agasa, but it’s not like Agasa’s going to go around spilling secrets to a six year old.

Agasa looks between Conan and Kaito’s group. “Ah, I have a few guests at the moment, Conan-kun, and I’m doing some work as a favor for a friend.”

“A friend,” Conan says, his shock turning sharper.

Kaito shivers as those eyes pass over him again. It’s like he’s being dissected by a laser beam, and Conan’s weirdly interested in his face.

“Yes.” Agasa laughs awkwardly. “Jii Kounosuke is an old friend, and the others are…”

“More or less his extended family,” Chikage cuts in cheerfully. She glanced Conan over. “He looks just like you did when you were that age, Kai-chan,” she says. “Well, a bit neater than you ever were.”

“Are you saying I was a slob?”

“Kaito, honey, your hair has never laid flat a day in your life. Add that to your tumbling and getting into trouble…”

Kaito scowls. The kid looks like someone stuffed him into nice clothes like they’re trying to make him a mini adult, what with the blue suit jacket and tiny bow tie and how his hair’s carefully combed. Can’t help having a cowlick though. And those shorts… What a dorky sense of style. Conan catches him looking and scowls right back. Defensive little guy.

“Who are they anyway?” the kid asks, his voice tilting up like he’s trying to sound younger than he looks, which kind of fails with his entire body language, but Kaito’s not going to be the one to give him acting lessons. It probably works on some people, but that’s because a lot of adults barely look twice at children. “He looks a lot like…”

“Ah, this is Kuroba Chikage and her son Kaito,” Agasa says. “And that’s Edogawa Conan. He’s—”

“Related to the Kudos isn’t he?” Chikage says, looking at Conan intently. “He looks so much like their son Shinichi did as a child.”

Conan blinks rapidly. “Uh. Shinichi-nii-san is my cousin,” he says. “Wait, Kuroba as in the magician Kuroba Toichi?”

Chikage grins. “Exactly the one. You remember Yukiko don’t you, Kaito?” she asks tilting her head in Kaito’s direction.

“Uh.” Yukiko, Yukiko… He had a vague recollection of an actress and a smiling woman with ringlets in her light brown hair. “Not well.”

Chikage pats him on the shoulder. “You were five, so I’m not too surprised. You were such a charmer, giving her a flower and everything.”

The memory comes into focus, handing off a flower to a beaming woman because his father had said that’s what you do when you met a pretty girl; you were polite and gave them flowers to leave a good first impression. He’d done the same to Aoko not long after too. “Oh yeah.”

“Well, it’s nice to meet a relative of theirs at any rate,” Chikage says. She finally hands Kaito a glass of protein shake and he almost fumbles it before holding it with his bad arm and keeping his good one for the crutch.

“Yeah,” Conan says, flicking Kaito yet another look.

“Is it the injuries?” Kaito jokes, “because I assure you it’s normally my charisma drawing attention.”

It’s both hilarious and cute how Conan’s nose wrinkles for a split second before he covers it up again—definitely needs acting lessons—and shrugs. “You just look a lot like Shinichi-nii-san.”

Chikage laughs. “They would wouldn’t they?” she says, and Kaito doesn’t get the joke really, but fine. There’s apparently a guy running around with a face that could be his own. At least this time it’s not another murder-bot so he’ll take it.

Of course, face doubles make him think of the corpse downstairs, and that’s… Yeah. Yeah, no, not thinking too close about that. At least this double must be running around alive and well he supposes.

Well as interesting as being confronted by a child half his size is, Kaito has other things to be doing. Namely eating, sitting, and trying to convince his mom and Jii to take him home. “Right,” Kaito says. “We were going to have lunch, but that’s taken care of.” He mock toasts with his glass as much as he can with his arm in a sling. “It looks like you need to talk, so we’ll be in the kitchen.”

Conan shuffles like he’s feeling a little guilty for barging in, but it’s not like he interrupted anything actually important. However he’s feeling, it isn’t enough to keep him from gripping the Professor’s sleeve and pulling him off to have a private conversation.

Kaito sinks into a kitchen chair and takes a sip of his shake. Mm, chocolate. “This tastes ten times better than what they’ve been feeding me.

“It’s not nearly as healthy,” Jii says with a sigh.

“You know, you absorb more nutrients when you enjoy what you eat,” Kaito shoots back. Humans did anyway. But since there's no way of knowing if that applies to him, he’s just going to claim that factoid as valid.

Jii sighs like he’s the victim. It’s not even his taste buds.

Chikage snorts and pours herself her own glass. “He’s always been picky,” she says to Jii.

“I’m not picky.”

“You cut most seafood out of your diet and you live in Japan.”

“I’ll eat ffff—seafood,” he grumbles. “But only the kind I like. Shrimp and crabs and clams are fine. And it’s not like I boycott anything that has finny things as an ingredient, it’s just the less it resembles them the better.”

“See?” she says to Jii. “Picky.”

Kaito rolls his eyes. The chocolate shake, whatever else is in it aside, helps. Sitting here with his mom helps. He hadn’t realized how much he missed her actually being there, but it’s calming. Even though he knows it doesn’t work that way, having a parent present makes him feel a bit more like things are going to be okay. Like somehow Chikage will fix things even though he knows full well that’s not how it works. She can’t just sweep in and fix the Kaito downstairs or make Kaito actually human. She can’t wipe away any new traumas either. Couldn’t when Toichi died, can’t now. Parents aren’t all powerful and don’t have all the answers. But it’s pretty nice to let her take over being the adult for the moment.

He’s tired.

The last swallow of shake is rich on his tongue. He could probably pick apart what’s in it, but he’d rather enjoy it. Especially because life keeps reminding him how fleeting the good moments are lately.

“So, could I go home if I promise to let Hakuba look me over every twelve hours or something? Pretty sure I’m not going to fall apart at this point.”

Jii looks heavenward like he’s asking for patience. Chikage pats Kaito’s shoulder. “One more night,” she says. “I’ll talk to Agasa-san about what we can do to keep track of how you’re doing at home.” Her smile slips a bit. “I have a few arrangements to make before we move you anyway.”

“Ah.” Right… “Do you want me to come with you to…?”

She shakes her head. “I’d like a bit of privacy if that’s okay.”

“Yeah.” Kaito looks at the empty glass in his hand. “He’s your son so…”

Jii coughs softly and takes their glasses to wash them and Chikage stands to go face her dead son. She gives Kaito a wan smile and he wishes he could keep her from going and looking. She needs to look, but if it haunts Kaito, it’s definitely going to haunt his mother.

Kaito flees for the roof for lack of better places to go. He takes the romance book with him but he kind of doubts he’ll end up reading it.

It’s another beautiful day. It feels like the weather should reflect such heavy things like dead sons and imperfect copies, but nature doesn’t care what the piddly beings scrambling around on the earth’s surface are experiencing, it just does what it always does.

He ends up pulling out his cracked cell phone, now with a strip of clear tape across its front to keep from breaking worse until he can get a new one. There’s an unread message from Hakuba that goes on and on about the chemical properties of Kaito’s blood compound. Apparently Hakuba must have borrowed his grandfather’s lab space again. “So glad I’m providing you entertainment,” Kaito texts back sarcastically.

“You should know how your body works,” Hakuba sends almost immediately. “I’ll be over tomorrow to go through more research notes.”

It’s Hakuba who’d eventually hacked into the doctor’s personal computer. Kaito doesn’t doubt that the facility upstairs had been full of even more detailed information, but there had been enough filed in the remains of the living area and foundry for everyone to work with. Agasa might have been able to use the synthetic blood from the chest freezer and patch Kaito’s skin with similar samples, but it’s Hakuba who’s intent on understanding how they work and can be reproduced. It’s just weird how Hakuba’s not hounding him about the Kid thing at all.

“I might go home tomorrow. I’m trying to make it today, but they’re not budging.”

“Kuroba, don’t be an idiot. Your leg is still in a delicate state and we still don’t know if the loose wire in your head he fixed was the only one.”

“Vision has been working normal and no brain problems here. Besides, my mom is here and she’s going to be watching closer than Jii probably.”

“It’s good for there to be another set of eyes,” is all that Hakuba sends back and Kaito scowls at the message.

There’s a few from Aoko, worried about him, but he’d made it sound like he had a bit of an accident and was fine but not really up for visitors. It would only work for so long, so that is another reason to return home. Kaito’s life is a mess these days. Just one lie after another.

Although… less lies at the moment than there have been. He wants to believe that’s a good thing, but less lies mean more people hurt with the knowledge that Kaito’s dead. It’s a tossup whether it’ll be a relief long term or just another problem.

#detective conan #magic kaito #robot kaito #fanfiction #my writing #chapter breaks are all roughly 5000 some words btw #if anyone was wondering at arbitrary cut off points

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toloveawarlord · 4 years

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My Solemn Vow (Ch. 1)

You can find my masterlist in my bio!

Pairing: Luka x Genevieve

A/N: In celebration of Luka’s appreciation week, I’m releasing the first chapter of Genevieve. It’s not quite an alternating POV story, but each chapter will focus heavily on one of them. This chapter focuses on Luka!

The investigation had finally come to a close. Months had been spent by the army officers to find grounds to arrest and search this property. Amber eyes swept across the open field behind the farm house. Secluded. The nearest neighbor miles away, giving the man all the privacy he needed to conduct his drug business. The Jack of Spades couldn’t bring himself to celebrate the victory as the others chatted happily from inside the house. The wind blew the corn, rustling them together as if calling him out into their depths.

“Hey, Luka, ya need to come see this,” Fenrir called from inside, poking his head out of the staircase that led down into the basement. His brows were pulled together, sickened by what he’d discovered.

The laboratory stank of chemicals, but Luka followed him further into the room. Two large filing cabinets had been dragged away from the wall to reveal a small door. He knelt down to get a good look inside. Within it, five children of various ages huddled against each other at the far side. Clothes worn, dirt stuck to their skin, bare feet.

The eldest, a girl with brown tangled hair, hugged the other four closer. “Where is papa?”

Luka’s breath caught in his throat. “He’s gone away. It’s safe for you to come out,” he said, offering a hand out to her. The trembling kids hide their faces toward the eldest.

She wavered, clearly afraid of what might happen to them should they trust him. Her eyes darted around, finding nothing but cold, damp walls around. She met his gaze once again, as if silently asking if he would hurt them, but her fears subsided the longer she stared. Untangling herself from the others, her thin hand, ice cold, settled in his.

All of them were underweight, some so thin that he feared they might break a bone from hiding a horse. A carriage was brought to escort them back to headquarters, but the Jack of Spades couldn’t bring himself to leave with them. An unsettling omen weighing over him.

“Something isn’t right,” Luka murmured, catching Fenrir’s attention.

“We’ve searched all the farm land. What’s bothering ya?”

He couldn’t answer. A large gust of wind blew around them, whistling through the stalks of corn. For only a second, a path through the center revealed itself, so quickly gone that Luka might have just imagined it. Ignoring the questions from the other officer, Luka set off into the field.

Easily maneuvering through the stalks, the rows opened up, hiding a well-worn path. What purpose did this serve? Luka pushed forward, trying to puzzle out the details when he tripped, toppling over a metal hatch.

“What the hell?” Fenrir had chased after him, wanting to question him further about the obsession with the corn field. His answer came without any words. Both officers took a moment to stare quizzically at it. “Ya don’t think he’s hiding more kids in there, do ya?”

“We should check, just in case,” Luka answered, twisting the round wheel to unlock it. The heavy lid creaked as it opened. Both reeled back, covering their nose and mouths with one hand. A rancid stench escaping from within.

The rotten smell was overwhelming as they descended down into the small bunker. It held little furniture, two cots with dirty white sheets. Trash piled up all around, having never been cleaned before. One dim light dangled from the ceiling, flies swarming around it. Among the garbage, two bodies were laying on the floor.

One rotting away, having been dead for days. She must have been in her early 30s.

The other much younger, maybe even a teenager still. Ratty black hair tangled in many knots, so thin that touching her might break her bones.

Still covering his mouth, Luka carefully stepped over the decomposing corpse to her. A wound on her head had dried blood smeared across forehead. Simply looking at her, one would have to assume that she was dead. He made himself check despite those lingering thoughts.

“Fenrir, she’s still alive,” Luka said, feeling a pulse from her neck. A heavy weight of dread filled him. Had he not chosen to investigate the field, she might have been left here to suffer in agony and eventually died. Her current state not that far off from death.

The Ace of Spades came closer. “How?”

“By some miracle. We need to get her out of here,” Luka said, brushing her matted curls away from her bony cheek. His touch bringing her hollow gaze up to him. Her lips parted, words trying to form, but none came out. “We’re going to take care of you.”

The two carefully lifted the girl up. She barely weighed anything. They would soon send soldiers to take care of the other woman, to give her a proper burial and hopefully find her family. Luka set his priority on bringing this girl back to life.

*************

Days past. The doctor at Headquarters had done everything that he could. The girl that the children called Gen, had fallen into a coma. Lack of nutrients, anemia, and myriad of other factors had drove her to that state. Despite being in that state, the color had begun to return to her cheeks from the medicine that had been given to her.

Luka visited her daily, any time the chance arose. He had finished preparing for dinner early, having half an hour before needing to do any more work. He pulled the stool over next to her cot, questions swirling around about her. Where had she come from? Was she one of that man’s kids? Or did she serve some other purpose?

Curious amber eyes grew wider, meeting the gaze of the pale blue ones finally open. Gen blinked, clearing her hazy vision before settling on him. Pure fear registered within them, her frail body shrinking down under the covers, as if to protect herself from him.

“You’re safe. No one is going to hurt you here,” Luka said, heart aching for her. What abuse had she seen in that bunker?

Gen peeked out from under the sheet, examining him. His voice soft, gentle. Something she had not heard in a very long time. “Where…” A whisper came out of her mouth, barely audible at all.

Luka kept his hands in his lap, but he longed to reach out and comfort her. He knew if he did, she might hide herself again and not come back out. “You’re at the Black Army Headquarters.” His answer clearly didn’t bring her any peace, so he offered another answer. “He won’t ever see the light of day again.” A trial had yet to be held, but with all the evidence they had gathered, it would surely end that way.

“Promise?”

That one word hit him like a punch to the gut. She hadn’t known what safety felt like in who knows how long, but the flicker of light that flashed across her soft eyes drew him in like a moth to the flame. The longing to have someone to trust written across her features.

“I swear. He will never hurt you again,” Luka said, placing his hand over his heart. He would personally see to it.

Even if he had to kill the bastard to keep that promise.

#luka clemence week #ikemen revolution #ikerev #genevieve reyes #luka clemence #jack of spades #ikemen kakumei #i've had this chapter for nearly a year

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entwinedmoon · 4 years

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John Torrington: A Portrait of the Stoker as a Young Man

(Previous posts 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8)

Different forms of art have depicted Torrington in different ways. In my last post I discussed how in music Torrington seems to be depicted as either some sort of restless spirit or reanimated man-out-of-time, with a focus on his death and the eerie undead appearance of his mummified body. There’s not much of a focus on what he was like when he was alive, with the inspiration for these works coming from the image of his dead body. Sadly, we don’t have any pictures of what he looked like when he was alive, but that doesn’t mean people haven’t tried to imagine it. In fact, Torrington’s depiction in visual artworks often focus more on what he was like when he was alive, with various attempts at reconstructing what he may have looked like before he died and was buried on Beechey.

One of the first attempts at recreating what he may have looked like comes from the Nova documentary “Buried in Ice.” At the very end of the documentary, there are artistic reconstructions of Torrington, Hartnell, and Braine. I’m not entirely sure who the artist was, but the credits list an illustrator, Wayne Schneider, and he may have been the one to draw these. I can’t find the illustrations outside of the documentary, so please forgive the bad quality of the screenshot I had to use below.

Here we have a John Torrington who looks aged before his time. He was only twenty when he died, but judging by the state of his lungs, he probably had a hard life, so he may have looked much older than his years. This is a very serious-looking Torrington, as if he were standing for a portrait or daguerreotype for several minutes and had to stay completely still.

This drawing also gives him almost shoulder-length hair. Owen Beattie was a technical consultant on the documentary, so he probably had a say in what the recreations of the Beechey Boys may have looked like. This makes me think that the hair length shown here is most likely how long his hair actually was. Yes, I know, I’m going on about his hair again, but due to the confusion over what his hair looked like, it tends to vary across artistic depictions, as we shall see.

Another thing of note in this recreation is the noticeable lines around his mouth. In the pictures of Torrington’s mummified body, there are prominent lines around his mouth, but how much of that was due to postmortem distortions and how much would have shown on his face in life is hard to know. The artwork above is not an official forensic facial reconstruction, and even official reconstructions are highly subjective, so this is just one possible interpretation.

There’s another artistic interpretation of Torrington from around the same time. Remember the children’s book Buried in Ice? Well, what’s a kid’s book without some illustrations?

Now that’s the face of a man who got sick of backbreaking, lung-destroying labor in Manchester and said, “Screw it, I’m going to the Arctic.” The hair here is similar to that depicted in the documentary illustration, but the lines around his mouth are softened. The illustrations for this book were done by Janet Wilson, and she brought a liveliness to Torrington’s face that the somber drawing from the documentary greatly lacked. He still has a slightly careworn face, but he looks closer to his actual age. Janet Wilson also did wonderful detailing on the shirt that he was buried in, which he is wearing in her drawing. The kerchief tied around his head in death is here tied around his neck—and I love the inclusion of the blue border around the kerchief, which is not really noticeable in the photos from his exhumation but is noted in the reports on his burial clothes.

I’m fond of this picture because it gives Torrington some personality beyond that of a sad, tragic victim. It makes him seem like a real person who lived, with a bit of a sly and carefree attitude. He also gives off a kind of back alley salesman vibe, like he knows a guy who knows a guy who could sell you a kidney. But I especially like it because he’s smiling as he’s speaking, and after seeing picture after picture of Torrington’s frozen death grimace, I would love to know what he looked like when he smiled.

There’s another artistic reconstruction which I found on YouTube. It’s by artist M.A. Ludwig, who has a YouTube channel (under the name JudeMaris) dedicated to facial reconstructions of various historical figures, including all three of the Beechey Boys. Here’s Ludwig’s interpretation of what Torrington may have looked like:

He looks much younger here than in either of the two previous interpretations. This John Torrington looks like a young man ready for adventure, with hopes and dreams of a long future. He has slightly shorter hair in this interpretation, but also, he’s blond. I’ve noticed confusion online about the color as well as length of Torrington’s hair, with a lot of people these days thinking he’s blond. I think that may have something to do with the wood shavings he’s resting on in photos, which as I discussed in a previous post, some people have confused for his hair. I’ve also encountered a few versions of the usual photos of him where the lighting looks different, resulting in the few visible wisps of his hair looking much lighter than official reports have described them. Interestingly, the blond hair makes him look younger and gives him an innocent and almost naïve appearance, completely different from the sly, I’ve-got-a-bridge-to-sell-you Torrington from the children’s book.

Now I’m going to move on to an artist who is well known to Franklinites. Kristina Gehrmann (@iceboundterror) is a German illustrator and graphic artist who specializes in works with a historical or fantasy setting. She has drawn many pictures inspired by the Franklin Expedition, and I have bought several of them from her shop on Etsy, including three different versions of the ships Terror and Erebus sailing in the Arctic or caught in the ice. Currently, those three pictures are on my wall next to a large painting I inherited from my grandparents of two non-Franklin-related ships that I pretend are Terror and Erebus anyway (I call this wall The Boat Place). Gehrmann also wrote and illustrated a graphic novel in German about the Franklin Expedition, Im Eisland, published in three parts and available through Amazon. But if, like me, you don’t speak German, Gerhmann has made an English translation, titled Icebound, available for free here.

Gehrmann has actually drawn two slightly different versions of Torrington, one of which is more like the artistic reconstructions shown above and the other is of a fictionalized Torrington in the graphic novel Im Eisland. I love both of her interpretations, but they are of two different styles. Let’s start with the graphic novel version.

Im Eisland uses a manga-like style, so this version of Torrington is based in that. It gives him a wide-eyed, youthful—and joyful—appearance (when he isn’t dying of consumption, of course). This is the happiest and liveliest Torrington I’ve seen. The manga art style results in some simplified features and a rather modern hairstyle, but there’s nothing wrong with using some artistic license to better convey the personality of a character.

Gerhmann’s other illustration of Torrington is possibly my favorite, even if it might not be the most accurate:

This is a lovely illustration, and it really plays up Torrington’s youth, making him look almost angelic. I’m going to be completely honest—he is very pretty. This version of Torrington is an incredibly handsome young lad, and if Torrington really looked like this, then I think he probably would have been very popular in life. I could go on, but I probably shouldn’t.

I also love the amazing detail on the shirt. You may have noticed some slight variations in these recreations when it comes to his shirt, and I think that’s due to the fact that his shirt looks downright complicated in the few pictures we have of it. There are horizontal stripes and vertical stripes. There’s a high collar and buttons and all these folds that it can be hard to see exactly what it looks like, and unfortunately there were no textile experts present during the exhumation, so there was no one to lay out the shirt and take a closer look at it before redressing and burying him. But every time someone gives their best attempt at figuring out the puzzle that is his shirt, I’m happy, and this one looks very close to how it may have actually looked. My one issue with this picture is that his hair is short and blond, which doesn’t fit the description provided in the autopsy report. But the facial features look true, so I tend to overlook that little nitpick.

This version of Torrington, by the way, is probably the most well-known interpretation. In fact, when you search for John Torrington on Google, this picture crops up:

I have even seen online articles about Torrington that use this picture as a reconstruction example. This is in no way an official reconstruction of him, but it is by far the most popular. (And yes, I bought a copy of this picture, too.)

While reconstructions of what Torrington may have looked like when alive are common among artists depicting him, there is some artwork that uses images of his mummified body as inspiration instead. Irish artist Vincent Sheridan has a gorgeous collection of work inspired by the Franklin Expedition. Several of these feature the mummy of John Torrington, including an etching aptly named “John Torrington.”

Torrington appears as a ghostly apparition in many of these prints, alongside the repeated imagery of a skull, two very physical signs of the human cost of the expedition. While most of the bodies of the men lost have yet to be found, their bones scattered or buried across King William Island, Torrington’s body is a stark reminder that this tragedy did happen, and that these men did die, not just vanish off the face of the earth. I’ve described Torrington as the poster boy for the expedition before, and here his death seems to represent the death of everyone who sailed with Franklin, his face a haunting piece of evidence for the fate that met them all.

Now, I’m not entirely sure how best to transition between that solemn reminder of death and this last piece of Torrington-inspired artwork that I would like to mention, so I’m just going to dive in. This next artwork also uses the image of Torrington’s mummy as inspiration, but in a completely different manner from Sheridan’s work. I refer, of course, to the John Torrington plushie.

This adorable little mummy plushie was created by craft artist Nancy Soares, aka sinnabunnycrafts on Etsy (@sinnaminie). Whether you think a plushie of a mummified body is in good taste or not, you have to agree that this little guy is freakin’ cute. I might be slightly biased, though, because he was originally crafted for a custom request from my sister as a birthday present for me. But now anyone can buy him or his Beechey buddies. This little guy even made a special appearance during John Geiger’s presentation at the Mystic Seaport Museum’s symposium, Franklin Lost and Found.

I think the fact that there’s a plushie of John Torrington is amazing. People used to take pictures of the recently deceased and use their dead loved one’s hair in jewelry to remember them, so this isn’t that different. To me, at least, it’s a memento to honor him, reminding me that Torrington was more than just a boy who died but a boy who once lived as well.

It is also super adorable.

Next: Torrington as depicted in literature. Spoiler alert! He dies. A lot.

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Torrington Series Masterlist

#john torrington #franklin expedition

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zoocross0vers · 4 years

Text

Merry Christmas Everyone!

A/N: Merry Christmas and God bless us, everyone! :D

This is primarily based on the Mickey Christmas Carol. What can I say, it’s my favorite version of all the Christmas Carol adaptations out there (along with the Flintstone’s Christmas Carol)! X3

Which is your favorite Christmas Carol adaptation? :D

…

A Zootopian Christmas Carol

Chapter 1: The Warning

Zootopia 1843

Christmas was always a wonderful and joyous time of the year to many, but to one miser of a cape buffalo, it was just another day of the year. Ebeneezer Bogo, the middle aged and grouchy cape buffalo in question, hated the season. He found it to be such a waste and an unnecessary excuse to get mammals a day off work and not make money for that day.

Yes, to Bogo there was absolutely nothing more important than money. He cared little for trivial things like family, friends, or other things he considered to be unimportant distractions, like Christmas.

He’d never admit it to himself, but he wasn't always like this. He knew that he was cold hearted, but he had never taken the time to think about why he had become this way. All he knew was that he was bitter, hated Christmas, and loved money.

He owned his own counting house, which used to be a shared business with his former business partner, Dawn Bellwether. She was cruel and money hungry, just like her business partner, Bogo. And today Christmas Eve, marked seven years on the dot since she had died.

But to Bogo, none of it mattered. They were close in their youth, but as the years passed, they each began to grow more and more selfish. The profits of their counting house came to be all that mattered to them, as was evident when Bellwether died -- Bogo was to have her buried at her family's mausoleum, but he instead had her buried at sea.

It brought an amused smirk on his face as he made his way toward his counting house. He saw that the sign hanging outside of the counting house still read ‘Bogo and Bellwether's Counting House’. “Ah Bellwether, my old partner,” he said, “Seven long years since you’ve been gone and my personal profits have more than doubled since then. I hope there are no hard feelings between us. I remember that you did love to swim, so perhaps my choice of burial for you was more than appropriate.” He chuckled quietly and went inside.

Inside the counting house, was Bogo’s only employee, Nicholas Wilde. He was a thin red fox with a black tipped tail, though given his current state he might as well have been a pawpsicle seeing how much he was struggling to keep warm. Not even his thick winter coat was enough to keep him warm.

He was standing by the coal stove with a single piece of coal in paw as he heard the bell above the door ring, signaling to him that someone had just entered. He immediately turned in a panic, hiding the piece of coal behind his back as he saw that it was none other than his boss who had entered. “Mister Bogo! How are you doing this fine day!” he exclaimed with a false excitement, hoping that the buffalo hadn't noticed anything, “Is that a new coat? You know it really brings out the color of your eyes and--”

“Shut your mouth, Wilde,” said the buffalo as he simply walked past the fox.

Nicholas watched him go, as he quietly sighed in relief. It appeared that he hadn’t noticed that one of the pieces of coal was missing.

“Wilde?”

Spoke too soon, thought Nicholas. “Yes sir?”

“It feels much warmer here than it should. Did you put it another piece of coal without my permission?” questioned the buffalo.

“Wha--?” Nicholas exclaimed with an affronted paw to his chest. “What kind of mammal do you take me for? Of course I'd never go against your wishes without your permission.”

Suspicious, the buffalo lightly kicked at the bucket of fresh coal, “Are you certain about that? I counted eleven pieces yesterday and there appear to be only about ten in here.”

“You actually count them?” Nicholas asked incredulously.

“That's not the point!” Bogo scolded, “You better have a good excuse for using my coal, or I’ll have to deduct that piece from your pay.”

“But I promise you sir, I haven’t taken anything,” he lied as he dropped the piece of coal from his paw onto his tail and let it roll down as he cautiously led it back inside the bucket.

“That's not true. Show me what you're hiding behind your other paw,” ordered the buffalo.

“Okay, but I don't think you’ll find anything.” Nicholas brought forth his hidden paw, “See nothing.”

“Mm,” huffed the buffalo with a low annoyed rumble in his throat, “Your never can tell with your kind. Sneaky red devils is what you foxes are.”

“Of course, sir,” Nicholas agreed sarcastically under his breath, “And you cape buffaloes are just such kind and chipper fellows, am I right?”

Bogo eyed him suspiciously, searching for the hidden malice in his words. Nicholas shrunk in front of him, “Hehe, I mean that with the utmost sincerity, sir.”

“You better for your sake. Now get back to work,” said the buffalo as he headed toward his office.

“Actually, sir,” Nicholas said, causing the buffalo to stop and turn to him, “Would you mind if I use that piece of coal?”

“And waste my valuable resources? You foxes have winter coats. How can you possibly be cold?”

“It’s not for me,” replied the fox, “I can’t work with frozen ink.” Nicholas held the frozen quill pen as it was stuck inside the ink vial. “Unless we suddenly want to start selling ink pawpsicles. Get it?” Nicholas laughed, “Because it kind of looks like…” Nicholas slowly stopped his laughing when he noticed that Bogo was not at all amused, “...a pawpsicle…I’ll be quiet now.”

Bogo thought for a moment and huffed, “Take one of the ink vials from my office and get to work. No coal. I spend enough on your salary as it is already.”

“I take it this would be a bad time to ask for a raise then?” asked Nicholas with a cheeky grin.

“Get to work Wilde!”

Nicholas cowered a little and walked past the buffalo, “Speaking of work Mister Bogo, tomorrow is Christmas and I was wondering if I could have...half a day off?”

Bogo snorted, “Christmas eh? First you ask me for a raise and now this.”

“But sir, I never ask anything from you and I have worked for ten consecutive Christmases in the past. Wouldn’t it be alright to have just one Christmas where I could spend at least half a day with my family?”

“Hmm, well...I suppose so. But! I’ll deduct you half a day’s pay.”

“Really? Thank you sir! And just so you know, I really mean that kind and chipper comment from before now.”

“Just get to work Wilde.”

“Yes, sir!” Nicholas said with a hopeful smile as he rushed into Bogo’s office to fetch a vial of ink.

Bogo just rolled his eyes as the fox disappeared inside the office.

Just then, the bell hanging above the entrance to their office rang. Ah, a customer, thought Bogo.

His smile faded however, when he saw that it was just his nephew, Fred Bogo. “Merry Christmas uncle Bogo!” cheered the thin young cape buffalo. He bore a striking resemblance to Bogo, with the only two exceptions being Fred’s more lively demeanor and his thinner build.

“Fred! Is that really you?” asked a smiling Nicholas when he came back out from the office.

“Hello Mr. Wilde! Merry Christmas!” cheered the actually chipper young twenty year old buffalo.

“And a Merry Christmas to you too Master Fred!” replied Nicholas in return.

“Bah. Humbug,” muttered Bogo as he headed into his office. Fred shrugged at Nicholas and followed his uncle into his office. “Come now uncle, surely you don’t mean that.”

Bogo plopped down at his work desk to count coins on a scale, “Then tell me nephew, what is Christmas to you? But another day for mammals to get a day off from work and not an hour richer. Humbug, I say to such a lazy custom.”

“Well uncle, perhaps I haven’t profited from it but I believe that Christmas is a time for giving and to be with one’s family. It’s a time when mammals can come together and find the good in their hearts. And though it has never put any gold or silver in my pocket, I believe it has done me good and will do me good and I say, God bless it!”

“Hear! Hear!” Nicholas cheered from outside Bogo’s office.

“Wilde!” Bogo shouted, “Do you want to get fired?”

“I’m shutting up now sir!” shouted Nicholas in return.

Bogo huffed, then turned back to his nephew. “Are you done yet, nephew? I am quite busy.”

“I’m not uncle. I’ve come to ask you to Christmas dinner with my wife and I.”

“No thank you,” Bogo huffed.

“Why not?” asked his nephew innocently.

“Why did you marry that penniless girl? You’re just as bad as Wilde out there. Marrying a rabbit. Puh, ridiculous.”

“But uncle, if Mr. Wilde and I chose to marry our respective wives out of love, then I don’t see the harm in our unions,” argued Fred.

“Love,” scoffed Bogo, “Love without profit is a bad investment. It can’t possibly compare to the profits of a good dowry. I told you that when you turned down that rich girl in favor of the poor one you married! What a waste! So if there’s nothing more important to discuss nephew, then I must ask you to take your leave!” Bogo loomed over his nephew.

“But uncle,” his nephew tried to object. The next thing the young cape buffalo knew, he was being escorted out from his uncle’s office and out the front door.

“I already said no. So good day, nephew!”

“But, but, but--”

SLAM!

Bogo slammed the door right to his nephew’s face. “Merry Christmas just the same uncle,” Fred muffled through the door.

“Humbug,” said Bogo.

Nicholas shook his head in disapproval of Bogo’s behavior. “He forgot to add the ‘buffalo’ in front of all those 'buts’.” Nicholas muttered under his breath.

“What was that?” asked the irritated buffalo.

“Nothing! I said, 'he’s a kind buffalo but not at all practical like his uncle.’”

“Ah, well, I suppose my nephew always has been a little bit peculiar,” Bogo said as the front door’s bell rang once more, “And stubborn.” For a moment, he thought that his nephew had returned, but it turned out to be a hare and vixen couple at the front door. “Oh, customers,” said Bogo, delighted. “You keep busy Wilde, I shall handle this. Good evening sir and madam. How may I help you today?”

“Good evening, sir,” answered the vixen by the name of Skye Savage. “My husband and I are seeking donations for the Zootopia Charitable Foundation and would really appreciate your help.”

“I’m sorry, for what?” asked Bogo.

The striped hare accompanying the vixen -- by the name of Jack Savage -- politely removed his hat, “We’re collecting money for the poor, sir.”

“Oh... I see,” replied Bogo through greedy, gritted teeth. “Well I wish you much luck in your charitable venture. Good day.” Bogo said turning his back to them.

“But Mr. Bogo, surely someone as well off as yourself can afford to donate something,” argued the hare.

“I certainly can, but I won't,” responded the cold hearted buffalo. “I support the workhouses already. They cost enough. If the poor are so needy, then they must go there.”

“But many can't go there and many would rather die,” cried the vixen, solemnly.

“If they would rather die, then they best do it fast and decrease the surplus population. Most notably you pesky hares and rabbits who don't stop overpopulating society enough as it is,” spat the buffalo with a glare at the hare.

The vixen's eyes widened, offended for her husband. “Now wait just a min--!” Her husband brought an arm up to stop her from stepping forward and arguing further. He kept his eyes on the buffalo, glaring at him with a single flare of his nostrils.

“It's alright Skye.” The striped hare turned to the buffalo, “I pity you if that's what you truly think of us.”

“It is,” he replied simply, and opened the door for the couple. “Good day.”

“Come dear,” said Jack, taking his wife's paw and walked out the door with her. Skye gave the buffalo one final humph and left with her husband.

Bogo slammed the door behind them. “Tsk, tsk, tsk...what is this world coming to Wilde?” Bogo asked his employee, who had clearly seen everything. Despite all the criticism that Nicholas wanted to give him, he said nothing. “You work hard all your life and then they want to take it all away. Unbelievable.”

“Yeah, unbelievable. Just like you never giving me a raise,” Nicholas mumbled.

“What was that?”

“Nothing! I just said, 'all that stress must really raise your blood pressure.’”

Bogo snorted, suspicious, but decided not to press further. Bogo headed toward his office when Nicholas spoke up again. “Uh sir, seriously though,” began the fox with a tremble in his voice and a nervous rub to the back of his neck. “Now that we're on the subject, I was wondering if I, well...if I could have a raise?”

“What?” asked the buffalo, looking annoyed.

“A raise?” said Nicholas with an accompanying nervous chuckle immediately after.

“Why should I give you a raise, Wilde? You’ve hardly earned it. Not to mention, that I already so generously have given you half of tomorrow off.”

“You have, you have,” Nicholas agreed, “But I have worked for you for ten years and in that time I’ve been yours and Miss Bellwether's only employee -- God rest her soul. And I've helped increase profits with my bookkeeping and business savvy. But, most importantly I also really need a raise because I have a very sick boy at hom--”

“Enough,” said the buffalo, not even taking a moment to actually listen to any of the fox’s points. “I don't need your life story Wilde. I’m afraid you already work more than the required hours for me to give you a raise.”

“But sir,” Nicholas attempted to argue.

“No buts Wilde! You should be thankful a mammal in my line of work even bothered to give you a job in the first place. Most wouldn't trust you to be honest with their business’ money. Little did they know that you are a bit of a gold mine since you're so good with numbers.” Bogo chuckled, proud. “Keep up the good work, Wilde. Maybe you’ll get that raise some day.”

“Yes, sir,” Nicholas agreed, glum and with his ears down. He turned back to his work, stress evident all over his face. “What am I going to tell them,” he sighed quietly to himself.”

Bogo meanwhile returned to his office without a care in the world.

Some hours passed and it finally came time for both mammals to go home. Nicholas in particular watched the grandfather clock as its big hand finally moved forward, signaling that it was 5 o’clock. “I’m done for the day sir!” Nicholas called to his boss.

Inside his office, Bogo checked his pocket watch and saw that it had two minutes left until five o’clock. “Not by my watch Wilde! There's still two minutes left.”

“Are you serious?” Nicholas mumbled quietly to himself. He took the quill pen at his desk and continued writing until Bogo called out once more.

“Actually, never mind those last two minutes. You may go Wilde.”

Nicholas’ ears perked up in joy. He shut the book closed and hopped off the seat of his tall desk. “Thank you sir! There's that kind, chipper side of yours showing again!” He called to the buffalo who had his office door open.

“Enough jokes Wilde. Just go home and be sure to be here all the earlier the next day!” he ordered of the fox.

“Yes sir! And a Merry Christmas to you! Even if you won't take it,” saluted the fox, as he slapped on his small top hat atop his head and headed out the door.

Bogo meanwhile huffed a, “Bah, humbug.”

After getting a bit more work done for the day, Bogo closed up shop and headed home himself.

With his top hat and cane in hoof, he walked the cobblestone path leading to his enormous mansion. He searched for his key in his pocket to enter as usual...but! Little did he know that this night would be anything but usual.

As he fished for his key, the knocker on his door suddenly transformed from a brass buffalo shaped face to a ghostly see through sheep face. “Bogo…” whispered the glasses wearing ghostly apparition.

“Dawn Bellwether?” breathed Bogo in surprise as he took notice of the face. “No, it can't be,” he looked away in denial. When he looked back, the face was gone and he sighed in relief. Bogo carried on as usual, latching the key into the keyhole and opening the door. When he looked back up, he came face to face with the ghostly face again.

“Bogo!”

Bogo gasped and rushed inside! He slammed the door shut. The buffalo stood staring at the door, hyperventilating and hoping that what he had seen was nothing more but a figment of his imagination. “I-I’ve been working too hard, I’m seeing things.” Bogo's stomach then growled in hunger, “Perhaps some dinner should take my mind off things.”

So Bogo did just that. He poured himself a bowl of leftover gruel and dressed himself in his nightshirt. He ate in his bedroom, ready to spend Christmas Eve as he always did -- alone.

At first, it seemed as though a nice hot meal and a good nap at his favorite chair by the fireplace had done the trick. He had completely forgotten about his frightening encounter with his old partner. Bogo slept peacefully in his chair with a full belly...when suddenly…

rattle, rattle, rattle

The sounds of chains began to rattle in the distance. “Bogo…” the eerily haunting voice of Dawn Bellwether called to him. “Bogo…!” Her voice grew louder as did the sound of rattling chains.

“Mm?” Bogo moaned as he stirred in his sleep.

“Bogo…”

Bogo peeked an eye open as he heard the sound again. “Must be the wind,” he figured as he settled himself in his seat. He snored peacefully for a moment when…

“BOGO!”

Said buffalo jumped in his seat, wide awake. “Wha--? What?!”

“BOGO!”

Through Bogo's bedroom door, a phantasmic sheep with glasses and rattling chains entered. “Bogo!” she moaned with a haunting wail.

“D-Dawn?” Bogo stuttered. “No...it can't be!” he said as he shut his eyes in denial.

“Bogo…” the ghost approached him with her rattling chains. “Don’t deny what your eyes clearly see Bogo.”

Bogo opened his eyes and gazed upon her, “No, this can’t be real. You can’t be here! Y-You’ve been dead for seven years!”

“Believe what you see Bogo!” shouted the ghost sheep right to his face. “Bogo, do you remember when I was alive how I used to rob the widowers and swindled the poor?”

“Yes, and all in the same day. You were such a good business mammal Dawn,” Bogo complimented proudly of her accomplishments.

The sheep, giggled modestly with a wave of her hoof. “Oh stop, you’re too kin--N-No!” she yelled, correcting herself. “I was wrong! And as punishment, I’m forced to bear the chains I forged in life, now in death!” the ghost of Bellwether lifted the heavy chains and rattled them to emphasize her point. It was then that Bogo noticed that each of her chains was attached to a heavy safe or other money box. “Now, I’ve come here to warn you! Ebeneezer Bogo! Or the same thing will happen to you!”

“Th-That can’t happen. That’s impossible! I’ve done nothing wrong do deserve a fate such as yours!”

“Haven’t you?!” countered the sheep, angrily. “Have you any idea the weight of the very chains you bear yourself? The ones you’ve created and continue to link together each greedy day you live?!”

Bogo swallowed hard, sinking into his seat.

“Listen and listen well Bogo, my time on this earth is nearly gone. I have come here to warn you that you still have a hope of escaping my horrid fate,” said the ghostly sheep.

“W-What must I do?” asked a terrified Bogo.

“Tonight, you will be visited by three spirits. Listen to them and be sure to do as they say, or your chains will be heavier than mine. Expect the first when the clock strikes midnight,” said the sheep as she pointed to the grandfather clock in the room.

“But, that’s in an hour. How can they all visit me in one night?”

“Don’t underestimate them Bogo. And remember to take into account what they have to say,” Dawn said as she phased through Bogo’s window.

“Wait! Dawn!” he called after her as he pulled open the wooden shutters. He gasped when he witnessed a sea of other ghostly apparitions floating about the night sky alongside Dawn Bellwether.

“Farewell Bogo. Expect me no more and remember all that I’ve told you and what will await you if you don’t…” she said as she gradually disappeared with a haunting breath.

Bogo rubbed his eyes and gazed back out the window. The sky was now clear with no one there -- not a living soul nor a dead one. The buffalo’s erratic breathing slowly returned to normal. “No, no. None of this could have been real. Bah, ridiculous!” he spat in denial, “Ghosts, spirits, humbug!”

He headed to bed and crawled in. “Surely when I awaken, this will all prove to be nothing more but an absurd dream.” he blew out the candle and laid down. In no time, he was snoring, fast asleep and dreaming good dreams to forget about his troubles.

But little did he know...his troubles were only just beginning.

…

A/N: I apologize again for not being able to have the whole thing ready today, but the rest should come soon before the month’s over. Even if Christmas will be over by the time the rest is out, I wish you all a Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays, a joyous New Year, and just happy days in general, because why should the season of giving and goodwill be limited only to Christmas? ;)

P.S. Don’t know why I went with the name Ebenezer Bogo, but just roll with it, lol! What is his real name anyway? Does he have one?

#zootopia #wildehopps #bogo #fanfic #a christmas carol #crossover

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christianowenazuelo · 4 years

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COVID - 19 PANDEMIC

What do I know about the Covid-19 pandemic? The Covid-19 pandemic is believed to be from “Wuhan China”. There are countries that have said to have hundreds and thousands of deaths. Countries like Italy and USA have suffered severely. Our government thinks of ways on how to fight the virus. They implemented Lockdowns in Manila and other cities and provinces here in the Philippines, Social Distancing, and Community Quarantines. The Department of Health (DoH) also categorized patients from “PUI” which means (Patients under Investigation) and “PUM” which means (Persons under Monitoring). The pandemic also affected businesses all over the country. Some of the brands and airline companies have declared “Bankruptcy” because of the pandemic there is no one allowed to go out. But if you want to go out, you are required to have “Travel Pass” for those who have businesses out of town. We are not only the ones who are suffering from this crisis even other countries were not ready to prevent the virus from spreading. It is hard to accept death because it should be buried immediately. The government advised us to avoid “mass gatherings”. Only 10 people are allowed to attend wakes. Only immediate family members are allowed to attend burials including priests and other close family members. So it is hard for the bereaved family to accept the loss of a loved one. This pandemic thought us to take good care of our health. The Covid – 19 pandemic is experienced by many countries. Covid – 19 is considered as a Health Crisis and a Socio – Economic Crisis. Doctors are gradually decreasing and dying. There are many doctors out there who died because they are being infected by the virus. We are hoping and praying that this pandemic will end soon enough for us to go back to the normal way of life again.

What are the things that I have learned from the quarantine? I learned the significance of maintaining proper hygiene, wearing face shield and face mask because of the rapid spread of the virus. Quarantine is also for the safety and good health of everybody. Senior Citizens are advised to stay home to prevent the virus from spreading because it is said that they are prone to be infected because of age and debilitating diseases. The DoH said that if you are an OFW and going back to the Philippines you must complete the “14day quarantine”. Our current situation deaths are increasing and employers have no choice because they have to reduce the number of their employees. Employees on the other hand, have no choice but to look for a new job. Restaurants and Fast Food chains started to limit the capacity by 50%. They are not allowed to accept “Dine – In” customers and only accept “Take – Out” services. The main goal of quarantine is to separate or distant you from crowded places in order to not spread the virus and just stay home. It protects you from any virus coming either from air or from droplets. Touching every part of your face is another way of spreading the virus. The government advised us to stay home you are not allowed to go anywhere, unless you are 21-59 years old. Malls are gradually opening. Quarantine is a way of limiting us to prevent the spread of this virus…people should accept rules, regulations and other protocols not only helping ourselves but the government for us to survive.

In my opinion, online distance learning is a way of continuing learning/studying. Others may choose homeschooling. Homeschooling is a variety of schooling that is conducted by a parent, tutor, or an online teacher. It is also known as a less formal way of educating children. In this way, you are using social media, or any ways through internet. These days, staying home is vital mainly to prevent the virus but continue studying. In online learning, we are given modules by our teachers for us to read and understand. This is one of the few ways for us to keep track of our education especially with the “new normal”. We are back to schooling but through the use of internet. We may miss the traditional face to face learning but we have to adjust with this until there will be vaccine available. This schoolyear, we hope that we will accomplish all what we need in the same way we had during a “normal” way of schooling. All of us wanted this crisis to end and continue our learning the best way we can.

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sophisticauthor · 4 years

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Profile: Callahan, Alexa D.

Description: Brown hair, Brown eyes, 5 feet 7 inches

Birthdate: September 18

Age at conviction: 16

Current age: 19

Birthplace: Rochester, New York, United States

Current Location: UNKNOWN

Family:

Mother: Alisa Callahan age 47 - deceased

Father: Geoffrey Callahan age 52 - deceased

Siblings:

Jennifer Callahan age 12 - deceased

Benjamin Callahan age 19 - deceased

This file contains eye witness accounts of events related to and/or allegedly caused by Alexa Callahan.

Eye witness account by Victor Drell

Age: 37

Occupation: High School Teacher

September 18,

I never saw the explosions, but I heard them. My wife Mary called the police as I went to go investigate. We live two houses down from the corner, I could see the apartment building on the opposite side - or where the building used to be – in a smoking heap. A couple of houses around it were knocked around too, but the residents there seemed to be fine.

When I got closer, I noticed the other neighbors start to come out as well. I climbed into the rubble hoping that someone was still alive. I noticed crushed remains of corpses lying everywhere; I wanted to vomit. One man was missing an arm and groaning loudly, so I called to the others to help move him to a place where rubble wouldn’t fall on him.

One of the neighbor kids called out from behind me that there was a girl who was still breathing. I told someone to take my place with the man, and rushed over to the girl. She was still breathing. She looked to be about fifteen and was wearing a white dress that was all tattered around the edges, her hair was a little singed, and I thought she probably suffered some trauma from what seemed like a fall from the second floor. But she looked mostly fine otherwise, which in hindsight was a little odd. Seemed like a miracle at the time. That’s when the police and paramedics arrived and took all the living away.

I learned later that the man’s name was Carl Stephenson, and the girl was Alexa Callahan, who was turning sixteen that day. I heard on the news that Carl Stephenson had died in the hospital and was taken by family for burial. But not that Alexa girl, she had no family left, and she was alive. A real shame, to have a bomb like that go off on your sixteenth birthday.

Report by Vanessa Bradford

Age: 42

Occupation: Nurse

I was assigned to a girl by the name of Alexa Callahan. She had suffered from several injuries caused by the explosion of her building. The full extent of the damage done to her was: A few broken ribs, a hairline fracture in her arm, a mutilated ankle, and trauma to the head. She seemed to have landed on her left side, and somehow managed to save her spine and vital organs. She was unconscious for 72 hours after the operations were finished. When she finally awoke, she was mostly unresponsive. She played with the recliner on the bed for a while and just stared at faces for a long time. She didn’t speak to anyone; not to doctors or nurses, not to the other patients. She didn’t respond to food or water, and didn’t even react whenever we adjusted the needles in her arm.

Many of us tried to coax her to eat or speak and she did neither for almost two weeks. Her doctor was beginning to wonder if we should be running tests on the speech part of her brain when she finally spoke.

She asked me when she could go home.

I told her that we had to make sure we had treated all her injuries first. Then she asked me what happened. I told her that authorities were still figuring it out, but it seemed as if someone planted a bomb in the building, possibly a terrorist attack.

This made her jump up in a panic, she just shouted “It wasn’t!” Her heart rate spiked, and she almost tried to get out of bed. I calmed her down a little and asked her what she remembered.

What she said didn’t make any sense. “People, people talking happily; singing, my singing, singing for me; color, lots of color, piled on the walls and the room; fire, there was fire and ticking. Tick tick tick. Incessant humming, thousands of bees humming in the walls. You can‘t hear it? Tick tick tick. I made a wish, then BOOM. Fire, fire! A little boy calls for help. Help her, help her, is she okay?”

I cut her off because she was flailing about and going on about nothing. She kept talking. Nonsense, more about the ticking and the humming. I tried to get her to sit back and relax, not to strain herself with the memory, and I eventually managed to get her to sleep. I remember she whispered “not terrorist, no terror. Make a wish” as she drifted off to sleep.

I only witnessed one other event that was significant.

A couple weeks later when she was being encouraged to walk around, we found that she would disappear for hours on end. We were deciding what to do with her, the ramblings hadn’t stopped and we were getting worried. Furthermore, she had no living blood relative that anyone could find. Meetings were being held to come to a decision. I was lucky enough to be personally involved in the discussions.

She burst in to one of the meetings. I don’t know how, we thought the doors were locked. Her hands were bloodied as if she had cut them on sharp glass or metal or something. She took a seat at the table with us and said something odd.

“I realize that I am the main subject of these meetings. And I feel obligated to put my two cents in.” Then she dropped two gears on the table, like they were the two cents she was putting in. I don’t know where they came from, but they were covered in the blood from her hands. A couple of us stood to try to help her back to bed. But she waved us off and insisted that she needed to continue speaking. She said “I’m not yet so far gone that I don’t know what is happening.” And then something like “I have completely lost all relatives, I am underage, and I’m raving mad.” And she dropped another gear on the table for each thing she listed. Her grammar would get all jumbled up, because I remember she said “I would think it advisable that under any circumstances you do NOT create me another family. I could not handle an artificial mother.” Which was worth four gears for some reason. At this point, we were starting to realize that these were clock parts. And then she told us that she didn’t want to be sent back into society, that she was too crazy and too dangerous before dumping the rest of her bloodied clock parts onto the table. We wanted to stop her, but I think we were all too shocked.

She started to rearrange them in some order and I remember she said “But time is running out, and you really need to come to a decision” Then she pulled out two clock hands and placed them in the center of her bizarre pile. Then she wrote “tick, tick, tick,” on the table in her own blood, stood up and said “Thank you for your time” like she had just asked for a little favor, not made a mess of the table.

I have never seen a transfer report go through more quickly.

On October 23 Alexa was transferred to The New York Psychiatric Institute, and then by an anonymous request, to Castle Facilities in Virginia. The transaction of this was only documented once. The only legitimate information recovered from this document was the location and the date she was moved (February 15).

She remained at Castle facilities for about two years, until authorities started to take an interest in her case and launched an investigation. However by the time they arrived at Castle facilities, Miss Callahan was unable to be found.

At the alleged location of Castle facilities only ruins were found. It was apparent that the site had not been visited for many months. The building was demolished in a way that was similar to the explosion at the Callahan residence.

This leads authorities to believe that the explosions were caused by the same person. Suspects include: Alexa Callahan (missing), Justin Carter (missing), or Jamie Lucas (deceased).

At the site of the wreckage, few pieces of information were recovered. However, there was one piece pertaining to this case that proved to be interesting. A badly documented journal by Dr. Harvey Lancaster (deceased) containing vital information about the Callahan case.

Much of this journal is either missing or illegible. Therefore, the following information contains errors and assumed information. The following information is paraphrased, not quoted, and only vital information was inputted. The full copy of Dr. Harvey Lancaster is not available for viewing.

Information is as follows:

1. Alexa Callahan has a strange fascination with clocks. She is known to either disassemble the clocks, or to change the time inaccurately. The number that she chooses seems well thought out and precise and she changes every clock to the same time, though it is inaccurate. She attempts to change all clocks at once. Every attempt at this results in a different time. The purpose of this behavior is unknown.

2. Alexa Callahan had no apparent intentions of harming the other patients or facility employees.

3. Alexa Callahan has moments of near sanity where she would stop her mumblings of clocks and ticking and the end of the world where she will occasionally ask about her family or the facility. During these states of mind she would frequently ask about her friends Jamie Lucas and Justin Carter. Both Carter and Lucas came to visit Alexa in the Castle exactly twice, but not at the same time.

4. Alexa refuses, under any circumstances to believe that she is wrong in her ramblings, though she will admit to the doctors that she is insane.

5. Intense flashes of light, fire, loud noises, and shaking or sliding scare Alexa. She afterwards falls into a bout of crazed, relieved laughter, and more rambling about ticking.

6. Alexa can accurately tell the time without consulting a time piece. It is unknown how she is able to do this, but it is not any of the conventional methods.

7. Alexa made many references to the fall of the kingdom and gave an exact time, down to seconds, of the alleged time. - As a discovery not recorded in the journal of Dr. Harvey, it seems that this number led to the explosion of the mental ward.

8. All ramblings about the past from before the explosion are real memories, not stories of her own invention.

9. She is unable to walk in a straight line; her movement pattern sways back and forth.

10. She is able to recognize people and speak clearly with them. She seldom mistakes the identities of people around her.

11. She avoids all effort to make social interactions, however is not fearful when approached.

12. She enjoys acronyms, puzzles, word games, and brain teasers.

13. She fights most attempts at physical and eye contact.

An investigation was launched to find any survivors of the explosion. 15 recorded patients were reported alive. Eight patients were discovered in a nearby town (about 13 miles away). Local authorities had discovered the patients and were housing them while awaiting orders of what to do. Six of the seven remaining patients were recovered in the woods surrounding Castle facilities.

Alexa Callahan, the only unrecovered patient, is theorized to have fled to the woods surrounding Castle facilities. No bodies or sightings that match her description have been reported, leading authorities to believe she is still at large.

Authorities have lost all trails but refuse to give up the search.

Alexa Callahan is suspected for murder and terrorism. If identified, it is recommended that authorities are alerted immediately so that she may be taken into custody.

Do not try to approach, converse with, or make eye contact with Alexa Callahan. It is uncertain how she will react.

Do not flash lights or light fires in her presence; she is known to react violently.

Do not try to detain Alexa Callahan alone, she is known to be violent when angered.

TAKE CAUTION.

If Interaction is unavoidable, refrain from sudden movements, physical contact, and eye contact.

If conversation is unavoidable, keep voice at a low register and avoid any loud noises.

If she begins to make a countdown, inform authorities immediately. If this action is not an option, remove yourself from the vicinity. Countdowns from Alexa Callahan seldom lead to anything less than disaster.

If these guidelines are not heeded . . . god save you.

#oneshot #creepypasta #my writing

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urdbell18 · 5 years

Text

A Seed Hidden in the Heart Chapter 18: The One Where the Fight Ends

AN:Because I'm unoriginal, the second Judge in the story is the anti-pope from the series. So just picture him when you read that part.

The rest of the school year was smooth sailing for Zelda. All but two of her classes have been cleared out when the seniors graduated. It gave her time to catch up on whatever grading she needed to do and to revise her lesson plans, scrapping ideas or making adjustments based on how well her students did or didn’t do or where they struggled. Though she was spending more time in her office than in her classroom there was one added bonus. She got to spend more time with Mary. Mary’s classes were upper and honor or GT level, she had two of her own classes end when the seniors graduated. Along with her planning period Mary and Zelda’s free periods lined up with first, third and sixth. It meant that when they arrived in the morning Mary didn’t need to leave until second period and they would meet up at the end of the day. They still had lunch together, of course, it was the only time that they didn’t have to talk about work. They, despite what Shirley thought, didn’t do anything scandalous. They sat together, mostly in silence, as they worked on their respective subjects. Occasionally Mary would ask Zelda to decipher a students handwriting but that was the extent of any influence that they may have had on the others grading.

The night after her first day in court Zelda sat down with her family after she placed Vida to bed. She was ready to talk to her family about the looming issue but still wasn’t ready to talk to her daughter. She didn’t think her heart could take it. Her family was understanding and they all kept their eyes out for the social worker that was supposed to come. She came the following Wednesday morning around the time Hilda left to drop Vida off at school and then goes to work. According to Hilda she talked to the social worker at the book shop, completing her interview, and scheduled another visit when Zelda would be home. Zelda thanked her sister for what she did, they might not have always gotten along but Zelda trusted Hilda with something greater than her own life and she knew Hilda wouldn’t let her down.

The social worker’s impending visit meant that Zelda had to talk to Vida. Since this was something that she needed to do on her own Zelda did Vida’s usual nightly routine alone. It didn’t take much convincing to get Mary to step back, she just knew and gave Zelda a quick kiss before letting her go. After bath instead of setting Vida in her own bed Zelda took her to hers. Vida didn’t seem to mind, she snuggled against her mother as she read. After a while Vida noticed that there was something wrong. Her mom kept trailing off and she never seemed to realize when she finished a page.

“Are you okay Mommy?” Zelda took a deep breath through her nose and softly closed the book. It was now or never.

“Vida… have you ever wondered why you don’t have a dad?”

“You mean like Sabrina?” Zelda nodded. She explained to Vida about Sabrina’s mother and father a while ago when she wondered why she and Hilda were ‘aunt’ than mom. It lead to a conversation about their family but surprisingly Vida didn’t ask about her dad. At the time Zelda didn’t question it, the less she had to think about Faustus the better. Vida tilted her head to the side in thought.

“Nope. I have you and Aunt Hilda and Ambrose and Sabrina and now Mamma.”

“What if I told you that you did have a dad?”

“I don’t think I’d like it. I like my family how it is… Is Mamma going away!?” Vida’s eyes shined with freshly sprung tears and it broke Zelda’s heart, just a little because it also swelled over how much Vida loved Mary.

“Mamma isn’t going anywhere.” Vida nodded and rubbed her hands over her eyes.

“I don’t understand.”

“Before you were born Mommy was special friends with a guy. At one point I found out that I was going to have you. When I told him, he told me that he never wanted to see me again so I left. I had you and it was the happiest day of my life. You are the best thing that could ever happen to me. The guy that I was seeing has gone to a special place called a court to try to take you away from me-”

“I don’t want to go away!”

“I know you don’t baby and I don’t want you to go away either. Remember when you and Mary went to the park and I went to Dr. C’s book shop? I met someone there that is helping me make sure that you are staying here with me and Mamma and your Aunt Hilda and your cousins. But Vida know that whatever happens I’m your mother, nothing is going to ever change that, and whenever you feel scared or unsafe or alone I’ll be right here okay?” Vida nodded and hugged Zelda, clinging to her. Zelda tightened her hold around her daughter. She didn’t like to think about losing her daughter but it was important to say, she needed Vida to know that she will always be there. When Vida calmed down she loosened her hold and pulled away a little. “There is going to be someone coming to the house to ask questions. When that person comes I want you to answer anything that they ask you honestly okay?”

“Okay Mommy.”

“Bedtime.” Zelda carried her daughter to her bed, tucking her in and placing a kiss on her cheek. “Goodnight my darling.”

“Night. I love you Mommy.”

“I love you too baby.” Vida closed her eyes and went off to sleep. When Zelda turned the light off she noticed that her daughter’s night light was missing. How long has that been gone? Zelda joined her family downstairs. Mary was waiting for her at the edge of the stairs with a tumbler of whisky in her hand which she gave her. Zelda took it with a small smile. They went to the couch where Zelda curled herself against Mary. Mary wrapped her arms around Zelda’s waist, resting her head on Zelda’s shoulder. When Zelda was done with her tumbler of whisky Mary took the glass from her, setting it down on the table.

“How’d it go?”

“Taxing but I think she understands. How long has Vida’s night light been missing?”

“Oh! I knew there was something I was forgetting to tell you. When you were away her night light burned out. I offered to fix it but she said no. So we buried it.”

“I’m sorry did you say that you buried the night light?”

“Yes. Vida wanted to give Ellie a proper burial so we found an old small empty box, put the night light in it, took it outside and buried it.” Zelda looked at Mary completely flabbergasted. She never heard anything like it but it was 100% something that Vida would do. She could just picture Mary and Vida with a shovel of some kind as they dug a hole in the yard all for a night light.

“Did you give it a headstone? A eulogy?” Zelda almost couldn’t say it with a straight face. The laughter inside her was bubbling up so much just waiting to come out.

“No.” Mary said it with the straightest face, like she couldn’t understand why Zelda was snickering. But that look on Mary’s face was enough to send her into full blown laughter. It took Mary a while to realize that Zelda wasn’t laughing out of malice but out of just general ridiculousness of the whole thing. When Zelda’s laughter died down she turned around so that she was facing Mary.

“Thank you.” Mary smirked and nodded. Zelda didn’t say what she was grateful for but Mary knew. Zelda kissed Mary, it was soft and slow. They shared several kisses, Zelda would never call what they did making out but it was closest to what they were doing. When the clock sounded the eleventh hour they made their way to bed. After Mary was dressed she kissed the top of Vida’s head and whispered to her ‘goodnight’. When Zelda and Mary settled into bed they shared one last kiss. Of course the second that Zelda moved to her side Mary’s arm was around her waist. Zelda just hummed in contentment and drifted off to sleep.

___________________

The social worker came the next Thursday. It was a day that Mary was supposed to advise her W.I.C.C.A. meeting but she was able to switch it to Wednesday. She was serious about wanting to be there and she proved it. The social worker came a little after five. Everyone, minus Hilda, was home at that time so it was perfect. The social worker, a middle aged woman with pale blonde hair in a plain black suit was let in by Sabrina and led into the kitchen where Zelda was.

“Ms. Spellman.” Zelda and the social worker sat down at the kitchen table. Mary set down a cup of tea for everyone before taking a seat next to Zelda. “I’m Janice Lewis and as you know I was asked by the courts to visit you. It’s rather unusual to be called that way. Normally there is an issue that needs to be addressed and from there I know what I’m looking for and what questions to ask. So, I’m just going to ask some basic questions now and when we look around if I have any additional questions I’ll just ask. Is that alright with you?”

“Yes that’s fine.”

“Okay. So I know from court documents that the child is a four, almost five, year old female. Is she your only child?”

“Yes, but I share custody of my niece Sabrina with my sister.”

“I see that. How long have you lived in this house?”

“All my life. The only time I wasn’t here was when I was in school.”

“Out of state?”

“Over seas.”

“You are currently employed?”

“Yes. I’m a teacher at Baxter High as is my girlfriend Mary.” Zelda indicated to Mary. their hands were on the table clasped together. Since no questions were directed her way Mary let Zelda take the helm. “My sister also works at a local bookstore.”

“I’m aware of that. I conducted Hilda’s interview at her place of employment. Lovely lady. Is Vida currently enrolled in school?”

“Yes. I was able to enroll her into an all day preschool. Though she goes in after I have to be in for work Hilda takes her when she leaves in the morning and then I pick her up when her school ends.”

“Who currently resides here?”

“Myself, Vida, Sabrina, my nephew Ambrose, Hilda, and Mary.”

“Mary...?”

“Wardwell.”

“Ms. Wardwell is this your address on record?”

“No. I moved in in April. By then not only were my taxes filed for the previous year but with the school year over half way over I didn’t feel the need to start a process that wouldn’t finish until the school year would conclude. By then I would have to fill out the same information again so I rather just wait. My license also expires in July, I’d rather only deal with one trip to motor vehicles than two.”

“Understandable. What is a typical day for Vida?”

“Well, I have to be in work by seven but I usually don’t wake Vida until eight thirty so I assume that’s the time that Hilda wakes her. From nine to four in the afternoon she is in school, I pick her up from there no later than five. Around six thirty or seven we have dinner, until then Vida does homework. If Vida’s homework isn’t done before dinner she’ll work on it and if she needs help I’ll assist her. If she’s done then we do something like a puzzle or a game. By nine I take Vida upstairs to get her ready for bed. Before settling her down we read a book and then I tuck her in.”

“Okay. May I see her room?” Zelda nodded and led her to her room. Ms. Lewis looked around, taking note of Vida’s bed in one corner against a wall and Zelda’s bed almost in the center of the room. “She shares this room with you?”

“Yes. We’re tight on space so there was never any room to set up a nursery so she has always been in here with me.”

“If you don’t mind me asking you are actively dating again and your partner is also in this room. What do you two do for privacy?”

“Mary still holds ownership of her house whenever we need alone time we go there but we always make sure that someone, either my sister or my niece, is here to watch Vida.”

“Okay. If you had to move Vida from this room where would she go?”

“That depends. Next year Sabrina would be starting her junior year of high school and would start looking at colleges. If she is thinking about going out of state then we will move Vida into her room. If not… I don’t know. I guess we will clear out a space.”

“Okay. Can I have a look at the rest of the house?” Zelda nodded and gave Ms. Lewis a complete tour of the Spellman house. No room was left out, Ms. Lewis got a look at everything from the attic, one they used for storage the other where Ambrose resided in, to the basement that was their laundry room. Occasionally Ms. Lewis would ask a question, mainly if Vida was allowed in this room, why, and how much time did Zelda spent in said room. The only one Zelda spent any real time in was the basement. Mary refused to leave Zelda’s side, she was always there right behind her. Zelda didn’t mind, she liked the support that Mary gave her. When the tour was finished Ms. Lewis asked if she could talk to the rest of the family. Zelda consented and let Sabrina then Ambrose talk to Ms. Lewis. Ms. Lewis asked them the same questions, mainly how home life was, how was Zelda with Vida, was Vida happy. Basic stuff that didn’t take more than ten minutes each. The last person that Ms. Lewis talked to was Vida.

Vida was in the parlor, she said hi to them when Zelda was giving Ms. Lewis her tour but left them be. Unlike Sabrina and Ambrose’s interviews which were held in the kitchen Ms. Lewis interviewed Vida in the parlor, she knew that children Vida’s age were more open when they were comfortable and she was comfortable in the parlor. Since she was a stranger Zelda didn’t feel comfortable leaving Ms. Lewis in the room alone with Vida. Ms. Lewis understood and Mary, who was the perfect loophole because she technically wasn’t family, was allowed to be in the room, her presence would be comfortable to Vida but not interfering.

“Hi Vida.”

“Hello.”

“Do you remember who I am?”

“I know that you are the person who was coming to ask us questions.”

“That’s part of my job yes. Are you happy here?”

“Yes.”

“Do you like your Mommy?”

“I love my Mommy. I would like to stay with her please.” Ms. Lewis smiled. She didn’t know Vida for long but could tell that this was a girl that knows what she wanted.

“What did you do today?”

“Aunt Hilda woke me up like she does every morning, we eat breakfast, and then I got ready for school. She then takes me to school where I stay until four which is when Mommy and Mamma pick me up. Sometimes Mommy drives so we go straight home.”

“What about the other times?”

“We walk back to her school and then drive home.”

“Okay, what do you do after you get home?”

“I do my homework then we have dinner. Sometimes we can do something fun like a game but only if I finished all my homework. At nine Mommy gets me ready for bed and we read a book and then I go to sleep.”

“How about on the weekends, what do you do?”

“I wake up, eat breakfast with my family, and then I help Mommy.”

“What do you help you Mommy with?”

“Laundry, she lets me fold stuff, or when we go to the food store she lets me pick out the produce. It’s gardening season so I also help Aunt Hilda in the garden.”

“How do you feel about your Mommy’s relationship with Mary?”

“I love Mamma and Mamma loves us.”

“Do you have any friends at school?”

“No. I have a bully his name is Judas, he’s mean. He tried to take Oso away from me.”

“Who’s Oso?”

“My bear. I’ve had him since forever.”

“Okay Vida thank you for talking with me.”

“Sure.”

With her last interview completed Ms. Lewis wrote down a few more notes before announcing that she would be leaving. Zelda walked her to the door which was where Ms. Lewis remembered a question that she almost forgot to ask.

“Ms. Spellman I have one last question for you if that’s okay.”

“Sure.”

“What is Vida’s relationship like with her father?”

“Nonexistent. Faustus had never even met Vida.” Ms. Lewis nodded, tucking the information away until she could write it down.

“Thank you for letting me come in and asking questions.”

“Of course, You are just doing your job.” With a nod Ms. Lewis took her leave. Zelda closed the door behind her, breathing a sigh in relief. The hard part was over, now it was back to waiting.

___________________

Faustus didn’t sit on the information for long. Not even a week after the social workers visit another court date was set. On Zelda’s behalf Mr.Webster fought for a late time, which she appreciated. After fifth period Zelda and Mary left to go to the courthouse where Hilda and Ambrose were waiting for them. An added bonus of Mary moving in was now they weren’t a one car household. That day Zelda and Mary took Mary’s car and Hilda and Ambrose took Zelda’s. Sabrina wanted to go but Zelda refused, someone needed to pick up Vida and she was the only one available. Faustus and his attorney were already sitting at their table. Mr. Morningstar’s eyes gleamed in interest when they landed on Mary, it made Zelda’s blood boil just looking at him now that she knew what he did to Mary. Mary for her part did not waver or acknowledge him, she sat on the bench right behind Zelda. The silence of the courtroom was deafening as they waited for the judge to take the bench.

“All rise for his honor Judge Pope.” They all stood as the judge entered. Zelda raised an eyebrow when she noticed that it wasn’t the same judge as before, was this normal? According to the confused expression on Mr. Webster’s face it wasn’t.

“You may be seated.” Everyone but Mr. Webster and Mr. Morningstar took their seat.

“Your honor what happened to Judge Methuselah?”

“Poor Methuselah suffered a heart attack yesterday. I as well as a few other judges have been covering his docket until he returns. Unless you gentleman object?” Though Mr. Morningstar hesitated Mr. Webster didn’t waste a single moment. The facts of his case didn’t change regardless of the judge, if anything this change was an advantage for him.

“No your honor. Ms. Spellman is eager for this matter to be resolved as quickly as possible.”

“Mr. Morningstar?” It took Mr. Morningstar a minute or two before nodding in affirmation. “Excellent. Now, starting with you Mr. Morningstar I must admit I’m… perplexed by your claim on behalf of your client. I read it and couldn’t find any real evidence to support your claims to sue for custody over the child.”

“In all due respect your honor we already proved that part of our case with Judge Methuselah. We must have made enough of an impression if he ordered a social worker visit.”

“Yes I know. I have read not only transcripts from the first appearance but the visit as well. The social worker found no evidence of neglect, abuse, or toxic environment in Ms. Spellman’s household. Did you receive the report Mr. Morningstar?”

“Yes but-”

“And did the report support the claims that you have mentioned?”

“No-”

“So why are we here Mr. Morningstar?” For the first time Mr. Morningstar didn’t have a response already prepared. “I’ll tell you what you are doing and that is wasting the courts time. I’m not quite sure exactly what is going on but if this case was presented in front of me the first time I would have tossed it and do you know why?”

“No your honor.”

“Read this.” Judge Pope gave the bailiff a piece of paper which he proceeded to give to Mr. Morningstar. Mr. Morningstar read it but not knowing what he was looking for he looked at the judge confused and a little lost. “That is the copy of the girls birth certificate. Tell me what it says on the box for father.”

“Unlisted, has expressed wishes to or terminated all rights. Your honor that doesn’t mean anything. That option was added in regards to sperm donors not two people who have been in a relationship. A woman shouldn’t be able to use this to hide her child from their natural father.”

“If Mr. Morningstar is arguing that my client deliberately kept her daughter from Mr. Blackwood I would like to see evidence that proves it. Ms. Spellman has not moved from the area. She has had the same address for the last twenty years and the child has been enrolled in a public school for almost a year. I see no proof of this so called hiding.”

“Mr. Webster is right Mr. Morningstar. If you want to make a claim you need evidence to back it up. So if you have any let us see it.” The judge waited a few minutes for Mr. Morningstar to make even the slightest of movement. He didn’t even twitch. “That’s what I thought. Being a father isn’t something that your client can turn on and off at his leisure. Either he is a father to this child or not. As I see it your client has two options. Option one he asserts his rights as the father and he follows whatever supervised visits with the child that the court deems fit on top of paying Ms. Spellman not only back child support payments but future ones as well. Option two your client officially signs away the little rights he has and only pay whatever he is paying you. Which is it Mr. Morningstar?” Mr. Morningstar conversed with his client in hushed whispers. Though it couldn’t be heard what they were saying Zelda knew that Faustus was not pleased with the situation, the tone of his whispering increased and became harshed. Eventually Faustus slumped back in his seat and waved his hand as to wash his hands of the situation.

“My client has informed me that he wishes to sign away his rights.”

“Excellent.” Judge Pope handed over the documents that Faustus would need to sign. He signed it in such a huff that the paper tore slightly. “A bit heavy handed are we Mr. Blackwood? Now before you think that you have 45 days to appeal my decision I am putting a rush on this order because your client has had more than enough time to assert these rights and have not done so. As of right now Mr. Faustus Blackwood has no legal claims in regards to the child Vida Spellman. That means Ms. Spellan you can now rest knowing that no one can take your child away from you. Also, if you feel that the time has come you can have Ms. Wardwell adopt the child with no challenge from her father. This case is concluded.” With a bang of his gravel the judge left his bench.

Zelda sat there in shock. She couldn’t believe that this was over. Her little girl was hers forever. She shot out of her seat and turned to her family in the gallery. They had the same happy shocked expressions as she did. Mary was the first to stand and like magnets she and Zelda came together. Mary’s hold was warm and strong and her perfume spicy. It was 100% Mary and it was all the confirmation that Zelda needed to know that this really happened. The stress and emotions that has build inside her over the last month came out and she cried deep and hard into Mary’s shoulder. Mary’s hold didn’t waver, she held onto Zelda even tighter, making their embrace even more awkward due to the railing between them. When Zelda had composed herself enough she loosened herself from Mary to be swept into an embrace by her sister and her nephew.

“Mr. Webster thank you I… I don’t…”

“Say no more. It was my pleasure. I’m glad the right thing was done here. I wish you and your family a successful and happy future.” With a bow, he took his leave, his job was done, there was no need for him to linger longer than necessary. There was a slightly awkward air when Mr. Webster left, Zelda felt like she should have said something more to him. Mary bumped her shoulder, bringing her attention back to her family.

“Shall we?” Zelda nodded and took Mary’s elbow. As they walked down the steps of the courthouse another part of the judges words sunk in for Zelda. Mary was free to adopt Vida if or when they were ready. It was a tempting option, Zelda has never loved anyone like she has Mary and Mary was already part of the family. On the drive back home Zelda looked at Mary as she gazed out the window, she seemed to sense that Zelda was looking at her and turned around with a slightly raised eyebrow. Zelda just shrugged and they both turned away. Zelda concluded that someday it would happen, but not today.

#Madam Satan #Zelda Spellman #madam spellman

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masshirohebi-moved · 4 years

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❝ it’s time for things to change. ❞ (adult Oro

things that are hard to hear.// @izunaismsThe serpent minds their own business as they always do, but the sound of pattering feet seem to follow them wherever they choose to roam. There is a group of eleven children fussing about the serpents current work. A small table set neatly inside a tent, made for creating toxins never heard of in this day and age. Being careful as to not allow the young ones close to anything fatal, they allow the curious minds to flock them and ask questions. Even as it grows later and later.And it is when Orochimaru is swept up in the conversation with two of the children, explaining why the thing they think is so important, truly isn’t so serious, that they spot Izuna’s figure a few meters away. Leaning against a grand tree, merely watching. And they can’t tell from this distance, if he is skeptical of them being with such vulnerable members of his clan, or endeared that they seem to entertain the children with patience and understanding. Either way, they assume he is here to see the young ones are all right. And although the group should be heading back by now, after sad and disappointed protests, Orochimaru speaks on their behalf to let them stay a while longer.“I’ll keep my eye on them while they’re here. And I’ll ensure they head home before dark.”

It is the final words they speak to Izuna before he has begun to head back himself. Many clan duties awaiting him, the journey from the serpents ten to the main circle of Uchiha designated ones a short trip. But when they try and tell the children it is time to head off, there is stubborn resistance. So the Sannin, assessing the well guarded and sealed tent, allows them to stay there. Announcing that they however, would need to gather a few herbs before dark arrived. And it is then that eager eyes greet the viper.“Can we come with you?” one asks.“Why would I dictate that?” they respond.“Well, my mother says I’m not supposed to go in to the forests at this time.” “Well I’m not your mother. You ought not to listen to someone who isn’t.”Which was to say, the children should abandon the idea of following them, and go back to the mothers and fathers awaiting the young ones return. Obeying the advice that was handed out by trusted parental figures, rather that interesting and mysterious strangers. But the children hear something entirely different of course - that without a mothers critical gaze, it was entirely their choice. And so, the serpent detects the groups supposed to be silent pursue. Which causes them to merely chuckle under their breath, the never ending curiosity of children commendable.They had been kneeling down to the ground, slender hands meandering through the forestry and foliage. Picking out the correct herbs that they would need for various cures, and in great contrast, various poisons. They hear the children several feet away, voices growing more and more distant as a game of chase commences. As laughter erupts in the forest. The serpent is drawing the soon to be preserved herbs in to small satchels placed in the pockets of a draped cloak they don. The forest is most beautiful, a sun kissed sky a striking red during sunset. Magical almost. Almost.Laughter turns to screams, to desperate cries. They are snapped from their duties of gathering, looking up with the swiftness of a deer hearing the approach of a predator. And they take flight with just as much haste. It would take moments for Orochimaru to get there, it would take minutes for Izuna to. But when the Uchiha heir does arrive, his eyes would fall to the gruesome sight no clansmen would ever be able to remove from their memory. The forest is already a deathly silent when he draws up, though what was once green and earthy is now thick with dark patches of blood and gore. The bodies of the Senju party accountable are all limp, lifeless. Two young adults, one young teenager. The small group had evidently been out here hunting, showing the youngest member how to do so. But the game of chase amid the Uchiha children had causes a collision. And those children did not stand much of a chance against the two very much adult Senju.Much like the Senju had not stood much of a chance when the serpent arrived to protect their own allies young. But they were too far to get there in time, ten bodies are already discarded, dead upon arrival. The only other child, barely breathing, is gathered gently in to the serpents arms. On their knees with him secure on their lap, whispering soft reassurances all the while. With the protectiveness that may make onlookers assume them to be the parent. Their hand is placed on the boys chest, a faint glow of chakra flickering around their palm and fingers. Desperate to breathe life back in to his fast falling form. They look back up to acknowledge Izuna, golden eyes splashed with apology, long hair usually silken smooth now sticky and matted with blood, clothes appearing almost wet with the battles gory residue. And it is when their hand retracts slowly away, then raises to the young ones eyes to gently guide them closed, that the cruel message is made devastatingly tragic;The child would not make it home. ***❝ it’s time for things to change. ❞ They can hear his words are laced with the anger and hatred he felt. The stomach turning animosity he could not shake after arriving to a scene of his clans most innocent pressed in to the dirt. Nothing but slaughtered lamb at the blades of far older shinobi. His words send a certain chill down their spine, his vote of confidence in their suggestion evidently absent. There would be a battle in a days time, and the Sannin found little ability to convince Izuna he ought to not participate. After such a heinous crime, how could the clan heir not personally take punishment in to his own hands?But he would not be the only clan heir upon that battlefield. Senju Tobirama was to be on the very same one. The man responsible for Izuna’s death - was fate so persistent, that it would try and force the two clashing younger brothers to fight to the bitter end once more? The serpent did not want to lose their key to a better future. They had come too far.“And times will, Izuna. But only if we make the right steps in each battle. There are enough competent Uchiha to engage the Senju. I insist you remain behind, and escort those who will not be participating to safer grounds,” the Sannin interjects, but they can feel the sharp tongue that counters their seemingly cowardly approach.“Izuna-sama is far more necessary on the battlefield. We can’t afford to send our strongest clan member to do a duty that could be handled just as well by those not fighting,” a tall woman mutters impatiently. A nod from the two men beside her signify this room is in agreement with Izuna.“We’ve been avoiding too many conflicts. I don’t see how going on the retreat has served us,” another man states. And the viper knows it is a losing battle on this night. For this clan was known for its fierce devotion, and how it must have set the fire alight in every heart when the small burials were made for children never to experience. And while they wish to tell Izuna that they can not have him fighting this battle with Tobirama, that his blind anger and arrogance may get him killed, they know that too would be an error. For the moment they tell him the man responsible for killing him come future, they have little doubt Izuna will be more careful - that Izuna would be the one to kill Tobirama. And that man was too important to be removed from history. So with a gaze that radiated their own unrest and displeasure, they ignore those addressing them to instead look upon Izuna himself, a soft hiss escaping from between their fangs.“You’re making a terrible decision. And you’re making it for all of us.” ***As it were, that battle would come to pass. But the serpent would not sit idly by and let fate once more decide things. They march with the soldiers of the Uchiha clan, even when Izuna seems less pleased about this recklessness. And maybe he thinks them spiteful, that because he is ignoring their advice, they are now ignoring his. But for once, their decision does not stem from that place. If Tobirama and Izuna were to fight, they would see to it themself that neither one died. The future hung too heavily on both mens shoulders. All the same, the disapproving gaze that they journey with is not much reassurance. That they are angering him with snide comments and defiance is clear. Even if that temper of his has yet to be directed at them. “You can still turn back.”It is the last plea they make, before Uchiha and Senju are face to face. Before two younger brothers have locked eyes across the battlefield. Tunnel vision, assessing one another as the two apex predators of their respective territories. And truly, with the hatred that seeped from either one, a battle that mimicked the confrontation of animals was far more fitting in the vipers mind. But there was perhaps, a great miscount on the Uchiha’s part. For every one of their fighters, the Senju had four, outside allies called upon.It is Izuna himself who fends off Tobirama, the most troublesome one amid the large army. But the Sannin is too preoccupied fighting a dozen shinobi at a time to properly give Izuna the edge they had wanted to. And it is when it is only Izuna and Orochimaru alive in a sea of corpses, that they feel their own racing heartbeat slow down to a painfully sickened drum. That they could not let the man die here, that despite how he struggles to his feet, ignoring every cut, bruise and fracture that plagues his body… his time may have come after all.And it is with the most quick and regrettably loathing analysis, that they decide to do something most unspeakable. For the sake of survival.With Izuna facing his back towards them, ever trustful in this moment of his ally, it is shamefully easy for the Sannin to drive their blade from one side of his body to the other. Watching as both shock and pain stagger him. As the short sound of a breathless gasp barely falls from his lips. And undoubtedly, the swarm of Senju who had surrounded him watch on in both surprise and distrustful curiosity. Betrayal on the battlefield was not uncommon, but it was not admired. And with their companion, who they truly have grown fond of, still impaled on their blade, they look to the Senju leaders, “I want immunity from this battle. Even outnumbered and injured, you and I both know he could have taken down a hundred more of you before someone managed to kill him. It would be wise to give incentive to traitors of the Uchiha, let my reward be my life.”They twist their blade within the man, a calculating move. Before golden eyes move to look at him. “I’m sorry, Izuna-san. But your pride lead me to death, and rather you than me,” they say to him, a few smiles lifting to the enemies lips, likely amused by the Uchiha prince falling hand to his own trusted accomplice. And the viper utters the lukewarm sentiment that perhaps there will be an afterlife, that perhaps there may be a time where he can reunite with everyone from this world, “until we meet again.”With the blade stuck inside him, they are forced to shove it forward again, or so they make it appear. Once closer, the softest whisper, for his ears only, is uttered, “and we will meet again.”Pushing him off their weapon, they lower it to gaze at the army ahead. And despite their show of pretending they are dismayed by the Senju’s answer, they had not truly expected it to be any different. The shinobi will try and detain the serpent regardless, for a traitor is most easy to extract information from. And given their closeness to Izuna, they would know the campsites, the structure, the numbers, the resources. They could detail a plan to undo the Uchiha in one final swing. Orochimaru counts on this fact, as they rather shamelessly choose to flee, rather than fight as most shinobi are taught. They have always thought however, that there is no pride in dying anyway. And with it being apparent that they are a key element in burning the Uchiha one last time, they allow the group to take chase after them. Like hunters after a wolf, but they know these forests better. And this is no true attempt to flee, so much as it is an attempt to get the Senju away from Izuna. A body that had certainly appeared dead. A trick the devil themself had created.For it would be within the next half an hour that the poison they had laced their blade with would run dry out Izuna’s system. Where he would realize their blade missed every vital organ and artery, that blood would be clotted by the toxin they stabbed him with. Preventing blood loss, even if it was a painful exercise. And he would awaken to the aid of his clansmen, able to be nursed to life. Sensors from the opposing army would have felt the decline of his heartbeat, the stagnation of his chakra - all the paralyzing effects of their venom. But it was non-lethal. It would merely mimic death, rather than achieve it.And he would live, while the Senju arrogantly think him dead. Risky, but their only idea when it came to his stubborn need to fight this battle. It is a breathless chase, when they escape only because they had littered the forest in seal work that would aid hiding. Only because Izuna had worn Tobirama so thin in battle, that he too was running on pride alone to be running at all. And it will be half an hour later that they lose those following them, then an hour more before they brave going back to the Uchiha campsite. Littered in their own injuries, and without the chakra it required to use their rebirth technique. Their summons had already informed them that Izuna’s body was found by fellow clan members as planned. That Madara’s arrival on the field had made the Senju vacate the area. That to no surprise, the older Uchiha had carried Izuna back to camp. Where his heart would pick up speed, where he would awaken in a world of agony, but awake nonetheless. And it takes the largest amount of courage to tread back to the Uchiha. Where those tending to Izuna’s wounds would look up with eyes like wolves. Surrounding their downed leader, daring the traitor who stabbed him to take one step closer. And although the serpent themself had felt much like a wolf being hunted when they crossed light footed through the forest, they realize with quite a bit of alarm, that they would never truly be a part of this pack. And that more than anything, it was a terrible danger to be out in these woods alone. “It was the only way I could save you.”Their words are steady, but their gaze is not. They are too weak from their own wounds to bother with a better pokerface. And although adrenaline is aiding them, they are losing the strength to stand, to make a plea for a chance of explaining. And they look to Izuna, over the heads of the Uchiha promising them death, over the head of Madara, who they already know is deciding how he wishes to exact execution, “if I wanted you dead Izuna, you would be. I’m here making the rather brave assumption that although as of now, you too could kill me, you will make the same decision as I.”And they think, in perhaps a touch of deranged and injury-induced amusement, that with the sheer amount of times they had stabbed someone, they would have come up with a better way of apologizing for it by now.

#izunaisms #||●ANSWERED-❝disclosed❞#/child death #/death #/character death #/blood #/gore #||○SEER-❝an heir of war. a holder of peace❞#wow River I didn't mean to write you a novel lmao #I apologize in advance #||●QUEUE-❝the white serpent hides❞

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