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alexbraindump · 3 years

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Night in the Woods & Optimistic Nihilism, Pt. 1: Constellations

“So I believe in a universe that doesn’t care and people who do.”

Night in the Woods manages to create one of the most realistic narratives I’ve ever seen crafted in a video game. And that’s a bold statement, one that shouldn’t be tossed around lightly. Yet I feel entirely concrete in saying it. It’s quite the diverse game, dealing with a range of topics so wide that it’d be hard to cover all of them in one single post. I hope to cover more of them someday, but today I’ll be narrowing in on one specific point that resonated especially well with me personally: finding purpose in an existence that is inherently devoid of it.

And it’s here that I’m going to say that, to anyone who hasn’t played NITW yet, stop reading this right now and go pick it up. It’s only $20 and with it comes an experience that remains consistently enjoyable and impactful throughout its entire runtime. I won’t be holding back from relevant spoilers for the rest of this post, so now’s your only chance. Go away. But come back once you’ve played the game. That’d be pretty cool I think.

~~~~~~~~~~~MILD SPOILER TERRITORY BELOW~~~~~~~~~~~

Now that the uninitiated are gone, it’s finally time to wrap back around to that quote at the beginning of this post. A universe that doesn’t care, and people who do. It perfectly aligns with the definition of optimistic nihilism, a term seemingly dubbed by a youtube channel in 2017. For those who are unaware, optimistic nihilism is exactly what it says on the tin. It’s the philosophy that the universe is inherently uncaring, that there’s no concrete meaning to life that we can grasp onto, yet we as human beings are uniquely capable of creating our own meaning without requiring some higher power or order to do it for us. We can choose to pursue what we wish for out of our lives, free to choose our own individualized path through the blank slate that is existence and draw whatever patterns we may choose from it.

As you read through that brief summary you may have already begun to understand exactly why I consider Night in the Woods to align particularly well with optimistic nihilism. The game is not exactly lacking in the theme of finding meaning within things that may be meaningless in the most literal sense. It’s been there since the very beginning, with NITW’s first supplemental game Longest Night. It’s a simple little game featuring Mae, Bea, Gregg and Angus identifying various constellations and making characteristically entertaining quips about each of them. Despite the game’s relative simplicity it acts as an early (over 3 years before NITW itself released!) establishment of NITW’s ever-present theme of establishing meaning in things that don’t have meaning by themselves by using one simple thing: constellations.

Constellations are a perfect medium to establish the philosophy of optimistic nihilism and it is evident that Infinite Fall were acutely aware of that from a very early point in the development of NITW. All constellations really are just patterns of stars we may see in the sky at night that people have assigned their own patterns and meanings to. Most stars sit so far away from the Earth that the human brain struggles to even comprehend how far away they truly are beyond a simple “Wow! That’s pretty far!” They’re balls of gas, unable to care about or even recognize whatever we humans see within them. Most of them have existed for longer than we have and will continue to persist long after we die. Yet the human race has taken it upon themselves to assign patterns to them and continue recognizing said patterns long after we’ve obtained knowledge about what the stars that form them truly are. In nature they hold no inherent meaning and have no rhyme nor reason to their locations relative to each other from our perspective, yet we have used our minds to instill meaning into them and draw patterns that can only be drawn from where we stand. The universe did not care about how it put them there nor how any living being may interpret them, but people cared enough to give them meaning.

Years after the release of Longest Night, Night in the Woods proper came out. And in it the usage of stars was far from ditched. Their function as being one of the elements perpetuating NITW’s optimistic nihilism was only expanded. Every two days in the game you are offered the opportunity to choose to hunt for dusk stars with a character named Mr. Chazokov. The interactions with him themselves don’t offer much in the ways of adding upon the pre-established theme of finding meaning within none, though their mere inclusion does help cement the theme as an important part of the game. The true point in which the theme is finally brought front and center is when the player can choose to go ghost hunting with Angus at Possum Jump. After some uneventful ghost hunting, Mae and Angus decide to rest at the top of a hill and do some stargazing. At this point the game essentially retraces (literally and figuratively) all the ground covered in Longest Night. Mae connects constellations together and Angus names them and gives a brief explanation for each of them. It’s a charming little moment that eventually evolves into Angus explaining the abuse he endured throughout his childhood to Mae. But what’s relevant to this specific analysis is Angus’s attitude throughout. He continually stays true to and loops back upon the fact that, while the stars themselves are very real and the stories given to them do very much exist, the stars really don’t mean anything by themselves. It all culminates with Angus explaining his tragic childhood to Mae. But what’s important to the overall narrative of this essay is Angus’s response when Mae asks him if he believes in anything.

It’s at this point that the game gives its most obvious addressal to its philosophy of optimistic nihilism. It’s like the pot finally boils over and it says “alright, time to finally talk about this.” As a response to being prompted about his beliefs, Angus explains his thoughts by using the constellations recently outlined as a convenient example. It’s here that the quote that spurred this whole essay on shows its head. “So I believe in a universe that doesn’t care and people who do,” is the final quote summarizing Angus’s philosophy on meaning in the universe. And if that isn’t the clearest possible representation of optimistic nihilism in NITW then I don’t know what is. It’s a simple little quote, yet it manages to single handedly encapsulate what optimistic nihilism is. Of course, it’s framed as the view of one character in the game, and a character thinking something doesn’t immediately mean that the entire work subscribes to that philosophy, but as you think about NITW and its various elements more and more it becomes increasingly apparent that it is indeed representative of the philosophy of optimistic nihilism.

And with that vague statement I’ll be leaving off the first part of this little mini-project for the time being. I do intend to come back to it at some point in the (hopefully near) future, as I feel that there’s a lot more that could be said about the themes of finding meaning in Night in the Woods. Currently I’m planning on writing about why I enjoy Mae Borowski as a character so much and see her as one of my favorite video game protagonists, so that’ll probably be done before any other parts to this essay come out. Keep an eye out if you enjoy what I’m posting and want to see more, and don’t be afraid to offer any feedback you may have. There’s a contact section on my profile if you’d like the most effective ways to get in touch.

#night in the woods #nitw #analysis #optimistic nihilism #writing #fiction #nitw angus #night in the wood angus #angus delaney #video games #games #indie game #longest night #nitw spoilers

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anistarrose · 3 years

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Chapter Summary: Barry gets a job offer. Kravitz sees a new side of the moon. Taako has a long-overdue chat with his umbrella.

Characters: Kravitz, Taako, Barry Bluejeans, Angus McDonald, Magnus Burnsides, Merle Highchurch, Noelle | No-3113, The Raven Queen, The Director | Lucretia, misc. BoB cameos, Julia Burnsides, Garyl

Relationships: Taakitz, Angus McDonald & Taako, Barry Bluejeans & Kravitz, Kravitz & Angus McDonald

Lately, I’ve been thinking of this fic as a story told in two acts. They’re not necessarily going to be equal in length, but this chapter is definitely the end of Act One.

***

“That’s basically the whole story, Your Majesty,” Kravitz concluded, after several minutes of talking at speeds that no being who needed to breathe could hope to match. Barry and Noelle stood on either side of him, mustering the most innocent expressions he’d ever seen on the faces of a lich or a robot, respectively. “Not that I’d blame you for having follow-up questions, because… well, holy shit.”

Holy shit, indeed, the Raven Queen agreed. A projected image of her visage was floating above a circle of five perfect raven feathers, having been carefully arranged on the cave floor by Kravitz. Istus said we were approaching unprecedented times, but…

She sighed. Well, I must admit that with the apparent exception of Istus, we gods hardly think about what lies outside our planar system. It’s… inconvenient, uncomfortable, how we hold so much power in this world yet understand so little about what’s beyond it. This threat, this Hunger, is news even to me — but didn’t you already know that, Barry, from all the Celestial Planes you’ve seen invaded before?

Barry nodded. “Yeah. I never saw stuff like that directly, of course, but Merle’s a cleric, so… he had his ways of knowing it was never a pretty picture.”

The Raven Queen let out a sigh, like wind escaping from beneath a whole flock’s wings. Then I have more important things to do than reconcile your undeath with the laws of this world, and you have more important things to do than defend yourself to me. Barry, Noelle, you are free to go at least until the apocalypse is averted — but if we get through that, and only then, I’d like you to start thinking about accepting jobs in the Astral Plane. Whatever state the world is in after the Hunger arrives, Kravitz and I will probably need your help.

Barry went dead silent, while Noelle’s whole display lit up with excitement.

“Are we talking afterlife office jobs,” she asked, “or something more along the lines of what Kravitz does?”

“We’ve got plenty of open positions, honestly,” Kravitz explained. “You could probably pick either.”

“Huh,” Barry finally muttered, so soft that Kravitz could’ve missed it. “I — I appreciate the offer, but — I gotta know one thing before I even consider it. Will I have to — to bring in any of my family? Anyone from the Starblaster?”

I’d like to speak with them all eventually, and I may ask you to facilitate that, the Raven Queen replied, but they won’t be punished.

Barry nodded. “Okay. That’s… that’s something I’m willing to consider, then.”

I hope you find out what happened to Lup. Her location is concealed from even me, but I know she’s never entered my domain, so I believe you’ll find her out there somewhere.

Barry’s eyes flickered, shedding drops of light that ran down his face for a few seconds before they coalesced back together. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”

It’s the least I could do. From here, my priority shall be to warn the rest of the pantheon, but we’ll be in touch. The Raven Queen’s visage disappeared with a clap of thunder and a gust of wind that lifted the feathers into the air, carrying them back to Kravitz’s waiting hands as her voice boomed throughout the cave one last time. Good luck, my children.

“That went well, right?” Noelle asked when the echoes faded. “That felt pretty good for a conversation with the death goddess.”

“She’s a lot more reasonable than most gods, I think you’ll find,” Kravitz concurred. “But what’s the plan now? Because other than heading up to the moon, and bringing the boys back down for you to tell them what little you can, I haven’t got a lot of ideas.”

“I dunno either. I don’t like keeping them in the dark either, but it’s very little we can tell them aside from —” Barry paused. “Wait. You can go on the moonbase?”

“Yes? At least, no one’s tried to stop me. I guess I can see why you wouldn’t be allowed up there, but —”

“It’s more than a ban and a wanted poster keeping me off! It’s an anti-undeath ward —” Electricity crackled inside Barry’s silhouette, and he let out a laugh that could’ve woken the not-yet-reanimated dead. “But you, Kravitz, apparently possess enough celestial energy to balance out the undead elements of your soul — which is perfect! It changes everything!”

“Uh,” Kravitz began, reflexively taking a step back, “I think I’m missing some context here —”

“That ward’s the only thing stopping Barry from sneaking onto the moonbase and stealing the ichor he needs to inoculate his family!” Noelle explained, totally unperturbed by Barry’s mad scientist laugh. “I couldn’t steal it for him because the same ward keeps me from leaving my fuse for very long, and this robot body’s not exactly stealthy — but you can decorporealize for as long as you want on the moon, right?”

“I’m not sure I’ve actually tried,” Kravitz replied, rubbing his chin as the puzzle pieces fell into place, “but I’ve never had issues getting through anti-undead wards before, corporeally or otherwise!”

Barry rubbed his hands together, smoke and sparks pouring out from between them — but for the first time, Kravitz was sure he saw a glint of a smile flash on Barry’s face.

“Then what are we waiting for?” Barry asked. “Let’s head back to my place and plan a heist!”

***

“So what do we do now, Fantasy Columbo?” Taako asked, staring at the Umbra Staff in his hands. “I didn’t hear any jingles start playing for solving some sick higher power’s umbrella lich puzzle — how does this help us? What does it change?”

This should have been a revelation, Taako knew. This should have changed everything. But his mind was lagging behind his racing heart, struggling to fit together puzzle pieces that he knew should connect. Struggling to understand why he cared so fiercely about an evil ghost of an evil wizard being trapped in the arcane focus he’d looted her corpse for.

“I… I guess we should try to communicate with her?” Angus suggested. “She’s a Red Robe, so she must have something to do with —” He gestured wildly from his notepad, to Taako’s head, to the incinerated coffee table. “With all of this. Right?”

He removed his glasses, wiping off drops of sweat, and Taako realized that Angus, the smartest person he knew, had ran into an uncomfortable mental wall of his own — and after just a split second of looking at Angus’s pained expression, Taako made a decision.

“Hey, kid. I need your arguably expert opinion real quick — Magnus and Merle aren’t smart enough to be memory-wiping masterminds, right?”

“Oh, absolutely not, sir. We both know they’re no good at keeping their lies straight.”

“Could you check in on them for me? And try to bring ‘em back here — but, uh, only if you can do it without Lucretia or Davenport spotting you, and I need you to really focus on looking out for them. I don’t know who else I can trust with this —”

With a huge, determined smile on his face, Angus saluted. “I won’t let you down, sir!” He looked far less pained as he slunk out of the room, and Taako breathed a sigh of relief.

“Okay. Kid’s gonna be alright with his mind off of this, and now we can have some peace and quiet, Lup.” His mouth lingered on the name Lup but his mind didn’t, giving no thought to the affection he instinctively voiced. “So… let’s chat?”

***

Lucretia’s office looked just as Barry had described, and not all that different from the Reclaimer’s dorms in terms of architecture. The sole occupant was not the Director herself, but a mustached gnome man who sat at the oversized desk, focusing intently on a game of solitaire. He didn’t even look up as Kravitz’ soul drifted past, steering clear of the desk and floating right through a heavy, closed door.

Kravitz kept inside the left wall of the corridor — Barry may not have reported any traps in this stretch, but the puzzle that Barry had reported was nowhere to be seen, and Kravitz knew a suspiciously empty-looking hallway when he saw one. He phased through a second door at the end of the chamber, ignoring the computer that looked even more foreign to him than his Stone of Farspeech, and recorporealized inside a second office.

This close to the source of the ward, a spinning disk imbued with radiant energy, Kravitz could finally feel its influence — a faint burn and refreshing cold that coexisted, an antipathy towards his undead body and a resonance with the Raven Queen’s blessing. Tempted as he was to knock down the disk and short-circuit the ward, it wasn’t poised do much besides mildly distract him, and he was making this visit with a much different goal — one that he’d expose, if he ended up dramatically trashing someone else’s holy symbol.

At the far end of the office sat a murky tank, and above that tank, an alarm was ringing. A few feet to the alarm’s left, a needle punched holes in a steadily scrolling paper, recording what Kravitz inferred to be times and intensities — and there was a lot of information to infer from, because the paper output had not just reached the floor, but piled up to almost waist height.

A massive volume of alarms had clearly been accumulating, and someone — presumably Lucretia — was far too busy to check on every message. Ever since he’d died, Kravitz had been notoriously bad at keeping track of dates, but a quick comparison with the dates at the bottom of the pile and the dates of the current output revealed that the alarms had started trickling in last night, before a massive influx took shape only about an hour ago.

This was all very interesting to the part of Kravitz that loved a good mystery, but his pragmatic side won out, knowing this alarm could attract unwelcome attention at any moment. He switched his attention to the contents of the tank — which appeared just like Barry had said it would, but was still plenty fascinating. A jellyfish floated in murky ichor, illuminated from within by a dark purple nebula pattern, and recoiling away from Kravitz as he rested a hand atop the tank.

“Now, now. It’s alright,” Kravitz murmured, in the same tone he might use to calm a distressed soul. “No need to be scared…”

The baby Voidfish hummed two chords, far lower and louder than Kravitz had expected from such a tiny creature — but music, at least, was something Kravitz knew he could work with. He summoned his scythe in the form of a lute, plucking out a peaceful melody he’d been fond of for hundreds of years… and only a few bars in, the Voidfish began to echo him, humming along with increasing volume.

“I’m just here to do my friends a favor,” Kravitz promised. “It won’t take long at all.”

The Voidfish seemed to relax, so Kravitz let go of his lute, allowing it to float at his side with a faint blue aura suspending it in air. He pulled a canteen from beneath his cloak, slowly submerging it in the tank until it was full to the brim with ichor — probably a slight excess, but he’d rather have too much than not enough.

“See? All done,” he whispered, reattaching the canteen’s cap. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

The Voidfish hummed the refrain of his song once more as he reformed his scythe, and as if to say farewell, waved a tentacle in his direction as he stepped through the portal off the moonbase.

Just a moment later, the very second Kravitz’s feet hit solid subterranean ground, Barry was at his side with a barrage of questions. “How did it go? Have you got the ichor? Did anyone see you?”

“Good, yes, and no in that order,” Kravitz replied, handing Barry the canteen. “The only thing I’m worried about is… well, you’ve seen how Lucretia has an alarm system in her office, right? It’s going a little haywire right now — and has been since last night.”

Barry’s relief morphed into frustration mid-relieved sigh. “I was hoping we could avoid that, since the boys haven’t had a run-in with me in a couple days — but I guess someone’s still trying to remember something, and it won’t be long ‘til Lucretia picks up on it. We gotta get a move on.”

“I did talk to Taako about the stars disappearing last night, come to think of it,” Kravitz recalled. “I hope he’s not still hung up on that, but it sounds like he might be.”

“Shoot, that coulda done it. No fault of your own, obviously.” Barry sighed again, picking up a couple of scrolls from his desk and placing them on a much more neatly organized bookshelf. “Sorry for the mess, by the way. You and Noelle have been my only visitors so far this whole decade.”

Kravitz had seen Barry’s home before he left for his heist on the moon, and it had already been pretty respectable as secret lairs went. Aside from the stalactites and the dubiously legal cloning pod, it had looked more like a disheveled academic’s study than a necromancer’s dungeon — but in Kravitz’s absence, Barry had apparently gotten up to some spring cleaning. He’d draped a sheet over the pod, which was still glowing bright green and far from innocuous, and somehow gotten his hands on a decent-quality couch, either from a pocket dimension or a conjuration spell or gods knew what else.

“Before you got involved, my plan never involved the boys coming in here while they could remember me,” Barry admitted. “They’d still be far from seeing me at my worst, but — well, I dunno if I can make this place look welcoming, exactly, but I’d rather not make them worry about me ‘cause of it.”

“If it helps, this is easily the nicest cave I’ve ever seen a lich holed up in,” Kravitz said, which got a quiet laugh out of Barry.

“Yeah, I bet it is.” He opened the canteen, pouring a modest sample of the ichor into a glass vial. “Hard to believe this is happening so suddenly, but… I think now’s the time. Lucretia could catch on at any minute, and I — I’ll be ready by the time you get back, I think.”

“Good luck remodeling,” Kravitz told him with a nod, and tore open a portal back to the moon.

***

“So… let’s chat?” Taako suggested. He didn’t know what kind of reply he was expecting, but he had to admit it stung when the Umbra Staff didn’t move an inch.

“Okay, what you do isn’t exactly chatting. That one’s on me. Can you just give me a sign, a little poltergeisting or something, if you’re listening?”

Still nothing, which continued to hurt more than it should have.

“Are you mad at me? I thought you smacked me in the face today to get my attention! ‘Cause you wanted to talk, but…” He glanced away from the umbrella in his lap. “I guess you really hate Kravitz, don’t you? And I was helping him hunt you, even before we started dating…”

He sighed. “And you’re only here because I stole from your grave! What was I even thinking? Of course you hate me, and maybe I half-deserve it —”

The Umbra Staff twitched in his hands, subtly yet so abruptly that he jumped to his feet with a yelp and dropped it onto the floor. It spun over ninety degrees as it fell, landing to point at the shelf of seldom-used spell components that Taako and Merle shared.

“You… want me to cast something?” Taako knelt on the rug, gently wrapping a hand around the handle but not raising the umbrella from the floor. He didn’t feel even the slightest movement. “Hey, if you’re not mad at me, then… do something. Do anything.”

He thought the handle might’ve trembled slightly, but wasn’t sure — it could’ve just been wishful thinking. “Okay, flip side. Do something if you are mad at me.”

This time, he was certain there was no response. “Okay, I’ve narrowed it down to either ‘you’re not mad’ or ‘you don’t want to talk to me,’ but I don’t get why you’re being so subtle about this. I mean, I’m not asking you to cast Sunbeam on my boyfriend again, but I know you could be giving me more obvious signs than —”

He happened to glace back at the component shelf, noticing the chest of spare wands he’d stockpiled — arcane foci, just like the ones the Umbra Staff consumed — then just like that, it clicked, and there was finally one quirk of his rogue umbrella that Taako had an inkling of an explanation for.

“Unless… you can’t give me a bigger sign because I haven’t beaten a magic user in a while!” he gasped. “You’re not trying to ignore me — you’re running out of power!”

He unlatched the little chest, grabbing two cheap wooden wands and snapping them both — and sure enough, the Umbra Staff inverted with more vigor than Taako had seen from it all day, swallowing them whole.

“Better?” Taako asked, and a tiny pink flame sparked to life at the tip of the umbrella. Lup must’ve summoned it with a variant of Prestidigitation, because it smelled less like smoke and more like comforting home cooking.

“Now I know why you chose me instead of Merle at the cave! You’re an adoring fan of Sizzle it Up!” Taako teased, and the Umbra Staff bonked him on the head. “Okay, fine, maybe not. Gods know that’s not the only thing I’ve got going for me over Merle.”

He glanced around the room, rubbing his chin. “I was going to say you could turn that flame on and off real fast, send me a message in Fantasy Morse Code, but then I remembered I don’t actually know Fantasy Morse that well. Maybe you could, like, burn something into the wall —”

The flame atop the Umbra Staff intensified, excited.

“But I guess we’d run out of space real fast — never mind explaining it to Lucretia, yikes! We’d be toast… just like the walls.”

The flame died down, replaced with a disembodied, glowing red Mage Hand. With an upturned palm, it made a motion that Taako guessed was meant to convey a shrug and a then what?

“Oh, you didn’t tell me you could do Mage Hand from in there too! I can work with that!”

He made a beeline for the dorm kitchen, ripping open a fresh bag of flour and dumping it directly onto the counter. “I really don’t wanna leave written evidence, so you write stuff in this, and I’ll erase it when you’re done. Sound good?”

Lup squeezed his shoulder, then traced four words in the flour.

I’ve never hated you

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Taako muttered, pretending he couldn’t feel his whole chest seizing up. With a bare hand, he wiped the flour flat, and only sent a little flying onto the floor accidentally. “I… I wanna let you out. Because this is a really inconvenient way to talk, but — but also ‘cause I know you didn’t mean to get trapped in there, and living inside your arcane focus sounds like it’s the pits. Is there a way I can free you?”

yes but not right now

“Why not?”

no liches on the moon

“Oh, have they got wards to block you off or something? I guess we wouldn’t be able to talk at all if I freed you, and that… that wouldn’t be great.”

I’d miss you :(

“Yeah, I can imagine,” Taako replied, and he said it before he meant it. The figure of speech slipped out right away, ingrained after years of overwhelmingly insincere conversations, but his emotions caught up to him more slowly — starting with the loneliness and the longing, before they ate away at him and left an emptiness behind, a dread of never being whole again and a temptation to tear the whole world apart, because what would he have left to lose?

It ended with a throbbing skull, with static clouding the peripheries of his vision, with a mind that couldn’t fathom why missing someone would hit so close to a home that should have never existed. The last year notwithstanding, he couldn’t remember a time where he’d be caught dead missing someone’s company… but now all he could think, all he could feel, was I’m not losing you again.

“There’s gotta be a workaround — right, Lup?” he managed. “Like, is there a way I could take the wards down?”

maybe, but

Lucretia would notice

“I’m gonna go out on a limb, and assume… she wouldn’t be too thrilled to know you’re here.”

Lup took longer to reply than usual, erasing the first few letters of her response to start over several times.

it’s so complicated

don’t think I can explain

“Right. Of course. ‘Cause of the Voidfish.” Taako rubbed his cheek, expecting to wipe away stray splotches of flour — but instead, he felt his fingers grow damp with tears that he knew weren’t just from the pain of his headache.

“I — I don’t know what to do, Lup. I want to help you, but Kravitz is probably in danger because of me so I have to make sure he’s okay, and I know he won’t like me helping you — then there’s Angus and Magnus and Merle, too, I have no clue if any of them are in as much trouble as us. And I just… I can’t shake the feeling that there’s more to this. That the worst of all the bombshells still hasn’t dropped, and I’m about to lose all you while I still don’t know who I am, or who I can trust besides —”

The fingers of Lup’s Mage Hand interlocked with his, and it was a strange sensation — fuzzy and only about half-tangible, as simple magic constructs were expected to be, but warm like a living hand despite the lack of flesh and blood. Taako couldn’t say how long he was silent, just focusing on just that warmth and the inexplicable nostalgia that accompanied it, before he finally asked: “What do you think I should do?”

Lup withdrew her hand slowly, but didn’t hesitate nor erase as she traced four new words:

find Barry

trust Barry

“…I’m glad I’ve got you, Lup, ‘cause I never woulda come up with that on my own,” Taako muttered, chuckling in spite of himself. He didn’t doubt for a second that Lup’s advice was worth following, but he had to admit it was ridiculous how every time a problem came up in his life, someone insisted it could be solved by tracking down a denim-clad lich. “Do you know any of his favorite hangouts, or —”

As Lup’s Mage Hand zipped back into the Umbra Staff, Taako didn’t quite notice the scythe rending space behind him, but he whirled around at the sound of feet hitting the ground and an incredulous voice speaking up.

“Uh, Taako?”

Kravitz carried himself with considerably less poise than usual, wearing a tattered suit that had presumably once seen better days, but he appeared otherwise unscathed, and Taako’s heart jumped for joy.

“I — I — I’m sorry?” Kravitz’s words sounded less like an apology, and more like a sincere question of whether or not he should be sorry for intruding. “I should’ve just portalled to the hallway and knocked. I didn’t mean to walk in on — on whatever this is —”

Before he could stammer another adorably confused word, Taako rushed in for a hug — never mind how crazy he knew he looked, covered in flour and inexplicably teary-eyed over an umbrella.

“Holy shit, I can’t believe — I was so worried about you. I thought for sure you were in trouble and it was all my fault — it was all because —”

Kravitz slipped a cool, but unusually not cold hand under Taako’s hat, mussing up his hair to match the rest of his appearance. “I won’t lie, Taako — there were moments today where I was worried for me. But it turned out to all be a misunderstanding, which is always a pleasant surprise in my line of work — and even better, if you can believe it, one of my new friends knows what’s up with those deaths you can’t remember!”

Kravitz was beaming, but Taako’s blood ran cold like he was the dead man walking. Just when he’d been so sure, so relieved, that he hadn’t dragged Kravitz into the Voidfish conspiracy after all, it turned out that Kravitz had sleuthed his way right to its very center.

No wonder he gets along so well with Angus, Taako thought wryly. Two constantly endangered nerds of a feather.

“This friend can explain it much better than I can, so we’ll visit him by portal — but Magnus and Merle need to hear the truth, too,” Kravitz went on, still seeing no reason not to be enthusiastic. “Are they available?”

“Oh, those clowns? They’re off playing kickball with Angus or something — should be back soon.” Taako knew how Kravitz thought, and knew that Kravitz believed he was doing the right thing by digging up these secrets. He was fulfilling an oath to his goddess and helping Taako get some closure, which should have been great news as far as Kravitz knew — but now he was on the moon, speaking openly about truths a Voidfish had suppressed…

And Taako was conspiring with a lich, soon to be two liches, behind Kravitz’s back. He wasn’t expecting to like the truth behind his eight deaths, if he could even wrap his mind around it — and he had a feeling that when it came time to be judged by the Raven Queen, Kravitz would like the truth and its consequences even less, regardless of whether Taako could think clearly enough to defend himself.

So he withdrew from the hug, wiping the flour — and the incriminating mention of Barry — off the counter with a swoop of his hand. “Oh, drat! Did not mean to do that, ‘cause now I’ll have to mop the whole floor —”

“Okay, Taako. What’s wrong?” Kravitz asked firmly — and Taako didn’t know why he’d thought he’d be able to stall for time, given how Kravitz knew him pretty well, too. “You’re not in trouble with the Queen — I mean, we’ll probably have to invent and then fill out an entirely new form of paperwork about you and your pals, but I told her everything and she’s not mad, I can say that much. Same goes for Magnus, Merle, and — uh, forgive me, just Magnus and Merle. It’s been a long day.”

“Okay, that’s the second piece of good bird news you’ve dropped on me in like twenty-four hours, and I appreciate that,” Taako sighed. “But — okay, listen. We’ve got to be quiet about this, for both of our safety, but I think — I know I’m dealing with more than just memory loss here. I’ll try jumping through your portal and talking to your friend, but I really don’t think I’ll be able to understand —”

“Oh!” Kravitz gasped. “I think I know what you’re talking about — I ran into it with Angus earlier, and we should definitely have a way around it.” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “My, uh, my new friend didn’t know if you could understand that there was a second Voidfish — but you heard that, right? It wasn’t garbled?”

Taako nodded frantically. “Yeah, and we’ve gotta get off the moon. If Lucretia finds out we know, I — I’ve got no idea how far she’ll go to keep this under wraps, and that’s the worst part. She’s already suspicious of me, and I —”

He felt a tug from his umbrella, and he cast Message as quickly and subtly as he could, hoping the Umbra Staff’s propensity to absorb magic like a sinkhole would somehow pull his unspoken words to Lup.

I’m not going to tell him about you. Not until I get more information.

Her reply must’ve hardly escaped from the umbrella, being little more than a distorted whisper — Be careful. Love you — but Taako’s legs almost gave out beneath him when he heard her voice, and Kravitz winced.

“We’ve really got to get you out of here, don’t we?” he murmured, taking Taako’s hand — and Kravitz’s skin was definitely warmer than usual, because of course this frankly adorable development would happen when Taako had a million other things on his mind. “You said the other boys will be back soon?”

“I hope.” Taako led the way into the living room, giving a wide berth to the remains of the coffee table. “I sent Angus to go find —”

On cue, the rattle of a doorknob and the sound of Angus’s voice rang out from the hallway. “Sir? We’re back! Could you unlock the door?”

The next sound was the telltale thump of a small child being affectionately shoved aside, followed by Magnus exclaiming: “Hey, I’ve got thieves’ tools now! Gimme a shot at picking it!”

Kravitz pursed his lips. “Don’t Magnus and Merle have their own keys?” he muttered under his breath.

“Of course they do,” Taako sighed, and the door swung open with a snap of his fingers and a Knock spell.

“Magnus, look!” Merle cheered. “You did it!”

While Magnus and Merle high-fived, Angus’s eyes lit up at the sight of Kravitz half-alive and well.

“You’re okay! I’m sorry I didn’t end up finding Noelle, but Taako said he was worried about you, so I started worrying too — did you have a nasty fight with a necromancer or something?”

“…Yes and no,” Kravitz responded after a moment of hesitation, “but I can explain that whole incident later. Right now, I need you all to come with me to —”

“A cool skeleton rave!” Taako butted in. “And… there’s also supposed to be skeleton dogs there! So you guys will definitely wanna get in on it!”

“Yes, exactly!” Kravitz corroborated without missing a beat. “It’s one of those, you know, very rare skeleton raves that receives the Raven Queen’s approval. Once in a century opportunity, so you won’t want to miss it!”

Magnus rubbed his chin. “I dunno about this. How do you pet a skeleton dog?”

“Only one way to find out!” Taako told him, then breathed a sigh of relief when it got an approving nod from Magnus.

“Fair enough! I’m sold!”

Angus narrowed his eyes, so Taako grinned and winked, hoping it came across as equal parts conspiratorial and don’t you dare blow this for me. It must’ve worked, because after a few seconds of surely intense mental calculations, Angus plastered on a convincing innocent smile and gave Taako a thumbs-up.

“Thanks for inviting me on this fun diversion, sir! I’m sure you could’ve come up with a more convincing lie if it was a trap or a prank, so I’m all in!”

Smiling awkwardly, Kravitz turned to the the lie’s final mark. “Merle, my bud, how about you?”

“Are we buds now?” Merle grinned. “You know what, sure! Anything for my bud!”

“Then away we go!” Kravitz tore open a rift and immediately stepped through, beckoning for the others to follow with the single arm that remained on their side of the portal. Magnus leapt through almost immediately, Merle hot on his heels, while Angus approached the rift more skeptically.

“Well, sir,” he announced softly once Magnus and Merle disappeared, “you and Kravitz owe me an explanation… but I trust the both of you.” He took Taako’s hand, and the two of them stepped through the portal together, emerging in a cold, dimly lit cave.

And Taako thought he’d been “moving fast” through a lot of things, lately — through worldview-shattering realizations, into a romantic relationship, into unofficially and semi-accidentally adopting a boy detective — but nothing could’ve prepared him for how fast everything moved in the next minute.

Kravitz faced Noelle and a now-familiar disembodied robe, very obviously struggling to suppress a mood-inappropriate laugh. “Can you believe I was planning to lie to Magnus about skeleton dogs, but then Taako interrupted and independently came up with the same fib?”

“That’s love, baby!” Taako exclaimed, in the moment before the absurdity of the situation dawned on him. “Wait. Why’s Barold here?”

As the rift fizzled and disappeared, Magnus drew Railsplitter, only to whirl around on himself with no idea who to aim at or threaten. “Hey, did we just get kidnapped? ‘Cause I’ve gotta say, this is the last combination of people in the world I expected to team up and kidnap us.”

“It’s not a kidnapping,” Kravitz began, “it’s just —”

“Did you kidnap a child, Kravitz?” Barry interrupted, gesturing at Angus. “When was that ever a part of the plan?! We didn’t need to involve —”

“With all due respect, Mister Bluejeans,” Angus butted in, “Kravitz didn’t technically kidnap me! I knew perfectly well that he was bullshitting, but I decided to come along with him anyway, out of my own free will!” He turned to face Kravitz, adjusting his glasses. “That said, he did deceive and therefore truly kidnap Magnus, Merle, and maybe even Taako by the sound of things — so if he could go ahead and explain his presumably very good reason for doing so, that would be just dandy!”

Barry sighed. “Real smartass kid you’ve dragged into the fate of the universe, huh, boys?”

“He was already involved enough in things that he deserves to know. We’re bringing him up to speed too,” Kravitz declared, and Barry shrugged.

“Alright, sure — but why the hell was there a child on the moon in the first place?!”

“He’s the world’s greatest detective,” Noelle spoke up, and Angus beamed. “I told you about him, remember? He’s the one who figured out that you were amnesiac when you were alive —”

“Oh, I do remember that, though I don’t remember you mentioning his age — so I guess it’s my bad, then, for assuming a secret lunar society would give a flying fuck about child labor laws!”

Kravitz ignored them both. “Merle, Magnus — I’m so sorry for the deception, and Taako, I’m sorry for not saying that Barry was my new contact. I didn’t want anyone eavesdropping on us on the moonbase, and I swear, I will explain myself as soon as I physically can —”

“Hey, hey, it’s cool!” Taako’s words were intended not just for Kravitz, but for Lup within the Umbra Staff, which had started trembling at the sound of Barry’s voice. “I would love an explanation, but I needed Barold’s help anyway, sooo… doesn’t this work out pretty great?”

“Needing Barry’s help is a new one, sir,” Angus commented, but no one in the room looked more incredulous than Kravitz and Barry themselves, who both froze in place.

“Um, that’s — that’s news to me too?” Barry stammered. “But if — if you don’t need any convincing, then…”

He floated a little taller, robe a little less ragged, voice a little more hopeful. “Let’s get you inoculated, bud.”

A glass vial appeared in Taako’s hand, and he sipped the dark liquid inside without a second thought, even though he gagged while passing the vial on to an apprehensive Magnus. No memories rushed back to him like he’d braced himself for, but he thought he felt the nature of his headache change — less like the roar of static, and more like the pressure on a dam about to burst.

“You should really sit down for this,” Barry told him, resting a cold hand on Taako’s shoulder. “Take it as slow as possible. You obviously figured out a lot, more than I thought you would, but you still won’t be ready for —”

“Relax, it hasn’t even hit me yet!” Taako interrupted. “So in the meantime, I can catch you up on this whole funny story about… my… umbrella…”

The metaphorical floodgates shattered, and the deluge of memories swept him off his feet.

Growing up bouncing between relative to relative, growing skilled as chefs and wizards on the road. The IPRE entrance exams, the best day ever, the Hanging Arcaneum, “back soon” —

His head burned as the static was expunged from his mind, displaced by visions of days and months and cycles that just kept hitting him. He was dimly aware of someone, two someones, clutching his arms and lowering him to his knees on the cool cave floor —

“Stay with us, Taako!” Kravitz pleaded, holding Taako’s left hand. “Listen to Barry —”

“I’ll walk you through everything,” Barry — the animal kingdom, learning to swim, “what if she’s just gone?” — promised from his right, clinging to the same arm with which Taako held the Umbra Staff. “Just don’t think ahead. I’ve been through this before, and I can get you through it now, as long as —”

“B-but — but Lup!” Taako cried. “How could I forget —”

“I know, bud,” Barry whispered. “I forgot too. I understand —”

“You fucking don’t understand!” Tears fell from his eyes, but his mouth twisted into a cautious, still half-disbelieving smile. “Barry, she’s right here!”

“What?!” The cave was plunged into red and black, blinding lights and impenetrable shadows, as the lich at its center seemed to fall apart and come together all at once. “WHERE?!”

Taako closed his eyes, and with a strength he didn’t know he had, snapped the Umbra Staff over his knee.

#taz #taz balance #taakitz #kravitz taz #taako taaco #barry bluejeans #lup taaco #angus mcdonald #taz balance spoilers #fic: ftrala #rosalia writes fic

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kingreywrites · 4 years

Text

Love's a form of memory loss

Very self-indulgent MacDalton idea coming up... I don't really know what to do with this, I'm not much of a ship writer, but I didn't want it to be in vain!

Oh and while you're still reading, can I just say that "I'll follow you" by Shinedown is such a good MacDalton song?? I love it.

----

Mac hated concussion with as much passion as they seemed to seek him out. There was a lot of reasons for this hatred and the one he gave everyone was the fact that he couldn't think properly which was a dangerous thing in the middle of a mission. And that was mostly it, Mac worried for his teammates' safety each time his head wasn’t right.

There was, however, a more personal reason, that he had trouble admitting even to himself: when he was concussed, he had absolutely no filter. Which, worded this way, may not seem like the worst problem either, if it wasn't linked to another trouble of Mac: his ginormous crush on Jack Dalton. That is to say, his partner. That is to say, the most likely guy to take care of him if he was concussed.

So, in summary, concussion meant emotional Mac, which meant risking a declaration of undying love to Jack, thus altering forever their relationship by making things awkward since Jack was straight. And putting everyone in danger during a mission. All in all, not good.

So, when Mac returned slowly to consciousness, his head pounding as if there was no tomorrow, he didn’t groan out of pain but of sheer aggravation. Then, out of pain, because damn if it didn't hurt. He was face down on the floor, pain throbbing through his eyeballs and, overall, feeling like it was way too early to do anything - which, given that he didn’t exactly knew the time, was still true.

He heard hurried footsteps coming his way but, before he could tense, the worried voice of Jack resonated from far away. As soon as Mac opened his eyes and rolled on his back, Jack's face was wavering above him, beautiful brown eyes creased with concern.

"Woah" mumbled Mac, "I wanna k-" kiss you his heart screamed as, thankfully, his rational mind reacted and made him clamp his mouth shut.

"What is it hoss?" Jack said, distracted as he was carefully checking Mac's head, way too close for the blond's comfort.

"No, uh- I want to get out. Of here. Get out of here."

"Yeah, I do too" Jack answered, his smile so soft that Mac's heart melted.

After checking his injury, he hadn't let go of Mac's hair, and the blond didn't know how to feel about that, but he didn't say anything. Maybe Jack hadn't noticed. Anyway, this was nice.

"How are you feeling, nogging still in one piece? There's no blood, but you've been knocked out for ten minutes before I could get to you according to Riley."

"I'm definitely feeling the concussion" Mac admitted, "but honestly, I've had worse."

"Good!" Jack exclaimed, getting Mac on his feet quickly. His partner was worried for Mac's health, this was obvious, but there was something else, the blond realised suddenly, which was only confirmed by the next sentence. "Good, because I found the bomb, and it's going off in thirty minutes."

One thing that Mac liked about his body, was that he could put pain in the background when the situation was pressing - and the term "bomb" made this shift nearly instantaneous. With a sudden clarity, Mac realised that he had no idea where they were and, more importantly, why they were here. He didn't recognize the place, he didn’t remember the mission, even less any search for a bomb, he didn’t remember putting on his clothes today or noticing Jack's (which he always did). The last memory he had was of going to bed after a mission.

Amnesia, his brain supplied, probably temporary, not that uncommon with a concussion even if the large chunk of time missing was worrying. And Jack couldn't know. Well, he will, later, but there was a bomb to defuse and, if Mac told Jack about the amnesia, he would freak out, insist they wait for someone else - Charlie if he was close enough - and Mac hated leaving a bomb alone longer than it was needed.

And, honestly, he felt fine. His head was hurting, he felt some vertigo but he didn't lie when he said he had worse. He could work with this. And then, tell Jack, and live through the worried rant his partner would certainly give him. Probably the three rants he would give, helped by Riley, Matty and Bozer, about safety and communication and being careful.

This is worth it, he thought, once Jack lead him to the bomb with only twenty eight minutes left to go. It was enough for Mac, but the complexity still required a level of precision and patience which very well requested at least twenty minutes. For the slowest EOD of all time that Mac was, it took twenty-two, everything checked and re-checked twice.

He sighed and sat down heavily, dreading the conversation he was going to have with Jack about the amnesia. For his part, his partner cheered, complimented Mac and took the time to call the team to inform them of the situation. Apparently, they weren't too far from home because they had to drive back with Riley, who was waiting for them in the car.

"Jack" Mac tried once he hang up.

"No need to try the puppy eyes hoss, you're going to medical" he answered without looking.

His lips were beautiful Mac noticed, before wrangling his crush back into the vault he created for it. Not the time, not the situation and thinking about this had a great chance of making him saying it out loud, which he definitely didn't want. Damn concussion.

"Jack, I- well, uh… The bomb couldn't wait and…" Bad start, the blond knew, but he was trying.

"Yeah, well, you still took your sweet time" Jack laughed, apparently attributing Mac's weird behaviour to his still concussed state. "Weirdly enough, this wasn’t a bad end for a mission!" Jack got up, and helped Mac up too, but he didn't let go of his hand. "Reminded me of the past you know, meeting the most annoyingly adorable EOD of this Earth."

Adorable, Mac mouthed back, faintly. His hand was still being held. Jack was smiling at him softly, but there was something different in his eyes, that Mac couldn't quite place.

"Hum" he replied intelligently, knowing that he was probably blushing.

Jack was too close, he smelled like home and Mac only wanted to hug him and never let go. But he couldn't, because his stupid crush could never be reciprocated and it could make him lose the relationship they had - which he wasn't willing to bet. And if Jack was this touchy-feely, his brain reasoned, it was only because he was worried, nothing more, Mac needed to tell him the truth and stop imagining-

Jack was kissing him.

It was possible that Mac overloaded at this exact point. Maybe lost one or two brain cells. Jack was kissing him, on the lips, one hand cupping gently the back of Mac's head, and it was like the best thing Mac ever experienced. He would have been a fool if he didn’t do anything, so he kissed back eagerly, eyes closed so he could admire the fireworks going off in his head as each and every of his thoughts disappeared in order to scream "Jack is kissing me". Continuously. Because Jack was kissing him holy shit.

Jack laughed, breaking the kiss at Mac's great regret. They were both a little out of breath, and his partner's eyes were twinkling.

"Hey, don't think you'll escape medical like this. We'll finish what we started this morning after, dear husband of mine."

If the kiss hadn't fried Mac's brain, "husband" certainly had. Numbly, he looked at their still entwined hands and noticed, as it was quite obvious, the new ring Jack had.

"Yeah, I know, I should wear it on a necklace around my neck like you do, yadda yadda yadda" Jack snarked, as if it was an old joke between them. As he said it, Mac realised that he had indeed a necklace, but his fried brain refused to come to a solid conclusion. Oblivious, Jack kept on talking. "No need to re-do the whole speech about how easily a ring can break a finger, I will do it, but you know me, I'm an old guy, I like my traditions."

Smirking, Jack hugged a pliable Mac (how could he even begin to process "husband". What.) to his chest.

"The ring also tell everyone else that I'm yours" he whispered.

Mac ? Mac lost it. Even more than he already had, which was quite impressive.

The blond wasn’t proud to say that he swooned. Honest to god swooned, his legs like jelly under him as he let Jack take on his weight. Like, maybe the concussion had something to do with this, and given Jack's instantaneous worry, it was probably the explanation, but Mac was sure that it was just too much. (He didn't even start to process what "what we started this morning" meant. He couldn't.)

As Jack helped him lay down on the ground, frantic with worry, Mac numbly reached under his shirt, and touched what was quite obviously a ring. Husband. Him and Jack were husbands. Jack and him kissed and were together and got married and he didn’t remember it?!

Amnesia, his brain supplied unhelpfully. Amnesia because of a concussion, concussion that he dreaded because he feared that he would confess his love to Jack who was apparently not as straight as Mac thought and who loved him back enough to marry him. Angus Macgyver. Who was married to Jack Dalton.

"Jesus Christ" Mac breathed out, locking eyes with Jack and wondering how much time he had lost.

And now that he was actively looking for it, he saw the little changes brought by time. A little more gray hairs. One crinkle around his eyes that wasn't here before. Mac had observed (longed for) Jack for so long that he knew every little detail of his face - how didn't he notice the little scar near his ear that he didn’t have before?

God, Jack loved him and Mac didn't even remember getting together. What if he ruined it? What if Jack couldn't stand to start their relationship anew? What if he broke his own marriage before he could remember even having one?

Mac would later accuse the death of his brain cells during the kiss for his decision to hide the truth from Jack. That, and the unwavering anxiety that suddenly coursed through his veins and told him that little to no relationship survived a divorce. (Which will maybe not happen, but will also maybe happen.)

"Hey, hey Mac" Jack said soothingly, one of his hand reaching for his pulse, "you're with me?"

"Apparently" he blurted out without thinking. "I- It was just a bout of vertigo, don't worry"

"Don't worry he says after falling into my arms like a bag of potatoes." Jack rolled his eyes, somewhat appeased. "I'm gonna drive you to medical Mr. Don't Worry, so come on, to the car we go!"

And Jack, apparently bent on making a mess out of Mac's already scrambled brain, swooped him up into his arms and carried him, bridal style, all the way to the car where Riley was waiting, nonplussed by the situation.

Angus Macgyver was truly and utterly fucked.

#cheesy title? check. Cheesy idea? check.#tbh I just wanted Mac to be freaking out at the idea of being married to Jack #my brain didn't go further #ah and concussions don't work like that sorry but the scenario was too tempting #the angst side of me want Mac to have also forgotten about Vharlie #and Jack leaving (even though he came back)#And finding his father hahaha #MacDalton #angus macgyver #Jack Dalton #Macgyver #my writing

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favoredsouls · 5 years

Text

My Faith

I've been thinking a lot about religion. My thoughts on faith, gods and even a God. So i’m gonna ramble about it for a bit. Religious grumbling under the cut

I identify as pagan. Have for years since i learned about my family’s lax views on faith and fondness for Nordic gods and stories. Thor and Tyr are my personal favorites. The themes of sacrifices for the good of others resonate in me. From Odin seeking knowledge and creating the runes to Tyr giving up his hand.

But i also feel like an agnostic at times. Not really sure about what actually makes sense, what could be, and what is. I live in a christen focused country and so that has bled into my language and thoughts. I say swears in a christen Gods name. I swear on Christ even though i don’t believe in him. Hell when i was younger and didn't understand what religion was i prayed to that God. I just thought it was what all people did.

I don’t believe in Christianity. I have problems with it. It has problems. A lot of them in how its practiced. I can appreciate some themes and core beliefs. I certainly enjoy the aesthetics from stained glass to cathedrals and angels. You all know this.

But i don’t believe in that God. I've spent a lot of time recently asking myself what God is and if there is one. If that even matters when my few religious practices are to Thor. I like to think that for every thing there is something higher. Always another step. And that next step is an important one. Essential in some cases.

God is the universe. It is vast and eternal. Ancient and grand. And uncaring. It set everything in motion and for me to pretend to know why isn't important. I swear on it from time to time. This is how i differentiate myself now from a religion i don’t practice. But still make sense of everything around me. Maybe my mother has rubbed off on me with her ideas of God.

Whats important in how i feel about God is that it doesn't care but that we do. I think it was Angus in Night in the Woods (a good game to play if you haven't) that said "I believe in a universe that doesn't care but also in people that do". That’s important to me. Even if (and i don’t believe in this myself) life is meaningless, an accident or a simulation. We still exist. Other gods still exist. We care and there Are things that care about us. Maybe not an infinite vast creator who may or may not be aware of us. But in other gods that have come about for any number of reasons. They care and between those gods and people. I have a lot to place my faith in.

#religion #late night with fs #my faith #or faiths?#this has been on my mind a lot so i hope no one minds if I spew it out #sometimes you just gotta write something out #not looking for feedback or anything #just a space to air thoughts #i hope this doesn't come across as pretentious

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elidellochan · 7 years

Text

part one

It's been a year since Aelin Ashryver Galathynius took back her throne. A year since her Court fought tooth and nail for peace. A year since they left their horrors behind them.

In that year, Aisling Wynslow has had little more to worry about than the bickering of her siblings and the scarcity of her savings.

It's a simple life, but that simple life was hard won.

But a force is rising, a force born from a shadow of what might have been. A force that wants nothing more than to burn that simple life to the ground.

part one -- i thought i knew my survivor's guilt

“Tell me how wrong it is: I’ve made a home of your mouth. I shiver for this. I asked for this. Take out your sharp like the good silverware. The night stretched thin but I would never force you to stay. We were believers once, to something taken up residence below the ribs. I thought I knew my survivor’s guilt, the day we ran out of hot water. How we were always running out of things, like what to say & time & yellow light.” - Ana Carrizo, “Survivor’s Guilt”

He could have picked any of them, he would have picked any of them.

Any of the souls that wandered that street, thrumming with vitality. Tempting him, luring him, enticing him.

He had never liked to be fussy, he didn’t see the point. It was always the same – the warmth, the power, the humanity. But none of them looked like her. And he wanted to send a message.

Once that was done, he would have a little fun. His fingers itched for it, the need roared in his ears and echoed in his veins and pounded through his arteries. It was in his pulse, in his blood, in every fibre of his being. It always had been.

And then, he saw her.

She wasn’t perfect. Too tall, too round. He catalogued these mistakes, noted her heaviness of foot. They wouldn’t see the resemblance, not in her alone. Luckily, she wouldn’t be the only one.

With a sigh, he pushed off the wall. And got to work.

Penn looked smug. It made me nervous.

“What’s that look for?” I asked, settling atop the table and worming out of my jacket, leaning the tiny distance towards the counter and stealing a sliver of carrot. My older brother hadn’t worn an expression far from worry or shame in weeks. I’d almost forgotten what his smile looked like, and even that – some self-satisfied smirk that twisted his lips – was a welcome reminder.

Penn opened his mouth to reply, but any sound was drowned by the shrieking of Luce and Greer as they trundled down the stairs. Luce didn’t often make a fuss – at thirteen, she was the picture of adolescent indifference and superiority. But she and Greer had been fighting more often than not those days.

“Aisling.” Greer was stuttering down the hall, the sounds of stomping and scuffling and shoving echoed her words. “Aisling! Tell Luce to take it off!”

“It’s mine!” Luce insisted, when they rounded into the kitchen – the two of them a tangle of tan skin and golden hair.

“It doesn’t even fit her anymore!” Greer ripped at Luce’s skirt, insistent that it did, in fact, fit.

“Can you two just shut the rutting hell up.” Penn said, tiredly. He didn’t even lift his grey eyes from the carrots. “You’re a constant bloody headache.”

“Penn.” I scolded and darted from the table to pull Luce away from Greer. “Greer, you need to get used to Luce wearing your hand-me-downs. Luce, you need to stop egging her on.”

“I wasn’t…” Luce began.

“Luce.” I sighed, shooting her a look. She frowned, and skulked back down the hall, her steps reverberated through the house as she made her way upstairs. Greer resigned herself to the kitchen, and Penn set her to work getting the water on the boil. I don’t wonder about the location of Ewan and Conley – the youngest of my siblings – they’d spent the day at the docks with Penn’s friend, Angus. “You could help, you know.” I told Penn, irate at again having to be the authoritarian.

“What?” Penn was completely oblivious. Neither of us liked having to act in the place of our late parents, but Penn often forewent even the illusion of reprimands and responsibility.

“So, what’s the news?” I asked instead, looking to Penn.

He grinned at me – a real grin. “I got a job.”

“Penn! You’re joking!” I jumped up from the table, bounded into the kitchen, and pulled him into a hug.

“Where? When do you start? What does it pay?”

“At the palace, joining the Guard. Angus got me the job.” Penn said as I pulled away from him.

“A Royal Guard.” I breathed. You could hardly hope for a better job in Orynth, not without a title or connections or a loaded pocket. Though low-ranking officers were essentially glorified security guards that were assigned to keeping the peace in the slums, even the base pay rate was almost twice what he used to earn.

“I start tomorrow. Training.” Penn said, still grinning as he returned to the vegetables.

“We have to celebrate! I’ll go to the market, get some cakes and…”

“Aisling.” Penn frowned. “We can’t afford…”

“I know what we can afford.” I shot back. “I’ll be back in twenty. Hopefully Angus has bought back Conley and Ewan by then.”

Penn was right, to an extent. Things were hard, and our savings were slim. Penn lost his job at the butcher four weeks ago, and even with my taking double shifts at the inn almost every day, we were scraping the barrel. Our parents left us some money when they died, but that had wallowed away into funeral expenses and maintaining bills in the early days of their passing. While I wouldn't mind not having to scrub so many stains out of Penn’s clothes, the lack thereof was an unhappy alternative when it came with the constantly-looming threat of poverty and eviction. Greer and Luce already lived in my hand-me-downs, and I was forever hemming Penn’s clothes for Ewan and Ewan’s for Conley.

We shopped exclusively at the market before closing, when the grocers were desperate to get rid of their almost-stale bread and wilting vegetables. I got a good price on half a dozen eclairs and an overcooked apple cake – Penn’s favourite – but almost lost them when Conley barrelled me over as soon as I returned home. My youngest brother - tiny and round and innocent – had always been excitable.

“Hey, watch it.” I tutted, smoothing back his hair as he clung to my side. We made our way into the house, an odd sort of three-legged race, with Conley chattering my ear off the whole while.

“There she is!” Angus has a booming voice, and every syllable resonates like a thudding echo. His whole being booms, really. He is impossible to ignore, a walking talking riot of muddy hair and a ginger beard and barrelling arms.

"I suppose I have you to thank for this one’s good fortune.” I said as a greeting, sidling past his attempts to wrap me into a hug and instead lifting a thumb in Penn’s direction. Angus, Penn’s best and oldest friend, is a Royal Guard, not very high ranking but he must’ve had more sway than I had thought to get Penn in. When the two of them stand close like this, it’s hard not to notice Penn’s slightness. He’s muscular in a wiry way, all of us Wynslow’s are – a by-product of long weeks living off leftovers and scraps and doing our best but falling miserably short. I daren’t think on it too much, or I’ll most likely jinx it – but I’ve seen what the families of the Guardsmen can afford. Penn wouldn’t look too out of place for too much longer. Greer and Isolde won’t have to fight for the clothes anymore. “Eclairs!” Greer snatched the greased paper bag from my clutches.

“Dinner first!” Penn ordered, ladling stew into bowls plonking them haphazardly and unceremoniously onto the table, slopping a portion of the contents onto the battered pine.

“You working later?” Angus asked, sitting beside where I’ve arranged myself and Conley.

“Later.” I nod, pushing a bowl towards Conley. “Where is Ewan? And Luce?”

Penn solves the issue by bellowing their names, and soon I can hear them tumbling down the stairs.

“I’ll walk you.” Angus said. It was not a suggestion.

“Don’t trouble yourself.” I said. It was not a suggestion.

“I don’t mind.” He didn’t get the hint.

I don’t reply, but rather turn to push Conley’s chair in. He’s short for his four years - not quite tall enough to reach the table comfortably and he was doing a brilliant job of sloshing more food down his front than in his mouth. Somehow, he’s managed to get a streak of broth in his chestnut hair and across his freckled forehead.

“Can I come with you?” Ewan asked, his mouth full of bread and somehow still lisping through his two missing teeth. “Is Hal working?” Hal, the pub cook, is seven-year-old Ewan’s hero. A fact which still befuddles me.

“Don’t talk with your mouth full.” I scolded. “You have school tomorrow, and I’m working until close.”

“You can’t walk home alone.” Angus said, and continued – apparently unaware to the warning looks offered up by Penn. “It’ll be halfway to tomorrow morning before you’re out of there.”

“Hasn’t stopped me before.” I said, looking down at my bowl. “I can look after myself.”

“I don’t feel comfortable…” Angus started.

“That has nothing to do with me.” I replied, still not looking at him.

“Aisling is tough, she can beat people up!” Conley piped in, jumping in his seat and almost knocking his bowl and my own in the process.

“I’m sure she can, but…” Angus didn’t know when to stop.

“I’m going to be late.” I stood up, and put on my coat. “See you later, be good,” I added, pressing a kiss to Conley’s forehead and avoiding making eye-contact with both Penn and Angus. The former because he knew it was an excuse, the latter because I wanted to avoid another thinly-veiled argument.

I arrived at the pub half an hour early, but I’d rather hang around in the kitchen waiting for my shift to start than deal with Angus’ misplaced possessiveness. He’d been dropping hints about marrying me for years, hinting that our being together is inevitable without considering the complete unwillingness on my behalf. Penn thought I was being ridiculous, and had told me in as many words that I was unlikely to find someone better than Angus, that he’d take care of me and I wouldn’t have to work, that I’d be content. Safe. But I don’t want to settle.

I hardly had time to wallow in irritation when my shift started. Jonas hadn’t shown up – again - and so Bess had been relegated to deal with the inundation of patrons at the bar – leaving Meg to take care of the floor. Meg is monotonous in both looks and personality, and whenever something went wrong she tended to disappear out the back until the situation had been resolved by someone else.

I took the rowdiest section, a double-edged sword – the tips are great but they hardly made up for the bullshit you dealt with. The Green Lion, while being perhaps the most ridiculously named establishment in Orynth, was popular with rabble and the upper classes alike. Its proximity to the castle makes it a beacon for palace workers and dignitaries, and its cheap drinks are a lure for the low-born willing to travel all the way from the slums for a beer.

That night there were a lot of them.

“Did you hear about the girl?” Bess asked me, during a momentary lull, continuing at my quizzical look. “Nasty stuff, found her body near the docks. Apparently, it was pretty similar to the girl they found the other week too. Scary stuff, huh?”

“Yeah.” I agreed, but was pulled from any real consideration of the information Bess had so nonchalantly offloaded by another flood of orders to the bar.

The usual rush was punctuated by fights and brawls, broken up by a well-practiced Bess – the trick, she’s told me, is to offer a round on the house. Apparently, she hadn’t passed on this information to Meg, who was manning the bar while Bess takes a breather.

“Fight.” She told me as I dropped off a tray of empty tankards to the bar, and promptly disappeared out the back without so much as a second glance. I groaned, cursing her.

Hal emerged from the door Meg had disappeared into, “Meg said there was a...”

“Fight," I finished for him, nodding towards the burgeoning crowd, “better break it up.”

Hal is an imposing sight, even in his patched, floral chevron apron. His hulking form is more suited for an underground boxing circle than the kitchen, but he’s completely harmless. Of course, patrons don’t know that.

It took him less than a minute to prise the two culprits apart, and the larger of the two saw Hal’s form and balked – resigning himself. The other wasn’t so smart, and was still winding himself up to land another hit. But he didn’t need to throw the punch to cause any damage – his elbow flew back and caught me in the middle of my face. I don’t know if I passed out, but I can’t remember falling. The next thing I know I was sprawled across the floor and I could feel my nose swelling by the second. It was a struggle to even sit up, but thankfully I was not on my own in that.

My vision, blurred as it was, didn’t prevent me from noticing the hand that reached down to pull me up – and it didn’t prevent me from recognising that the incredibly attractive man to whom the hand belonged wasn’t really a man, but Fae. Seeing Fae wasn’t really a shock. In the year since the Queen returned, Orynth had become a sort of hub of Fae activity.

You got used to it quickly.

So, I don’t even blanch as he pulled me up with far too much ease – a consequence of the corded muscle bulging under his shirt. “You right?” He asked, releasing me to balance on my own.

“Swell.” I replied, my voice muffled and clogged. I was having trouble remaining balanced, and before I could become reacquainted with the floor the Fae male reached out and pulled me up to sit on the bar. “I’m fine,” I protested, swatting his hands away from my waist.

“Sure.” He ignored me, instead prodding a calloused finger at my nose.

“Ouch, back off.” I hissed. “I’m fine.”

“Yeah, and you look it too.” He rolled his eyes at me, clearly exasperated.

“Didn’t you know this was a good day for me?” I retorted, trying to push him away so I could jump off the bar and clean myself up.

“Your nose is broken.” He didn’t budge.

“Wow.” I deadpanned, glaring at him. “Would you let me go?”

“I could reset it, if you like?” He asked, not looking at me and instead picking dirt out from under his fingernails casually, like he pinned waitresses to bars and teased them relentlessly every other day.

“You’re not bleeding anymore, but that’s a nasty cut you’ve got on your lip.” He might’ve, for all I knew.

“I can manage.” I said, though I wasn’t sure how I would manage to reset my nose on my own. Even if I had made it home, none of my siblings were budding first aid experts.

“Sure.” He repeated, still not looking at me. I huff, and try to nudge him away with my knee. He didn’t budge, and – taking in the sheer size of him – I didn’t see myself overpowering him any time soon. He was easily more than six foot tall, and almost as broad. I might have been exaggerating, but this guy looked like he’s been on some kind of crazy Fae steroids. His hair was nice, too – waves of bronze and gold and copper.

“You have nice hair.” I told him, softly. It had the desired effect, he looks up – startled, and I used the distraction to slide away from him and drop from the bar.

And promptly fall to the ground again.

His laugh was almost as nice as his hair, but I didn’t particularly enjoy the musical rasping. He doesn’t immediately offer me his hand, preferring to watch me struggle to stand on my own. I don’t know what Hal, Bess, Meg – everyone really – was doing, but the Fae seemed to be the sole witness to my strife. When he finally offers to help me, it comes with a condition.

“Will you finally accept my help now?” He asked and I grumbled, but didn’t decline. Within seconds, I was balancing on the bar again. I was slow to register the jolt of pain as his fingers prodded at my nose.

I felt oddly faint, disconnected from my body, as I felt cartilage slide against itself under my skin. My hair stood on end and I shoved the Fae away as soon as I am able, discombobulated. “You’re welcome.” He said, but didn’t resist to my shoving.

“I’ll thank you when I’ve stopped feeling like there’s something crawling under my skin.”

“Stop being dramatic.” He told me, watching as I jumped from the bar and managed to stand on my own two feet, albeit shakily.

“Thank you.” I said, somewhat awkwardly. I noticed that Hal had shuffled all the customers out, and was, with Meg, straightening up the room.

Bess appeared from the kitchen, seemingly unaware of what had transpired. “Rutting hell, Aisling!” She gasped, rushing over to me and making a fuss, fluttering her hands and shaking her head. “Your face! Bloody hell!”

“Is there something wrong with my face?” I asked, and Bess – who had been reaching to slap my arm – jolted at the sound of the Fae’s laugh.

“Oh...” She said, not at all subtle as she scanned him with her eyes. “Hello.”

“Well.” I said, nudging Bess to get her to stop making eyes at the Fae – who after a cursory glance at Bess, had returned his gaze to me. “Thanks again, I should really get home.”

“How?” He asked, still watching me.

“What?” I replied, disconcerted.

“How are you getting home?” He sounded far too concerned.

“I’m walking?” I said, quizzical. “It’s not far.”

“You could have a concussion, you shouldn’t walk alone.”

“I can look after myself.” I insisted, feeling as though this conversation was redundant. I’d had it too many times that day already. Of course, he didn’t know that.

“I’m sure,” I wasn’t able to place his tone. “I’ll walk you.”

“Bess can walk me.” I said, quickly. Too quickly. He raised his eyebrows at me, mocking.

“It’s completely out of my way.” Bess whined, but she looked at me like I should be thanking her. Her eyes told me she thought she was doing me a favour. Some friend. Some favour.

“How do I know you’re not a murderer? Or a rapist? Or a…”

The Fae sighed, and didn’t immediately reply. Rather, he gestured to the insignia on his cloak. It’s familiar; a common symbol to be seen on patrons of The Green Lion. The emblem of the palace guard.

"You’re a Royal Guard?” I said, taken aback.

“I’m the Captain of the Guard.” He smirked, victorious.

“I don’t even know your name!” I said, reaching. “And you don’t even know mine.”

“Oh, my gods, you’re so stubborn sometimes.” Bess shook her head, and then walked off to speak with Meg.

“Your friend has a point.” The Fae pointed out. “And, for the record, Aisling, my name is Fenrys.”

“How do you know…” I started.

“Your friend… Bess?” Fenrys replied, smirking. “Shall we make a move?” I nodded, and bid goodbye to my friends, leading Fenrys down the road.

It was quiet, and all I could hear are my own footsteps. Fenrys was silent beside me, and I guess he’d probably had far more practice in moving silently than I. “My brother is a palace guard too.” I said, torn between my discontentment with the silence and my unwillingness to let Fenrys get on my nerves and under my skin – something which, even in the minute time in which we’d been acquainted, he seemed to take particular pleasure in.

“Your brother?” He questioned. “What’s his name?”

“Penn Wynslow.” I said, “he hasn’t started yet, tomorrow he begins training.”

“He’ll be working with Safiya then, she handles most of the training.” Fenrys considered.

I nodded, “his friend, Angus, he got him the job.”

“Angus Beech?” Fenrys asked, and I nodded again. “Good guy.”

“I guess.” I shrugged.

“You don’t sound like you like him very much.”

“I like him fine. Besides, it’s none of your business.”

“And we’re back to the stubbornness.” Fenrys sighed. “I thought we were making progress.”

“Yeah, I was going to invite you to my birthday slumber party. We’ll get matching outfits.” I deadpanned.

“Oh, I love a good frilly nightgown.” Fenrys bit. “Are you always this nice? A radiant pleasure to be around?”

“I am a delight.” I said, as we took a left, “this is my street.”

“You live in the slums?” Fenrys was taken aback, and his tone cut deep.

I don’t need anyone’s pity. “Sorry if it’s not quite up to your standards.” I said, bracingly. “I can manage from here.”

“I didn’t mean to offend…”

“I’m not.” I recovered quickly.

"Aisling! Aisling!” Conley came screaming out of our house, practically tumbling down the stairs to the street.

Penn appeared in the doorway behind him, and had the decency to look abashed.

“What’re you doing up, mister.” I said, my tone immediately softening. I scooped Conley up in my arms and scanned his overtired features.

“I tried.” Penn said, standing above me at the top of the stairs. “He’s being stubborn. Wonder where he learned it.”

“Ha. Ha.” I enunciated, adjusting Conley on my hip.

“Who’s this?” Penn asked, eyes fixed on Fenrys, who stood a few steps back – watching the exchange before him almost curiously.

“Fenrys,” He stepped forward, extending a hand to shake Penn’s own. Penn descended and approached Fenrys, but immediately dropped his hand in shock, staring, transfixed, at my face.

“What in the rutting hell happened?” He took the stairs two at a time, and clutched my chin in his hand, turning it up to the light filtering through the open front door.

“I’m fine.” I pushed him away.

“What in the rutting hell happened.” It was not a question.

“There was a fight, at the bar.”

“Did you hurt Aisling? She could beat you up.” Conley turned in my arms to look at Fenrys with the most withering look a four-year-old could summon. “I’m going to be a knight, and I’ll get you. With a big sword.”

“Luckily, I had nothing to do with what happened to Aisling.” Fenrys humoured him. “I would hate to have you and your sword after me.”

Conley was delighted to be taken seriously, and apparently accepted what Fenrys had said as the truth. “He reset it, so it won’t heal badly.” I told Penn. “And he wouldn’t let me walk home alone.”

“You broke your nose.” Fenrys - indignant, frustrated by my attitude.

“Yes. Well.” I said. “Thank you.”

“I suppose I’ll see you around.” Fenrys said. “At the tavern.”

“Yes. Probably.” I agreed, watching as Fenrys disappears up the street and into the shadows. When I return my gaze to Penn, he’s shaking his head.

“What?” I asked as I carry Conley back inside.

“If I’m right, and that’s really Fenrys – the legendary Fae warrior and Captain of the Guard…” Penn shook his head and closed the door. “Only you. Only you could break your nose and probably make a complete fool of yourself, but still end up with one of the mightiest warriors in history wrapped around your finger.”

“It’s a gift.”

#survivor's guilt #exhaustetic #elidellochan #tog fic #throne of glass fic #tog fanfic #throne of glass fanfic #tog #throne of glass #fenrys #rowaelin #manorian #empire of storms #tower of dawn #sarah j maas

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missing-mae · 7 years

Text

(PART 2) Old Friends

The next morning came with a door pounding at six in the morning.

Bea lay in bed mournfully for a few moments, but chose to crawl out, reapply her make up and stomp outside. She didn’t feel like eating any breakfast, so once dad had scarfed down his cereal they walked down the street to open the story.

Honestly Bea could have done it in her sleep.She had been working here since she was twelve, and while jobs changed from sweeping and stocking ,to register to, now, opening the entire store, nothing was really all that different.

The only thing that her dad kept griping to her about was her daydreaming. Bea couldn’t help it however. She kept wondering what her classmates were learning. What she was missing… What her new college friends were up to. Bea caught herself getting a little misty while cleaning the windows, but chose to suck in her emotions and keep going.

It didn’t help that customers kept stopping to look at her in surprise or having to have to tell everyone that she had dropped and came home when they asked. It got worse every time she said it. It felt like she was lying every time she said it. She didn’t choose to leave. She didn’t ever want to come back here.

At one point however, Bea spotted her dad slumped over the counter for a few seconds, looking tired and depressed. He collected himself after a moment and Bea slipped away before he knew she had seen.

All in all it was a slow day, but that wasn’t anything new. It was about three o’clock when she was sweeping off the doorstep. Her dad awkwardly stepped outside to join her in the waning sunlight. “You did… good today…” He said.

“Thanks.” Bea sighed.

Her dad rubbed his arm, looking up and down the street. “Ahhh, look Bea… Why don’t you head off for today?”

Bea stopped, looking up at him. “What?”

“You need to get back into the swing of things. Ease you back in… What do you say you go rent us a movie and I’ll order pizza? Pastabilities is still open.” He explained softly. “We can.. Talk. After dinner, you know? Store only open another hour, so take your time huh? We’ll eat around six, so be home by then?”

Bea stood up a little straighter. “Uh, ok… Movie then. What movie?”

“Pick anything you like, just no romance, ugh.” Her dad said, a little disgusted before taking the broom from Bea and heading inside.

“Ok.” Bea nodded, heading down the street to the video store.

After grabbing her bag with her wallet and laptop Bea took off down the street. Once she got to the only video store in town though, she frowned as walked in. Video Outpost Too was either a horrible typo, or a corporate type trying to be hip about twenty years ago. Honestly she wasn’t sure which was worse…

“Bea?”

The gator looked up to see a familiar brown muzzle behind the counter. “Angus?”

“It is you.” Angus said, a slightly surprised tinge to his voice. “Wow, what are you doing here? Didn't you go off to college?”

Bea looked down to the floor. “Yeah, but now I’m back… For good.” She sighed, scratching the scales at the back of her head. “I don’t wanna talk about that right now though.”

“Fair enough.” Angus said. “Those that does leave the question, what are you doing in the video store?” The bear asked, cocking his head.

“Dad sent me for a movie.” Bea explained.

“Don’t you have the internet? You're at an age where all this dvd stuff just turns to a distant memory.” Angus chuckled, pointing to her laptop bag.

“True, but I don’t know if we have Wifi anymore.” Bea spoke. “Apparently while I was gone we lost our house.”

“Oh.” Angus looked to the floor now. “Yeah I saw it for sale, but I didn’t know you lost it…”

“Yeah well.. How have you been?” Bea asked.

“Fine… Gregg and I are still living in the apartment for now.” Angus nodded.

“For now?” Bea blinked.

“Oh, well Gregg and I plan on moving next spring, to Bright Harbor. We took a trip there and found the city really resonated with us.” Angus said. “Course it didn’t hurt that it has much larger homosexual population.”

“Most cities do, but that nice that you have an escape plan.” Bae said, trying to push down any feelings of envy.

“Yes, but we um… We kind of hit a snag.” Angus muttered, now a little worried looking. “Gregg hasn’t been feeling his best. He’s taken a few extra days off work, so our savings pile is starting to gain a little less every month.”

“Want me to kick him in the ass to get him going again?” Bea asked, crossing her arms sternly. “You know I will if you ask.”

Angus let out a little chuckle, shaking his head. “Oh, oh no! He’s not being lazy it's just…” The bear shuffled. “Some emotional business…”

“I can still talk with him, maybe it’ll help?” Bea asked. “I don’t know him all that well, but we hung out just enough to be chummy.”

“Well, I suppose…” Angus righted his glasses. “That could work. I’m done in like, half an hour, you free? We can go to the band practice and see him. Hang out for a bit, if you want…”

“I got some time, I just need to find a movie first.” Bea nodded

“Wellll….” Angus smiled, putting a hand to his chin thoughtfully.

“-Then the grand wizard finds out he’s been betrayed by the council and has to make an army to fight against them!” Angus continued as he lead Bea down the street to the Party Barn. “So first he goes to see the old witch from movie two, and she-”

“Angus I haven’t even seen the first one.” Bea said, looking around the large pile of movies Angus suggested. After the bear had pulled them all off the shelves, he insisted she take them all on his employee discount. A few he even let her borrow for free as part of a store promotion.

“Oh right. Spoilers, haha.” Angus said softly, blushing a bit and pulling open the door for Bea with a bit of effort. “Sorry, I get excited with movies…”

“I remember.” Bea spoke as she slipped inside, finding a spot to place the movies by the stage. “You’ve always loved movies.”

“Remember when your mom would take us out for a show on sunday nights?” Angus asked with a sigh.

“....Yeah….”

“Oh geeze.” Angus shuffled awkwardly. “Sorry Bea. I didn’t mean to-”

“It's fine.” Bea grunted. “So where is Gregg?” She looked around the store, making sure the fox wasn’t hiding under something, waiting to spring out. Like he used to love to do in high school.

He was such a child.

“He’ll be along… Say, do you know how to play the bass?” Angus asked, picking up said instrument from the hand cobbled stage.

“No.” Bea shook her head, but at the sight of Angus deflating a bit and setting the bass back down she paused. “But… I could make something on my laptop. I have a music program and it can recreate different instruments.”

“Oh, cool.” Angus said, though Bea could see the gears turning in his head. The bear was getting an idea. “Think you can recreate the bass parts of this song?” Angus grabbed a piece of notepad paper from a table. It was discoloured with a few stains and was clearly torn right from the binding. Bea took it from him, scanning over it quickly with her eyes.

Die Anywhere Else

The notes and lyrics were written by someone with horrible penmanship, but Bea was able to construct the basic idea. Thank god for her music classes in highschool.

“I suppose. I’ll get started while we wait.” Bea said as she sat down on the stage and pulled out her computer. It was simple enough to open the program and get to work.

“Thanks Bea.” Angus smiled.

“No problem. Why do you want me to do this?” Bea asked curiously as she continued.

“Well, like I said, Gregg has been a little down. Band practice used to help him when he felt sad or frustrated but now it... “ Angus sighed. “It's kinda become a reminder.”

“Cause this band won’t really do anything?” Bea asked, brow raised.

“...”

Bea looked up at the silent bear, who was staring at the wall. She couldn’t see his face. “Crap, did I just insult your band or something?”

“Huh?” Angus turned to look at her. “Oh, no… it's not that…”

“Then-”

SSQQQQEEAAAKKK!

“Grah!” There was a grunt from the door as it was forced open. The opener managed to make enough room for them to stagger in. “Man, screw work… ANGUS! I need your healing kisses!”

“Uh, gonna have to wait bug. We’re not alone.” Angus spoke, pointing to Bea beside him.

“What?!” Gregg looked up in confusion, spotting the gator after a moment. “Oh, hey… I didn’t think we’d see you for a while…. Bea right?”

Well that was a change. Gregg seemed to be a bit tired and lethargic, not his usual ‘I just ate an entire oil drum of pixie stick sugar’ self. “Yup, that's me.” Bea nodded, looking back down to her laptop.

“I invited her to hang out at band practice. She’s computerizing the bass parts…” Angus explained.

Bea looked back up and Gregg made a face. It wasn’t of disgust or anything negatively angry. Infact Bea had a hard time reading it, a mix of surprise and something she couldn’t make out.

Course it didn’t help that somebody tackled Gregg from behind a few seconds in.

The fox let out a gargled squawk as an arm hooked around the back of his neck, bring it into a headlock. The figure’s other arm grabbed a fox ear, wrenching it. The two circled but managed to stay upright.

“BOOM! Say uncle, king of the smack fuckin!

Gregg started to slap at other boy’s chest and face. “GOD DAMMIT! Fuck you Fartly!” As the two wrestled around on their feet Bea could, from the rare glances she got of Gregg’s face, see that the fox had gone from tired to exploding with energy. He was laughing loudly as he hooked his own arm around the other kid’s neck. “Your saying uncle to me! Nobody disrespects the Snack Falcon king!”

“Smack. Fuckin.” The boy said evenly before Gregg slapped his face. “Ow! FUCK!”

“You remember Casey Heartly Bea?” Angus asked, a little exhausted but clearly happy.

Oh yes. Bea remembered Casey Heartly. She studied the orange cat as the two boy struggled to maintain control of each other, slipping on leftover streamers littering the floor. The boy who once duct taped Angus to a chair in the high school library. The boy who made an art project out of pre-chewed gum in grade school. The boy who spit in his hand and rubbed it on her face the first day of kindergarten.

There was no way Bea would ever forget him. Unfortunately.

Especially when, in highschool, he had started to hit on any girl five feet from him. It happened over night , almost for no reason. Not that it was gross or pressure inducing. In Fact it was rumoured that Casey had never asked any of the girls out. He likely just did it for attention, or to annoy them.

“GAH DAAMMMMIT!” The two had finally gotten a winner, and it was gravity. The two slipped on a deflated balloon, Casey taking a header as Gregg stumbled back, separating the two. Thankfully for Casey’s somewhat empty head, Gregg managed to shoot out his hand and keep Casey’s crown from painting the barn floor. Instead the orange cat just landed on top of him.

“Nice- nice try C-casey!” Gregg panted as he punched the other boy playfully. “You can’t beat the- the king!”

“Ah god! My freakin’ shin! FFFFFF-” Casey yowled as he held the leg he had knocked on the corner of the stage.

“You ok dudder?” Gregg asked with a chuckle.

“I need a pride transfusion.” Casey moaned. “Other than that…”

“Maybe a brain transplant would work better.” Bea grunted as the two quieted. Casey looked up at her, squinted eyes widening a bit upon seeing her.

“Santello?” He said before rolling onto his stomach. “The fuck you doin’ here?”

“What are ‘you’ doing here?” Bea responded.

“What are any of us doing here?” Gregg asked with a smirk on his face.

“Well whatever the hell you're doing back here, it sooo good to see you. You look as good as you did in highschool!” Casey said, wriggling his eyebrows. “Maybe even better.”

“And yet I return to find you haven’t changed a bit.” Bea snorted.

Casey only made a clicking noise and shot two finger guns up at her. “You know it baby.”

“Ughhh…” Bea rolled her eyes.

“Enough gabbering! Are we playing some songs or what?” Gregg shouted, jumping to the stage and grabbing his guitar. Bea looked to Angus, who shrugged and took his place on stage. Casey managed to stand, walking over with a slight limp. He stood behind her, peering at her computer.

“What?” Bea frowned, looking up at him.

“Nothing, just a nice computer.” Casey said, a brow raised. “You like my song?”

“This is your song?” Bea asked, point to the stained and ripped paper. No surprise there.

“Yup, wrote it last March.” Casey nodded.

Bea looked back at the paper, studying it again and rereading the lyrics. The song definitely spoke to her. Like almost spiritually, which in itself was off putting given the writer.

“S’good.” Bea nodded, looking back up at Casey, who blinked down at her before smiling.

“Glad you enjoyed it.” He leaned down a little. “Now there is something else I can do that you’d enjoy-”

“That better be buzz off.” Bea frowned.

Casey, instead of being insulted, laughed loudly. “Yep, you haven’t changed too much since senior year!”

“Casey, to your battlestation!” Gregg ordered loudly. “We got a show to do!”

“Don’t want to let the spiders in the rafters down.” Casey agreed as he stepped around the equipment to sit behind his portable Holowka brand drumkit.

“You all set Bea?” Angus asked, adjusting his mic stand a bit.

“For the most part. I may need to improvise in places…” Bea shrugged.

“You’ll do your best.” Angus nodded as Casey picked up his drumsticks and tapped them in a rhythm.

In the end the song actually went over rather well. Sure there were a few times Bea’s system would bungle a cord, or she put the wrong key in place given the quick assembly of the set. Yet everybody either paid it no mind or kept going with the song as planned. As the final cord echoed off into the distance everyone took a second to pause for reflection. In Bea’s opinion, it was nearly perfect. She looked to Angus to see what the bear thought.

Yet Angus wasn’t looking at her. He was staring at Gregg, whom had played with such intensity that that he was panting. The guitar hung in his hands as he stared off at the far wall with a smile. It didn’t last however as it slowly slid from his face, the fox looking thoughtful and a little perturbed. Angus spun to look back at Casey swiftly at the action. The drummer looking between the two before shrugging sadly, staring at the floor.

“That.. that was pretty good.” Gregg spoke.

“Yup.” Angus said quickly, looking back at his boyfriend again.

“I flubbed up in a few places, but overall a decent go of it.” Bea conceded.

Gregg licked his lip, still staring at the wall. “Yeah…”

Casey rattled his sticks on the drum kit ideally before speaking. “So, you guys wanna get Clik Clak Pizza?”

Gregg put his guitar down on its stand before rolling his shoulders, smiling a little once more. “Yeah, let's go.”

“Would you like to join us Bea?” Angus asked, turning off his stand.

“My dad and I are having dinner later… but I could sit with you for a bit.” Bea said, putting her laptop away.

“Alright!” Gregg shouted as he leapt off the stage and walked to the door way with a little pep in his step. “PIZZA!”

Bea sat back as the boys all dug into their pizza. Angus eating like a normal person, while Gregg and Casey tried to swallow their pieces whole.

“Nothing like a greasy slice of Clak crap pizza!” Casey murmured out through a mouthful, licking his lips.

“It's not great.” Angus agreed, taking another bite.

“If memory serves, it's pretty horrible.” Bea said, watching Gregg choke on his mouthful for a moment until Angus clasped him on the back.

Gregg coughed, pounding his chest before laughing loudly. “You guys have never heard of the pizza scale?”

“Pardon?” Bea asked, looking at the fox in confusion.

“The pizza scale. It scales pizza from worst to best! On one side, there's the worst pizza in the world-”

“Impossible, no such thing.” Casey stated, swallowing his slice.

“This is pretty close.” Gregg said as he took another, smaller bite.

“And you're still eating it.” Casey smirked, watching Gregg pause his chewing in thought. The fox looked down at the slice in his hand, swallowing and shrugging at the same time.

“Touche.” Gregg chuckled. “What about pizza with pineapple on it though?”

“Gahh!” Casey moaned loudly. “I refuse to accept that as a pizza!”

“I like pineapple on pizza.” Angus frowned. “Is that weird?”

“Yep.” Gregg nodded. “Don’t worry though Cap’n, I still love you! Like how you love me even though I shoved MnMs up my nose that one time.”

“We almost went to the hospital.” Angus sighed, looking to Bea.

“And you didn’t because?” Bea asked, wincing a bit and wondering if she wanted to know.

“They melted. Blew e’m out.” Gregg said.

“Looked like your nose had diarrhea.” Casey laughed.

“Yep, good times” Gregg nodded. “Right Angus?”

“It was gross, but your breath smelled like chocolate for days after, so fair.” Angus said.

Gregg threw his crusts to the side as the three went for their next slice.

“What are you and your dad getting for dinner Bea?” Gregg asked.

“Pastabilities Pizza.” Bea said.

“Oh SHIT. Pastabilites make good pizza.” Gregg spoke loudly around the slice in his mouth.

“Maybe you all should have gone there?” Bea suggested.

“The Clik Clak is alright.” Casey said, shaking his head.

“Name one thing the Clik Clak pizza has over Pastabilites Pizza.” Gregg ordered.

“Price.”

“Well damn, that's two for two Casey.” Gregg gocked.

“It's a gift.” Casey smiled. “Ma always said I was a born stubborn smarkalick. If I had kept my grades up I might have been president by now.”

“President Casey.” Gregg chuckled.

“As my first official decree, everybody has to learn to skateboard.” Casey said, leaning back in his chair and pulling a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, lighting one.

“Even the babies?” Angus asked.

“Well hell, dogs can do it.”

“Sooo….” Bea spoke up, catching their attention and ending the odd conversation. “You ever play any gigs or….”

“No time. Gregg and I both work to save for the move.” Angus sighed. “Video Outpost Too is actually pretty busy here, what with the crappy Wifi in places.”

“Be fun to play out though.” Gregg nodded. “Till then I’m playing air guitar gigs at the Snack Falcon, and also restocking shelves.”

“I’m banned from most large establishments that would host such things.” Casey shrugged lazily.

“Oh shit, that's right! You got caught lifting from Fort Lucenne way back when. What were you stealing again?” Gregg asked with humor.

“Firstly, I wasn’t stealing, it ‘somehow’ fell into my back pocket. Secondly, I was stealing a necklace from one of those kiosks.” Casey said. “Ma’s birthday was coming up.”

“Instead she got to pick you up from the security office then.” Bea frowned, squinting at the boy bit.

Casey made a jazz hand motion and simpered, wincing a bit. “Happy birthday…”

“What else do you do?” Bea asked.

“Bit a this, bit a that.” Casey shrugged. “Used to work here at the Clak for a while… for like two hours?”

“A day?” Bea questioned.

“No, the entirety of my time in employment.” Casey said, looking behind the counter to a worker. “Sup Bill!”

The worker in return flipped Casey off.

“Ah, he’s an old jokester.” Casey shrugged, taking a few puffs on his cigarette.

“So what is Mea up to these days? She go off to college?” Bea asked grumpily, lighting up her own cigarette. The last she had heard of Mae, the girl had been refusing to go to college for some reason that Bea couldn’t fathom. Her parents were willing to pay the whole thing, she would have had a food plan, no parental interruptions, a degree…

Did she think she was too good to go to school or something? Bea groused internally before realizing nobody had responded to her question.

Casey’s was jamming another slice of pizza into his mouth, frowning around it as his leg bounced nervously. Angus had frozen in his chair and was wringing his hands.

Gregg was still.

That was unnerving itself, as Bea wasn’t sure if she had ever seen Gregg not moving somehow. Even if he was just tapping a finger or grinding his teeth. Now Gregg was just staring down at the table darkly, a deep frown settled on his muzzle.

“Ugh.” Casey muttered softly, dusting his hands off. “Thats…” He wavered a bit, ears drooping. “That is…”

“You haven’t heard?” Angus asked carefully.

“Clearly no.” Bea said.

“She’s gone.” Gregg said simply, seemingly chewing on his cheek.

“Gone where?” Bea asked, brow furrowing.

“GONE.” Gregg spat, looking a little pissed now but not looking away from the table.

“Missing.” Angus finally answered, looking at Bea sadly. “I kinda thought you knew… There are posters up in places.” Angus gestured emptily. “Kinda freaked some people out. I mean…”

“She never talked about leaving or anything.” Casey frowned, holding his chin in his hands, elbows on the table. “Infact she was kinda dead set against it. So it's odd that she do something like just leave on her own. Especially without telling anyone…”

“Oh…” Bea swallowed, looking around the table quietly. “What do you think happened?”

Gregg scowled a bit but didn’t speak.

“Well, after the posters came out… It turns out she had some mental instabilities or something. Parents kept it all hush hush, even after the Andy incident.” Casey spoke, looking down at his feet. “Think they said something about disassociation from reality.”

“The police think she may have had an attack and disassociated, then wandered off into the woods, or up to the highway. She could have somehow gotten onto a bus in such a state and got shuffled off to a city or something.” Angus frowned. “She was acting very odd a few days before, so it's a possibility.”

“So is somebody kidnapping her.” Gregg frowned. “For like trafficking or something sick like that.”

“Bug… we’ve talked about this. Its best to hope for the best case scenario.” Angus frowned.

“I dunno what the best case is anymore after four months.” Gregg snapped, looking up to Angus, angry and chin quivering. Angus shifted uncomfortably in his seat and Casey looked away. “... I’m not hungry anymore… Think I should go back home.” Gregg sighed, pushing away from the table.

“Alright. I’ll be right behind you.” Angus said softly, patting his boyfriend's back as the shorter man stood.

“Yeah, ok. You gonna be at the next practice Bea?” Gregg asked, turning to look at the gator quietly.

“Sure, if you want me to be.” Bea nodded.

“Sounds good.” Gregg muttered, slipping out from behind his seat and pushing the chair in. He paused, turning to give Angus a quick kiss on the head before marching for the exit, hands in his pockets.

Angus watched him get out the door before turning to Casey again. The cat caught his glance and snatched up the last slice of pizza, stepping up from his seat haphazardly. “I’ll go and keep him company.” Casey muttered, hurrying after his friend and stuffing the pizza in his maw.

The dinner fell silent as Angus closed the empty pizza box. “So…” Bea muttered. “Thats whats affecting Gregg?”

“Yup.” Angus sighed. “I don’t blame him, I’m worried to. Only he’s taking it hard. Harder than I am I mean.” The bear stood up and Bea followed him, throwing the box out in the trash and making their way for the exit. Bea managed to grabbed the stack of movies from behind her chair as they did so.

“Sorry I couldn’t talk to him for you, though I dunno what I would have said at this point.” Bea said as the bear paused at the door.

“I thought you could talk to him because… well you know what it's like to... anyway, you did something better then talk to him, by playing the bass with your computer.” Angus explained.

“What was that?”

“Whenever we play as a group it’s kind of a reminder of Mae being gone. She played the bass. When you filled in, it kinda helped him forget for just a few minutes.” Angus sighed. “I think it let him be… happy for a bit. Remind him what that's like. It's been a little while since he’s had a reprieve.”

Angus held the door for her and Bea stepped out into the waning sun, going down the dinner steps. She paused when she spotted Casey and Gregg huddled together a little down the sidewalk. Angus came to her side and they went closer, watching as Casey did something with his arm.

“Gregg?” Angus asked cautiously.

“Shh!” Gregg hushed, looking a little more energetic again. “Come check this out!”

Bea and Angus circled around the two, pausing in shock.

“Oh my god.”

“Holey crap.”

“Is that an ARM?”

“Thats an arm.”

“Figured that out by yourselves? Somebody give these two a hand.” Casey chuckled, poking the limb lying on the sidewalk with a stick he found. Gregg began to clap enthusiastically as Casey poked the arm until it seemed to be flipping them off.

“This isn’t a toy.” Bea frowned.

“Everything is a toy if you use your ‘imagination’ .” Casey said grandly, giving the stick to Gregg and arching his hands over his head like a rainbow with the last word he said.

“Boop.” Gregg said as he poked the arm around. “Boop. Boop.”

“And what are you doing?” Bea asked tiredly.

“I’m ‘imaging’-” Gregg spoke, echoing Casey’s motion. “- That I’m a robot after the machine uprising, looking over the fleshy lifeform I’ve just obliterated.”

“Fuck, that is some Sci Fic horror, I tell you what.” Casey snickered.

“Like Space Odyssey or Matrix.” Angus mumbled.

“Both good.” Casey nodded, not looking up from the arm.

“Gregg, you're gonna get into trouble. Stop poking that arm.” Angus frowned. “This is tampering with evidence.”

“Like you don’t want to poke it.” Gregg smirked, poking up the sleeve on the arm. “Yoh!”

“He’s got ink!” Casey gasped as they looked over the tattoo on the arm. “Well, he HAD ink.”

“Look at that, I just sleuthed out a clue. I think I deserve a Greggory-snack.” The fox said, looking to Angus.

“...” Angus stared at him before groaning. “Your showering first.”

“Greggory-dooby doo!”

“Whats going on here?!”

They all jumped, Gregg yelped as he threw the stick as far away as possible. Officer Molly stood behind them, hands on her hips.

“We came out of the Clik Clak and found an arm.” Angus explained, pointing down at said dead flesh.

“Stand back kids.” Officer Molly spoke, waving her hand at them and standing between them and the arm. “We need to keep this clear for evidence… which means no stick poking.”

Gregg started to whistle innocently, arms behind his back. Molly squinted at him.

“Oh, well I think it's time for Gregg and I to get home.” Angus said, taking the fox’s arm.

“Alright, if I need any statements then I’ll visit you at home later. However for the time being I don’t want any of you walking home alone tonight.” Molly nodded, point down to the arm herself. “Something bad is going on.”

“My mom is done work soon. She’s in town. I can walk Bea home and then get a lift home with her.” Casey shrugged.

Oh god.

“Sounds good. You kids be careful.” Molly said before stepping back to pull out her radio from her car.

“That goes double from us.” Angus nodded. “You guys be safe.”

“Bye guys.” Gregg smiled a little as they took off down the street towards their apartment.

Casey stood beside Bea with a smile as the gator sighed, rolling her eyes. “Let's get going.”

“You got it, good lookin’ “ Casey said, giggling when Bea glared at him, the two walking down the street. “Aww, come on, Bea! I’m being honest, you look good!”

“I know I look good, I don’t need you to tell me.” Bea snorted.

“Confidence. Always a plus.” Casey nodded. The two continued on in relative silence, Casey looking around at the buildings around them as Bea kept her eyes on the prize, her doorstep, where she could preferably leave Casey behind.

“Hey, thanks for playing with us at band practice.” Casey spoke, Bea blinking when he did so. “ I haven’t seen Gregg so into it for a while.”

“Its nothing…” Bea said.

“Nah man, it was everything.”

Bea looked down at the sidewalk thoughtfully… “He’s really taking this hard then? I know their friends…”

“It's more than that, Bea.” Casey said. “Mae and I were friends since we were toddlers. Our moms are friends. We got along well, but when he heard about Gregg in school, we basically started to follow him around, like he was a prankster god, trying to learn from him.” Casey smiled ruefully. “He warmed up to us after a bit, he was a little gloomy back then because reasons. Ten years later you couldn’t tear us apart. We were all joined at the hips, like conjoined triplets. Somewhere along then, even if he wasn’t good at thinking ahead, or thinking of consequences, I believe he wanted to look out for us. I’m two years younger than he is and Mae’s a year younger and short.” Casey sighed. “Maybe if Mae said ‘something’ about leaving then maybe he wouldn’t be taking it so hard. Only she was pretty much the opposite, like I said, so he’s really freaked out.”

“And you're not?” Bea asked.

“Me and Gregg looked man, for like the first two week… he took time off work, her parents did to, but we didn’t find anything. Me and Gregg still take walks out into the trees in new places, looking for any signs but... thing is, if you don’t find somebody after 72 hours…” Casey trailed off, ears drooping. “Well, it's not usually good. We haven’t given up but after four months you fall into a depressing rut. You get really tired after staying up late all night, worrying and thinking the worst…”

“I know that pretty well.” Bea said, looked down.

“Point is, I’ve been trying to keep myself alive you know? My parents help me with that and Greggs got Angus. Only they both work, and Gregg’s store ain’t busy a lot, so he has time alone. To think. A lot.”

“I see where you're going.” Bea frowned.

“Mae wouldn’t want him to be like this. She’d kick his ass and challenge him to a knife fight for sulking around so much… but I can’t blame him. She wouldn’t either.” Casey frowned. “Anyway… why aren’t you at college? I know that's a weird turn for this conversation, but…”

Bea didn’t need to hear the rest. She could figure it out well enough herself without help.

‘But I don’t want to talk about this anymore.’

“My dad asked me to come home.” Bea grunted.

“That's all?” Casey blinked. “When do you go back?”

“Never.”

“Really?!” Casey looked shocked. “After all the hard work you did? Aren’t you our valedictorian-”

“OH look, my house.” Bea said loudly, gesturing to the apartment. “So nice talking with you Casey.”

Casey looked up the building before looking back to her, frowning slightly. “Uh yah. I guess so, you to.”

Bea walked up the steps, toeing the door open when she stopped, sighed and looked back to Casey.

“You gonna be ok out here by yourself?”

Casey looked surprised, a brow raised before he laughed. “Aw, come on Bea, I’ll be fine! My mom will be out here soon. She cleans homes for a living and her last clients are in this building.” The cat gestured to her apartment. “Besides….who would want to kidnap me?”

Dinner was a subdued affair. She and her dad ate silently as the movie played. After shifting through the collection she had brought home her father had settled on the action thriller, his favorite kind. As the end credits started to roll there were two thing Bea was certain of.

Pastabilities made the best pizza around, and Angus was still a top notch movie peruser.

Her dad set his piece down after a moment.

“So… what did you do in town?” He asked, staring at the screen quietly.

“Ran into Angus. He invited me to hang out while he, Gregg and Casey practiced. They have a band. I ended up joining them for a bit. We hung out out at the Clik Clak…. And then we found a severed arm outside.”

“Severed arm?!” Her father yelled, eyes wide.

“Yup. Casey and Gregg poked it around with a stick until Officer Glace came by and shooed us away.” Bea sighed, drinking her soda.

Her father fell silent, looking to the far wall. After a moment he shook his head, grunting. “That's just crazy Bea… I wonder how it got there?”

“No idea. Just went outside and boom, there's an arm.” Bea said.

“Well you kids need to be careful, who knows what nutjob did that.” Her father said slowly,

“I’ll keep my arms and legs as close as possible.” Bea said jokingly.

“I’m serious Bea.” Her father frowned. “I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

“I know.” Bea said, looking to him. “I’ll be careful, I promise.”

Her father sighed, looking at the floor before scratching his head. “Bea, you know I love you right?”

“Course.”

“Well, with yesterday… I kinda lost my temper but you see, I thought you actually came in tonight, not yesterday night.” He shrugged. “I wanted to tell you about the house myself, you know? Only saying it over the phone felt… not right. I wanted to tell you in person, but when you showed up at the doorstep, sorta speak, already pissed off… I lost my cool.” He took a breath. “I didn’t want you to find out that way.”

“I understand dad.” Bea said.

“Thanks for coming back home to help out around here.” He sighed. “Ever since your mother passed it's been a struggle…”

“I know. I feel the same way.” Bea spoke softly, folding her hands in her lap. Her father scooted closer, bringing her into a one arm hug.

“We’ll sort this all out Bea. Later on, maybe you can go to college you know? Once this is all settled down…”

“Yeah…” Bea muttered, but returned the hug tightly. They stayed like that for a moment, patting each other and taking comfort in the presence of their last living relative for a moment.

“Well… For now you should get your room set up, get some sheets on your bed.” Her father said, shifting back into his seat. “We need to be up early again tomorrow.”

“I got it.” Bea sighed, standing and taking her soda with her. “Goodnight dad..”

“Night Bea. I’ll see you in the morning.”

#Missing Mae #night in the woods #casey hartley #gregg lee #nitw angus #Angus #bea santello #mae borowski #nitw #Part 2 #Old friends

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ghostsinthewoods · 7 years

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"And so, basically, Cole's dad might be a cultist, and also might know we had something to do with his buds dying. Oh, and I've been having dreams about those dudes in the mine. So that's how my week's going."

It was early in the evening, and the band had finished practice. Mae had contacted Gregg on Chattrbox the night before, asking if he could set up a band practice day. He had been more than happy to. Maybe he'd known Mae had something she needed to talk about. Maybe he just wanted to chill with his friends.

Whatever it was, they'd taken another shot at playing Casey's song, Born to Lose. The more Mae thought about that song, the more it resonated with her. Had Casey been going through stuff like she was going through?

Minus the cult and weird dreams, of course.

When they'd finished their band jam, Mae sat everyone down and explained the situation. Bea was the only one who seemed overtly concerned. Gregg and Angus took what Mae was saying seriously, thank God, but they seemed more worried about Mae's panic attack.

Germ wasn't there, and that was odd. Germ had shown up at all of their band jams lately. Whatever. He was probably off doing his Germy business.

When Mae was done explaining her situation, Angus was the first one who spoke. "Mae," he said, "I don't mean to doubt you, but you don't have that much evidence to go off of. I mean, last year, you at least saw someone."

"And I had weird dreams," Mae pointed out quickly.

Angus seemed to reluctantly concede that point. "Okay, sure," he said. "This time, though, you just have a guy acting strange."

"Ordinarily I'd agree with you," Bea said as she too a drag of her cigarette. "But Mae told us all what Leon said at the mines. Talking about how he hoped no one was caught in the cave-in? That's kind of suspicious to me."

Everyone seemed to digest what Bea had just said. After a bit, Mae spoke. "Who's Leon?" She asked.

It must have been a dumb question, because Bea looked as if Mae had just asked what shoes were. "Cole's dad?" Bea said. "His name is Leon. Did you seriously not know that? You remember almost everyone's names."

Mae frowned. "Yeah, but when I was hanging out with Cole, I didn't, like, regularly ask him what his dad's name was. That's not something people do. When you made out with Steve, did you go around asking what his dad's name was?"

Bea groaned, rolling her eyes. Gregg and Angus both seemed taken aback.

"Wait, what?" Gregg asked, shocked. A big smile spread over his face. Apparently, he found this more hilarious than disturbing. "Oh. My. God. Bea made out with Scriggins?"

"Can we please get back on track?" Bea snapped. She sounded pretty impatient. Mae made a mental note to avoid bringing up her past with Steve from then on. Not unless it would be really, really funny.

"Right, so," Angus said, trying his best to move on from the Scriggins Smooching. "I guess it's possible he could be one of them. That means that there could be any number of others."

Oh, shit. Mae hadn't thought of that. If one member hadn't been there, then who knew how many others might have been absent on the night of the cave-in. If that was the case, then who in town was one of them? Who was planning revenge, or trying to get back into the mines?

Angus continued. "Even if he is one of them, there's no way he'd know we killed the others."

"What if he does know, though?" Mae asked. "What if he's, like, psychic or something? That lead guy said that some of them had a glimmer, or something." Not to mention how Eide had suddenly shown up behind them in the elevator. God, Mae had nightmares about that for weeks.

A weary sigh caught Mae off-guard. From the look on his face, Mae could see that it had come from Angus. He quickly noticed that everyone's eyes were on him, and his expression went bashful. "Sorry," he mumbled.

It took Mae a second to calculate what was going on. When she figured it out, though, she was baffled. "Angus, do you not think he could be psychic? That one guy, like, teleported or something."

Mae studied everyone's faces. From the look on Gregg's, it seemed he wasn't fully convinced, himself. Bea, meanwhile, just looked tired. Mae was guessing that she and Angus had discussed this topic before.

"I can't explain how the guy who grabbed you got on the elevator," Angus confessed. "But, I mean, my mind doesn't immediately leap to supernatural powers. He might have snuck on behind us."

Mae stared blankly at Angus. "Dude," she said. "You saw him. He popped in out of nowhere. That thing in the hole gave him, like, freaky powers."

Angus didn't respond right away. It seemed like he was having a hard time saying whatever he wanted to. Mae watched as Gregg reached out and put a comforting hand on his boyfriend's shoulder. It was gestures like that that made her love those two.

Finally, Angus spoke.

"Mae," he said. "I'm not entirely sure there was anything in that hole."

If Mae was baffled before, she needed a new word for how she felt now. Flummoxed? Shocked? Flabbergasted? Whatever. Angus had just thrown Mae for a loop, and she needed a minute to wrap her head around what he'd said. "What?" She asked.

Angus looked slightly embarrassed. "Like, I can't explain everything that happened last year. But the skeptic in me can't just instantly accept that there was some sort of… eldritch god in that mine."

"But we felt something!" Mae exclaimed. "Or at least I did!"

Angus sighed. "Mae, have you ever heard of Saint Luven's Lantern?"

Mae frowned. "What, is that an anime?" She asked. "I don't watch anime, Angus. Not since I was, like, twelve."

"No, it's not an anime," Angus said wearily. "It's a phenomenon where specific underground gases can lead to specific individuals experiencing hallucinations. They start hearing things, or feeling unseen presences. When the mines were open, Possum Springs had a real problem with gas leaks causing people to act strangely."

Mae wanted to retort that what she'd felt was no hallucination. But something about what Angus said scared her. Her experiences with that thing, that Black Goat, had just been feelings. Feelings and sounds and dreams. Saint Whoever's Lantern didn't explain everything, but it explained a lot.

"So, it wasn't a cult of murderous baby boomers," Bea said. "It was a cult of murderous baby boomers who'd been gassed out of their minds?"

Angus just shrugged. "I mean, it makes sense, doesn't it? There might be a gas leak in town that hasn't been discovered yet."

To Mae's surprise, Bea was the one out of the group to express some doubt. "I don't know if I buy that," she said. "At least, not completely. I definitely felt something down there. What are the odds that me and Mae would both be affected by the gas or whatever?"

"I mean, it's just a theory," Angus said defensively. "It doesn't even explain everything, but it's all I've got. I'd rather believe those guys were just crazy. It's better than believing there's something living in the mines."

Mae still couldn't believe that Angus didn't believe what she believed had happened, but she believed she could understand. After hearing about Whatever's Lantern, Mae wasn't so certain herself anymore. That night in the mines had had a dreamlike quality, and Mae herself wasn't sure what she'd experienced and what she'd imagined.

It was scary, not knowing what was real and what wasn't.

"Okay, getting back on track," Gregg said, "Even if this guy is one of those guys, what are we supposed to do?"

Mae thought about it for a bit. "We could stalk him!" She exclaimed. That got her more than a few odd looks from her friends. Jeez, why were Mae's friends always so down on her great ideas?

"Mae, that doesn't sound like a great idea," Bea said. "For a lot of reasons. I mean, either he's a cultist and he tries to kill us, or he's a normal guy and he calls the police."

"He'll only kill or arrest us if we get caught," Mae said slyly, an eyebrow cocked. Nobody seemed to be buying her logic.

Mae threw her hands up in the air in exasperation. "Okay, fine." She said. "We'll just live the rest of our lives never knowing if we're gonna get murdered to death. That's cool. That's a good idea. Not like I don't already have enough on my plate already without this shit."

"I'm not saying we should do nothing," Bea said with a sigh. "But Mae, this isn't some kid's detective story. We need to be smart about this. Or at least smarter than we were last year."

"What about what we did last year wasn't smart?" Mae asked defensively.

"I mean, you wound up getting shot at and having a mini breakdown inside of a mine," Gregg pointed out. "I'd personally like to avoid anything that leads to that happening."

"Same," Angus said.

Okay, that was fair. But what were the odds of that happening again? Pretty good, actually. Lots of people in Possum Springs owned guns. Casey had been really looking forward to being able to buy a bunch of guns. That wasn't going to happen now, sadly. Unless they sold guns in the afterlife.

"I guess we could, like…" Mae rubbed her chin. "I dunno. We could go around town. Try and find leads about, like, culty stuff."

"What kinda leads?" Gregg asked.

Bea piped in with her own comment. "They were a secret cult that was only around since the 90's," she said. "That's only, like, twenty years. They might not have left a lot of clues. Or maybe they did. I don't know what people did in the 90's."

"I remember a lot of weird commercials," Angus said.

Mae struggled to keep her mind focused on the topic at hand, and not get distracted by thinking of commercials from the 90's she remembered. She tried, instead, to think of anything weird that had been happening lately; anything that might point towards cult activity.

Nothing really came to mind aside from Cole's dad. They could always check out the mines, but what would that accomplish? Those old tunnels were sealed shut, more or less.

There had to be something, though. Were Mae's feelings of general unease related to supernatural events, or was she just… sad? If Mae's dreams meant anything, she was carrying some serious guilt around. Guilt about things she couldn't say, and about secrets she had to keep.

Just then, Mae experienced what nerds in college refer to as a Eureka moment. Mae didn't know what Eureka meant, though, so instead she just thought 'Holy shit!'

There was one thing that all of Mae's dreams lately had had in common: Possum Leap. At first, Mae thought she was dreaming about Possum Leap because of her guilt towards Levy. But Levy and Mae were cool now. So why would Mae still be dreaming about it?

Mae remembered last year, on the night of Harfest, when she'd had a dream about a well. The well that had been their one way out after the cave-in. That had definitely been weird. Not a lot weirder than other stuff, but weird nonetheless.

The more Mae thought about it, the more sense it made. Finally, when she'd convinced herself, she spoke up. She tried her best to make her hunch sound as normal as humanly possible.

"Hey, I've had weird dreams about Possum Leap. Let's go up there."

Everyone stared at Mae for a minute. Mae was kind of used to people looking like that when she said something like this. Bea opened her mouth to speak. Mae didn't want to answer whatever question she had, so Mae just kept talking.

"Look, it's better than nothing, right?" Mae asked.

"Technically, I guess?" Angus said. "I haven't been up to Possum Leap since high school."

"None of us have, I think," Gregg said. "Not since that party where Mae got covered in chips and got into a fist fight with Ron Boonstra."

Mae frowned. "Okay, I've tried to block out a lot of that night, but I'm fairly certain that didn't happen." She felt like she'd remember getting into a fight with a big footballman. "Well, whatever. We can all head up there tonight, right?"

Gregg and Angus exchanged a look while Bea took a drag of her cigarette. Mae knew that look. It was the 'Should you tell her, or should I tell her we have plans?' look. Evidently, they settled on having Gregg tell her, as he was the one to speak up.

"We're actually expecting a phone call tonight," Gregg said. "Like, the landlord in Bright Harbor should be calling us. Probably."

This upset Mae, but not because of her mixed feelings about Gregg's move. "What kind of landlord makes a phone call after six?" She asked.

"Unorthodox business hours," Angus said, "are a sign of cheap apartments."

Mae guessed that made sense. She didn't have enough experience with apartments to question it, really.

"I can take you, Mae," Bea said. Mae felt herself let loose a sigh of relief. She didn't wanna hike out to Possum Leap, so Bea's car was a blessing. "Don't want you wandering around the woods at night. Alone. Again."

Mae groaned and rolled her eyes. "You guys are never gonna let that go, are you?"

It had been a few years since Casey had driven Mae and the gang up to Possum Leap. As Bea drove her up along that familiar road, though, Mae found that the sights were oddly familiar. She wasn't sure why; Possum Leap wasn't a very common destination for her.

Some landscapes just kind of stick in a person's mind.

Mae was still looking out the window when the car gradually came to a stop. Mae snapped back to reality to find that Bea hadn't driven up into the woods, like Mae had expected. Rather, Bea had done the boring thing and parked in the parking lot.

"Don't feel like off-roading?" Mae joked as she popped the door open and hopped out onto the black, hot parking lot.

"There's a parking lot for a reason, Mae," Bea said. Stepping out of the car, she slammed the door shut behind her and lit a fresh cigarette. Mae watched Bea take a long, deep drag before Mae decided to start walking to the forest.

Mae looked around at the nearly empty parking lot. Though it was late, the sky was darkening slowly. Days were getting longer and longer.

Aside from Bea's car, there were only a few trucks scattered around at opposite sides of the lot. They probably belonged to people who… went into the woods and did woods stuff. Like, the people who cleaned the woods and took care of the trees. Or maybe druids? Druids probably didn't drive trucks.

The trucks didn't matter. They were just something to look at. Mae had to look at them to avoid looking at the big, creepy statue at the very end of the parking lot. Unfortunately, with the way Bea had parked, the two of them had to pass by the statue as they made their way into the woods.

Mae was happy to just walk past the damn thing, but then Bea spoke up. "Wait, hold up. I wanna look at this."

Reluctantly, Mae came to a stop a few feet away from the memorial. Bea was looking at it with mild interest. Her eyes drifted from the statue to the podium it stood on, and the plaque that was attached. Judging by how quickly Bea had stopped looking at the statue, Mae guessed she found it creepy, too.

On the surface, the thing wasn't too creepy. It was just an old statue of a Civil War guy. But it was the details that really amped up the spook factor. Whatever they had made the statue out of, it was almost pitch black. Not gray, or dark gray, but as black as the space between the stars.

The stone figure's head was bowed. With Bea standing right in front of him, it looked like the statue was staring straight at her. The statue's eyes were big and featureless; freaky, stony circles that seemed to be looking at everything all at once.

Mae's family had come up here once or twice in the past, back when her Granddad was still alive. Mae had been really freaked out by the statue. Hell, she still was. They'd stopped coming to Possum Leap when Mae made it clear how scared she was of the thing.

As Bea read the plaque on the bottom of the statue, Mae wandered behind her best friend. She had always been so scared of the statue that she barely remembered what it said on the plaque. Over Bea's shoulder, Mae read the inscription:

MEMENTO MORI

DEDICATED TO THE 72 BRAVE MEN WHO TRAGICALLY LOST THEIR LIVES DURING THE SKIRMISH AT POSSUM LEAP

NOBODY TOLD THEM THE WAR WAS OVER

Beneath this dedication was a list of the 72 soldiers who had started shooting at each other one week after the Civil War officially ended. Mae's Granddad had been a big Civil War buff, and he had always regarded the Skirmish at Possum Leap as one of the most embarrassing things to ever get a memorial dedicated to it.

Mae guessed it was kind of tragic, in a stupid way.

"Man, can't go ten feet in this town without running into a war memorial," Mae joked. Bea just made a sort of grunt in response. She took another drag of her cigarette and then turned to face Mae.

"So, where's the place you had this party?" She asked.

Mae reached out and pointed at the hill that led into the woods. "Somewhere out there," Mae said. "Amongst the trees and critters. There's, like, a bonfire pit, or whatever you call it. I dunno. Have you seriously never been up there?"

Bea just shrugged. "Don't think so. I don't think we went to a lot of the same parties in high school."

Mae nodded. It was kind of weird to look back and think about the period of time when she and Bea weren't friends. Back in middle school, they'd had a fight. Mae had more or less stopped interacting with Bea after that.

Then, a few months later, the softball incident had happened.

God, that whole stretch of time in Mae's life had been awful. As she and Bea made their way up into the woods, Mae wondered if everything had been kicked off by Granddad's passing. It wasn't the first time Mae had thought this might be the case. Her Granddad had been a huge part of her life, and one day he had just started to fade away.

Mae'd never really talked about this with anyone. She'd made peace with her Granddad's death, more or less, but she still felt as if it had left a mark on her. It was the first bad thing in a long line of bad things.

Another thing for Bort Feldman to hear about, Mae guessed. Her next appointment was what, a week from now? Mae had no idea, really. She needed a calendar or something.

Mae must have been lost in her thoughts for a while, because before she knew it, Bea had stopped. They'd reached the site of the party that Mae tried not to think about.

The place had definitely seen better days. There were all sorts of trash and pieces of crap littered around the site. Plastic cups, scraps of paper, and a countless amount of cigarettes. The charred-black bonfire looked like it hadn't been used in a long while. The trees that surrounded the clearing had all sorts of crude, lewd messages inscribed on them. Someone had actually tried spray painting some of them, it seemed.

"God, old party sites are so depressing," Bea grumbled. Mae was inclined to agree with her.

"I guess teens just don't hang around up here anymore," Mae said. Hands on her hips, she approached the burnt out remains of the last bonfire. She noticed with some disgust that there were a few condoms among the logs and ashes. She hoped they weren't used ones.

"With all the crap around here, I wouldn't either," Bea said.

Mae wandered to one of the overturned logs that formed a square around the burnt out bonfire. It was covered in black, grimy dirt, but Mae had sat on grosser stuff. She hopped onto the log and looked out at the ashen logs.

Bea walked over and joined her, but she didn't sit down. Mae kind of got that. Bea's clothes were nice and stuff. They were a lot nicer than Mae's old jeans that she wore almost every day, at least.

"So," Bea said. "What now?"

Mae pondered that question for a little while before simply shrugging. "I dunno," she said. "I'm not even sure why I thought this was a good idea. It just, like, popped into my head."

Bea raised a brow and gave Mae a mildly concerned look. She held her cigarette between the fingers of her left hand, and the smoke drifted over to tickle at Mae's nose. Mae hated that smell. It didn't help that she was allergic, either. Mae hoped that scientists would invent a cure for allergies soon.

"So, we came here for reasons you don't know, and we're trying to find something you don't know exists," Bea recapped, her tone carrying a light air of sarcasm. "Why are you the one in charge of these investigations, again?"

Mae just scoffed, rolling her eyes a bit. "You don't have to get all snippy, Beatrice. I know this is stupid."

"That's good, I guess," Bea said. "I mean, I'm supporting you here, Mae, but you've gotta plan crap out better."

"Bea, you've known me for years. When have I ever been able to plan anything successfully?"

Bea didn't have an answer for that.

The two sat there for a while longer before Mae finally got fed up with all of it. With a groan, she stood up. The bottom of her pants felt all dirty and muddy, but whatever. She had other jeans. Probably.

"Okay, this is a bust so far," Mae said. "Maybe we should, like, go further out into the woods?"

"I'm pretty sure that's not a good idea," Bea said. "There's, like, a bunch of old houses out here. If we wandered onto someone's private property, we could get arrested or shot at."

Mae laughed at that. "Wouldn't be the first time," she said. "Who lives out here, though? Hermits? Forest wizards?"

Bea sighed, shrugging her shoulders. "I dunno, Mae. Some of the guys at the shop come out here on fixit jobs. I think some rich guy lives out here, too. Like, his great-grandpa owned the old sawmill that shut down."

"You can get rich off of a sawmill?" Mae asked skeptically.

"Rich enough to buy an old cabin in the woods," Bea joked. "I just know about him because he's needed a lot of repair work done lately." She shrugged again, placing the cigarette between her lips. "I'm in no hurry to meet him. Bill says he's a creep."

"Well, he lives in the woods, so that's a given," Mae said.

Bea just laughed at that, and Mae felt her mood improve a little. Bea seemed so sad all the time. It cheered Mae up to make her laugh like that. Mae wished she could to more to help Bea than just make her laugh, though.

The warm spring air drifted through the trees. Everything looked so green as the sun's light began to die down. Mae could hear birds singing, and insects buzzing. Everything felt so relaxing that she almost didn't hear a twig snap from somewhere behind her.

Mae spun around quickly to catch whatever had made the noise. Bea looked on in confusion until her focus shifted to the man standing a few feet away from them.

Mae had never seen the man in town before. She felt like she'd recognize someone who looked like him. He was basically just a skeleton with skin. His angry eyes seemed almost sunken in, surrounded by black circles. The man wore a neck brace, and his right arm was in a sling.

Other than all that, though, he looked kind of like Mae. An older, effed-up, taller version of Mae who was a man who lived in the woods, but a version of Mae nonetheless.

When he spoke, his voice was deep and craggily, yet somehow vaguely familiar.

"What the hell are you kids doing out here?" He asked.

"Adults," Mae corrected. She might have been caught off-guard by this guy, but she wasn't going to let him call her a kid. "Do we need a reason to be out here?"

"Mae, no," Bea whispered. She sounded fairly agitated. Mae guessed she was freaked out by the walking corpse in front of them. That was kind of understandable, but Mae knew he was just some guy. Probably not a zombie.

The man scowled at Mae's response, and put his free arm on his hip. "If you brats don't tell me why you're out here, I'm calling the police. This is private property."

Mae balked at that. She may not have known much about the layout of the town, but she was fairly certain that this guy was screwing with them. "No it isn't!" She cried out.

The man's eyes narrowed. "It's adjacent to private property," he clarified.

"We were just going," Bea said quickly, and she forcibly grabbed onto Mae's shoulder and began guiding her away. Mae glanced over her shoulder at the stranger, who was still glaring at them. Mae didn't know if she'd ever seen anyone look so angry at… well, at everything.

The guy was clearly hostile. Mae decided the smartest decision would be to speak to him respectfully as she and Bea left.

"Have a good evening, creepo. Enjoy your trees."

"Mae, no!" Bea said again, though this time much more harshly. Mae didn't care, though. She didn't mind being chastised for calling out a creep.

The strange man watched angrily as Mae and Bea hurried away. Over her shoulder, Mae watched as the man lifted his free arm up high in the air and raised a single, solitary finger. Mae got the message loud and clear. She lifted her hand and returned the gesture, much to Bea's frustration.

"Oh my god, Mae," she hissed in Mae's ears. "Don't flip off strangers in the middle of the woods! That's common sense!"

"He started it," Mae grumbled. "Guy goes and calls us kids, but he's about as immature as I am."

Bea groaned as the ground evened out beneath them, and before too long they were back at the edge of the parking lot. The war memorial didn't look any less creepy in the dying spring sunlight. Its shadow stretched out across the parking lot; a long, thick arm reaching out to grab Bea's car.

"Who was that guy, anyway?" Bea asked. When they made it onto the blacktop of the parking lot, she finally let go of Mae. Mae, in turn, looked at Bea with a raised eyebrow.

"What makes you think I know?" Mae asked. "He was just some pissed dude in the woods. I don't know a whole lot of those."

Bea shrugged. Her cigarette had burnt down quite a bit. Mae guessed that it'd be going into the car's ashtray before too long. "Well," Bea explained, "I assumed he was pissed because you did something to him. A lot of folks in town have some sort of grudge against you."

Mae scoffed. "What, do you think I broke his arm? Or his neck? I've never seen the guy before today."

"So, he was just some asshole out in the woods?"

"Possum Springs is full of 'em," Mae said in a comically low voice, her eyes narrowed. She returned her expression to normal and chuckled soon after. "No, but seriously. I know this was kind of a bust, but thanks for taking me out here."

Bea nodded. She wasn't smiling; she didn't seem to do that too often anymore. It was a shame, really. Mae had always liked Bea's smile.

"It was no problem," Bea said. "I mean, it wasn't that far of a drive, and I didn't have anything better to do. At least this time we didn't dig up a corpse and get hassled by weird teens."

Mae, who still smiled quite often, did so. "There's always next time," she said.

That got another laugh out of Bea, and Mae was pleased to see it brought a smile to her friend's face. "Okay, you," she said. "Let's get you home. Hopefully we don't bump into any more assholes on the way."

As Mae and Bea made their way back to Bea's car, and the sun set in the darkening sky, Mae found herself feeling better than she had in a while. Hanging with Bea had gotten Mae's mind off of Casey, and Gregg, and Cole's cultist dad. Just being around a best friend could do that, Mae guess.

While Mae and Bea walked, they talked, joked, and Mae teased Bea over her kiss with Steve Scriggins.

Meanwhile, at the top of the hill that led to Possum Leap, the man with his arm in a sling watched them leave.

#Ghosts in the Woods #night in the woods #nitw #nitw mae #nitw bea #gregg #greggory Lee #fan fiction #beatrice santello #angus delaney #nitw fanfic #nitw postgame #postgame #mae borowski #part 13

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10minutemusings-blog · 7 years

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21/6/17

Went to an open mic last night. One of the guys there told me I sound like Grant Mclennan from The Go Betweens. I had no idea who that was but smiled and thanked him.

When I got home I checked them out. I dig the comparison, and can kind of see where he’s coming from. It’s acoustic ‘Australiana’ from the 1970s and 80s. Great music underpinned by an exploration of what it is to be Australian. Supposedly their song ‘Cattle and Cane’ is one of Bono’s five favourite songs. It comes from an interesting era of Australian music that I frankly know nothing about. Sure I know Cold Chisel and John Farnham and a little bit of the Midnight Oils. These are all the ‘classic’ Australian bands that have stuck in the Australian psyche in some regard, and most of the country pub gigs we play have people requesting their music. But there’s a whole world out there of big ‘name’ Australian artists who were topping the charts at the time but haven’t necessarily stayed as big name as some of the other acts of the time.

That said, I told my girlfriend and her response was ‘oh yeah, the Go Betweens, great band’. Maybe it’s just me with my weird upbringing. My folks didn’t dose me on classic Australiana because they weren’t really into that music, and I didn’t grow up here.

I feel like there’s a certain sound that’s characteristic of this era of Australian music: Khe Sahn and Friday on My Mind etc all have a certain thing that make them great and make them Australian. What is it? I’m not sure. Are there any current Australian artists who are making music that is distinctly Australian? Could you identify Tame Impala or Angus and Julia Stone or Gotye as distinctly Australian based on just listening to their music? Arguably none of these acts live and exist in Australia any more, they merely return every couple of years to tour and top up their bank accounts (the John Farnham top-up-the-pension tour). How do make a distinctly Australian sound, and get it to resonate across the world? Is that something we should strive for? Or should we just be making good music and not stressing about our cultural identity? Do we really have an Australian identity in what’s become a multi-cultural society (much more than I assume it would have been in the 60s and 70s)…?

#10minutemusings #writer #writing #music #open mic #melbourne #australiana #john farnham

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firstyearfineartproject · 4 years

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Bethany - Dial-A-Poem. Very long post, you don't have to read it all if you don't want!

Honestly I’ve never liked poetry. I’ve never understood it and I find it incredibly boring. This being said, I did find a poem that I actually enjoyed in this programme. I found the dial-a-poem poems on http://www.ubu.com/sound/gps.html because I wasn’t able to phone the number. The poem that I listened to was called Vajra Kisses by John Giorno. I don’t really understand what it is about at all, but the repetition and echo felt really empowering to me.

I was specifically drawn to a part of the poem about a mirror that shoots flames and thunderbolts as you look in it. As a lover of all things fantasy, it got me thinking about 2 way mirrors, and demons that could be hiding in mirrors. I remember reading somewhere years ago about this theory that our reflection is there to stop us from going through the mirror because if we went through, terrible things would happen. But what if we are the reflection and we’re stopping the other us from coming through to protect us from the evil in this world?

The artist I found in relation to this concept is Michael Brack. One piece in particular I came across drew me in because of the demon in the mirror. It is quite a neat piece of art made with ink on paper, like a lot of his other works. It is the first piece of his that I actually discovered and I found a new favourite artist because of this. It definitely has the vibe that I want to achieve in my piece of art with the mirror and the creepy demon. A couple of other pieces of his I discovered are another piece with a girl stood in a mirror, and her reflection is looking directly at you, and a piece inspired by alice in wonderland. I liked the mirror one again because this is the concept I am looking to create, and the alice in wonderland inspired one resonated with this project for me because anything to do with time or mirrors just brings alice in wonderland to the front of my mind.

Coming from researching sinister fantasy art, and being reminded of alice in wonderland from the start of this project, I decided to look into the video game “Alice: Madness Returns”, which I have actually played and it is really jarring. Alice: Madness Returns is a psychological horror game. The game follows Alice Liddell (who you play as), a girl suffering from trauma caused by the death of her family in a fire. Alice was discharged from a psychiatric clinic and now lives in an orphanage for mentally traumatized orphans under the care of Dr. Angus Bumby. To get rid of the trauma and learn the truth about her past, she falls into Wonderland, where a new evil force has corrupted it.

A few screenshots of the game:

This also reminded me of a book called Alice by Christina Henry which I haven't read yet but it is about a twisted version of Alice in Wonderland.

The blurb reads: “In a warren of crumbling buildings and desperate people called the Old City, there stands a hospital with cinderblock walls which echo the screams of the poor souls inside. In the hospital, there is a woman. Her hair, once blond, hangs in tangles down her back. She doesn’t remember why she’s in such a terrible place. Just a tea party long ago, and long ears, and blood… Then, one night, a fire at the hospital gives the woman a chance to escape, tumbling out of the hole that imprisoned her, leaving her free to uncover the truth about what happened to her all those years ago. Only something else has escaped with her. Something dark. Something powerful. And to find the truth, she will have to track this beast to the very heart of the Old City, where the rabbit waits for his Alice.” Reading the blurb of this book again has given me an idea of a concept with either the world in the mirror or the world outside the mirror being on fire, and the other world being beautiful; like the original alice in wonderland.

At the time of posting this, my pen ran out so I haven't finished my piece of art, but I am happy with a concept sketch of a burned and broken room with a mirror above the fireplace that shows the world of wonderland. It is all going to be in black and white crosshatching with ink pens but I need to buy some more pens because I lost all but one of mine and that one has ran out...

Here's a picture of the progress so far, and when it's done I'll post an update! If anyone has read til the end (I wouldn't so if you have you're amazing), I hope you've found this insight to my mind interesting!

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nancygduarteus · 6 years

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The Power of Grief-Fueled Activism

As she stood in front of hundreds of gun-control advocates at a rally in Fort Lauderdale, Florida, late last month, the Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School senior Emma González told the audience that she and her peers should instead be at home grieving. Yet there González was, wiping tears from her eyes and delivering a now-viral speech demanding tougher gun laws in the U.S. A few days later, she would be questioning an NRA spokeswoman on CNN. And that was only her first week as a vanguard of a movement that’s spreading across the country with astonishing speed—and showing no signs of stopping.

That the Parkland student activists planted the seeds of their political campaign mere hours (even minutes) after the shooting that killed 17 people at their high school is, in part, what has made the movement so resonant to those watching it unfold. There’s something powerful in the fact that the people who will have the deepest scars from the events of February 14—people who would be expected to, say, be resting at home and mourning lost friends—are stepping up to do what, in their view, adults in the political sphere aren’t. It’s a response one journalist referred to as “courageous grieving.” But critics have also weaponized their emotional states to argue against the coherence of their minds and their movement. Bill O’Reilly asked on Twitter last Tuesday: “The big question is: Should the media be promoting opinions by teenagers who are in an emotional state and facing extreme peer pressure in some cases?”

Both O’Reilly’s criticism and the reverse—reactions that admire how quickly the students resorted to activism—rely on a sense that grief and political activism are not natural partners. These responses seem to imply that the Parkland students’ fervor is either so soon that it’s brave, or too soon and therefore unreliable. The students’ quick turn to action is neither uncommon in American history nor detrimental to the process of grief. But they are still grieving, and that grief could hit even harder as the buzz of interviews and rallies dies down and they settle back into their lives at school.

While the Parkland movement is for many reasons unique in the history of activism, the immediacy of the students’ action isn’t one of them. Angus Johnston, a City University of New York professor who studies the history of student activism, pointed out that American civil-rights activists would often turn to political organizing right after a lynching took place. The mother of Emmett Till, a 14-year-old black boy lynched in Mississippi in 1955, insisted on a public funeral; Till’s mother urged the public to look at his disfigured body, and the photographs and news coverage quickly spurred a national conversation on racism. Recent responses to police shootings of black men have also speedily taken on a political tone, Johnston said. The Parkland students are joining a long tradition of American mourners who channel their grief into political activism.

The Parkland students have been moving from candlelight vigils and friends’ funerals to CNN interviews and strategy sessions in each other’s living rooms. Sometimes grief and politics overlapped in the same moment, like when a chant of “no more guns!” broke out at a candlelight vigil the day after the shooting. Reading about the teens’ hectic and exhausting days, it’s hard not to worry: Can this really be healthy? Experts say it can, though they stress there are caveats.

The reasons for turning to political action in moments of grief are fairly intuitive: Humans naturally look to find some meaning in a painful and senseless event. It’s a way of continuing a story that has reached a sudden end, said Robin Gurwitch, a psychologist at Duke University Medical Center who specializes in children’s trauma. Gurwitch suggested that the question of whether it’s “too soon” to undertake activist work glosses over the nuances of grief. “Whenever that individual feels like, ‘I need to do something’ ... [this action] can be very helpful to the healing process,” she said. And it doesn’t have to be an either-or choice: “It is not as simple as a binary [of] ‘I can either be an advocate or ... be grieving,’” Gurwitch said.

After a traumatic event, a person has no choice but to move forward—where she might have a choice is in where she will move. The word “crisis” comes from the Greek krisis, which means ‘fork in the road’ or ‘decision,’ noted Stephen Brock, a professor of psychology at California State University, Sacramento, who has worked on issues of student trauma and grief. “When something like this happens, you can’t continue along your same path. You have to choose a new path.” And a person has lots of roads—healthy or dangerous or something in between—to choose from.

The healthiest roads entail what Brock called “active or approach-oriented coping”: “The person identifies that something bad happened, and they try to deal with it, to do something about it.” He sees the activism of the Parkland students as an example of this approach. It’s advisable for people of all ages to take some kind of action after a crisis or tragedy, he said, although the actions will look different depending on the age. For children, Brock said, taking action might mean writing condolence cards, or having conversations about caring for one another. But for adolescents, focusing on “broader social issues” is actually a commonly recommended form of crisis intervention. Activism can also be a particularly compelling path for adolescents, who even under normal circumstances are trying to find their place in society, show independence, and play a role in important conversations. According to Brock, the most unhealthy path for grievers is “avoidance coping,” when the person “tries to deny or minimize what happened.”

Part of what makes active coping so healthy is that it offers the person an opportunity to get some control back in a situation that’s otherwise totally out of her hands. And activism has its own particular benefits: People experiencing grief can find it helpful to stay connected to other people, to help others, and to be engaged in activities and routines. As Jaclyn Corin, a Douglas Stoneman student, told The New Yorker several days after the shooting, “My coping mechanism is to distract myself with work and helping people.”

Still, experts cautioned that activism isn’t a substitute for the grieving process. What the students are doing, Brock said, could facilitate a journey that will last a long time—likely their whole lives. “It might be putting them in a better position to grieve,” he said. But they still must grieve. And that’s where the adults and peers in their lives come in. The activism is helpful “only to the extent” that family and friends are around to help ensure that the students are doing the work of dealing with the long-term grief that’s ahead of them, Brock said. Parents can also help kids avoid any pressure they feel, from their peers or from themselves, to participate in the political movement or to process their grief in one particular way, by reminding them that there’s no single “right” way to grieve. Each student will also be dealing with a different set of challenges, from the grief of losing a family member or best friend to the trauma of the shooting itself.

The Parkland student activists clearly aren’t plowing past their emotions or avoiding the vulnerability that comes with grief; reporters have noted that some students had panic attacks or collapsed in tears during activism-strategy sessions. “Unfortunately the bad feelings and the reminders of everything that’s happened are coming at all the wrong times,” the 17-year-old Cameron Kasky told BuzzFeed the weekend after the shooting.

The Parkland students don’t seem to ascribe to the notion that it’s unnatural to turn to activism in the face of grief. For them, when it comes to gun control, political activism is its own act of mourning. As the Douglas high-school senior González put it, speaking to The New Yorker: “This is how I’m dealing with my grief. The thing that caused me grief, the thing that had no right to cause me grief, the thing that had no right to happen in the first place, I have to do something actively to prevent it from happening to somebody else.”

But it will still be important for friends and family to keep an eye on the students when things start to quiet down, said Melissa Reeves, a school psychologist and professor of psychology at Winthrop University who specializes in issues of trauma and crisis. She suggested that those close to the students watch for “delayed grief reactions” once the students are back to their day-to-day lives (which will start to be the case now that classes at Marjory Stoneman Douglas have resumed). Reeves also cautioned that the students might be disappointed if they don’t see impacts on the national level anytime soon, which could do them further damage.

The experts I spoke with said that while the Stoneman Douglas activists are of course contending with all the normal emotional and intellectual tolls that grief or trauma inflicts, those who critique them for being too young or too emotional aren’t giving them enough credit. “These young people are not that far removed from being adults,” Brock said. “With that comes, as appropriate, this kind of activism. This is the kind of thing adults did following Sandy Hook.”

Jeremy Richman, whose 6-year-old daughter Avielle Rose Richman was killed in the Sandy Hook shooting, remembers the hours following his daughter’s murder clearly. “You feel like you’re not just broken but you’re missing something that’s part of you,” he said. “You have to find some meaning or action to move, to get out of bed.” Almost immediately after the shooting, Richman and his wife, Jennifer Hensel, started thinking about what would become the Avielle Foundation, a nonprofit dedicated to preventing violence through research and community engagement.

“In a blurry 48 hours we created the mission and the vision of the foundation,” Richman said. “We knew exactly what we were going to do.” For Richman, taking action right away filled two roles: one personal and one public. On the personal level, it “motivate[d] us to get out of bed and move,” he said. But “in an outward-facing fashion, we were profoundly committed to preventing others from suffering in the way that we were suffering and continue to [suffer to] this day.” For Richman and his family, the inward and the outward were immediately intertwined. “It was right away, and it was really valuable, because we [could] process ... the whole experience with the passion, conviction, and energy that we had,” Richman said.

Richman is a neuroscientist, and he stressed the fact that adolescents like the Parkland students make for great activists. “Their brains are literally wired right now at such an exponentially greater extent than ours are in our adulthood,” he said. “They’re the perfect people to solve problems, take action, and have the passion to do it.” Those fluctuations of stress hormones that make cranky teens annoying to their parents, Richman said, can also be “a profoundly powerful motivator” for something a bit more grand—say, a movement they’re calling #NeverAgain.

from Health News And Updates https://www.theatlantic.com/education/archive/2018/03/the-power-of-grief-fueled-activism/554699/?utm_source=feed

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