#according to Yellow Arthur looks like a young man
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Have a quick doodle of S1 Arthur and S2 Jon.
#malevolent podcast#magnus archives#magpod#arthur lester#jonathan sims#yes I headcannon a blue-eyed Arthur#I will die on that hill#according to Yellow Arthur looks like a young man#but also I imagine he has a more muscular look to him#short Jon rights#weak Jon rights#I imagine Jon starts wearing sweaters and slightly outgrowing his hair in s2 where he's still pretending like stuff is okay#but is caught up solving the mystery so doesn't put as much care on a professional appearance compared to s1#this is like my second post so hopefully im not doing anything wrong#malevolent#tma
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The Library’s Keepers
@indigothemuse behold what happens when my one-braincell ass takes the librarians and smashes kotlc into that universe.
Fitz Vacker is the Librarian, sole protector of the world from magic. Wylie Endal is his Guardian, who would like it if Fitz would stop calling himself the sole protector of the world from magic. Dex is a hacker with a ticking time bomb in his head and a list of people who don’t deserve what they got. Xe’s a Librarian. Keefe is a man made of lies, a grifter and a thief with a past he’d rather not talk about, not until that past drags him into a world of magic. He’s a Librarian. Sophie Foster is a genius, math, science, literaure, you name it, he’s probably got it under her belt. She’s stuck in Oklahoma to no one’s fault but his own. She’s a Librarian.
It was the usual job. Catch a murderer that the cops didn’t feel like investigating, much better than the cheating cases Wylie usually got hired to do. The pay wasn’t too good for this one, but twenty dollars an hour would add up. Eventually.
Especially since he’s on hour seventy three. It would pay half the rent, so all he would need was another job.
Alice Cartoff was a Class A asshole who was keen on carrying around this stupid pendant. It looked like a gold coin, probably antique. Wylie might be able to pawn it for a nice amount if it wasn’t important to the case, which it didn’t look like it was. It was supposed to be a casual thing, get her to confess to him while being recorded and hand her over. What he didn’t account for was a floral-clad housewife to have a handgun.
And know how to use it. She hadn’t fired it yet—thank god, he knew who the cops would arrest—but had it pressed against his back. If he could turn around fast enough, he could knock it out of her hand. Or maybe a kick to her knee would work. He could throw an elbow back into her shoulder, that might even get her to drop the gun.
“It was flawless. There was no way anyone could figure it out, the only witness was Arthur!”
“Dead men tell tales if you listen long enough, sweetheart.” The gun digs deeper into Wylie’s back, not a good thing to say, apparently.
“And you’ve got a good ear, right? How’d you find out, Wylie. How’d you find out.” That’s a good enough confession for Wylie.
She’s expecting trouble from him and is looking for an excuse to shoot him. One bruise of her and she’s getting off scot free for another murder. He’ll have to talk his way out of this one. God he should’ve taken more lessons from that grifter in Boston, they could’ve gotten out of this in a snap.
“It was simple. Everyone had motive to kill Arthur, but no one skilled enough to leave no trace would kill him if they had a visible motive. According to everyone, you and Arthur got along swimmingly,” Wylie says. “You committed the perfect crime a bit too perfectly.”
She laughs. A door opens beside them. Wylie looks over to see something he definitely didn’t expect out of this. A young man in a green sweater vest, yellowing white button up, and black dress pants.
“What on earth are you doing here? Who are you,” Alice yells. Wylie almost flinches away from the sound, but figures any movement will end with him getting shot, and manages to stay still.
“I’m the Librarian,” he says with a crooked smile and a British accent. Something clouds over Alice’s face and Wylie takes his chance. He throws his elbow into her shoulder. The gun falls to the floor; Wylie kicks it away from her.
“Damn it!”
Wylie turns around quickly, ready to knock her out and be done with it. He’s greeting with a fist to his face—for a housewife, she’s got a good left.
“That looked like it hurt,” the Librarians winces.
“Because it did,” Wylie grumbles. He tries to throw another punch to Alice’s jaw, which she blocks. She is unnaturally good at this for someone who looks like she’d cry if she got tapped too hard. She kicks Wylie’s gut. He gets thrown back into a table—ow.
The Librarian winces again. His eyes catch something and light up. Wylie tries to sweep Alice’s feet out. She jumps over them and knees Wylie’s chin. A flash of white goes over his vision—not good. Wylie scrambles back before Alice can land another kick.
“Please keep her busy for me, restrained if you can!” The Librarian shouts.
“What do you think I’m trying to do, kid!”
“Keep it up then!” Wylie swings a fist towards her neck, a punch he’s thrown many times before. It lands, Alice stumbles back, gasping for breath.
“You dick,” Alice breathes. Wylie grabs a vase from the table he was thrown into and lunges for Alice. She tries to get away but he manages to hit her over the head with it. Alice crumbles to the floor. He reaches into his pocket at pulls out the tape recorder and turns it off.
“Well that would do it.”
Wylie had forgotten he was there, if he’s being honest. The Librarian finally leaves the doorframe he was standing in. He walks like one of the show choir kids Wylie went to school with, all bouncy like he’s got music playing in his head. Jolie was always like that. He plucks the gold coin from her neck.
“Thank you for your help—Wylie, isn’t it?”
“Hey, give me that coin, I have rent to play, kid.” The Librarian jumps back before Wylie can reach out for the coin. That thing must be worth at least a thousand, no need for another case.
“Afraid I can’t do that, Wylie. This thing is too powerful for anyone to have, let alone be pawned off to pay rent.”
“It’s a gold coin, kid.”
“I’m twenty-one, stop calling me kid. Gold is a good conductor, and gold this old? It’s a miracle there’s only one murder.”
“What the hell does that even mean?” Wylie grabs his phone from his pocket. He texts Technopath—the hacker from Portland—to send people to come get Alice. “If you don’t want me calling you kid, what’s your name?”
“Call me the Librarian. Though, seeing as I have to go, you won’t be addressing me after now.” The Librarian shoves the coin in his pocket. Wylie could still grab it, the thief from Georgia taught him well enough to pickpocket the kid. “I best be going now, see you never!”
“Hey wait—”
He waves goodbye before running out the door. Wylie sighs. He’d better leave before whoever Technopath called comes—its lead to a few too many awkward conversations when he hasn’t left in time.
He ties Alice up with a blanket before heading to his car.
…
“Getting weak, Cal!” Fitz calls to Excalibur. Excalibur responds by knocking the sword out of his hand with a move Fitz really should’ve seen coming. “Okay, don’t mock the magic sword, lesson learned.”
Excalibur shakes in a way Fitz has learned that’s laughter.
“Fitz, good to see you practicing,” Livvy says. “We have a guest.”
“What? A guest? You let someone in? That’s—oh it’s you.” Fitz sets his sword against the bookshelves. The PI from Caligula’s Coin is standing awkwardly next to Livvy. “What are you doing here? Livvy, what’s he doing here?”
“Mr Endal here is your Guardian, Fitz.”
Fitz laughs before realizing ce’s serious. “I don’t need a Guardian, send him home. I have something to work on and I don’t need a distraction, most certainly not a fool who almost got himself mixed in with magic! He tried to pawn Caligula’s Coin, Livvy! How is he invited to the Library? Impossible. Send him home.”
Fitz turns and heads for the Annex. Mrs Chebota’s murder won’t solve itself and Fitz cannot for the life of him figure out what that painting means. Or why she had it in the first place. Or how she got stabbed. Or why her ghost can’t communicate.
“Magic isn’t real!” Wylie calls. “And that coin had to cost thousands of dollars.”
“How is that what you’re focusing on? Go home, Wylie. You’re of no use to me, and as the Librarian, you’re of no use to the Library.”
“We both know that’s not how it works, Fitz,” Elwin says. Wylie—who seemed not to have noticed the fact there was a man in the mirror—pulls out a pocket knife. He almost drops it when he sees Elwin.
“Excuse me but what the fuck.”
“Hello, Guardian. I’m Elwin.” They smile warmly, Wylie walks up to the mirror and flips it to the back. “I do know this is a bit surprising, but please keep me upright. I get dizzy.” Wylie puts the mirror back.
“Sorry?” He stands there for a second, Fitz decides to ignore Wylie until he goes away and pulls the white board out from between bookshelves. “So magic is real? Like, you’re not pulling my leg here?”
Fitz sighs. “Yes, magic is real. Now will you go home?”
“I know Ms Sonden told me my job, but what is it again? This barely makes any sense to me. And what’s your name? If you have one.”
“My name is Elwin. As a Guardian, you will accompany the Librarian and keep him safe. No matter how much Fitz here thinks he doesn’t need help.”
Wylie turns around, a comeback on his tongue when he sees the whiteboard. Something makes him stop. He walks up to the whiteboard and takes Maruca’s photo off of it.
“Don’t touch that!”
“How did you get this photo? Have you been following me? What did you do to her?”
“I didn’t do anything. Someone killed her on our front steps. Why?”
“She’s—she’s my cousin. I don’t—how? How did she die? Was it fast?” Fitz softens.
“She was stabbed, she died quickly. But her ghost is here, she’s not completely gone.”
“I need to see her.”
“She can’t communicate with you.”
“Like hell she can’t. Take me to her.”
…
When she sees Wylie, Maruca panics. What is he doing here? This place is dangerous, he can’t be here. For gods sake, this place got her killed. Even if Wylie’s older, it’s not by enough. Immortals from the beginning of time aren't old enough to be safe in this place.
She tries to tell him that, but her mouth won’t move. Whatever that man did to her before she died, it was enough to keep her silent.
“Why can’t she talk, is that a ghost thing? We both know ASL, why can’t she use that?”
She notices Fitz in the room now. God, if she wasn’t friends with Biana, she’d strangle him for bringing Wylie here.
It was a spell. Fitan. Arthur’s Crown.
But neither of them know any of that.
…
“I don’t know how she knew about this place.” Fitz says. “She shouldn’t have, and she most definitely shouldn’t have known my name. There’s a spell that’s keeping her from communicating, but I can’t figure out which one it is and until I do, I can’t undo it.”
Wylie rifles through his pockets and pulls out a letter with gold script. One he thought was familiar, and for a good reason as it turns out.
“She got a letter. Three years ago, she got a letter just like this one. She told me how weird it was and that she wasn’t going to go all the way to New York for a letter. Maruca was going to work here.”
That’s when a strings finally connect. At least, theoretical strings for a very plausible theory. Fitz rushes up the stairs of the Annex, Wylie following behind him. Fitz rifles through bookshelf after bookshelf, only realizing once he grabs the Record Book he could’ve used the card catalog.
He flips until he sees his name.
“Search these names. Kenric Fathdon.”
“Died in a fire.”
“Calla, no recorded last name but a biologist.”
“Dead.”
“Ethan Benedict Wright II.”
“Dead.”
“Leto Kerlof.”
“Dead. What’s this about?”
“Someone’s killing Librarian candidates. Three years ago, the Library sent out hundreds of letters. It looks like only the top ten candidates.”
Wylie types in the last few names on the list.
“Three of them are still alive, at least to my knowledge. We have to go and get them. We’ll bring them back, they’ll be protected here, won’t they?”
“They will. I’ll take Sophie Foster, you get Dex Dizznee. We’ll get Keefe Sencen together. I’ve been needing to talk to him for a long while anyway.”
“Okay. It looks like Sophie lives at Havenfield Sanctuary. Can you handle finding Dex? I can find xem if you can’t.”
“Of course I can, I’m the Librarian. Now go, if I’m right, they don’t have long.”
…
Dex wasn’t a good thief. Xe had no idea why Biana thought xe was, or why ae had xem try and pickpocket the mark, but ae did. And now xe’s testing out xyr—horrible—grifting abilities. That was always Keefe’s job.
“I’m sorry sir, I thought you were a friend.” Xe really wished the mark would let go of xyr wrist.
“Do you pickpocket your friends?”
“Yes. It’s an inside joke.” Xe had no idea why Keefe wasn’t helping over comms. He was the only real grifter they had, and without a hitter, if xe couldn’t talk xemself out of this, a jail cell was likely. Dex hated jail cells. They were always so cold.
“An odd joke, boy. Care to explain it to me?” Shit. Dex was never the best liar, much to Biana and Keefe’s dismay. They could never teach xem how to cover xyr tells.
“Well—”
“Dex! There you are!” yells a person Dex has never met in xyr life. “Oh god, did you mistake someone for Carter again? I’m sorry sir, I keep trying to tell xem not to do it unless xe’s sure, but xe never listens.”
“Who are you?”
“I’m the Librarian.”
For some reason, that makes the mark falter long enough for Dex to get xyr wrist back. Xe tries to rub away the grubby feeling that man’s fingers left. Xe knows it’s going to bruise. Something xe’s not excited for.
“It’s best we go now, Dizznee. A bluff that bad won’t last long.”
“How the hell do you know my name?” Dex works hard to keep xyr name a mystery. Keefe and Biana only know his first name, everyone else just gets Technopath. An awfully bad name, but the triplets begged him to use it.
“For the same reason someone’s after you. Come with me or you’re going to die, Dizznee.”
“Tell them to get in line, they’re not special. I have a job to do.” The stranger is probably right though, xe should really leave before the mark thinks too hard about xyr lie. To xyr dismay, the stranger follows him into the street. God, xe’s going to have to shake him. Xe’s not exactly good at shaking a tail, not when xe’s failed every athletics check Biana’s given xem.
The stranger grabs Dex’s wrist. He lets Dex pull it back but his eyes tell Dex he won’t let xem the next time he has to chase after Dex.
“My name is Fitz Vacker. If you do not come with me, you are going to die. I can only protect you if you let me, so let me.”
Xe knows that name. But it can’t be. The chances are so low that they couldn’t even be calculated. Though, he does look a bit like Biana. Same blue eyes and same warm brown skin. It’s impossible, but xe knows that name.
Dex takes xyr comm out. “What is this about?”
“Three years ago you got a letter to join the Library. Someone is after you because of that letter, let me help you.”
“Gold lettering. It was slipped under my door, I thought it was a trap.”
“Will you come with me?”
“How good are the people coming after me?”
“Good enough to have killed seven other people. Skilled people. They can get you wherever you go unless you come with me.”
Dex crushes the comm under xyr feet. It can be tracked if someone tried hard enough and if these people are as good as Fitz says, they’ll try. Xe can come back for Keefe and Biana later, when xe has enough information to keep them safe along with xem.
“Only until they’re gone. Then I’m leaving.”
Fitz nods. “Is there any way anyone can track you with anything you have now.”
“Only by my comm—” xe motions to the crushed earpiece on the ground— “but I dealt with that. Let’s go. How are we getting out of here?”
Fitz pauses. “I’ll figure that out as we go.”
Dex pulls out his phone. “Where do we need to go?”
“New York.”
“Great, we have a plane to catch.”
…
“Come on Verdi, take it easy. I can’t feed ya until you calm down,” Sophie says. Edaline’s in town buying groceries and Grady’s at the school, so Sophie’s stuck trying to give Verdi her medicine. It’s like giving a cat medicine but worse. “Darlin’ please, this’ll clear you right up.”
Verdi neighs and backs up. Sophie takes that as permission to enter Verdi’s stall. The medicine was poured in the sugar cubes in Sophie’s hand. It’ll be easy to trick the horse into eating them, so long as Verdi doesn’t smell them before eating.
He holds out his hand to Verdi. For what has to be the first time, Verdi sniffs something before she eats it. And refuse to eat the sugar cubes.
“Fine, have a cold.”
“Let me try, Soph.” Sophie turns around quickly. Edaline and Grady shouldn’t be home anytime soon, and they aren’t. Instead, Wylie’s standing in the open barn door with a soft smile. Sophie would run to hug him if Verdi wouldn’t do the same. Never good to surprise a horse if she’s learned anything over the years.
“Wylie! When did you get in?”
“About an hour ago. Kind of last minute and I’ll have to leave again soon.” He takes the sugar cubes from Sophie and holds them out for Verdi. The traitor of a horse eats them. Sophie waves Wylie out of the stall and closes it behind them both. She leans against it, hands in her jeans front pockets.
“Why? What’s up?”
“Well, I have two plane tickets out of here and one hour until I gotta be at the airport. Two, you need to come with me.” Sophie pushes off the stall with his foot and walks out the barn door, Wylie following him out and closing the door behind him.
“I can’t leave here, Wylie, and I don’t know what you’d want me to leave for. If you need my help on a case, you shoulda just called.” Sophie pulls off her riding gloves. She’d planned to take Silveny out after Verdi, but if Wylie’s here, she’ll wait until he’s gone.
“Sophie, it's important. It’s—three years ago you got a letter.”
“You think I remember what was goin’ on three years ago?”
“Shut up and listen, Sophie. It had gold writing and it was slipped on your door. It was from the New York Public Library inviting you to work with them.” Sophie stops walking.
“How do you know about that?”
“I got the same letter. Now. Someone’s coming after you because of that letter. You’re not safe here, Sophie. You gotta come with me, now.”
“That’s ridiculous, Wylie. There ain't anything about me that anyone’d want me for. I can’t even get Verdi to take her medicine.”
“You’ve got to trust me here, Sophie. They already—”
A car pulling up the gravel driveway cuts Wylie off. Sophie sees him stiffen, trying to wave Sophie behind him. It’s ridiculous. Sophie can wrangle a bull with one pair of gloves and a rope, she can handle someone who’s probably just lost. Sophie starts to walk to the car. It looks pretty new.
Wylie grabs his wrist.
“Stop being stupid, Wylie.” She grabs her wrist back and walks to the drivers side of the car. He knocks on the window, the driver rolls it down. It’s a young man, black baseball cap with an eye on it pulled to cover most of his face. Wylie shifts, ready to move forward. Sophie throws him a look, telling him he better stay put.
“Are you Sophie Foster?”
“Sophie, step away—”
The young man smiles, Wylie’s panic saying very clearly, that this is Sophie Foster. The car door slams into Sophie’s gut. The young man springs out of the car and towards Sophie. Wylie tackles him to the ground.
“Sophie go! Get to the airport, I’ll meet you there.” Baseball Cap knees Wylie’s gut, pushing him off.
“Like hell I’m leaving you.”
She grabs a rope and ties a loop at the end. Wylie gets on his feet, Baseball Cap following him after. Wylie throws a kick that Baseball Cap dodges. Baseball Cap throws a kick that throws Wylie into the open front seat of the car. Baseball Cap drags him out by his feet, Wylie’s head hitting the car.
Sophie finishes the knot and twirls the rope over her head. He throws it forward, the loop wrapping around Baseball Caps waist. She yanks on it as hard as she can, sending Baseball Cap to the ground. Wylie’s up on his feet—swaying a bit—when Sophie gets over. He pulls the rope tight around Baseball Cap.
He kicks his legs around trying to get free from the rope. Wylie kicks his head hard enough to knock Baseball Cap out.
“How’d you do that?” Wylie pants. Sophie wraps Wylie’s arm over her shoulder, he puts his weight on her. He’ll be a bit wonky from that knock to the head for a while now. She leads Wylie to the other side of the car.
“Horses are ‘bout nine hundred pounds give or take. He was a walk in the park, Wyles.” She opens the door and deposits him in the passengers seat.
“Why am I in his car? Are you stealing his car?”
“Think of it as karma.”
Baseball Cap left his keys in the ignition. Apparently, even a skilled fighter can be stupid enough to make it so easy.
She peels out of the driveway as fast as the gravel will allow.
“So. You weren’t lyin’ when you said people would be after me, were ya, Wyles.” Sophie says. The panic started to set in. There are people after Sophie. People who were willing to come to the middle of bum-fuck Oklahoma to get her.
“I wasn’t. We need to get to the airport in town. It’s the small one. If you think you’re in the wrong place, you’re at the right place. I got a guy there.”
“You have a guy everywhere.”
“Part of the gig.”
“I’ll never understand your job.”
…
By the time the plane lands in New York, Wylie’s head has stopped swimming. He knows it’s going to take more to deal with a concussion, but that’s not something he has to worry about right now.
“So, where are we going?” Sophie asks. “I have to get back as soon as this is over, Grady and Edaline will be worried. I texted to tell them I was goin’ to be out of town for a while but still. I don’t want them worryin’.”
“The Library.”
“Do you know how little that narrows it down? I don’t know much about New York but I’ll bet it’s got more than one library.”
“The letter was inviting you to the New York Public Library, yeah?”
“What’s that got to do with this? And who was that? What the hell is going on and how did you get involved? How did I get involved? Photographic memory ain’t worth that much.”
“Because of what’s under that library. There’s another library under it, that’s the Library. It’s a place that holds magical artifacts.”
“That’s bullshit, Wylie, you knocked your head a bit too hard.”
“You’ll believe me when you see it.”
“Sure I will, Wyles.”
They’re silent until the plane lands, Sophie helping Wylie up and Wylie saying he doesn’t need her help. They’ve just gotten the door down the Fitz and someone Wylie assumes is Dex are running towards the plane.
“Move over! We have to go. Now!” He yells and he runs.
“Get the plane started again,” Wylie yells to the pilot. The engines start up, Sophie and Wylie getting back into their seats. Fitz and Dex make it onto the plane in just enough time, as it starts moving as soon as the plane starts up.
Something smacks the side of the plane. Hard. Everyone jumps except for Fitz.
“Well. Go to see you’ve got Sophie,” Fitz says, panting as his slips into his seat. He nods his head to Dex at his side. “I’ve got Dex.”
“I can see. Could you stop yelling?”
“Oh dear, you’ve gotten into another fight, haven’t you? You’ve got to stop doing that, Endal.”
“Pretty sure it’s my job, Librarian. Seriously, stop yelling, I’ve already got a headache.”
Fitz pulls something from his pocket. A glass vial of some green liquid. “You’re not a Guardian, Endal, it’s a mistake. Didn’t think the Library could make those, but here we are.” He hands Wylie the vial. “Drink that.”
Wylie raises his eyebrow. “…what is it? If that coin was bad too and magic, this can’t be much better.”
“Bathsheba’s Healing Oil. Only affects you if you drink too much, and that’s only if you call immortality a downside. I would, so do restrain yourself, Endal.” He turns to Sophie and holds out a hand. “Fitz Vacker, the Librarian. Nice to meet you, I’ll be keeping you alive for the next however long. Probably a few days. Maybe more. Always a bit iffy with this sort of thing though I don’t have much expirence with this sort of thing.”
Wylie downs the vial, his headache going away instantly along with the other bruises and aches he’s had since Alice Cartoff. He’ll have to keep this stuff on hand.
“That’s real reassuring, darlin’,” Sophie says, not at all reassured.
“I second that,” Dex chimes in. Xe turns to Wylie, who xe’s apparently deemed more reliable. “Does he have any actual way of protecting us, or did I come here on a bluff. Because if so, I’d very much like to head back to Portland. I was kind of doing something.”
“Oh, I do have to tell the pilot we’re headed to Portland. Be right back.”
“Then why’d we even come here!”
“The spell I used to track Mr Sencen only just worked once we got to New York.”
“Wait, say that again for me.”
But Fitz has already bounced to the pilots cabin to tell him. Wylie sighs. He can tell this is going to be a pattern with him.
“You know, he says that name like he knows it. Do ya think he knows this Sencen, Wyles?” Sophie shifts in his seat.
“Yeah, I do. I also think he isn’t the only one. Dex?”
Dex looks uncomfortable. Xe looks like xe’s going over how to answer this, a look Wylie’s seen a fair amount of times. Like xe’s weighing how bad a lie would end up for xem. Wylie almost thinks to tell xem he’d rather not deal with a lie right now.
“He’s an associate. We’ve, er, worked together before.” If possible, Dex looks even more uncomfortable. Wylie decides to try and ease that, if only for a little bit.
“So, what do you do for a living, Dex?”
Xe gains a wary look. “I work in technology. What about the both of you? I mean, I could find out but small talk, you know? Figured it’s better to ask and I should stop talking.”
“I work at an animal sanctuary, especially with the horses. Wylie here is a private eye.”
“Oh thank fuck,” Dex breathes. Xe visibly deflates into a more comfortable posture. “It was either that or a cop.”
“Why would you be worried about that?”
“Yeah, so, the technology I deal in is of the ‘defraud the rich and please god don’t tell the cops’ variant. I mean, I can get out of a jail cell but I am not good at it. I’m no thief. Well, I’m a thief but not that type of thief. Not my job.”
“The day I turn in an honest thief is the day I turn in one of my best helping hands.” Wylie laughs. “Technopath is the one keeping my business afloat. Was. I guess. Do I still work as a PI if I’m with the Library?”
“Yes, because you don’t work with the Library, Endal,” Fitz says, sitting next to Wylie. “Could I have the Oil, please?” Wylie hands it over. “Thank you.”
“Fitz, when we get Keefe, let me take the lead,” Dex says. “Even if he won’t follow you—which honestly, he probably will—he’ll listen to me.”
“And why is that, Dizznee? Sencen is my problem to deal with, not yours.”
“And Keefe’s my friend.” Dex falters before the word friend.
“I’m the Librarian, Dizznee, it’d be best to listen to me. I don’t need to protect you. I’ve done this by choice, and it’s a choice I can take back.”
“I’m fucking Technopath, Wonderboy, I don’t need your protection. I can get someone else just fine. I’d even bet Wylie here would rather go with me than you, seeing as I’m the one keeping his damn business afloat. Show some respect. I got the letter, same as you, you’re just lucky I didn’t show up, Librarian.”
Wylie can see Fitz’s temper—which must be short as all hell—start to flare.
“Dex is right, Fitz. If they work together, xe’s probably our best bet at getting Keefe to safety. And yes, we do have to protect these three, because as much as you hate it, I’m your Guardian. You don’t have a choice. If you have a problem with that, I really don’t care.”
“It’s not my job—”
“Like hell it isn’t! Your job is to protect people from artifacts or people using them, these people need protection. If you don’t do your job, I’ll do it for you.”
Fitz doesn’t calm down, but restrains himself.
“Fine. Dex, you take the lead with Sencen. I’m going to sit with the pilot.”
Wylie nods. Once Fitz is gone, Wylie turns to Dex with a smile.
“So, you’re Technopath?” Dex laughs nervously and scratches xyr neck. Sophie leans forward.
“What the hell are y’all talkin’ about?”
…
The last thing Fitz expected when Dex got Keefe on the plane, was for Keefe to throw Fitz a smile like nothing was wrong. Like they were just the stupid seventeen year olds drunk on summer nights and playing truth or dare. Fitz remembers that night like it was a thousand years ago, the next morning like it was yesterday.
Biana had been gone. Keefe didn’t pick up his phone when Fitz called. He spent a year panicking, waiting for them to come home. The next, his letter had come. Gold script that wrote itself as he read, inviting him to New York Public Library. To, as Elwin put it, a life of danger and glory. A life of happiness and heartbreak and protecting the world.
Fitz hasn’t been sure on spending his life for others, but he hadn’t wanted to go home.
“What’s going on here anyway. I get we’re in danger, but from what? People to scared to tell me they’re after me. The chase is no fun if you don’t know you’re running, yeah, Dex?” Keefe laughs, tossing an arm around xyr shoulders. Xe rolls xyr eyes but doesn’t pull away. Fitz pointedly ignores it. Keefe still sounds the same, narcissistic air to his voice, though Fitz knows half the time it’s faked. Same Australian accent he’s had since he moved in second grade.
He never wanted to learn an American one, neither did Fitz. Biana would always laugh about how stupid they both sounded.
“You and I have very different ideas of fun, Keefe.”
“You can’t tell me you don’t like the thrill of the chase. The danger of getting caught is what makes it fun. If it’s easy, it’s boring.”
“Not when they might actually getcha,” Sophie chimes in.
“They’re called the Neverseen,” Fitz says. He ignores Wylie’s scoff. “They want to use the magic of the Library for themselves.”
“Magic? I think you’ve lost your mind, Fitzy,” Keefe laughs. Fitz doesn’t have time for his jokes. He pulls the penknife from his jacket pocket and slices open the palm of his hand. Everyone yells some form of “oh my god, what the fuck”. Fitz doesn’t bother listening to their outrage, he just uncorks the vial of Bathsheba’s Healing Oil and swig. His hand heals instantly, holding it up for everyone on the plane to see.
Wylie’s face reads of “oh yeah, he has that” and “oh thank god, he has that”.
Everyone else is going rapidly through the five stages of grief, never really landing on acceptance. Fitz sighs.
“I know I sound bonkers, I thought this all was crazy when I first got my letter. But a script that color of gold doesn’t write itself, trust me, I checked. Magic is real, and I’m not crazy.”
“At least not in that respect, right?” Keefe says. Fitz pushes down the anger bubbling up. It’s going to be fine, they’ll all be gone as soon as he’s dealt with the Neverseen.
“Trust me. Follow me to the Library and I can show you a world full of misery and joy. Magic and reality intersecting in the weirdest, most beautiful ways. I can’t promise you a long time. I’m offering protection until what you need protecting from is gone and dealt with. Believe me or don’t, trust me, or don’t. But follow me, and learn to.”
They’re all quiet for a while then.
“Sounds like one hell of a deal,” Sophie says.
“Oh, believe me, Foster, it’s the best deal you’ll ever get.”
#monkey brain won my friends#librarians#kotlc#keefex#keefitz (eventually)#keefe x dex x fitz (eventually)#sophie foster with a southern accent >>>#(writing this made me realize how close i was to having a southern accent)#sophie foster#biana vacker#wylie endal#maruca chebota#god i can’t wait to put fitz in a time loop#*me creating this*#*cherry picks all my favorite episodes. hell to order*
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Roguish Women Part 49
Summary: Kate is an American who fled to Paris to escape her past life. Now she's dancing and playing the part of a courtesan at the Moulin Rouge. There she meets Tommy Shelby who thinks she can be useful in expanding his empire. But has he been blinded?
Part 49: Neither Kate nor Tommy can remain idle for very long.
//Sorry for such a delay. School has been so tough this semester but this week is finals so I'll be back to writing in no time. I think Helen's death really took the wind out of my sails too. I still haven't really gotten over it. I take celebrity deaths so badly.
But by the time Tommy had returned, however, his own bride had gone missing. Alice pointed him outside again, this time on the back patio. Grateful for some time alone with her, Tommy left the rowdy party inside.
Kate was sitting on a garden wall; her back was to the party as she overlooked Arrow House’s great lawns. Tommy shrugged off his coat and draped it over her arms.
The soft-touch of the fabric knocked her out of her own thoughts. “Did you find Alfie?”
“Yeah, he was out on the steps.” Tommy sat down next to her.
“Oh good. Mabel was sure he had gotten cold feet and ran.”
“He’s not going anywhere. Never thought I’d see that man in love. Guess I’ve seen it all now.”
Kate laughed softly and leaned into his side. Her eyes were still lingering over the grassy hills where grasshoppers chirped and a few owls surveyed hidden in their trees. “This place is bigger than the block I grew up on in Boston.” She remarked. “I’d always grown up wondering where those great outdoors were. Where there was almost nothing for miles and miles. You couldn’t see the end of it. I thought someday I’d go out west and maybe just disappear out there.”
“I would’ve joined you.” Tommy agreed. “I wanted to a cowboy when I was growing up.”
Kate smiled and tried to picture young Tommy Shelby pretending to be an outlaw. In a way, he had become one. They both had. “I guess the city isn’t so bad when you’ve got people you care about there. Still, it’s nice to know that there are places where city stuff doesn’t matter.”
Tommy knew there were things they could never escape. But there was no use destroying the illusion.
“I was thinking if we had a boy, we could name him after John.” Kate glanced over at her husband. “Arthur and I were talking about it. I guess we could nickname him Jack to make things easier. But I thought it would be a nice honor.”
Tommy nodded. “I think that’s a nice idea.” There was a hole in his heart that his younger brother had left. So many times, he was tempted to pick up the phone and call him. But then the realization trickled over him like cold water. Esme had taken many things but there were items Tommy still had. Letters and an old schoolbook that John had written all over. The binding was coming loose and the pages were yellowing, but Tommy would never throw it away. He had learned early on to keep little mementos of people before they were gone. He had nothing from his mother. No one did. It was almost like she never existed because there was no trace of her left. It was something he regretted and a mistake he wouldn’t make again.
He took Kate’s hand in his, squeezing it gently. “What we have girls?”
“Then one of them will be Jacquelyn.”
He chuckled. “You always have a plan for everything, don’t you?”
“Well, I learned from the best.” She murmured and pulled him close for a deep kiss.
~~~~~~~~~~
The day was warm as Kate stepped outside. But there were clouds coming in from the horizon. She took her time walking across the patio to the lawns. She went to stand on top of the hill that overlooked the rest of the fields on Arrow House’s land.
There, she could spot Tommy coming from the forest trails on Blue. He had the horse on a loose rein, letting him lope across the grass. May had told Kate it was a miracle the gelding responded so well to Tommy. According to May, the horse had a fiery temper but that didn’t seem to bother Tommy in the slightest. Kate had a feeling he enjoyed the challenge. She knew he’d been itching for something to do. Between being on holiday and waiting for the due date, Tommy was getting stir-crazy. Having a young horse to focus on training was good enough of a distraction. At least for the time being.
Blue’s hooves were heavy against the ground as he trotted up the gradual hill to Kate.
“I thought I’d find a cowboy out here.”
Tommy chuckled and dismounted. “Were you waiting for me long?”
“No, I just came out. I was worried you were going to get caught in that storm coming.”
Tommy took Blue’s reins in hand and began walking with Kate back to the stables. “A little rain doesn’t bother me.”
“Well, I didn’t want Blue to be spooked. I think it might thunder.”
He patted the gelding’s shoulder. “He’ll learn to get used to the noises. Warhorses always get used to the noises.”
Kate noticed the faraway look in his eyes. “I hardly think Blue would be a warhorse. Deserves a better life than that, don’t you think?”
“Hm.” He nodded but didn’t seem to really hear her.
~~~~~~~~~~~
The sky had gone completely dark by the time they reached the stables. Tommy got Blue untacked while Kate combed out his mane. But the horse was starting to pick up on the storm brewing. His nostrils flared and he tossed his head.
“Sh, sh, easy.” Kate soothed and stroked his neck. “It’s alright.”
Tommy took Blue off the cross ties. “He’ll settle in his stall.”
Kate put the mane comb away and wandered to the stable doors. In an instant, it began to pour. Heavy raindrops smattered against the gravel walkway back to the house. The wind picked up and rushed through the budding trees.
Every time it rained; Kate felt washed over with memories. She didn’t know why the weather had such an impact on her. But there was only so much she could do when the sky was putting on such a violent display.
Tommy wrapped an arm around her waist. “Guess we’ll be stuck here for a bit.”
“It’ll go as soon as it came.” She said quietly.
“Want to sit?”
“Oh, yes, that would be a good idea.” Sometimes when she was lost in her thoughts, she forgot the burden of carrying twins.
Tommy grabbed a stool from the tack room to let her sit. Kate sighed and watched some of the rainwater trickling into the stable aisle.
As if reading her mind, Tommy slid the doors shut. The rain was muffled and mixed with the sound of the horses stirring in their stalls. Blue poked his head out, snorting uneasily.
“Y’know, it rained one of the last few days I was at the Moulin Rouge,” Kate said. If they were going to be stuck in the stables until the rain ebbed, she figured it would be a good idea to talk. “And I realized that sometimes the worst comes before the good.”
Tommy sat down on a bale of hay next to her. “I’ve found that too.”
She smiled. “So maybe with all we’ve been through so far, it opens us up for happiness the rest of our lives.”
“Kate, I want nothing more than for you to be happy.”
“I know, so I guess I…” She chewed on her lip. “I don’t want to sound like an awful person saying this, but I don’t want to lie to you either.”
Tommy reached over to lift her chin. “Tell me.”
“I hope that during this holiday you’re taking, you’ll realize there’s more to life than clawing your way to the top.” Kate took his hand in hers. “I hope you’ll see that maybe you were destined for better things. You said how you wanted to work with horses. You have plenty of money to just do that. To retire and-” Her voice faded when she realized she was losing him.
His blue eyes were steady on their entwined hands. “I can’t stay still, Kate.” He whispered. “Not since the war. If I stay still, if I stop moving forward…everything catches up to me.”
Kate understood completely. When she was running from Santo all those years, she never felt safe in one spot. Physically or psychologically. If she kept moving, she felt she was steps ahead of her opponents. Steps ahead of the turmoil she’d left behind. If she kept moving, she could forget about her mother’s death. She couldn’t ask Tommy to stand still and let it all catch up to him.
“I understand.”
Tommy brought her hand to his lips, gently kissing her knuckles. “It’ll be alright.” He promised. “The holiday will be fine. We’ll be busy soon enough.”
Kate smiled but felt a little deflated. If only there was something she could do to help her husband. But it felt impossible.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
The rain let up just enough for Tommy and Kate to hurry back to the house. Thunder rumbled across the sky and the wind tore across the countryside with a vengeance. Kate didn’t like to think she was superstitious, but she was getting an ominous feeling that she couldn’t shake.
The windowpanes rattled after dinner from the thunder that was still getting closer. Kate retired to bed before Tommy but she couldn’t sleep. Instead, she paced by the windows. There wasn’t much to see outside. It was too dark and raining too hard. But Kate she could see shadows on the lawns. A chill ran up her spine when a crack of lightning flashed across the sky.
She gasped when she swore that she could see a menacing figure standing outside. In her panic and fear, her brain conjured up an image of Santo. The floorboards behind her creaked and she couldn’t help but let out a scream.
“Hey, hey, what’s wrong?” Tommy turned on the light and rushed over to her.
So startled, Kate began to cry.
“What’s wrong?” He pulled her close.
“I’m just s-so scared, Tom.”
“There’s nothing to be afraid of, love, I would never let anything bad happen to you.” Tommy kissed her temple and rubbed her back. “What spooked you?”
But Kate was too petrified to answer. Every roll of thunder and every flash of lightning made her shake. She couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched. “I-I’m just scared.” It was scarce, the number of times Kate admitted to being afraid of anything. No one needed to know her fears. If they did, she was certain they would just use those fears against her. Some sort of manipulative tool. But there were times, like in that moment, she couldn’t contain her anxiety. There was no telling why, but so many things were coming up to the surface that night. Perhaps she had remained idle for too long as well.
Permanent Tag: @papa-geralt-of-cirilla @biba3434 @kimmietea @enrapturedbythemoon @vampgirl1997 @tarafaithe @evelynshelby
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#peaky blinders fanfiction#ofc#ofcs#OC#ocs#tommy shelby#peaky blinders#tommy shelby fanfiction#fanfiction#cililan murphy#cillian murphy character#season 4#season 5#tommy shelby x oc#tommy shelby x ofc
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Okayokay,, ive been thinkindg about the things Arthur would write about on his journal and like imagine all the cute shit hed say about his s/o?? And imagine the f r e a k y very nsfw shit hed also say about them there im aksnndd
THE ONLY THING I THINK ABOUT these are now: headcanons
SFW!Journal Headcanons
• He writes about you as soon as he gets home from meeting you, he even tries really hard to draw a picture of you to keep you in his memory, albeit it crude and “does you no justice,” according to himself. He writes about your hair length, the way your hair curled a bit from the rain, your cupid’s bow, the umbrella you were holding, you were borderline ethereal to him. A lot of it had to do with how nice you were to him upon meeting him as a stranger; Gotham was full of unkind people that never failed to harass him daily. You, however, were not only kind but attractive.
• You were naturally a chatterbox, talking to strangers about the weather to individuals who looked generally harmless, opting to say hello to old women and passing youth, and that included Arthur when you met in the elevator in your new building: his building. You noted the rain as you wrapped up a compact umbrella, unlocking your mailbox adjacent to his, which was full of letters from who or wherever while his looked lonely as an empty home. He decides you are the only good person in Gotham. The crush is almost immediate.
• The next few times you meet, you intitiate conversation as usual, unlocking your little mailbox, fidgeting with your gloves forever and clumsily dropping things from your pockets. He grows confident to start intiating conversation with you after some time, saying hello and complimenting your new raincoat. He pinpoints every topic in his journal. He eventually makes a timeline about when you two talked and about what, important things you mentioned about yourself, and what you were wearing, usually next to a strange sketch of you wearing that outfit. Sometimes, he’d write what he imagined you to be wearing underneath it. On many pages, there was your first name with “Fleck” following after it and cut out engagement rings that cost four times his rent (amythyst rings since you mentioned how much you enjoyed the color).
• He has a list of things you mentioned you liked, compiling things into categories like foods, restaurants, hang-out spots, shopping areas, and more. If you, in a faraway fantasy, ever wanted to let him take you on a date, he’d fantasize about reserving a little booth in your favorite sushi restaurant and treating you to something you’d genuinely enjoy. Arthur wants to make you happy. You don’t notice, too busy conversating with the service and clerks, that Arthur sometimes happens to also get coffee at 6am in the café shoppe some ways away from your shared building and even if you did, your kindness would tell you a man with a yellow coat had almost exactly the same schedule and regular spots as you, not farfetched at all.
• When you struggle with some groceries, he helps you and enters your apartment, which you tried very hard to spiffy up despite the cheap, worn building, putting out nice, obviously new matching furniture and the newest TV you won in a sweepstakes recently (“Luvs taking chanzes & oportunatees!!!” He wrote in his “what I like abowt them” category next to a plethora of hearts). He drank in your neatness and the obvious scent of your subtle body mist in the apartment. You invite him to stay for a cup of coffee and a snack as a thank you.
He writes that he thinks he loves you in his journal that night.
• After the two of you make it official, after some time beating around the bush, trying to decipher who would ask the other to make it official first, every single page has a mention of you. Some of the pages are even full of just content of you, some of dreams about you, some stories about a vacation he’d want to go on with you one day, and just thoughts and observations about you. You are his first shot at love and his first shot at genuine happiness; he’s a bit obsessed with you if anything in an odd and endearing way. Out of respect, you don’t inquire about his journal and refuse to sift through it. You think his creative outlet is adorable and gift him with pens and stickers to decorate his Joke Book with and the next day, it’s covered in the silly animal stickers you got him.
NSFW!Journal Headcanons
• The day he meets you fantasizes about you. There are pornographic cutouts from magazines with various sex positions, a number of them accumulated on a page called “what id do with her,” sticky with glue stick remnants and a number of couples making love. He even goes so far as to masturbate to the thought of you the night he met you, driving him further into his desires.
• As you two grew closer as acquaintances, he begins to write stories about you, about him walking into his apartment to find you wanton, pleading for his love and affections, for his eternal devotion. There are pictures of numerous expensive lingerie numbers glued next to it, under various titles such as “our 1st time,” “our weding nite,” and so on. You are a walking trial of lust to him. By this point, he strokes himself to the thought of you nightly, sometimes more than once, just to push the ache away, only for the feeling to come crawling back.
• When the two of you get together as a couple, you don’t inch toward the journal out of respect for him. You recall a diary you had when you were young that your father sifted through, the thought of someone reading your inner workings drove you mad, but, if the journal was open, you’d sometimes read a snippet. When you read one of his fantasies about you, you blushed bright red and did your best not to bring it up. It was endearing he thought of you that way but you weren’t in the right headspace to share your body with him; you were traditional in a sense.
• However, when you two grow intimate, you sneak one of his dirty scenarios in, the one where he imagined you waking him up to the sight of you with a mouthful of his cock, before a particularly lengthy shift, start his morning off right. Still a beginner, as soon he saw it, he came all over your face. He was vaguely embarrassed and smiled shyly as you grinned back cheekily, dressed up for work and chimed a sweet, “Have a good day at work, dear.” When you leave a minute later, after wiping the cum from your face and putting your shoes on, he’s still sitting there, wondering if you’re a figment of his imagination months later, after all, everything you do is almost a dream to him.
#arthur fleck x reader#arthur fleck#arthur fleck x you#Joker (2019)#arthur fleck imagine#arthur fleck scenario#arthur fleck headcanons#nana writes
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French Musical Recommendations/review (Part 2)
I should have mentioned in part 1 but I don't speak French (well a bit but not enough to understand the lyrics unless I’m reading it or something) so if the lyrics aren’t that good my bad I honestly wouldn’t know,
Also this is in no particular order, I don't think all the shows mentioned in part 1 are better than the ones mentioned here, there will be a part 3 at some point
1789 Les amantes de la Bastille: I think this may be my second or third (ties with Mozart) favourite French musical based solely on soundtrack, it’s about the siege of the Bastille and the days leading up to it with a focus on two lovers Ronan a revolutionary and Olympe Marie Antoinette’s children’s governess (the actress who played Olympe was also Guinevere in roi Arthur musical), my favourite songs are “Sur ma peau” and “La rue nous apparent” it is available in full on YouTube, IMPORTANT: This show has two endings, I don’t want to spoil so perhaps skip what I’m about to write though I will try to be vague: the scene before the song “fixe” at the end, the two characters switch place mattering on which version your watching, one version was done towards the start of the run and late 2013 they seemed to have made the change, the full version uploaded and the dvd have the original ending (I personally prefer the original but the other is not bad as well). also in 2012 when the show was staring with the showcase costumes are really different and you’ll find Ronan is played by Matthieu Carnot who plays Lazare in the full production later on instead because he had vocal issues resulting in getting replaced and given a more minor role (I think he’s great in his new role though, “Maniaque” is a bop)
Non-music: I have yet to see it in full but from clips the lighting is great and really adds to the songs and emotions, the story is pretty straightforward but nice, and the choreography is good from what I’ve seen, also for a “historical” show the costumes aren’t that bad, I would assume not accurate but a good balance of inaccurate and historical looking enough
Japanese Toho ver. (1789 バスティーユの恋人たち) 2016 clips are available on YouTube, the costumes in this version is fun, it’s non-replica but they really went off on Olympe’s costume, I will be honest a little bit sad about Ronan’s yellow jacket being replaced with a dark blue, also one of the Ronan actors (Olympe, Ronan and Marie-Antoinette are double casted) looks too old, especially compared to other Ronan actor who really has the young energetic vibe about him (though if memory serves me correctly his sur ma peau was strangely annoying to listen to)
Takarazuka ver. 2015, clips are available on YouTube if Japanese title along with “宝塚“ is added in search
Notre-Dame de Paris: a musical based on Victor Hugo’s novel of the same name, it is different from the Disney musical, this is another popular French show, if you like Romeo et Juliette you’ll probably like this, it can found in full on YouTube along with different translations/adaptions, I won’t go to in depth on different version on here like I did for R+J but if your interested the Wikipedia page is quite detailed and can tell you about all the casts and cast recording available, I have yet to watch it in full but so far I think Belle and Le temps des cathédrales are my favourite songs (quite basic I know), it’s one of those shows you can’t go wrong with, from the parts I’ve watched and listened I think it could become one of my favourite shows
Non music: From the bits I’ve seen the wall backdrop is really cool, It has nooks and platforms that appear and disappear and it’s just really cool looking, WARNING, this is a bit of the spoiler so maybe don't read what I’m about to write but if you’ve read the book its not that much of a spoiler but there is a hanging scene at the end so if that imagery is something your sensitive to please be wary, it’s at the end (on the YouTube video of the full original show its from 2:03:42-2:03:54)
Don Juan: I love this show (I strangely found parts funny and a bit cheesy which is why I liked it), It’s pretty much about a man Don Juan who is a know heartbreaker who is only into sex drinking and having fun but no love, he then falls in love with a woman, shocker, and conflicts arise from there, honestly I don’t see a lot of content for this show but I think it’s fun, the dancing is primarily flamenco (music is heavily inspired by the dance as well) and it’s impressive, the singing is great, the full show is available on YouTube, my favourite songs are probably “Les fleurs du mal” and “Jalousie,” It opened in Montreal originally then went to Paris, the full show is available on YouTube (I think the Paris version) and there is also a full 3 and half hour behind the scenes video of the Paris production online, from what I can tell up till the symphony version of 2019 Don Juan and his love Maria has been consistently played by Jean-François Breau and Marie-Ève Janvier (obviously there were understudies and such) the actors are also married/were dating during the show which adds to it when you see them perform together
Non-Music: a character described with black hair in the song chorus is blonde/brunette and I thought that was hilarious, some strange choreography with Don Juan especially in Jalousie, he walks up and down stage and it’s awkward, aside from weird parts in general the costumes are ok (gets better in later productions), the set is plain but with some fun props, I think the dancing is probably one of the highlights along with the live band present on stage for certain songs (photo from Quebec 2013 production)
Don Juan (Théâtre St-Denis) 2004 Montreal, also had Canada tour after its Montreal premier in Feb.
France Tour 2005 Palais des Congrès à Paris performance recording and behind the scenes is available on YouTube
Korean Tour 2006, the French cast touring, non-costume concert versions and actual performance clips are available on Youtube
Korean Cast, 2009 (March~) (뮤지컬 돈 주앙) separate from the tour which was the French cast touring this is an all Korean cast, act 1 and 2 can be found on YouTube (video called “돈쥬앙 1막“ and “돈쥬앙 2막“) though it seems to cut around so It’s like a pieced together version of the acts, other clips are also available, it is a replica production
2012 revival Montreal, from what I read it only had 10 performances? and with it released a cd with new recordings, “nous on veut de l'amour“ and “L'amour Est Plus Fort“
Grand Théâtre de Québec 2013 (August 9-18), you could call this a continuation to the revival in Montreal
Takarazuka ver. 2016 (June+July) (ドン・ジュアン) the page is still up on the takarazuka website for this production, there’s a ad with clips from the show available on niconico (should come up if you search the title in jp and add takarazuka in jp) also this version Don Juan is strangely more touchy with his friend, not mad guess it adds a new tension to the plot, non replica production though it is quite similar to the French one, they don’t stray too far
Don Juan Symphonique 2019 (Feb 12-16): At the Montreal Symphony House they had a concert version with the original cast (or at least the original Don Juan and Maria), along with the OSM (Orchestre Symphonique de Montréal)
Japanese ver. 2019 (August/September + December) it’s non-replica, there’s a trailer for it online but it only features Don Juan, I found blog posts about it but currently while I write this it’s late so perhaps I’ll update with more info later, maybe not
Moscow Concert 2020 (March 17-22) (Дон Жуан or Don Juan) This is still in French with a French cast but this time the leads are no longer the original, Laurent Ban is now Don Juan, supposedly according to a Russian video it was meant to go on tour after Moscow (State Kremlin Palace) but I’m assuming the issue with the virus changed plans, I’m surprised they were going to go on world tour I honestly think it’s not true, the interview with cast can be found on YouTube with bits of songs, however the Russian concert advertisement is only a recording from the 2005 French, from what I can tell it is a replica, I believe it was cancelled before the premier due to Covid-19
The research for this show took me all day, maybe if I was fluent in French it would have been faster, if I’m wrong in parts feel free to comment and correct me and I’ll edit it
Les Trois Mousquetaires: Not to be mistaken with the Broadway/Westend show of the same name and base material from 1928 with the revival in the 80′s or the other three musketeer musical at the North Shore theatre in 2007 (the one with Aaron Tveit and Kevyn Morrow), or the other musical by George Stiles and Paul Leigh, this is an entirely separate 2016-2017 musical that follows the general plot of the literature it’s based on though simplified, it’s ok, not great but not the worst, I probably would rank it lower than roi Arthur, I will admit I haven’t listened to the full show, it’s quite catchy, my favourite song so far is probably “Je t’aime c’est tout,” there is a showcase concert in full, music videos and official soundtracks available on YouTube but I would advise checking out the live versions, the ensemble backing parts are really great and they get cut out in the recording versions which really cheapens the songs for me, In general ok show, really not the best but has its highlights (like the four lads relationship is fun to watch, dancing is great, singing is good),
Non-Music: Athos the oldest of the 3 musketeers is actually the youngest actor though he is a few year older than the D’Artagnan actor, It’s minor I guess but I didn’t realise who Athos was until looking up the cast list and was shocked, Also Athos really doesn’t sing because Brahim Zaibat who plays him is a dancer, despite this his dancing skills really add to the fight sequences making them very impressive and fun to watch, it’s more concerty in style and a bit interactive with the audience, from what I can tell the sets seem plain and the costumes are really awful (in my opinion) like Athos’ shirt is so revealing to the point he might as well not wear a shirt, also Constance’s outfit is just a no for me
#1789 les amants de la bastille#notre dame de paris#les trois mousquetaires#the three musketeers#Don juan#musical theatre#French musicals#takarazuka#musicals#theatre#rambling
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fic: between heaven, the sky, the earth
The Haunting of Bly Manor
Dani/Jamie
Chapter 3/10
Read on AO3 Here! Or you can continue into the Read More.
Summary: Jamie goes between one moment, and the next. Falling around her like rain, like snow.
She’s here for a reason. Here to help.
She just needs to remember.
Chapter Three: dearly departed
But even when one is dead and gone
It still takes two to make a house a home
Well I'm as lonesome as the catacombs
I hear you call my name but no one's there
- The Shakey Graves, "Dearly Departed"
February 2001
"I think this is what you're looking for, Mrs. Clayton."
A plain clamshell box was placed gingerly in front of Jamie, the cardboard corners worn from being pushed and pulled to and fro a shelf for years. The archivist, a young blond woman with round-framed glasses, opened it carefully, and thumbed through the files. She glanced at Jamie, smiling uncertainly.
"It's not a lot," she said. "400 year old papers are fragile, and well, it's a miracle some of these have survived this long. We don't have the same kind of money for conservation as the big places. But this is what we have of the Lloyd papers."
"Right," Jamie stared at the box, apprehension brewing in her belly. She flexed her fingers against the foldable plastic table the archivist had set up for her, wedged in a corner of the tiny museum office. "So, have I got to wear gloves or something?"
"Oh, yes!" the archivist produced a pair of white cotton gloves, and laid them on the table next to box. "Now, these papers have survived pretty well, but they are fragile."
"Should I be worried about them crumbling in my hands?" Jamie asked.
"Nothing like that," the archivist shrugged. "They could tear though. Just be careful."
"Will do." Jamie pulled the gloves on.
"If you need anything, I'll be just over here," the archivist said, indicating the desk in the opposite corner.
"Thank you."
The archivist nodded, and made her way over to sit at her desk, sparing one last curious glance at her visitor. Jamie got the impression that this little museum and archives, hidden as it was in a tiny village in Devon, didn't really get all that many researchers. Especially ones specifically asking to see the papers of one Arthur Lloyd, whose trail she had been following like a dog with a bone for three months now.
She had started with one name - Viola. A Viola who had lived - and died - at Bly Manor, at some point in its long, dark past. It had seemed an impossibly thin lead, so she had called up Henry Wingrave, hoping he knew something of the history of his country home. He hadn't, not really, and Jamie was left to wonder if this was a fool's errand.
Until Flora had called.
"Uncle Henry said you were looking into the history of Bly Manor," she had said. "Specifically someone called Viola?"
"Yeah," Jamie had replied. "But he didn't know anything."
"No, he's not one for history," Flora had chuckled. "But that name sounded familiar. So I went looking through some of my old things, and guess what!"
"Flora."
"I have an old grave rubbing with that name on it! First name, last name, birth and death dates."
"Flora," Jamie had nearly dropped the phone in her excitement. "That's amazing!"
"I can send you a picture by e-mail?"
Jamie had blanched. "Can't you just tell me what it says?"
"Luddite."
And that conversation had led her to Viola Lloyd, born 1645, died 1680, who had lived at Bly Manor for the entirety of her short life, and had died and been buried there. From there, she was able to visit the local parish records office, and find a marriage record between one Arthur Lloyd and Viola Willoughby, in 1674. There hadn't been much else on Viola, but there was another marriage record for Arthur Lloyd, seven years later, to a Perdita Willoughby.
Scandalous.
Perdita had died too, according to the death record Jamie had found in the same Parish office. Plus, there had been a christening for a Lloyd baby in 1675, though the child's first name had been rendered illegible by the intervening years.
That had been it for the Parish records, but Jamie had something else now. Arthur Lloyd. A merchant, according to his marriage records. Born somewhere around 1640, but not buried at Bly Manor, or in the Parish cemetery. He'd probably left after the death of his second wife, then. But to where?
And that was the question that had led Jamie here, to this tiny museum. It hadn't been easy, and Jamie wasn't a natural researcher. But she was smart, and determined, and when the man at the National Archives had informed her he couldn't find any primary sources on Arthur Lloyd in the collection, but had found an obscure reference to a merchant named Lloyd in a book written in 1973 about the history of a little farming community in South Devon, well. Jamie had followed the lead, and been rewarded for her efforts.
Gingerly, she pulled out the first file, and flipped it open. The papers inside were yellowed, the handwriting looping and nearly impossible to read. Jamie sighed, glanced at the archivist again, and pulled her reading glasses out of her jacket pocket.
"I love when you wear those," Dani said from the other side of the table, resting her cheek on one hand, gazing at Jamie adoringly.
"I've had 'em for two years," Jamie replied, eyes scanning the pages in the front of her. "Thought you'd be used to it by now."
"You look so cute with them on."
"They make me feel old."
This file seemed to be mostly pages from Lloyd's ledgers, listing his business dealings, his trading in tobacco and spices and fine linens. Jamie's brow knotted together in concentration as she made her way through the rest of the pages.
"All good over here?"
Jamie looked up at the archivist, who stood in the spot Dani had been sitting, moments before.
"All good," she said. "I'll, uh, probably be a while, yeah?"
"Oh, of course!" The archivist smiled. "We're open until five. You're welcome to stay until then if you need to."
"Thanks," Jamie said, and took the next files from the box, wordlessly dismissing the archivist.
"You could be nicer," Dani chided from behind her.
"I'm busy," Jamie replied.
"She's just trying to be helpful."
Jamie sighed, and leaned forward, adjusting her glasses.
This file was more of the same, for the most part. And the next one was a deed to a cottage just outside the little village, as well as a few household expenses. Jamie tried not to feel frustrated.
"I don't even know what I'm looking for," she said, placing the file back in the box, and pulling the next one out.
"You'll know when you find it," Dani replied, voice more distant than it had been before.
Jamie paused, and looked back at Dani, who stood against the wall, smiling encouragingly. There was something off about her, and it took Jamie a moment to understand.
"You're fading," she said.
Dani blinked, and tilted her head, a frown appearing on her face. Confusion flashed through her eyes, and she glanced around, then focused back on Jamie
"Jamie," she said. "Where-?"
And she was gone.
Jamie's shoulders slumped, and she turned back to her table. The file in front of her was thicker than the others, and Jamie was extra careful opening it. Her eyes widened slightly as she took in the first page.
"Here we go," she whispered to herself.
Letters. Dozens of letters, spanning just as many years, from one Jonathan Lloyd, Vicar in Essex, to his brother Arthur, Merchant in Devon. As Jamie read through them, taking notes on a little notepad she'd brought, a puzzle began to take shape. So many pieces were missing, but there was a solid outline, as Jonathan asked after Arthur's ill wife, Viola; solemnly comforted him at her death; congratulated him on his second marriage; counselled him on his money problems; offered advice and support as Arthur decided to move away from Bly Manor; lamented how fast children grow as Arthur's daughter married a man called Norton.
A sound from behind her; someone shifting against the wall. A rustle of fabric, the squelch of mud against the floor, and a few drops of water hitting wood.
"Do you remember?" Jamie asked, not turning around. "Do you remember him?"
Wet footsteps moved forward, stopping right behind Jamie's right shoulder. A water droplet hit her notebook, and Jamie caught a glimpse of long black hair from the corner of her eye, as Viola leaned forward.
"His name was Arthur," Jamie continued. "He was your husband."
A low, guttural keening bubbled up from the woman at Jamie's shoulder, soft at first, but growing louder. Jamie whipped her head around, eyes widening as she saw the woman leaning over her shoulder. Her face was different than before, more human. Still no eyes, but the outline of her nose and brow was stronger, her mouth less a hole in her face as lips were now visible. A hand clutched at Jamie's shoulder as the keening reached a crescendo, and Jamie reeled from the rush of anguish that followed it. Memories of love and happiness, followed by betrayal and anger and bitterness, flitting through her as her vision turned black.
---------------------
May 1995
The hand on Jamie's shoulder made her jump, and she nearly knocked the pan off the stove as she turned around. Dani shot her an amused smile, letting her hand slide down Jamie's arm. Her other arm wrapped around Jamie's waist, as she pressed herself against her fiancée and chuckled.
"Jumpy this morning?" She asked, leaning in to kiss Jamie on the cheek and rest her chin on her shoulder. "Mmm, bacon?"
"And eggs, and sausages, and beans, and mushrooms, and tomatoes, and toast." Jamie grinned that cocksure grin that Dani loved. "You're getting a full English this morning."
"You already had me full of English last night," Dani said, nuzzling under Jamie's ear.
Jamie groaned. "That was terrible. That doesn't even make sense."
"I'm loopy," Dani defended herself. "Because I love you. And I'm going to marry you."
"Oh?" Jamie put the spatula down, and turned in Dani's arms. She settled her arms on Dani's shoulders, and leaned in for a kiss.
"You'll burn the bacon," Dani mumbled against her lips, smiling, even as her fingers slipped beneath Jamie's shirt, skirting along her hips.
"You like burnt bacon," Jamie replied, dotting kisses along Dani's jaw.
"Do I?" Dani pulled back, eyebrow raised. "Or is it the only kind of bacon you know how to make?"
"Dani," Jamie whined, as Dani took a step back, a smirk on her face.
"I don't think I should distract you right now," Dani said, voice light. "You have to concentrate on not burning the apartment down."
"That's not fair!" But Jamie was already turning back to her pan, realizing that, indeed, the bacon was in danger of burning. Beside her, Dani poured herself a cup of coffee.
"Do you need my help?" She asked, taking a sip.
"No, no." Jamie waved her away. "You go sit down. I'm making you breakfast."
"Whatever you say," Dani said, shrugging and making her way over to the kitchen island. She sat down on the other side, hands encircling her coffee mug as she watched Jamie move around the kitchen.
"This is literally the only thing I know I can make well," Jamie said. She paused, and her voice was quiet for her next words. "My Dad used to make it for us, when he was home, rare as that was."
"I didn't know that,' Dani said, voice soft and careful.
Jamie hummed. "He used to burn the bacon too."
"Well," Dani tapped her fingers against her mug. "Maybe burnt bacon isn't so bad."
Jamie shot her a grin, and the couple lapsed into comfortable silence. Dani drank her coffee, enjoying the sight of Jamie working, the smell of sizzling food, and the warm feeling in the kitchen.
"Do you want to have a ceremony?" Dani asked suddenly.
Jamie turned around, eyebrows raised. "A ceremony?"
"Like, a wedding," Dani said. "I know it wouldn't be…legally binding, or whatever. But we could still have a ceremony. Invite the people we love, eat some cake, have a party."
Jamie turned back to the stove, falling quiet for a moment, absently stirring the mushrooms.
"Do you want that?" She asked.
Dani swallowed, smile dropping. She looked into her coffee for a moment, then shook herself.
"We don't need it," she said, the smile returning. "But we should go on a honeymoon."
"A honeymoon, eh?" Jamie had begun plating, and with a final, careful placement of some very unburnt bacon, she turned and brought breakfast over to Dani. "I like the sound of that."
"Yeah." Dani pulled her stool forward, picking up her fork. "Yeah! We could go to Paris."
"And never leave the hotel room?" Jamie waggled her eyebrows.
Dani laughed. "We have to at least see Owen."
"Oh, well," Jamie leaned forward on her elbows. "I suppose we can do that."
"And then spend the rest of the time in the hotel room." Dani said, taking a bite of the baked beans.
Jamie laughed, and Dani's eyes crinkled at the edges as she laughed with her.
"Oh." Jamie sighed, her smile fading as she gazed at Dani. "I was an idiot today, wasn't I?"
Dani frowned. "What?" She asked around a mouthful of beans.
"I wish I had said yes," Jamie said. "To a ceremony. To a party. To a wedding. With you."
"Jamie," Dani breathed, slowly lowering her fork.
"I know we called each other wife after this," Jamie said, reaching forward and grasping Dani's hand. "And I know when civil unions came about we got one. But we never celebrated, did we?"
Dani's eyes shone, and she clutched Jamie's hands between her own, tightly. "It didn't matter," she said softly. "The rings-"
"Enough for me, if they're enough for you?" Jamie turned Dani's hand over, running her thumb over the claddagh ring on her finger, the one that matched her own. She lifted it to her lips, and kissed it, shutting her eyes as tears ran down her cheeks.
"And they were, Jamie," Dani whispered fiercely. "You were enough for me, always enough for me."
"And you for me." Jamie opened her eyes. "But the truth is, the more time went on, the more I thought about it, the more I wished I had said yes to a celebration. I wished I could have stood up in front of our friends, and our family, and committed to always being there for you, to loving you."
"Flora could have been a bridesmaid," Dani said, a light smile on her lips.
"Owen could have been my best man," Jamie grinned. "Or I'd ask him to walk me down the aisle. I can't decide which one he would freak out about more."
Dani gasped. "Miles could bring his boyfriend!"
"Oh, yes, except," Jamie titled her head. "They weren't together yet, when this happened."
"Right," Dani nodded. "Miles wasn't even out yet, poor kid. But maybe if we'd done it when we got the civil union."
Jamie pointed at her. "The smart one, as usual." She glanced towards the windows, covered in plants. "I could do the flowers."
"You'd want to do your own flowers?"
"Who else could I trust to get it right?"
Dani laughed, clear and bright as a bell.
"I would have liked planning a wedding this time," she said. "If it were with you."
"I'd have helped more, for one thing," Jamie replied, tucking a strand of hair behind Dani's ear.
"That's true."
Jamie gazed at her for a moment, before her expression became more distant, eyes looking past Dani.
"They legalized gay marriage in the Netherlands, you know?" She said. "In April."
"They did?" Dani asked, eyes widening slightly.
"Yeah," Jamie nodded. "And there's talk in Canada. And other countries. It's happening, Dani. If we'd just-if you'd just-"
"If we'd had a little more time," Dani whispered, hands gripping Jamie's painfully tight. "Jamie, I'm so-"
"Don't," Jamie stopped her, a warning in her voice. "Don't apologize."
"But-"
"No."
Dani's brow was furrowed, staring at Jamie as though something about her was confusing her.
"This is strange," she muttered. "Something is…wrong."
"It's just a memory," Jamie said, dropping her gaze to their joined hands. "It's not even real. What did you say the kids called it? Dream hopping. This is all just my memory."
Dani shook her head. "But this is…there's something weird."
"It's ok, Dani." Jamie kissed her fingers again. "It's just a memory."
Dani continued to stare, blue eyes darting between Jamie's green ones. She was fading away, even as Jamie watched her, and Jamie found herself desperately holding on.
"Wait," she said, voice breaking. "Please don't - don't go. Not yet. I like this one. Can we just stay here for a bit? It's not enough time, I haven't had enough time."
"There's never enough time, is there?"
Dani was gone, but from the seat beside her vacated one, Viola Lloyd gazed sadly at Jamie.
She looked different, again. Still not completely human, hair and dress still damp. She had eyes now, though they were clouded over, and the rest of her face was unnaturally smooth, like a mannequin in a store front. She heaved a heavy sigh, eyes trailing back to where Dani had sat moments before.
"You took her from me," Jamie whispered, tears spilling over.
"I did," Viola said. Her voice was scratchy, disused. "Before her time. It was the same with me, I think."
Jamie opened her mouth to retort angrily, but caught herself. This isn't why you're here, she thought sternly. Closing her eyes for a moment, she steadied herself against the counter, and breathed in, out and in again.
"You were sick," she said finally, opening her eyes, her voice carefully even.
"Yes," Viola replied, turning her face towards Jamie. "Very sick. I should have died, really. But I didn't. I held on. Stubborn."
"You didn't want to leave your husband," Jamie said.
"No," Viola shook her head. "It wasn't fair. I had fought so hard for the life I had. And there it was, slipping through my fingers, like sand in an hourglass."
"You wanted more time with him."
"Not just him." Viola's brow furrowed. "There were others. A family, I had a family. A small family, but a family all the same."
Jamie nodded. "A sister, maybe?"
Viola's face turned towards Jamie so fast it seemed to blur, and something there twisted, mouth curling, eyes hardening.
"Yes," she said, the word coming out in a snarl. "A sister."
#the haunting of bly manor#dani x jamie#damie#dani clayton#jamie#jamie the gardener#bly manor#heather writes fanfiction#chapter three!
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Snowdrift
AO3
Rating: T+ (for swearing)
Summary: Three friends and their dog get lost in a snowstorm while investigating the paranormal. Amidst swirling flurries of white, some lose their way and get lost in their memories, others lose sight of their friends and loved ones, and an unforgiving winter quickly fills in the footprints one would follow to get back home.
A/N: I started this back in November but sadly never finished the work. I was thinking of holding off till it started to snow again, but figured now was as good a time as any to try and finish this.The title is taken from Snail's House song "[snowdrift]" which you can check out here!
The last bit of fluff before the storm!
Previous Chapter | Next Chapter
Chapter One
Chapter Four
Mystery woke slowly the next morning to the sounds of hushed conversation, wriggling out from under Vivi’s arm as the heaviest sleeper of the group continued to snore away. He stretched out his hind legs, giving himself a good shake before blearily regarding the two young men deep in conversation. It would figure that the ghost, who technically didn’t need sleep, and the insomniac, who pretended that he didn’t need sleep, would be the first two up. The disguised kitsune mused momentarily over who had been the first to rise before discarding the train of thought as largely pointless at this ungodly hour of the morning. Instead, he trotted over to the rear doors of the van and, having long ago discarded all pretense of being a semi-normal dog, gripped the handle in his teeth and opened the door to the outside world.
“Mystery, wait—” The warning came too late however, and a sudden gust of wind wrenched the door out of his grip, tumbling him headfirst into a snowdrift as he lost his balance. The kitsune struggled for a moment to right himself, only to find he was buried almost up to his haunches in the snow. It would quickly be approaching Vivi’s knees, a height that Mystery was quite familiar with, having spent most of the human’s lifespan at the same level. The cold didn’t bother him much, with his thick fur coat providing protection from the freezing temperatures, but the prospect of having to hop through the snow was simply embarrassing. He had been just about to shift to his natural state when a large hand grasped him by his scruff and hoisted him back into the van, pulling the door shut behind him. Back on solid ground, Mystery quickly shook the loose snow from his pelt. He could see Arthur shivering in the corner, the icy blast of air he’d unintentionally let inside severe enough to even wake Vivi from her slumber. The girl mumbled sleepily and rubbed at her eyes.
“Good morning,” the kitsune deadpanned. Vivi glared at him, though the expression lost some of its heat by the way she was squinting as her eyes adjusted to daylight.
“Arthur and I were just talking about the situation outside,” Lewis said.
“The situation?” Vivi mumbled, putting forth a valiant effort to stay awake.
“The snow hasn’t let up at all,” the ghost said, “In fact, the van’s almost buried up to its wheel wells.”
“According to the radar, it doesn’t look like it’s going to be stopping anytime soon either,” the mechanic explained, gesturing to his laptop screen as he turned it to face the others. There was a large patch of icy blue stationary in the middle of the screen.
“Unless the satellite image froze again…I think the weather is starting to mess with the van’s internet connection,” Arthur muttered.
“So we’re snowed in?” Mystery surmised. Lewis and Arthur shared a look before nodding their heads.
“We were discussing possible solutions before you guys got up. With the snow so deep, the van won’t budge.”
“I could make the van ‘go ghost’ to see if we can get past the snow that way, but, well…” Lewis spared a glance to the mechanic who’d paled at the reminder of the monstrous purple semi-truck.
“It’s not the best idea,” the ghost concluded, “And the nearest town is still miles away, too far to walk,”
“Why don’t we just stay here?” Vivi suggested, already settling back into the blankets on the floor.
“We can’t stay here forever,” Arthur frowned.
“Not for forever, just until we figure out a solution we can all agree on or until we become unstuck. We’ve got plenty of supplies,” Vivi yawned. Mystery thought it must be exhausting being so optimistic and loved the young woman all the more for it.
“I’m not sure hot cocoa counts as ‘supplies’,” Arthur said, “but we do have enough food for at least a couple more days.”
“What about your ghost hunt though? You were so excited to go,” Lewis said.
“I’m excited to spend time with you dorks,” Vivi snorted, “Besides, yesterday was fun. We can teach you how to make a snowman now that you’ve mastered snow angels.” The specter huffed a fond-sounding laugh.
“I suppose that settles it then,” he said, Arthur nodding in agreement. The three turned to look at Mystery for his acquiescence.
“I have missed the snow,” the dog conceded.
“Good,” Vivi mumbled sleepily, her eyes already drifting shut again, “We’ll try to head out later today if the snow melts some. Otherwise, we stay until tomorrow. Just think of it…as a…snow day…” And the blue-haired girl was asleep once more, snoring away as if she’d never been disturbed.
“I better let my parents know about the delay. As if my dad wasn’t already worried enough …” Lewis sighed, shaking his head, “Would it be okay if I borrowed your laptop again, Arthur?”
“Sure, for as much good as it will do you with this crappy internet connection,” the mechanic shrugged, “The radar image either keeps freezing up or there’s a particularly stubborn snow cloud that’s decided to park itself right over top of us. I’ll check to see if I can get a better signal after another cup of coffee.” Lewis narrowed his eyes at his friend.
“What? The instant stuff isn’t that bad,” Arthur joked weakly.
“Yes it is,” Lewis replied, “And it’s not so much the quality of it that I’m worried about but rather the quantity of how much you drink.”
“Oh, come on! This will just be my—”
“Fourth cup,” Lewis interrupted, giving the mechanic a withering look, “I’ve been counting.” Arthur squawked in indignation, and Mystery barked out a brief laugh before turning back to the rear doors, leaving the two young men to squabble over what an acceptable caffeine intake should be for the jittery mechanic.
“Uh, Mystery? Looking to do a repeat performance from earlier?” Lewis said.
“I have to go outside,” the kitsune replied.
“W-Why, is there some-something out there?” Arthur asked in alarm.
“No, I just have to…” Mystery put his ears back in embarrassment, “Go.” There was a moment of silence in the van before the ghost and the mechanic broke into a fit of laughter. Vivi mumbled in her sleep and turned to her other side.
“Oh man,” Arthur said, wiping at his eyes, “Sometimes I forget you’re still kind of a dog.”
“Here, let me get the door for you,” Lewis offered. The kitsune grumbled in annoyance at the two young men’s antics. It appeared they weren’t just children in Mystery’s eyes after all. With Lewis propping the door open, the dog leapt from the van gracefully, landing in the snow in his kitsune-form so as to not get stuck again, his six tails lashing about in the wind. To his dismay, he saw that the indentation from where he’d landed minutes earlier had already begun to fill in, quickly losing its definition as the snow continued to pile on the ground. He would be very surprised if the Mystery Skulls managed to leave their temporary resting spot today.
“Just let us know when you’re ready to come inside, okay?” Lewis said. Mystery gave him a curt nod before trotting away through the snow to find some privacy, hearing the door of the van click shut behind him as he made for the tree line in the distance.
The kitsune truly had missed the snow, and it had been decades since he’d had a proper winter that reminded him of home. He admired the way his breath fogged around his snout in short bursts, thinking of centuries worth of winters spent in Japan. He wondered if he was growing old and senile, reminiscing the way he was, or if it was just his softer side showing. Oh, how the other yōkai would laugh if they could see you now, Mystery mused, passing between barren trees with snow-laden branches. A lot had changed since he’d first met Vivi’s ancestor and been subsequently defeated by her. He was no longer the feared and respected fox spirit he once was. But it was a change for the better, if for the company alone, the three young humans he’d come to think of as his pups. Mystery knew he would go to great lengths to protect them, having failed to do so before. The world was a dangerous place, something Mystery, as one of the dangerous things in it, was well aware of. He had thought that by playing the role of the unassuming mascot he’d been protecting them, but it had nearly cost him everything. The kitsune had chosen to keep silent when he knew they were walking into danger. He thought he’d had everything under control, that if it became absolutely necessary to intervene, he would be fast enough.
He was wrong.
Mystery had wondered if the cave would be the end of his little pack. By some miracle, fate had brought them back together though and allowed for reconciliation, which was more than he could have hoped for. Now, he would give his six tails just to keep his pups safe. As far away as he was, the kitsune could still sense them clearly, would be able to sniff out their souls from miles away if he had to. The burning, electric purple scent of Lewis, so different now from his once muted yet strong mulberry color. The familiar blue that was comfort, love, home, Vivi, the ephemeral sparks of her magic potential flickering through the blue like frost on a window pane. Arthur’s sunshiny yellow pulsing like a beacon. Even as the mechanic had healed in body and mind after being possessed, the damage done would leave Arthur vulnerable for the rest of his life, unaware that his soul was broadcasting an enticing signal to the supernatural.
Mystery thought back to the day before uneasily. Arthur had been so sure he’d seen…something in the road. Mystery had checked then to see if there was anything out there that could pose a threat to his pups and had come up empty, but perhaps the jumpy mechanic’s worried nature was beginning to rub off on him. Over-confidence had cost him dearly in the past, and it was a lesson the kitsune had taken to heart. Mystery pushed the boundaries of his senses to their limits, concentrating hard until he was confident he had encompassed a wide enough radius around their present location for his extrasensory search. Like last time though, he came up empty. There was the purple, yellow, and blue, his own strong red scent, but not another living thing for miles, and no supernatural entity he could detect waiting in the shadows. Besides the colors he was so familiar with, everything was as tasteless, scentless, and colorless as the snow Mystery waded through. Satisfied with his thorough search, the kitsune shook himself free of his troubled thoughts along with the fine layer of snow that had gathered on his pelt. He took care of his business before heading back towards the van and the blended colors of the souls he loved so well. They’re safe this time, he told himself, even as the feeling of being watched prickled at his skin and caused the fur along his back to stand on end.
---
As Mystery had predicted, the Mystery Skulls were not to depart that day, everyone preparing to spend another night on the floor of the van instead. The snow continued to fall, adding further inches to the foot or so already on the ground. The wind had picked up as well, now violently swirling outside. As the snowstorm increased in intensity, so too did Mystery’s feelings of unease. He couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched despite knowing that they were the only ones out here. The dog eyed the door to the van warily, and though nothing had passed beyond the rear windows except for more falling snow, Mystery still couldn’t force himself to relax. Had he any less self-control, he might have even let out a whine.
An unexpected, hesitant touch to the back of his head startled the dog badly, causing him to leap to his feet. The hand quickly withdrew as Mystery whipped around to look at the source of the touch, only to see Arthur staring back, eyes wide with panic. The kitsune couldn’t fault the young man for being afraid of him, particularly when Mystery had been the source of the mechanic’s impromptu amputation, but it still hurt whenever Arthur jumped at his presence or eyed him warily. This had all been so much easier before he’d come clean about the truth of his existence, when he could just ignore what he’d done, what he was. The kitsune wondered if he had kept his secrets to protect himself from their fear and rejection as much as he’d done so to protect the Mystery Skulls themselves. Arthur still raised his hand though and, extending it slowly, bridged the gap between them. The mechanic patted his head and Mystery did his best to ignore the tremors he felt running through the young man’s hand as he leaned into the touch.
“Y-You okay, pal?” Arthur asked in a quiet voice, “You seem kind of tense.”
“Just eager to get going again,” the fox spirit reassured as the mechanic continued to pet him, “Tired of being cooped up in the back of the van for so long.” It wasn’t exactly a lie, but Mystery didn’t want to reveal the true cause of his unease, certain it would further unnerve Arthur. Vivi and Lewis were in the opposite corner of the van, chatting amicably as Vivi composed an email to send off to her parents while they visited her Granny Yukino in Japan. The ghost and the girl were blissfully ignorant of the troubled conversation he and Arthur were having. Vivi’s enthusiasm for their so-called “snow day” had yet to wane, and Lewis was more than happy to just go along for the ride. Mystery would prefer to keep it that way rather than worrying his pups any more than he already had. Arthur continued to stroke his fur as Vivi concluded her email and got up to pass the laptop back to the mechanic. He paused to give a final scratch behind Mystery’s ears, just the way the dog liked, before receiving his laptop with both hands. Mystery would have loved for the petting to continue, childish comfort as it may have been, it had helped settle him significantly. There was no one out there, no danger to his family. Just the wicked winds of winter howling outside. Accepting that, he contented himself to just lay down and listen as his humans talked.
“Any word on how your Granny is doing?” Arthur asked.
“She’s still recovering from her fall, but she’s tough as nails,” Vivi replied proudly, “Mom and dad are just there to make sure she doesn’t overdo it on her own. She has a hard time just taking it easy.”
“Still, I’m sorry about the timing, it’s not fun being on your own for the holidays.”
“It’s alright, I’ve got you guys to keep me company!” Vivi said, unwaveringly cheerful, “Besides, me and Mystery are this close to cracking the secret to my mom’s fried chicken recipe. It has to be in the dredging. I think we’ll have it perfected just in time for dinner on Christmas Eve! It won’t be so different from any other year that way, I just won’t have to fight my dad for the last drumstick.”
“I’m looking forwards to being able to cook Christmas dinner for my family again,” Lewis said, “It’s one of the few days the restaurant is closed, so it’s nice to see mom and dad relax and put their feet up for once. Plus, I make a mean lasagna.”
“Heh, I think Uncle Lance gave up on cooking for Christmas after that year he tried to do one of those beer can turkey recipes. Hell, the fire chief might’ve expressly forbidden it. I think we’re doing Chinese takeout again this year.”
“At least orange chicken is something normal to eat…” Vivi teased.
“Hey, don’t bring Surf’s Up Pizza into this!”
“It’s so nice to be able to see the restaurant decorated with poinsettias again,” Lewis said distractedly. He had a wistful expression on his skull, seemingly unaware that he’d even spoken aloud until he noticed Vivi and Arthur staring at him intently, their playful argument abandoned.
“Mom always decorates the restaurant with poinsettias around Christmas. I…I never thought I’d get to see it like that again,” Lewis confessed. Vivi smiled at the ghost warmly, giving his arm a little squeeze before she turned her attention to their other friend.
“What about you, Artie? Lance do much decorating at home?” She asked.
“I don’t think Uncle Lance is real big on Christmas. The only Christmas movie he’ll even watch is Die Hard. I think he only decorates ‘cause he knows I like it,” Arthur began, “Growing up with my dad though…we were on the road pretty often and spent a lot of nights in the car, even on Christmas. Not a whole lot of room for a tree in there, but he’d always make sure to get one of those little tree-shaped air fresheners to hang from the rearview mirror. We’d set our presents up on the dashboard under it.”
“You don’t talk about him a whole lot,” Lewis said.
“Y-Yeah, I try not to think about it too much,” Arthur replied, making an attempt at a casual shrug, “But…ever since it started snowing, it’s been hard not to think about it. I haven’t seen snow since I came to live with Uncle Lance, so I guess it’s just bringing up old memories.” The mechanic rubbed at the back of his neck awkwardly, seemingly caught off-guard by his own admission. Mystery nosed tentatively at Arthur’s hand and was rewarded with a few more pats to the head and a small smile from the young man. Over the tops of his glasses, the kitsune could see Vivi and Lewis exchange concerned glances.
“Well, I don’t have Die Hard with me, but how about a movie?” Vivi suggested, eager to offer a distraction to try and lift their spirits. Without waiting for a response, she pulled the bag she’d packed for the trip into her lap, digging through it fervently.
“Duet’s not real big on commercial, non-secular holidays. So far, The Tome Tomb has remained unspoiled by those tacky Christmas stations you hear in most stores this time of year. I’m actually not sick of Christmas yet,” Vivi said as she rummaged, “Aha! Here it is, the best Christmas movie of all time!” She displayed the DVD case to the others with a flourish. Mystery perked up as he saw the familiar title.
“A Nightmare Before Christmas?” Arthur said, his smile now returning in earnest, “That would be your favorite.”
“I watch it every year with Mystery! Things have been so hectic lately, I haven’t had a chance yet though. What do you guys think?”
“So long as I don’t have to listen to ‘Feliz Navidad’ for the rest of our road trip, I’m happy,” Lewis replied.
“We should still have enough charge left for a movie,” Arthur said, handing his laptop back to Vivi. It was all the encouragement she needed, and with a whoop of excitement, the young woman quickly popped open the CD drive and inserted the disc. They all crowded in front of the small screen, glum mood from moments earlier all but forgotten. Vivi wasted no time in piling the blankets on top of her friends, making sure they were all sufficiently cozy before finally pressing play. Mystery curled up on Vivi’s lap as the movie began, his chin resting on Arthur’s knee as the mechanic resumed stroking his fur. The four of them chattered happily about plans for the holidays and the upcoming year, joking and laughing as the DVD played. Eventually they lapsed into a comfortable silence and began to doze before the movie even finished. As usual, Vivi was the first to nod off, though she was quickly followed by Arthur to Mystery’s surprise. Lewis, seeing them fast asleep, bade the kitsune a quiet good night as the black coffin he rested in materialized in the back of the van, disappearing just as quickly once its occupant was inside. With all of his pups resting for the night, Mystery surveyed the warm scene he’d found himself a part of. Arthur finally looked relaxed, a bit of drool dotting the corner of his mouth, and Vivi had cocooned herself entirely in blankets, except for an arm that had been flung around the mechanic’s waist in her sleep. Mystery chuckled fondly before he spared a final glance out the window, still seeing nothing but snowflakes flicker past the glass. Just as the credits began to roll, he finally curled up in the blankets at Vivi’s side and joined the others in sleep.
Outside, something colorless as snow stood poised to strike.
#mystery skulls animated#msa#msa fanfic#mystery skulls animated fanfic#arthur#lewis#vivi#mystery#arthur kingsmen#lewis pepper#vivi yukino#Snowdrift#christmas mentions
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angel eyes | boh rhap!roger taylor x female!reader
Summary: A few months after the reader ends a rocky relationship with her old boyfriend, she and Roger grow closer. However, she’s afraid of getting heartbroken again so she distances herself from Roger.
A/N: The lovely @yourealegendfred has allowed me to participate in their 3k challenge! <3 I chose the song Angel Eyes by Abba, I hope you all enjoy!
Warnings: Angst, mentions of cheating, language, happy ending
Word count: 1,914 words
“Deaky, I’m telling you, I cannot fall for Roger Taylor.” You told the brown haired man. You and John had been friends for years, and you had always told each other everything. You were the first to know of his plans to marry Veronica, you were the first to know new riffs for new songs, and you were the first to know about any anger or frustrations he felt about the band. He was the first to know about your nasty breakup with Arthur, he was the first to know about your blossoming feelings towards Roger, and he was the first to know about your fears of falling in love with him.
“Y/N, you can’t be scared of love forever. Besides, distancing yourself from Roger doesn’t solve anything either.” John claimed, crossing his arms over his chest. He sat across from you at your coffee table, his brow raised and a look that said “I dare you to counteract me” plastered across his face.
“After everything with Arthur,” You began, your heart hurting at the mention of the man’s name.
“What Arthur did was awful,” Deaky interrupted, staring you down attentively. “But Roger would never meaningfully hurt you. And if he did, you know I’d kick his arse before he could even spell ‘hurt.’“
You smiled, typical John humor. “Alright, Deaky, I’ll think about it.” You decided, wanting to change the subject for good.
“I’m serious, Y/N.” Deaky said sternly as he looked at you. “Roger misses you. He won’t admit it, but he does. He doesn’t know what he did wrong.”
“John, I promise I’ll talk to him soon. Okay?” You sighed, rubbing your temples between your fingers. “I just need some time to work things out. Just some time.” You mumbled. You heard John get up, and footsteps come near you.
He wrapped an arm around your shoulders and you sighed, leaning into his chest. Deaky’s hugs always made you feel better.
“You’ll figure it out.” Deaky promised. You could only hope that he was right.
A few weeks later, and you had still not seen Roger. Deaky pestered you for days at a time, but your only remaining excuse was that you still needed time. That excuse itself was weak, but it worked. Somewhat.
You placed the record on it’s spot on the record player, lowering the needle down as music filled your small apartment. You hummed along to ABBA, dancing around your home in your over-sized Jaws shirt and fluffy bright blue socks. The rain poured outside, making a tap tap tap sound against the windows of your apartment.
You slid across the living room floor, plopping down on to the ugly mustard yellow couch that haunted your home. You propped your legs up against a pillow, leaning back and closing your eyes. Millions of thoughts swarmed your head, but each ended with either Arthur or Roger.
Last night I was taking a walk along the river
And I saw him together with a young girl
And the look that he gave her made me shiver
Because he always used to look at me that way
And I thought maybe I should walk right up to her and say
"Ah-ha-ha, it's a game he likes to play"
You remembered the day you had caught Arthur in your bed with another woman. Not just another woman, it had been a close friend and co-worker, Angela. You remembered the feeling of horror and disgust in the pit of your stomach, which resembled the look of horror on their faces. You could clearly remember the way Arthur had tried to explain himself, and the way you had practically screamed at him to get out of your house and your life.
Look into his angel eyes
One look and you're hypnotized
He'll take your heart and you must pay the price
Look into his angel eyes
You'll think you're in paradise
And one day you'll find out he wears a disguise
Don't look too deep into those angel eyes
Oh no, no, no, no
You remember cursing him once he had left. The way the words left your throat in a painful manner as the tears ran down your cheeks was something you could never forget. You remember calling John, and the way he had held you while you cried into his lap. You remember him telling you to come to the studio with him the next day, that it would make you feel better.
Sometimes when I'm lonely I sit and think about him
And it hurts to remember all the good times
When I thought I could never live without him
And I wonder does it have to be the same?
Every time when I see him, will it bring back all the pain?
Ah-ha-ha, how can I forget that name?
You remember coming to the studio the day afterwords, still feeling awful. You had sat in one of the big, cozy chairs in the corner. There, you had met Roger. He had tried flirting with you, but could soon tell that something was wrong. He asked you about life and how you had been doing and “why you looked so blue”, according to him. The rest of the boys were out in the recording room, and you felt overwhelmed by emotions. You spilled your heart out to him, tears falling from your cheeks as you tried to pull yourself together. You would never forget the way he wrapped his arms around you and told you that everything was going to be okay.
Look into his angel eyes
One look and you're hypnotized
He'll take your heart and you must pay the price
Look into his angel eyes
You'll think you're in paradise
And one day you'll find out he wears a disguise
Don't look too deep into his angel eyes
From that day forward, Roger had treated you with warmth and kindness. He brought you tea some days, freshly picked flowers on others. He always saved you a seat on days you came to the studio. He always tried to keep you in good spirits, rather it be jokes or mocking Deaky’s dancing or even actually dancing with you. It was almost impossible not to fall in love with him. But you knew better. You knew better than to get caught up in someone like Roger Taylor, or risk getting your heart broken yet again.
So that’s why you had grown distant from Roger. You couldn’t risk it. At least, that’s what you had to keep telling yourself.
A knock at the door interrupted your thoughts, making you jump from the couch. Once you had calmed yourself, you slid over to the door. You opened it slowly, gasping at the sight of a soaking wet Roger.
“Rog, what in the bloody hell do you think you’re doing? You’re soaking wet!” You scolded as you looked at the blonde man in concern. Roger took a deep breath as he looked at you, chewing on his bottom lip.
“I needed to see you.” He said simply, cocking his head to the side like a puppy would. “I hadn’t seen you in so long and I was just...” He paused, looking down at his shoes and looking back up to you. “I was worried that something had happened.”
You let out a shaky breath, opening up the door a little further so he could get through. “Come in, before you catch a cold.” You mumbled, watching as Roger stumbled into your apartment and you closed the door behind him.
“I’ll get you some towels, okay?” You said softly, heading towards your bathroom. You could hear Roger following you as you walked, you could feel the anxiety well up in your throat of what you were going to say to him.
You walked into the bathroom, pulling some towels off the shelf and handing them to him. Roger took the towel gratefully, rubbing his hair and body to dry off. He set the towel down, before looking at you intently. He had pretty eyes, you thought to yourself.
“Well?” He asked, raising a brow as he looked down at you. You furrowed your brows, crossing your arms over your chest.
“What do you mean, well?” You asked, shifting your weight on each foot. He gave you an annoyed look, mimicking your crossed arms.
“Don’t bullshit me, L/N. Don’t do it. Why the hell have you been so distant lately? I’ve been worried sick. You don’t answer any of my calls, you don’t come to practices anymore, God, I’ve been so fucking worried.” Roger hissed.
You stared at him with wide eyes before glancing down at your fuzzy socks. You felt your thoughts begin to run at a million miles a minute.
“Rog, it’s nothing.”
“I told you not to bullshit me!”
You look up at him finally, your eyes watering. His expression dropped, concern washing over his face. He reached his hand up, cupping your face with his calloused hand.
“Y/N, what’s wrong? Did Arthur do something?” He asked, tracing your cheek with his finger. You could feel the tears brimming along your lashes, dropping down to your cheeks and traveling down the rest of your face like a river.
“Yes, Arthur did something. He cheated on me, he made me terrified of getting my heart broken, he made me terrified of falling in love again,” You began, the tears flowing down harder and your throat tightening up. “That’s why I’ve been distant, Roger. Because I’m terrified, I’m absolutely shitfaced terrified of falling in love with you.” You looked down at your socks again, a sob escaping your throat.
Roger’s big arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you against him. He stroked your hair, humming softly to try and calm you down. His fingers drummed against your back, a soft rhythm that made your river of tears slow, until completely stopping.
“Y/N, listen to me,” He whispered softly, resting his chin on top of your head. “You don’t have to be scared. You don’t. I would never, ever hurt you like he did. I know, my reputation is awful and I know that makes you even more nervous. But God, ever since I’ve met you, I haven’t been able to even think about other women. You’re the only person who ever comes to mind when I think about romance. I know you’re scared, and it’s understandable. But you don’t have to be scared anymore.”
You finally looked up to him again, your heart racing. You stared into his baby blue eyes, getting lost in them as you had many times before.
“I don’t want to be scared anymore.” You whispered, his hand coming up once more to cup your cheek. You nuzzled your cheek against his hand, feeling the butterflies rise in your stomach.
“Can I kiss you?” He asked softly, his eyes glancing between your lips and your eyes. You looked up at him, seeing the desperation and longing in his eyes. You nodded slowly, the butterflies rising once again to flutter across your stomach.
He reached down, closing the gap between the two of you. His lips molded against yours, perfectly fitting against yours in every way. The kiss was magical, with months of longing and lusting entrapped in a single kiss. He slowly pulled away, grinning foolishly down at you. You smiled back at him fondly, resting your forehead against his chest.
“Hey Rog?”
“Yeah Y/N?”
“Your shirt is still soaking wet.”
#yalf3kchallenge#roger taylor#roger taylor imagine#ben hardy roger taylor#roger taylor x reader#boh rhap!roger taylor#Queen#queen band#queen imagines#queen band imagine#ben hardy#ben hardy x reader#yourealegendfred#john deacon x reader#John Deacon#joe mazzello#Brian May#brian may x reader#freddie mercury#freddie mercury x reader
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Title: Homeless at Home
Fandom: Red Dead Redemption
Genre: fanfiction, chapters, angst, reader insert, fluff, slow burn, friends-to-lovers, pre-game
Characters: Young!Arthur Morgan, Dutch Van Der Linde, Hosea Mathews, Arthur Morgan/ Reader, Female reader, Arthur x Reader, Arthur Morgan x Reader, Arthur/ You, Young!reader
Chapter: One || Two || Three || Four || Five || Six || Seven || Eight
Follow me on AO3!! Read it there too!
(( Hi I’ve been very busy with college and I’ve had these chapters sitting around so I might as well post them!! Thanks for all the support!! ))
Description:
There were five horses that you could see. Two on the left and three on the right. The first two in the left stalls where females, both working horses and way too big for you to ride. You walked a little further into the stables and found two other horses facing towards you. A white and brown spotted female and a grey male. Both small and friendly looking. Your attention, however, was caught by the last horse in the further stall deep within the stables. You could only see his rear end, he was facing the wrong way. His coat was bright blonde. Warm and yellow like the sun, but he had a dark fluffy tail as black as the night. A mustang. You had seen plenty like him in the wild.
_________________________________________________
The sun was falling slowly from its high throne, falling into the mountain range above. The wild colors of reds and blues and yellows bloomed across the sky making a messy painting of a sunset. The cool valley was a lot different from the hot desert but you welcomed the change with open arms. It was a bit chilly. A sneaky little breeze worked past the nape of your neck and caused you to pulled tighter on your thin sweater. You could barely remember the boiling heat you left behind in the summer sun of Arizona. A lot had changed, you reminded yourself as you pulled a pair of fingerless gloves from your pocket and put them on.
You had made it to Nevada, just as Dutch had wanted some few months ago. But you didn’t get there according to Dutch’s original plans. Actually, you didn’t get according to plan at all.
It happened a few months ago, you could barely remember the rush of it all. Dutch had some… Business partner named Colm O’Driscoll. Apparently, Dutch cut him short by a lot of money in some bank robbery. You got to meet Colm and his brother one night when they stormed into your camp during dinner. They demanded money and a lot of it.
When Dutch stood tall and waved his hands in peace, saying he had no such money and made no such promise, Colm swore he’d be back and that he had better have his money. Dutch took the threat as if it were a train heading straight towards him at maximum capacity.
That night he made you all pack everything as quickly as possible. Susan and Arthur did most of the heavy lifting while Hosea ran ahead on horseback to scout a path out of the county. Dutch kept you close to his side all night, making sure you were within arm’s length. You didn’t remember much after that, you were so tired that you slept half the trip.
Colm and his brother chased you and your gang out of Dodge, and you were pretty sure he was following you north into Nevada too. You left in such a hurry in the middle of the night. You still think about it. Much to your surprise though, Annabelle came with you too.
When Dutch told her of his true nature, which was that he was a wanted criminal across the country, she didn’t shy away and leave him like most of his other suitors. She insisted on coming with you, she left her book store behind for her sister to take care of.
Several months had passed now. You were slowly returning to your usually chipper self. Ever since that drunk assaulted you… You changed. You were more quiet than normal, and you were very depressed. You couldn’t stop thinking about it, about your mother, about your father, about how fucked up your life was ever since those bastards killed your parents. You were so stuck in your rut that you nearly didn’t notice your 13th birthday approaching.
The hot desert summer was replaced with cool and shady autumn. Dutch had taken you to the furthers corner of Nevada. 40 miles south of Oregon, 35 miles east of California, in the shadow of Paradise Mountain, you rested in the grassy valley known as Paradise Valley. A few miles within was the bustling busy farming town known as Sugartown. It was nice to return to a climate you were more familiar with. Autumn was always your favorite season. The colors, the smell, the food. You loved it all.
The gang wanted to do something special for your birthday. They wanted a party, but you asked them to keep it simple. Today, however, you were going to face another fear.
You had gone to town with Hosea, he was picking up some supplies from the general store, and you asked him if you could run off a bit on your own. He was wary, unsure if you could handle yourself alone seeing as last time you nearly gotten killed. But he let you go after he gave you a spare revolver he had on him. You knew you wouldn’t need it.
Ever since you told Dutch how badly you wanted to be a doctor, he had started collecting medical books for you. More so Annabelle found those books for you, seeing as she was a better bookworm than either you or Dutch. She was lucky to find a few on your trip up to Sugartown, but there wasn’t a book store here much to your disappointment. The books she got you though were not a lot of help. They were outdated and old and surely could use an up keeping. They mostly taught you very basic medical concepts that anyone could know.
You stood outside a building, staring at its door. Your eyes flicker to the sign above that read ‘Doctor’s Office.’ The biggest fear you had right now was stepping inside that building and asking the doctor inside if he had any old books he’d like to give up. Another fear was that he would say no to you. One, because you were still a child, and two… you were female. You could always remember all the men that gave your mother a hard time simply because she was a woman. She gave up on her dream to be a doctor, moved as far away as possible from her family, and became a stay at home mom who occasionally made medicine from local fauna and sold them.
“Okay,” You told yourself, “You can do this. You got this,” You hyped yourself up, biting your lip, and then rushed towards the door. The second you got near it you made a sharp U-turn and waltzed back into the street. This was going to be hard. You didn’t have a lot of time. Hosea would be getting done with his supply run soon. Taking a big deep breath, you held it in and ran for the door again. This time you managed to freeze on the spot with your hand barely touching the door nob. You counted to three then turned the nob and opened the door.
It was old and rustic inside the little doctor’s office. There was a man sitting behind a counter reading a newspaper. He looked old, but not elderly. He was stuck somewhere in-between. He looked nice though, so that was a plus. He stood up, folded his paper and greeted you with a smile.
“Hey there, miss,”
“Hi,” You sounded small like a shy little mouse. You kept your arms folded across your chest and held tightly to your arms, “Um… I’m sorry to bother you.”
“Not at all,” He wasn’t very tall. Much shorter than Dutch or Arthur, and he had warm creamy brown hair that matched his shabby handlebar mustache, “What can I get for you?” His glasses were thick and reflected the low light coming in from the afternoon sun.
“Um- I.. I was wondering if you had any books you’d like to get rid of?” You pressed your lips into a thin line and gnawed on your inner cheek, “I-I.. I’m collecting them for educational reasons. Um-… Like books on medicine? And how to make them?” The doctor seemed very surprised by your request. You rushed out some fumbled words saying, “They aren’t for me! I… It’s for my church?” Your lie sounded like a question and the man raised a brow.
“Sure,” He said slowly while observing your bazaar behavior, “Let me check in my office,” He disappeared for several minutes. You stood in your spot, awkward and nervous while biting your tongue and grinding your teeth.
You looked around the office. It was cute and humble. There were photos on the wall but you couldn’t make out who of. There was the counter that you stood behind, then a doorway behind it that lead down to a hallway that you couldn’t see the end of. Some soft comfy chairs cluttered against the adjacent wall of the counter. There were some shelves on the walls too with dozens of jars and cans that you guessed were medicines.
He came back with three very large books. They looked old, but not as old as the one’s Annabelle got for you. He set them down on the low counter between you and him,
“What’s your name, miss?” When your eyes bugged wide, he went on to say, “Oh- not to pry or anything. You just remind me of someone I use to know. You look a lot like this woman I used to date, I worked for her father in New York City.”
You approached the counter with caution, “Um.. I’m Edna. Edna Lancaster,” You lied on the spot, not wanting to give away who you were. His words boggled your mind however, “You said you're from New York City?”
He slid the books towards your end of the counter, “Mhm. I use to work for this man named Harrison McDuffy. You look a lot like his daughter Blaire,” You tried so very hard not to gasp. He just spoke your mother’s name, her maiden name and your grandfather’s name, “A shame. I heard she and her husband died. They never found her daughter though,”
With care, you took the heavy books from the counter. They stood stacked against your chest, “You must have been close. That’s so sad to hear.” You’re lips twitched and quivered into an awkward smile that flustered back and forth between that and a grimace. The books were a bit heavier than you expected.
“A bit,” Said the doctor as he took off his glasses and smuggled them clean with a part of his coat, “I hope you can find a good home for those books,” He pointed a free finger at your stack in your arms.
“Oh-” You sucked in a sharp breath, “I will- for sure! Definitely!” You were acting a little… odd. Perhaps it was a mix between the weight of the books pulling your arms down and the odd and creepy information you have learned from this man, “Thank you so much!” You spun quickly on your heel and hurried to get to the door.
As you lightly kicked the door open and breezed past it into the cool air you heard the man call out, “Come back any time!” You made a mental note to never go back there ever again. The books strained your arms and caused cramps to start forming between your shoulders. Where the hell was Hosea and the wagon? You tracked back to the outer edges of town where you last saw him.
Frantically you looked around. Your heart started to flutter in the wrong direction. Were was Hosea? Did he forget you? You hated how worried and tense you had become in the last half year. From your parent's death to the drunk bastard who assaulted you… Life was throwing a lot of hard balls at your way. You hoped it didn’t get worse. You weren’t sure if your worried mind could handle it.
Suddenly you felt a tap on your shoulder and you let out a small yip and turned around. Fear washed away and formed into heat that soaked your cheeks. A scarlet blush of embarrassment covered your face at that animal like sound that came out of you seconds before, “Hosea!” You whisper-yelled, “You scared me!”
The older man chuckled and without warning took those books from your arms. You wanted to carry them because you were mature and your own person but mostly stubborn, but you were relieved to finally breathe again. Your arms hung like wet noodles by your sides as you walked with Hosea.
He seemed overly happy, more than usual, “Where’d you get these, girl?” He quirked a smile and raised a brow, “Steal ‘em?” He let out a laugh but you didn’t.
Your little brows furrowed together, “No,” You quipped out, “I asked for them. They’re medicine books,” A flash of your gaze ran over Hosea. You shared a glance for a second before you rounded the street corner where you spotted the wagon.
“Oooh,” He sounded out, “More to add to the collection, hm?” He had gotten to the wagon’s back end and tucked them in between two egg crates, “How many of those books do you have now? Seven?”
“Yeah,” You walked around the wagon and towards the front end, “I’ve read the other ones so much that I needed a few more,” You started to step up into the seats above when Hosea called out to you.
“Hold on a second, (Y/N),” Hosea came up from behind you and spoke while you climbed back down, “We’ve got one more thing to get.”
When your feet smacked back onto the dirty and dusty road you asked Hosea, “What else do we need to get? It looks like we’ve got enough supplies for a few weeks,” The back wagon was jammed packed full of crates and jugs and boxes, “I don’t think we’ve got room for anything else back there.”
“That’s alright,” The two of you started walking again, “This doesn’t go in a wagon,” You wondered where you were going and looked at each store that you passed and didn’t go into. Was it money? Jewelry? Cigars? Was it something small enough to fit in your pocket if it didn’t need to go in a wagon? You weren’t very sure but what you did notice was that you were getting close and closer to the stables in the center of Sugartown. Did he need horse supplies? Hm.
A man was waiting in front of the large open stable doors. The smell of horse, hay, and manure wafted from the darkness within. The stable boy approached Hosea and they met each other halfway with a firm handshake and a smile.
“Hosea!” He exclaimed as if he hadn’t seen the man in many years, “It’s good to see you again!” They both laughed at that with low and loud chuckles.
“What can I say, David, you’re a very handsome man with very handsome horses,” Another fit of chuckles at the inside jokes you just didn’t understand. Who was this man?
Why had you never seen or heard of this… David before? Hosea’s voice snapped you out of your confused and dazed state, “Is Bessie still around? She said she had to leave but I wanted to catch her before she ran off and closed up for the day.” Bessie, another person you didn’t know.
You wondered why you were here and why Hosea brought you along. It sounded like he was being a humble con man by befriending these people and was surely working towards their demise as well. Don’t mistake the mild manner Hosea for being as sweet and innocent as he lets the world see. You’ve seen Hosea lose his temper faster than Dutch, and was scarier too. At least with Dutch, it’s a lot of yelling and finger-pointing…
Hosea was the kind of guy to go missing when made angry or mad. Then he’d come back with a loaded gun, point it at your back, and make you apologize to him publicly while threatening your life. You’ve seen him do this twice to some lawmen before. You couldn’t believe it… two cops standing side by side with smiles as wide as the grand canyon, sweating bullets, while happy smiling Hosea stood behind them with a gun in each hand at each spine, he’d shoot them paralyzed, which was worse than death.
You shook away the vivid memory and followed Hosea and David inside the stables. They were chatting amongst each other and you didn’t care to listen. You stared at the horses inside. There wasn’t that many, just a handful here and there. A woman came from one of the empty stalls, she wore clothes just like you. A poofy and loose tan blouse and was tucked into her pants, which in turn was tucked into her knee-high riding boots. She looked wealthy, happy, and like she enjoyed what she was doing. This was Bessie. Her hair was a deep oak brown that bounced around in thick lockets and curls.
The smile on Bessie’s face went from mild to extravagant the second she locked eyes with Hosea. Who has the woman and why haven’t you met her before? How long has
Hosea knew her? She quickly left her work, leaning the pitchfork on the wall and scurried over.
“Hosea! I was just about to close up!” She stopped right in front of him, hands folded away as she crossed her arms, and smiled wide again, “Is this (Y/N)?” Bessie looked at you and you felt the urge to stick your tongue out at her, but you kept put.
He placed a hand on your head like he always did, and Hosea nodded, “Sure is. She’s the one and only,” He sounded proud to introduce you to this woman, “She’s very bright and I think today is her birthday?” No… No!
You looked up at the man, the cheeky grin on his face, “No, Hosea I said-” It didn’t matter what you said. Bessie seemed to already know it was your birthday too. She cut you off with a little giggle.
“Oh! Is it? Why that’s so neat. How old are you (Y/N)?” Well, at least she was nice. Bessie stared at you with bright green eyes.
“Um- uh.. I’m 13.” God you hated it. You hated saying it. You didn’t want to be 13. You didn’t want to be 12 either. You wanted to be 11 years old, two summers ago when your parents took you to Canada for your birthday. So much has changed since then. You honestly hated it and you hated thinking about it. Never again would you have another good birthday. So long as your parents were dead, you were sure every birthday to come would suck and make you just as depressed as you were today.
However, something was about to change, something that would change your spoiled opinion on birthdays. Bessie looked at you, joy on her face and light and life and oddly love breathed from her skin and oozed into the air. Her kindness was toxic. What was it about women that made them love you so much? Maybe it was the fact that you looked like a little boy for the most part. Maybe they found it cute that a little girl was dressed like a little boy. But Bessie wasn’t wearing a dress or hats or gloves or heals or anything ladylike, though she was as beautiful as a princess despite that.
“(Y/N),” You stared at her, “Would you like a birthday present?” You wanted to say no but when you gazed up at Hosea, he beamed down at you and nodded his head silently.
Everyone was grossly happy while you were wallowing in depression.
“Sure,” You finally said after a moment or two, “I guess, yeah.”
“Well,” Hosea started, “How would you like a horse?” He asked you, a hand now at your shoulder as he gave a gentle squeeze, “It’s about time you started learning how to ride.”
Everything made sense now. All the smiles, the kindness, it was all for your birthday after all. Everyone wanted to spoil you but you just really wanted a hug and someone to cry on.
But a horse? A real one? Your own? For a brief second, you had a flash of thoughts squeeze around in your mind. You’d have a new friend and a new responsibility. You saw yourself learning how to ride a horse, loving the gentle beast and exploring the world by horseback. How much was it going to cost though? You didn’t want the gang spending money on you when you did nothing to bring money to the gang. You felt conflicted.
Your hesitation caused Bessie to inch closer to you, a smile still on her face, “You can pick out anyone you want from my stables today if you like.” You did kind of like the sound of that. You looked to Hosea for reassurance and he pressed a hand into your back to walk you forward.
There were five horses that you could see. Two on the left and three on the right. The first two in the left stalls where females, both working horses and way too big for you to ride. You walked a little further into the stables and found two other horses facing towards you. A white and brown spotted female and a grey male. Both small and friendly looking. Your attention, however, was caught by the last horse in the further stall deep within the stables. You could only see his rear end, he was facing the wrong way. His coat was bright blonde. Warm and yellow like the sun, but he had a dark fluffy tail as black as the night. A mustang. You had seen plenty like him in the wild.
“What about this one?” You pointed at the golden mustang while watching Bessie’s smile slowly fall.
“Oh-… he’s.. I wouldn’t pick him,” She met up with you as you stared into the stall. You could see his mane, just as black as his tail, “He’s not broken in yet.”
“Broken in?” The knowledge you had on horses was limited. Sure, you could go out into the world and have little to no problem identifying which plant is what, but horse terms? Broken in? Colic? Chaps? Spurs? Stirrups? That was all… cowboy stuff. Outlaw stuff. You didn’t know those things.
Hosea had managed to join you as well in the back end of the stables, “Means you can’t ride him. He’s a wild horse that hasn’t been beaten into obedience yet,” It sounded awful when he put it like that.
You took a few steps forward then approached the stall. The mustang inside swung his ear around towards you, “He’s pretty,” You said quietly, “He does look a little wild,” Wild and majestic and beautiful. To your surprise, and everyone else’s, the mustang slowly turned around in his stall. He looked beautiful, yes, but sad. He looked hurt and very much broken despite what Bessie and Hosea said.
The two adults shared a worried glance. This horse was foul and temperamental. Hosea had tried to ride him once when Bessie first got him. That was an awfully painful day he didn’t want to remember. Since then the mustang had stubbornly kept to himself and avoid most humans he came in contact with. Yet here he was, now sticking his head out of his stall and sniffing towards you. His head was handsome as well. The mustang’s snout was black but faded into the warm gold of the rest of his coat.
Bessie was about to pull you back, fearing the temperamental beast might try to snap his jaws at you. Yet nothing like that happened. You raised a hand and met the horse halfway while he sniffed at your fingers before trying to lick them. Maybe he wanted something to eat? He wasn’t that mean, “You guys are liars, he’s so nice,” You glanced back at Hosea and Bessie who was wide-eyed surprised.
Your smile was small and shy and you turned back to the horse, “You just want a friend,” You said quietly, “Right?” You stared into one of his eyes and saw your own reflection. It was decided then, and nothing could change your mind. This was the horse for you. Bessie tried for a second time to talk you out of picking the mustang but she couldn’t shake you away from him. There wasn’t a mean old animal in him, just a scared and lonely one, much like yourself.
Not once did the mustang fight you when you pulled at the ropes that made the make-shift reins around his neck. He slowly followed you out of the stall as you guided him towards the front of the stables. Hosea had picked out a saddle for you but you refused to put it on the mustang or even ride him. You weren’t ready yet and you wanted to love this animal not make him a tool.
“Not gonna ride him then?” Hosea asked.
You shook your head as you watched David the stable boy carry a saddle down the road and through town to where the wagon was. Hosea stood beside you, “Not yet,” You said, “I will after we’ve had him around for a bit,” You didn’t know much about horses, or animals even, but you knew you had to respect them.
“Got a name?”
You hadn’t even thought of one. You looked deep into your mind, searching for a name for this majestic beast. The horse was standing behind you, minding his own business as he swatted flies away with his tail. You turned around and approached him, giggling a little when he bobbed his head and curled his lips and lapping out to smell your hand. He already looked a lot happier to be out of that stall.
“Callus… You look like a Callus,” You told the horse. His ears flicked towards you then away again. David had given you some sugar cubes that you dug out of your pocket and gave to him. It wasn’t a flattering name, but you liked it. And so his name was Callus.
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Everyone was so happy. Maybe it was just an excuse to party and drink, but everyone seemed to be enjoying your birthday a whole lot more than you. You sat on a log beside the open fire, a smile on your face despite how empty and fake it was. Callus was tucked away with all the other horses and you’d catch yourself looking at him every now and then. He was a bit of a bastard on the ride back home because he was tied behind the wagon and he kept trying to run away. You felt bad, you wanted to let him loose and run free but Hosea paid good money for him.
The new camp was right along a river deep in the woods not too far outside Sugartown. It was a good 15-minute ride back to camp. The shelter of the trees kept you away from the sun’s warm rays. Leaves had dried and turned bright colors. Red, yellow and orange leaves would flutter to the ground every now and then. Some blackberry bushes grew along the banks of the river and that was where you decided to put your tent. Once you had gotten back to camp and unloaded the supplies, everyone made sure to bask you in some kind of attention. Dutch and Annabelle had gotten you new clothes seeing as you were growing out of the ones you already had. You were very thankful because you honestly needed new clothes and they weren’t all that bad either. Susan had gotten you some real riding boots with spurs and everything. You’d be a made into the perfect little cowgirl before you even knew it. Arthur had greeted you with a smile and flagged you over towards the center of camp were food awaited.
The gang sat down at dinner with you, joking and laughing and singing songs. It was all very merry and you joined in from time to time. You didn’t want anyone to worry, and you didn’t want to bother anyone with your problems or how you felt deep inside. You had to be happy for them, they cared for you after all. Dutch had even offered you a drink of whiskey which you bravely and foolishly drank. It took everything in your power to not spit out the bitter and hot liquid. It stung on the way down and warmed your insides. Why did all these freaks enjoy this stuff? Ugh, you were not key on trying whiskey again for a long time.
That didn’t stop the rest of the gang from drinking. At some point in the night, you excused yourself away from them and over to your tent. You sat along the little bench you had outside the front curtains, looking over the spurs you had gotten. You flicked the little star and watched it spin, spin, spin then stop. You flicked it again, and again, and then held the spurs in your lap. Silence followed and filled your head while you blocked out the sound of Dutch’s low boisterous laughter mingled with Susan’s evil cackle.
Why couldn’t you have had one more birthday with them? Just one more year? Why couldn’t your parents… Why did they die? Why did it have to be them? Why you? Why you’re family? You traced your finger along the leather work in your spurs, wondering what life would be like if nothing ever happened. What would your mother have gotten you this year? Probably a new pair of shoes and a dress, with a doll and a book, like she did almost every year. Your father would have taken you out for lunch, gone into town and bought you candy and whatever else you wanted. At the end of the night, you’d all have dinner together, cuddle on the couch while your mother read stories from a book. You’d fall asleep with them there on the couch….
You missed them so much. You could feel the tears well up in your eyes. Why now? Why did it have to hurt so much now?
“(Y/n)?” Shit! Flustered and embarrassed you rubbed your eyes quickly. You made sure no tears had fallen or escaped.
“Y-yeah?” You looked up and over the little wall of blackberry bushes, you had between you and the camp. It was Arthur. You could barely make out his face in the dark. The only light you had came from the small lantern beside your feet. He made a little dip of his head, gesturing to the spot beside you.
You scooted over and made room for him as he passed by, “You disappeared,” His face was a little dirty. He had dirt smudged into his cheek and nose. His hair was looking a little longer too. It just barely curled around the back of his ears. Hosea had normally made sure to keep Arthur’s hair well groomed because Arthur was a little to stupid to remind himself sometimes. But lately, Hosea has been distracted by only what you could have guessed was Bessie.
He was right though, you had disappeared, “I’m just a little tired,” You lied.
“Bullshit,” Arthur sat down beside you and nudged you along the bench some more. You sat side by side, you could feel the warmth radiate off him in the places you touched,
“You normally don’t go to bed till well past one in the morning,”
How did he know that? You squinted at him, “I had a rough day,” You didn’t want to ask that question. He wasn’t wrong though. You did spend most nights awake and reading books. You rarely got any sleep nowadays. Nightmares were evil, tricky and sneaky creatures that had made themselves at home in your dreams, “Hosea made me get a freaking horse! That’s a lot to take in.”
For some reason, he laughed at that and you felt a small smile twitch on your lips, “Well, I guess that’s a lot. I stole my first horse,” He gave you a side glance with an awkward smile, “I’m surprised Hosea actually got the money to buy that horse for you. He must really like you, Dutch too.” You already knew that. You could see the love they had for you, they showed it in their own ways. The same for Susan and Annabelle. They all loved you for some odd reason. What was so great about you?
“They like you too,” You quipped, “We’re their kids to them,” That was the truth. They loved Arthur just as much as they loved you.
“Mhm, we always will be, I’m afraid,” The two of you shared an odd laugh. Arthur made himself busy though and dug around in that satchel he always had on him, “I didn’t come over here to just pester you though,” he said.
“Oh yeah?” You didn’t think he was pestering you.
“Yeah,” Arthur found what he was looking for and you watched his brows raise and a grin grow on his face, “I know you said no gifts, and not to make a big deal out of it but I got you something,” He had something in his hands that you couldn’t make out. You felt a heavy pit form in your chest.
“Come on Arthur- I thought at least you would listen to me. Everyone got me something already-”
“Stop it!” He waved a hand in the air and gave you this look of honesty, “You’re still a kid. Enjoy it,” At the same time he handed you a small box that could fit in your lap, “Open it.”
He was bossy, wasn’t he? You took in a deep breath, feeling the air fill your lungs and you breathed away the dark pit in your chest. Carefully you lifted the lid. It was hard to see, the light was limited in the dark, but you could make out two things.
A beautiful knife was sitting in the box, latched and sealed by its leather holster. It was beautiful because the handle was as white as snow with vivid flowers and skulls carved into it. The details were burned into the handle so that the dark black contrasted the satin white. You unhitched the latch holding the large blade in place. You watched the silver light reflect the midnight moon as you pulled the knife free. You could see a similar pattern etched into the blade that was on the handle. It was a large hunting knife.
“I know you aren’t to keen on keeping a gun on you- and… I thought you could use something to protect yourself with- And it comes in handy too,” Arthur’s 16-year-old voice was still awkward and broken in many places. He gazed away as you held the knife in your hands. Was he worried if you’d like it? You flipped it a few times slowly in your hands, looking over both sides. It was amazing. He stammered on saying, “You can stop borrowing mine now.”
There was one last thing in the box. You set the knife down and gently picked up the delicate little paper inside. It looked like he tore it from a journal. As you unfolded the note you could make out a ‘Have a Happy Birthday, (Y/n).’ With a drawing of a rosebud barely blooming on a thorny stem. He signed it with a small capital letter ‘A.’
“You drew this?” You looked up at him with raised brows.
“The art book helped a lot,” The book you got him that awful night… “I thought you’d like something pretty to hang up. I see you staring at roses a lot too.”
You looked back down at the drawing. It was really good, it looked like he really took his time on it. The petals were shaded well, and the stem looked as though it was hovering above the page. You felt a sad part of your heart crack open and break loose.
“They were my mother’s favorite flower,” Your voice was shallow and low, “She use to grow bushes all over the house… They’re all probably dead now.” You thought more about your mother and how much you missed her. She was everything to you, your role model and teacher. On today of all days, you missed her the most. You let out a heavy sigh and saw a tear fall that you didn’t even realize was there. It splatted onto the note and slowly stained into the page.
Arthur noticed rather quickly and leaned forward, “Hey-” He looked worried and confused, “What’s with the tears, kid?”
You tried your best to fight your sadness and keep them back, “I..” You opened your mouth then closed it, sighed and finally said, “I miss my mother… I wish she was here,”
A small sob slipped from your throat, “Everyone…” You sucked in a sharp and shaky breath. You felt a few more tears roll down your cheeks, “They’ve all been nice and they got me stuff but I still feel….” You were at a loss for words, “I feel bad,” You finally bubbled out.
It was hard to watch you cry. Arthur didn’t much like seeing your tears, especially in vain. But he understood your pain. He could feel in a deep locked part of his heart the pain it felt to grow older another year and miss everything you use to have. He missed his mother too, and he also hated his birthday. Every year it came around it just reminded him how much older he was and how much further away from his mother he got. He carefully wrapped an arm around you, unsure how to comfort you in such a dire time, but he tried his best.
“It’s alright,” He said as you leaned into his embrace, “It’s alright, (Y/n), you can feel bad.”
You shook your head, “I don’t want to. I want to go back- I don’t want to live like this. I want my parents, I want my home!” You started to sob even more. You couldn’t understand your own grief, it came sudden and in larger and larger waves. You felt like your world had already fallen apart and you had just only realized it. It wasn’t until now did you ever really let yourself grieve about your parent’s death. And you hated it, you felt awful, you felt a type of raw pain that couldn’t be healed.
Yet Arthur stayed put while he felt your pain. He didn’t stop you from crying, and he didn’t speak because he knew there was nothing he could do but just be there for you.
He sucked in a deep breath and as the air passed through his lungs and out of his body, he remembered how much he use to cry and how much he wished he has someone to hold him. This was the least he could do for you.
“I hate this,” You muttered quietly as you caught your breath, “I hate being alive.”
“Don’t say that,” Arthur spoke slowly but with a lot of emotion, “Don’t go down that hole,”
You sat up and rubbed your cheeks and eyes, you were still crying, “I do though. I hate it, I want… I want to be with my parents and that’s not here.” He knew what you were trying to say without saying it. Everyone noticed the change in you over the past few months. You had grown more quiet, you did your chores less often and slept very little and busied yourself with reading anything you could.
As you stared at the ground you could imagine the look on his face. One of those sad but concerned ones where his brows knit together slightly and a frown was pulling down his lips, “I know you don’t want to hear this, but you have us.” He was right, you didn’t want to hear that. You knew you had them and it was unfair to say this, but the gang wasn’t enough. The gang was actually the opposite of what you wanted but this is what you were stuck with. That’s not to say you didn’t care about all of them… they just… they weren’t your parents.
You took a chance and glanced up at him, he wasn’t even staring at you. He was looking towards the heart of camp, where the adults had started to chat quietly amongst themselves. Their voices sounded miles away. “I miss my ma every day,” Arthur said each word carefully like he planned them out in his head, “I think about her… Every day. And I try not to. The less I think about her…” He paused and scratched his jaw than his neck, “The more I feel like a regular person.” It sounded painful for him to admit, and his advice was bad but personal. He wasn’t very good at expressing himself… At least not vocally.
A lump formed in your throat and you swallowed it down while biting your inner cheek. You took a quick breath in and blinked, “I can’t stop thinking about her,” Your mother was never far from your thoughts, and recently, she was the only thing on your mind, “I… I want to be her… I want to be just like her and make her proud. I… How do I do that? Like this? Here?”
Arthur shook his head and shrugged, “Don’t think about it. Try your best not to at least. It’s what I do. I just try and remember my ma and how good she was, not what she wanted or if she was here or if this or if… anything. She’s gone. It’s hard to accept but… not thinking about it might be a step,” It wasn’t, not a healthy one at least. But it was the easy way out, just blocking out the thought of your mother, she was gone, she isn’t here. Don’t think about her. Don’t think about her, your father, your home, “Think about the gang,” Arthur said as if he was reading your mind, “Think about Dutch and what he wants and Hosea too. Listen to Susan, do your chores, leave the camp once in a while. Don’t stay in your tent all day hiding and only coming out to eat.” He had made his point. But he wasn’t lecturing you, he was speaking from experience. He could remember when he first joined the gang when Dutch took him in, and how hard it was to accept this new life, you were in the same boat.
Maybe you had gotten yourself into a rut too, “I know,” You admitted, knowing that you had abandoned your daily lifestyle “It’s not easy.”
“It’s not,” Arthur shifted around in his seat a bit, “We might not be family, (Y/n), but we’re all we got. You can leave any time you want, no one is forcing you to stay. We didn’t kidnap you, we just took you in because it was the right thing to do,” You heard that many times before. The right thing to do… that was one of Dutch’s ‘morals’ and teachings and he preached it often.
It had been so hard accepting this new life. It had almost been a year now. Almost, it’d be a year in the spring. The first few months where fun because you escaped death, but after that is when the reality set in that your parents were gone. You were just lucky enough to get robbed by the nicest outlaws you’ve ever met.
In a way, you felt better. Not perfect, still depressed but there was a weight off your shoulders. You felt lighter somehow, “Thank you, Arthur,” You muttered.
“Naah,” He drawled out as he hoisted himself to his feet, “Don’t thank me,” You sat up straight and remembered the box in your lap. You clutched it close, cherishing it already, “Just get some sleep, alright?”
“Okay, Pops,” The smallest, shyest smirk crawled on your face.
“Don’t call me that.” When Arthur’s face dropped to a wince you snickered quietly.
You looked at him, “Sorry, Pa,”
Arthur threw his hand in the air and pointed a finger at your with a glare in his eyes, “Dammit (Y/n)! I’m serious! Go to bed you snot and be ready to wake up early!” He started to stomp off. He made it pretty far before he finally stopped and looked back at you, unsure if he actually got through to you or not.
You sat there for a second then got up, holding the box as you brought it up to your chest, “Goodnight, Arthur,” You gave him a smile as you picked up the lantern resting beside the bench.
He smiled back and gave a silent nod of his head in return before heading back into camp. You stood there for a moment and watched him return to the others. The mumbled and talked, then Arthur whispered something to Dutch and before you knew it they were smiling again. For outlaws, they sure were happy… simple folk loved simple things you supposed. You killed the lantern and walked into your tent feeling tired for the first time in days. You felt the call of sleep as you sat down on your bed, it lulled and cradled you into peaceful dreams.
#writes#writing#texts#8th#April#2019#April 8th 2019#red dead#rdr#red dead 2#rdr 2#red dead redemption#red dead redemption 2#arthur morgan x reader#arthur x reader#arthur morgan/ you#arthur mogan/ reader#x reader#reader insert#arthur mogan#you#Dutch Van Der Linde#hosea mathews#susan grimshaw#Annabelle#Bessie mathews#van der linde gang#homeless at home#chapter#eight
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Fishing is boring, but not with you || Part I ||
Hellow! It's my first fanfiction in english, it's not my main language so please be kind to me :3
I translated it from french to english and I try to correct some misunderstood lines with my words.
I hope you enjoy it!
A great thanks to @verai-marcel for correcting my mistakes! ♥
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Chapter 1 : Fishing isn’t that easy
Today was a day like the others, without anything big happening. Everyone attended to their activities to the camp. Mrs.Grimshaw didn’t waste her time reminding the young ladies to participate in the thankless tasks to make the camp live. As for the men, they took care of the hunting, fishing, or robbing stagecoaches to return with some money to put in the small box of Dutch. While he had left somewhere with Micah and Arthur, Lilou was bored in her tent and waited impatiently for their return. More exactly that of Arthur, with whom she had begun a relationship with him a few weeks ago. When she was fifteen years old, she began to have feelings for him. It had taken her four years before admitting to him, being much older than her. She had considered him at first as a brother, then she had a sensation that it was much more than that. She had joined the gang when she was a baby, Hosea having found her wrapped in an old sheet near a post office. He has then took pity on her and had returned with her to the camp. She was cherished a lot by Bessie and Anabelle, who found her adorable. She learnt to read, to write, and to ride a horse beside Arthur. Hosea had taught her to hunt easy prey, and as for Dutch, he had taught her how to use guns. She was very a quick learner and became a main asset of the gang, beside Arthur.
While she cleaned her revolver, she heard Snowflakes, Arthur's mare, whinnying after he gave her a fruit and a small friendly pat on her neck.
“That’s my girl, heh heh!”
He went in the direction of Pearson’s pot to take some stew. Lilou had a little smirk and went to join him. She came to put a kiss on his cheek, snuggling up to him. Once he finished his bowl, he put it down on the ground and came to embrace his partner.
“How was that reconnaissance?”
“It was good. But of what I saw, Micah really has foolish ideas. I don’t have any confidence in him, but Dutch trusts him. I’m thinking of following him.”
“If you accompany him, please, take care of yourself and be safe, okay? I don’t want something bad to happen to you, especially because of him, otherwise he is going to hear from me,” she said while glaring at said man, who tried as usual to flirt with Abigail.
“You don’t have to worry about me darling, I’m a tough boy, you know it.”
He pressed his lips on hers, kissing her with love and tenderness. In response to his sudden contact, she snuggled up closer against his body, wrapping her arms around his neck. He withdrew and came to put his nose against hers, his blue-green eyes staring into Lilou's yellow ones.
“Tell me, how about we go fishing, only you and I? A little time for both of us can’t hurt.”
“Why not! I began to be bored without you, Arthur. I’ll fetch my fishing rod, I’ll join you at the horses.
While he took care with preparing his things that he stowed on Snowflake, Lilou joined him rather quickly, her satchel over her shoulder and her fishing rod in her hand. Whereas he mounted his mare, she preferred to mount Runner, the appaloosa that Arthur had tamed only for her during one of her birthdays. It was a big present, the best present that she could have, according to her. They left at full speed, crossing the silent forest to join a small stream which wasn’t very far from Horseshoe Overlook. A few minutes later, they arrived finally, where he and Jack also had spent some time fishingand met the Pinkerton agents, Ross and Milton. They dismounted from their horses and joined side by side near the small stream. Arthur took out the fishing rod of his bag, as well as a small piece of cheese which would serve as bait. Lilou, who didn’t seem to have one, looked at Arthur with puppy eyes, hoping he had another one in his satchel. He sighed and gave her the last piece he had on him.
“Little scatterbrained, think of bringing one next time.”
“Oh, you know everyone can happen to forget things, grumpy old man.”
Once they cast their lines in the water, they waited for the fish to attack the food.
In only five minutes, Arthur had already caught four magnificent fish, which he hurriedly put in his satchel, while Lilou had difficulty in reeling in the line, which stopped under the brute force of the girl who reeled in the line too hard every time. The outlaw sighed one more time and came to stand behind her, taking her fishing rod in his hand.
“I’m going to show you how you should proceed. When you feel the line trembling, you’re going to slowly move the rod from right to left to calm him, then you’re going to reel in, softly and not brutally, otherwise it’s sure that your line is going to break.”
“I’m not used to fishing, Arthur. I have really never liked that. Nor learnt a lot. Hosea especially taught me how to hunt.”
“You’re young, you have all the time to learn, sweetheart.”
He manages to catch two fish that he puts into her satchel. As for Lilou, she didn’t pay attention to the fish. She was rather obsessed by the heat of her body against his, feeling a sensation of heat in her low stomach, her ass against Arthur's crotch. He gave her a smile of pride and restored the fishing rod to his partner.
“You see, it’s not that difficult. You need to be patient, that’s all.”
“Says the guy who lose patience by missing preys when he goes hunting.”
“Oh, don’t start to upset me girl, you’re going to lose.”
He came to take her against him without her being able to react, putting his head on her neck, biting and kissing it gently. She groaned softly following his gesture, taking his big hands in hers to place them on her small chest. He came to press his already hot and hard crotch against her buttocks, moving his hips against her, to show his desire towards his girl.
“You want to do this here, you naughty bastard?”
“Why not? I like the risk of getting caught while I make love to you wildly.”
“Arthur... Go ahead, do what you want with me, I’m all yours,” she says, hot and excited.
“As you wish, sweetheart.”
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Dames - First Impression
It is highly recommended that you read Knights before reading this, otherwise you may miss some context.
Knights is a post-Hellbent fanfic where, while the Mystery Skulls learn the truth of what happened in the cave, reconciliation fails in the long run, and Arthur leaves his old life behind to escape the vengeful wraith. He tries to move on with a new life, but it’s not easy to heal from the trauma.
The honor of damehood is said to be the female equivalent of knighthood. So while Knights is seen through Arthur’s eyes, Dames can be seen from the eyes of others.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~
When Elaine saw the young man asleep on one of the chairs in the waiting area of the family shop, her first impression is mere annoyance.
According to Mama Vivienne, the man was trying to take shelter from the rain pouring down outside. That alone isn't too strange, since the shop has had a few other unlucky pedestrians do it before, but something told her that this isn't an everyday passerby.
The man is dressed almost from head to toe. A long sleeved orange jacket with black gloves and long yellow pants with black and white sneakers. Again, not too strange, since the weather is rather cold. However, the fact that he hasn't taken off his gloves, along with the backpack beneath the chair he's sitting does give an air of suspicion.
But what really spurred her curiosity is the hamster that is asleep on the man's chest. It has... wheels for hind legs? Elaine noticed that the rain is beginning to let up. Well, it's a good opportunity, because the shop is due to close in the next two hours. If Elaine didn't wake the man soon, he might get grumpy or possibly miss an appointment. She started to lift her hand.
“Wait,” another hand gently interfered with hers.
Elaine saw an old woman next to her. When did she come in? Just now?
“Let him sleep.”
“What? But, Nana Niniane, we'll be closing soon.”
“Let him sleep,” Niniane nodded once at her before turning her attention to the slumbering man, “He needs it.”
Elaine was about to argue, but upon seeing the old woman's pointed look, decided to hold her tongue and gave the sleeping man another glance.
...Now that she's had a closer look, the man did look really tired. When was the last time he slept? She then noticed that there is a backpack hidden under the chair behind his feet. It looked too small to be a backpacker's bag, and the cage that he has with him is designed to be one a person would use to travel. Without thinking too hard about it, Elaine reached out to the sleeping hamster and scooped it up into her hold. Upon examining the little rodent, she noticed that it (or rather, he, when she got a closer look) started to wake up.
Elaine has to admit, the hamster did look rather cute.
She knelt down to place the hamster into the travel cage at his owner's feet, but as soon as she moved a hand to open it, the hamster raced off her hold and ran across from the floor. Before Elaine could stand up to chase after it, the hamster suddenly floated off the ground with a greenish-blue aura surrounding it, causing it to squeak in protest.
“Well, aren't you a naughty little thing?”
Elaine looked up and saw Niniane lazily holding a hand up at the hamster's direction, her fingers emitting the same aura. The hamster floated back to the travel cage, which Elaine opened to place the hamster back inside.
“Perhaps he is hungry, but I suppose it would be rude to ask him to check his belongings for anything that might be filling for his pet's stomach,” Niniane mused as she leaned in closer at the sleeping man, “I wish you a peaceful rest, young one.”
Elaine could only look at her relative's behavior in confusion before shoving it aside. Nana Niniane has always been an enigma in this family. Hell, she doesn't even know how old she is!
She twirled her finger around her white lock of hair for a moment before sighing and walking to the storage closet. Opening the door, she looked around and took out an old cotton blanket. Elaine isn't sure what its original duty was, but the old rag is normally used to cover old engines after they're worked on and needed minor protections against the elements. It somewhat reeked of oil, but she judged it to be clean enough to do the job of giving the man some cover after recalling that her mother washed it sometime last week. Some of those oil splotches had to be cleaned off one way or another.
With care, Elaine placed the blanket over the man in a meager attempt to be nice, maybe give him some warmth. There is a chance it might not be wanted, but alas.
“That is rather kind of you. I thought you would be rather embittered against people like him.”
Damn it, Nana Niniane. She really didn't want to think about the man who dumped her two weeks ago. All because she told him that she couldn't bear children due to being infertile right as they were considering marriage. She had long accepted that her cousin Eleanor would continue the family bloodline, but the fact that she had been abandoned by someone just because of that...
But the man before her now had nothing to do with her feelings. He didn't do anything to her, or to the shop itself. All this man did is come into the shop for shelter from the rain, and fell asleep in exhaustion.
As she started to back away, Elaine noticed something on the man's neck.
Is that... a wound?
She didn't have time to ask questions. Filing the note of what seemed to be a wound in the back of her mind, Elaine walked back to the garage. One of the shop's regulars has brought in a van for inspection. If it turned out well, then the regular would buy it for his son and it would add another asset for the shop to profit.
Worse comes to worse, she'll let her grandmother Mama Vivienne handle the man.
It's not like she'd see him again after today, anyway.
#msa fanfic#mystery skulls animated#fanfiction#msa arthur#arthur kingsmen#elaine knights#msa knights#msa dames
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@ashafox Hello! I am your Secret Santa!! I loved all of your AU’s! But this one really stuck out to me! It is your Human AU where Mathieu and Yekaterina set up their siblings on a date!
Link: AO3 Fanfiction
Word Count: 3146
Rating: T
@rusame-secret-santa-2017
“No. N-” Mathieu's voice cut his off, “I don’t need a date, Mattie! I swear to anyone holy, I’m FINE!” ... “Yes, yes I know. I know I’m not getting any young- I’m the same age as you! AND YOUNGER!” … “UGH Mattie, please! I swear I don’t need a romantic relationship! I’m happy where I’m at with my job and I don’t need a relationship to distract m- Not right now at least!”
Several knocks, more like bangs, plundered Alfred’s door, momentarily distracting him from his brother’s long-winded monologue on why Alfred should be a) married or b)dating right now over the phone. Alfred juggling both his coffee cup, filled to the brim, and his work reports that still needed to be reviewed over while his cell phone balanced between his ear and shoulder, struggled to decide whether to put everything down and answer the door or just answer it as he was. The continued frenzied banging at his door gave him his answer.
“Shit- I’m coming! Hold on-! Mathieu, please give me a moment I have to get the do- One moment!” Alfred groaned. He rushed over and pitifully opened the door with his left hand, still occupied by his work report. Before he could fully open the door and cough out a hello the door swung open, promptly pushing him back onto his ass, and a tall figure rushed into past him, into his bedroom.
“Wha- Mattie?” His coffee cup fell out of his hand and luckily fell next to him rather than on him and burning expect. Unluckily though the cup shattered into a million little pieces and the coffee spilled coffee seemed under his hand and pants, and burned him.
“Ow! Shit-ow! What the fuck!” Alfred quickly picked himself up and kicked his cellphone away from the traveling spill coming to its direction. He hopped over the mess, avoiding the glass shards, and rushed to his bedroom.
He stood in his doorway baffling at the scene. “What the fuck? MATTIE!”
His violet, wavy-haired brother stopped his moving and stared at him. “Wha-?”
Alfred stared at him. “Don’t you ‘what’ me, man! What are you doing here!?” Alfred stomped over to him yanking his shirt from Mathieu’s hand. “Why are you going through all of my clothes!?”
“You got a date.”
“What. No, I don’t.”
“Yes,” Mathieu yanked the shirt back. “You do!” He went back to rummaging through Alfred’s dresser, his back hunched over. He stopped suddenly looking at an article of clothing before throwing it onto the bed, “I am setting you up with someone. A blind date!”
“Matthew...Why.” It came out as a statement rather than a question.
Mathieu walked to Alfred’s closet, skimming through the various clothing, pulling off the ones he deemed nice, and threw them onto the bed. “You have a date in an hour with a nice guy that Yekaterina think you would be good with.”
“Matt-” Mathieu cut him off.
“It's at a coffee shop that you like, cause I know you get. Don’t want you to feel so confronted that you either start a fight or just leave.”
“Ma-”
“I’m also picking out your clothes cause I don’t trust you to pick out something nice when you already don’t want to do this, but you are going to do this anyways cause I AM YOUR OLDER BROTHER AND YOU DO AS I SAY.”
“MATTIE!” Alfred exacerbated.
Mathieu threw down the two shirts in his hand, that he was originally observing, onto the ground and turned to his brother. Alfred stood right next to him so when in doing so they were barely an inch apart. “I’m getting married soon and you are alone Alfred! I want you to bring a date to my wedding! I want you to be with someone and be happy!”
“I am happy! I don’t need someone! I have my jo-”
“Alfred! You haven’t dated anyone since high school!” Mathieu looked away and to the thrown clothes on the floor. His voice quieted. “You haven’t seen anyone since Ludwig…”
Alfred stepped away from him. “Don’t.”
“He’s gone, Alfred. You need to move on. He would have wanted you to…” Mathieu pleaded with him.
Alfred sighed, “I’m-I’m just not rea-”
“Please. Just this once. Just go out with this guy, talk to him a little, see if you have anything in common. Just please!” Mathieu took him by the shoulders and shook him, “For me! See if you like him!”
Moments passed without Alfred’s answer.
“Fine.”
Mathieu's eyes widened, “Yes! You won’t regret this, bro!” He went back to scouring Alfred’s closet before feeling satisfied with everything he threw onto the bed. He quickly went to the bed to start creating an outfit from the options, “Trust me, he’s so sweet and he’s tall! I know you like those tall dudes and he likes sunflowers! He’s a nice guy!” Mathieu stopped once more, “Well according to Yekaterina… I’ve only ever heard things from her...Never actually met him…”
“Matthew! What the heck!”
“N-no, n-no, n-no! This is Kat we’re talking about! She’s a good judge of character!”
“Mattie! She thinks Arthur is a-” He put folding his hands under his chin and put on a high pitched Russian accent “delightful person to be around.”
“Trust me! ALFRED!”
“UGH FINE, but you have to clean the mess you made me make when you rushed into here!”
“Yes! Oh and...we have to do this quick! It was Kat’s and I’s plan to ambush you last minute with this so you didn’t have enough time to change your mind so you only have 15 minutes now!” Mathieu pushed a mountain of clothes into his arms and pushed him forward to the bathroom. “Go put this on, we’re gonna be leaving soon. I’m dropping you off!”
Alfred groaned loudly in the bathroom.
***
The bell rang as Alfred opened the door to the coffee shop. He turned back to where his brother just dropped him off. His brother did a circular movement with his hand, telling him to hurry up and go in. He just sighed. His breath showing as a white cloud. Finally stepping in and closing the door behind him he took his hands from his pockets and rubbed them together. He then cupped them together and blew hot air onto them, trying to speed up the warming process. God did he dislike the cold. How did Mathieu appreciate this weather so much?
Alfred scanned the establishment looking a yellow sunflower. According to what Mattie told him, his blind date’s name was Ivan (didn’t give a last name) and that he was going to be holding a sunflower.
“Where is he? Where is he? Where is he?” Alfred mumbled to himself.
There didn’t seem to be a speck of yellow in this place! Alfred grew impatient. ‘Is he not here?’ Alfred thought. Suddenly yellow was spotted in his peripheral vision. There in the back corner, directly diagonal from the doorway was a tall, pale-haired, with- what Alfred let out a sigh of relief to- a yellow sunflower. A quite big one too.
‘How did I not see that?’
Alfred slowly, but earnestly, walked over to the man. This was it. He was going on a date! Dear god, he hated his brother… He wasn’t going to be staying long, only for the coffee. Only until he finished it...Only till..., he finished it.
“Uhm, Hello? Are you Ivan?” The man looked up from his coffee and Alfred was kinda shocked. His eyes, they were like his brothers. He’d never seen anyone else like that! Interesting! He found something to talk about should a topic not come up.
“Oh Da, I am and you are Alfred I presume?” He made to stand up and held out his hand.
“Yep, that’s me!” He let out an awkward laugh and took Ivan’s hand into his own. Nervously shaking it. ‘God save me. I really don’t want to be here!’
Ivan made a motion to the chair in front of him for him to sit. Alfred took off his coat and rested it on the back of the chair and slowly sat down in it. They stayed in silence for a couple moments and Alfred thought to break it but, Ivan got to it before him.
“Do you want a drink? I will get you one. On me of course!”
“Oh thank you! Just get me whatever you think looks good. I’m always bad at making choices. I never know what...uh-I want…” Alfred felt as though he was saying too much for such a simple question. “Yep, whatever you think is good…”
Ivan pushed back his chair, the scraping noise bothered Alfred and did a quick smile at him. “Okay, I will be back in a moment.” He walked away to the barista counter.
Alfred let out a great sigh. “Oh fuck, I’m not cut out for dating.” He banged his elbows on the small round table and rested his chin in his hands. He looked at the man’s drink in front of him. It smelt sweet...peppermint? Hm, peppermint was good. I guess this guy has a sweet tooth. That was a point, Alfred loved sweet things.
Alfred continued to observe the man’s side of the table. A newspaper was under his drink. He liked to be informed… Has an appreciation for the older way of life as he didn’t choose to use his cellphone. His jacket on the chair looked to be old and worn, but very well taken cared of. So he was careful and diligent of his possessions. He buys things once and takes care of them so he doesn’t have/need to buy another. Nice, nice. He’s off to a very nice start so far. He even went to both get and buy Alfred a drink. Very nice of him. Another point.
Through his observations and deductions, Alfred didn’t notice the large man finally returning. Ivan placed his cup on the table as well as a plate with a bear claw. Alfred cocked his head at the pastry. “I got it for you.” Ivan said as he sat down and pulled his chair in, “I heard you liked these so I thought you would want one…”
Alfred’s face lit up, “God yes I love these! Thank you, dude!” He took a bite of the pastry and moaned. “This place has the best bear claws!” Alfred immediately took his cup and took a sip, his eyes widened. “Aw man White Chocolate mocha!” Alfred smiled at Ivan, who seemed to be enjoying Alfred’s reactions to the treats. “You really know your stuff!”
The silence resumed once again. This time Alfred went to break it, “I’m just letting you know now. I’m not looking for a partner or whatever. I don’t do dates, my dude.”
Ivan raised his eyebrow at that. He heard that this one would be reluctant to the date, but Ivan came anyways. He was always up for a challenge as people say. He did need a little entertainment in his life and he didn’t care whether the date went well or not. He was only doing this because his dear sister asked him. He wasn't going to disappoint his sister and trigger another one of her crying fits, though sometimes he swore she was faking it. Only using it to get what she wants...Whatever she was doing it worked cause here Ivan was now. “Is that so?” he smirked.
Alfred’s brow furrowed confused. “Yeah, Listen. I don’t want to be here. I thank you for this, but I’m only doing this for my brother.”
“As I’m doing this for my Sister.”
Pause. “I’m only staying till I finish my coffee.”
“Then we better work fast.” Ivan smiled, “My name is Ivan, I am 28 years old, I was born in Moscow, Russia, I immigrated to the US when I was 16, I work as an engineer building space shuttles, I have a sweet tooth, I love sunflowers, knitting, and cats, and my last boyfriend was when I was 24 years old.”
Alfred gapped. Well, if that was how it was going be, “I’m Alfred, I’m 23 years old, I was born in Massachusetts, I moved to here to DC when I was 18, I work as an intern for NASA in building...space shuttles, I love to eat, workout, superheroes, and comics, and my last boyfriend died when we were in high school.”
Oh, way to go Alfred for bringing up that last part. Eugh Alfred hated himself.
“Nice to meet you Alfred. I hope to learn as much as I can about you in the time it takes you to finish your coffee.”
Alfred was taken back, but...He smiled back. “The same to you, Ivan. Now at first this really took me back but I think it’s really cool. Your eyes are just like my brothers! Well actually yours are a little darker in colour, but they’re just as awesome!”
Ivan chuckled and took a sip of his coffee, “Really? I don’t know anyone else with my eye color.”
“I know right! I have to tell him about you, I think he would really like to know else is like him haha.”
“You know you have a very nice eye colour. It’s very pigmented. You don’t see that very often.”
Alfred took a took a bite, but kept on talking, “Really? I always thought they were just normal. Just a boring shade of blue.”
“Dear god, finishing swallowing before you talk!”
“Haha, nom nom nom!” Ivan threw a napkin at him. “Hey! You aren’t supposed to abuse me how dare you!”
“I didn’t abuse you I simply gave you some coverage. Do us all a favor and cover your mouth.” Ivan sounded stern but he was having some trouble covering up a laugh.
“Ha you think-” Alfred paused to swallow, “ I’m funny!”
“Lord help me.”
“So mean to me!”
“Not mean just truthful!”
“That’s still being mean!” Alfred took another sip from his cup.
“I guess it is, but I think you can handle it, hm?” Ivan raised his brow as he brought his cup to his lips
“Yeah, of course, I can!”
“Haha, how cute,” Ivan muttered under his breath.
“Huh? What was that? I could hear?”
“Nothing.” He continued to drink from his cup.
“If you say so…” Alfred looked to the sunflower still on the table and picked it up, “Where did you even get this? It’s in the middle of Winter?”
“I live by a flower shop. I am a frequent customer for Sunflowers, they even have a small garden of sunflowers just for me, well not just for me they sell to others who want them, but they started it because I would always come in for sunflowers and they never had any.”
“That’s nice of them! Which flower shop is it, maybe I’ll visit it sometimes. My brother is getting married and I think some flowers would be a nice touch to his tux.”
“Your brother is getting married?”
“Yeah, this spring coming up. Getting married to some Ukrainian chick. She’s really nice.” Alfred drank once more, “She apparently comes from Russia though. So same as you. Maybe you guys would get along.”
“Alfred just because we are both immigrants from Russia does not mean we would get along.” Ivan deadpanned.
Alfred raised his hands in surrender, “Alright, alright I guess so and aren’t you gonna tell me where this flower shop is at? I’m gonna check it out!”
Ivan leaned over and took a pen from his to write on the newspaper. Writing down the address he explained the directions and then told him how he could get there via walking from the coffee shop they were at. Ivan drew out a small map on the back of the paper with the address. Alfred thought it was cute. How thorough he was even though it was simple directions. He grabbed his cup to take a sip but all the came down was a couple drops of coffee. He frowned.
“Hey, Ivan.” Interrupted Ivan in his directions, “I’m gonna be right back. Give me a couple minutes!”
Ivan nodded his head. Waiting he looked out the window watching as the cars passed and the walking of people. Where were they all going? Seeing a woman in a professional pencil skirt in heels and nothing but a small cardigan through the freezing snow he imagined her coming back from her boyfriend's apartment who just dumped her. She was so angry she only put her shoes on and left. A teenager walked passed, ripped jeans and an oversized tan jacket with fur at the hoodie, Ivan imagined them going to meet up with friends. He recently got the text message to go somewhere with them so he hastily picked out the first thing to wear and set out to the destination. Ivan laughed to himself.
Alfred returned back with a Hello...and two cups of coffee. “This is for you.” He said, “I assumed that you like sweet thing and peppermint so I got you a peppermint mocha!”
Ivan stared at Alfred’s own cup. “Oh! I got myself a black and white mocha!” He took a sip of it. The whipped cream got onto his nose and upper lip, “I don’t know what’s in this, but its good!”
Ivan took let out a puff, took his napkin, and wiped off the mess from his face. “Keep yourself clean, how is that so hard for you?”
“Aye! I was gonna lick that off!”
“Were you? Well, here you can have the napkin if you wanted it so bad.” Ivan chuckled. He threw the napkin at Alfred.
“Why do you throw napkins at me so much! I just got you another coffee shouldn’t you be nice to me!”
Ivan and Alfred laughed and chatted, drank and snacked, and ignored and forgot. Hours went by where they all they did was talk and the drink kept on coming. Every time one would notice one of their drinks gong empty the other stood up and bought two more new drinks. Both two different flavors than before. They both had an unspoken agreement, and challenge, to try every single drink on the menu before they left.
“Wait wait are you telling me your sister is Yekaterina?”
“You’re brother is Mathieu??”
“YES!” They both stood quiet before they both busted out laughing. “Oh my god! They set us up with each other!”
“I should have known something was up when Sestra said Mathieu spoke frequently of you so she knew you would be a nice person!”
They both burst out laughing again. “Oh my god, well they sure did do something good for us. You’re pretty cool to hang out with Ivan Braginsky.”
“As with you Alfred William-Jones.”
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Wrack and Ruin: Final
Part I
Part II
Part III
Part IV
Part V
Part VI
What an end to a day. Arthur is frustrated. Feeling bad for a monster! Indeed. How typically French. How typically Bonaparte. How typical it is for one from that family to go and throw the entire plan off. This is how society falls, he thinks, when we start feeling poorly for monsters like the Jersey Devil. As if it inhabits any humanity within it to warrant pity or kindness.
What a miserable end to his letter to Liverpool. Well, perhaps not miserable. Bonaparte, that is Napoleon, assured him that the creature posed no military threat or otherwise to England or her colonies. What would happen were it to go to Upper and Lower Canada? Nothing, Bonaparte had said. Eat some cattle? Scare a few farmers?
He will admit he was not sure what he had expected from the entire expedition which hadn't been his idea to begin with. There was no great confrontation as there had been in Woodford and for that he is thankful. He isn't sure he is up for more confrontations with mystical beings of supernatural power. Age does catch up with one.
He concludes his letter to Liverpool and adds it to the stack that is to be sent on ahead of them before they embark on their journey homeward.
'No dinners with a president,' Napoleon says, letting himself in. 'Are you offended or relieved?'
'Relieved, I assure you. And I had dinner with the director of the Federal Bank and the former, if temporary, King of Spain. I think I can forego dinner with Monroe for that.'
'And you dine regularly with the former emperor of France, how your other dinner guests must pale in comparison.'
'That is a title we do not recognize,' Arthur replies in a stiff manner.
'But Joseph is King of Spain! That is unkind. Not to mention a work of great mental elasticity. Who made him king of Spain I wonder.' But Napoleon is smiling as he says it so Arthur does not take umbrage.
They end up topsy-turvy on the bed with Napoleon's stockinged feet on the pillows and head by the foot of the bed with Arthur the opposite. It is a quiet evening, no formal dinner. At some point soon they will go downstairs and be social. Both are still in their hunting clothes, buckskin breeches and wool coats deposited on chair backs.
'I still cannot believe neither of you shot it,' Arthur says. He can feel circles being traced along his hip.
'It was no wolf, bear or boar. There would have been no honour in it. You would agree with me had you seen it.'
Arthur props himself up and looks down to Napoleon who has his eyes closed. One arm is beneath his head as a pillow, the other against Arthur's leg drawing those absent shapes.
'It's the Jersey Devil,' Arthur says.
'It was sad.'
'Sad? You don't look at a deer and think, oh it's sad so I shan't shoot it today.'
'No, no.' Napoleon's face screws up in thought then regains composure. He unwinds his hand that was a pillow and rubs his eyes. 'It's different. I felt pity for it. Not the pity you feel for a wounded horse or hound, where it is a mercy to shoot them. But the pity you feel for a man who dies alone with no one to hold his hand. Or the pity you feel when someone is dead and there is no one to mourn for them. The pity associated with extreme isolation.'
'That is all very well but it is hardly human.'
Napoleon thinks on this then sits up and frowns at Arthur. He holds out his hand and balances it side to side, 'yes and no. When I met its gaze I felt there was something humane about it. It's eyes, though red and yellow, were still human eyes.'
'You mean they expressed human emotion.'
'No, I mean they literally were the eyes of mankind. The eyes of Adam.' He rubs his face again. 'It's hard to explain. I hold no grievance with Joseph for not shooting it. I didn't run it through either. We just sort of exchanged eye contact with it then it went on its way. The only of its kind Joseph thinks. How sad. Alone, exiled from its family all those years ago.'
Arthur, 'there is no similarity there. Your family still cares. Well, some of your family cares.'
Napoleon laughs. Says that Arthur really knows how to make a man feel loved. Excellent ability to improve a person's mood. ‘God,’ he sighs as he lies back down, ‘what would I do without you to remind me that some of my family cares?’
'I wager you would get on well enough.'
'I'd be a puddle of despair.'
Arthur rolls his eyes, mutters that Napoleon is not being serious anymore. Always skirting away from difficult truths. At that Napoleon sits back up and with a grave expression says, 'I'm sorry.'
'For what? I was just grumping. It's my way.'
'Now who isn't being serious?'
'Fine, fine I accept your strange and unnecessary apology.'
Napoleon smiles and pats Arthur's cheek. 'I am glad.' Bringing up Arthur's hand he brushes a kiss along the knuckles then says he must go and bathe and change if he is to be in anything resembling a presentable state for dinner.
//
It is later, after food and drinks and several rounds of cards and Arthur has retired for the evening that Napoleon finds Joseph in his library with a thick blanket on his lap and reading Defoe. Joseph looks at him from overtop his glasses.
'You appear comfortable,' Napoleon says. He lingers at the edge of the room. Outside the light of the fire and the lamps and candles. Joseph motions him to the chair near him.
'I hate this book but I'm too committed to stop now. Besides, I promised Cadwalader that I would give him my assessment of it and I would like it to be more thorough than 'absolute rubbish, feed it to the pigs with turnip tops'.'
'What a country gentlemen you have become.'
Joseph smiles, says that the same could be said for Napoleon. He heard of the garden from Wellesley who was really just complaining about the bees. Bees, how fitting. He has thought about bees as well.
Napoleon, 'what I said today. I didn't mean it.'
'Yes you did.'
'No,' he sighs. 'No, I didn't. I was angry more at myself than you. I'm never angry at you.'
'What a lie.' But Joseph laughs a bit as he says it.
'I am trying to apologize brother. Very well, I have been angry you in the past. I am capable of being angry and frustrated and all manner of other things with you but I still love you and I am sorry for the unkind words I said today. I do not truly believe them of you.'
Joseph takes his glasses off and sets them aside along with Defoe. He looks at Napoleon with great patience. Napoleon ponders for a moment longer then goes, 'and I am also sorry for making you King of Spain instead of letting you remain King of Naples like you preferred and I am sorry for leaving Elba thus setting in line a chain of events that lead to this current situation and I am also sorry for making you do my homework on Corsica when we were seven and never managing to keep my stockings up then blaming you for my state of undress to mother.' A tentative look. 'Shall I continue?'
'Perhaps you should just write me a letter. No, no, Nabulio it is all right. I thank you for your apology. I always know that you generally do not mean what you say in the heat of the moment. What was it Duroc said about you?'
'Oh no not the Duroc quote.'
Joseph, in an aproximation of Duroc's manner of speaking, "The emperor speaks from his feelings, not according to his judgement; nor as he will act tomorrow."
‘How perceptive of him...I miss him a good deal.'
'I know.'
'We are leaving for England tomorrow.'
'I know.’
Joseph searches his brother's face and finds sadness but it is a well-restrained emotion. At first he is annoyed because even now, even after it all, even in this intimate moment when it is just the two of them, he must be in control of himself but then he remembers being ten years old and going to France and how he wept and wept and made his brother's shoulder damp and Napoleon, who was Napoleonne then, just cried a few tears. Two, or three. And he swallowed a few times but couldn't speak. The empire just made him worse.
When do walls develop? Is it when you are taken from your family who you will not see for another fifteen years and thrust into a country whose language you do not speak, whose customs you do not understand and told to make friends with boys you cannot interpret? Is it when you witness war for the first time? Mobs running wild? Your friend taking a piece of shrapnel and dying atop of you as they cough blood onto your face? When do you bury yourself in irony and smiles and wry social observations?
Joseph wonders how much he has changed as well, in all those years. He looks back to Corsica and it feels as if it was ten minutes ago. Then, at the same time, it feels one hundred years ago.
Napoleon is staring at the fire and breathing very carefully. He is tapping out a rhythm on the armrest.
'I should go to bed, it is late.'
Joseph, 'no, no. Stay. We may not see each other for some time after this.'
Napoleon does not look at him. Joseph wants to say, You know I have seen you naked and squalling, right? You know I have seen you screaming in our father's lap because you scrapped your knee, ruined your breeches and everything is terrible?
But that would serve no purpose. Joseph instead goes to a shelf and retrieves a selection of books. 'Do you remember when father read Cicero to us for the first time?'
'Vaguely. I remember sitting on the floor of his study and listening to him read. I don't remember what it was about. It was our tradition whenever he was home. He would let you sit in his nice chair because you were always in a better state of dress than I.'
'You had just spent the day chasing around with the shepherd boys in the hills. You were filthy.'
'I was six. All six year olds are filthy.'
Joseph sits back down with the books and sets them on the floor between them. He says they should read from one, that he has chosen all those he remembers them going through when young. There is even Ossian, Napoleon's favourite though Joseph never quite understood why. And beneath that Virgil and Ovid and Caesar and Roland and countless others. Napoleon picks up Ossian and thumbs through a few pages.
'I was once accused of having Ossian dreams,' he says as he reads a section.
Joseph shrugs, 'there are worse dreams to have.'
'What do you want to read?'
Joseph picks up dusty Virgil and hands it over. Anything of his, for now. And really, it doesn't matter, they have all night.
Later, several books alter, Napoleon bids good evening. It is half two in the morning and Joseph says, 'I am glad you came. Even if we didn't succeed in anything remotely close to what we set out to do.'
'Next you must come to England. We have trolls.'
Joseph grasps his brother's hand and says that it is a plan then pulls Napoleon into a hug. He tells himself to not cry so much as he did when they were boys. The sense of separation is not as large as it was then. There has been a decreasing in the miles in the gulf that Joseph had imagined between them. Perhaps scouting for trolls would be just the thing. A vacation from sometimes-dreary Bordentown.
Pulling back Napoleon's hand stays on Joseph's neck and he looks his brother full in the face. It is like he is memorizing him, or seeing him afresh for the first time in many years. Joseph grins.
'Don't get into too much trouble, Nabulio.'
'Don't worry, Giuseppe, I have made enough noise for one lifetime. Come to England for the trolls?'
'For the trolls. Maybe we'll find some humanity in them, too.'
'Sure, but don't tell Wellesley, he'll have an apoplexy.'
Sometimes, Joseph thinks, it is like that poem wherein we go into the forest and carve the words of our love into trees and as the trees grow so do our loves become louder. There will be some forgotten people whose trees do not grow and their voices petrify, freeze in time. But they have been lucky, he thinks. Their voices are still heard, they are not reduced to living in silent woods barren of human contact and love. Their exile could have been thus - could have made of them unspeakable creatures not to be seen or heard or known.
A gentle thank you to all who stuck with me this week and through the strange and odd journey of this wee story. It went in an unexpected direction for me and I am glad you all kept with me as we jointly became emotional about brothers being brothers.
I also want to thank everyone who lovingly liked, reblogged, and commented. You are all so great and wonderful and supportive and it means the world. Really though, you’re all the best.
Thank you also to the anon who sent in the prompt of Napoleon and Arthur vs. Cryptids. I am not sure if this is what you wanted but thank you for the inspiration! It has been a pleasure to write.
<3 <3
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A not so dope evening
Summary: A brick building, scarlet walls, and crimson carpeting.
When the seven guests of the Optatum hotel rented a room, they weren't expecting for a new shade of red to appear.
A shade of blood red.
Genre: mystery with a sprinkle of comedy
Warnings: minor character death, bad humor
Word Count: 7,650
A/N: just a little Dope AU, based on details from the concept photo and the MV
Chapter 1/3: "Life is the farce which everyone has to perform"
"Life is the farce which everyone has to perform"
"La vie est la farce à mener par tous." A citation by Arthur Rimbaud from his poem Une Saison en Enfer (A Season in Hell) (1873).Wherever it is, whenever it is, whoever it is, each living being has its own life. Sometimes those lives enter in contact in a flamboyant firework and that's what's about to happen in the little city of Jjeoreo.
Yoongi closed his suitcase slowly, ensuring to be absolutely silent. It was early in the morning, the sun still under the horizon outside. Everyone was asleep at the fire station, it was his only chance to escape. He mentally checked everything was ready while grabbing his suitcase and going out of his room, always making sure to not emit a sound. It was just out of the question for him to stay one more minute in here, where piles of paperwork at least as high as himself were waiting for him. So Captain Min Yoongi of the 309th division of the Seoul Firefighters had decided to take early vacations in a little city called Jjeoreo.
He had already booked his room at the Optatum, the only hotel of the little city. He had never gone there, yet he was trusting the establishment's reputation of being very calm, secluded, and most of all, discreet about his patrons. Because he didn't want his men showing up to bring him back while he would be bathing in warm, scented water.
Yoongi finally reached the station's entrance, he looked back one last time to make sure no one was there and left.
Hoseok changed down gears to negotiate the bend making his black Porsche 911 Carrera roar. The racer ran a few more laps before getting back to the garage he was attributed. Inje Speedium was a great circuit and the fact it was seahorse-shaped was just the cutest. It was his first time on that circuit and it had been quite enjoyable. He took off his helmet and his old Firefox jacket, keeping both in his hands once he was done. He had been criticised a lot for wearing a motorbike outfit while doing car racing, but he considered it his lucky item as he had always finished in the top five while wearing it since he had started driving - motorbikes at the time - back when he was 16.
He was rudely interrupted in his post-racing bliss by a handful of reporters showing their mics in his face and yelling questions at him. Lately, all the drivers were under fire because of some new drug supposed to improve reflexes and lower the feeling of fear. Journalists were harassing all the people working directly or indirectly in car racing to expose the cheaters. It had already been three weeks and Hoseok's patience was wearing thin as he was accosted daily by cameras.
The young man went through to grab a cup of coffee at the distributor, ignoring the verbal attacks. A few minutes later he was announced his car was ready. He went back to the garage and drove out of the circuit. His sponsor had booked him a room admittedly a bit far from the circuit but that was at least guaranteed without any journalist, the company making sure to keep his location confidential. He didn't know the place at all, being currently guided to Jjeoreo by his GPS. However, he had been assured the place was really comfortable, with good food and a unique style. In fact, as long as the hotel was safe, Hoseok could go with anything - okay, maybe not anything, more like no cockroach, no rat, no spider, no termite or any kind of little parasitic living being, clean sheets, towels and no dust, easy right?
Kim Taehyung the greatest detective of the century - according to his mother, so it was obviously true - was on a new adventure!
He was going to resolve the mystery of the Jjeoreo missing children!
It was an old story about seven little boys going missing on December 24th and reappearing in a flower field, exactly four months later on April 24th, unconscious and talking nonsense. As soon as he had discovered the article in an old newspaper lying around in a deserted house - he was searching for a missing dog at the time - he had wanted to shed light on that story. So he had asked his mother for his magnifier and she had let him go, after puffing up a bit his baby perm and making sure he had correctly buttoned up his shirt.
And here he was now, on the train for Jjeoreo, with a hand-drawn map to lead him to his hotel and the newspaper. He had read the article again and again, despite its lack of information. There were only two photos: one of the children on the evening of their disappearance, posing in front of snow-covered trees and one in the flower field, where the seven of them laid in a circle. Concerning the text, it only explained the boys were friends, that none of them had ever been problematic and that after their recovery they had started talking on and on about "reaching their most beautiful moment in life" without ever explaining what they meant by that.
The police had absolutely no clue, not even a rumor... yet Taehyung was sure he would solve the mystery! Because he was the greatest detective of the century !!
Jimin yawned while adjusting the pile of papers on his laps. The train was boring and he had barely slept the night before, because of the cries of his neighbours' newborn. His building was more and noisier, he was seriously thinking about moving. Yet the rent was cheap and he worked so much he was barely there anyway so he still hadn't searched for something better. But now was not the time. He should rather concentrate on his stay at the Optatum. It had become his habit to spend a weekend every month at the red hotel, despite the distance. It was a perfect working environment for him and his manuscript Jumping with love, a story about three girls living next to each other and meeting thanks to the trampoline in their backyards. No one knew about it, for now, the young author too shy to share his work with anyone.
He had to plan the next two days carefully as this time he was also bringing work with him, his tyrannical boss always asking for reports at the last minute. He trusted his destination to be calm and mostly silent but the slow internet connection was going to be a problem, hence him bringing so many papers. If he started working on it as soon as he arrived at the hotel, he should be able to finish in the early afternoon. Then he would go to the little grocery shop nearby, buy a whole stock of Tagada Strawberry and fried chicken takeout to last the night and go back to his room to write until dinner. Because no matter how much he loved his story, the hotel food was delicious and there was always a nice atmosphere in the dining hall.
He hugged his manuscript closer and closed his eyes for a moment, lightly lulled by the moving train.
The devilish alarm clock rang loudly before being gently punched in the wall behind. A Pikachu onesie slowly crawled from under the covers while groaning. The bright yellow creature shuffled towards his kitchen, opening the fridge and grabbing food without raising his head. He poured milk carelessly in a mug and added a handful of cereal, before eating the result distractedly while checking the notifications on his phone. Once he was done, the Pokemon outfit went in his bathroom and from his hoodie emerged the head of a sleepy Jeon Jungkook. The young police officer finished getting ready without enthusiasm, grabbed his duffel bag and went out to his patrol car.
It was his turn to patrol in the region as there was only one headquarter left here. But more than a real patrol, those rounds were mostly dedicated to helping the locals with missing pets, broken cars and harvesting. Even though his kind nature wasn't especially bothered by that, it wasn't really what he expected when he enrolled in the police so he had some difficulties getting motivated. At least, there was always large servings for him at the Optatum and Mr Bang, the owner of the hotel, was kind and joyful. Which was almost even more frustrating as he would only spend one night in the town, and do likewise for the next twelve days at each stop of his watch.
Sometimes he wished a kid would pull a big prank just to break the routine and have some actual police work to do...
Namjoon took his bag before getting out of the weekly bus that connected his military station to the closest city, JJeoreo. The town was as empty as usual. Despite craving for his leave, he didn't want to go too far away from his men. The North was just too close. And Namjoon had to admit he had fallen in love with the bright red brick building, standing out in the countryside with its twelve floors, as soon as he had set foot inside for the first time. The extravagant 20s style of the Optatum was incredible: the red everywhere, the scissor gate elevator, the padded armchairs and sofas with sculpted legs and all the little details like the period phones and gramophones - that were actually modified to read CDs, connect a USB and broadcast quality sound. The vintage appearance with modern comfort was just the best for the Colonel Kim.
He would stay for a week, already planning to alternate between walks in the nearby forest and reading. He was also anticipating new discussions about music with the hotel's owner who was a retired producer. Opposite to that, the rest of the staff was rather discreet, to fit the calm reputation of the establishment, but they also had a kind nature that put you at ease - especially after you had broken your fifth cup in three days...
The doctor Kim sipped a little bit of coffee before beginning the next chapter of the book he was reading, MRI: Central Nervous System by Derek C. Kucharczyk and Walter Kucharczyk. The book was interesting, even though a bit outdated nowadays, it provided another point of views on the techniques and that was what the doctor was searching for.
He was currently on a unique case, an elderly man who suffered from hallucinations and whose memories were altering. It seemed like his hallucinations were slowly replacing his past, making him unable to recognize his family and asking for people no one knew. No similar case had ever been seen. It had started after the patient had fallen down the stairs in his house, causing a trauma that explained the illusions but not the memory replacement.
Seokjin, as a rising neurologist, couldn't ignore such a case. It was now three days since he had arrived and found a nice room at the red hotel near his patient's house. He was currently in his room, enjoying a late breakfast of coffee, toasts, and pieces of fruit all served in delicate porcelain dishes. He was one of the only two guests of the hotel. The other was a rude man living on the eighth floor, always looking grouchy and who had yelled at Seokjin for taking the lift at the same time as him and taking too much space with his books. Truly a despicable character.
Next Chapter →
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Missed Classic 86: Moonmist (1986) – Introduction
Written by Joe Pranevich
As we close on Infocom’s final release of 1986, we turn the page on a new era. As best as I have been able to determine, Moonmist is the final game that was deep under development prior to the purchase by Activision, or at least the last game to not have their fingerprints. Released only a month after Leather Goddesses of Phobos, it took the coveted holiday gift slot which was generally (but not exclusively) the home of the yearly Zork games. 1987 would bring changes, not the least of which will be a rapidly sped-up development process to allow Infocom/Activision to bring eight games to market in twelve months. We’ll take a look in future posts as to how successful those games will be. The industry was changing and Infocom would work hard over the next three years to keep up with it while maintaining their unique games and identity.
Moonmist is also the final game released by the pairing of Stu Galley and Jim Lawrence, and the final game from either of them overall. Galley had been a long-time champion of Interactive Fiction at Infocom, but he was better at refining others’ concepts than launching his own. Ironically, this was also precisely Jim Lawrence’s oeuvre as well. Mr. Lawrence had made his career writing stories based on others’ characters from Hardy Boys to Tom Swift, Nancy Drew to the Bobbsey Twins. He was undoubtedly great at it– the handful of his books that I read prior to playing these games were not bad at all– but they were not his characters. So it is perhaps no surprise that in his first outing he created a clone of Tom Swift and here, in his second one, a clone of Nancy Drew. I do not mean that disparagingly, but I cannot help but to think in retrospect that they were not playing to each others’ strengths.
Mr. Galley produced one of Infocom’s greatest mystery games in The Witness, and this game (despite its “introductory” designation), was written and classified as a sequel to the turn-based mysteries that Infocom pioneered. I have nothing but excitement for a game that swaps the police procedural aspects of the Deadline series and replaces it with a plucky young investigator. I also absolutely love that this is the second game in a row where you can choose your gender; it’s a small thing, but a sign that Infocom was expanding their markets and their minds. Whether because of how great it is or something else, Moonmist was also selected as one of the few games to be updated with graphics and translated to Japanese. That bodes well for this game being a lost classic.
I love a good mystery!
Before we can play the game, we have the usual Infocom “feelies” to go through. While once these had been little more than flavor text, by this point each game seems to rely on extras for copy protection-based puzzles. This game provides us with a set of letters from our friend Tamara, a brochure about Tresyllian Castle, and a book on legendary ghosts of Cornwall. The letters set the scene, introduce the characters, and help to fill out the world. Unfortunately, they are in longhand and are extremely difficult to read. Were people thirty years ago more used to reading cursive? I found a copy that someone typed in online just to spare my eyeballs.
The letters start off innocently enough, if perhaps too conveniently: our friend Tamara (who we know from Kent State) took time off from school to work as a secretary for Lord Jack Tresyllian in Cornwall, England. (Cornwall is the pointy bit at the far west of England that looks like it should be part of Wales, but isn’t.) Her assignment was to catalog the papers and books of Lord Jack’s uncle, the previous Lord Tresyllian, who had recently passed away. Somehow, they fell in love and they are about to be married. Their engagement party is coming up and we are invited! The rest of the letter describes people in Lord Jack’s social circle as well as several recent suspicious deaths. Tamara hints at multiple layers of mystery and intrigue and I take a lot of notes.
The recently deceased:
Lord Lionel Tresyllian, an explorer and previous owner of Tresyllian Castle. He died after catching a fatal “jungle disease” on one of his expeditions, but his decline was slow and he spent several months in bed at his castle before passing. His medical bills drove the family to relative poverty and they have been forced to open the castle to tourists to satisfy all of the debts.
Deirdre Hallam, Jack’s ex-girlfriend. She drowned in a well in the castle, but her body was never found. Did she commit suicide because Jack dumped her? Was she murdered? Tresyllian Castle had for centuries been the home of a “White Lady” ghost; but recent sightings claim that the ghost now looks just Deidre! That can’t be coincidence.
Mr. Poldark, Deirdre’s grandfather. He died of a mysterious disease and sought out a special “doctor” in London that specialized in making drugs extracted from plants. He passed away after the treatment was unsuccessful. By complete coincidence, his doctor (Dr. Wendish) was also Lord Lionel’s best friend.
That’s two people that died of mysterious diseases, both of whom knew the same doctor. Is anyone else betting on poison? Deirdre’s murder seems unconnected to the other two, unless Jack is the link. He may have had motive to kill his uncle, but why Deirdre too?
Did her hair keep growing as a ghost?
Possible suspects:
Vivien Pentreath, a local painter and sculptor. Despite being fifty, she remains quite attractive. She was the mistress of Lionel Tresyllian, the previous Lord of the castle and Jack’s uncle.
Iris Vane, a debutante who may be pretending to be Tamara’s friend. She is from London and was previously in love with Jack.
Ian Fordyce, Jack’s best friend. He’s an officer in the Coldstream Guards and has a way with the ladies. He was in love with Deirdre, and this caused friction with Jack so they broke up. Bros before… er… something, right? The Coldstream Guards appear to be a ceremonial regiment of the British military.
Montague Hyde, an antiques dealer from London. He has been snooping around to buy some of the family’s heirlooms, now that he knows that they need the money.
Tamara’s second letter is a cry for help. Someone is trying to kill her! One night, she woke up and saw the White Lady in her room. A few days later, someone planted a poisonous adder in her desk drawer. She is concerned that Deirdre’s ghost is trying to kill her for being engaged to Jack. She implores us to come to England and solve this mystery before it is too late.
I am looking forward to the hedge maze.
Tamara was kind enough to pack a brochure containing a map of the castle as well as descriptions of rooms open to the public. I have to give the authors credit for how much detail the brochure contains. It discusses local lore, connects the region to King Arthur, and provides hundreds of years of history of the castle itself. It’s nicely done, but I am not sure what (if any) connection that will have to the game itself. Will I be forced to play a round of Castle Trivia at the engagement party?
The final “feelie” is the “Legendary Ghosts of Cornwall”, a book from the “Festeron Library”. I’m annoyed by the misplaced reference to Festeron, but I’m likely the only person in the world that would care about such things. Both Wishbringer and Zork’s revised manuals were from the same library, one of many hints that the adventurer from Wishbringer would grow up to become the Zork adventurer. Dropping that reference in an unrelated and very “real world” game just feels odd and out of place. The book narrates six short ghost stories, all fun but rather grim as ghost stories usually are and bordering on not kid-safe. One woman haunts her rapist, for example. I am guessing that only the “White Lady” story will be pertinent to our game, but the others set the tone well. The “White Lady” is a woman who was forced to marry a much older man, Sir Thomas Tresyllian. Their relationship was cold: he was never home and they never had children. His nephew, Uther Tresyllian, started coming to visit and Sir Thomas became jealous enough that he bricked up his wife in the wall of the castle so that she would die screaming in the dark. Naturally, she would come to haunt him and his descendants.
Since this is a mystery, I want to start with predictions. Let’s see how many of them I get right:
Lord Lionel was poisoned, probably by Lord Jack who wanted to secure the estate.
Deirdre was nearly killed, but instead she now dresses up as the White Lady for a reason that isn’t clear. Is she attacking Tamara? Or is she trying to save her? (Surely, there are easier ways to warn Tamara that don’t involve dressing up as a ghost.)
Jack’s relationship to Tamara is a sham, but I’m not sure why. Tamara is wise enough to notice that Iris only pretends to be a friend, but it is secretly Jack who is pulling all the strings.
Adultery, adultery, and more adultery. I expect that there will not be much diddling in a children’s game, but jealousy will play a major role in the motive for one or more of the criminals.
Will I be correct with any of these? Let’s find out!
“A mystery story”
The Game
We begin outside Tresyllian Castle gate. Getting in is a tiny puzzle, but it doesn’t take long to find that the gate buzzer is located inside the red eye of a nearby dragon statue. A voice calls out from a hidden speaker asking us our name and title, being sure to use “Sir” or “Ms.” presumably so the game has a shot of determining your gender. I go with “Ms. Jane Doe”. We are then asked for our favorite color. I select “red”, but I should explain what is happening: According to the manual, there are four versions of this story. By selecting a different color (red, blue, green, or yellow) at the beginning of the game, we can take a different variant. I selected red only because it was the first color in the list; I do not know if that will make it the easiest or most difficult, or even if there are any paths that are easier or harder than others.
Tamara greets me as soon as I enter. She– rather pointedly– tells me that all of the people that she talked about in her letter are here for the dinner tonight. She hopes that I read her letter well. She reminds me of her engagement, the White Lady, and that someone is trying to kill her. I tell her that I know all of that and she hugs me before taking me inside to meet her husband-to-be. Lord Tresyllian seems impressed to meet such an… attractive… detective and swoops us up in his arms for a kiss. Tamara is standing right there! I guess he just has a thing for American girls.
Our next stop is the drawing room where Tamara introduces us to Montague Hyde and Vivien Pentheath, two more guests for the dinner. They visibly tense up when Tamara tells them that I am a detective, but they relay when Tamara clarifies that I am freelance rather than police. Vivien points out that she painted the portrait of the White Lady that hangs in this very room! Montague tells me that he is here to catalog the castle’s hidden treasures. We don’t get much small talk before Tamara whisks me to the next room and group of guests.
These are the Coldstream Guards.
In the “New Great Hall”, Tamara and Jack introduce me to a young couple dancing, Iris Vane and Ian Fordyce. Ian also flirts with me immediately, but he only kisses my hand rather than the rest of me. Moments later, the “distinguished scientist” Dr. Wendish arrives. He knows of my work already, which is flattering, and asks if I am here for a case. When I respond in the affirmative, he gets immediately tight-lipped. Why is everyone so suspicious of authority? Or is it just that I’m a world-renowned college-age woman sleuth that has a penchant for not only unlocking whatever secrets they are trying to keep hidden, but then writing about it afterwards?
The tour over, Tamara leads me upstairs to my room where I can freshen up for dinner. We pass by a portrait gallery for a moment and I manage to notice that one of the portraits has peepholes cut into it. I think those are supposed to be more difficult to find. Bolitho, the butler, meets us in my room. He informs us that dinner will be at 8:00 PM when we hear the gong; it’s now 7:17 so we have a little time. I learn that the dinner tonight is a special request by the late Lord Lionel in his will. Everyone here except Tamara and I were invited as stipulated in that document. Before he leaves, Bolitho asks if I am the “famous American detective” and whether I am here to investigate the White Lady. I say “yes” and he gives me a clue: he saw the ghost just the other night. He had entered the New Great Hall from the west and spotted the ghost bending over on the other side of the room. She seemed to be searching for something in the drawing room carpet. She fled as soon as the butler appeared but he has no idea how she got in or where she went as the front door was locked from the inside. He hands me an aerosol device to use if I am ever threatened by the ghost. He also suggests that I adjust the wall and side mirrors to get a better view of myself.
The castle is open to tourists during the week. That is a nice touch.
There isn’t much time to explore, but at the butler’s suggestion I look at myself in the mirror. The wall mirror doesn’t adjust like he said it would, but I don’t need it to see that I am filthy from my trip. I also remember from Tamara’s letter that these high-brow types won’t talk to you unless you dress properly for dinner, so I poke around. My luggage is on the bed and has clothes for dinner, exercise, and sleeping, plus the tourist brochure. I change into my dinner outfit and double-check the mirror, but I am still dirty. What to do? I head into the attached bathroom and freshen up in there. Finally the mirror says that I look “smashing”, so I am ready to go to dinner!
I pick my way downstairs using the map in the brochure. I discover one annoyance immediately: the phrase, “It looks even lovelier than it sounds in the tourist brochure.” Apparently that is code for “read the manual for this room description”. That sounds like a way to save some room on descriptions, but it also makes the game feel cheap. We have had plenty of games with detailed room descriptions that didn’t need to hide them in the manual.
Arriving in the dining room a minute or two early, I catch Bolitho leaving a note for Lord Jack. I grab it and read it to learn that the servants are all leaving momentarily. They have followed the instructions in Lord Lionel’s will and will leave the guests for the night activities. I also learn that Gladys, the upstairs maid, quit today and left Jack her resignation note on the writing desk in the sitting room. I replace the note where I found it and watch as the guests arrive one-by-one. Exploring the room, I notice a playing card has been stashed under the punchbowl. The game calls it the “first clue” so it must be important. It is a King of Spades, holding a scepter. I do not understand the importance yet, but I am positive it will come in handy later.
Most decks have the king with a sword rather than a scepter.
When the gong sounds, there are no servants and the food has been laid out along the sideboard. Iris suggests that they all “serve themselves buffet style” which seems to be a funny joke to the bluebloods. I sit down to eat and Jack announces his engagement to Tamara. Not everyone seems happy about it, but they put on brave faces.
Suddenly, the bust of Lord Lionel in the room begins to speak, shocking the party guests. I quickly discover a tape recorder attached to a timer hidden inside the bust, but it continues to speak. It was set to start playing exactly a half hour after the meal began.
Lionel’s voice continues, “You are all here, I trust, to honor the wish expressed in my will — that the seven of you should dine together at Tresyllian Castle on the evening of my birthday. […] As you know, I enjoyed adventuring to remote corners of the world. And doubtless you’ve all heard of the loss of that valuable artifact, which I brought back from one of my expeditions, have you not?”
The guests nod or mumble vaguely. They all glance towards Jack, as if looking for an official response.
Lionel’s voice goes on, “Jack, I am sure, is only too eager for me to shuffle off this mortal coil so he can inherit the family title and estate. Thus he should be particularly interested in what I have to say…” Once again, Lionel’s voice chuckles slyly, then continues.
“The truth is that the artifact is not lost, but hidden. Although I am not yet ready to reveal what it is, I suggest you look under the punchbowl.”
Aha! I already have the first clue! I try to show it to Jack, but he doesn’t seem that interested at this moment.
“This first clue is merely to sharpen your wits,” Lionel’s voice goes on. “Deirdre, my dear: your one goal in life is to become Jack’s wife, heaven knows why! Not being cupid, there is little I can do to help. Knowing the others, I suspect each one has private reasons for wanting my hidden treasure. So, for your amusement, I have given a second clue to my dear friend, which may start you down the path to finding it.”
With another sardonic chuckle, Lionel’s voice adds, “Perhaps, Vivien, you would care to SHARE your clue with the others — eh, what?”
Obviously Lord Lionel was not expecting Deirdre’s suicide/murder; will that impact the little game that he put together for us? I ask Vivien for the clue and she produces it, a small piece of verse:
Forbidden fruit tempted the very first lass,
‘Twas once in a garden, but now in a glass.
There is no further information after the “eh, what” and I wonder whether Lord Lionel was interrupted when he made the tape. Was there more that he intended to say? The dinner ends and everyone retires to the sitting room. Will it be a mad scramble around the house to discover the treasure? I’m the only person that has seen the first clue, so I should have an advantage. Should I be playing this family scavenger hunt at all when there is a mystery afoot? Who is trying to kill Tamara? Who is the White Lady?
I’m also struck by just how similar to The Colonel’s Bequest (1989) this all is. That game also had a plucky female detective, a haunted mansion, a portrait with a peephole, and a group of people brought together because of a will. Even the dinner scene seems similar! If Lionel is revealed to be alive and hiding in the attic, I’ll only be half-surprised.
That’s it for this week. Next week, I’ll start the scavenger hunt for real.
Time played: 45 min
Inventory: first clue, second clue, dinner outfit (being worn), aerosol device, tweed outfit
Score:
[Well, so far you’d met Lord Jack and all the guests, washed up from your trip, worn the proper outfit to dinner… but you haven’t found the missing treasure, nor enough evidence, nor identified the ghost!]
Now it is time to guess the score! Looking at Stu Galley’s scores to date, we have The Witness with 50 points and Seastalker with 35, giving us an average of 43 points. Across all Infocom games, the overall average is 40 points. Will this game rise to those heights? I look forward to finding out.
Note Regarding Spoilers and Companion Assist Points: There’s a set of rules regarding spoilers and companion assist points. Please read it here before making any comments that could be considered a spoiler in any way. The short of it is that no CAPs will be given for hints or spoilers given in advance of me requiring one. As this is an introductory post, it’s an opportunity for readers to bet 10 CAPs (only if they already have them) that I won’t be able to solve a puzzle without putting in an official Request for Assistance: remember to use ROT13 for betting. If you get it right, you will be rewarded with 50 CAPs in return. It’s also your chance to predict what the final rating will be for the game. Voters can predict whatever score they want, regardless of whether someone else has already chosen it. All correct (or nearest) votes will go into a draw.
source http://reposts.ciathyza.com/missed-classic-86-moonmist-1986-introduction/
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