I just . Repeating "characters are tools" you end up erasing so much about arashi's character and motivations and interactions with other characters if you avoid using her pronouns aka avoid showing she's transgender. It's on the same level of frustration with the translators i had when i saw they had Mika speaking standard English, there's a LOT that gets lost if you don't show those little things.

All the King’s horses, all the King’s men

Pairing | myg x reader

Genre | Mystery, thriller, angst, slowburn, e2l, Gang Leader!reader, Detective!yoongi

Warnings | Graphic scenes, use of alcohol, use of drugs, gang violence, explicit language, slightly sexual scenes, social issues, major character death.

Summary | ❝ Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall- Humpty Dumpty had a great fall. Even with all the King’s horses and all the King’s men, Humpty could not be put back together again. ❞

or

❝ An ambitious man caught in thorns, drowning in the delicacy of what the world truly is - a whirlpool of chaos and terror. There, he finds his bitter downfall. ❞

Word Count | 3.1k

Author’s Note | Hello! I wanted to make a quick note about this oneshot before it actually starts. Firstly, I’d like to advise whoever’s reading this that this is just a summary of the actual fic which I will be releasing - however, I have not finalised a date. Secondly, it’s a tad bit rushed and messy and I apologise if it does not reach standards. Due to my personal life, I found that it was quite difficult to find the time to write as much <3 

To end everything, I would like to thank @ficswithluv​ for welcoming me into this wonderful project! I hope you enjoy reading <3

The delicate stomping of your feet upon the gravel startles the ravens sitting by. You stop in front of a familiar tombstone, your infamous surname nicely engraved in a fancy font. Before it lay a multitude of flowers, all speedwells as to symbolise loyalty towards the man buried six feet under. It's Valentine's day, and unlike the ravishing hues of blues and purples, you had bought roses to celebrate the event. If anything, you were always the odd one out when on with your business.

You set a few speedwells down, politely placing them into one of the empty jars left out beside the other swarm. It's overwhelming, the very site of your father's name placed in such a lowly place, finally resting beside your mother. It's overwhelming how in only a small amount of time, events took a wicked turn and brought along unnecessary chaos.

You face the neighbouring slate of stone set on the right side of your family's. This one's much duller and greatly lacking in vibrancy, attention. It brings a frown to your features. It's lonely, devoid of any proper affection that one needs in order to stay remembered.

Yet, even though it's desolate, it makes you reminisce. The sight of it doesn't bring you grief - neither does it bring you melancholy. Instead, it fills your train of thought with old memories that you either want to cherish or banish completely. Where forever was once a long time, it’s now a memory. Where pinky promises were depicted as something precious, you now notice that they were nothing but white lies to conceal the truth.

You’d learned this the hard way.

It’s truly surprising how so much can happen in the span of a year, how so many things are able to change and leave dead skin behind. The world is a delicacy of chaos and terror. Time offers only to take. It’s an ancient form of evil and you’ve grown to despise it for it works.

Now you’re left empty, shattered and dull. No longer do you symbolise the purity of a child whose eyes shimmered with innocence, with colour. When you thought you had already grown, you put yourself through trauma. And with a series of unfortunate events, you’ve finally, truly come to understand the world for what it truly is.

Beside you, a wounded soul whom you haven’t seen in such a long time laces his fingers with yours. He draws soothing circles into your skin and you finally breathe. Through thick and thin, you find yourselves here, together, breathing.

Maybe, there is hope for blemished souls like yours.

You met the unusual man at a bar. Although back then, you had no idea what really lied underneath the thick layer of skin that he dawned. The bartender had offered the both of you drinks, pointing out how utterly exhausted the two of you looked. That sparked up small talk – simple, small talk.

Until you were both sharing breaths in a bathroom stall, holding onto each other almost as if your lives depended on it. Every touch of his that settled on your skin burned, the pieces of fabric that your body dawned felt way too heavy. Your fingers were tangled in his hair, teeth biting down on his lip. His hands were on your hips, pulling you closer and closer onto his body until the warmth that was radiating off him made both of you break out.

Both your minds were hazy, your mouths tasted like a mixture of vodka and whiskey. It left a bitter feeling on your tongues. You were so lost in the feeling, the warmth that spread through you and shut out all your concerns.

His hands were playing with the zipper of your dress, fumbling hastily as to waste no time. It was almost funny how men could get so impatient. You were both speaking in tongues, merely pulling back to catch your breaths. His left leg was pushed right against your core making you more sensitive than your own good. You were grinding down on him, moans tumbling out of your mouth as they were muffled into the kiss.

Maybe it was just a moment’s talk, but even though you were barely doing anything, the feeling was euphoric.

He was trailing wet kisses down your neck, giving you the chance to finally catch your breath. Your skin was bruising, your core was pooling, and you were losing sense of reality. His hands were running all over you, making you feel something much greater than pleasure from a simple touch.

It all came to a stop at the sound of his phone ringing aggressively in his pockets, leaving you huffing out in annoyance. He didn’t just leave it and continue with his business; he fished the phone out of his pocket and stormed out of the stall while fixing himself up. There was no “excuse me,” or “I really have to take this.” He just stormed out of the room as if nothing was going on. It left you livid.

Park Jimin, your right-hand man, had to pick you up that night – helped you with your frustrations and worries, held you until you slept and didn’t wake up until dawn.

You were glad to think that you wouldn’t ever see him again, just a one-time failed fling in a population full of many. But your career begged to differ, as about a month or so after, he turned up to a meeting you held, custom-made for new recruits. Never will you forget the surprise on his face, when he found out that you were, indeed, the leader of the cartel. You, a normal woman at the bar, drinking her sorrows away in hopes they’d simmer and give her peace.

Although, you’d like to think there was something else beneath that surprise.

“A woman, as the leader of the sickest cartels in all South Korea?” One of the recruits spoke, a bitter tone hanging on his tongue. “How the fuck is it supposed to stay put?”

It was true that you had no idea how things were supposed to go in the industry – your father never really let you merge yourself with his world. But now, your father lay in a casket six feet under after being found dead in a ditch. You couldn’t really put it in a simpler way, but the only thing you could really say is you refuse to recreate an old nursery rhyme your mother used to tell you when you were just a toddler.

Nothing will stop you from reigning and getting back at whoever slaughtered your plans. You weren’t ready to tolerate anything in your way.

Hence why you didn’t hesitate to make Jimin shoot a bullet through his head, even if it terrified you just the slightest bit. But that was a different story.

Of course, it was no surprise. Women were still thought to be such fragile beings, not being able to handle anything. Once you stepped on top for the throne, you refused to let that put you down. “If any of you dimwits even so much as think about saying stupid shit like that again, I won’t hesitate to decapitate you.”

Jimin always kept his word. Because for the next year or so, whoever even uttered a single word about your command in the cartel faced death. You were never there to see it – Seokjin and Jimin made sure you knew everything that occurred, though.

On the other hand, there was that man you met at the bar. If it was possible, he would’ve disintegrated under your gaze. The dislike you had towards him was surely something grand, and to glitter it up a bit, he seemed to share the same feelings towards you too. Of course, in your defense, he had no reason to.

You weren’t the one who ditched in the middle of a make-out session.

Min Yoongi – he was something. A no one, but something, nonetheless. Ever since you saw him lined up with the other recruits, you’ve had your eye on him. As dumb as he acted, the man was cunning. Just what the cartel needed. Despite acting scared, like everything is all new, you felt as if it was nothing to him – almost as if it was all just a mask to conceal his true intentions. Although, you had no proof to this, so you let these accusations simmer.

His tale was cliché. He needed money but he didn’t have the qualifications to get a job. So, he joined the mafia, a very dirty place to get what you want. You ran background checks on him, just in case, and you found nothing of danger to all of you.

With a few weeks of training, Yoongi was fully accepted into the group and was one of Seokjin’s right-hand men.  

Passing by him in corridors, sitting in the same room with him, even hearing his name made your blood boil. It was unexplainable, but the feeling was mutual. Back then, if he disliked you, then it would only be fair if you disliked him as well. 

The tension was incredibly thick between you two, much that it left others uncomfortable whenever you were in each other’s presence. It was unbearable.

There was this incident once – you remember it like the back of your hand.

Seokjin had sent him to your office to deliver the newest packages that would determine how briskly your newest job was going to go. Despite begging the elder to send someone else as to avoid the awkward tension, the man refused.

The next morning, the raven-haired man was waiting by your door, box in hand. It took you a minute or so of plainly staring at him, observing the way his fingers twitch on the item, the way his eyes squint at you almost as if you were going to swallow him whole. It was quiet. No one said a word until you both entered your office.

“I didn’t think I’d see you again, as a fucking mafia leader.” he said.

“Ta mère ne t'a jamais dit de ne pas faire confiance aux étrangers?” you responded fluently, the accent rolling down your tongue briskly. Yoongi had no clue what you said, hence why you huffed and translated for him.

“I’m pretty sure your mother has warned you about strangers at least once in her life, no?” Your tone was calm, soft and delicate.

“She has. I didn’t think it’d happen with you though.”

You crossed your arms over your chest and rested against your desk. “Oh? I apologise then, even though I don’t recall being the one who’s acting arrogant.” As someone below you, he had to show decency, or he’d be thrown out with the dogs. “Arrogant?” he snarled lowly, plummeting down on one of the cushioned chairs placed in front of your mahogany desk. “You’re the one who’s been acting like a bitch all this time.”

“Best watch your tongue before I throw you out,”

“Do it then.”

He was faced with a gun to his head. You glared; finger firmly set on the trigger as you stared directly at him. No way were you going to let him get away with such a disrespectful attitude. He didn’t flinch, neither did he blink. He just stared back at you, slowly shoving his hands in the pockets of his tattered jacket.

“Don’t test me, Min.”

“You wouldn’t do it.”

Once those words tumbled out of his lips, you stiffened. Of course, you’d do it, why wouldn’t you?

“You put on a strong, independent persona but you can barely manage yourself.”

His words are what water is to fire. How dare he talk to you like that? Had he no fucking decency? Did he really want a bullet to pierce his skin in order to start seeing some sense?

“I have no idea what you’re saying.”

“Oh, I think you do. That’s you, isn’t it?” His head bobbed towards the painting behind you – the Ses Peines Pleurant Es, a painting your mother had created back in her days. It depicted the both of you against the world, against the pure wickedness you were forced to grow up in. There’s darkness, but in contrast to it, there’s you as a new-born dawned in white.

“What makes you think that?”

The metal felt cold against his skin and Yoongi couldn’t help but shiver. “That painting’s been missing for years, and now that it’s here, it has to be yours.” he spoke calmly, “And frankly, I don’t think I’ve seen someone wear that much white before.”

You looked down at your clothes, all white with no signs of any other hue. It was crazy, truly, but you don’t remember wearing any other colour growing up. Your mother always dressed you up in just white, telling you that you look best in it. You just never really took mind to the resemblance your fashion sense had with the painting.

“Must be a coincidence,” you hummed, lowering the gun down to his chest. “For which I think is none of your business.”

Yoongi only hummed in response. There was a strict silence between the two of you then, before you sent him back to whatever duties Seokjin set on his shoulders. That was one of the encounters you had before things started taking a slight twist.

An infiltration in the Children’s Medical Clinic of Seoul, where one of the doctors was the main leads to what exactly brought your father’s downfall. You remember how ruthless Yoongi was that day, mercilessly shooting at the man without hesitation, without sparing a single breath. It was crazy, hell, it was mad, but you enjoyed it. That only meant strength to the cartel, and that’s exactly what you wanted.

Although, you won’t ever forget the pained screams of children roaring in panic, the sudden stiffness in Min when the man dropped dead and painted the bleached tiles red.

From then on, the hate you harboured towards each other started to simmer. Seokjin and Jimin had noticed this when Yoongi started becoming more obedient, less cocky with the way he formed his words.

To you, this was relief.

But then things started to advance, the two of you started getting closer and before you knew it, you were having affairs late at night. When everyone else was at their respective homes, you were under silken sheets, legs entangled with Yoongi’s. You’d play with his soft locks as he told you his deepest, darkest secrets. He’d tell you his fears, what he’s always wanted to become ever since he was a toddler.

And you’d listen. You’d listen intently until both of you fell asleep, and you’d rake your brain until you unraveled what all the information you ate up meant.

Jimin started getting suspicions – he found pills in Yoongi’s house. There was no labelling on them, and you didn’t think asking him would somehow enlighten the situation. To make it far more interesting, later you found a multitude of phone numbers scribbled on a piece of paper in his pockets.

Yoongi started becoming strange.

He’d tell you things you were skeptical of, he’d do things you deemed abnormal. And then, he started telling you how someone was out to get you, and how one day he would be famous, people would talk about him wherever he passed by.

You’ve known Yoongi for a year – enough to tell that he was not the man he was before. He wasn’t so mental, he wasn’t a paranoid freak, neither was he so ambitious. Yoongi was just a normal man who needed something to do.

But then, he started talking in his sleep. Words tumbling out of his mouth one by one, telling you who he truly was, the man behind the façade he’d been showing you every day.  Jimin was never one to lie.

There was someone out to get you and it was him. He’d been a wolf in sheep’s clothing, getting closer to you in order to gain information to bring your very downfall. He revealed every little plan, every hidden camera scattered across the base, all managed by none other than the police department.

Humpty Dumpty had the King’s men to aid him, piece him back up and help him up the wall. But you, you had no one.

The man who had shown you what white truly meant, what innocence and happiness felt like, what being normal truly tasted of. Your first and your last love. Min Yoongi, the man who wrapped his hands around your heart and took advantage of what was bare.

Perhaps that was why your mother always teased you about being careful when dealing with boys.

You reminisce how it all went down on Valentine’s Day. How the waves hugged the shore lovingly, being complimented nicely by the dim light of the moon dawning on your silhouettes hand in hand. He felt cold. Yoongi felt distant.

A sweet, passionate kiss was shared that night. It filled you with false hope, chills. It painted a faulty picture in your head of what could have been but hadn’t been. That night, you held him close and held him dearly.

“I love you,” he whispered.

Your toes curled in the damp particles of the sand. Your fingers fell limp. “I love you most,” You muttered back, your lips trailing faint kisses across his neck. When you pulled back, you observed him. Yoongi had never looked so vulnerable in all the times you’ve faced him. Although, even if he was torn, in that very moment to you he was beautiful.

You remember the screeching of birds once you pulled the trigger, your skin and dress then painted in crimson. You remember the sheer surprise scattered across his face until he offered you a gentle smile and collapsed.

“Jour de la Saint-Valentin heureux, mon amour.”

You no longer wore white.

 ---

His name is engraved quite nicely on his tombstone. It still saddens you how barren it looks, devoid of any attention. Hence why you gently set the bouquet of flowers down, bowing your head in respect towards the man who brought you to a new world.

You’ll cherish his presence in your memories instead of forgetting them.

Even if Yoongi left without truly accomplishing his mission, without truly becoming what his desires were, he was deemed dead in vain.

Macbeth let his ambition eat him whole and it led him to his very downfall – the terror of seeing himself crumble and lose power.

Yoongi also was too over-ambitious for his own good. He let himself succumb to the control you were merely lending him, only to suffer the consequences and face his own undoing.

After all, Humpty Dumpty could never really be put back together again.

 “Happy Valentine’s day, my love.”

Escape: To Salvation Ch: 11

Blake X Val

Summery: Blake wakes up in the hell town known as Templegate. confused and alone he must fight through both his past and present for his future. however, hallucinations of festering demons haunt him along with something else more of mortal blood. now he must fight to keep his nightmares and reality separate or succumb to the deadly wilds. however is he truly as alone as he feels in this world?  

status: complete

rated: M - fowl language, sensitive topics, and gore

previous chap: Escape: To Salvation CH:10

next chap: Escape: To Salvation CH:12

_____________________________________

~Ch:11 Questions~

“okay great now weregoing toputthatdown.” he spoke quickly in a nervous mess. Taking the gun out of Vals hands as if it were an armed bomb. “how many bullets does it have?” Val asked with excitement over the object. “i don't know and rather not know. Lets just set it back in the water. It might just be misplaced with someone looking for it.” Blake spoke nervously. “let's take it. It'll come in handy.” she suggested, trying to get a better look over the weapon. However, Blake wasn't allowing her to get anywhere near it. “how, I can’t handle this?! Can you?!” he questioned, keeping the weapon from her reach. “no, but I was raised around guns. Templegate had many hunting rifles for a while. Till the bullets ran dry with no way to obtain more. Everyone was taught about them as tools. Used for hunting or putting a farm animal out of its misery.” she answered. “this gun is a lot different from a hunting rifle.” Blake warned. “how so?” she asked. “um, these are not given to most people. … okay, but let me hold it.” he stated. Finding no reason to get rid of it. All the reason he could come up with came down to laws in civilization. Which they were far from and fleeing for their lives to reach. He wanted to be the holder though for fear Val mite go playing with it. “check its ammo.” she suggested. Blake looking over it for where ever the opening was. He had worked with pistols for a day at the shooting range on a reporting job. Seeing other guns on the job gave him false confidence he could figure the weapon out. Finding not even a slot to load the ammo in. “what's in there?” she asked over the large barrel attached underneath. Blake looking over it till he ended at a large latch. Popping it oven after applying a large amount of force. Revealing a long hidden coil filled with metal rings holding multiple slender bullets. Seeing a loading point toward the back popping the rings into the barrel. “like a six shooter.” Blake thought, counting the rings filled with bullets. “no wonder it's so damn heavy. Each ring has 7 bullets, 10 rings. A few have been spent with a empty slot. 61 bullets left in the whole thing.” he informed her as he looked over the thing. “we need to go hunting with this.” Val spoke with a grin. “we should save the bullets.” Blake suggested. “we have to go hunting. We need food before we reach the mountains. Snows toward the tops along with lots of storms. Kill a few deer, get warm clothing, and smoke some meat to preserve. Make a large food stash to replace our lost one.” Val talked him into it. “okay, but I am keeping the gun at all times.” he nodded. The idea of another food stash catching a big part of his interest. “alright. This is a perfect time for hunting too. There beginning to go crazy for the upcoming rut. Markings, tracks, and loud calls should be everywhere.” Val talked as she lead Blake off into the forest. Both following along thin streams coming down from the mountains ahead. “look, already some marks!” Val spoke, heading up to a tree with multiple deep gouges into the trunk. Surrounded by hoof tracks at the roots. “all these are fresh from a buck. Lots of meat to gather.” she spoke quietly as she tracked the deer. Blake moving faster to get ahead of her in preparation for the shot if the deer was spotted. Crouching at the sight of movement ahead past a fallen tree. Feeling angry disappointment when he saw a pack of wolves tearing apart a deer carcass. “cant even steal the meat.” he mumbled. The idea of scaring the wolfs off being useless with the carcass already picked clean. Val looking over the tree to see what Blake was so disappointed over. “this is even better.” she whispered to him. “how?” he asked. “warm clothing, they all have fine coats. We could really use that for the snow. Wolf meat is just the same as deer meat.” Val informed, gesturing to aim his gun. “sure they're okay to eat?” Blake asked, watching the wolfs wheeze. Slight twitches happening just like the others he'd seen. “their not nearly as poisoned as many i've seen. Meat or no meat we really must get the fur at least.” she answered. “how many should I try to get?” he asked. “as many as you can. They might not run away with that gun being so quiet.” she spoke. “aim for the head, or just behind the arm bone. either of those will kill them quickly.” she instructed, helping him set the gun against him and the fallen tree. He took careful deep breaths to calm himself. Looking through the scope to carefully aim. Picking off one with no notice to the others fighting over the deers rib cage. “silencer.” Blake noted after a lack of bang. Picking off the wolves one by one till there were only three left. Blake pausing as he was afraid to continue. Losing the fear when he saw the remaining wolfs try to eat their own dead. “very good, set up a smoke pit as I set the furs. We have to move quick before flies start to swarm.” she hopped over the log to start moving the wolves to the side in a line. Telling Blake instructions, as she carved the wolves, on how to make a large smoke pit. By the time she was done carving he had finished setting the smoke pit. A slightly dug hole with wood carefully broken into chunks, dampened with water, for slow burning to gain smoke. Making a large tightly woven tent of sorts with layers of basket like areas to hold slabs of meats. “help me set these in.” she said, pointing at the other small slabs of carved meat. Both delicately setting the pieces tightly together on the basket sections. Val shutting the whole thing off with the final side of the smoke tent. Tightly packing it with layered leaves and ties till she was sure it was secured shut. Leaving only two small openings with one being toward the bottom to light the fire and one at the top the size of a quarter. Val carefully lighting some moss to set over the damp wood chips. Creating a large amount of smoke as the moss burned over the chips. Val letting the pit do its work as she finished setting the furs. Trying to teach Blake how to tan the furs properly with a mixture. That mixture making him far too sick to try after seeing he'd have to mash the animals brains for it. However he did continue listening on the mixture instructions. “after the meats done how long will it last?” he asked. Washing blood off in a deep puddle collecting by a tree. “a week, but remember that's all for rationing. You sit and watch everything while I go catch us some rabbits for breakfast. … since you didn't catch it by the rocks.” she teased. “i could have if the gun hadn't stabbed me!” he whined while pointing to the small scratch on his leg. Watching Val till she disappeared from his sight between the trees. He grew bored after waiting a few hours. Thinking about taking knoths book before a grave realization. All his possessions were soaked from the river. “fuck, fuck, fuck!” he repeated to himself as he yanked the book out. Quickly flipping through it with a sinking heart. Realizing a bit of good news and bad news. Most the book was completely destroyed, however the pages toward the middle had not suffered as badly. The ink was smeared or blurred yet still readable for the most part. He sat extremely close to the smoker to gather heat for the book. Hoping to dry it out further to save the pages from more damage. Starting to read a few pages of knoths strange rantings.

___________________________________________ Final harvest of winter cabbage - “ how dare he! Biting the very hand who blessed him with mercy! Despite my commands he refuses to budge from that building of orphans. I keep telling him that it's a woman's job for child rearing. He had bigger responsibility then this to care for. He would not listen to me, the very prophet of god. I warned him he would face god's wrath if he did not repent his words. Putting his very position on the line with threats to me over how he rather not follow the path of decon-ship any longer. Claiming that he was possibly the other sex when I reminded him of his past lies of gender. Speaking of false happiness gained as he cared for the abandoned spawn. I warned him further with punishment over the sins he was suggesting. How many years of lying he had told me. The sin of him uprooting the churches standards for a job only man could handle. The heresy of abandoning the position under gods watch. He dismissed my threats as hollow. Challenging me to let him go of the deacon position. Willing to accept whatever punishment I gave. Saying nothing could be as horrible after being underneath me. He shouted all this in front of the others. I had to regain control after hearing the whispers of doubts over me.” first day of new year- “I gave him my permission for Val to stay with the children while being deacon. A decision I detest fully, but something to keep a hold of for a time. The people have been suffering the sin of envy. Watching Val with his children for the past few days. They have even begun going to him to talk over matters rather than me. I cannot allow this to go any further. I merely bought myself a few minutes giving Val my permission. Trying to keep a hold of my position over him, but even the people are seeing Vals leash slip free from my hands. They do not realize they sacrifice eternal happiness for quick pleasure. I cannot demand Val to his post without glares of rejection from all the idiots! Marta does her best to help, the faithful soul, but culling the herd with no end bares no useful results. I cannot remove the children either without questioning while I have no reasons to give. I see now who the wolf is. The follower of our enemy is leading my flock to its den. I want to shout false prophets, but I fear i am too late. They follow the wolf with talks of abandoning the sacred land we settled so long ago.” 7th day following the new year- “I pray for them all, my poor flock that spreads the seeds of doubt of the lord. They're forming against me! I hear all they're whispers for blood to stain the slate. I see shadows following me from the far trees. God tells me not to worry of those shadows wandering the mountain sides. I have kept my faith and have nothing to fear. I tell the lord I shall not fear, but I cannot help but worry over the wolf. He has taken so many to the side of disobedience I can no longer send out commands. If something is not done. I don't know what to do. Even now i am forced to send more lone children to Vals care.” 8th day in the month of spring- “I spoke with god alone on the mountain. The lord specifically requesting me to come past where the watching demonic shadows prowl. I went just as before when he asked for my eye in return for truth. Being cautious to avoid the mob speaking behind me. The lords voice warning me of the wolf again that stocks my flock. Telling me he was a servant of the fallen in disguise and I had no way of knowing till now. He had to be punished with righteous fury rained down upon him. The wolf had to be revealed as to not have my flock stray any further. God watched them, heard them, speaking in whispers over my place. If I was true or that the wolfs honeyed words were. threat of them losing faith with me had settled in their hearts. It was all Vals fault after the attack of my commands. He must be punished. He must relearn the wrath of god. I asked how I shall stop the wolf from bringing further worship to the red dragon of hell. Getting a message I shall follow till the sun dies. The flock wishes to run with the wolf to the outer world of sin. The Antichrist comes to my flock in the flesh of an innocent. Even the ones already born could be a vessel. The wolf defends them as it is its duty to bring its master into the world. I was commanded to purge the evil seed of all those under 10 winters from birth. Commanded That I had to call the wolf forward to demand loyalty of it to the lord's name. To spill the blood of its master from the fiery depths. A suitable punishment for the heretic to learn the wrath of god.”

________________________________________ “the children massacre.” Blake swallowed, knowing where this lead. The books end not being far off from the page. “could this have really changed people to his side? Did Val just give in without a fight?” he questioned in thought. Many more stacking to cause a migraine in his skull. He wanted to read more, but the rest had chicken scratch ramblings. The final quarter of the book destroyed from water. “guess its for the best.” Blake thought over the destruction of knoths words. “if I want answers now, i'll have to ask for them.” he thought, shoving the book away. He carefully tended to the small fire, adding more soaked chips or moss when needed. Shooing away any rodents sniffing at the furs. The sky growing full of colors as the sun set. “so much for breakfast.” Blake mumbled. “sorry, I just kept catching them in one spot. I need the extra skins.” Val apologized from behind. Showing him a large handful of rabbits when entering the light of the small fire. “going to make gloves from them?” Blake joked, surprised over the bunch of rabbits. “wolf fur would be better. Most of these are going to be made for threading the pieces together. The rest for some layering in the exposed areas like around the neck or a mask to keep your breath warm.” she spoke, setting up a second fire. Quickly setting the meat to cook and furs out to set with the others. “if its so bad, how exactly would we have made it by the mountains without the furs?” he questioned. “there's a low and a high trail. The low was safe without gear, but went the long way around the whole side of the mountain. Many climbs up and down rocky areas. The top made weather survival difficult, but the walk was very clear. A long rocky trail left behind from a seasonal river. During fall and winter it's just rocks, in spring it turns to a flowing river from the melting snow. … there's another issue I must tell.” Val spoke. After getting a concerning look from him she continued. “past this lake I can only go from what i've been told. Never been to the mountains around here. Half the area around here I don't even really remember. We have to stick carefully to the marks of the trail from this point on.” she spoke seriously about the matter. “we've gotten this far.” Blake spoke, moving a twig out of his way to sit by the bigger fire. Watching the smoke float up to disappear into the sky. Staring upwards to look over the stars before looking back toward Val. “should we worry about the fire being spotted?” he asked. “trees will hide it. Were also too out of the way for them to see us unless they trudge specifically this way.” she spoke, turning over each of the cooking rabbits. “ … do you still have faith?” he asked her. Wanting to chip away at least a few of his building questions. She tensed at the question with a hard swallow. Looking over the lined rabbits as if they'd have an answer. “ … cannot say. I grow tired of god and his demons, but there is always worry for the end.” she answered quietly. “you must have some faith. You're always wearing that cross with beads around your neck. Even after you abandoned Knoth.” Blake mentioned. Having Val grab at the hanging cross to hold. “... it was my mothers.” she spoke with a slight smile that soon disappeared. “... it's really nice after being worn for so long.” Blake complimented. “thanks, took me a while to gather enough teeth to replace all the missing beads.” Val mentioned of the memento, turning the rabbits over again in the fire. The dark mentioning having Blake go silent. “... maybe I don't want to go down this rabbit hole of answers.” he reconsidered in thought after the dark information. Awkwardly sitting there quietly before asking something else against his better judgment. “why did you want to be knoths deacon?” he questioned. “ I was young, stupid, didn't know what I was getting into. I know now I should have stayed away. Far, far, away in the mountains. I bought all the lies and promises Knoth gave me.” she answered with a tone leaning toward anger. Pulling the skewered rabbits from the fire. Leaving two out on a layered stack of leaves, the rest set into the smoker. “those rabbits won't preserve like the rest of the meat, but won't spoil for a day. Breakfast will be ready when we wake.” she informed. “how'd your mother care for you?” he continued with the questions. Starting to pick at the rabbit he set in his lap. “you're very interested in questions.” Val pointed out, picking at her rabbit for a piece to eat. “i am a reporter, it's my job to ask all the questions I can. Are questions not allowed?” he asked, realizing how this was beginning to sound like an interview. “questions were not accepted. Asking things caused many to lose their tongues or be marked as a message to the rest.” she answered with a imagined knife flicking gesture at her jaw hinge. “ask your questions, I never found them threatening.” she stated, eating a bite of meat without a care. “your mom.” he reminded her of the question. Chewing down a piece of leg. “that's far in the past. I don't see the purpose in bringing it up.” she stated. No longer eating the rabbit as she fiddled with a rib bone in hand. Blake thought about the next question to ask. He wanted to start at the beginning to work his way up. Now Val was pushing him to skip ahead. “were you …. how did … how was it working under Knoth.” he tried to carefully ask. Trying to see how she felt, but the answer was pretty obvious. “hell.” she stated, throwing the rib bone to the fire. “were … were you depressed?” he outright asked. Swallowing down a barely chewed piece of meat. “no, numb was more accurate.” she spoke, taking another bite of meat. “were you ever happy?” he asked. Val freezing up at the question with a blank stare down at her food. “what's the purpose of these questions?” she asked coldly. “figure out how things were like before. It sounds like -” Blake spoke, interrupted by Val with a confronting tone. “your lying. What are you looking for?�� she glared intently with suspicion. “answers.” he mumbled. “to what?!” she snapped. Standing fast with enough anger to scare Blake to his feet. “ … you and Knoth had a power war for a time. Knoth was becoming afraid when you rejected him to take care of the kids. So he talked to god and … told you to kill them. Why-” Blake explained, stopping when Val aggressively stepped toward him. “how do you know all this?!” she shouted with painful anger. “ I heard towns people talking-” he nervously started. “liar!” she roared. Scaring Blake back with the bringing out of her knife. “did Knoth tell you something?! Did you worship him?!” she questioned, walking close with her knife pointed toward him. “n-no, no!” he repeated, arms held out defensively in front of him as he backed up. “did he send you on a crusade to spread his gospel to the new world?!” she growled furiously. “no! i-” he exclaimed, sucking in a breath of air as he fell over a large branch. Landing painfully on the uneven ground with a tree root digging into his spine. Getting the same breath forced out of him with a leg slamming into his chest. Pinning him to the floor with a knife shoved up against his side. “val- Val please i-” Blake fearfully talked under her. Flinching his body away from the knife with little success. “shut up!” she shouted down at him. Blake going quiet with eyes closing tightly with a wince as the knife slowly pierced his skin. “where did you learn this?!” she demanded the answer. “its written!” Blake answered, keeping his eyes shut. “where?!” she shouted. “my pocket, its knoths journal!” he quickly blurted out. Tensing as Val began searching all over him. Yanking out the leather bound book when she found it. Blake laying still under her as he watched her flip through the book. Her body slowly calming down as she scanned the pages. “where'd you get this?!” she questioned again. “knoths room, back in the town. It was hidden under the floorboards. I think he didn't want anybody to find it.” Blake stated. Calming down as the knife was removed from his side. “why do you have it?” she growled, yanking him to sit up by his shirt. “ something strange was going on. It didn't start as bad then suddenly things broke down. The strangers are from a company called Murkoff. I think they were messing with the town somehow. With those towers by that factory being a huge part of it. I wanted to try and figure out how long this had gone on. I also fully believe that “God” was something they set up from the factory. I thought it mite ... help when I get back, ... I guess.” Blake admitted. “help how?” she asked, releasing his shirt. “murkoff was caught doing something similar at a secluded asylum in the mountains. They were ripped apart for a while, but government never caught the leaders. Only the small workers and doctors left at the facility. If I bring something as evidence back that marks Murkoffs involvement here. They'll take over the area. Burn it to the ground after ripping it apart for anything they could on what went on.” he explained. “i don't know if that book will work now. It's been ruined by the river.” he spoke with defeat. “hm.” Val hummed before getting off him. Tossing the book back to him. Blake just managing to catch it in his lap when sitting back up. “any private thoughts about me in there?” she asked in monotone, returning to her barely touched rabbit. “after you left I don't think any of the private thoughts about you were private anymore.” Blake answered honestly. Retrieving his rabbit from atop a rock it landed on. “want to heat it up?” she asked, setting her own rabbit back on the fire. Setting Blakes rabbit after he handed it over with a nod. “... sorry.” she apologized with a gesture to where she almost stabbed him. “i don't want knoths word getting out either. Last thing this world needs is more nutjobs popping up just like him. Maybe its for the best that most of this book was ruined.” he shrugged a shoulder. Shoving the book back down into his bag. “... you think they made the voice of god?” she asked after a pause. “yes. They got more and more frequent after the “horns” followed by light. I've heard stories talking about radio waves messing with objects if the signal was strong enough. I think those towers were giving off a strong signal with the bright lights being a cover. Could try and bring that to attention.” Blake explained. “ … do they bring visions?” she asked. “if they can force a voice into someone's mind. I don't doubt that they could do imagery too.” he nodded.

Wicker tapped his fingers along the medical bed rails impatiently. Arm in a sling with a chest cast keeping him locked in bed. “sir, i've told you we cant let you go. You need to rest and heal.” a doctor advised. “fix me now!” wicker bared his teeth from the bed. “yelling will not get you anywhere.” the doctor spoke. Unaffected by wickers 50th threat on his life. “murkoff has to have some medical thing in the back of this lab. What about that devil Armour Barker used. That shit reinforced his bones!” he shouted. “it reinforced his bones against the suit! The support broke and crushed him in it like a juicer with a grape.” the doctor pointed out the flaws. “i know Murkoffs got work in everything. There has to be something laying around here!” he glared. The doctor sighing as he rubbed the bridge of his nose. “the same we used for your jaw. Metal fixture plates on the broken bones. It'll get you up on your feet. Make you a little more protected from attacks in only the broken places. You can't treat it like defensive Armour if I place it!” the doctor stated firmly on the ending notice. “i'll take it!” wicker accepted. “of course you will. Don't be dumb like Barker.” the doctor stated. “i'm not that insane freak!” wicker roared, throwing a food trey that just missed the doctor. Grabbing the radio by his bed. “you idiots find where they are?” wicker spoke into the radio. “no sir, but we have a pretty good guess of where there going to be. They're lined up with the marker town trail with the nearby mountains. If there trying to make it, that's the way they'll take.” a man spoke into the radio. “perfect. Get men hiking to the top and a helicopter scanning the lower parts. Hook everyone up with heat sensors. We can close them in at the top, bring them to the lab after. Ill be flying out there to meet up with you.” he commanded. “yes sir. We also have to report no one can get a hold of the CEO. Is the high tower being tested?” the man asked. “yes. I'll worry about the CEO later, you just get moving.” he lied over the tower. “get moving! I want out of here in 5 minutes!” he shouted at the doctor with a glare. Getting a uncaring look in return. The following morning Blake woke to the sun. greatly missing the use of curtains so he could sleep in. he looked around after seeing Val missing from her sleeping spot besides him. Standing up as he searched around him for her whereabouts. “fires getting low.” he thought at the notice of the smoke house being a bit low on smoke. He gathered a small bit of moss to toss into the small fire pit. Looking off toward the direction of the lake, wondering if that's where she head. He stepped forward to head toward the lake, stopping himself after going only a foot. “the food.” he thought, looking back at it. “The supplies shouldn't be left alone.” he thought, looking over to the prepared furs nearby. “ … i'll be back quickly. I'll just run to the lake and look, then head right back.” he thought. Heading off to the lake. He made it to the end of the treeline. Searching over the rocky shore he could see from where he was. Spotting Val leaning against a large tree. Calmly looking out over the vast wilderness in front of her. “you okay?” he asked quietly, walking over to be at her side. “yes, only thinking.” she answered, unmoving without even a glance toward him. “about what?” he asked. “a few things. What will I do after we reach the town, being one.” she answered. Blakes heart sinking into his stomach. He never thought of that question. “there's no way she'll make it in regular society. It's like walking into another dimension compared to where she was raised. Having actual laws and standards. She doesn't even have the basics like a birth certificate. She technically doesn't exist to society.” he thought. The world around them feeling silent for their thoughts. Then came the question of what he was going to do in town. “get some money to flee with. Get in touch with the FBI to investigate this whole thing. … leave Val.” he thought. Before they started this journey he didn't care what happened to her, but now. “i can't be attached. I need to forget this.” he thought with a thick swallow. “… abandoning her at the step of a new world would be cruel though.” a tiny voice in the back of his mind spoke sadly. “... so what will you do?” he asked. “ head back to live in the mountains. A place i am more used to.” she answered. “...” He stood there wanting to say something, but there was nothing he could say. “that would be safer for her.” he thought. “ … but a lonely existence.” the tiny voice talked again. Val stood from the tree without another word to walk back to camp. Blake watching her from the ending tree line. Following her trail a little after she had gotten ahead. “the meat should be ready by now. Leaving them in till I finish off the furs just to be sure.” she told him as he arrived back. Handing him one of the smoked rabbits stored from the night. Him giving her a nod to show he heard as he took the rabbit. Twisting the stick, attached to the rabbit, around in his hands. Even now, despite the birds singing their morning songs, the world felt too quiet. There journey still had a long way to go. It bought time to think on some things. Val looked over each fur with a rub against the dry underside. Biting pieces off her rabbit in between. Taking out her knife for making strips with the rabbit furs. Stopping at the sound of a helicopter approaching. Hearing the approaching sound Blake ran over to cover the smoker. Making sure the smoke quickly dissipated before rising too high. Both waited and listened to the chopping sound. Turning there heads as they followed the direction of the sound. When it slowly faded out, Blake uncovered the smoker. Going into a coughing fit as a smoke cloud rose into his face. “its heading toward the mountain trail.” Val stated, eating another bite of rabbit as she slowly went back to work. “great.” Blake sighed. “is there anything I should do? Your working on the furs here. No use having me stand watch too.” Blake asked. “foraging would be good for you. Teach you how to identify things. Build up supplies while you learn.” she spoke, looking into her bag to grab a small sample of a few herbs. Carefully describing how each of the full version plant looks. The rest of the day Val worked the furs with Blake hunting for plants around the lake edge. Toward later in the day Val had finished setting up warmer clothing. “these are yours.” she said, tossing a set of warm wolf clothing. “wow.” he spoke amazed as he looked over the clothing. Definitely didn't look like the waving puffy fashion coats in magazines. A thick ruffled collar at the top that extended into a hood. layers going around the shoulders. Small holes made usually for buttons, were now used with the removed fangs of wolves. strung to the other half of the jackets front. Different rings of fur to strap tightly across his legs. A string of rabbit furs to create a scarf. Along with a pair of wolf gloves, and a shoe like set made from rabbit fur. “that fur goes inside your shoes, not out. Make sure they don't get wet either or your feet will suffer.” she pointed to the shoe like set in his hands. “are we moving to the mountain today or tomorrow? It'll be pretty late when we get there.” he asked. “today, we can hide in the dark from that flier. I assume it won't be the only thing searching there.” she answered. gesturing for Blake to hand over the food bag with some smoked meat in hand. He handed it for her to fill, turning back to the clothing set to carefully pack into a traveling roll.

Sometimes you intend to write a (late) short toni/mel fic for Day 2 - Language and it ends up being long and 50% about carmen having no chill

Title: Judgy Characters: (Human AU) Spain (Antonio), 2P!Nyo!America(Amelia), Nyo!Spain (Carmen)

Antonio sees her first, sitting up a bit in his chair and lifting a hand in a wave, trying to get the American’s attention. “Amelia!” he calls out, nodding when he sees her wave back and then gesture to the counter, indicating her intent to grab a coffee before sitting down.

The action gets the attention from the other woman already seated at the table, and Carmen turns quickly to get a look at the third. She glances over the other for only a handful of seconds before she turns back and frowns at Antonio. “That’s her?" she asks, speaking in a low voice.  She sticks to Spanish instead of the English used by the other customers around them, both for secrecy and out of habit. "Really?” It’s Antonio’s surprised look at her reaction that further dips the corners of her lips, and she sighs heavily, allowing her weight to shift slightly to lean on one of her elbows a little harder than the other. “Don’t look at me like that, Toño. You’re seriously impressed by her?”

Antonio nods, a little indignantly, and confirms he is, and she would be too if she knew how to give anyone a chance. It’s his turn to roll his eyes a bit when he gets the response back that she does, but that it isn’t her fault if no one can meet her expectations. “As impossibly great as they are,” he says back in the same language. His words are spoken in the manner of a breath, quiet and soft, only loud enough for her to hear.

She shrugs in defense, countering it’s not a bad thing to have standards, offering he should try it as well some time. She even notes that, when they first met after she’d moved to the city, she saw that he had high expectations in others, as well, so it’s such a shame to see him losing them with the dates he’s finding now.

This time when he rolls his eyes, it’s not a slight thing. He exaggerates the action a little, leaning back in his seat with a scoffing breath. “I’m not; Amelia’s a wonderful woman!” He seems to catch himself as it suddenly occurs to him that his voice might have been a bit louder than truly intended there. He casts a glance around to be sure no one’s paying attention, even if the chances of him being understood are low. He can see Amelia look over as she collects her coffee and pastry, focus apparently caught at hearing his voice raise above the chatter of the other customers. He gives a small wave to her, hoping to pacify her curiosity, and then turns back to the other, lowering his voice again. “She’s a good, clever woman, and you would like her if you weren’t so judgy.”

“If she were as great as you keep saying, I’d like her even if I were judgy,” Carmen counters back, then adds quickly, “which I’m not. I’m discerning, not ‘judgy’.” She ignores the less-than-convinced ‘mmhmm’ her friend gives back to her.

Instead, she turns to flash a pleasant smile at Amelia as the redhead approaches and carefully sets her items down on the table before starting to sit in the chair to the side of the pair. Across from Carmen, Antonio moves swiftly to his feet upon noticing Amelia’s arrival, standing until Amelia sits and then returning to his seat as she slides her chair in.

“I thought I told you that you don’t have to do that,” Amelia points out, herself speaking in English. The pleasant smile on her face and the teasing tone of her voice makes it clear she’s not upset by the action, though. “I mean, not that I don’t appreciate it, but you don’t have to worry about that.”

Antonio matches the smile with a practiced ease, and matches the language as well when he counters back a little playfully that she did say that, but it wasn’t that he had to do anything. “I wanted to do it, nothing more than that.”

Carmen flashes him an amused smirk and teases under her breath to him, still in Spanish, “Always the charmer, eh, Toño?”

Antonio’s eyes widen just a touch for a second before thinning instead as he swings his gaze to her. He shoots her a look that both of them have gotten very good at giving each other, reserved specifically to respond to the sly comments they sometimes manage to fit into conversations at the other’s expense. “You’re mixing up charmer and charming, my friend,” he whispers back to her in the language.

“Ah, not me,” she says back immediately, barely slow enough for him to make it out, before turning her attention back to Amelia, who’s staring between the two of them as they talk. Carmen reads it without a second thought as bemusement over the two bickering in some unexpected gibberish to her. “Sorry about that,” she speaks up in English with a clearer voice, lifting a hand and offering it to the other to shake. She grips Amelia’s hand tightly, although is a little surprised by how firm the handshake is made in return, though not letting it show on her face. “Since Antonio apparently don’t know how to be polite, lemme introduce myself. I’m Carmen.” She resists the urge to let her smirk widen as she catches another look shot across the table.

Still in Spanish, he mumbles, “I’m gonna fucking fight you,” under his breath at her, though his tone is almost playful sing-song in quality, signifying the true emptiness of the threat.

In an equally playful warning, Carmen shoots back, “You’d lose~.”

Amelia speaks up abruptly, maintaining a smile as she gives a final shake to Carmen’s hand to draw her attention back. “Mel. It’s nice to meet you,” she declares, switching the conversation back to English again, before freeing her hand and moving it to reach for her cup of coffee. As she lifts it up, she lets it rest at her lips, forming a little smirk as she asks if they do this a lot. “The back and forth bit? It’s kinda funny to watch.” Here she takes a sip, enjoying the heat of the drink before setting the cup back down.

“We were just stopping,” Antonio answers her, eyes locking onto Carmen, warning for only a second before letting his expression soften as he turns back to look at Amelia. “Sorry, we just spend most of our time together speaking in Spanish. It let Carmen keep using it like she wanted after she moved here and it was good for me too, y’know? Before I met her, the only other person in town that I knew who was really fluent in it was my aunt.” He gives a faint chuckle, lifting a hand to rub at the back of his neck a little. “Didn't mean to ignore you or nothing, though; it’s just easier for us so we usually fall back to it. We’ll stick to English, though.”

Amelia waves off the worry, admitting she completely understands. For Antonio, it’s a reminder to a conversation that’d briefly come up between them, but for Carmen, it’s an explanation as Amelia says that, coming from a family of kids originating from all over the place, she definitely gets how nice it can be to find someone who can speak the same language you can.

Antonio nods and gives a soft word of thanks for her not being too upset by the behavior that could easily come across as rude. There’s a beat or so before he adds on with the rushed quality of having just remembered something, “And also for being able to stop by today.” He cuts off a response from her of it not being a big deal, emphasizing that it is to him. “I know you said you were busy, but I appreciate you stopping even for a little bit, and Carmen does, too.”

It’s as Antonio is gesturing to her that Carmen gives a muttered, “Speak for yourself,” though she keeps it in Spanish as an added layer of security just in case she’s not quite as quiet as she means to be.  

Immediately, the other ex-Spaniard’s eyes fall back to her again, looking as if she’d just reached across the table and pushed his drink into his lap. “What the fuck are you talking about?” he asks, forgetting his previous promise to stay in English as he leans across the table slightly to half-whisper in the other language to Carmen, “You said you wanted to meet her. I asked her to come meet us today because of you.”

Carmen shrugs her shoulders slightly, before reaching for her own coffee. “And now I’ve met her. Toño, you went on and on about her in such wild exaggerations-.” She manages to catch a mumbled comment from the other, insisting the comments he made hadn’t been exaggerations, but she only continues unfazed by the defense. “You say that, yet I come here and just confirm my suspicions.” When he starts to tilt his head and lift an eyebrow at her, she reminds him, “Remember your poor standards?”

“Judgy,” Antonio grumbles.

“Discerning,” Carmen corrects.

Antonio is fighting the urge to throw up his hands at her stubbornness. Instead, he lifts one of them to gesture abruptly in Amelia’s direction. “Will you just talk to her for fuck’s sake?” he asks. “It’s the least you can-.” There he catches himself again, remembering Amelia’s presence next to him and turning back to her with an apologetic smile. The good news is that she seems to be trying not to laugh watching the two, which at least implies she’s still not offended by all of this. He still worries that this can’t be a good impression when they haven’t been dating for a very long amount of time. They’re starting to get more comfortable with each other, sure, but if a newer significant other of his kept whisper-shouting in a language he didn’t know while gesturing at him, he’d at the very least be concerned.  

“Don’t worry about me,” Amelia reassures back in English, prying a piece off of the baked good on her plate and lifting it. “Please, finish your conversation.” She pops the bite into her mouth, smiling at Antonio around it. “I’m really- I promise, I’m just fine.”

Carmen can see the hint of worry passing over Antonio at his girlfriend’s reaction, and so she decides to show the other a little mercy. What are friends for, after all? Speaking up again and, thankfully for Antonio, following the other’s lead of using English again, she says, “No, we’re sorry, this meeting was supposed to be about you.” She reaches forward to set her hands on the table, letting the words hang for just a moment, before she continues with a nod toward Antonio, though still keeping most of her attention on Amelia. “I was just curious to meet the person that my friend seemed so enamored by, y’know? He said you two met here, right?” Carmen rests her elbows on the table then, lifting hands up so that she can set her chin on the fingers as they interlock. “I’d love to hear the story.”

Antonio starts to speak up, pointing out that he already mentioned it to her before, but Carmen briefly shifts her gaze onto him without turning her head, pointing out, now in English, that he’ll sometimes exaggerate when telling a tale, picking the words that sound best for what he wants to say, not necessarily for what actually happened.

“I want to hear how a normal person tells the story,” she teases again, resisting the urge to break out a wider grin when she can hear a couple curses strung together to build an insult, muttered at her in Spanish under his breath.

Amelia resists another smile as well, watching Antonio further grumble and cross his arms for a moment. It only last for a moment, though, before Antonio seems to push the sour reaction aside to put on a smile as he turns to Amelia again. When both sets of eyes are on her, she resigns to telling the story, even if she doesn’t think there’s particularly a lot to tell. “I don’t know, I mean, it wasn’t anything too special or anything. I’d just had a bad day and had stopped by for a much-needed coffee, which ended up spilled all over my shirt when we bumped into each other-.”

Antonio pipes up to say, “Which I apologized for,” which gets another wave of a hand and a shushing sound from Carmen. He knows he shouldn’t, but the instinct to shove at her with his foot from under the table is definitely still tempting.

Amelia chuckles again, nodding in confirmation of his defense. “You did, you did. And buying me another drink and then letting me vent at you when you saw how stressed I was was very sweet, too.” She turns back to Carmen then, adding that they’d talked for a bit, then happened to run into each other at the shop a few more times after that, before Antonio had ended up asking her out on an actual date.

Carmen’s eyes are already back on Antonio though, smirking at him again. She makes a drawn out hum of a noise, one that already has Antonio preparing for some comment on the details. Sure enough, in Spanish she makes a low comment at the other, pointing out that he’d never said that he let her vent at him. “You really must have been smitten, huh?”

Without even thinking, he’s switching into the same language once more. “I was being nice,” he shoots back instinctively, his body leaning forward a little and nodding at the other. “Maybe you should try it some time, too?” His lip pulls up into the hint of a sharp smirk, offering it could do wonders.

Carmen lets out a sharp laugh, before dismissively insisting that she is nice when she wants to be, just like he is. “Apparently unlike you, though, I don’t act like it’s a chivalrous act to let a woman I barely know complain at me for an afternoon just to get her number.”

“It wasn’t to get her number!” Antonio snaps back immediately, his voice momentarily rising again, smile dropping back down into an pseudo-offended frown at the very suggestion. He doesn’t catch himself enough this time to think about looking around to see who might have noticed his slight outburst again. There are very few at other tables who seem to notice for a second, none of which seem to be able to follow in the foreign language enough to keep paying attention. At the table, though, Amelia keeps watching the two as they slip back into their back-and-forth argument yet again, finding herself once more struggling not to break out into laughter.

Luckily for Antonio, his voice naturally falls back to a normal speaking tone as he continues his defense. “She’d had a bad day and I made it worse so I wanted to help. Besides, we started talking about other topics within a few minutes. You’re making it sound like we sat at a table for an hour with only her talking about how shitty her day was.” He shakes his head slightly, releasing a deep breath. “Not that it’s any of your business what we talk about anyway. I only brought you so you’d get to see what she’s like. I ain’t asking you to judge who I date.”

Carmen’s face softens slightly, and though it’s intended to come across as understanding, the slight smile her face still wears has the expression coming across as more sympathetic in a pseudo-pitying way than anything else. “You know I only do it because I want what’s best for you, Toño. You have a lotta potential and I don’t want to see you waste it all on someone who ain’t worth your time.”

There’s a part of Antonio who regrettably understands that reasoning. He’s been guilty of making similar arguments to people he knew who he felt weren’t quite living up to all he thought they could surely be, warning the occasional slacking or aimless acquaintance that maybe they were missing out by not having some kind of goal to work toward. But still, his pride can sometimes lead to him being a bit hypocritical, so when he hears such an excuse said to him, it only gets him to frown further in almost defiance. “I can manage my own potential just fine, Carmen. You know me.”

“I do, but-.”

“And besides, right now I believe that Amelia is what’s best for me. She’s the best person I’ve ever met and you sh-.”

A surprised ‘aw’ noise comes up from the side of the table, before Amelia leans in a little and puts a hand on Antonio’s arm to get his attention. Her expression has switched from complete amusement at the whole situation to something a bit more touched, and she asks, in perfect Spanish, “Is that really true, Antonio? You think I’m that great?”

He turns to her with an expression almost seeming confused that she could doubt him on that, nodding practically immediately. “Of course, Amelia,” he responds, carrying on in Spanish without thinking about it. The same as he’s been doing through most of the conversation, really, even if it’s to a different person now. “I think you-,” and there is when he stops for a half second as the words she said fully click in his mind. He looks over to Carmen, as if for validation that it’s not just him that heard that. He sees that her eyes have widened a touch in surprise- not to mention embarrassment -as well, and she’s turned to look back at him, as if trying to size up if he really didn’t know, before they both turn their eyes back to Amelia. Slowly, Antonio changes the ending of that sentence, “...are speaking in Spanish right now.”

Amelia shows a small smile, one that doesn’t seem based in guilt exactly, but still acknowledges that this probably won’t be able to be swept away as a neat new fact to be brought up and then moved past. It’s not helped by the fact that Antonio’s expression is surprisingly hard to read to her in the moment, seemingly caught somewhere between a vague sense betrayal and an amusement of his own. Maintaining the switch to Spanish, she questions, “I didn’t tell you exactly which languages were spoken in my family before, huh?”

After a beat, he shakes his head, answering simply, “No. No, you didn’t.”

Her smile grows a little wider and she lifts her shoulders in a shrug-like gesture. “Well,” she says, dragging the word out just a touch before continuing, “one of them might be Spanish.”

Here he laughs, mouth curling into a lingering smirk of a smile. He nods then, expression starting to slowly find itself in more of the amusement side of things. “I gathered,” he states, before letting out a long sigh. “Ah, you must think I’m an idiot,” he finally says.

“You must think I’m an asshole,” Carmen speaks up from her side of the table. She’s split her hands and turned them palms inward to rest her forehead against, face tilting down towards the table.

Antonio lets out a quick laugh, practically only for a second, before reaching across the table and teasingly nudging at one of the other brunette’s forearms. “Maybe this’ll at least teach you to be less judgy in the future.”

Carmen’s head snaps up slightly, locking thinning eyes onto him. “I’m going to fight you.”

Antonio’s smirk finally breaks out into a full grin. “You’d lose.”

Amelia grins, too, letting out another laugh and explaining that this is partly why she didn’t speak up about it earlier. That she didn’t mean to step too far on their privacy, but that the two’s playful arguing was kind of too hilarious to miss out on. “Sorry,” she starts to say, but then immediately corrects, “but since you two were talking about me half the time anyway, I’m not that sorry.”

“I’m sorry about that,” Carmen admits, lifting her head fully from where it’d been resting this time, and instead moving one of her hands to offer to Amelia again. “Just so you know, I was only giving you a hard time to give Toño a hard time,” she insists as Amelia, still smiling to show no ill will, accepts the hand shake. “And I gave him a hard time, but he’s honestly pretty great. I only fuck with him because that fact tends to mean his ego requires knocking down every so often.”

Antonio laughs once more, though this time it sounds noticeably a little more faked. He mutters some comment about his not being the only one, but chooses to leave it at that. Carmen considers responding, but figuring she’s apparently stuck her foot in her mouth enough today, instead pushes her chair back from the table. She thanks Amelia for stopping by to meet her, again apologizing for the bad first impression, but offering that she’ll end it now so that they can look forward to a better second impression. Amelia tries to protest, offering that she really isn’t mad. She didn’t take any of Carmen’s judgements harshly at all, finding them more genuinely amusing than anything.

Carmen gives a thankful smile, but still stands and starts to collect her purse. “I appreciate that, but really, I think it’s for the best. You may not be that upset, but Toño hates looking bad in front of people and our main form of affection is competition and taking shots at each other, so.” She flashes a smile to him as she swings her purse over her shoulder, though stops a step into her departure in order to turn back to Amelia.

She leans over and rests a hand gently on the redhead’s shoulder, leading her carefully to lean in as well to better hear what Carmen has to say. “Honestly, though? I can’t really be mad at you waiting for that reveal either. You got me- both of us, really -pretty good.” When given a response that that wasn’t really the intention, she lifts her other hand to wave off the words almost immediately. “Take the compliment, Mel. I mean, that’s the thing that’s got me actually starting to see what might have impressed Toño so much before. What can I say? We both find appeal in a good challenge.”

There’s a beat where Carmen’s foot shifts, as if she’s about to step away again, before she leans in further. Her voice lowers slightly, like a whisper, but still with just enough volume so she knows Antonio can hear. “In fact, if things don’t work out between you and Toño, maybe-?”

“Carmen,” Antonio finally speaks up, waiting until the other set of green eyes have fallen to him. He keeps the charming smile on his face, even if it's not quite fooling anybody present, and asks pleasantly, “Weren’t you going?”

Carmen’s shoulders shake as if in a laugh, even if no sound leaves her lips. She straightens herself back up to her full height, giving a quick nod to Antonio. She considers a simple word of goodbye, but instead spares one final comment to point out that she notices he didn’t stand up for her like he'd done with Amelia. With that and a final pat at Amelia’s shoulder, she turns and heads to the door, heels clicking on the wooden flooring as she leaves.

Antonio releases a breath after she’s gone, before turning back to Amelia. He considers switching back into English with the other’s departure, but if Amelia seems so comfortable with it, he really would like to stick with Spanish. “Sorry about her,” he offers. “I like having her as a friend but she can be…,” he trails off, letting a glance in the direction of the door she walked out of give him a few seconds to consider the diction he wants to use, “a lot.”

“She’s fine,” Amelia counters with an easy shrug, turning her chair slightly to face more towards Antonio. “Almost half the people on earth have a friend like that and the other half probably are a friend like that. You really don’t have to worry about it.” She reaches for her coffee again, but just curls her fingers around the cardboard for the moment. “Besides, the most harsh things she said were just not being impressed by me, which I guess she’s flipped on?” She slightly raises her eyebrow at Antonio as she lifts her cup to her lips then. It’s a small gesture to ask for a correction if he, knowing the other woman better, might feel like Carmen had just been being nice after caught.

He nods, though, confirming aloud that he suspects she was being sincere. “She wasn’t wrong when she said she liked a challenge.” He chuckles, admitting with a shrug and a tilting of his head that he sometimes chalks that up as the reason for the majority of her behavior.

Amelia lets a moment or so of silence pass as she finishes her drink, before setting it down and turning her attention back to Antonio with another raise of an eyebrow. “So was she wrong about it for you?” She can see just a flash of an initial reaction, a smirk that twitched to his lips for a second as his eyes glanced to the side, before he’s shaking his head in rejection.

“Ah, y’know me, I don’t-.”

Amelia cuts him off with a skeptical humming noise, shaking her own head slightly. “See, I’m beginning to suspect maybe I don’t?” She keeps her voice still light, so as not to sound critical or accusatory in her statement, but she turns her head slightly, thinning the closer eye and teasingly sizing him up.

His shoulders sink a little and he rolls his head to the side, showing the hint of a grimace. “The things Carmen said about me were-.”

“I don’t care what Carmen said,” Amelia counters, though a moment later she nods as if considering her words and acknowledging the error in them. “I mean, I do care a little. Her talking about you going ‘on and on’ about how much you like me is very sweet.” She puts a finger up to warn him to wait as she sees a smile start to come onto his face as he opens his mouth to respond. “But.”

His smile pulls to one side, now looking a little suspicious himself. “But…?” he repeats.

“But,” she continues once prompted, dropping her hand back onto the table, “I more specifically meant the things you had said.”

“Me?” Antonio questions again, eyebrows lifting and then furrowing, revealing his surprise. “What did I say that made you stop trusting me?”

She shakes her head again, though. “It’s not that I stopped trusting you. Toni, it-.” She stops, catching herself and considering the name before offering up instead, “Toño?” When she gets a shrug and a non-committal answer about either working back, she sighs and leans in a little with a firmer, “Antonio. Which do you like more?”

“I’m fine with both,” he insists again, making his voice a little firmer to try and better sell the statement. “If you’re used to using Toni-.”

She rolls her eyes and makes a frustrated little noise, before reaching over and tugging sharply on the rolled up sleeve of his shirt. “I only called you Toni because you said when we first met that everyone called you it. Which do you /want/ to be called?” She waits somewhat patiently when he falls silent in consideration for a moment, before answering that he prefers Toño. She can hear it said half in the tone of a question though, an unspoken comment on the end that while he may prefer that, he really would not be put out still being called Toni by her. “Toño it is then,” she declares with a small smile.

She continues right afterwards, though, not daring to give him the time to distract her focus from the point at hand. “That’s part of what I’m talking about, though,” she explains. “I mean, I know everybody puts on a little bit of an act around people to get them to like them, but-.”

“You think I’ve been putting on an act with you?” Antonio interrupts, before reaching out to wrap his fingers around the hand Amelia’d last rested on the table. He gives it a half squeeze and maintains the hold, leaning forward in his chair slightly as he tries to reassure her against the idea. “I would think, given what you apparently heard, you’d be certain that I’m not pretending about how I feel about you.”

“I don’t think that’s what you’re hiding, no,” Amelia agrees. She moves her hand slightly, though only to ease out of his grip just enough where she can comfortably turn her hand over in his, wrapping her own fingers around his hand. “But you’re clearly not being entirely open with me about how you feel about other things. I mean-,” she leans back slightly as she spares a quick chuckle, “I did just now have to pry what nickname you want out of you.”

He lifts his free hand to make a swiping gesture, waving off the concern. “Because it’s not important. I mean, most people find Toni easier, so most people use it. I wasn’t lying about that.”

Amelia immediately rejects the idea that she’s trying to call him a liar or anything over this, still not wanting this to sound like a harsh accusation. However, she does counter that most people would probably start calling him Toño if he pressed on preferring that. “And again, I get it. I’m guessing it’s the same reason you won’t swear in front of me unless you think I can’t understand it, or that I normally see you playing the diplomatic with strangers while you’re threaten a friend you’re more comfortable with to fight as a joke.”

“Amelia, I don’t understand,” Antonio finally admits. His shoulders have slumped slightly and though he’s as careful as he usually is to keep a full frown from his face, the corners of his lips pull wide and the smile on his lips is worn in more bemusement than anything else. “You’re saying that it’s bad I don’t pick fights or swear in public with you?”

“You don’t do it in private either,” Amelia points out simply. She can see Antonio consider the response for a moment before nodding in acknowledgment of that. He starts to say something but she lifts her free hand to gesture for him to let her add something. “I mean, I don’t wanna sound like I’m complaining about you being respectful or polite to me. Really, that’s not my point here. It’s just….” It takes her a moment before she finally finds the right way to word what she wants to say, “Yeah, most people expect you to say ‘Fine’ when an acquaintance asks how you’re doing, but when your girlfriend does, it’s okay to be honest about how you’re feeling.”

She gives another breathy laugh and rolls her shoulders back a touch. “I mean, practically everyday with you is ‘just fine’. Every inconvenience ‘isn’t really that big of a deal’. And like- some people are just like that; I get that. No matter what happens, they really don’t get mad about it. But I don’t think someone who tells their friend,” she lifts that hand up to gesture air quotes as she fights another laugh, “‘I’m gonna fucking fight you’ is one of those people, y’know?”

There’s something akin to guilt that passes over Antonio’s face, and that gets Amelia to add quickly, “Again, I’m not mad. It’s just… if we’re gonna be dating, I think you should start to feel like you can show me what you’re really like, don’t you?”

Antonio sighs, and then nods, and then pulls his hands back, retreating them to fold together in his lap. He’s quiet for another moment before admitting aloud that that sounds like a fair request, though he tries to explain that he was only doing it with her in mind. “I mean, even over the short time we’ve been dating, you’ve been….” He trails off into an airy laugh, before sighing again. “Amelia, you are strong and ingenious and determined and just generally amazing in a way I didn’t expect. In a way I very rarely see in people. I… very much like you and… I guess I worried if you saw something you didn’t like in me, you might be tempted to back out. There are traits I’ve had for years that I just… didn’t want to scare you off.”

Amelia’s smile had turned into something touched by his words, until the last few lines, where it cracks wide and slanted again. “Wait, so- what?” she asks in the exhale of a laugh. “You’re just gonna trip over yourself to act like Mr. Perfect for as long as we’re together? I mean you’d have to be open eventually or you’re gonna be putting on that act forever, plus I’ll never get to know what you’re really like.”

“That’s not a bad thing,” Antonio muses quietly.

“I think maybe it is,” Amelia counters back quickly. “C’mon, Toño, two things you already thought were turn offs about yourself are things I’m totally fine with. I mean, honestly, that’s like at least a third of who I am as a person,” she jokes, pleased to see it get a quick laugh out of the other. “Like… all I’m asking is just for you to relax and be yourself, alright? Sure, there’a chance I won’t like you, but I’m betting there’s a higher chance I will.”

Now it’s his turn for his expression to soften, a smile, more gentle and warm, easing back onto his features. He looks at her for a long moment with that, before his smile drifts again and he lets out a slow sigh, before speaking up to apologize. “I didn’t mean to lie to you or anything like that. I wouldn’t-.”

Amelia immediately protests the term ‘lying’, reiterating once more that she doesn’t consider it to that level. “If anything I’d just say you’re…,” her gaze drifts slightly, trying to pick the right word, before she grins again as the perfect choice comes to her. “A little too judgy about yourself,” she finishes, eyes flicking back down just in time to catch the other’s reaction.

There’s a half second of almost offense, but it’s quickly swept away by surprised laughter. He turns back to the table, resting elbows on the wood and tilting his head down, making the shaking of his shoulders stand out a little more. He finally picks his head up just enough to get out, “Oh, I can’t believe I have a second person I apparently have to fight now.”

The play-threat only gets a smile out of her, though, glad to see even that step taken. Another second passes before she leans in, looping one of her arms around the closer one of his to pull him nearer as well. She makes a humming noise, the kind of skeptical acceptance given to a person who has suggested a wild but not technically impossible idea. Then she presses her lips, still curled into a grin, to his cheek and murmurs back a simple, “You’d lose.”

The new bout of laughter she gets from him at the joke, before he turns enough to pull her into a proper kiss, is entirely worth it.

Hi! I love your idea of a Predator AU. Does Kylo use the force to hide that he's a human (kinda like Palpatine hid his ugly face)? What do Yautja think about force sensitivity? How do they communicate with Kylo? Are they "FO friendly"?

ahh, thank you ! i’m a sucker for the predator franchise.

kylo doesn’t use the force to hide that he’s human. he’s swathed in so many layers without a sliver of skin showing, so it masks his scent. at quick glance, they mistake him to be a yautja, albeit short ( note mahnde & shorty ) by their standards. they assume he is a young blood/unblooded runt who strayed away from a hunting pack. they’d quickly realize their mistake, but after having witnessed what he is capable of, they accept him & “adopt him”. yautja don’t typically ally themselves with humans, but there are instances of such bonds. ( i.e. scar & lex in AVP1 and big mama & caryn in the EU ).

while humans are considered “dangerous prey” for their trickiness, kylo’s abilities greatly impress them.  while it would be fun & challenging to make a hunt with kylo as prey, they realize it would be better to have him as an ally. xenomorph outbreaks could be handled with kylo’s aid as opposed to detonating everything when they lose. 

mm, the yautja DO have a written language, but their verbal communication is based primarily on clicks, grunts, growls, roars, etc. force-sensitive beings can detect emotional changes through the force. he can scrawl out something in the written language for more in-depth communication. the yautja noises probably do not differ from droid-speak & wookie noises anyhow, he’ll come to learn in time! 

from what we know, the FO is under human operation. they’d probably seek to challenge them, thus kylo becomes completely detached from the FO to return with the yautja. he’s free of snoke’s control & resides in a clan of his own for centuries as an adopted yautja. 

Mafia/Hitman AU Pt. 2

Part 1 (x)

AO3 here (x) 

The Russian Playboy sounded a bit lewd but no one, certainly not Victor, would bat an eyelash should Skater ever go out of style. There were more than a handful of names in Victors' little black book, and whether the names were passport official or throwaway aliases mattered very little. That game has been played through and through. The only lovers he'd taken were the physical kind, flirting was a second language and sex appeal was a blade Victor carried with him past the most thorough pat downs, the standard metal detector didn't stand a chance. 

This time though, the requirements have changed with the objective. Trust, dependence, emotional intimacy, while foreign to Victor on a personal level, were well understood as general concepts. He needed to become someone who could extract these bonds under an illusion of mutual reciprocation while giving nothing in return. How exciting, Victor's never played this kind of undercover before.

Yakov tries to give him The Talk, tries tell him don't get compromised, and Victor almost gets a cramp from laughing. Then he realizes Yakov was being serious, and wow, that's offensive. Victor thinks maybe it's in the handbook for Big Time Criminals, like a work safety slideshow presentation, just one of those speeches they make to avoid liability. Like, I warned you so if you fall on your ass, don't go pointing any fingers. Or maybe Yakov watched one too many spy dramas where the leading man was a devastatingly handsome twenty seven year old with silver hair. Who knows and who cares, Victor couldn't compromise himself even if he tried (and that was saying something). 

"That kind of confidence will get you killed." Yakov tells him. 

"Well it's gotten me this far, hasn't it?" Victor puts on his most alluring smile and thinks about which suit it would go best with.

Katsuki Yuuri was cute, sure, but not exactly throw away a pay cheque with more digits than a phone number cute. Not disregard your illustrious career, reputation and subsequent life cute. Not compromise the underground legend, THE Victor Nikiforov cute.   

Definitely not that cute. 

The banquet happens.

Victor is eating every single word, spoken and thought, and it's like chewing gravel. A bright eyed virgin primed for a classic pump and dump, this is literally textbook. But Victor can't seem to spit out that mouth full of rocks when Pasión de Arrabal is still stuck in his head. Yuuri may be a sucker for pretty boys but Victor just found out he has a thing for dancers born from liquid courage.  

He's lying in a fully made hotel bed, one that's supposed to have a naked, well fucked, not that cute Japanese man tangled in its sheets. Victor doesn't particularly mind that Yuuri isn't there, he minds that he doesn't mind. Wrap your head around that one. Victor's been lying here for three hours and eleven minutes and he still hasn't managed to. 

Victor does not take his (favourite) suit off even though half a glass worth of champagne is soaked through the right lapel and it's sticky to the touch. Victor isn't even mad. Instead he dials in Yakov's number because for the first time in never, he doubts. This wasn't about skill, and failing to bed Yuuri on their first night of meeting was hardly notable in the long run. This was about a lopsided transaction that was so straight forward on paper. About Victors' infamous blade sheathed in empty charm stabbing Yuuri in the throat and hollowing him out with a smile. About walking away with hands that can be washed clean or even walking away at all.

Can it be done?

Yes. 

Could Victor do it? 

Compromised. 

Is that what Yakov was talking about? No. All Victor needs is more time to think this through. Three hours and forty four minutes was obviously not enough. 

Double speak is hardly a new concept in Victor's line of work, not quite code and not quite pretense, both parties operating under the assumption that the other is smart enough to figure out x means y. For those involved, creating a thin layer of plausible deniability was more for security than deception, but the latter was a whole other ballgame. When it comes to hidden intentions, Victor has nothing to hide. What he intends is what he intends, if his own desires do not align with those of the clients, he will state them in no unclear terms.

Because what's Yakov going to do? Take him off the job? He'd go off the grid and complete the damn thing before Yakov is done briefing his second choice. Victor is The Best for a good reason, he has nothing to lose that money can't buy back and no leverage means no one to answer to. At worst, it's a stern lecture followed by the silent treatment but in the end Victor gets what Victor wants because there's no one that can stop him. 

Which is to say, Yakov can hear everything that Victor doesn't say because Victor lets him and it saves everyone a load of time. This particular situation however, tore at that delicate homoeostasis. Victor's got something to hide. He just needs to figure out what before Yakov does. 

It doesn't matter in the end, Yakov calls because Victor hasn't, which means he already knows. 

"He actually beat me to the punch." Victor laughs. "Asked to be business partners before he asked for my name." Yuuri was also fourteen flutes of champagne in and used his (ugly, ugly, ugly) necktie as a lasso, but why would Yakov care to hear so Victor doesn't care to say. 

Unfortunately, Victors' lack of disclosure is incriminating enough. Victor tries to coat his words with a pretty little layer of frost, hoping to refract the piercing questions, but Yakovs' been in this business for too long. 

The double speak between them is no longer the kind between professionals, it's the kind between the knowing and the guilty. It's that kind that translates to leverage.

(When a parent catches their child in a lie and the child knows they've been caught and the parent knows the child knows but right now, they're in public).

   "Vitya." 

I warned you. 

"Do you happen to know any good dry cleaners in the area? " 

It's under control, I'm in. 

"Pick up the pace, you're on a schedule." 

Oh really? Muscle it out of him or you're off the job.

"You know I don't like to be rushed." 

 No. 

"For what my client is paying, you can stand to be a little more accommodating" 

You won't rough up a nobody with this amount of money on the line, how telling. 

"The only thing your client is paying for is results."

 I've. Got. It. Under. Control. Don't make me blow my cover because you're paranoid. 

"Then come back to St. Petersburg. I've got something else in mind for you." 

Katsuki Yuuri is no longer your assignment, drop it.

"Not interested."

Why should I? 

"I'm sending someone to handle damage control. You can catch the next train back."

Because you are transparent.  

"Georgi will botch it up." 

He solves every problem with a lead pipe.

"I assure you he won't." 

and that's a problem, is it? 

"I'm not compromised." 

silence

"Yakov I'm no-"

click. 

Victor won't leave because his reputation is on the line. He wants to see Yuuri Katsuki again.

Victor won't change his tactic because when has he ever done something NOT his way. He thinks about Yuuri's blood on his knuckles and it makes him sick.

Victor won't give up this pay cheque because it is exactly what he needs in for a cushy retirement. He wonders what it's like to want something that money can't buy. 

Victor wants to see Yuuri Katsuki again. He really wants a lot more than that. 

Yakov sends Plisetsky to get Victor back. 

"Yakov," Plisetsky calls him the very next day with unsurprising news. "We're in trouble." 

A Brief Introduction To Blockchain - For Normal People

Crypto-what?

 In the event that you've endeavored to plunge into this puzzling thing called blockchain, you'd be excused for pulling back with sickening apprehension at the sheer obscurity of the specialized language that is frequently used to outline it. So before we get into what a crytpocurrency is and how blockchain innovation may change the world, we should talk about what blockchain really is.

In the easiest terms, a blockchain is a computerized record of exchanges, similar to the records we have been utilizing for a long time to record deals and buys. The capacity of this computerized record is, truth be told, basically indistinguishable from a conventional record in that it records charges and credits between individuals. That is the center idea driving blockchain; the thing that matters is who holds the record and who checks the exchanges.

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With conventional exchanges, an installment starting with one individual then onto the next includes some sort of go-between to encourage the exchange. Suppose Rob needs to move £20 to Melanie. He can either give her money as a £20 note, or he can utilize some sort of banking application to move the cash legitimately to her financial balance. In the two cases, a bank is the middle person checking the exchange: Rob's assets are confirmed when he removes the cash from a money machine, or they are checked by the application when he makes the computerized exchange. The bank chooses if the exchange ought to proceed. The bank additionally holds the record of all exchanges made by Rob, and is exclusively liable for refreshing it at whatever point Rob pays somebody or gets cash into his record. As such, the bank holds and controls the record, and everything moves through the bank.

 That is a great deal of duty, so it's significant that Rob feels he can confide in his bank else he would not hazard his cash with them. He needs to feel certain that the bank won't cheat him, won't lose his cash, won't be ransacked, and won't vanish medium-term. This requirement for trust has supported essentially every significant conduct and feature of the solid fund industry, to the degree that in any event, when it was found that banks were being reckless with our cash during the monetary emergency of 2008, the legislature (another mediator) decided to rescue them instead of hazard obliterating the last parts of trust by allowing them to fall.

 Blockchains work diversely in one key regard: they are completely decentralized. There is no focal clearing house like a bank, and there is no focal record held by one substance. Rather, the record is dispersed over a tremendous system of PCs, called hubs, every one of which holds a duplicate of the whole record on their particular hard drives. These hubs are associated with each other through a bit of programming called a distributed (P2P) customer, which synchronizes information over the system of hubs and ensures that everyone has a similar form of the record at some random point in time.

 At the point when another exchange is gone into a blockchain, it is first scrambled utilizing cutting edge cryptographic innovation. Once encoded, the exchange is changed over to something many refer to as a square, which is fundamentally the term utilized for a scrambled gathering of new exchanges. That square is then sent (or communicate) into the system of PC hubs, where it is checked by the hubs and, when confirmed, went on through the system with the goal that the square can be added as far as possible of the record on everyone's PC, under the rundown of every single past square. This is known as the chain, thus the tech is alluded to as a blockchain.

 When affirmed and recorded into the record, the exchange can be finished. This is the way digital forms of money like Bitcoin work.

 Responsibility and the evacuation of trust

 What are the upsides of this framework over a banking or focal clearing framework? For what reason would Rob use Bitcoin rather than typical cash?

 The appropriate response is trust. As referenced previously, with the financial framework it is important that Rob confides in his bank to secure his cash and handle it appropriately. To guarantee this occurs, tremendous administrative frameworks exist to check the activities of the banks and guarantee they are fit for reason. Governments at that point control the controllers, making a kind of layered arrangement of checks whose sole intention is to help counteract slip-ups and awful conduct. At the end of the day, associations like the Financial Services Authority exist correctly in light of the fact that banks can't be trusted without anyone else. What's more, banks oftentimes commit errors and act up, as we have seen too often. At the point when you have a solitary wellspring of power, control will in general get manhandled or abused. The trust connection among individuals and banks is ungainly and unsafe: we don't generally believe them yet we don't feel there is a lot of option.

 Blockchain frameworks, then again, needn't bother with you to confide in them by any stretch of the imagination. All exchanges (or squares) in a blockchain are confirmed by the hubs in the system before being added to the record, which implies there is no single purpose of disappointment and no single endorsement channel. On the off chance that a programmer needed to effectively mess with the record on a blockchain, they would need to at the same time hack a great many PCs, which is practically inconceivable. A programmer would likewise be practically incapable to cut a blockchain organize down, as, once more, they would should have the option to close down each and every PC in a system of PCs circulated the world over.

 The encryption procedure itself is additionally a key factor. Blockchains like the Bitcoin one utilize intentionally troublesome procedures for their check technique. On account of Bitcoin, squares are confirmed by hubs playing out a purposely processor-and time-escalated arrangement of counts, frequently as riddles or complex numerical issues, which imply that confirmation is neither moment nor open. Hubs that do submit the asset to confirmation of squares are remunerated with an exchange expense and an abundance of recently stamped Bitcoins. This has the capacity of both boosting individuals to become hubs (since preparing squares like this requires entirely ground-breaking PCs and a great deal of power), while additionally taking care of the way toward creating - or stamping - units of the cash. This is alluded to as mining, since it includes a lot of exertion (by a PC, for this situation) to deliver another item. It additionally implies that exchanges are confirmed by the most autonomous way imaginable, more free than an administration controlled association like the FSA.

 This decentralized, law based and profoundly secure nature of blockchains implies that they can work without the requirement for guideline (they are automatic), government or other obscure middle person. They work since individuals don't confide in one another, instead of notwithstanding.

 Let the criticalness of that sink in for some time and the fervor around blockchain begins to bode well.

 Savvy contracts

 Where things get truly fascinating is the utilizations of blockchain past cryptographic forms of money like Bitcoin. Given that one of the hidden standards of the blockchain framework is the safe, free confirmation of an exchange, it's anything but difficult to envision different manners by which this sort of procedure can be important. Obviously, numerous such applications are as of now being used or advancement. Probably the best ones are:

 Keen contracts (Ethereum): presumably the most energizing blockchain improvement after Bitcoin, brilliant contracts are hinders that contain code that must be executed all together for the agreement to be satisfied. The code can be anything, up to a PC can execute it, however in straightforward terms it implies that you can utilize blockchain innovation (with its free check, trustless engineering and security) to make a sort of escrow framework for any sort of exchange. For instance, in case you're a website specialist you could make an agreement that checks in the event that another customer's site is propelled or not, and afterward consequently discharge the assets to you once it is. No additionally pursuing or invoicing. Keen contracts are additionally being utilized to demonstrate responsibility for resource, for example, property or craftsmanship. The potential for decreasing extortion with this methodology is tremendous.

 Distributed storage (Storj): distributed computing has upset the web and realized the approach of Big Data which has, thusly, kick began the new AI upheaval. In any case, most cloud-put together frameworks are run with respect to servers put away in single-area server ranches, possessed by a solitary substance (Amazon, Rackspace, Google and so on). This displays no different issues as the financial framework, in that you information is constrained by a solitary, misty association which speaks to a solitary purpose of disappointment. Appropriating information on a blockchain expels the trust issue and furthermore vows to build unwavering quality as it is such a great amount of harder to bring a blockchain arrange down.

Angelium is dealing up over a network that deals all along with Cryptocurrency exchange. We are not completing our services to the wallet. There is a feature on Angelium called “ Exchange”. This Feature allows you to perform cryptocurrencies exchange into different digital assets. They are according to the rates of dollar and come in order to attain some of the profit.

 Advanced distinguishing proof (ShoCard): two of the greatest issues within recent memory are recognize burglary and information assurance. With tremendous concentrated administrations, for example, Facebook holding such a great amount of information about us, and endeavors by different created world governments to store computerized data about their residents in a focal database, the potential for maltreatment of our own information is unnerving. Blockchain innovation offers a potential answer for this by wrapping your key information up into an encoded square that can be checked by the blockchain arrange at whatever point you have to demonstrate your character. The utilizations of this range from the undeniable substitution of identifications and I.D. cards to different zones, for example, supplanting passwords. It could be tremendous.

 Advanced casting a ballot: exceptionally topical in the wake of the examination concerning Russia's effect on the ongoing U.S. political decision, advanced casting a ballot has for some time been associated with being both untrustworthy and profoundly helpless against altering. Blockchain innovation offers a method for checking that a voter's vote was effectively sent while holding their obscurity. It guarantees not exclusively to decrease extortion in races yet additionally to expand general voter turnout as individuals will have the option to choose what thy actually want.

 Here are some newly introduced virtual reality products xmall | Xtravel | xtv | xwish | xgmes | xlove | xticket | Xschool by Best virtual reality platform Angelium.

 Official site

https://angelium.net

 Angelium wallet

https://wallet.angelium.net

 Facebook

https://www.facebook.com/angelium.official/

 Twitter

https://twitter.com/AngeliumANL

 Telegram (English)

https://github.com/angelium

 Telegram (Chinese)

https://t.me/AngeliumChinese

 Telegram (Japanese)

https://t.me/angelium_jp

 Official Video

https://youtu.be/h61qO3ihoHA

 Youtube channel

https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCYhiGcIxJARA6u309Qt1lbA

FULL SCRIPT

[Salespeople usher audience into seats, encourage audience to sign waiver]

[Once everyone is seated, show starts]

[S comes out to stand in front of table]

S: Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for coming to today’s presentation. I’m sure you’re all excited to see today’s products, and trust me; the whole team at VagueCorp is excited to show you. S: Unfortunately due to [checks watch] time restraints, we’ve only got time to show only one of our fine products, but make sure to check out our full range of products online.

S: You’ve all signed the waiver, right…?

[pause for a few moments for audience response]

S: [Regardless of audience response (or lack of)] I’ll take that as a yes!

S: Alright, without further ado; let’s begin!

[S and A take their places behind the table, A looks “sad”]

S: [to audience] Has this ever happened to you?

[cue background music]

[S places a cutout of a sleeping dog onto the table]

A: Man, having a pet sure is swell, but why does everyone keep telling me I have to feed him, and look after him, and take him to the vet! What do you think, buster? [Silent pause while dog says nothing] A: Still having your nap, ol’ boy? Three months sure is a lot of sleeping to catch up on.

[Silent pause while dog says nothing] S: Ya’ dog’s dead, buddy.

A: Gosh darnit, that just really sucks, y’know? I wish there was an easy way to have a cool and fun pet, without all the hassle of feeding or grooming it

A: If only you could get all that, at the low low price of four easy payments of 49.90, plus shipping and handling.

S: [S slaps the dog off the table] Well wish no more, because I’m here to tell you about, “The Forever Friend”

A: The Forever Friend? Tell me more!

S: [S claps twice] Bring it out, boys!

[C brings out a very mysterious and large box, very carefully and nervously (exaggerate the body language)]

[S dons thick gloves as they talk, slowly opening the layers of boxes]

S: Well, the Forever Friend is an amazing companion for any busy person without the spare time to look after a - “standard” - pet. You’ll be the talk of the town, the bees knees, the hot stuff, as soon as they get a look at this lil guy. S: [speaking into box] Come on out, don’t be shy.

[S finally gets duck out of the containers, puts it on the table]

A: He’s a cute fella, isn’t he?

S: He sure is folks, but looks aren’t the only thing he’s got going. The forever friend’s smart too, he’s great at tricks; Observe:

[S and A turn to the duck] S: Sit!

[duck does nothing for a few seconds]

S: Stay!

[duck does nothing for a few seconds]

S: Lie down!

[duck does nothing for a few seconds]

[drumroll]

S: …[inhales] Play dead!

[duck does nothing for a few seconds]

A: [clapping] Bravo! I sure am amazed. What an amazing deal, I’d love to have one of these forever friends, but are they worth it? If only there was some kind of special offer included

S: Well then, you’ll be glad to hear about our special offer.. If you order within the next hour, you’ll get the exclusive accessory kit.

[S procures a tray with a set of accessories for the duck, and places it onto the table.]

[As each item is discussed, it is held up to the duck]

S: Included is, the safety helmet [pause]S: The pirate hat: [pause] Scary!~

S: And, the bowtie: [pause] What a charmer.

A: Wow, these accessories are amazing!

S: Well be amazed further; If you’re one of the first fifty to order, we’ll double our offer. That’s right; Two Forever Friends, plus two of our exclusive accessory kit, all for the same low price!

A: How could anyone pass up an offer that great?

S: They won’t! And if you’re still not convinced, why don’t you listen to what our satisfied customers have said about the forever friend!

S: [To an audience member] What do you have to say about the forever friend?

[wait for response]

S: Sorry, let’s try that again.

[S grabs bag of bribes and holds one up]

S: What do you have to say about the forever friend?

[Cue-card] [I LOVE MY FOREVER FRIEND]

S: How about you?

[Cue-card] [I’D RECOMMEND THE FOREVER FRIEND TO MY WHOLE FAMILY]

S: You?

[Cue-card] [I TRUST THE FOREVER FRIEND AND EVERY OTHER ONE OF VAGUECORP’S PRODUCTS]

S: You?

[Cue-card] [VAGUECORP PRODUCTS HAVE NOT BEEN FOUND TO CAUSE CANCER OR OTHER BODILY HARM]

S: You?

[Cue-card] [I WOULD HAPPILY FORFEIT ALL MY MORTAL POSSESSIONS TO THE FOREVER FRIEND]

A: What a great testimony to the quality of this product.

S: I’ll say! Now, did you know the forever friend as also the perfect companion for kids? He loves to be held and pet!

S: Why don’t you pick the lil’ fella up?

[A looks minorly shocked and half-breaks character]

A: ...I’m allergic.

S: Why don’t you pick the lil’ fella up? [A begins to pick up the duck, then as S talks, reaches out to pet it] S: Now as you see here folks - he’s completely harmless, wouldn’t hurt a fly [A interupts S] A: [Falling to the ground in pain and clutching hand] OH GOD! IT BIT ME! JESUS CHRIST! [fake blood, shaking, etc.] [S is shaken, loses ‘showman’ guise] S: Oh god, [A], are you alright? Can I get some help here? 

[A collapses behind the table, continues to spurt blood and gore]

[S gets out their phone, calls for an ambulance]

[Cue ambulance sound effect]

[Backstage crew come out and deploy cones]

S: Sorry folks, the show’s been cut a bit short. She’ll be fine, but we do need you to leave now. etc.

the thing journal: 30 july 2017 - 12 august 2017

the pop culture things i took in over the last two weeks (because i was busy last week). in this post: faces and sounds, catch me, superstore, me. i am mariah... the elusive chanteuse, crazy heart, platinum, cocksure, the obsessives, okja, golden, if you wait, nervous system, moana, right thoughts right words right action, who told you to think??!!?!?!?!, the incredible jessica james, moonrise kingdom, and unbreakable kimmy schmidt

1) Faces and Sounds, by Pete Holmes: Faces and Sounds is such a good name for a Pete Holmes album. Like, if you were to read a transcript of a Pete Holmes set, it would obviously still be very funny, but it wouldn't seem like one of the best things in the world. But when the material is paired with Pete Holmes' boundless exuberance, it's one of the most distinct comic experiences of all time, like Pete Holmes is one of maybe three people I could imagine both wanting and being able to pull off a joke about Enrique Iglesias in 2017 because he can sell you on the idea that he's a man who is enjoying the fuck outta some Enrique Iglesias in 2017. Pete Holmes is a nice boy who likes to say fun words!

2) Catch Me, by Maggie Baugh: So I was sick last week, so I missed a Thing Journal, and now I'm here, and I'm looking at this pop/country album I listened to, at this point, exactly two weeks ago, and I'm trying to figure out something I remember about it, but all I can remember from this album is thinking, "This is an acceptable way to background 38 minutes." It's a fun time, but it's not particularly memorable, there's no strong character to any of the songs, nothing that suggests any strong desire to rise above the level of "#16 country radio airplay single."

3) Superstore (s2), cr. Justin Spitzer: And it's kind of the same thing with this sitcom! This is significantly more memorable than Catch Me -- the romance between Wheels and Lauren Ash is one of the single-greatest romances in history, every interaction those two shared made me happy forever, and it's worth noting that the show knows the perfect amount of usage it can squeeze from the teen mom's husband's character, but it is very much A Sitcom, something that's gonna be really fun for the seven hours it'll take to watch it (slash have it on in the background during Zelda times) but isn't going to make an effort to rise out of the B+ range. It's a good show, recommended if you're looking for something to enjoy, but not if you're looking for something to sink into, if that makes any sense.

4) Me. I Am Mariah... The Elusive Chanteuse, by Mariah Carey: Her. She is Mariah... The elusive chanteuse.

5) Crazy Heart, dir. Scott Cooper: I'm not sure how long I would've made it into this movie were it not for Jeff Bridges and the promise of more T. Bone Burnett. It makes me angry that T. Bone Burnett's wastebasket is filled with songs a million times better than anything I could ever write, and Jeff Bridges adds layers of depth to a character that doesn't really deserve his performance. Like, here's my main gripe: this movie is about a self-destructive person, right? But this movie chooses to depict the dad he destroyed, you see him interacting with Buddy and Maggie Gyllenhaal and think he could've been a wonderful husband if it weren't for that damn ALCOHOL, when a much more unique movie would've been the movie just at the edges, about how he destroyed Bad Blake. Like, imagine Bad Blake watching Scoggin' Billiam or Walker Wheeler or whatever ponytail's name wasperform the best song he ever written and knowing that Scoggin' Billiam could never do it justice, that Bad Blake kept Bad Blake from enjoying a career-defining hit and has to settle for royalty checks, that's a way cooler movie about what art means and the things we do to chase dreams and how we get in our own ways, it's a way cooler movie than "man loses woman and decides it's time he gets right." Like, it's a movie about a musician that doesn't have any music after the forty-five minute mark. That's dumb.

6) Platinum, by Miranda Lambert: So with this album, Project 2014 was completed, I caught up on all the 2014 releases I think I want to listen to (though I'm sure we'll find more at some point), and I am free to move on to 2013. This is one of the better Miranda Lambert albums, and it hit all the Miranda Lambert buttons, songs about being a pissed-off ex, songs about people understimating attractive women, standard country songs about being proud of small-town upbringings, it's all there. I feel like there's five album reviews from last week and all of them are some variation on "it was good," and I'd like to say I tried my best but I'm not sure that I did? Like you can probably tell that this was the last capsule I wrote, there's gotta be some air of "if I can say three sentences about this album I will be at last free."

7) Cocksure, by Laura Stevenson: Of all the female singer/songwriters I've heard about from checking Dan Campbell's Twitter feed, I think I like this one the most, simply because she's plugged in as hell. This album just rocks. I wish I hadn't gotten sick over the weekend and had written this capsule after listening to it twice in one day, when all the songs were fresh in my mind and I could have called out some specific lyrics, but bad as I am at listening, I still remember that this album is a joy, and I'm very much looking forward to hearing more from this person.

8) The Obsessives: THIS WAS A GOOD ALBUM BY A PUNK-LEANING BAND AND I ENJOYED IT AND GODDAMNIT WHY DON'T I EVER REMEMBER ANYTHING, I SAID I WAS GONNA WRITE STUFF DOWN AND I DIDN'T AND NOW I'M HERE YET AGAIN, WAY TO GO ME like I've been at this post for three hours and I can come up with things but i just, ugh, i'm bad at listening

9) Okja, dir. Bong Joon-ho: One of the things about Netflix as a production entity is that it seems to be staying out of the creators' way as they try to make their thing. It's giving people creative and financial freedom, provided they can make something lucrative for Netflix. And if the upshot is more movies like this, where high production values are being paired with thematic complexity and brutal endings, I'm for it. Like, this is a bold, devastating ending. (Turning spoilers on!) The corporation is the winner. The girl gets her pig back, but she's also going back to the farm knowing the horrors that occur behind the scenes, having seen the grotesqueries the corporation deemed not good enough for the cameras. The environmentalists get arrested, and the corporation gets a gold pig that's probably worth more than they were going to make off the meat the pig was going to produce, as well as continue to kill pigs. The machine keeps churning, and all a regular person can hope for is the chance to be afforded a small, personal victory. Not a lot of filmmakers would have been willing to go there, and not a lot of studios would have been willing to let them explore that place.

10) Golden, by Romeo Santos: I don't speak Spanish, so I'm not gonna pretend I have anything truly substantive to say, but one thing I'd like to point out is, the instrumentation on this record is something I never hear. Like, because I don't listen to Spanish-language stuff, I don't hear guitars played the way they are on this record, so even if I have no idea what this album is about (I'm assuming it's about how good Romeo Santos is at horny), I can still get some value out of hearing a new way to play music. Like, I can't remember if I brought this up when I watched the Finnish film The Happiest Day in the Life of Olli Maki, but in that film, there's a scene where a bunch of the boxers have a naked splash fight in the locker room. That scene either doesn't happen in American film, or happens as a joke, like, "Look at these silly boys having an effeminate fun time!" But with the Finnish movie, they're just like, "Yeah. Sometimes men have naked locker room splash parties. It's fun to have fun," and they move on, and it's cool to see how other cultures treat that sort of thing.

11a) If You Wait, by London Grammar: This isn't a full album, or at least I wouldn't consider an album featuring a live performance from The X Factor to be a complete artistic vision, so I'm not counting it as a full thing. I did enjoy hearing the undeveloped version of the ban I so enjoyed on Truth Is a Beautiful Thing, hearing some of the ideas they had for their sound, hearing things that they would eventually drop, I dunno, this might just be because I like introductions, but it's fun to revisit debut albums well after the fact. ...Except The Wonder Years' Get Stoked On It! The Wonder Years is my favorite band, but I don't know if I'll ever be ready to hear what Get Stoked On It! sounds like. Anyway, London Grammar, they're really dope. I'm not gonna go back and see if I compared them to the Parks & Rec scene where Tom is confused at how the shapes make him feel things, but that's how London Grammar makes me feel. I have to figure out these shapes!

11b) Nervous System, by Julia Michaels: So let's also bring this up, because Julia Michaels is an awesome songwriter and most of these seven songs are good and I can't wait for a full album, true YAS hero Julia Michaels, but also, "There's no innuendo/It's exactly what you think/Believe me when I tell you/He loves the color pink." I mean. You can? I would never tell you you can't. I'm just not. You can! I'm not.

12) Moana, dir. John Musker & Ron Clements: This would be one of the best Disney movies if they had cast an actual actor instead of The Rock. He gives a very enthusiastic performance, it's clear The Rock is trying his best, but it is equally clear that The Rock is not a voice actor, nor should he have been asked to be a voice actor. Like, there's probably a cooler movie here where Moana ends up having to fight both the volcano monster and Maui at the same time, where Maui reveals he was never more than a selfish jerk and Moana has to push herself to overcome Maui's selfishness to restore order and go as far as she can, but because The Rock isn't capable of nuanced vocal performance, it's kind of a standard buddy comedy with a few highlights ("Shiny" best song, I can't believe Lin-Manuel Miranda wrote a top-tier Flight of the Conchords joint) and Alan Tudyk giving an Oscar-worthy performance (I can't tell if it's funnier if they just used real chicken noises and gave Alan Tudyk a credit for the chicken or if Alan Tudyk was actually in a recording studio making chicken noises for thirty minutes) but not enough meat for this 28-year-old man to be satisfied with a children's movie. Um, know your audience, maybe?

13) Right Thouhgts, Right Words, Right Action, by Franz Ferdinand: Franz Ferdinand could make this exact album a thousand more times and I would love it a thousand more times. This music is my happy place, which means Franz Ferdinand has achieved their goal.

14) Who Told You to Think??!!?!?!?!, by Milo: I had to look up whether or not whether or not the Link to the Past boss Arrghus was named after some mythical figure or another because I heard some line like "Argus with a hundred eyes" and needed to confirm if I was giving this guy a shout-out for the first Link to the Past reference in a rap song I've ever heard. Truns out: it is! So that's one special thing about this album, how it's so densely laden with references that you sort of need to have a reference guide handy just to keep up, to catch everything this dude is saying, something which warrants multiple, attentive listens, which, pffft, who the fuck got time for that? So I probably haven't explored this record fully with one bus listen, but I'm excited to get in there again at some point.

15) The Incredible Jessica James, dir. James C. Strouse: There's a way to make a thing about what it's like to be an Artist in New York City that's its own thing and doesn't feel like the other billions of things about being an artist in New York City. I know this because I read literally show me a healthy person this year. This was... This was not an example of how to tell a story about being an artist in New York City, or being single and looking for love in New York City, or looking for love in 2017 with all these apps and social media the kids use these days. Jessica Robinson does her best to make it unique, and man, this film did not deserve the work she put in making this film watchable. But yeesh, this movie doesn't need to exist.

16) Moonrise Kingdom, dir. Wes Anderson: So first off, let's all agree we are giving Wes Anderson side-eye for the copious shots of 12-year-olds in their underwear. I know it's for art! But remember last Thing Journal, when we watched Jackie Brown, and there was a long, long close-up of the one girl's feet? I do not trust Wes Anderson! But I do enjoy his films, as I am a pretentious white boy with a sense of whimsy, and can I tell you guys about the funniest line I've seen in a movie all year? The boy and the girl are mourning the dead dog. "Was he a good dog?" "Who's to say? But he didn't deserve to die." That is the most Wes Anderson shit of all time and I loved it. It was a charming film about young love and broken people finding each other, especially resonant since it is two kids. We only hear the stories about how they act out their emotional damage, but when they're with each other, they're calm, at peace, because they found a kindred spirit, and I thought that was touching.

17) Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt s2, cr. Tina Fey & Robert Carlock: Maybe it's because I spent the first 25 years or so of my life accepting the 22-minute sitcom, but every single episode of this season, I would ay, "Hey, this was a fine episode! I bet we're ready to wrap up soon!" and then I'd see there were eight more minutes of sitcom left. And that's not specifically a critique of this show, I think everyone making TV shows in a commercial-free environment needs to look into their hearts and ask themselves if they really need to take advantage of lax time limits, but especially in a show as zany as this one, you run the risk of running out of gas for minutes at a time, or needing to explore unnecessary subplots, like Jane Krakowski crusading against the Washington Redskins, which, why? Why would th -- no! You don't need that to be a plot point! You didn’t need to bring up the Native American thing again! Why would you lean into that? No! This is me being exceedingly negative about a season of television I truly enjoyed, Ellie Kemper is a national treasure and when this show is on it is unlike any other, just that unfortunate tendency we all have to focus on misses instead of hits.

V. Trail Villa de Cuntis: 28km

V. Trail Villa de Cuntis: 28km (+4690) July 2, 2017 3:27:46

Prologue

Back in January I secured an entry to the Vermont 100 ultra and the insurance plan in case anything happened. My thinking was that if Boston went well I could squeeze in an endurance block of training and go into Vermont with about 6 months of consistent training, if Boston went poorly then I would reconsider if now was the right time for my first attempt at 100 miles. As fate would have it Boston went poorly and my ensuring bout with the Shingles virus redirected my focus away from training for a 100 miler. Fortunately I was able to file my claim for the insurance and Jackie and I (read: Jackie) booked flights to Spain for another summer abroad. I packed trail and road shoes with no real plans, but I had a feeling I'd find a race. Racing in a foreign country is probably my favorite way to travel- I think I might be an odd tourist.

 Training:

I'm still dealing with sporadic flare ups of shingles, similarly I am dealing with sporadic flare ups of motivation to run.  I'm enjoying my running lately, sometimes going without my watch and NOT EVEN PUTTING IT ON STRAVA...crazy I know.  

V. Trail Villa de Cuntis: 28km

Long story short Jackie and I found ourselves in the northwest corner of Spain in the region of Galicia. An area with ancestral ties to the Celts and home to a distinct language and culture that blends Portuguese and Spanish. They have bagpipes too.  On a Friday, I started to look around for a race for that weekend (I've never been much for planning). With the help of Jackie and Clara I was able to send a message to two race directors requesting the chance to enter their event after registration had closed. Yago responded “yes” and we reserved a car and an airBnB. The small town of Cuntis gave itself over to the event. The race start and finish were in the shadow of the town church right on the center square and flowing fountain. Slowly, a few hundred runners assembled for the races- 28k, 17k, and 17k hike. Right away the distance of the race made an impression on me. 28km- not 30km. A race in the US would have included a lap or two around town to round the course out to 30. Not here. 28km was just fine. It's not about the distance covered- it's about the trail itself- the region, the mountains, the forests. This course strung together three peaks that surround a small town in south-central Galicia. No frills- just hard running. This is an important and a too often neglected aspect of trail running. So many races in the US, particularly Texas, are seemingly endless loops that total a round or standard racing distance- like road racing. Anyway, I registered for the race, filled a handheld water bottle in the fountain (definitely not in Texas anymore), and took my place at the back of the front pack behind the starting line.

Start to first peak:

The pace at the start felt reasonable, which has not been my experience racing in Spain in the past. We zip through the town and down an alley that gives way to a beaten down track leading towards the hills. There is a "we're all in this together" spirit to the pack as we settle into position and wind through the tall, wet, summer grass. The trail climbs moderately through the forest. The ground is soft and spongy with layers of moss, dirt, and bark. Many of us bring our hands to our knees and start pumping our legs to drive our bodies up the hill- the stronger of the bunch just keep running.  As we push on, the surface of the trail begins to change. The trees fade and are replaced with scrubby, prickly brush. Gone, too, is the soft soil of the denser woods. Now we are navigating through half buried baby-head rocks. Every few meters the rocks get larger and larger as we approach the summit. The summit itself is a pile of large VW- sized boulders. Hand-over-hand, we pull ourselves between, up and over the mound. The runners pause to help each other here, snap photos, and remark on the vista. At least I imagine that's what they are saying- I can't even fake speaking Gallego. The summit is of no real significance, it just marks the point at which you can't go any higher and you can see that the folds of great hills with ridges of mounded rock stretch to the horizons. Wind turbines churn in the not too far off distance. I quickly make my way from the ridge and find the established trail again.

  1st major descent to second peak.

 Everyone here descends the trail like Kilian Jornet, blisteringly fast with no self regard. I think this can only be achieved by a life in the mountains.  I'm really at a loss as to why I am so slow on the downhill.  This is a note to modify my training to account for this glaring weakness. Most of this descent is through a freshly cleared swath of forest and is treacherously full of small stumps and chipped up under growth. This isn't a trail, per say, it's a transition to the next trail. In short order we pop out onto double track roads that I can only assume were cut for logging. Finally my road running "pedigree" can come in handy. I pick up more speed. But in no time at all the course dips and cuts the switch back and drops us into a steep road cut and we have to jump a few feet to the road below. What the hell?  This is great! 

 The next and most significant peak is ahead and staring at you. We run past a few houses and the inhabitants are outside curiously watching the spectacle of the day. The trail follows the same pattern as before but this summit is a bit taller and opens into a vast highland region. Expansive views, green grass, scattered rocks and boulders. The scene is very tranquil and we run up here for quite some time. The true peak is another mound of rocks this time resembling more of a fin that winds along the ridge. I am running more or less alone. The occasional person passes me and up ahead I can see the fluorescent colors of other runners. I settle myself and commit that this is a run for pure joy. Here I am in this place. I am so lucky to be here and to have my fitness to carry me through such a place.

 Second major descent to final peak

This is the steepest and most technical descent of my life. I'm pretty sure it's a wildfire control cut. It was so steep- I saw old winch cables tied around rocks and trees. Loose soil. All of it. This was not a trail, but it was the way down. I wish I could see the faster runners move through this. I proceed with caution for what feels like too long. The course bends and then drops again. We are losing elevation fast. I tumble into the houses at the foot of the mountain and am greeted by a family with a few children.  At this point I am too worn to attempt speaking Spanish with them. I smile, fill my bottle and say "thank you!" As I throw myself back into momentum I hear them say in puzzled tone, "¿inglés?".  Soon enough the trail bottoms out a river with a rope stretched across. The runner ahead steps in and right away is up to his waist- I'm glad that I didn't bring my phone with me. The rope wasn't exactly necessary, but I'm glad it was there. I slip-stumbled through the water with a huge smile. What an experience!  Climbing out of the riverbed and out onto a road, I know that I am coming to the end, the last climb must be ahead.  The heat of the day was mounting and I began to encounter those hiking the shorter course. The last climb was exposed, rocky, and steep. Again, I'm pretty sure it was a wildfire cut. As I power-hiked up the slope a guy participating in the hiking event came up behind me. We exchanged a look and communicated as best we could. I wish I could have said more to him besides good, tough, strong, tired, I'm sorry. He didn't seem to mind too much and started to tell me about Marcos. Now before the race started I was piecing together information about event from Gallego Facebook pages. I could tell that the event was a benefit for the Cidras.  This excited me because in northern Spain local cider is really popular and delicious. This isn't completely true in Galicia, which would make sense why a race would benefit the local cider industry...I thought. Turns out Marcos Cidras is a local trail runner and mountaineer who suffered a terrible accident. The race was a benefit for him and his family- this makes more sense than the local cider houses. The hiker took off his backpack to show me a picture of a man trail running, he told me it was Marcos and that he was the strongest of them all (I think). I knew what he was doing. He was giving me "ánimo". The Spanish racers are very supportive of each other and will go out of their way to help a fellow racer with an extra boost. I've seen this time and time again. He was telling me to push on for Marcos. The pitch relaxed and I started to run again. A shout of "Ánimo!" pushed me over the crest. Time to run. The trail dropped and wound around to the woods- three miles left.  But not before another brutal downhill- full of rocks. Earlier in our trip the wonderful Ms. Jackie took a brutal spill running on some rocks (a story for another day). I knew I was fatigued and I could hardly support my core. This possibly last decent scared me. I picked my way through it with real caution. I quelled my competitive drive and took it easy. ¿What's this? Another climb. A real spirit breaker. My new mantra is "it's never over". But I let that slip and allowed myself the joy of knowing the end is near. Damn hill-  it was steep and rutted, another transitional path not a real trail. I got over it. Legs shot. A guy passed me. Hmmm. I stretch out the legs on the flat and passed him. I wanted to run fast to the end. Gnarly forest downhill- I start to push.  Flat section. I put some distance in him. Gnarly downhill. I'm done. Sharp turn to downhill I step aside and shout "Animo" and let him pass he disappears. I'm so glad I did this. The final 2 miles were very painful for me. My core was rocked. Eagerly step was accompanied by an audible painful breath. I find my mantra again. "It's never over". The woods were beautiful- in Spanish the word is bosque. I like that word better than woods. We come to a double track and I see a familiar silhouette under a tree. Jackie!  I get to her and just give a wave. I wish I had more but I left it in the bosque. The course routes us to some ancient stairs. What the hell? 

I laugh and take the stairs in good spirits. The spit me out into the town and I stretch it out to finish hard. I cross the line and hear my name announced with a Spanish accent. "Jamie Estone, the American". I clasp my hands together to say thanks and make my way to the shade and ice cold well in the town center. In I go. It was deeper than I imagined and filled with fish and non offensive leeches. No one seemed worried. I was done. 28km 3:26:xx 26/100.

Epilogue

The “runcation” is the only way to travel and racing in a foreign country is such a fun experience.  The experience is especially significant for me because I can’t speak Spanish well at all, the race becomes a chance for me to connect with other people without having to talk.  Smiles, hard efforts, near disasters, and amazing views are universal.  I have learned though, that (at least in Spain) people don’t “woop!” I think that’s an American thing.  Generally speaking this race was enough to remind me that I’m not where I want to be with running.  I plan to take a break from racing and focus on training- I want to get strong! Animo!

16 "Always." In the twilight of morphling, Peeta whispers the word and I go searching for him. It's a gauzy, violet-tinted world, with no hard edges, and many places to hide. I push through cloud banks, follow faint tracks, catch the scent of cinnamon, of dill. Once I feel his hand on my cheek and try to trap it, but it dissolves like mist through my fingers. When I finally begin to surface into the sterile hospital room in 13, I remember. I was under the influence of sleep syrup. My heel had been injured after I'd climbed out on a branch over the electric fence and dropped back into 12. Peeta had put me to bed and I had asked him to stay with me as I was drifting off. He had whispered something I couldn't quite catch. But some part of my brain had trapped his single word of reply and let it swim up through my dreams to taunt me now. "Always." Morphling dulls the extremes of all emotions, so instead of a stab of sorrow, I merely feel emptiness. A hollow of dead brush where flowers used to bloom. Unfortunately, there's not enough of the drug left in my veins for me to ignore the pain in the left side of my body. That's where the bullet hit. My hands fumble over the thick bandages encasing my ribs and I wonder what I'm still doing here. It wasn't him, the man kneeling before me on the square, the burned one from the Nut. He didn't pull the trigger. It was someone farther back in the crowd. There was less a sense of penetration than the feeling that I'd been struck with a sledgehammer. Everything after the moment of impact is confusion riddled with gunfire. I try to sit up, but the only thing I manage is a moan. The white curtain that divides my bed from the next patient's whips back, and Johanna Mason stares down at me. At first I feel threatened, because she attacked me in the arena. I have to remind myself that she did it to save my life. It was part of the rebel plot. But still, that doesn't mean she doesn't despise me. Maybe her treatment of me was all an act for the Capitol? "I'm alive," I say rustily. "No kidding, brainless." Johanna walks over and plunks down on my bed, sending spikes of pain shooting across my chest. When she grins at my discomfort, I know we're not in for some warm reunion scene. "Still a little sore?" With an expert hand, she quickly detaches the morphling drip from my arm and plugs it into a socket taped into the crook of her own. "They started cutting back my supply a few days ago. Afraid I'm going to turn into one of those freaks from Six. I've had to borrow from you when the coast was clear. Didn't think you'd mind." Mind? How can I mind when she was almost tortured to death by Snow after the Quarter Quell? I have no right to mind, and she knows it. Johanna sighs as the morphling enters her bloodstream. "Maybe they were onto something in Six. Drug yourself out and paint flowers on your body. Not such a bad life. Seemed happier than the rest of us, anyway." In the weeks since I left 13, she's gained some weight back. A soft down of hair has sprouted on her shaved head, helping to hide some of the scars. But if she's siphoning off my morphling, she's struggling. "They've got this head doctor who comes around every day. Supposed to be helping me recover. Like some guy who's spent his life in this rabbit warren's going to fix me up. Complete idiot. At least twenty times a session he reminds me that I'm totally safe." I manage a smile. It's a truly stupid thing to say, especially to a victor. As if such a state of being ever existed, anywhere, for anyone. "How about you, Mockingjay? You feel totally safe?" "Oh, yeah. Right up until I got shot," I say. "Please. That bullet never even touched you. Cinna saw to that," she says. I think of the layers of protective armor in my Mockingjay outfit. But the pain came from somewhere. "Broken ribs?" "Not even. Bruised pretty good. The impact ruptured your spleen. They couldn't repair it." She gives a dismissive wave of her hand. "Don't worry, you don't need one. And if you did, they'd find you one, wouldn't they? It's everybody's job to keep you alive." "Is that why you hate me?" I ask. "Partly," she admits. "Jealousy is certainly involved. I also think you're a little hard to swallow. With your tacky romantic drama and your defender-of-the-helpless act. Only it isn't an act, which makes you more unbearable. Please feel free to take this personally." "You should have been the Mockingjay. No one would've had to feed you lines," I say. "True. But no one likes me," she tells me. "They trusted you, though. To get me out," I remind her. "And they're afraid of you." "Here, maybe. In the Capitol, you're the one they're scared of now." Gale appears in the doorway, and Johanna neatly unhooks herself and reattaches me to the morphling drip. "Your cousin's not afraid of me," she says confidentially. She scoots off my bed and crosses to the door, nudging Gale's leg with her hip as she passes him. "Are you, gorgeous?" We can hear her laughter as she disappears down the hall. I raise my eyebrows at him as he takes my hand. "Terrified," he mouths. I laugh, but it turns into a wince. "Easy." He strokes my face as the pain ebbs. "You've got to stop running straight into trouble." "I know. But someone blew up a mountain," I answer. Instead of pulling back, he leans in closer, searching my face. "You think I'm heartless." "I know you're not. But I won't tell you it's okay," I say. Now he draws back, almost impatiently. "Katniss, what difference is there, really, between crushing our enemy in a mine or blowing them out of the sky with one of Beetee's arrows? The result is the same." "I don't know. We were under attack in Eight, for one thing. The hospital was under attack," I say. "Yes, and those hoverplanes came from District Two," he says. "So, by taking them out, we prevented further attacks." "But that kind of thinking...you could turn it into an argument for killing anyone at any time. You could justify sending kids into the Hunger Games to prevent the districts from getting out of line," I say. "I don't buy that," he tells me. "I do," I reply. "It must be those trips to the arena." "Fine. We know how to disagree," he says. "We always have. Maybe it's good. Between you and me, we've got District Two now." "Really?" For a moment a feeling of triumph flares up inside me. Then I think about the people on the square. "Was there fighting after I was shot?" "Not much. The workers from the Nut turned on the Capitol soldiers. The rebels just sat by and watched," he says. "Actually, the whole country just sat by and watched." "Well, that's what they do best," I say. You'd think that losing a major organ would entitle you to lie around a few weeks, but for some reason, my doctors want me up and moving almost immediately. Even with the morphling, the internal pain's severe the first few days, but then it slacks off considerably. The soreness from the bruised ribs, however, promises to hang on for a while. I begin to resent Johanna dipping into my morphling supply, but I still let her take whatever she likes. Rumors of my death have been running rampant, so they send in the team to film me in my hospital bed. I show off my stitches and impressive bruising and congratulate the districts on their successful battle for unity. Then I warn the Capitol to expect us soon. As part of my rehabilitation, I take short walks aboveground each day. One afternoon, Plutarch joins me and gives me an update on our current situation. Now that District 2 has allied with us, the rebels are taking a breather from the war to regroup. Fortifying supply lines, seeing to the wounded, reorganizing their troops. The Capitol, like 13 during the Dark Days, finds itself completely cut off from outside help as it holds the threat of nuclear attack over its enemies. Unlike 13, the Capitol is not in a position to reinvent itself and become self-sufficient. "Oh, the city might be able to scrape along for a while," says Plutarch. "Certainly, there are emergency supplies stockpiled. But the significant difference between Thirteen and the Capitol are the expectations of the populace. Thirteen was used to hardship, whereas in the Capitol, all they've known is Panem et Circenses." "What's that?" I recognizePanem , of course, but the rest is nonsense. "It's a saying from thousands of years ago, written in a language called Latin about a place called Rome," he explains. "Panem et Circensestranslates into 'Bread and Circuses.' The writer was saying that in return for full bellies and entertainment, his people had given up their political responsibilities and therefore their power." I think about the Capitol. The excess of food. And the ultimate entertainment. The Hunger Games. "So that's what the districts are for. To provide the bread and circuses." "Yes. And as long as that kept rolling in, the Capitol could control its little empire. Right now, it can provide neither, at least at the standard the people are accustomed to," says Plutarch. "We have the food and I'm about to orchestrate an entertainment propo that's sure to be popular. After all, everybody loves a wedding." I freeze in my tracks, sick at the idea of what he's suggesting. Somehow staging some perverse wedding between Peeta and me. I haven't been able to face that one-way glass since I've been back and, at my own request, only get updates about Peeta's condition from Haymitch. He speaks very little about it. Different techniques are being tried. There will never truly be a way to cure him. And now they want me to marry Peeta for a propo? Plutarch rushes to reassure me. "Oh, no, Katniss. Not your wedding. Finnick and Annie's. All you need to do is show up and pretend to be happy for them." "That's one of the few things I won't have to pretend, Plutarch," I tell him. The next few days bring a flurry of activity as the event is planned. The differences between the Capitol and 13 are thrown into sharp relief by the event. When Coin says "wedding," she means two people signing a piece of paper and being assigned a new compartment. Plutarch means hundreds of people dressed in finery at a three-day celebration. It's amusing to watch them haggle over the details. Plutarch has to fight for every guest, every musical note. After Coin vetoes a dinner, entertainment, and alcohol, Plutarch yells, "What's the point of the propo if no one's having any fun!" It's hard to put a Gamemaker on a budget. But even a quiet celebration causes a stir in 13, where they seem to have no holidays at all. When it's announced that children are wanted to sing District 4's wedding song, practically every kid shows up. There's no shortage of volunteers to help make decorations. In the dining hall, people chat excitedly about the event. Maybe it's more than the festivities. Maybe it's that we are all so starved for something good to happen that we want to be part of it. It would explain why - when Plutarch has a fit over what the bride will wear - I volunteer to take Annie back to my house in 12, where Cinna left a variety of evening clothes in a big storage closet downstairs. All of the wedding gowns he designed for me went back to the Capitol, but there are some dresses I wore on the Victory Tour. I'm a little leery about being with Annie since all I really know about her is that Finnick loves her and everybody thinks she's mad. On the hovercraft ride, I decide she's less mad than unstable. She laughs at odd places in the conversation or drops out of it distractedly. Those green eyes fixate on a point with such intensity that you find yourself trying to make out what she sees in the empty air. Sometimes, for no reason, she presses both her hands over her ears as if to block out a painful sound. All right, she's strange, but if Finnick loves her, that's good enough for me. I got permission for my prep team to come along, so I'm relieved of having to make any fashion decisions. When I open the closet, we all fall silent because Cinna's presence is so strong in the flow of the fabrics. Then Octavia drops to her knees, rubs the hem of a skirt against her cheek, and bursts into tears. "It's been so long," she gasps, "since I've seen anything pretty." Despite reservations on Coin's side that it's too extravagant, and on Plutarch's side that it's too drab, the wedding is a smash hit. The three hundred lucky guests culled from 13 and the many refugees wear their everyday clothes, the decorations are made from autumn foliage, the music is provided by a choir of children accompanied by the lone fiddler who made it out of 12 with his instrument. So it's simple, frugal by the Capitol's standards. It doesn't matter because nothing can compete with the beauty of the couple. It isn't about their borrowed finery - Annie wears a green silk dress I wore in 5, Finnick one of Peeta's suits that they altered - although the clothes are striking. Who can look past the radiant faces of two people for whom this day was once a virtual impossibility? Dalton, the cattle guy from 10, conducts the ceremony, since it's similar to the one used in his district. But there are unique touches of District 4. A net woven from long grass that covers the couple during their vows, the touching of each other's lips with salt water, and the ancient wedding song, which likens marriage to a sea voyage. No, I don't have to pretend to be happy for them. After the kiss that seals the union, the cheers, and a toast with apple cider, the fiddler strikes up a tune that turns every head from 12. We may have been the smallest, poorest district in Panem, but we know how to dance. Nothing has been officially scheduled at this point, but Plutarch, who's calling the propo from the control room, must have his fingers crossed. Sure enough, Greasy Sae grabs Gale by the hand and pulls him into the center of the floor and faces off with him. People pour in to join them, forming two long lines. And the dancing begins. I'm standing off to the side, clapping to the rhythm, when a bony hand pinches me above the elbow. Johanna scowls at me. "Are you going to miss the chance to let Snow see you dancing?" She's right. What could spell victory louder than a happy Mockingjay twirling around to music? I find Prim in the crowd. Since winter evenings gave us a lot of time to practice, we're actually pretty good partners. I brush off her concerns about my ribs, and we take our places in the line. It hurts, but the satisfaction of having Snow watch me dance with my little sister reduces other feelings to dust. Dancing transforms us. We teach the steps to the District 13 guests. Insist on a special number for the bride and groom. Join hands and make a giant, spinning circle where people show off their footwork. Nothing silly, joyful, or fun has happened in so long. This could go on all night if not for the last event planned in Plutarch's propo. One I hadn't heard about, but then it was meant to be a surprise. Four people wheel out a huge wedding cake from a side room. Most of the guests back up, making way for this rarity, this dazzling creation with blue-green, white-tipped icing waves swimming with fish and sailboats, seals and sea flowers. But I push my way through the crowd to confirm what I knew at first sight. As surely as the embroidery stitches in Annie's gown were done by Cinna's hand, the frosted flowers on the cake were done by Peeta's. This may seem like a small thing, but it speaks volumes. Haymitch has been keeping a great deal from me. The boy I last saw, screaming his head off, trying to tear free of his restraints, could never have made this. Never have had the focus, kept his hands steady, designed something so perfect for Finnick and Annie. As if anticipating my reaction, Haymitch is at my side. "Let's you and me have a talk," he says. Out in the hall, away from the cameras, I ask, "What's happening to him?" Haymitch shakes his head. "I don't know. None of us knows. Sometimes he's almost rational, and then, for no reason, he goes off again. Doing the cake was a kind of therapy. He's been working on it for days. Watching him...he seemed almost like before." "So, he's got the run of the place?" I ask. The idea makes me nervous on about five different levels. "Oh, no. He frosted under heavy guard. He's still under lock and key. But I've talked to him," Haymitch says. "Face-to-face?" I ask. "And he didn't go nuts?" "No. Pretty angry with me, but for all the right reasons. Not telling him about the rebel plot and whatnot." Haymitch pauses a moment, as if deciding something. "He says he'd like to see you." I'm on a frosting sailboat, tossed around by blue-green waves, the deck shifting beneath my feet. My palms press into the wall to steady myself. This wasn't part of the plan. I wrote Peeta off in 2. Then I was to go to the Capitol, kill Snow, and get taken out myself. The gunshot was only a temporary setback. Never was I supposed to hear the wordsHe says he'd like to see you. But now that I have, there's no way to refuse. At midnight, I'm standing outside the door to his cell. Hospital room. We had to wait for Plutarch to finish getting his wedding footage, which, despite the lack of what he calls razzle-dazzle, he's pleased with. "The best thing about the Capitol basically ignoring Twelve all these years is that you people still have a little spontaneity. The audience eats that up. Like when Peeta announced he was in love with you or you did the trick with the berries. Makes for good television." I wish I could meet with Peeta privately. But the audience of doctors has assembled behind the one-way glass, clipboards ready, pens poised. When Haymitch gives me the okay in my earpiece, I slowly open the door. Those blue eyes lock on me instantly. He's got three restraints on each arm, and a tube that can dispense a knockout drug just in case he loses control. He doesn't fight to free himself, though, only observes me with the wary look of someone who still hasn't ruled out that he's in the presence of a mutt. I walk over until I'm standing about a yard from the bed. There's nothing to do with my hands, so I cross my arms protectively over my ribs before I speak. "Hey." "Hey," he responds. It's like his voice, almost his voice, except there's something new in it. An edge of suspicion and reproach. "Haymitch said you wanted to talk to me," I say. "Look at you, for starters." It's like he's waiting for me to transform into a hybrid drooling wolf right before his eyes. He stares so long I find myself casting furtive glances at the one-way glass, hoping for some direction from Haymitch, but my earpiece stays silent. "You're not very big, are you? Or particularly pretty?" I know he's been through hell and back, and yet somehow the observation rubs me the wrong way. "Well, you've looked better." Haymitch's advice to back off gets muffled by Peeta's laughter. "And not even remotely nice. To say that to me after all I've been through." "Yeah. We've all been through a lot. And you're the one who was known for being nice. Not me." I'm doing everything wrong. I don't know why I feel so defensive. He's been tortured! He's been hijacked! What's wrong with me? Suddenly, I think I might start screaming at him - I'm not even sure about what - so I decide to get out of there. "Look, I don't feel so well. Maybe I'll drop by tomorrow." I've just reached the door when his voice stops me. "Katniss. I remember about the bread." The bread. Our one moment of real connection before the Hunger Games. "They showed you the tape of me talking about it," I say. "No. Is there a tape of you talking about it? Why didn't the Capitol use it against me?" he asks. "I made it the day you were rescued," I answer. The pain in my chest wraps around my ribs like a vise. The dancing was a mistake. "So what do you remember?" "You. In the rain," he says softly. "Digging in our trash bins. Burning the bread. My mother hitting me. Taking the bread out for the pig but then giving it to you instead." "That's it. That's what happened," I say. "The next day, after school, I wanted to thank you. But I didn't know how." "We were outside at the end of the day. I tried to catch your eye. You looked away. And then...for some reason, I think you picked a dandelion." I nod. He does remember. I have never spoken about that moment aloud. "I must have loved you a lot." "You did." My voice catches and I pretend to cough. "And did you love me?" he asks. I keep my eyes on the tiled floor. "Everyone says I did. Everyone says that's why Snow had you tortured. To break me." "That's not an answer," he tells me. "I don't know what to think when they show me some of the tapes. In that first arena, it looked like you tried to kill me with those tracker jackers." "I was trying to kill all of you," I say. "You had me treed." "Later, there's a lot of kissing. Didn't seem very genuine on your part. Did you like kissing me?" he asks. "Sometimes," I admit. "You know people are watching us now?" "I know. What about Gale?" he continues. My anger's returning. I don't care about his recovery - this isn't the business of the people behind the glass. "He's not a bad kisser either," I say shortly. "And it was okay with both of us? You kissing the other?" he asks. "No. It wasn't okay with either of you. But I wasn't asking your permission," I tell him. Peeta laughs again, coldly, dismissively. "Well, you're a piece of work, aren't you?" Haymitch doesn't protest when I walk out. Down the hall. Through the beehive of compartments. Find a warm pipe to hide behind in a laundry room. It takes a long time before I get to the bottom of why I'm so upset. When I do, it's almost too mortifying to admit. All those months of taking it for granted that Peeta thought I was wonderful are over. Finally, he can see me for who I really am. Violent. Distrustful. Manipulative. Deadly. And I hate him for it.