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Ashcroft Ghost Town | Old Silver Mining Boomtown | Aspen | Colorado | USA
#ashcroft ghost town#ashcroft colorado#american ghost towns#aspen#colorado#colorado ghost town#ghost town ashcroft#ashcroft#ashcroft mining town#ashcroft boomtown
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History of Aspen: From Silver to Snow
The origins of Aspen are filled with truths and tales. From the original settlers to the origin of the ski season, this town and this valley are rich in history. We scouted out Aspen through the decades, from silver to snow, in our latest guide.
As seen in Volume 7 of The Scout Guide Aspen. Image courtesy of Aspen Historical Society.
What once started as gathering grounds for the Ute Indians, Aspen quickly became a booming mining town that subsequently went through a lengthy quiet period, decades of transition with growing pains, and ultimately into the modern-day mountain mecca we know and love today. Here is a summary of Aspen through the decades, from silver to snow.
Until the 1870s // The Utes use the area as their summer hunting ground, going back centuries.
The 1880s // Originally settled as Ute City by a group of miners and incorporated in 1881, the city is officially named Aspen in 1888. Miners, prospectors, and entrepreneurs reside in town and the surrounding valley, with schools, grocery stores, and services established as the area grows.
The 1890s // Electric lights arrive in town, along with banks, a hospital, police department, theaters and to much fanfare, a grand hotel.
The 1900s // Mining is on the decline, the Ashcroft and Independence mining areas go bust, and bankruptcy abounds. To account for the town drama, a newspaper revives the local gossip column.
The 1910s // Farming becomes the newest currency, in the form of cattle and potatoes. Dubbed The Quiet Years, the population starts to decline.
The 1920s // Cars arrive in town, and Independence Pass is completed after more than a decade of work.
The 1930s // The lowest recorded population of Aspen during a census accounts for just 705 residents. In the latter part of the decade, a ski resort is conceived but put on hold due to World War II.
The 1940s // Aspen Skiing Company founded, Sardy Field opens, Bauhaus arrives, and the ethos of mind, body, and spirit is born.
The 1950s // Buttermilk and Highlands ski areas open and residents celebrate the first Wintersköl.
The 1960s // Snowmass ski area opens, Ruedi Dam is approved, the first condominiums arrive in town, and the arts and music scene begins to flourish.
The 1970s // The population starts to rebound from the previous decades. Aspen elects its first female mayor, mass transit is born, and the first traffic light appears. Snowmass commences the wild west tradition known as the rodeo.
The 1980s // Skiing in the Aspen area draws an international crowd, along with hordes of celebrities and the birth of private clubs. Snowboarding finally arrives, as well as the Silver Queen Gondola.
The 1990s // The population sees a boom that it once saw in its mining heyday more than 100 years ago, with thousands of year-round residents that swells to three times or (much) more in prime tourist season.
The 2000s // Winter X Games arrives, along with a new generation of visitors that come to visit for the summer but never leave.
The 2010s // Snowmass Village gets a facelift, milestone celebrations abound for skiing and arts, and Aspen finishes the decade with one of the snowiest winters on record.
The 2020s // A new chapter for Aspen begins.
live. love. local.
New to TSG Aspen? Enjoy more of Aspen scouted people, places, finds, and favorite things to do.
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Henry & Ollie
Ashcroft Ghost Town. The silver mining ghost town features the restored remains of several historic buildings, including the Blue Mirror Saloon, a post office, and a hotel. There’s guided and self guided tours that people are say are totally worth the trip and a must do.
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[ MUSE #64 ] ●● is that MEG DONNELLY? no, that’s just SKYLAR OAKLEY, the 16 year old FEMALE who is a HS JUNIOR. some say they’re detached & oversensitive, but their family and friends will swear they’re cooperative & loyal. when i think of them, i think of pastel notebooks, fairy lights strung expertly on the walls, and warm drinks clutched in cold hands. i wonder if their family know that SHE is hiding that she was part of a group that bullied others at her last school. ●● (C && GMT && SHE/HER)
So Skylar here is based off an old muse of mine, and is a certified mess tbh. Even she doesn’t understand herself, literally this gifset right here. If anyone wants to plot, just hit that heart or slide into my dms. Now onto explaining my little messy muse.
Her full name is Skylar Noelle Oakley, though she will answer to Skye. (ooc I was listening to the bring it on musical soundtrack when coming up with a name)
Born 25th December 2002 – Hence the middle name Noelle. For the first few years of her life, Skylar was every parent’s dream. She was a shy, reserved kid who never made a fuss over anything.
When the normally well-behaved child started day-dreaming during class, she claimed that she’d already finished the work and was bored, something that began to happen more often than not, which lead to her skipping a grade, something she loved initially but ended up being the route of most of her problems growing up.
Once she hit her teenage years, the need to fit in became so much more important to her, and she felt she was already at a disadvantage being the youngest of her classmates. And to a thirteen year old Skylar that meant one thing – acting like the popular crowd to fit in with them. It didn’t happen overnight, but eventually she began to find her place within the popular clique blatantly ignoring whatever guilt she felt for leaving her actual friends behind. What was a little guilt, if your life was what every movie and tv show aimed at teenagers said you should want?
Skylar wasn’t stupid – even if she now acted like she was - and she knew that while her new friends had many people who claimed to like them, most of the school seemed to hate them, and with good reason. They’d constantly pick on others about every little thing, and she’d stand off at the side not participating while they mocked others, but doing nothing to stop it either. Everything in her was screaming at her to do what was right, but she couldn’t let go of the life she’d built – one where she wasn’t just that weird kid who reminded the teacher they hadn’t given out homework.
That was until the past summer where she was at a party with her new group of friends, and her old friends happened to be there too. Almost like some kind of late initiation, her new friends prompted her to be the one to mock her old friends, to point out they didn’t belong there and should go home. And despite knowing she should tell her new friends they could go to hell – she complied with what she wanted, watching as her old friend’s gazes turned to ones of hatred. It’s a moment she regrets, and she’s certain she always will, but one she knows she can’t take back.
When the news came out that her family was moving, Skylar was… Not happy to say the least. Her life may not be perfect, but she had everything that she wanted. She had a spot on the cheer team, a large group of friends (okay frenemies but same difference), invites to the best parties and she was not amused at the prospect of giving that up. There were definitely a few ‘I hate you’s’ hurled her parent’s way, before she calmed down and offered an incredibly lacklustre apology.
Now she knows she has a chance to start over. To go back to being the bright girl with a good future ahead of her, and not the dumb blonde people stereotyped her as before – the only problem is, she isn’t ready to let go of her ‘ideal’ life. This time she figures she can do better – fit in with the right crowd, but not partake in being the reason behind anyone else’s pain. It won’t be easy, but she reasons she’s smart enough to find the balance with some time. After all, the world loves a pretty face more than a brilliant mind.
Never leaves home without a hairband or ribbon in her hair, a la early gossip girl!Blair.
Connection ideas
Other cheerleaders: One of the first things she did upon arriving in Ashcroft was try out for cheer, and she’d try to be as friendly as she could to fit in.
Best friend: Someone she genuinely clicked with, and doesn’t feel the need to constantly pretend or look over shoulder around them.
Frenemies: Because… She’d had a few probably.
Sceptic: Someone who doesn’t quite buy into the dumb blonde thing and keeps calling her out.
Mentor: Someone who’s older and trying to shove her towards the right path in life.
Mentee: Someone she sees about to follow the same path as her, and she wants to talk them out of it. Or just someone she thinks is too nice for their own good and wants to shield them from everything.
Shoulder to lean on: They don’t always have to be friends, but one day they found themselves opening up to each other and now they’re just… there when the other needs to talk.
Enemies: They just… Do not get along at all, and they haven’t really tried to.
Sugar and salt: these two on paper seem like they’d be a mess, they have very little in common – but somehow they managed to bond and become surprisingly good friends. they’re not sure how they work, but they do and that’s all that matters.
Pamper buddy: time at the spa, movie nights with facemasks, going to the salon or beauty parlour… these two spend most of their time treating themselves and hold no guilt about it.
Platonic soulmate: because who says your soulmate has to be romantic?
Friends with benefits: Because who needs feelings?
Accidental crush: Whichever muse never set out to actually like the other but it happened, and now it’s weird.
Co-workers: She got a part-time job as a waitress, so anyone who would work at the restaurant with her.
Online friends: They could know each other or not, maybe they used alias and have no clue they’re now in the same town, she would have definitely been nicer online than irl.
The unneeded tutor: She could ace her classes if she wanted, but her teachers don’t seem to think so and paired these two up together and she’s not the most receptive considering she knows she doesn’t need it and it’s a complete waste of both their time.
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on the rocks of Reno
[Miguel and Iann take a roadtrip to Reno, NV to look for information on the Ashcroft Coven. What they find is not what they expect. Continued from here.]
@bumblingbrujo, @thatwhichbindsus (who wrote the Ashcrofts as well, thank you!!)
They had been following the line of the ley for a few minutes now, long enough to be certain of it. There were indeed no coincidences, it seemed. Reno was on the smaller side when it came to cities, after all. The streets weren’t too crowded, especially considering the heat. Plenty of people on their phones too, or smoking a quick cigarette. Men in loose jeans with their shirt sleeves rolled up. One such street corner was especially quiet, only one man leaning against the wall, seemingly focused on his cigarette. “Mornin’ gentlemen,” he greeted as they passed, his eyes knowingly meeting Iann’s. “We thought we might be seeing you sometime soon.” Once he knew he’d caught their attention, he smiled with disarming ease around his cigarette and offered his hand to shake. “Luke Ashcroft, at your service.”
Iann did like Reno. He liked it more about 15 years ago, when it lived up to its name as the biggest little city. Now it mostly just looked tired and retired, like most of the gambling and tourists who still came to Reno for the Marty Robbins tribute shows and the casinos that still sported old school one-armed bandits. But they weren't in the tourist side of town; they were in the Reno where the regular folk operated, outside of the glitz and glam. It was like Vegas, only strangely less depressing than the regular parts of Vegas. Iann followed along with Miguel, letting the witch take the lead and not bothering to add his own observations, knowing they wouldn't hold much merit with Miguel. The witch was in his element and Iann was, as Miguel called him (and explained to him), merely a squib. It would've been funny a month ago, when Iann didn't yet know he had supernatural siblings and a possibly supernatural father. Now the term just shoved Iann into one more box that he didn't want to be in, simplified him and his entire life's work into something foolish and one-dimensional: the wannabe human tagging along with the indulgent, powerful brothers. A squib.
"You talk," Iann said, eyes dulling as he looked around the small city vista. "I'll be set dressing." Which was how Iann generally preferred things anyway, he told himself. If supernaturals had Serious Business Important Supernatural Things between each other, Iann didn't get involved, he observed.
Which was how they found themselves in a distinctly more quiet part of the sun-baked city. And Iann genuinely startled when a man started talking to them, with familiarity - particularly when he looked at Iann. The human squinted back, expression mostly unchanged as he looked around, trying to determine if any one else around them were a part of this.
Luke Ashcroft. That was easier than expected. Iann wasn't expecting a handshake, but Iann pointedly put his hands in his pockets, letting Miguel do the glad-handing and chatting, witch to witch.
Miguel already felt like a chicken staring into the playful eyes of a fox. Being much smaller than the other man didn't help. Being a healer, instead of someone with offensive powers didn't help either. "Miguel Ojeda," he said as he shook Luke's hand. He dropped the second last name for the gringo, keeping the important one. Ojeda, it would be enough for recognition, less than 10 miles from California. "The pleasure is mine," he said with a nervous smile as their magics sniffed each other, this time like dogs on chains with tails erect - not like with Ciara, this wasn't Molly and Jackson anymore. The vague wavery feeling of Luke's magic made Miguel feel slightly better. His magic reminded Miguel of a watered-down (winded-down) version of Lupe’s. This close it wouldn’t be a contest. As long as they were touching, or stayed close enough to reach out, Miguel would have the upper hand. The back of his neck prickled with the idea of a breeze that didn’t exist yet. As soon as there was distance between them, Luke could turn the table.
Miguel had to stiffen his neck to keep from shaking his head, usually so open, he needed to keep things little closer to his chest. Think about diplomacy, not battle, he reminded himself. But a little voice in his head told him he needed to think about both. “We’re here with a present and a formal apology,” he told Luke, not even needing to play up how sheepish he felt. “For you and the rest of your family.” He didn't want to come right out and demand to be taken to the rest of the coven. The Ashcrofts probably had a protocol for such things, and Miguel was going to have to play the game.
Although it was Iann’s gaze Luke sought out first, he met Miguel’s warmly, his shake firm but not aggressive, and his eyes widened in recognition at the surname. Neither Marina nor Jennifer had mentioned that. But feeling Mr. Ojeda’s magic, maybe it shouldn’t have surprised him. It felt up close and personal, not just something that could be sensed via his hand but something that lived just inside it. “Pleasure. An’ you must be Mr. Cardero,” he said to Iann, laying his cards out plainly. If the coven had wanted subtlety, they would have sent someone else. Luke preferred saying what he meant and getting the same in return, even if it wasn’t easy to hear. But what Mr. Ojeda had to share next caught even him off guard a little. “An apology?” He repeated, but smiled. “I’m afraid our priestess is awful busy today, but I’ll text her to let her know a representative of the Desert Leaves is here. In the mean time, do you feel like a coffee? There’s a great place near two blocks down, quiet but not secluded.”
Iann stared towards Luke Ashcroft but more like he was constantly scanning the flat horizon than staring bald-faced at the witch. But he was intrigued by the...casualness? No, that wasn't right. The politeness, the civility that was happening, a far cry from Jennifer Ashcroft performing her sniper-act in the middle of the Soapberry forest. Obviously because it wasn't Ciara who was here. Yet even more curiously, Luke Ashcroft spoke to Iann first, and registered some sort of surprise or recognition when Miguel introduced himself - the specification of his coven, apparently, not necessary. The DL was huge, after all. When Luke pulled up Iann's last name, like a firm yet still-friendly reminder to the human, he grunted in response. "Iann's fine." If they knew his last name, they'd know his first. They expected...him to come to Reno, not Miguel. Iann cursed inwardly, thinking about his contacts in Reno, wondering which one of them dropped his name. Or perhaps it was Jennifer Ashcroft who was able to identify him before she split town...and clearly she had, considering only a little while back, Miguel and Ciara were swanning about holding hands like two lovers on a date in public. And yet Luke Ashcroft didn't recognize Miguel by face, just by name. He looked at Miguel, and assumed the witch would acquiesce on behalf of the both them or counter-offer with Luke. Two male witches. It made sense on Miguel's side, but why the hell did the Ashcrofts send this guy? By definition of his gender, he was no tank. Still potentially threatening to Iann alone, but not to Miguel (in Iann's opinion; he placed a lot of merit in Miguel's magical aptitude). If they wanted to threaten, they would've sent a female witch.
It all came together then: they knew who Iann was. They knew who he was, they knew why Iann had come here. Miguel's ulterior ruse was unnecessary, because apparently this Luke Ashcroft wanted to sit in a public cafe, sip iced lattes, and have a chat. Iann's heart beat a little faster, and he resisted the urge to grasp the half-pendant against his chest, some futile way to protect...protect what it meant. He decided not to wait for Miguel to respond and nodded suddenly, eagerly. As if he'd just tuned into the conversation. "Coffee sounds great, I've been driving for 14 hours." Iann said, tone congenial. "Lead the way, Lukey."
Miguel glanced at Iann before looked back at Luke to keep talking things out. "Sure, that sounds good. The text and coffee that is." He smiled his bumbling smile and looked up at Luke expectantly, waiting for him to lead the way to the coffee. He glanced back at Iann one more time. An awful busy priestess made sense but Miguel also knew that priestesses made time for what they wanted to make time for. Maybe it was egotistical of him to think that if Luke texted with news of a DL representative, then she would make time for him.
“Iann,” Luke agreed easily, reading their Glances to eachother. It was no wonder they were tense and suspicious, he hadn’t eased them into it, but time was short, and he needed to understand what threat they posed before he got anyone else involved. “Sure thing.” He said, pulling his phone out to send a quick text to Lucinda. Desert Leaves rep Miguel Ojeda with Cardero. Requesting audience.“Sent. I’ll let you know what she says,’ he told them, tucking his phone away and started ambling along the road, trusting the two to follow. “You’re in for a treat,” he told them. “Sandy makes the best pastries this side of town, closest a human gets to making magic.” He walked them into a small warm little place with cozy wooden booths and atmospheric lighting. He waved at the waitress at the bar and slid into one of the booths. Almost instantly, a beagle mix bound out of nowhere and joined him on his side of the bench, licking Luke’s arm before looking curiously at Iann and Miguel, and Luke chuckled. “This is my familiar, Terry,” he introduced them, given idle scratches behind Terry’s ears as he watched them, waiting for them to sit down and start whatever they wanted to say.
The more Luke Ashcroft talked, the more his demeanour was expressed in such a normal yet still slightly wary(? cautious? careful? assessing?) way, it only made Iann's heart beat faster and faster. He hadn't really come to Reno with much expectations; or at least nothing for himself to do other than watch Miguel investigate and make decisions for the both of them. He hadn't expected the Ashcroft coven to find them, to address him by name, to sing praises of delicious pastries. The last part in particular struck Iann, made his chest feel tight, like he was trying to hold his stomach from falling to his feet. Iann met many, many variants of 'shady' in his life, he'd known many conartists, he knew a lot of supernatural spies, Hunter spies, double agents, all of that. Nothing about Luke Ashcroft came across as dangerously luring, maliciously ulterior. He had his own motives yes, but they weren't violent or duplicitous. Why would they be. In the forest Jennifer Ashcroft didn't want to harm himself or Freddie, only Ciara. Where Freddie and Iann were merely innocents caught in the cross-fire, having Miguel Reyes Ojeda here meant they were approaching more of a peerdom between the two witches, at least. And the worst part of it: Luke Ashcroft just wanted to talk. Iann didn't understand why he was getting so upset about that. Or well - he knew the mechanics of it. He was upset because the Ashcrofts were handling this civilly, which meant that whatever Ciara did to their clan had no bearing on the people who ended up orbiting her in Soapberry. The Ashcrofts were likely normal, reasonable, average coven witches. Regular coven....who had the terrible misfortune...of running into one Ciara Woodman. What did she do.
This made sense to Iann, though, this part of his thought process didn't upset him. Of course there were multiple sides to every story. And in honesty Ciara hardly told any of her story; Iann looked into it himself (with her blessing) and found out about the murder in the car, the mysterious brutality of the murder itself. Ciara never explained it, nor did Iann ever ask. Mostly because of the demon, but also because Ciara would be right in this situation: to use her favourite phrase, it didn't matter. Or rather, it did matter but it wasn't relevant to Iann's purview, not with the limitations she'd enforced upon everyone, including herself and the demon.
What bothered Iann was that he didn't understand why his heart was palpitating so much. Different sides to every story. Of course. No surprise. He could handle that; he handled that about almost everyone he knew. He preferred it. 'Good' and 'nice' were better suited as facets than entire personalities. Iann comprehended a person more when he knew they were morally bankrupt, like fucking everyone else. He didn't believe Ciara was a saint; if he did he wouldn't have cared as much about her world. That Luke Ashcroft was being so fucking civil, now that it was happening, was starting to make sense. But just because something made sense, felt rational, had reasons - did not mean one's feelings were equally as rational.
Iann stared at the loping, happy dog (familiar) and let Miguel enjoy it. "What're you guys having? It's on me, if the pastries are this good," Iann said, remaining standing so he could get their requests and go to the counter, make the order, breathe it out a little. When he returned with drinks and three different flavoured croissants, Iann sat and looked at Luke Ashcroft. "Why were you expecting us?" Iann asked. He would've just said 'me', excluded Miguel; but he wanted to hear Luke talk more and explain more.
Part of his dumb dog brain was that Miguel could really only focus on one thing at a time. And as soon as he saw the little familiar he was all smiles and cooed greetings. "He's great!" He told Luke with an easy grin. "I have a dog familiar too. She's with a friend right now, because I didn't want to have her in the car for so long." That, and he didn't want to subject Iann and Molly to each other for that long in the van. It was easy for him to like Luke with his friendly demeanor, general dad aura, and dog familiar. It would be a shame if they had to fight. The thought interrupted Miguel's friends fantasy and he cleared his throat and asked Iann for a chocolate croissant because he was weak for chocolate, even in the heat . So he got an iced coffee to go with it, and waited for Luke to answer Iann's question.
Luke almost protested at Iann's initial offer, but after a second nodded and acquiesced. "Tell Sandy I'll have the usual, thanks," he said, watching Iann walk up to the counter, before looking back to Miguel. Terry bounced out of his seat to give Miguel a proper greeting once Miguel had expressed interest, pawing up his knees and wagging his tail gleefully. "They bring out the best in us," Luke said, watching the two, "Don't know what I'd do without him." Pleased at least one of them was relaxing ever so slightly. When Iann returned with a raspberry flavoured croissant and a milky coffee for him, Terry bounced back into his seat next to Luke, watching curiously. "Not many people drive a Westfalia, so when we spotted one on the highway headed out from Soapberry down here, we had our suspicions. When you started following the ley this morning, we were sure." He sighed and shook his head. "I know that sounds invasive, we don't wanna alarm you, but I know you understand we're being real careful at the moment."
"Right okay," Iann said, listening keenly as Luke explained. So fucking open about it too, every response making sense in such a regular, average way (supernatural-wise of course; but that was 100% Iann's life). Tracking them made sense, and coincided with Ciara's theory that the Ashcroft(s) retreated outside the border. "You mean Jennifer Ashcroft spotted the van? Right?" He idly tore half of his tomato and feta croissant into little bits, methodically nibbling each warm savoury piece. "Everyone's being very careful, it seems." Iann glanced up at Miguel, who the dog - the familiar had taken a shine to. God, even the dog was displaying friendliness, and Iann knew animals had a special sense for that sort of thing, especially familiars. He checked silently to see if Miguel still wanted to keep up his ruse, but it wasn't necessary. Miguel could make the apology though, if he wanted; for Iann that business was secondary now. "Well. What's this meeting for then, Luke? What do you need to know?" Iann asked. "Unless you're okay with me asking the questions, because I have plenty." Iann lifted a feathery piece of croissant in acknowledgement. "These are really good pastries."
"They really do," Miguel agreed with a smile. Then he got quiet as he listened to Luke explain, and looked at Iann. What happened to being place setting? Iann sure didn't sound or look like decorations, but that was okay, Miguel sat back and ate his croissant slowly. He would be tempted to share with Terry if it wasn't chocolate. So it was probably a good thing he had given into the chocolate craving. "They are really good," Miguel tacked on at the end of Iann's outburst.
"Yeah, it's more than that," Iann said, because they knew Iann and Miguel were coming, they waited (politely, even) for the morning when the brothers entered the little city to dig about at the ley line and then lo and behold, here was Luke Ashcroft and his pastries and pothound and soft pouchy belly. Iann subconsciously scratched at his own little pooch, before taking a gulp of coffee. He glanced at Miguel again as the witch spoke up about the blown leyline. It was still strange, to know that Babs was here with Miguel, that she did things he didn't know about. But Iann put that aside; he technically had no right to know Babs' life, regardless of their connection. Iann stayed silent, letting Luke respond to that first if only to see how the witch would respond.
Luke looked sharply at Miguel at his admission. He hadn't expected it at all, and even Terry picked up on it, tilting his head moreosely at Miguel. Luke's jaw was hanging open, caught in a twisted half smile that only broke when his phone dinged, and he looked at the text. But he didn't yet answer, putting his phone face down on the table to consider Miguel a little longer. His eyes flicked to Iann's before looking back to Miguel, and he had the start of a sinking feeling in his stomach, but he shook it off, having another sip of his coffee. Miguel wasn't looking threatening as he said it. "The one I found you on?" He asked curiously, then chuckled shortly. "Can't say I saw that coming. Given we thought you might be coming about a certain blood witch. I guess there was a reason for it?" This could get messy, very very quickly, and Luke hoped his assumption of deliberate inter-coven sabotage was completely baseless, and they couldn't afford making more enemies now.
Miguel smiled and drank some more coffee. “Yup, that’s the one. I didn’t know it belonged to anyone, but I should have thought it through. Of course it would have a coven so close to the city.” He shrugged. “Though I’d like to wait to go into it further so the rest of your coven can hear it.” He finished off his croissant. “Ciara? Yes, I’m curious about that too. Helping you with her might be part of the apology.” Miguel’s eyes glinted hard like the dark steel of a gun. For a moment he was Lupita’s child again, talking easily of helping a coven kill a friend.
Iann subsided into silence and ate his croissant slowly, taking alternate sips of coffee. He glanced occasionally at Miguel when the witch explained more about the ley. Miguel kept the full story at bay like some sort of bard waiting for his moment at the court to shine.
When Miguel seamlessly segued into mention of Ciara -and then hinted at a supposed intent between himself and the Ashcroft Coven, still Iann said nothing. He'd been gauging before and now Miguel clearly had an idea of his own. That was fine by Iann, content to tag team, like a pair of luchadors in the ring.
Sure, Miguel was playing a risky game with this implication, but. Iann was so confident in his ability to wriggle free of tangles (and he felt whatever damage Ciara had done to this coven couldn't get any worse through their involvement here) that he let his curiousity take over, noting the glint in Miguel's eye and cutting his own gaze towards the Ashcroft to see how he'd once more respond.
Still, Iann asked: "And what even happened between you guys and her? All I know is what I read in the Reno papers." Iann gave a hapless human shrug.
They weren't here to play games. Luke knew chess well enough to see moves being made that he might not yet understand for a while. He listened to Miguel and nodded his understanding, and looked back to Iann, who had once again resumed the less intimidating role. Quieter and curiouser. He didn't want to call them a liar, having gotten to this point of easiness, but the damage to the ley and the connection to Ciara were almost too convenient. But that wasn't his role here, so he nodded and thumbed a quick text to Lucinda, explaining that this related to the loss of the North ley, and set his phone back in his pocket. He leant back in his seat, rubbing flakes of pastry off his fingers as he thought of the best way to word it. "Now, I don't know how well you fellas know her, if you're still close or not," he aimed this mostly at Iann, one of the witnesses of the demon, but shrugged, because it didn't much matter. "Don't get me wrong, I liked her, we all did, but now I think back on it I can't help wonderin' if that was by design." He rubbed the hair on the top of his head, huffing. "We even trusted her. Then one day, all of us felt the worst pain any of us ever had, and we find out she killed Patricia. My cousin in law, the high priestess' grandaugh'er. For the sake of one of her spells." His jaw was working hard, his voice heavy with supressed anger. "And then she's gone, hiding in Soapberry."
Miguel frowned and his eyebrows furrowed. Somehow he looked sympathetic and distraught at the same time. “I’m sorry to hear that,” the sympathy in his voice was real, but played up a little, as he used his calming doctor voice. Then he sighed and leaned back in his seat, like his meek healer heart couldn’t take the idea of a death. “Again, I’d like the rest of your coven to hear my explanation and offer. But...” he glanced at Iann. “She doesn’t seem like the kind of person we need in our town.” He looked back at Luke. “And if my carelessness affected your going after her, it’s only fair that I try and make that right.”
There was a line from that awful-yet-wonderful old movie Gone With the Wind, where meek-sweet little Melly shoots an invading Yankee soldier to save Scarlett, and then assures Scarlett's alarmed sisters that Scarlett just dropped something that clattered, and not to worry. And Scarlett - scheming, childish, dogged Scarlett, standing over the body of a dead man - looks at her dainty sister-in-law and says, 'What a cool liar you are, Melly.' That was what Iann felt right now, watching Miguel with about as much interest as he watched Luke.
God - technically, Iann didn't know either men all that well. Miguel a bit longer of course; but Iann kept reminding himself that their fraternity technically meant nothing. Miguel's act was flawless, accentuated by Miguel taking advantage of his own small thin frame, his large brown eyes. So this was how Miguel did it, this was how Miguel worked his angle. Iann found it fascinating to watch, when Miguel wasn't using this brazen, sweet duplicity on Iann himself.
Iann turned his attention back to Luke's tale on Ciara, the muscles jumping on Luke's jaw, the act of genuine distress. Were both men putting on acts, or just the DL witch? "What spell?" Iann asked Luke. "Did your coven ever find out what spell Ciara killed your cousin for?" Croissant finished, Iann sat back and stretched an arm across the back of Miguel's chair.
Luke took a deep breath and pet Terry, who pressed his nose against Luke's belly. Luke finished his pastry before answering. "Second ley this year," he commented. "But you weren't the only thing slowing us, let me tell you. The offer's appreciated, and I believe our High Priestess is on her way." He sipped at his coffee, and when Iann asked his question, Luke shook his head. "We haven't got a clue," he said, but set down his coffee and started rolling up his right arm's sleeve, up to half waty up his bicep. Just above the inside his elbow, there was was could only be described as a dent in the flesh of his arm, made of pearl white scar tissue. Extending around it was a meshwork of white ropey scars, running along his cephalic vein. Where blood had crystallised and shot out of him. "Left scars like this though, on every one of us. Kids got off mostly okay, but even they got scars from it." He rolled down his sleeve to below his elbow again, and clasped his hands together. "Now, you seem like fine fellas, so I'm warning you just in case. If you came here outta any desire for deception or the like, best to leave now. I aint judging, but Lucinda's got a keen eye and less patience. But if not, you haven't got a thing to worry about." He was sitting easy as he said it, and immediately reached for his coffee after, so they wouldn't be feeling scrutinised.
Iann leaned forward when Luke had something to show him. He nearly reached out to touch the scar tissue, fingers reaching up from his lap but forced to just drum against the table. "Well you must have some clue," Iann said, with some incredulity. "Some sort of ideas for why she'd do this, even if you don't think we should be privy to them. So was it your coven who put the runic curses on her skin?" He ignored the thing about duplicity. That would be for Miguel to handle, Iann decided, since the DL witch seemed to have some angle here about allyship. Iann wasn't particularly fussed either way - he'd gain information regardless of the path Miguel took them down. And as long as he got out of Reno alive, then the information was what Iann considered useful, practical, viable. To...help Ciara. Get out of Soapberry, of course. For Ciara to live and leave, that's all.
Miguel nodded. That was what he wanted, an audience with the high priestess, right? And they wouldn’t hurt him, even if they did find out he was playing a dangerous game of half truths. There was no good way to start a coven war, especially not with the Desert Leaves. “It looks like your coven got on the bad side of the wrong witch.” Miguel sighed and looked up at Luke with those big brown eyes. “I just want to help,” he said honestly. That was all he ever wanted.
"I don't want to help, " Iann volunteered with a half-smile. "I just had questions. And besides, I wouldn't be much help to witch-on-witch things." He chummily pat Miguel's shoulders, his buddy-witch.
"I don't," said Luke, "Maybe Jennifer or Lucinda knows more, but as far as we knew, Ciara and Patricia didn't even know eachother." He frowned at the mention of the curse. "I don't know anything about that, less that's what's holding her in the town." Terry suddenly bounced of his little seat and out the door of the coffee shop. "I don't know. She was good to us. My wife gave birth a month ago now, and that wouldn't have been possible without Ciara. But she was always distant behind all those smiles and sweet words. If I had to guess it'd have to do with those damn demons she kept summoning, but I think only Ciara can answer that." He looked at Iann then. "Why are you looking for answers then?"
Not a moment later, the door opened again, and Terry rushed in with an excited wag of his tail, sniffing Miguel's knees again before hopping back in his seat. Luke stood up as a woman with silvery hair and skin as pale as her bones walked in, using a staff as a walking stick. Her staff sparked with shimmering flames and ember at the head of it. She looked first at Luke, and when she raised her hand her hand shimmered red, that was reflected in his eyes as he sat back down. She looked briefly at Iann with inscrutable eyes. "I see the Cardero boy is here," she said with a local accent, then looked to Miguel, to whom she nodded at respectfully. "And the Desert Leaves Emissary. Welcome. I hope Luke has treated you well."
Miguel had a special place in his heart for High Priestesses, it was a place that was cold and hard and resembled the deepest circle of hell. So when Lucinda entered the building with as much flair as her name suggested, his heart did a little stutter. He gave a small respectful bow of his head before opening his mouth. “Very well, iced coffee and croissants. What more could I ask for?”
Iann stood up instinctively, but put his hands in his pockets and gave the older woman a bland expression as Miguel did the talking. She was the sort that Iann expected from the Ashcroft coven. Luke, not so much; which was probably why they sent the mild male witch. Luke's words still weighed on Iann's mind though. The hard-up, hard-done pitch he fed them about 'don't rightly know' and even sending some praise Ciara's way, Luke's being baffled and saddened by her betrayal when they all took her in and treated her oh-so well. Ciara killed one of theirs, by accident or with intent. And from what Iann gathered, the Ashcrofts didn't seem to care about the why. They didn't even seem to care about if Ciara was the one who actually did it. If it had anything to do with the 'damn demons' Luke mentioned (Iann got prickly at that) then it might as well be Ciara's fault, in a way. But despite all of Luke's small-coven charm, Iann wasn't going to forget that they were literally hunting Ciara to kill her. No trial, no punishment; just straight-up immediate death. Supernaturals had their own rules, so Iann wasn't using human 'law' to measure their level of justice. Rather, he was measuring them by his own brand of morality, and there was a mismatch in all the 'he said, she said' between Luke's word and Ciara's word. Or rather, he kinda-said-in-hapless-bewilderment, and she refused-to-say-anything-about-anything.
"How are you?" Iann asked the Priestess. And then couldn't help saying, "I mean, we can do formalities and make small talk, we can all sit here for hours and chat, knowing Ciara can't go anywhere no matter what she tries."
"Excellent," Lucinda said to Miguel, seeming genuinely pleased as she sat down beside Terry. Luke scooted over and she lay her staff against the table, observing them both. But it was not Miguel who spoke first. She turned her head to the human, raising an eyebrow. "I'm well, thank you. Yes, I am aware. The two of you are close, aren't you? You've been helping her." She smiled. Luke, clearly, had not known this, and concentrated on his coffee for a long moment. Lucinda turned back to Miguel. "But I heard you had something to share with us?"
Miguel nodded. Now that Lucinda was there he could go into more detail. Although that was the thing, he didn’t like repeating himself and he has already told Luke part of the story. “About a month ago,” he started. “I was in Reno helping someone, the details of what I were doing aren’t particularly important. But it has nothing to do with your coven, I can assure you, until I used your ley, the one that runs under the cemetery by Virginia Street.” He took a deep breath. “And I blew it using earth magic.” He looked at her with sheepish eyes. “And for that you have a formal apology from me and my coven.” He bowed his head again, a picture of meek healer. “But then all this mess with the blood witch...” he winced. “It occurred to me I might have caused you even more trouble than I know. Will you tell me what happened?”
"She isn't looking for help," Iann replied, truthfully in its own way. "That day that your Ashcroft tried to kill her, she was helping me out." They all turned their attention to Miguel then, and let the witch say is own piece. Jesus; Miguel only wanted answers from the High Priestess herself. So that was why Miguel indulged Iann to ask as many questions as he wanted to the low-tier Ashcroft. Now the adults were talking, Iann thought in a grim amusement.
Lucinda and Luke listened carefully as Miguel began explaining, curiously. His assurances that it didn't involve them were met with small nods, although both remained skeptical. Earth magic matched up just with what they had felt though, a profound weakening of their strength. He was right in every sense, they had been limited in their manoeuvers because of this ley. Also because life precluded death. "May I ask if this person you were helping lived in Reno, or whether you came here specifically for this spell?" She asked, without accusation. "What would you like to know, exactly?" She asked. She looked, briefly, to Iann, with sympathy in her eyes. "Yes, she helped us many times too. It was only later we learned her price."
Miguel nodded. “Of course, the third party lives in Soapberry. I needed the remains of a relative of hers who lived in Reno.” He pursed his lips. “I just want to hear the whole story. I need to know how I should proceed with Ciara. I’ve bumped into her curses a few times and they’re concerningly well made.”
Iann was slightly thrown off by the sympathy in Lucinda's eyes. It wasn't like he found Luke to be a conniving liar or anything but...call him a sucker with a heavy bias, but he had a tendency to subconsciously put his belief in older women. He blinked at her, glanced at Miguel, and then waited to see how Lucinda would response. Miguel was right - she knew more, that was obvious by the way Luke stared at his coffee cup like it was a magic eight-ball.
Lucinda nodded. She had suspected as much. But she was not born yesterday, and was no fool either. Despite what her sister said, she was not senile yet either. Whether it was a ploy or not mattered little in terms of what she intended to share with these outsiders. "We met a few years ago now. You're correct in that she's very talented in curses, and she is good at understanding the mechanics of others. That is how we first met, assisting with a problem we had. She requested a favour as repayment, to which I agreed. But she asked for access to our ley, which I refused. But we interacted more and more, befriending several in our order, sleeping with several others. Does she still hand out those little sygil cards, do you know? It doesn't matter." Lucinda shook her head, smiling. "Eventually I agreed to let her take share of our ley. In many ways, she was welcomed into her home. She was always somewhat distant, as friendly and charming as she could be. She worked at a local bar, where she also sold spells and potions, although I don't remember the name. I was also aware of her developing... a fondness for using demons in her magic. When we felt Patricia die, at first we had no reason to suspect Ciara, until we realised the manner, felt her magic permeating what she left of my granddaughter. Since, we've been seeking justice. Jennifer acted rashly when you encountered her," she directed this at Iann, "for which she has been reprimanded. Sibling bonds are strong."
Miguel glanced at his brother. Siblings bonds, huh. "Thank you for sharing that with us," he said with a small sigh. God it was messy. He had never though of Ciara as a goodperson, an interesting person, a familiar person... but most of the people who ended up close to him weren't good either. Still, the plight of the Ashcrofts was moving, and he could understand why they were doing what they were doing, which only made it worse. He wished he knew why Ciara had done what she had done, what she had admitted to. He pulled off his backpack and reached in for the necklace he meant to give to the Ashcrofts. "The other part of my errand." He pulled out a gold chain with an old peseta coin attached. It was something he had gotten from his mother's things, one of the artifacts that he had technically stolen from Lupe. The trouble was he couldn't use the Spanish artifacts, not anymore, not since getting the Santa Muerte glyph on the back of his neck. So it was either get rid of it, or give it back to Lupe. "If you attune it correctly, it will take any curse meant for the wearer. But only once. It can't help with anything that's already happened, it's a proactive protective item." He wondered if he was handing his enemy a bullet, or maybe a better metaphor was a bullet proof vest. He remembered his offer to Ciara, to fight if the Ashcrofts came after her... not that she would hold him to it, but he wondered if he would, he wondered if he could. If there was one thing he didn't want it was a whole coven wiped out, which would happen if anything happened to him.
Iann listened, paying attention not just to what Lucinda said but how she said it. But by now he wasn't looking for snide conniving moustache-twirling from the Ashcrofts (besides, he was the only one sitting at the table sporting a proper moustache...Miguel's cute scruff and Luke's guero fine hairs didn't count). He looked away from Lucinda only for a moment, when she mentioned the sygil cards. Iann looked at Miguel, to see if the witch recognized what Lucinda was talking about. He rested his mouth and nose against one fist, leaning his elbow on the chair's armrest, but otherwise remained quiet. When Miguel responded for them, Iann was glad. When Miguel then brought out a peseta on a gold chain, Iann could fall back into his own thoughts, knuckling at his mouth as he considered the Ashcroft's tale, they way Lucinda told it. "So what does that mean for your coven exactly? Getting justice?" Iann asked, because he had no skills to be polite about anything, including Miguel's kindly and almost ritualistic gift-giving.
Lucinda extended her hand to take the necklace when she was offered it, examining it both visually and magically. She'd run it past her niece first, for safety, but the gift was well valued. "Thank you, Miguel Ojeda," she said, cradling it carefully before putting it away. Not on, not yet, but away. She was too cautious to accept such things at face value, especially as a gift from one of the more powerful and deadly covens on the west coast. Once again the human addressed her, and she turned to look at him once more, smiling slightly. "For us, it is enough to ensure she can never again do what she did to my granddaughter, not to us, and not to any other coven."
Miguel smiled at the High Priestess and gave her his business card as well. "You're very welcome, Lucinda Ashcroft." He hoped that said everything he needed to say, he was sorry, he didn't want any bad blood between their covens, and... "Feel free to contact me if you need anything. Especially curse breaking. I'd hate for something like this to happen again." He wanted more information from her, from them, but he didn't think he would get any. At least not today.
Miguel could make all the promises and making covenly nice-nice he wanted, there was no obligation on Iann's part so he just wondered when and how the DL witch's stance shifted from pretense to genuine. Maybe Miguel himself didn't even know. Maybe this was how the guy schemed - he faked it so well that eventually he started to believe it himself. It didn't matter; to Iann, the pleasantries didn't matter. He didn't come here for inter-coven business, but in a way he was glad that Miguel had a two-prong approach. It allowed Iann to mull and observe and think about the single reason he'd agreed to come along. He suppressed annoyance though when Miguel seemed to be ending their time with the Ashcrofts. "If you want your justice, then stop trapping her in Soapberry. Talk to her and let her talk and if you're as reasonable as you're trying to come across, I'm sure she will be too. The --" Iann looked around, then leaned in more still not sure if Sandy's place was supernatural or not. He kept his voice low. "-- the demon she has, it's twisting her up, it's killing her." He was so relieved to finally say this, because he knew Ciara would get incensed and Miguel would scoff. "I don't know why she keeps dabbling with the fuckers," Iann said, and thought that maybe Ciara believed they were the only company she could keep, because she could control them top to tail. "But the only reason she summoned the damn thing was because of you. Because of what she thinks you're going to do to her. What does it mean, hm? Ensure she can never again do what she did? Is that some secret witch-code that I'm not privy to?”
Lucinda smiled and nodded, her eyes piercing Miguel’s, recognising the offer for what it was. But before she had a chance to reply, the human had interupted, and she turned her face to him, smile fixed and icy. “She has ensnared you well, hasn’t she?” She shook her head, knowingly. “If she chooses to let the demon she summoned kill her, that is her choice, regardless of her motives for summoning it. This is not your concern, regardless of how you may feel for her.”
Iann knew he should've just let Miguel's closing words - polite and helpful - naturally end the conversation. But he just had to press further, and now here came the hard glint in Lucinda's eyes, just for him. Not hard like ice, but unyielding like obsidian, like molten magma hardened and impenetrable. "Yeah yeah, make it as personal as you like," Iann said, even though his drumming fingers tightened on the table's edge, not that Iann realized. He was still squinting at Lucinda. "You're the ones who approached us. I know it's not because you see me as any threat -" Iann himself scoffed, because that was ludicrous and he wanted them to see that he understood that so they wouldn't try to patronizingly inform him of the obvious. "You came to find us and gauge us. You sent Luke because he's the most unassuming of the coven. And jesus - the High Priestess herself granted us audience, and told us your side of the story, because it needed to be said. I get that, I appreciate that. God knows Ciara's mouth isn't just closed, it's sewn shut by that fucking demon. But it does make it my - our - concern now, High Priestess." Here, Iann did scramble for a moment, trying to extricate himself from that 'ensnarement' that Lucinda so casually accused. "A demon in Soapberry is one demon too many. And she put it there for her own protection, through a chain of events that traces back to you. " Iann glanced at Miguel, then back at the Ashcrofts. "What Miguel's offering isn't just apologies and cute Mexican trinkets, Priestess."
Miguel watched Iann with wide eyes and his hand on the side of his face, preemptively rubbing his temple. The migraine at the end of this would be heinous. He wished he could say something to end all this before anyone else got hurt. He wanted to ask what would happen if his coven offered Ciara protection, what would happen if the Desert Leaves made sure she was repentant, if they banished her demon. It was too much that Miguel couldn’t control, Miguel couldn’t offer. So instead he kept his mouth shut, a thin tight line in his face. He pulled his gaze away from his usually loud boisterous brother and looked back to the High Priestess. Would she even consider what Iann was saying?
“But it is personal, isn’t it?” Lucinda replied. “Personal for us and for her.” She watched him and listened, as Miguel and Luke both rubbed their faces, Luke disbelieving watching Iann as if he was watching a train wreck. She listened and waited quietly for him to reach his point. “Soapberry Springs is not my concern, child. I am afraid I don’t have much more time to spare, so get to your point.”
Iann sighed. They clearly weren't getting it, or (more likely, because Iann would always give other people the benefit of the doubt and never underestimate them until they proved otherwise) refusing to get it. And given how Luke and Miguel were now mirroring each other with the 'oh my god humans' Face-Rub™, Iann figured he might as well not bother. All he'd get now were blockades and snazzy molten responses intended to insult the human. Which Iann could handle, if it would simultaneously enlighten. But that wasn't going to happen. "Sure, okay. I get it. Never mind."
Miguel put his hand on Iann's shoulder to pull him down from whatever emotional edge he was circling. Though it seemed like maybe he was ready to come back by himself. "A-again, thank you, Lucinda, Luke." He nodded at both of them. "And don't forget to contact me if you need a healer or a cursebreaker." He stood up, hefting his backpack over his shoulder and kept a hand on Iann's arm.
Lucinda nodded and rose up, taking hold of her staff once more. “Anytime, Miguel Ojeda. Goodbye, both of you,” she said with a smile and nod, watching them as they left Sandy’s. She turned to Luke, who was clearly chewing on something, and without saying a word to her squeezed past and followed Miguel and iann out the door.
“Hold on a sec there, fellas,“ said Luke, as Terry bounced around his ankles, stopping them just beyond the café windows.
Iann ignored Miguel's supposedly calming hand on his arm, not shrugging it off or anything but just waiting for Miguel to get it off him. He was falling into a mood, he could feel it; but when he heard Luke hailing them, Iann paused in some surprise and turned to look at the male witch. "Everything okay?"
Miguel put his hands in his pockets once they were out the door and turned on his heel to see the dad witch standing there. “Yeah?”
“Look,” Luke started, rubbing his scruff of hair. “None of us want to lose anyone else, alright? An’ you’re right, the demon is the problem.” He looked back, unsure of what he was saying, unsure if it was his place to say. “I can’t make any promises. Right now things are too tense, but if the demon goes, then maybe, just maybe, talking can happen. No promises, but no one’s considering anything else while it’s around. We’ve seen what she can do without.”
Miguel’s eyes got wide. That was... that changed things. “Thank you,” he said, although the other times he said it didn’t sound fake, this was the first time that it sounded real and true and meaningful.
It was a semblance of a response that Iann was hoping to get, when he started talking. But he had to take it in stride. This was coming from Luke, not from the High Priestess. Maybe she clammed up when Iann asked her, because she just felt Iann was being impudent and wanted to smack the child's wrist. Or, maybe there was more to it than what Luke was trying to reassure, based on the male'witch's own lack of understanding within the coven. Empty promises from a well-meaning but ultimately less-influential member of the coven? Or an effective hint at something that the High Priestess would or could not say herself? Iann looked through the window, at the stately elder in the cafe, with her cane and her red-flamed eyes. He looked back at Luke, and gave a brief, grim nod.
Luke nodded at Miguel’s thanks, and met Iann’s sharp eyes. They didn’t have to believe him. He didn’t say it emptily. But with it said, he looked up; the skies overhead were heavy with clouds, with thunder promised soon. “One last thing then. I figure neither of you’ll listen if I warn you about Ciara, and that’s fine, I’m not sure I would’ve. But I wouldn’t pull a stunt like this again.” He shrugged and stuck his hands in his pockets. “Take care now.”
"Take care pal," Iann echoed. It wasn't about 'believing' Luke. Iann wasn't here to play sides or eager to place blame at someone's feet, even if Ciara accused him of it, and the Ashcrofts defensively perceived it. People could say many things and make all the assurances they wanted but life had its own way of making words ineffectual, however well-intentioned they were. In that respect it was no one's fault, it was just how life worked. If Luke didn't like Iann's parent-like 'well, we'll see' response, that was his own insecurity. Luke - and Lucinda - gave Iann plenty of food for thought, and he was grateful for that.
Miguel smiled vaguely at Luke and waited until the other male witch was gone before pulling Iann back toward the van, which was still parked off Virginia Street by the cemetery. “Do you have anything else you want to do in Reno?”
"No," Iann said, getting in automatically, taking a moment to be grateful he was ensconced in the stale heat and sticky comfort of his van. He wound down his window and leaned over Miguel, winding his down as well and then resumed just sitting there. Gripping the wheel and staring over the cemetery. Eventually, Iann started the van, put on his sunglasses, and then looked at Miguel. "Do you? If not, then we're headed back home, hm?"
Miguel pursed his lips. "I guess not.... Bohdi is pretty far out of the way, isn't it? I always want to go there and see if it actually has a curse but..." as he talked he rummaged around in his bag for the matching peseta which he pulled out and fiddled with. "This will make it so you can hear everything the other peseta wearer can hear. I can't wear it because the Spanish magic makes me sick."
Iann tuned out as Miguel rambled about Bohdi, but slowly turned to look at him when the peseta glinted in the sun, catching Iann's eye. He stared at it impassively for a long moment, then frowned and tugged it from Miguel's hand. Iann turned it over and over between his flat sausage fingers. "Are you serious? You gave them a trick-charm?"
Miguel chuckled a little, his eyes glint again with that dangerous steely quality that they had flashed before. "Trick-charm makes it sound cheap... and easy." Miguel shrugged and leaned back in his seat. "It's old magic, the anti-curse properties. And the charm was made by my mama, well made and well hidden so my tia could spy on Ximena when she went to college."
Iann kept staring at Miguel, hunched over the pendant. "....Nahua magic?" he asked, his tone so quiet and husky, it was almost a whisper.
Miguel shook his head. "All Spanish. Which is why I can't stand to wear the thing." Just the thought was making his sigil itch, and he rubbed the back of his neck vigorously. "Just uh... put it on or put it back in my bag so I can stop feeling it."
Iann was already wearing a necklace. And sure it stopped working ages ago (Iann still wasn't sure how to feel about that) but he didn't want to take it off just yet. "Oh," Iann said, putting the necklace in his mouth as he pulled out of the parking space and started to drive, following the signs to the freeway north. "Can I put it in my pocket? Or does it have to be either in your bag or around my neck?" He'd ask about this 'Miguel can't use Spanish magic' later. It seemed important, but just not right now.
"You can put it in your pocket," Miguel said with a soft chuckle. Something about it was endearing, but he didn't know what. Maybe the way Iann said it around the necklace, or how eager to help he was. "Anything that creates a barrier around it will dull the feeling." Maybe if Miguel wore a scarf to put a barrier on the other end? Well it was too hot for that.
Iann slipped the necklace in his pocket, still staring ahead. There wasn't anything particularly eager about his question, he was merely gauging how to prevent Miguel's discomfort while he pondered everything Miguel said, everything Luke and Lucinda said. "Why did you do that?" Iann asked finally. "What if they find out?" Honestly, as much as Iann respected Miguel's DL power, he had to assume that the Ashcrofts could find out. Worst case scenario for the best possible outcome, and all that.
Miguel sighed. Another why. "You know any question that starts with why is hard for me," he said with an ironic smile. But he would try, for Iann because he trusted him. "Maybe it's dumb, but I hope Ciara joins my coven and that will somehow fix all this. And you know I have silly feelings for Ciara.... Although, I don't want you to think it's just a crush, because it's not. And I don't mean that in a John Green, I just met this girl and I love her way. I mean that in a ... I don't know. Her magic is special and I don't want the world to be without it." He sighed. "She's everything I could have been if I came out the way my mom wanted me to. And she shouldn't be punished for that. That's the big thing... I think." He rubbed his 'cute scruff' as he thought, a little surprised that he had finally gotten to the odd meaty part of his complex feelings for Ciara.
Miguel looked over at Iann and frowned. "Did that answer you question, or was I just babbling?"
Iann listened, and compulsively tugged out his pipe again, handing it over with the tobacco pouch for Miguel to stuff. He distilled it all very deliberately and carefully in his mind, taking care not to pass too close to any of his own personal thoughts. Distance, and analytics. When he got the prepared pipe back from Miguel, he looked over and smiled at Miguel. "You did, yeah, " Iann said, his tone still sedate, still quiet and low under the bumblebee buzz of the Westfalia. "You took a risk, for love."
Miguel groaned. "What did I just say about it not being love?" The dreaded stress migraine was there, at the base of his neck, spreading up toward his temples and he closed his eyes and put his face right in front of the AC vents. "Is there a dispensary in Soapberry? If not I want to buy weed before we get back. You and Ciara are taking years off my life."
Sadly, the van didn't have AC, but at least the breeze from the vent matched the breeze from the open window. "I don't know who John Green is," Iann responded with an irreverent mildness. "But I understand what love is. And I don't mean romantic, if that's what you're thinking. I just mean...love." Iann couldn't help but smile, his lips curling around the pipe stem clenched between his teeth. "Interesting that 'romantic' was where your mind went, though, tonto," he couldn't help teasing Miguel for it.
Iann added, "And there's like 20 dispensaries in Soapberry, catering to all different types. It's Washington, c'mon."
Miguel pressed his head against the dashboard of the van and groaned again. "He's writes young adult fiction. And if there are so many, why can I never find one?" The answer was he had no sense of direction and didn't understand the pun names of most of the dispensaries. Everything seemed to have a pun name in Soapberry Springs. "That necklace better be worth it." He grumbled as he went back in his bag and took (a little more than) the recommended dose of ibuprofen and drank some of the (warm) water he had left in the van.
Iann immediately wanted water too, and reached for his own bottle. The water was tepid as hell, yet somehow far more delicious than the coffee from the cafe. Iann sighed in relief, feeling good about being in his own van, drinking his own water, with his own....he glanced over at Miguel for a moment. "You know Miguel..." Iann said slowly. "We don't actually know each other. You don't know me and I don't know you, right? The whole brother thing - it's just a word, it doesn't make anything...intrinsic. You get that, right?"
Miguel stayed where he was, pounding head against the dashboard. Yeah that was about right for the way the day was going. "Sure. Do you want me to go back to calling you Mr. Cardero, or what?" He grumbled as he rubbed the back of his head and neck, this time not out of itchy Spanish magic, but trying to ease the pain and tension there a little.
Iann clicked his tongue. "No, of course not. What I'm saying it, knowing each other takes time. It doesn't just happen magically because poof we're brothers therefore we understand all our mannerisms and behaviours as if we've always been brothers. It takes time." Iann paused then, leaning back finally, trying to relax his shoulders. "What we can do for now, while we're getting to know each other, is to trust in each other. I put my trust in you. I may not understand you, but I can trust you. But today, with the Ashcrofts, I realized that you don't trust me."
Miguel sat up to look at Iann and listen to him as he explained. Really listened, to try and understand what the fuck he was saying. “What makes you say that?” He thought he trusted Iann. But maybe he was wrong. Maybe Iann could see something he didn’t.
"You had a thing going, hm? A ruse, some sort of plan - maybe not well-formed, but I could see it was there. With the Ashcrofts, all the sighing and sympathy for their plight and all that. I trusted you..." Iann pressed his lips together, regretting even pointing this out. He cared about Miguel, that was why. If he didn't give a shit what Miguel thought about it, he would've just disregarded things and moved on. "When I started asking the High Priestess questions, I looked at you. Mirror image of Luke Ashcroft, like you were ready to bust a vein. And then this--" Iann reached out, put his hand on Miguel's arm the same way Miguel did to him. "Like I was a teenager who needed to be corralled lest I embarrass you in front of the adults. You didn't trust me to...behave. Properly." Iann exhaled. "I get it. I get you have all sorts of obstacles and witch-human things, and people who hate you in your own coven, and all that. It's up to you, though, hermano. If you can't trust me, even when you don't yet understand me, then it'll be hard to be the brothers that I think you want us to be."
Miguel opened his mouth to defend himself, but then he thought about it. Maybe Iann was right. "I want to say, that's what they would have expected from me, as a Desert Leaves witch, dealing with a human. But maybe that's what I expect from myself." He sighed. "I'm sorry, abuelo. I'll work on that. I promise, I'll try to do better on the trust." He chanced a wry smile at Iann. "Especially since I am the one who wants us to be the best friend kind of brothers."
"Well...you don't actually know what I want," Iann said with a half-smile. "But that's fine, we can learn. You just gotta have my back, man. Because I got your back." He puffed for a bit, then finished his water. "You're right of course, they would expect the Desert Leaf...what's she call you? An 'Emissary'. An emissary to put the human back in his place. Ooh la laaa." Iann snickered at the fancy-dancy terms, then thought. "What'd you think though? About what they said? That Ciara is just --" Iann then clapped a hand on his pocket, and frowned. "This necklace isn't like a two-way thing, is it? Like...if they do find out about the Spanish magic, they can't rejigger it to eavesdrop on us, can they?"
"Aaaaah, I don't know. I don't think so," said Miguel, a little sheepish. He remembered Ximena tried to do that exact thing, and failed. But she was a dumb 18 year old when that happened. "Maybe you should put it on and see what they're saying?"
Iann looked at Miguel, but. After Miguel's sonnet to Ciara, it was hard to deny him his efforts now, so Iann pulled over. "I know you want to die or something, but you're going to have to buck up and drive. Here--" Iann put his baseball cap on Miguel, and gave the witch his sunglasses. He got out and dug in the back for more water, as well as a little vial. "A painkiller potion, works wonders so drink it." Iann switched seats with Miguel, then sat in the passenger side. With a deep and rapid exhalation, he then extracted the necklace and put it on. The voices were immediate and distinct, and Iann had to shut his eyes to block out visual stimuli so he could listen. (Funny how that worked, but it did).
"What do you think of them?" Lucinda asked, and there was a soft clink of ceramic against ceramic.
"I dunno. Desert Leaves... We don't need them involved."
"I didn't ask that."
Luke huffed, the chair creaking under him as he shifted. "I think what you said about the sygil cards hit home with Iann. Jenn thinks she's using him, doesn't she? I think they knew Ciara did something, but the details weren't so clear."
"He doesn't like authority, that one. No respect. No wonder she uses him."
With the sunglasses, chugging a painkiller potion on top of NSAIDs, and the ever present support of his brother at his back... (he was going to have to get used to that last one), Miguel felt okay enough to drive. So he put the van in gear and continued North toward home. "Well?"
Iann pulled the peseta away from him and opened his eyes, gasping slightly. "That - that was awful. Um. But it works. They don't want the Desert Leaves involved. They think I don't respect them..." Iann scoffed. "What's up with that? I respect them plenty. They're the one who can murder me with a snap of their fingers and then go for tea and cakes right after without even blinking an eye. Yeesh." Iann rambled, because he didn't want to say what he'd heard. "Did Ciara ever give you one of those sygil cards that Lucinda mentioned?"
Miguel shook his head. "I don't think so. Or, if she did, I forgot about it." Either was likely. Miguel's mind was a sieve sometimes and it could drop even the most important things without a moment's notice.
Iann grunted. He treasured that fucking thing, kept it in his wallet. Fucking....Iann closed his eyes, shook his head roughly like a horse, then dropped the pendant back onto him.
"Do you think she's done some spell on them?"
"I don't think she needs magic to lure in the right kind of people," Lucinda laughed lightly and breezily, "Send a description of Ojeda to Jennifer, see if it means anything to her. See also if Marina can get anything from his name and phone number. Whoever Ojeda wants to help, I doubt it is us, despite this gift.
He was too willing to help, in comparison to the human. But you're right, we can't afford conflict with the Desert Leaves."
Iann tugged it away. "They really do believe Ciara's using people, ah....using - using us." Iann said, his internal logic schisming for a moment. "Your description's being passed around to other coven members, to try and get anything on you. Any salacious dirt, I suppose," Iann said with a grin. "And they don't think you want to help them. But regardless, they are legit avoidant to get entangled with the DL."
"I could go," Luke offered.
"Hmm, no. You're not bloodline, we don't want to risk insulting them. I may send someone else. But first, can you get this to Candace? I want to know exactly what this gift is, that is worth the loss of a ley."
Miguel scoffed. "I should hope so, anyone not suicidal would have the good sense not to tango with my coven."
Then the connection was lost, and Iann took off the necklace. "I think - I think Lucinda wants to send someone to...I don't know. Make contact with the DL? Or someone else...? I'm not sure, she just said that sending Luke might risk insulting them, because he's not bloodline. Would Lupe be insulted by non-bloodline...?" Iann sighed. "Anyway, then she handed it off to be checked out by another of their members, and I lost the transmission."
Miguel blinked at Iann. He hadn't thought they would send anyone to talk to Lupe. "Oh shit." He laughed, completely devoid of amusement, it was a nervous laugh. "Well no Lupe wouldn't be mad about that, but me meddling and maybe starting something with another coven... she's going to be mad at me." He could take whatever Lupe could hand out... as long as she didn't command him to stop helping Ciara, as long as she didn't give him an ultimatum about the Ashcroft coven. Hopefully it would take some time for her to find out, maybe it would be settled by then. Or maybe it was time to try and do a little more convincing on Ciara's end.
"Maybe Lucinda was talking about something else, hm?" Iann said, trying to be reassuring. "Some other Plan B they had, or something. Besides, you didn't really do anything wrong, formally. You accidentally blew a line trying to be helpful - which you do, they know that - you apologized, that's all. No big deal..." Not like Miguel was harbouring a fugitive wanted by the Ashcroft Coven for murder, or anything.
"It doesn't sound like a plan B, it sounds like a plan A." Miguel's jaw got tight, but he kept driving down the highway. What choice did he have? In any of it? He and Iann had already made their choices and now all they could do was wait to see where those choices lead them.
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The History on Why We Want to Believe's Latest "The Village" is Haunted!
We Want to Believe "The Village" is Haunted! @joblocom #paranormal #supernatural #roadtrip #britishcolumbia #miningtown #ghosttown
By Ed Sum (The Vintage Tempest)
Just when I thought there aren’t enough ghost towns in British Columbia, I learn the tiny community of Ashcroft is also spooked in We Want to Believe’s latest episode, “The Village.”
This episode doesn’t offer a complete history, so I’m here to fill in the gap: Third Lieutenant Governor of BC, Clement Francis Cornwall and his brother founded this mining community.…
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#British Columbia#Ghost Town#Jason Hewlett#JoBlo.com#Kamloops#Mining Town#Peter Renn#Shawn Knippelberg#Youtube
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Curse of Strahd 05: Rudolph Van Richten’s Tower
Previous Session |
Highlights:
Most of the group wishes to head back into Vallaki to save Ireena as quickly as possible. There is a suggestion of going during the upcoming festival.
The owner of the tavern catches up to the group and delivers a letter...which urges the party to seek out a tower about a days travel to the west.
Along the way to the tower they hear thunder nearby. It’s unnatural. They go to investigate and find a female dwarf being attacked. Seeing as how she is also an outsider to Barovia, she teams up with them.
They reach the tower and after some time, a Vistani by the name of Ezmerelda shows up. After a short conversation, she allows the party to come into the tower with her so they all can rest. Some werewolves soon show up.
Ezmerelda and her mentor, Rudolph Van Richten, both wish to kill Strahd. Maybe they all can help each. Zelda makes a connection that Rudolph is Rictavio from the inn in Vallaki.
Zelda spends much of the night crying alone.
In the morning they set off to deal with the werewolves that are watching the tower.
Zelda gets bitten…
Session in Detail:
The party begins putting distance between them an Vallaki, but mostly everyone wishes to return sooner than later in order to save Ireena. Zelda seems to be a bit reserved and concerned about the idea...worrying they just aren’t suited to take on an entire town of angry people.
It is suggested that maybe it would be best to return during the night of the festival and hopefully then the city will be too distracted and provide them an opportunity to retrieve Ireena. (Zelda isn’t completely convinced, but keeps it to herself.)
As more and more distance begins to grow between Vallaki and the group, it is noticed that they are being followed by a raven. Soon this raven lands near the group and transforms into the father of the Martikov family...the family that owns the inn.
He offers them a letter which reads…
“To the adventurers recently forced to flee the town of Vallaki. You have friends, though we did not get the chance to truly acquaint ourselves. You perhaps acted rashly, freeing your friend so quickly. But a good deed nonetheless, which is why I write this: there is a tower about a days travel west of Vallaki, journey there and you'll make a new friend. Just don't fiddle with door to the tower and don't touch the wagon. your soon to be new friend is properly prepared for trouble.” -R
He also hands over a standard healing potion. Zelda muses that it may have been Rictavio who had sent the letter. The tower perhaps is a good place to “lay low” until the festival in addition to getting more help in saving Ireena.
The group continues heading west toward the tower, but the sound of thunder nearby catches their attention. It’s unnatural. Hugo is quite curious in the nature of it and so the party decides to go investigate as it doesn’t seem like it would delay them by too much.
They head into the forest a bit to find a female dwarf being attacked by a druid and surrounded by twig blights. They manage to rescue the dwarf who introduces herself as Undhalla. She doesn’t seem to be from Barovia, let alone even realize that is where she is, and so the party invites her to come along as there are strength in numbers and outsiders should stick together in this place.
Zelda notes that the dead druid seems to be decaying at an alarming rate. She records it in her journal.
Along the way to the tower, Hugo shares stories from his past with Undhalla and Zelda takes the opportunity to explain the history of Barovia and who Strahd is.
They reach the tower that is mentioned in the letter. It seems worn, but sturdy. There is a wagon resting out front. Hugo muses over the idea of simply asking the front door if it will open, but Zelda argues that that sort of thing might count as “fiddling” with it and seems rather impolite. Hugo declares that asking is not fiddling and Zelda points out that the writer probably didn’t know we had someone who could...ask doors and locks to open for him.
But Hugo isn’t given the chance as during their polite bickering...a Vistani woman arrives on a horse. She seems very injured, tired, and watching the group a bit from a safe distance. Hugo takes initiative to call out to her and begin introductions. After everyone has shared their names, she introduces herself as Ezmeralda D’avenir.
The group shares the letter they had received calling them to this tower. She recognizes the handwriting as belonging to her mentor, Rudolph Van Richten. Ezmeralda shares she hasn’t been in Barovia for quite a while, but returned to find her mentor who she had heard was hunting down Strahd. She offers the party to continue their conversation in the safety of the tower...seeing as how she is being chased after having attempted to kill Strahd earlier that day.
...the group then discovers that the locked door on the tower is opened through...dance...
They are lead into the tower and up to the top and 4th floor...a room that appears to be lived in with a bed, desk, and other comforts. Ashcroft peers out the window and spots several wolves coming running down the trail and heading in the direction of the tower.
Undhalla opens up a nearby chest and discovers a head. Specifically a somewhat preserved head of a Vistani. Ezmeralda suggests that Rudolph may have been keeping it to question it. This leads to many questions and the group begins to learn that Rudolph is not really a fan of the Vistani. He’s a hunter of vampires and other werebeasts.
His son, Erasmus, had been...acquired by the Vistani and given over to Strahd. Done in a trade after Rudolph failed to save a Vistani member who had become very ill. Rudolph begged the Vistani to “take anything of mine” out of fear of what the group might do otherwise. That’s when they chose his son.
They further learned that Rudolph sought out his child, worked with a lich, and eventually killed the entire tribe that had been responsible for taking his son and giving Erasmus over to a vampire by sending hordes of undead. Before the leader of the tribe was killed, she put a curse on Rudolph, “Live you always among monsters and see everyone you love die beneath their claws!”
Rudolph eventually did find his son who had been made into a vampire. His son begged for Rudolph to end the curse...which he did.
After learning of all this, Zelda makes the connection that Rictavio is indeed Rudolph and then asks Ezmeralda how she and Rudolph met. She explains that it was her family that Rudolph initially found and interrogated. He had let her family go after they revealed the location of the rest of the Vistani camp. Ezmeralda eventually met Rudolph years later after she had ran away...and after some convincing, Rudolph agreed to train Ezmeralda and they worked together for some time.
In need of allies, the group welcomes the help of Ezmeralda and agree to head back to Vallaki together to save Ireena and possibly find Rudolph still there. They would first need to deal with the werewolves who wait outside for them...but after a night’s rest.
As things begin to settle down, Zelda slips away and expresses her desire to sleep alone on the ground floor. She does so and spends much of the night crying.
In the morning she takes out her tarot cards...something she hadn’t used for some time. It felt a little uncomfortable doing them after all that had happened, but she supposed it might be something to settle her mind a bit after a terrible night’s sleep.
She contemplates their mission to save Ireena and does a simple spread that would describe the situation, action necessary, and the outcome.
Up come the cards…
V of Swords.
VI of Cups.
V of Cups.
The V of Swords reminded Zelda of the urgency of it all. The need for action and how they must achieve their goal...retrieving Ireena and finding Rudolph. She mused a bit over the center card, struggling to find how it fit in describing their course of action. Perhaps it was suggesting simply as she was in the moment...desperately trying to get herself in a happier state of mind and relying on the nostalgia tarot reading tends to bring her.
But the V of Cups weighed heavy on her. Loss. Grief. Disappointment. The image depicting two cups still upright while three were tipped over...meant to give a feeling that there is still a chance to salvage what may be lossed. But there. A card signifying as loss itself sitting in the “outcome” position. It did nothing to clear her mind…
And in that moment Hugo appeared with breakfast in hand an a warm smile as always. He greeted her and she confessed that she hadn’t slept well and the tarot reading wasn’t exactly a positive one.
“We’ll just have to show the fates that we have a brighter future in store than they think!”
The comment catches Zelda a little by surprise, but actually does a lot to cheering her up.
After breakfast is finished, the group sets out...some armed with silver weapons provided by Ezmeralda to take on the werewolves outside. The group does win in the end, but during the battle Zelda took a bite from one. She quietly looks over the wound and suspects that it is infected. Zelda alerts the rest of the group and Ezmeralda mentions she does have one scroll that could take care of it back at the tower...
#Curse of Strahd#Ani plays CoS#dungeons and dragons#dnd#zelda#spoilers#I may have to do an actual write up of Zelda's tarot reading
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“Missy Kim’s House” - Ghost Town, Quesnel Forks, BC - 2014
“By the mid-1870s most of the population had left, but a small, stable group of Chinese miners and merchants remained in Quesnel Forks which supported a widely dispersed mining community. Many of these people came from the Four Counties region of Kwangtung Province, South China. Following completion of the Canadian Pacific Railway through Ashcroft in 1885 their population increased when discharged Chinese railroad labourers sought to make a living from gold mining.” - https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Quesnel_Forks
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New Post has been published on Local Freshies | Be a local wherever you go
New Post has been published on http://localfreshies.com/oldest-mountain-biking-event-in-the-world-pearl-pass-tour/
Oldest Mountain Biking Event in the world - Pearl Pass Tour
They say life begins at the end of your comfort zone. I couldn’t agree more. Every experience I’ve had that’s outside of what I’m used to has breathed fresh air into my soul. From backcountry skiing on Mt. Tallac to starting mountain biking, once I break through that mental barrier, the flood gates open. I immerse myself in whatever it is, trying to learn techniques and the history. “Where did it come from? How did it evolve?” Right at the top of this list sits the Pearl Pass Tour.
The idea of the Pearl Pass Tour is born
Before mega events like the Red Bull Rampage in Utah or the Crankworx Festival in Whistler, there were grassroots events helping pump passion into the sport like the Downieville Classic. One of the most critical for the evolution of the sport is the Pearl Pass Tour and undoubtedly the OLDEST organized mountain biking event in the world. Back in the summer of ‘76, a group of boisterous motorcyclists from Aspen decided to trek up Pearl Pass and down into Crested Butte, making a raucous that they’d accomplished an insurmountable feat.
Crested Butte Locals take on the challenge on Schwinns
The start of the Pearl Pass Tour, 1980. Photo by Kevin Montgomery
The locals must’ve thought if a bunch of Aspen Hollywood-types could do the pass on motorcycles, why couldn’t they do it on bikes? You have to remember in 1976 the concept of a mountain bike was foreign. All they had were Schwinn Excelsior bikes with longhorn-style handlebars and ballooner tires. Talk about insane! Fourteen locals huffed & puffed their way over the pass from Crested Butte into the town of Aspen, piling their clunkers in front of Aspen’s Hotel Jerome. Boy, that must’ve been sight especially in that era! And so… the story of this tour began to spread like wildfire throughout the United States.
California Mountain Bike Invasion
Climbing up on the Pearl Pass Tour, 1980. Photo by Kevin Montgomery
Around the same time & a few thousand miles west, mountain biking was beginning its life. A crew of Bay Area cyclists were pushing their limits on the trails of Mt. Tamalpais when the story of the Pearl Pass Tour reached them. Talk about the ULTIMATE test for their newly designed bikes! So, in 1978, Charlie Kelly and Gary Fisher reached out to the Crested Butte town hall to learn if the event was happening. The person on the line was Myles Rademan. Though there wasn’t a “real” event at the time, he saw the opportunity to bring in tourism revenue with a cyclist group from California. And thus, the race was born.
Pearl Pass not for the faint-hearted
Standing at 12,750′ the pass is one of the highest in Colorado – Image courtesy: Trail Source
The Pearl Pass itself offers spectacular high alpine scenery – Image courtesy: Trail Source
Compared to any other mountain biking race, the 39 mile trek is a serious test even in today’s standards. First, Pearl Pass is one of the HIGHEST mountain passes in Colorado standing at 12,750 feet & some years with snow not melting at the top! Second, this pass was built in 1872 by miners to get from Crested Butte to the mining town of Ashcroft, meaning it takes what the land gives it.
For the first 20 miles you can expect single-track riding and long sections of hike-a-bikes followed by seven icy stream crossings across a 4,000-foot climb to the peak of Pearl Pass. Then on the descent, certain sections take riders over tightly packed rocks the size of bowling balls. In the words of the CB Klunkers team, “I thought that some sadistic miner had taken truckloads of them and dumped them on the road, just to make the tour a little more challenging.” The original race may have taken two days but now with bike technology, it’s done in one.
Why you should go to the Pearl Pass Tour
Sure, you can participate in any of the large organized festivals or races that exist, but to truly embrace the mountain bike culture, you should put the Pearl Pass Tour on your bucket list. It will be painful. It will be arduous. But in the end, you will have an understanding of what the forefathers of mountain biking did for the sport and truly appreciate how far technology has come.
Event Details
Hike-a-bike on the Pearl Pass Tour, 1980. Photo by Kevin Montgomery
Date: September 9th & September 10th
Time:
2-day Klunker Tour starts on Saturday September 9th, camp-out and ride to Aspen on Sunday the 10th
1-day Mountain Bike starts & finishes on September 10th
Location: Crested Butte Mountain Heritage Museum @ 9 am
Cost: $25 for Shuttle
For more info: [email protected]
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Decades of Service at the Aspen Chamber
This year marks a milestone year for Aspen. And we’re not talking about the final snow tally at the end of the most recent ski season.
The Aspen Chamber Resort Association (ACRA) celebrated not just one milestone work anniversary, but two. President and CEO Debbie Braun and Vice President of Event Marketing Jennifer Albright Carney both recently celebrated twenty years with ACRA. In a town known for distractions and in an era of job-hopping, these two are paving the way for longevity. And not just for themselves, but for Aspen.
We had a chance to ask Debbie and Jennifer some questions about ACRA and Aspen and discovered the magic is in the milestone moments. And the mountains here are the perfect backdrop.
What led you to Aspen? Why did you stay?
Debbie: I followed my husband here when he joined Ski Co. as the Marketing Director. Once we got in the door, we knew there was no other place we’d rather be.
Jennifer: Mine is a story you hear often in our community, I arrived in Aspen for what I thought would be a winter season and never left! They say you come for the winters and stay for the summers. So true. I love the summer here but more importantly, I fell in love with the spirit of Aspen. Not only the natural beauty that I feel so blessed to be surrounded by every day but the character and small-town charm. It just felt like home to me.
How did you start out with the Chamber?
D: It was my first, and it has been my only, job in Aspen. I joined ACRA as a temporary fill-in for the then membership director, who was out on maternity leave. When she decided to not return, I stayed.
J: My first experience with the chamber was as a volunteer for the Aspen Chamber’s largest and signature destination event, the FOOD & WINE Classic in Aspen. I enjoyed the event so much and was hired part-time to assist the events department.
Debbie, that is so rare you have only worked at the Chamber since coming to Aspen. Kudos to you! Can you both recall your first work memories?
J: That events can be crazy busy, with long hours and super-intense lead-up right until go-time. But that first FOOD & WINE Classic was so much fun!
D: I had to produce a Y2K seminar. Remember when all the computers were going to crash on January 1, 2000?
Ah yes, we do remember the Y2K scare! And now almost two decades later, you both recently celebrated 20 years with ACRA. Congratulations are in order! What are some of your biggest accomplishments during the past two decades?
D: I’ve been a part of many magical moments in Aspen. I’m proud to have secured dedicated marketing funding through the lodging tax. Twice. I’ve also worked to add a group sales division to ACRA helping to fill hotels in need periods and recently took ACRA through national designation as a Certified Destination Management Organization (DMO).
Are many chambers designated as DMO’s?
D: No, this scenario is most common in a mountain destination, due to our population size. In larger areas, there are separate DMO’s and Chamber of Commerce. Since we don’t have the population to support two different organizations doing similar work, we morph into a Chamber Resort Association, doing the work of a Chamber and a DMO.
That’s a lot of work for one organization! But it certainly shows how much effort the entire team at the Chamber puts forth. Jennifer, tell us about your milestones over the last two decades.
J: I am very proud to be a member of the ACRA team and where I am today was a journey, from Special Events Manager to Director of Events and now Vice President of Event Marketing. I have loved developing business relationships, such as with FOOD & WINE, soon to celebrate its 38th year in 2020. I have had the pleasure of working with the production team from the magazine as well as local partners since my first day here and this experience has given me the opportunity to strengthen ACRA’s producing partnership of the event over the last two decades.
What has surprised you most about working with the Chamber?
J: Perhaps not surprising as much as it is an observation and natural progression, but how much the Chamber has grown as an organization over the last 20 years. When I began, most departments consisted of one person. New projects have developed, the Chamber has become involved in the community in other ways, and each department’s staff has increased. Along with the addition of an entirely new department, Destination Marketing, which provides destination marketing services funded from the City of Aspen’s 2% lodging tax.
D: I am constantly amazed at how dynamic this town is. The degree of passion and genuine love for our destination and the countless hours people volunteer to local causes. I had no idea when I started how instrumental a Chamber can be in addressing business and nonprofit challenges with local government.
What are some of the biggest misconceptions about Aspen and/or the Chamber?
J: People think the Chamber is the City of Aspen. While ACRA works very closely and often in partnership with the City, they are separate organizations.
D: Yes, there is the notion for some individuals that we just run a visitors’ center or are a department of the City. ACRA is unique in that we operate as both a DMO and a Chamber of Commerce. We are very active in both destination marketing, and business development and advocacy. Another big misconception about Aspen is that it’s uber-wealthy and aristocratic. While there is certainly a degree of that, most people I talk to that visit Aspen for the first time are pleasantly surprised to see that it is so down to earth and welcoming.
What is your vision for the future of Aspen? What trends do you foresee?
D: The vision of ACRA is to create an environment for Aspen to thrive. Some future trends really center on resort sustainability and educating new visitors on recreating in the mountains. I see a shift from a destination marketing organization to a destination stewardship organization.
Can you tell us more about this? We’ve seen the “Tag Responsibly” initiative, not only with ACRA, but in other destination communities as well.
D: Mature destinations like Aspen are evolving from just marketing their resorts to managing the flow of visitors to the resort. Once you begin to manage the guest experience and flow, you begin to realize the next step is Destination Stewardship. We are studying macro issues and trends that impact outdoor places and the people who recreate in them. With over 95 million images posted to Instagram each day, we are seeing a crisis of popularity. ACRA understands that we have to educate as much as we are inspiring travel which is how the Tag Responsibly initiative comes into play.
Jennifer, we've heard you described as kind, patient, and organized (and the bearer of a dreaded red-pen!). What three words would you use to describe your role?
Detailed. Multi-tasker. Resourceful. And one bonus word: Adaptable.
Debbie, you've been described as authentic, competitive, and full of energy. What three words would you add to that list when describing your current role?
Creative. Visionary. And apprehensive (in a good way).
Do you have a personal mantra?
D: “Onward and upward.” I believe that if you are not continually growing and evolving, you will get left behind.
J: I live by “be yourself.” And when things start to get really busy, especially right before an event, I try to consciously take a moment to “just breathe.”
Favorite season? A favorite hike, bike, or ski trail?
D: My favorite season is fall. Hiking Hunter Creek or somewhere up Ashcroft in September is as good as it gets.
J: Summer is my favorite. My daily go-to lunch break during the week is to hike Smuggler. I never tire of the view of town from the top!
Where would we find you outside of work hours?
D: I’m active with my kids’ activities. You’ll often spot me in Basalt at a high school sporting event or at a local fundraiser.
J: At home with my family, outdoors, reading aloud with my son on the front porch, spending time in the garden, or walking down to the Roaring Fork River.
Thank you to Debbie and Jennifer for taking the time to fill us in on what happens behind the scenes at ACRA, and around town. Stay up to date on all things Aspen via their website, blog, and events calendar. There truly is something for everyone in Aspen. And learn more about the Tag Responsibly initiative.
live. love. local.
#Aspen#aspencolorado#visitaspen#aspenchamber#meet#learn#visit#VisitColorado#exploreaspen#tagresponsibly
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In “The Devil’s Dictionary,” Ambrose Bierce defined patriotism as “combustible rubbish ready to the torch of anyone ambitious to illuminate his name.” At the risk of dealing in rubbish, I feel compelled to identify an irony of American culture: Those who most dramatically wave the flag and most loudly proclaim love of country are largely ignorant of American history and identity.
The United States, unlike most countries, lacks a dominant tradition. It does not have a national industry, religion, political party or ethnicity. The emptiness of American culture liberates immigrants and natives to pursue their own lifestyles without the imposition of pressure to conform to the doctrinal dictates of a state religion or strict familial codes of conduct, such as those prevalent in many Eastern societies. The problem with America’s hollow center is that it prevents the nation from developing a shared story. The absence of a story produces problematic replacements, such as the American Dream, which easily morphs into vapid consumption and often reduces life to material gain.
The two most prominent political tribes of American life have attempted to invent a patriotic narrative that can provide some cultural foundation for political debate. Liberals view America as the epicenter of a struggle for inclusion and representation. The black freedom movement, the struggles for women’s liberation and gay rights, the labor movement and efforts toward immigrant integration demonstrate a country — almost always initially against the will of the majority — in the continual expansion of hospitality, liberty and opportunity. Martin Luther King declared in 1963 that the civil rights movement had a mission to cash the promissory note of the American Revolution. Equal access to the ballot and equal enjoyment of public accommodations for black Americans — the descendants of enslaved people — not only made the United States a more humane and civilized country; it rescued its establishment from irredeemable hypocrisy and illegitimacy. No democracy can function under the denial of humanity to one group of citizens and the disenfranchisement of many others.
President Barack Obama, due to his adept use of autobiography as evidence and testimony to support the liberal interpretation of American history, was uniquely powerful in transforming patriotism from loyalty to the state, lust for war or celebration of wealth into the demand for diversity. With his slightly maudlin declaration that “only in America” could someone of his racial background and “funny name” run for president and wielding his greatest hit, the “Yes we can” refrain, Obama argued that acceptance and protection of America’s ethnic, sexual or religious minorities was not only decent and moral but also an act of patriotism.
During a pre-election conversation with a close friend of mine who pays little attention to politics, he said that he liked Trump’s proposal for tax reform but objected to the stupid chants of “build the wall” and the unethical advocacy of banning Muslims from entry into the United States. “That contradicts the American way,” my friend told me. Not a student of history or a politically minded citizen, but an intelligent and sensitive man, my friend accepts the liberal interpretation of the American story.
The American story, according to liberal narration, is a story in development. The term “progressive,” less precise but currently more popular than “liberal,” implies that America will progress in adherence to the navigational principle “liberty and justice for all.” The “all” at any given moment might mean newly arrived Muslim immigrants, transgender people or black Americans who remain neglected by this promise.
Leftists in the U.S. who decry an emphasis on “identity issues” fundamentally misunderstand or deliberately ignore the American reality. To argue that liberals should focus solely on economic policy is to imagine that the United States, like Sweden or Norway, has a homogenous population. The Scandinavian fantasy is a luxury that unarmed black people shot by police, Native Americans subsisting on crumbs on reservations, and immigrants unjustly transported to shadowy detention centers, prove the country cannot afford.
Residing even further off the American map than colorblind leftists are right-wing fabricators who, in the absence of a single story at the heart of the culture, invent and attempt to impose one of their design and to their own benefit.
John Ashcroft, a former attorney general in the administration of President George W. Bush, once gave a speech at Bob Jones “University,” claiming, “In America, we have no king but Jesus.”
Christopher Hitchens, with characteristic precision and wit, said that Ashcroft’s sentence was “two words too long.” America has no king, and it has no official religion, but conservatives are constantly scrambling to convince their audiences that we live in a “Christian nation.”
Never legally a Christian country, America long had a majority Christian, and especially crucial, a white Christian population. Robert P. Jones, in his important and insightful book, “The End of White Christian America,” explained that white Christians no longer constitute a majority in the United States. The loss of cultural authority and influence that comes with minority status, according to Jones’ persuasive analysis, is the main cause of “cultural anxiety” among white voters. It is also responsible for all the pathetic and putrid designation as “real Americans” of white, working-class Christians who live in small suburbs or rural towns — a mere 20 percent of the populace.
“Cultural anxiety” is a term of increasingly explanatory importance. A new study by the Public Religion Research Institute found that, contrary to the mythmaking of deceitful Republican strategists and lazy media commentators, voters most concerned about the economy, even within the romanticized “white working class,” preferred Hillary Clinton. It is “cultural anxiety” that drove Trump voters — poor, middle class and rich alike — to the polls.
Sixty-eight percent of white working-class Trump supporters said that America needs protection from foreign influence, and nearly two-thirds claimed that American culture has worsened since the 1950s. Naturally, 87 percent of white Trump voters favored mass-scale deportation of illegal immigrants.
The Public Religion Research Institute report harmonizes with previous polls demonstrating that Trump voters believed that the 2016 election was the “last chance” to save the country from destruction and that “diversity comes at the expense of whites.”
Donald Trump and his supporters, who chant, “USA!,” wear “Make America Great Again” hats and endlessly broadcast their love of everything red, white and blue, are desperate to preserve and protect their story. The country has radically changed since the 1950s, and it is continuing to change. Trump conservatives are right in their recognition of societal transformation, but they are wrong to weakly claim that they have become “strangers in their own country.”
Aside from the vomitous self-pity that many white Americans routinely display, it is historically and politically illiterate to cast whites as victims of persecution and more broadly to associate the enlargement of freedom with the demolition of America or the corruption of the American spirit.
As clichéd as it has become to recite, America is a “nation of immigrants,” and the liberal interpretation of American history, unlike the right-wing invention of it, has the advantage of historicity. Historians, journalists and political theorists can observe a slow, but steady march toward justice in the American experience. To say that “diversity comes at the expense of whites” or express the thinly veiled racism and sexism of nostalgia for the 1950s is the equivalent of announcing, “I despise American culture.”
Near Joliet, Illinois, visible from Interstate 80, is a monstrous flag barely able to flap in the breeze. I can see the gigantic banner when I drive the highway to teach at a small university in Joliet, and I’m often confused as I wonder who thought a flag of that cumbersome size was a good idea. After a national tragedy, when other flags fly at half-mast, this particular flag is at about two-thirds mast — any lower and it would touch the ground. It struggles to stand high in the sky, even on windy afternoons.
The right-wing invention of American history is much like that oversize flag. It suffers under the burden of its weight. It fails to function because it cannot escape its self-inflicted pressure. Conservatives would emancipate themselves from all their hostility and anxiety if they could accept that the United States is an evolutionary state and be able to eventually adapt to changes in its environment. Winston Churchill famously quipped that Americans can be trusted to do the right thing after they have exhausted every other option. As frustrating as it remains, Churchill’s assessment is accurate. The right wing, however, is often flummoxed even at the final second.
Conservatives could ease their burdens if they resigned from laboring under the paralytic weight of belief in America as a white, Christian monopoly. It seems that they must desperately clutch onto dreams of their superiority and authority for psychic survival.
As sad as it seems, right-wing neurosis is hardly a concern when compared with the victims it creates, and as any good history book teaches, fighting to ease and eventually erase victimization is the real American story. It also is the only sustainable source of patriotism, rubbish or not.
via Salon: in-depth news, politics, business, technology & culture Salon
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