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gumnut-logic · 4 months

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“It’s the last house at the end of the street, Virgil.”

“FAB, Thunderbird Five.” It was said without the usual spark. The grey of the destroyed landscape sucked everything from everything. A pall of smoke and haze, black remnants of lives, homes and the tragedy of the night before.

International Rescue had been called to a massive bushfire in the Yarra Ranges in Victoria, Australia. The CFA had had it under control the previous day, John keeping an eye on it anyway, but an unexpected change in wind direction in the evening had it jumping firebreaks and tearing through an unprotected valley and directly through a township.

With the vast tall forests of mountain ash, eucalypts full of volatile oil just waiting to burst into flame, combined with the hot and blustery northerly, not even IR could stop the firestorm from taking lives and property.

Thunderbird Two had her fire suppression equipment, but the massive plane was a speck against the wall of flame.

There were forces of nature that just couldn’t be stopped.

The Tracys dodged and nabbed trapped people. Thunderbird Two deployed a huge water cannon, sourcing water from the local reservoir, as the CFA water bombed around them, desperate to protect what lives they could. But nothing was stopping the fire.

It tore through the town leaving agony in its wake.

Dawn was grey and dismal, but it brought rain. The sky rumbled, threatening to spark more fires in the ranges, but the deluge came and dampened the remaining flame enough to once again get the front under control.

But it was too late for the town.

It was gone.

Virgil walked the length of the street, his exo-suit rubbing on aching shoulders. Burnt out cars and collapsed homes lined the road from one end to the other. The skeletons of black trees marched off into the distance behind it all.

Haze hovered above ash-clogged puddles in the pavement.

It wasn’t what Christmas morning was supposed to be.

The last house at the end of the street had fully collapsed in on itself. A burnt-out car sat in the driveway, its trunk lid and one of its doors open.

Virgil closed his eyes for a moment, knowing what that likely meant.

He steeled himself and walked past the remains he knew he was going to find in the car.

Nothing could be done.

Nothing.

He focussed on the whine of his suit as his boots stepped in wet ash and strode across the front yard to the remains of the house. He had to clear his throat to speak to John. “Tell me where, Thunderbird Five.”

“Possibly in the basement? The lifesign is below ground level.”

The house had been old, the wooden floorboards disintegrating in the heat. Virgil leapt through the remains of a wall, landing on rubble in what had likely been a wine cellar. The heat had been so intense, that glass bottles had become slag.

Glass crunched under his boots. “Right or left?”

“Eastern side, southern corner.”

There was a mass of rubble collapsed against the only standing wall of the building.

“This is International Rescue. Can anyone hear me?”

He turned up the pickups on his exterior mikes.

Nothing. It was probably a blip. How the hell could anything survive this holocaust?

His shoulders dropped.

But then...something? A whimper?

Maybe?

Virgil began digging.

It took him a good fifteen minutes of solid work to move enough burnt masonry to reach a hole in the wall at the very base of the structure. And in what appeared to be the bottom of a dumb waiter he found the lifesign.

The little puppy whimpered at him, trembling with fear.

Aw, hell.

“John, lifesign is a dog.”

“One moment, Thunderbird Two.” The puppy stared, the green, yellow and blue of Virgil’s suit reflected in its brown eyes. “There is no dog registered at that address. Deliver to the local authorities. You are needed to airlift some survivors to Melbourne. Report to Scott on the other side of town.”

“FAB, Thunderbird Five.”

Virgil slid his arms out from the suit and bent aching knees. “Hey, little one, do you want to come with me?”

The puppy shivered and looked him up and down, hesitating.

“I’m with International Rescue, we’re here to help.” He took a step closer. “It’s okay, I promise.”

Maybe it was something in his voice, his stance, or simply because the puppy had no choice, but as Virgil reached into the box it was sitting in, the puppy made no protest as he picked it up.

A quick examination for injury revealed her to be a girl. She shuddered up against Virgil’s chest. “Don’t worry, it’s all over, you’re safe.”

Sliding one arm back into his suit, he started making his way out of the ruined building, turning his back on the tiny hole that had somehow saved the little dog’s life.

-o-o-o-

Perhaps it was because she sat so quietly with him. Perhaps because it was Christmas Day. Most likely it was because Virgil had reached his limit of pain.

When he found the RSPCA tent, specially set up for lost pets, he gently handed over the little puppy. She let out a whimper and began crying.

No barking, just this godawful crying that tore at his heart.

“You will be fine here, little one.” The attendant was one of those kindly older ladies and she hugged the gangly bundle of fluff to her chest as Virgil turned to leave, Scott in his ear.

But the puppy let out such a scream of anguish, Virgil turned around without thinking. She was struggling in the volunteer’s arms and before either of them could react, she managed to wriggle free and dash over to him, her little body trembling on his left boot.

He reached down and gathered her into his arms. “You can’t come with me. I can’t-“ But she was rubbing her head up under his chin, little sounds in her throat.

And he couldn’t.

Just couldn’t.

His eyes met the eyes of the lady volunteer and she smiled. “We will keep her details if you would like to take her with you. If anyone contacts us, we can let you know.” And the volunteer was just as hopeful as the puppy in his arms. After all, there was no life at the RSPCA unless a home was found.

He looked down at her little brown eyes again.

No, he couldn’t.

Damnit, Scott was going to kill him.

Maybe for just a few days?

The excuse provided a simple solution, so he took it.

Without a word, he handed his IR contact details to the volunteer, and, puppy in hand, turned his back to the tent and strode towards the big green hulk parked in the distant haze.

“Well, little one, you have definitely made an interesting choice. Let me introduce you to my big green partner.”

-o-o-o-

It was well past Christmas lunch, or rather the lack of it, before IR was given the all clear to return to base. During the entire time, the little puppy sat beside Virgil’s pilot chair, apparently unfazed by the deep bass rumble of Thunderbird Two.

When he picked up both Gordon and Alan the dynamic changed just a little.

Gordon dragged himself onto the flight deck first, a groan in every step. “Christmas just gets more exciting every year.” It was true. Nine out of ten Christmas Days were side-swiped by a disaster, to the point that the Tracy Christmas tradition was a modular and movable celebration nowadays. No guarantees and no defined day. It happened around December twenty-fifth, there about, when they could, between call outs.

Suddenly the little puppy was in his lap.

“What is that?”

Virgil looked up. His brother was covered in soot and looked as tired as Virgil felt. “This is Bo.” And he had no idea where the name came from, it just seemed right and the moment clicked.

“Bo?”

“Yeah.” Newly christened Bo peered up at Gordon around Virgil’s arm. “She survived the fire.” A swallow. “Her family didn’t.”

“Oh.”

Alan, as always, had more energy than any of them, and showed it as he waltzed into the cabin. “So why aren’t we moving?”

Bo let off a sharp bark.

Everyone jumped.

“What the hell, Virgil?”

Bo was literally glaring at Alan.

“Hey, Bo, calm down, that’s just Alan. He’s annoying, but tolerable.” The little puppy looked up at him, her gorgeous brown eyes just melting him inside. He was so gone.

“Hey!” That from Alan.

“Scott’s going to kill you.” That from Gordon, who was approaching slowly.

“Yeah, I know.” It was a sigh.

Gordon crouched down beside Virgil’s chair. “Hey, little one, what gave you the idea to attach yourself to this big oaf?” Pulling off one of his gloves, the aquanaut reached out and offered the puppy his hand. She eyed him warily before tentatively sniffing at his fingers.

She sneezed.

Alan snorted.

Bo blinked and stared at Gordon for a moment. The aquanaut kept still and eventually she sniffed at him again, before nuzzling at his hand. He blatantly took that as permission and gently rubbed behind her ear. “You are a cute little thing, aren’t you.”

She licked his wrist.

“Oh, I can see why our heavy lifter fell for you. You’ve got it all in those brown eyes of yours, haven’t you.” Gordon shrugged. “Though I will admit they are the best colour for manipulation.”

“And he speaks from experience.” To Virgil’s surprise, Gordon actually jumped. “Did you forget I was here? Not absorbed by those brown eyes are we?” He couldn’t help but smile at his brother. At least one was as besotted as he had to admit he was.

Yes, Scott was definitely going to kill him.

“Shut up, Virgil.”

Bo backed off, once again hiding behind Virgil’s baldric.

“Hey, Gordon, watch the tone.”

“Sorry, Bo.”

“Are we actually going home at some point? I have a date with my bed.”

Gordon stood up, pulling out the co-pilot’s seat. “No rush, Allie, she’ll wait for you.”

“Augh.”

“Sit down, Alan, I’m just finishing pre-flight.” Tired and cranky could easily become nasty if not attended to.

Bo curled up, nestled against his harness, as Alan grumpily pulled out his seat.

“Virgil, where the hell are you?”

Speaking of tired and cranky... “Launching now, Thunderbird One.” As if prompted, he received clearance from Australian Air Control.

TB2 rumbled beneath as he activated VTOL, ash and dust swirling up around them. As soon as he had enough height, he engaged her rear thrusters and tore off over the Alps, across the coast and out into the Tasman.

“ETA fifteen minutes.” At least they weren’t too far from home.

Bo fell asleep in his lap.

-o-o-o-

Virgil was on the verge of joining Bo in slumber as Thunderbird Two spun slowly in her hanger, eventually coming to a final stop.

So tired.

Beside him, Alan poked Gordon awake. “Ugh, what? Oh.” You could almost hear his brain booting.

Virgil worked around Bo as he did his post-flight checks, his brothers, well, mostly Gordon, groaning as they got to their feet and waddled towards the hatch. “C’mon, Virg, Alan’s pining for his bed.”

“You two go ahead. I just need to finish post-flight.” He didn’t turn around, but he could feel Gordon’s eyes on him.

“Sure, whatever.” And he heard the hatch lower to the hangar floor.

His brothers gone, Virgil let himself relax back against his chair, his shoulders sagging. He let out a long breath. “So, Bo, how are we going to do this?”

The puppy woke as if on command and turned to stare up at him. Gently her tail began to wag.

Virgil let a tired smile cross his face.

Encouraged, Bo jumped up and put her two front paws on his chest, reaching up, trying to lick his face despite not quite being tall enough.

The smile became a grin.

“Okay, okay.” He wrapped his arms around her and lifted her up as he pushed his seat backwards and stood. Immediately he was bathed in puppy drool. He couldn’t help but laugh. He surfaced above her licking and cradled her in his arms. “We need to get you some food.” His stomach rumbled ominously. “We need to get me some food.”

And a shower. A shower definitely wouldn’t hurt.

If he could hold off the sleep.

If he didn’t call it a stagger, it wasn’t a stagger, but he had obviously been sitting in his seat for far too long ferrying all those survivors to Melbourne on repeated trips. It was his turn to groan as both his back and legs complained loudly at the sudden demands for movement.

Bo started chewing on his glove.

Somehow he made it back to his rooms without encountering anyone. Shutting the door, he let Bo loose on the floor and began stripping off his uniform, hitting the buttons on his preprogrammed shower cubicle. Moments later he walked under the spray and let it wash the day from his skin.

God, that felt good.

As his muscles relaxed under the heat, sleep became more and more attractive, and by the time he stumbled out of the water, all thoughts of food had vanished.

He took the three steps across his room from the ensuite and threw himself facedown on the bed, still partly wet, still naked.

He was asleep within moments.

-o-o-o-

He was being kissed.

Her lips were warm, her tongue wet, her whiskers soft against his stubble...

Uh?

She licked his eye.

Wha-?

Virgil, always slow to respond upon waking, opened said eye only to get an eyeful of slobber. A soft paw thwapped him on the cheek. Huh? he blinked attempting to clear his eyesight, a hand coming up to defend himself.

Fortunately, his brain came online and memory kicked in. “B-Bo?”

A tongue wrapped around his nose and left it wet.

Ugh.

He wiped his face with his hand, stretching backwards on his pillow, desperate to get out of reach.

The puppy landed on his chest, her paws kneading his chest hair, her little claws completing his wake-up process rather abruptly.

Oh god.

“Bo, down, honey, down.”

He was completely ignored.

Sitting up, he attempted to grab her in his arms, but missed. The little puppy landed on things that puppies had no right to land on. Or stomp on for that matter.

He winced.

“Ooh, okay, come here.” He lifted her off his lap, holding her close, her tail pummelling his belly. “I’m awake, okay.” Again he found himself pinned by her brown eyes. “Aww, c’mon with the cute, Bo, you’re going to melt my brain.”

“Assuming you have a brain to melt.” And Scott was standing in his doorway.

Virgil glared up at him. “Don’t you knock?”

“I did. Grandma sent me to tell you that Christmas dinner is ready.”

Virgil frowned at his brother over the top of Bo’s ears, ignoring the glare the blue eyes were directing at the puppy in his arms. “I thought we’d do Christmas tomorrow.”

“We don’t know what is going to happen tomorrow. Grandma thought it would be best to sneak it in tonight, since it is Christmas Day, after all.” Scott’s lips thinned. “Where did you get that from?”

“She’s a rescue.”

“Usually we leave our rescues on the continent we find them.”

“She had no one.”

“Unfortunately, that is nothing new.” And one of his hands had moved to his hip.

Virgil sighed. “Scott, it’s fine, it’s only for a few days.”

“I’m going to hold you to that.”

Virgil held back his retort. He knew to pick his fights and now was not the time. “Her name is Bo.”

Scott looked at him and then at Bo. “Hurry up, your dinner is getting cold.” The ghost of a smirk. “And don’t forget to wear clothes.”

“Funny, funny, ha, ha.” But his brother had left.

Virgil let his shoulders drop. “Sorry, Bo, I think you’ve got your work cut out for you.”

Bo just licked him some more.

It wasn’t until he went looking for his boots that he discovered the wonderful deposits Bo had left for him on the floor.

Ugh.

And apparently one of his favourite boots had served as a meal also.

He closed his eyes and sighed again.

Half dressed, he cleaned up the mess, and five minutes later he waltzed downstairs, Bo in his arms and barefoot. Time to face the inevitable music.

-o-o-o-

A Tracy Christmas used to be snow, roast turkey, stockings by the fire, the occasional Christmas carol and family.

Since starting International Rescue it had changed.

Firstly, they were in the tropics. The only fires available in those temperatures were ones that required firefighting equipment. Having grown up with snow, it was still extremely weird. But it had its advantages. For one you could go outside in the minimum of clothing, something Gordon took advantage of every day of the year. There were no snowball fights, but these were fast replaced with water fights. There was no ice skating, but there was water skiing if anyone could get up the energy to get the boat out. And surfing, let’s not forget Scott’s attempts at that. Virgil would admit that he didn’t mind a little surfboard action himself. He wouldn’t say he was very good at it, but at least Gordon had never had to save him like he had Scott.

There were still Christmas trees and tinsel and stockings that no-one ever considered wearing hung from the nearest mantelpiece-looking piece of furniture.

There was still turkey and roast potatoes and all the yummy food crucial for a good Christmas meal, but it was often cooked outside in barbecue ovens and seafood and cold food had been added to the menu. In fact, the traditional dinner had become more of a banquet by the pool.

As Virgil walked out onto the patio, he couldn’t help but smile at the Christmas tree that had obviously been hurriedly moved out here from the comms room. It sat a little lopsided and the star on top was having a few issues with gravity. That was new, as was the liberal tinsel and Christmas lights strung from palm tree to palm tree, across the pool and back several times.

“Fifty bucks says Gordon tries to water volleyball the tinsel at least once.”

Virgil smirked as he stepped up beside his next youngest brother. “Not touching that one. I value my money.”

John was dressed in shorts and a t-shirt and had a beer in his hand. Bo was immediately interested in this new person. She strained towards John, her nose literally twitching towards the hand holding the beer.

His brother must have caught the movement out of the corner of his eye and instinctively took a step away.

“Oh, sorry, John, this is Bo.” Bo was climbing over his arm, desperate to get closer to the astronaut. Virgil held her tight, worried she would fall.

“Uh, hello.” John turned towards them, frowning. “Since when do you own a dog?”

“Since this morning.”

“Does Scott know?” They both instinctively looked over at their eldest brother who was hovering over one of the barbecues energetically discussing something with Grandma - probably how not to burn the food.

“He does.”

“And you still have it?”

“Her.”

“Yes.”

“Good luck with that one.” John drank his beer.

“She had no one else.”

John arched an eyebrow at him and then frowned. “Oh, Virgil.” His shoulders slumped.

“I am an adult now, John. It won’t be like last time.”

“God, I hope not.”

Virgil stared at his brother, only to see the genuine concern in his green eyes. A sigh. “It won’t happen again.”

John reached out and gently touched his shoulder. “No, it won’t, because you will remember that you have four brothers who are all here for you, won’t you.” God, that green gaze was penetrating.

“It will be fine.”

Bo yipped at John, her tail beating Virgil’s chest.

The astronaut smiled and offered the little dog his hand. She sniffed and licked him almost immediately.

“I think you have been approved.”

John smiled and Virgil couldn’t help but do the same.

“Virgil!” And Grandma was arrowing in on his position.

“Incoming.” John was smirking.

“Hey, Grandma.”

But his grandmother only had eyes for Bo. “Who is this?”

Virgil smiled again. “This is Bo. Bo, this is Grandma.”

Bo whacked him with her tail and literally leapt from his arms into his grandmother’s.

“Woah.” Suddenly with arms full of wriggling puppy enthusiastically licking her face, his grandmother was laughing. “Oh dear, you are a cutie. Let me have a look at you.” And she held Bo out at arms length, her eyes critical. “A little hard to tell at her age, but my bet says she’s of boxer stock, around three months old. Such a beautiful brindle and that face.” Virgil couldn’t help but agree. Bo looked like she had dipped her face in a pot of ink, her brown eyes surrounded by gorgeous black coat that quickly bled to brindle down her back with a spot of white on her front. “Where did you find her?”

Virgil looked at his feet, remembered why they were bare, and looked back up at his grandmother. “This morning’s rescue. She lost everything.”

Grandma turned her attention back to Bo. “Oh, honey. You survived the fire?” Bo licked her nose. “Well, you are safe here.” Grandma curled her arms around the puppy and scratched her ears. “Has Virgil fed you anything yet?” She glanced at him and he shrugged. He got frowned at for his trouble. Grandma turned away, walking towards the barbecues with Bo in her arms. “Let’s get you something to eat.”

Virgil rolled his eyes.

“Well, that didn’t take long, did it?” John was still smirking at him.

A series of barks and a yelp from Grandma, and suddenly Bo was dashing amongst legs in his direction. “Woah.” He crouched down and caught her as she leapt for him. She wriggled and licked, her little body trembling under his hands. “Hey, hey, honey, it’s okay, you’re safe.” She snuggled up under his chin. He couldn’t help but return the hug.

Grandma approached, worry on her face. “I’m sorry, Virgil, I didn’t realise.”

“It’s okay.” He reached an arm around his grandmother, bringing her into the hug. “She’s just had a scary day.” He pulled both of them close.

Scott was glaring at him from a distance.

John smiled at them and drank his beer.

Bo started chewing on his collar.

-o-o-o-

As the evening progressed, Bo slowly let herself part from Virgil as each of the members of his family, bar Alan and Scott, came to say hello or fed her from the table. There was one interesting moment when the little puppy encountered Sherbert for the first time.

Bo yipped.

Sherbert yapped.

And as the entire party fell silent, the two dogs stared each other down.

Virgil was poised for a rescue and Penelope was not far behind him, but a moment later Bo licked Sherbert across the nose, Sherbert gently butted the little puppy with his head, and from that point onwards they were best of friends, Sherbert quite proudly showing his new friend around.

But never out of sight of Virgil.

Bo and Parker had a staring moment not long after, but Sherbert barrelled on in and head butted the driver, snapping him out of it. It wasn’t long before the little puppy had him rubbing her ears as well.

Kayo stood her distance, assessing Bo as much as the puppy was assessing her. A calm arched eyebrow slowly rose as Bo tilted her head up at the security specialist. She pressed her lips together and faced Virgil. “There will be training.”

Virgil blinked and his sister turned and stalked off. Bo eyed her the entire time, only finally distracted by a yelp from Alan as Gordon threw him in the pool.

The engineer was left wondering if he should be worried or not.

The meal was delicious, of course. Scott had managed to keep Grandma away from the barbecues and MAX had been on task for a good part of the day. There was the mandatory turkey, and this year a couple of large snapper had been baked to perfection, along with some crayfish, oysters, salads and roast vegetables. This was followed by pie, oh, so much pie, Christmas cookies, and Christmas pudding with custard and the option of ice cream.

Virgil, as usual, made sure he took advantage of all the options. Consequently, post-banquet found him sprawled on a pool lounger staring up at the stars amongst the tinsel overhead. Bo, who had also eaten probably more than she should have, was curled up between his feet.

The soft sounds of quiet carols and muted conversation wafting across the water lulled him gently to sleep.

-o-o-o-

Scott felt like Scrooge. He was tired, worried and even a little angry. He was not enjoying himself, no matter how hard he tried. Grandma had cornered him at least twice, her hand on his shoulder trying to soothe his ire.

The annoying thing was that he wasn’t even sure what he was angry about. The rescue hadn’t been the best, but they had done what they could and some lives had been saved that otherwise wouldn’t have. The team had performed well, no one had been injured, they were all back home safe and sound.

And there was food, family and Christmas. There wasn’t really much more he could ask for.

His eyes settled on Virgil, asleep on one of the loungers, oblivious to the tinsel being draped across his hair by Gordon behind him.

Scott sighed.

But then a little head bobbed up between his brother’s bare feet and Bo barked at Gordon quite firmly.

Virgil was obviously far too out of it to wake, but Gordon looked appropriately abashed at the challenge.

Scott found himself smiling.

Realised he was smiling, dumped the smile and frowned.

Gordon scampered off leaving a sleeping Virgil in a crown of silver tinsel.

The little dog leapt off the lounger and chased after the aquanaut.

Okay, he had to admit the dog was adorable. He could see what had captured his brother’s eye, and Scott certainly had no objection to adding to their family.

But Virgil...when Virgil loved, he loved with his whole heart, and last time he had lost a pet, it had been bad, so bad.

They had lost so much in their lives already, why volunteer to lose more?

He sighed. It was stupid to think that way, but part of him could remember that devastated teenager, the depression and the mess that followed. Virgil had been as broken as the rest of them when their mother died, but when his dog died two years later, his reaction had been so self-destructive he had needed counselling and a therapist. Scott didn’t know if the two incidents were related or if it was how his brother connected to pets, or whatever. He only knew he never wanted to see his brother go through that again.

Their father was missing, and here was Virgil with a pet once again.

Sure, he was an adult now, and had tackled so much loss since, but...

Another sigh.

A yip and he looked down to see said dog staring up at him with a mouth full of tinsel, tail wagging.

“Gordon!”

“Yesssss, masster?” His brother sidled up with a bow.

Scott rolled his eyes. “Did you want to face your brother having to tell him that his new puppy died choking on tinsel?”

“Oh, shit.”

“Exactly.”

The aquanaut scooped up the little dog and with gentle words extricated the tinsel from her mouth.

A moment later Gordon held her up to his cheek and Scott had the experience of two sets of brown eyes staring at him adoration.

“Oh, for the love of-“

“A puppy?” Gordon grinned at him. “She is a rather cute, isn’t she?”

“Leave it, Gordon.”

His brother frowned. “What’s chewing on your underwear?”

“Gordon-“

“Hey, it was a legit question, bro. You’re a grumpy ass on Christmas Day. Where’s the merry? We have food and there will be presents. And there is a puppy. You couldn’t ask for more cuteness.” Gordon held up Bo who attempted to lick Scott’s nose.

“Gordon-‘

“Nope, so not going down with you, bro. We’ve earned some happy. We’re all here, in one piece, it’s lovely weather. Cheer up, for goodness sake.” Despite himself, Gordon frowned. “Here have some puppy love.” And suddenly Scott found himself with his arms full of wriggling Bo. Gordon turned and walked off, eventually calling out to Alan, no doubt looking for mischief.

Bo tilted her head to one side and stared up at him.

Aw, hell, weaponised cuteness.

She jumped up and licked his nose.

Scott sighed.

Voice low. “You know, you better look after my brother. He’s a good man and he does a lot of good things.” A swallow. “He’s a little prone to heroics. Perhaps we can team up in that department and help keep his butt alive.”

Her tongue lolled out one side of her mouth and she grinned.

“Maybe try that on the Hood and solve all our problems.”

He gave in and drew her close to his chest, rubbing under her chin.

“I really hope we don’t regret this.”

-o-o-o-

“PRESENTS!”

Alan’s voice cut through his slumber and shook him awake. Wha-?

“Time to wake up, sleepy head.” Scott’s voice.

A sharp little bark.

Bo.

He flung his eyes open, and immediately squinted at the fairy lights floating in the light breeze far above. A blink and to his left a shadow formed into his eldest brother. His blue eyes were smiling as he sat on the next lounge over, holding Bo, scratching her gently. She was obviously enjoying it.

Virgil frowned. “I thought you were pissed at me.”

“I was.” His brother shrugged. “I got over it.” Bo was licking Scott’s fingers.

Wow, the ability to tame the savage big brother. The little girl must be heaven-sent.

There was a whir of wheels and MAX tore out onto the patio decked out in tinsel and lugging brightly coloured presents. MiniMAX darted in behind him carrying a smaller present which was deposited carefully on the table before he disappeared inside only to return with another.

“You okay?”

“Huh?” Virgil peered up at his brother before stretching the length of the lounger. Several joints cracked and the ache across his shoulders from the morning vaguely made its presence known. A yawn. “I’m fine. Just tired. This morning sucked.”

Tinsel slid down his face. He sighed and threw it off. Gordon was getting repetitive.

Scott dipped his head, attempting to hide a smile, and looked down at Bo. “True.” He scratched her under her chin one more time before offering her to him. “Here.”

Bo didn’t bother to wait for him to sit up, she bounded out of Scott’s arms and onto Virgil’s belly. “Oof.” She then danced up and down on it.

Scott grinned at him. “She’s not going to be little when she grows up.”

“Augh, she’s not little now.” He managed to capture her enough so he could sit up, but she struggled free excitedly and dashed from his arms, jumping on the lounger, just as MiniMAX buzzed over with a small present.

Bo barked at him and MiniMAX dodged to deposit the present in Virgil’s lap. He caught it, but with his hands now occupied, he wasn’t fast enough to grab Bo before she let off another bark, jumped excitedly and latched her teeth onto the little robot.

The result was immediate.

MiniMAX shrieked, several of his legs caught in the puppy’s mouth, and with a whir of rotor blades, took off madly across the patio.

With Bo hanging on.

“Bo!” Virgil dropped the present and made a grab for the pair, but missed.

Every eye turned to see what the commotion was about. Virgil stumbled over the lounger and kicked it out of the way. He was vaguely aware of Scott doing something similar. “Brains!”

MiniMAX was obviously panicking. The little robot darted about trying to shake off his assailant. Bo was whining in her throat.

Virgil dashed after them.

Despite the puppy’s weight, MiniMAX still managed a great deal of height, Brains’ ‘build ‘em tough’ policy obviously carrying through to his robots. Despite having the strength to carry the puppy, the off-balance mass hampered MiniMAX’s navigation and they were wobbling all over the place.

All Virgil could see was a tragedy in the making. The pool, the concrete, anything horribly solid. He ran beneath them, desperately attempting to reach the now whining puppy. Family members and furniture were dodged and shoved out of the way as he clambered after them.

A chair ended up in the pool. Gordon squawked and almost joined it. Virgil leapt off an empty lounge, made a grab for them, missed and ended up in the Christmas tree.

Fake pine needles jabbed him in the face as he went down in a pile of tinsel and Christmas baubles. He swore, his clothing caught, his hair caught, and his everything tangled in tinsel, but he made it to his feet just in time to see Bo let go.

“No!”

Oblivious to everything other than the puppy falling, Virgil finally got traction under his bare feet, took a running leap and grabbed Bo from the air. He instinctively wrapped himself around her, rolling in midair, tinsel and baubles flung in all directions.

As he plummeted into the pool.

The splash took his senses, muffling exclamations, and repeated shouts of his name. There was dark blue, and wet, and, for a moment, blessed silence.

Then logic reasserted itself and he kicked for the surface.

Sound, light and cool air on his skin. He blinked water out of his eyes as he lifted Bo up so she could breathe, his legs kicking to keep them afloat.

She whined at him as if to tell him off, sneezed, and began enthusiastically licking the saltwater off his face.

He couldn’t help but grin, and he knew he wasn’t the only one as laughter drifted across the water.

“You trashed the tree, Virg.”

“I don’t think he cares, Gordon.” He looked up to see Grandma smiling at him.

And no, he didn’t. As Scott poked him with a pole to help drag him to the edge and Bo decided his ear might do for her next meal, he suddenly felt joy. It could simply have been relief, but he was going to tack it up as Christmas joy and enjoy it while he could.

-o-o-o-

“Only you, Virgil.”

“It wasn’t intentional.”

“I have no doubt of that, it never is.”

“Aw, c’mon, Scott.”

“If it was intentional then I would have to accuse you of doing it deliberately just to get out of helping with the Christmas dishes.”

“We have a dishwasher.” Bo let off a bark as MiniMAX flew past dragging a bag full of recyclable cups, plates and cutlery, giving Virgil and his dog an extremely wide berth. “And there are hardly any dishes.”

“You are still getting out of clean up.”

“C’mon, Scott, you know me better than that. Ow!”

“Sit still. I’ve almost got all of it.”

Virgil leant back against the lounge, Bo curled up in his lap. “I’m not particularly happy about this either you know.”

“You’ll be fine.”

“I know that, Ow!”

“Well, if you would watch where you were going, you wouldn’t have collided with the Christmas tree. And what’s with the bare feet anyway?”

“Bo ate one of my boots.”

Scott snorted and pulled out yet another tiny piece of glass Christmas bauble from the bottom of Virgil’s left foot. “She hasn’t been here twenty-four hours yet and she has already caused havoc.”

“She’s a puppy.”

“I noticed.” Scott sighed, peering through his magnifying visor at his brother’s foot. “I think that’s all of it. Please don’t do that again. You’ll be limping for a week.”

“I’m not planning on it.”

As Scott wrapped his foot in gauze, he eyed the puppy on Virgil’s lap. “And you, young lady, I thought we had a deal.”

To Virgil’s surprise, Bo’s head bobbed up and she looked distinctly guilty.

Scott arched an eyebrow. “Hmm, don’t let it happen again.”

Bo yapped at him.

Virgil stared at both of them. “What?”

“None of your business, you just lay back and look after yourself.” And Scott was smirking.

Ooookaay.

He relaxed back against the lounge and stared up at the fairy lights above.

Bo stomped up the length of him and licked his eyeball.

He coughed up a laugh and grabbed an armful of wriggly puppy.

“I think that was a Merry Christmas, Virg.” Scott held his injured foot and grinned. “Merry Christmas.”

-o-o-o-

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #virgil tracy #scott tracy #john tracy #gordon tracy #christmas #nuttyfic reblog #bushfire warning for the first part #but mostly fluff

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wellwhatisnttaken · 1 year

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Through Miles of Clouded Hell

Part 3

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Lucien and Jurian were to depart at dawn. In truth, besides packing their bags and preparing the horses, there wasn’t much to be done. Lucien had already explicitly written out his expectations for the Duke’s of each township and city within his kingdom, and warned of dire consequences if his instruction was not followed to the letter. Lucien had been king for barley more than a single moon cycle, and court politics required a certain passive malice and intense cleverness that Lucien had always found exhausting. He could navigate the court, of course ; after all he was his fathers son. But the trickery and coercion needed to bend most of his dukes and duchesses to any semblance of decency toward the common folk was absurd.

Lucien stared at the ceiling of his bathing chamber. One last bath before traipsing into the wild seemed a great idea just a bit ago. Now, the stress of the situation was well and truly catching up with him in the silence of his solitude.

WHACK

Lucien didnt respond to the knock on the door, he knew who it was, and knew Eris would come in, with or without permission.

His eldest brother, Eris, came strutting into the bathing chamber as if it were his own personal court. Eris was always important, and the situation always called for the utmost pomp and pageantry. If Eris had nothing, he had his dignity.

His brother came sauntering in, His wooden walking crutches click clacking on the tile. Eris flopped into the chair at the edge of the bathing chamber. It was an unspoken agreement not to engage each other when they couldn’t respond with the sarcasm and bite a brother deserved. So Lucien went about rinsing his hair as Eris caught his breath.

By the time Lucien rose from the tub and began drying himself, his brother spoke.

“Luci, I hope you know what you’re doing. Jurian informed me of the whole plan, and while i applaud your effort, it would be a terrible inconvenience if the only healthy and able of the Vanserras were to die on a mythic quest”. Eris didnt look at him, but he could feel the emotion behind his brothers words.

“Eris. You know as well as I do that if i dont do something, our kingdom, our people, our mother,” Lucien paused, and swallowed around the knot in this throat.

“Will die. You did your best. Hells, you barely had any chance at all. Im doing this for everyone that Baron tortured. For mother. For You. As insufferable as you are, you’re my brother, my advisor, one of my closest confidants, and i cannot lose you.” Lucien had finished dressing in his under layers by the time he was done. Usually, there was no occasion to get so personal , but if this was the last conversation he ever had with Eris, then he had to make it worth something.

His brother considered him for a moment.

“No need to be so emotional, Lucien. He replied softly. Then, back in his usual snobby court voice,

“Now come, let me braid your hair for the journey before the curse strikes me dead outright.”

————————————

Wondering when y’all are gonna realize I’m not a writer i just play one on tv. I have no idea what I’m doing

But ty for the support it means everything.

@thelovelymadone

@krem-does-stuff

@sanfangirl @yourethehero

@redphlox @iftheshoef1tz @vulpes-fennec

@ramim

#acotar #eris vanserra #lucien vanserra #Elucien #idiot brothers

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iliveforyouilongforyouvesuvia · 10 months

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this is a bit of a wild song recommendation for lucio

Suburbia Overture / Greetings from Mary Bell Township! / (Vampire) Culture / Love Me, Normally by Will Wood

(long title ik)

the whole premise of this song (to me at least) is basically a seemingly normal, white, "perfect", suburban neighborhood, but what behind all of that is much darker, more sinister, almost vampiric (with all of the blood mentions) aspects.

so kinda perfect for lucio, yk what seemingly a "perfect count", blond and blue-eyed (its even mentioned in the lyrics) type of beat but we all know thats not the truth

i wanna talk about these lyrics specifically

"It's only culture!"

that could be Lucio's excuse for killing his dad, i mean in lucio's tale, dawn of the grub, he basically challenged his dad in a fight to the death and his dad just willingly accepted it?? so i guess it is part of their culture. even morga said if lucio beat his dad in a fair battle, he'd earned her respect.

"I ain't got no culture!"

could be referring to lucio straying away from his tribe.

"Come on, drink that blood!"

could be referring to that ritual to get lucio a new body. The ritual was supposed to involve everyone drinking blood

alright sorry for the infodump lyric analysis thingy, hope you have fun in your vacation!

@dandydanthelion I love this analysis, and I am definitely putting this song on the tag! Thank you for recommending and unpacking it! ^.^

And thank you for wishing me well on my vacation - it's already delightful! :D I'll catch you later ^.^

#ask arcana brainrot #arcana brainrot playlist #the arcana #lucio the arcana #lucio morgasson #the arcana headcanons #the arcana hc #the arcana game

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scotianostra · 1 year

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On 2nd of February 1645 a Royalist army led by James Graham, 5th Earl and 1st Marquis of Montrose, routed the Earl of Argyll’s Covenanting forces in the Battle of Inverlochy.

Montrose and his army had wintered-down at Inveraray, which had been taken from the Campbells, scouts determined that the Covenant armies were closing in on them, so they pulled out, heading to Loch Ness-side, near Kilcumin. While facing new threats, namely the Earl of Seaforth and his 5,000 men based at Inverness, word of an army of around 3,000 Campbells and lowland troops at Inverlochy, close to where Fort William is today, Graham already knew that the Earl of Seaforth and his 5,000 men based at Inverness were a threat.

With Campbell troops coming at them from the south, and Seaforths from the north, Montrose and his men took to the hills; the Covenanters found only an empty glen when they met up with one another. Reasoning that they should attack the strongest enemy first, Montrose was led by Cameron scouts, by little known paths (the actual path taken is still debated) to Inverlochy. This route is said to have been one of the most arduous and daring feats of Scottish military history.

What is known is that from the Roy Bridge area they forded the river Spean near Corriechoille and traversed a secret way via the old townships of Kilchonate and Leanachan after two days and nights they were at the foot of Ben Nevis’ “shoulder” of Meall an t-Suidhe just before dark. They observed the tower of the ancient castle of Inverlochy and many Campbells moving around their camp. The Campbells saw them, and assumed that they were only raiders, or foraging parties. Montrose and his army rested for the night in freezing temperatures and at the break of dawn the Campbells, including their chief Argyll, were awakened by the pipes of Montrose’s assembled clans charging down upon them.

Even though Grahams army were outnumbered by approximately 1,000 troops and were facing some cannon fire, the army of Montrose broke the Lowland soldiers on the wings, forcing them to flee the field. The Campbells in the center of the line held firm, but soon were cut into groups and eventually fled. To state that little quarter was given is an understatement. One account, by poet Iain Lom, recorded the action from his first-hand vantage point at the field of battle.

A nice wee add on to this story is from Iain Lom MacDonald. Although it is widely believed that Robert Burns was Scotland’s first Poet Laureate, Charles II named Iain Lom MacDonald as Scotland’s Poet Laureate during his 17th century reign. However as the Stuart line was unseated in 1689, and the subsequent Jacobite Risings failed to permanently restore the Stuarts, their status became a moot point. His stature has further been diminished by the fact that he composed exclusively in Gaelic, which even at that time was a language in decline.

Famously stating, when offered a sword to battle, “You battle; I’ll tell”, Iain Lom MacDonald sought out a high vantage point above the battleground below to record a blow-by-blow account.

As is only right I shall post the Gaelic version first, below this is the translation……you can also listen to Gaelic supergroup Mànran sing it as it should be…….

“S e Caimbeulach a bha am Fear Ghlinne-Faochain. A reir coltais ’s i a bhean aige a rinn an t-oran’ [i]

Ho, gur mi ‘tha air mo leònadh, Na i ri ri ho ro; Ho, gur mi 'tha air mo leònadh, Na i ri ri ’s i ri ri ho ro.

Bho latha blàr Inbhir-Lòchaidh; Bha ruaig nan Eireannach dòite,[ii] 'Thàinig do dh’ Albainn gun stòras, A bha dh’ earras air an cleòcaibh. Thug iad spionnadh do Chlann-Dòmhnaill;

Mharbh iad m’ athair is m’ fhear-pòsda, ’S mo thriùir mhacanan [grinn] òga, ’S mo cheathrar bhràithrean ga’ n stròiceadh, ’S mo naoidhnear cho-dhaltan bòidheach.[iii] Loisg iad ma chuid coirc’ is eòrna. Mharbh iad mo chrodh mór gu feòlach, ’S mo chaoirich gheala ga’ n ròsdadh,[iv]

Ho gur mise 'th’ air ma chlaoidheadh Mu Mhac-Dhonnchaidh Ghlinne Faochain; Tha gach fear ’s an tìr s’ ga d’ chaoineadh Thall 'sa bhos mu Inbhir-Aora, Mnathan 'sa bhasraich ’s am falt sgaoilte.

Ho gur mi tha air mo mhilleadh, Mu mharcaich’ nan srian ’s nam pillein, 'Thuit 'sa chaonnaig le 'chuid ghillean, Thug Mac-Cailein Mór an linn’ air, ’S leig e 'n sgrìob ud air a chinneadh.

'The lord of Glen Faochain was a Campbell. In all likelihood, it was his wife who made the song’

O, I am wounded sorely, Na i ri ri ho ro; O, I am wounded sorely Na i ri ri ’s i ri ri ho ro.

Since the day of the battle of Inverlochy, Since the grim Irishmen’s pursuit – They came to Scotland without resources, Other than the goods they carried – They gave strength to Clan Donald,

They killed my father and my husband, And my three [handsome] young sons, My four brothers were torn to shreds, And my nine comely foster-brothers; They burned my crops, my oats and barley. Gleefully, they killed my cows, And roasted my white sheep,

O, I have been tormented At the thought of Mhac-Dhonnchaidh of Glen Faochain, Every man in the country mourns you In and around (about) Inverary, Women are wringing their hands and tearing their hair.

O, I have been despoiled, By the horsemen of the bridle and pack-saddle, You (?) fell in a skirmish with some of (your) lads; Mac Cailean Mor made for the pool, And permitted that blow for his kindred.

The pics are from a couple of visits to the Inverlochy Castle in 2014 and 2020.

#Scotland #scottish #Lochaber #fort william #history

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bestentours11 · 2 months

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Discover the Rainbow Nation: Top South Africa Tour Packages

South Africa, affectionately known as the Rainbow Nation, is a country that boasts an incredible diversity of cultures, landscapes, and experiences. It's a destination that appeals to all types of travelers, from those seeking adventure in the wild African bush to those who prefer the sophisticated charm of its cities. With such a vast array of attractions, choosing the right South Africa tour packages can be the key to unlocking the very best this country has to offer. In this article, we explore the top South Africa tour packages that promise to deliver an unforgettable journey through this vibrant nation.

1. The Safari Experience

No visit to South Africa is complete without experiencing its world-famous safaris. South Africa tour packages that include visits to the Kruger National Park offer an unparalleled wildlife viewing experience. Here, you can come face-to-face with the Big Five (lion, leopard, rhinoceros, elephant, and Cape buffalo) in their natural habitat. These packages often include stays in luxury lodges, guided game drives at dawn and dusk, and even walking safaris for the more adventurous.

2. The Garden Route

For those who love scenic drives and outdoor activities, the Garden Route is a must-include in your South Africa tour packages. Stretching from Mossel Bay in the Western Cape to the Storms River in the Eastern Cape, this route offers stunning coastal views, dense forests, and serene beaches. Tour packages focusing on the Garden Route can include stops at key attractions like the Tsitsikamma National Park, Knysna, and Plettenberg Bay, with opportunities for hiking, bungee jumping, and whale watching.

3. Cape Town and the Cape Peninsula

Cape Town, with its iconic Table Mountain, vibrant waterfront, and rich history, is often the starting point of many South Africa tour packages. Exploring the Cape Peninsula, with visits to the Cape of Good Hope and the penguin colonies at Boulders Beach, provides a mix of natural beauty and wildlife. These packages might also include wine tasting tours in the Cape Winelands, exploring the historical Robben Island, and enjoying the city's renowned culinary scene.

4. The Cultural Heritage Tour

South Africa's history is both complex and fascinating, marked by stories of struggle and triumph. South Africa tour packages that focus on the country’s cultural heritage offer insights into its past, with visits to the Apartheid Museum in Johannesburg, the Soweto Township, and Mandela’s House. These tours provide a deeper understanding of the country's journey to democracy and are essential for anyone looking to grasp the essence of the Rainbow Nation.

5. The Adventure Seeker’s Delight

For the thrill-seekers, South Africa tour packages can be tailored to include some of the most exhilarating activities available. From shark cage diving in Gansbaai to zip-lining in Tsitsikamma, South Africa is a playground for adventure. Other activities can include sandboarding in the Atlantis Dunes, hot air ballooning over the Magaliesberg, or even taking a leap off the world’s highest bridge bungee at Bloukrans.

6. The Luxury Escape

South Africa also caters to those seeking a more luxurious experience. High-end South Africa tour packages might include stays at exclusive lodges in private game reserves, gourmet dining experiences, and private tours of historical sites or vineyards. These packages offer a perfect blend of relaxation, indulgence, and adventure, set against the backdrop of some of the world’s most breathtaking landscapes.

In Conclusion

South Africa's diverse offerings make it a unique travel destination, and the right tour package can ensure that travelers enjoy a comprehensive and enriching experience. Whether it's wildlife, scenic beauty, cultural heritage, adventure, or luxury you seek, South Africa tour packages deliver it all, wrapped in the warm hospitality for which this country is renowned. As you plan your journey to the Rainbow Nation, consider these varied tour options to truly discover the best of South Africa.

#South Africa Tour Packages #South Africa Travel Packages #South Africa Trip Packages #South Africa packages

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darklordazalin · 1 year

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Azalin Reviews: Durven Graef

Darklord: Lord Durven Graef Domain: Graefmotte, The Font of Sorrows Domain Formation: Unknown Power Level: 💀💀💀⚫⚫ (3/5 skulls) Sources: Dragon Magazine #375 (4e) Lord Durven Graef is the Darklord of the Domain of Graefmotte, which many refer to as the ‘Font of Sorrows’. A bit pretentious, but so is our little lordling.

Durven was the Lordling of a small province within the far reaches of the Kingdom of Nerath. When the land was invaded by an overwhelming army of gnolls lead by the tyranical and ruthless “White Ruin”, King Elidyr called for his lords to raise their banners against the invasion.

Durven had lost two sons already and having to protect his people from the occasional skirmish with the orcs that resided in the nearby mountains, ignored his King’s orders. Not only was his town far from the war, but he was unwilling to potentially sacrifice his only son to the cause. An understandable decision, yet one should never question the orders of one’s King and it seems, in a rare instance, our tormentors and I agree on this.

Durven’s son, Geoffery, however, was patriotic to the point of disobeying his own father and wished to join the deadly war. When the official orders came, in the form of a severely injured young soldier, Durven thought he could finally convince his son not to go.

Upon entering his son’s chambers, Geoffery was already eagerly packing. The two argued, which quickly devolved into violence during which Durven ‘accidentally’ killed his son. Not wanting to face what he did, Durven fled from the room and ordered it to be sealed away, leaving his son dead where he laid. An understandable reaction. Even when one is forced to execute a loved one for the good of the realm, it is not an easy thing to face. Durven, of course, did no such thing and his act was out of pure selfishness.

That very evening, a horde of gnolls descended upon Durven’s township and slaughtered those within. Durven retaliated and empowered by his grief, rage, and blood lust, forced the gnolls to retreat. Though he may have gained some form of vengeance in that fight, the damage on the town was too great to repair and Durven himself sustained a few mortal injuries. All expected him to die in a day or two.

Our tormentors had other plans for Durven and the instead of death stealing him away from his grief, the Mists rose up around his township and the surrounding lands, drawing him into Ravenloft. Durven awoke in his bed, fully healed and now in a land known as Graefmotte.

Durven does not age, nor can he truly die. If one manages to kill the swordsman, he returns the next day at dawn upon his bed without a single scar on his person. Upon entering the Mists, Geoffery’s body disappeared and now haunts Lord Durven’s keep as a powerful ghost. Geoffery’s ghost draws the spirits of the dead who fell during the gnoll invasion. Because of this, the town is infested with the undead, putting Mordent to shame. What people remain in Graefmotte are starving for their is little to eat, there is no one to trade with and the surrounding woodlands, known as the Ill Wood, are infested with more undead and gnolls.

Though Durven is a craven swordsman who betrayed his Kingdom, it is said that when he falls, the gnolls will invade Graefmotte. Perhaps they remember his battle rage and fear retaliation. Either way, while he lives, the gnolls dwell within Ill Wood and who’s to say what exactly they will do when Durven is gone indefinitely.

#Durven Graef #Graefmotte #Shadowfell #Ravenloft #why did 4e decide ravenloft was now in the shadowfell smh #darklordreviews #azalin rex #wasn't as sassy in this one cause i'm tired #this guy kind of looks like Strahd with a gotee

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queenofbaws · 8 months

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taking a quick break from flash fiction to have dinner and to ask myself an incredibly (un)important and (not even a little) serious question:

is it too late for me to completely change the plot of like wringing blood from a stone, because replaying ud has me thinking the only thing worse than jack being involved in the mess at hackett's quarry is the hackett brothers being in blackwood the night of the fire

just

just.

just...

imagine.

jack has. so much to do that night. we see him all over the mountain, and let's be real, he's a middle-aged dude - a monster hunter sure, but that snow is DEEP and you KNOW ya boy is getting tired out there. he's following sam, he's sneaking up the mountain, he's following mike and jess to the cabin, he's saving emily in the mine, he's delivering ominous messages at the lodge, he's getting his head cut off and dying, it's a FULL! NIGHT! FOR! HIM!!!!!

so what if

for (mumbles) reasons, the hackett boys have been up on that there mountain with him the whole goddamn time too and they're just. worse versions of themselves adkslfjsldjfasdfjasfkl

jack keeps to the mines for the most part because that's his thing. he's the one of them who has the best hang of hunting, is able to stay the stillest, and just plain isn't as scared of what's down there. emily still bumps into him, and later he's able to help find jess and matt because he knows those tunnels like the back of his hand.

chris starts off at the base of the mountain and is the one to watch the kids coming in. he reports it to the others, keeps them on their toes, but he doesn't join them up on the summit until he has to. he hates it up there. he's more the face of their operation, mostly hanging around blackwood township, so he is less than pleased to actually be dragged into a hunt. he's the supplies guy. he supplies the supplies. he doesn't actually hunt, are you kidding me?! the other three can do that crap.

bobby sticks around the lodge itself because he's not very good at being QUIET or HIDDEN out in the open, but he knows how to get in and out using the sanatorium tunnels, and if anyone's making sure nothing's getting into the lodge through the basement, well, it's him. he is. UNBELIEVABLY CONFUSED when he starts finding dead pigs and old sawblades piled up in the old resort. CONFOUNDED. every time he reports back to the others, they're just like "bobby, jesus christ, no there's not a saw movie happening down there, you're being dramatic." he is not being dramatic.

travis, of course, is the one to slink after mike and jess - at least until disaster strikes. next to jack, he's the best at staying out of sight and disappearing when he needs to. is there a NOTABLE silence that falls over the walkies when he immediately volunteers to be the one to tail them? yes. does that silence make him immediately very angry? yes. does that anger make his motives any less transparent? no. BUT NO ONE'S LAUGHING AT HIM WHEN YOU-KNOW-WHAT HAPPENS AND HE BUYS MIKE 5 EXTRA SECONDS TO KEEP JESS'S FACE ATTACHED TO HER HEAD.

mostly though

mostly

i'm thinking

about the moment

where after escaping the mines and the conveyor belt, emily rejoins sam, ash, chris, and mike in the lodge. you know. the moment. where we usually meet jack. only this time

this time

there's a very authoritative knock on the door. and someone with a very official voice calls out that it's the blackwood pd. and everyone in the group is so relieved

except for emily, who just barely gets a chance to remind everyone:

"they told us they wouldn't be able to get here until dawn"

before mike and chris tentatively open the door

and chris (hackett) kicks it the rest of the way in because he's just so fucking glad to be back inside instead of out there with those things, and travis oozes in with him, and the gang is suddenly very, very, very tense again because who the FUCK are these guys?! one is being very friendly and the other is being very unfriendly, and neither seems too worried about any of what's going on.

this tension only gets worse when one of them yells "how's it goin' for you, b?" and bobby comes up from the basement, twice as big as usual given his winter clothes, and suddenly the gang realizes no, whoops, oops, oopsie daisies, they haven't been alone all night. someone has been watching them. a few someones in fact.

a few someones who have spent too much time living in a blasted-out sanatorium in the middle of a deserted mountain to understand or appreciate the importance of personal space.

im just saying

i think

for how fun it is putting jack in hackett's quarry and making him the (extremely begrudging) voice of reason, i am suddenly STRUCK with how fucking hoRRIBLE IT WOULD BE IF THE SHOE WERE ON THE OTHER FOOT AND THE HACKETT BROTHERS WERE ALLOWED TO DEVOLVE INTO THE VERY WORST HORROR MOVIE VERSIONS OF THEMSELVES, BEING RAISED MORE LIKE FIDDLERS KLJASDKFJASLKDFJASLKDFJ

chris being all chummy and pretending he can't tell how deeply nervous he's making the people around him

bobby just grabbing people to keep them from running off

travis smelling the girls' hair

im just saying.

i am just.

saying.

i think that scene in the lodge would just be. so much more awful. and tense. and nerve wracking. if the kids were more or less matched with hunters vs. it being the five of them and jack.

i love the hacketteers, i do, but with the exception of laura, none of those kids were looking to commit a felony that night. the blackwood kids, though????? the blackwood kids?!?!?!?!?!?!??!!!

youre gonna look me in my eye and tell me if the blackwood kids suddenly thought this was a hostage situation, they wouldn't just fuckin go for it? sam cracks chris over the head with a lamp before making a break for it. ashley stabs whoever's closest (she deserves it). in a concerted effort, mike and emily almost knock bobby down the stairs. chris keeps getting confused when someone yells "chris," as does chris! they're both too keyed up to realize it's a same hat situation.

jack finally walks in after climbing up out of the mines and ages 20 years when he sees everyone fighting

hannah shows up and everyone starts screaming instead

THE! POSSIBILITIES! ARE! ENDLESS!!!!!!!!!!!!!

#queenie rambles about supermassive #the hacketts #frantically adds this to my ever growing list of things i will now angrily daydream about but never get to writing #idk if im at a place where i can start making AUs of my own AUs but if i did. man. alive.#as im getting deeper into like wringing blood ive just been. thinking. a lot. about how diff things mightve been #if jack had really grown up w the hacketts or if the hacketts had grown up with the fiddlers #neither option is GOOD #but MAN i think if the bros had grown up in blackwood like jack theyd be. a lot. to handle.

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westywrites · 1 year

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Essence of Stars (book one) - Prologue

I've been debating posting an updated version of the prologue for a while now. So here it is in all its poetic prose glory!

In the dim light of the nearing dawn, blue-tinged shadows cast solemn hope between the graves. A raven settles on the thatched roof of the preacher’s house. Behind it, the sky is the colour of a bruise that might never heal. Silence lies heavy. The church bell is still hours from ringing its joyous call to wake the village. A town dying along with their rotten crops.

The raven watches.

Hope is as rare this season as a day without rain. But still, the sun pushes slowly over the horizon turning blue-black to blue-grey. Black feathers shine in this light; the raven’s call could be heard across town if anyone were listening. No one is listening. The bird peers over the edge of the roof.

It waits.

At long last, the silence is broken by a murmuring. Movement inside the house of the preacher, up with the sun. Movement on the porch from something small, a basket, a bundle of blankets. A soft cry and round blue eyes looking up at the raven. It tilts its head and the infant smiles. This time, the raven’s call is answered with an open door. The raven takes wing, its secrets flying with it, as the preacher of Cambridge township carries a new life across the cemetery.

. . .

At the edge of a city, the sun shines golden rays that catch in thick smoke. The factories are busy on such an afternoon. They are busy every afternoon. Progress is in the air. A wagon beats broken wheels on the rutted road to the city. The horses slow at the gentle command of their owner, a command in a foreign tongue. Guards stand watch over the trading route. On their outpost, a raven cleans its feathers, idle, unworried. It lifts its head slowly as the wagon approaches.

It watches.

On the back of the wagon, among items to trade, sits a woman with a child on her lap. Age weighs the woman’s face, masking her sorrow. The child babbles, playing with items that he will never own. Items meant to be traded away. Hushing the boy, the woman smiles at the guards as they inspect her wares. The child’s small, dark eyebrows push together. The smile does not reach his grandmother’s eyes. Above them, the raven crows softly. Kindness is not common among the Queen’s guard, the Koninwacht. Least of all to those who speak in foreign tongues.

The raven waits.

Too young to understand, too young to remember, the boy smiles as the old man at the reins points to him among the goods. A black feather floats down and the child grabs for it, thin eyes drawn up to the bird. It caws softly again and the grandmother looks, shielding the boy away from the raven with a shame-filled glare. Families must do what it takes to survive. To protect their future.

The wagon is waved into the city. Knowledge carries the bird into the sky. Knowledge and secrets as numerous as its feathers.

. . .

Smoke-filled skies and soot-filled streets welcome a weary wanderer of the city. None of it is natural. The product of progress. Progress for a great many and misery for a great many more. The raven flies from roof to roof, searching. Narrow alleys and twisting roads block its view. Houses shrink into shacks near the foot of the factory hill. Men, women, children sleep on the cold, hard ground. Sleep where they eat, eat where they piss. Owning nothing more than the shirts on their backs and a list of diseases they pray won’t kill them. The city is not awake yet.

The raven watches.

The raven waits.

A boy walks beside his father, tired as he has been every day of his short life. The man pockets a bag of coins, an explanation. He coughs and the boy understands. He understands more than he should for his age. The raven follows from above as the boy continues on alone. Follows as the boy starts to climb the hill. Smokestacks loom high above, blocking the rising sun. The raven caws and the boy’s step falters. He looks at the bird, fear and determination on his round face. That boy will do what he must to survive. That boy will make tragedy into triumph.

The raven knows.

The boy approaches the factory door alone. The raven keeps its secrets.

. . .

Silvery flakes drift downward, glittering in the bright light of the harvest moon. The raven soars, feathers shining obsidian. In the distance, smoke lurks above treetops, a hulking beast, an immaterial fear. The black bird settles on a branch. Thin wood quivering under its gentle weight.

It watches.

The forest is quiet. So quiet the drifting flakes can almost be heard as they land on leaves and gnarled roots. Feathers rustle as the black bird shakes fallen stars from its back. Under the light of the moon, the raven’s eyes glint and its beak shines sharp.

It waits.

Smoke curls higher now. The stars above fade, choked out and dampened. If there were eyes to see, they would water. If there were noses to smell, they would burn. The smoke glows, reflecting orange and gold like the harvest moon above. Shifting on the branch, the raven preens.

It does not feel.

The settlement lays smouldering. Something terrible happened here. This camp, this village, this home. Tragedy on tragedy buried beneath snapped structures, smoldering skins, burnt log walls. Once home, now embers. There are no roaring flames. Not anymore. The time for ferocity is gone. The raven sits in the tree, high above the coals. Coals that once were everything to a wife, a daughter, and a baby girl. Coals that are as black as the black bird’s wing, save for the last winking red eyes of heat. Cold air bites back. The raven watches as something moves in the skeleton homes.

It knows.

The movement draws nearer to the raven’s tree. A gentle whimper and a tilt of the black bird’s head. A miracle. The little girl kneels among the roots. Dark eyes catching dark eyes. Her eyes are a plea. The raven makes no response. A little girl, a miracle. A lost daughter abandoned in a world burnt to the ground in the dead of night. Her nightgown, once white, is streaked with soot. Silvery flakes cling to her dark hair. She is young. Round cheeks dark in the bright light of the harvest moon. She is not too young to remember. To remember the night her home died. She will remember the eyes of the black bird with feathers shining obsidian. They stare. Girl and bird.

There is nothing but silence.

Silence and the gentle caw of the raven as it again takes wing. Disappearing beyond the fallen ash and tears. It keeps its secrets once more.

--------

Taglist: @undrthesummerstars @ratracechronicler @leonajasmin-writeblr @frenchy-and-the-sea @rho-nin @starlitesymphony @written-by-yours-truly

If you’d like to be tagged in (admittedly infrequent) updates about this WIP - including mood boards, excerpts, and worldbuilding - please let me know, and I’ll add you to the list!

I'm also going to tag @aninkwellofnectar and @pinespittinink because you expressed interest in the more poetic prose excerpts in a recent tag game post!

#west's words #writeblr #amwriting #creative writing #writers of tumblr #the corvine #the word of the raven #no obligation to read for those i've tagged of course #just if you're interested #the prologue leans heavily into this really poetic style #that then reappears throughout the book #i really love writing stuff like this #for a long time i thought i was eventually going to cut this prologue #but it's been sticking around draft after draft #and my alpha readers have all seemed to actually like it as a start to the story #so it makes me very happy #it's a fun way to communicate backstory for the main characters without the readers knowing what exactly it is until later on #at least i hope #also am I posting this at 10:30 pm? yes #i don't care enough to try to decide when else to schedule it for

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renaissancewoodsman · 1 year

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I've randomly chosen 5 cycles of 5 cards each from across magic's history. Choose which one you want to see homebrewed into 5e. Card images are below the cut if you don't recognize these!

Tempest Nap Lands Thalakos Lowlands Rootwater Depths Cinder Marsh Mogg Hollows Vec Townships

Neo-Kamigawa Dragons Ao, the Dawn Sky Kairi, the Swirling Sky Junji, the Midnight Sky Atsushi, the Blazing Sky Kura, the Boundless Sky

Theros Dictates Dictate of Heliod Dictate of Kruphix Dictate of Erebos Dictate of the Twin Gods Dictate of Karametra

Three Pip Dominaria United Legends Tura Kennerüd, Skyknight Rona, Sheoldred’s Faithful Garna, Bloodfist of Keld Rulik Mons, Warren Chief Queen Allenal of Ruadach

Time Spiral Rare Slivers Pulmonic Sliver Psionic Sliver Plague Sliver Sedge Sliver Fungus Sliver

#dungeon masters library #dnd #d&d #homebrew #mtg #magic the gathering #dnd 5e #5e #polls #ttrpg #rpgs #d&d homebrew

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austerulous · 1 year

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◈ @erobret said: ❛ " I'm as good with my lips , as I am with my tongue . " ( eivor out to fluster a wolfman ) ❜

Realisation dawned slow, his mind dimmed by the stout, by the distance travelled. In the bower of the valley, thickly coated with ancient forest and mist-murk, Falkreath mouldered somewhere between the living and the dead. The sickly scent of decay and tree sap burned in Farkas’ nose, while the sweetness of plum and star anise warmed his tongue.

Duty had brought them here, to this outpost south of Whiterun. A village masquerading as a township, where death stained everything. Even here, huddled inside Dead Man’s Drink, the stink of rot was carried on the fog from the nearby graveyard, leaking rudely beneath the door.

But where there was death, there was life. His shield-sister watched him carefully, amusement sparkling in glacial eyes to see him dumbfounded, his undrinking lips glued to the rim of his tankard. It was too much to imbibe, to unpack and be certain of the meaning of her words all at once. Eivor, and her expert tongue, capable of dazzling exchanges, razor-sharp and rapid. Farkas fumbled by comparison, simple in his diction, slow in his processing.

What, then, of her lips – ?

That silver gaze slunk away, suddenly shy, the flagon set down on the table top. He stared at the hearth, though did not see the writhing of its flames, the smoulder of its embers. Life and death, fire and ash. Heat crept up his smoky cheeks, put there by something other than the oppressive heat of the tavern.

“A bold claim, lass. What proof have you?”

#it's bully farkas hours and i'm here for it #he really did say ' baby what that mouth do ' but not in so many words agdfsgf #◈ — ic; farkas #◈ — answered #erobret

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theheavensbloom · 1 year

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[ Zehan Zhang, cis male, he/him, 30/143 ] we’ve followed [ TIAN ] for awhile now, the [ WITCHER ] has been in Novigrad for [ A WEEK ]. they’re known to be [ APATHETIC ] and [ JUST ]. We find it fascinating that after all these years they [ DON’T WORSHIP ] the gods. They often remind us of [ BLOODSTAINED PETALS; A FOGGY MOUNTAINTOP AT DAWN; AN EMPTY FLASK; WORN COLD STEEL ]. Our thread has already been woven on what their future is looking like, but we’re eager to see the [ HERBALIST ] experience it.

SUMMARY

Largely retired from hunting for coin, Tian has lived his life as a lowly herbalist/beggar for nearly half a century. The contractual obligation to worldly value has impacted his sense of morality immensely and has made him reevaluate his life's work, purpose and sense of self.

Coming from the school of vipers, he's not only slain monsters but kings and peasants alike. Such bloodshed and destruction had once been something he never considered until they'd been betrayed by the very people they'd worked for.

One part survivor's guilt and one part disillusion, Tian has committed his life to vagrancy and making his living by selling herbs he's collected along the way.

Although he avoids conflict as much as possible, it's inevitable when he finds himself unable to resist those who are in trouble and with all the skills he'd painstakingly honed since childhood, it's not difficult to pinpoint exactly what he is once his sword his drawn.

HERBALISM

A unique aspect to the vipers were all the ways they'd learned how to kill. With their contracts varying from man to monster, knowledge of herbs and the poisons they make were key to getting the job done when opportunity was sometimes hard to come by.

Tian is a master at making poisons, potions and antidotes after finding that sometimes, less effort was preferable than slaughtering a whole town. Although, he'd never tout himself an alchemist for the kind of obligation that comes with when he'd much rather pick berbercane fruits by the roadside.

ORIGINS

Tian originates from a small mountainous tribal community of hunter/gatherers, fabled to take after the ghost tribe of ancient folklore. They respected their own tradition of not pledging their faith to any man or god and practiced swordfighting and martial arts in order to become the next generation of breadwinners for the clan. They had been honorable people, undisturbed by Northern/Western politics and warfare. In turn, they'd fostered a naïve child in Tian who never knew any better than what he'd always known: that people were compassionate, just and fair.

Tian had been the star pupil of his generation and was sent to Gorthur Gvaed to become the best hunter he could be. Becoming a Witcher was seen as gaining 'godhood' and ultimate enlightenment when it came to allegiance due to the Vipers' known neutrality and the expectation was for him to become the pride and joy of his community.

However, the strenuous training took a toll on Tian's mentality, moving away from community and towards selfishness and survival. He saw his own greed in coin once he was introduced to a world where money was exchanged for goods and luxury.

His ambition to introduce his clan to the outside world beneath the mountains veered away of the values in which they thrived upon and slowly, his tribe's customs and traditions began to dissipate into the ease of township and feudalism.

MISC.

Tian Lang is his full first name, although he found it to be too identifiable in its naming convention and tends to just use 'Tian'.

As a Witcher, he was often regarded under the moniker 'Venom' due to rumors that he was able to take down his foes with a single nick of his poisoned blade.

Tian masquerades as a hapless, blind and drunken herbal merchant. Always blindfolded to conceal his telltale eyes, his other keen senses tend to make up for the one he's ashamed to let the world see.

Although his hair has turned white due to the toxicity in his blood, his knowledge of herbs allows him to dye it a reasonable colour. He’s also very dirty.

#nornsintro #about

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rabbitcruiser · 1 year

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National Chocolate Candy Day

Chocolate candy is one of the world’s most popular sweets, and today it gets its own day. The candy is often created by mixing chocolate with ingredients like nuts and caramel. Some examples of chocolate candy include truffles and candy bars.

Chocolate comes from a bean called Theobroma cacao. The word “chocolate” itself comes from the Spanish, and it stems from the Aztec word xocolatl, which means “bitter water.” The Aztecs pounded the cacao beans and drank them without adding any sugar, and they thought the beans came from the gods. Indeed, Theobroma means “food of the gods.” Cocoa beans are about 50% “cocoa butter” and 50% “chocolate liquor.” Hernando Cortés brought cocoa beans back to Spain, and a chocolate drink that included sugar became popular right away. The word “chocolate” first appeared in print, in England, in 1604.

During the eighteenth century, a chocolate drink became fashionable throughout Europe, and it first became manufactured in what would become the United States in 1765. The first chocolate factory opened in the United States in 1780, but hard chocolate candy was not yet made until the dawn of the nineteenth century. Hardened chocolate candy bars first became being sold on a large scale by the Cadbury Company of England in 1842, and “chocolate creams"—candies with sugar-cream centers—were first eaten by Americans in the 1860s.

Milk chocolate was first made by the Swiss in 1875 when Daniel Peter added his chocolate to the newly-discovered sweetened condensed milk of Henry Nestlé, and it became popular in America and Europe. Milton S. Hershey, who had been in the candy business since the age of fourteen, and who had been quite successful with his Lancaster Caramel Company, was enamored by the chocolate-making he saw at the 1893 Columbian Exposition in Chicago—especially the making of milk chocolate. The first milk chocolate Hershey bar was produced in 1900, and by 1905 Hershey’s enormous factory in Derry Township, Pennsylvania, was in operation. With Hershey’s support, a company town sprang up around the factory, and milk from nearby farms was used in making the milk chocolate. Milton Hershey invented the Hershey’s kiss in 1907, and its trademark foil wrapper was added in 1924. Hershey provided troops in World War II with a Ration D bar, and later the better-tasting Tropical Chocolate Bar. These chocolate bars were resistant to temperatures higher than ninety degrees Fahrenheit. Besides Hershey bars and kisses, many other popular types of chocolate candies are under the Hershey’s umbrella, including Almond Joy, Mounds, and Reese’s. Another popular candy manufacturer in the United States is Mars, which produces chocolate candy bars such as Snickers and Twix.

How to Observe National Chocolate Candy Day

Celebrate the day by eating your favorite types of chocolate candy! Perhaps you have a favorite type of candy bar that you could have, or maybe truffles are more your style. Maybe you could stock up on some of the most popular candy bars from the United States or from around the world.

Source

#Lindt #Lindt CONNAISSEURS #Lindt PRALINÉS DU CONFISEUR #snack #food #Lindt TRUFFES #Truffles #Praline #Swiss chocolate is the best #I only eat Swiss chocolate #milk chocolate #dark chocolate #white chocolate #close up #28 December #original photography #National Chocolate Candy Day #NationalChocolateCandyDay

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berlysbandcamp · 2 years

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The story of The Movers began in 1967 when two unknown musicians – the brothers Norman and Oupa Hlongwane – approached Kenneth Siphayi a stylish and wealthy businessman from the Alexandra township to ask if he could buy them musical instruments. In return he would receive a cut from future life shows and record deals. Kenneth, ended up doing much more, becoming their manager, setting them up in a rehearsal space, and introducing them to an organist who would prove to be the missing link in the band’s skeletal sound. He also gave them their name: The Movers … because, as he said, their music was going to move you, whether you liked it or not. The band exploded onto the country’s racially-segregated music scene at the dawn of the 1970s with a sound that applied the rolling organ grooves and elastic rhythms of American soul to songs that came straight from the heart of the townships. Rumours of the band started to spread throughout the country and soon the record labels were sending their talent scouts to the Alexandra township to hear it for themselves. The Movers finally signed to Teal Records in 1969, and their first album, Crying Guitar, went on to sell 500,000 copies within the first three months, launching them into the front rank of South African bands. In their first year they went from local sensations to being the first band of black South Africans to have their music cross over to the country’s white radio stations. Although the first record was entirely instrumental, The Movers started working with different singers soon after – scoring an early hit with 14 year old vocal prodigy Blondie Makhene – and enriched their sonic palette with horns, extra percussion and various keyboards. Their stylistic range also expanded, incorporating elements of Marabi, Mbaqanga, jazz, funk, and reggae into their soul-steeped sound. But the essence of their music came from the almost telepathic connection of its founding members: the simmering organ of Sankie Chounyane, the laid-back guitar lines of Oupa Hlongwane, the energetic bass grooves of Norman Hlongwane and the simmering rhythms of drummer of Sam Thabo. The band reached their apex in the mid-1970s, and their hit ‘Soweto Inn’, sung by Sophie Thapedi, became inseparable from the student revolts that signalled a new resistance to the apartheid government. In 1976, however, their manager was forced out, and their producer started to play a more active role in the band’s direction. By the end of the decade there were no original members left. But at their height The Movers were titans of South African soul who left a legacy of over a dozen albums and countless singles of pure groove. On The Movers 1970–76, Analog Africa presents 14 of the finest tracks from the band’s undisputed peak.

#afrosoul #afrobeat #tropical #afrofunk #world

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blixvoronin · 1 year

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day 4: vision

synopsis: Blix unveils the newest settlement in the duchy of Silverloch - an agricultural farming town, Cecil’s Crossing.

cw: none!

for more information on the daily writing challenge, click here.

🇾‌🇪‌🇦‌🇷‌ 630 🇧‌🇾‌ 🇹‌🇭‌🇪‌ 🇰‌🇮‌🇳‌🇬‌'🇸‌ 🇨‌🇦‌🇱‌🇪‌🇳‌🇩‌🇦‌🇷‌

Standing in the center of the newly-constructed Cecil’s Crossing within the duchy of Silverloch, nestled in the southeastern reaches of Duskwood, Blix flashed a bright smile to the assorted crowd. Present were citizens from the other settlements - Brightroad, the haven for the undead and otherwise-extraordinary citizens of the duchy, and Silverloch Township, the main hub for trade, marketing, and livelihood. Much to her surprise, the crowd was larger than she’d imagined - but, of course, the grand reveal of a duchy’s new hub for agriculture was no small feat to miss, she supposed.

Brightroad had been the last expansion prior to the construction of Cecil’s Crossing, intended to be an area of respite for death knights, necromancers (thoroughly screened, of course, following the Abercrombie incident in Darkshire so many moons ago), the newly-returned dark rangers, and most recently a few Dracthyr citizens looking for a home. It had, originally, been intended to house fleshcrafters, alchemists, and parts of Silverloch’s militia - over the last few months, however, it seemed that it had expanded as more of the living populace from the township and remainder of Duskwood crept in. Now, it nearly made its stand as equivalent to the primary area - Silverloch Township.

Nestled in the center of the Duchy’s territory, surrounded by woods and a river to the north, Silverloch Township was home to the main cathedral, the settlements of druids from the Cenarion Circle who had helped in revitalizing the lands within Silverloch itself for agriculture and upkeep (which Blix fervently thanked them for on a regular basis, as well as Indraste, for bringing them to begin with), and the estate that Blix and Indy called a home away from home, along with one other individual. Recently, Blix had struck on fortune, convincing none other than Marsulu Goldmane to establish a G-Tek workshop in the township itself. It had brought extra trade to the area, and opened avenues for business, especially given both Silverloch and G-Tek’s affiliations with the duchy of Cindervale, led by Duchess Olivia Edain and her husband, Duke Lebryn Edain, in Redridge.

Vesper Oberon Thorne, the new heir apparent to the Thorne duchy and Blix’s title as ruler of Silverloch, had made his entrance to the scene roughly a year prior. Blix shuddered to recall the circumstances under which Vesper had been found - however, it had been at great reward. Still young, Vesper had just crested nineteen; as a result, Blix had not only struggled with the challenges of parenting an individual a mere nine years younger than herself, but also with teaching him how to be nobility - a skill she’d just barely managed by herself, having been born to common lineage and married pretty damn high up.

He’d done well, though, over the last year - acclimating to a new place was never easy, let alone taking on all of these burdens at once. Blix was proud - and he stood aside her, curled white hair pushed back from his eyes in a rare moment, and dressed in the closest Blix could sway him towards formalwear - a set of fresh leathers, accented with a warm shirt and a coat laid over his shoulders bearing the Thorne family colors. She looked to her adopted child, and nodded. “Ready?” she asked quietly, one brow raised.

“As I’ll ever be. You know I hate this stuff,” Vesper grumbled, and Blix snorted.

“I know.” She raised her voice, addressing those gathered.

“Citizens of Silverloch! Thank you, every one of you, for being present today. We commemorate a new dawn for Silverloch in its entirety with the completion of Cecil’s Crossing, named for our dearly departed duchess, Cecilia Thorne.”

The crowd grew silent for a moment at the mention of Cecilia’s name - Blix saw Vesper’s hands move behind his back, and she absorbed both the grief and the tension present in the crowd. Not all of them had been fond of her; after all, necromantic activity to the point of killing and raising the house staff was... frowned upon, in most minds.

“May her legacy as a ruler of peace and wit be remembered, and may this town serve as a beacon of hope and wealth for Silverloch evermore. It has been a dream of mine to establish a farming town here,” Blix continued, “and thanks to our allies in the Cenarion Circle, this may finally be accomplished. The lands are fertile, and we will have crops for the spring and summer prepared for trade - let this be a new age for not only us, but Duskwood as a whole. Darkness cannot shake our endurance or heart.”

Blix paused for a moment. “Allow me to present, with no small amount of pride - my child and heir, Lord Vesper Thorne.”

The crowd cheered as Vesper stepped forward, much to Blix’s delight. Vesper had taken a role as a servant of the people; he worked closely with the militia, cut no one from conversation, and always had an ear to pass along the street’s whispers to Blix when she couldn’t listen for herself. He was deeply loved, and Blix couldn’t help but be glad for it.

He’d make a fine ruler someday - hopefully, better than she could ever hope to be. Blix listened as Vesper addressed the crowd, brief and to the point. He was never the type for diplomacy or frilled words, as she could be - granted, that was a skill she’d learned years ago from too many days in Stormwind Keep, listening in on the House of Nobles between her own briefings.

“I’m going to be a lot less formal than the Duchess, here, um - honestly, farming isn’t my forte? But, like she said - this is a new time. We can all learn something from each other, and I promise I won’t steal any carrots. May your crops be bountiful, and... ah, have fun, I guess!”

The crowd laughed, giving their applause, and Blix shook her head with a smile. “We’ve brought in performers from all corners of Alliance territories, and a banquet is in the town hall for anyone who’s hungry!” she called. “Celebrate - and envision, with me, a brighter tomorrow for us all.”

Stepping off to the side, the crowd dispersed around Blix and Vesper as she looked to the younger human. “You did great!” she said, wrapping him in a brief hug. “I’m proud of you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Vesper crowed, laughing as he patted Blix on the back twice before pulling back. “I’m getting better at the whole ‘future duke’ thing, I guess, but let’s not go launching friggin’ fireworks just yet. I’m gonna go find Dot, this shit makes me itchy.”

“Fine,” Blix conceded, rolling her eyes with a lopsided grin. “Home by seven! We’re doing your favorite for dinner.”

“Raw steak?” Vesper called back, already walking backwards and threatening to disappear into the throng.

“Wh - no! You’re taking after Indy too much!” Blix shouted - but Vesper had already gone.

With a snort, Blix turned, her eyes meeting a familiar pair of gold, and smiled as she held out her hand. “Let’s go join the festivities,” she said quietly. “Maybe we can say hey to your parents, if they’re here.”

#novemberdwc2022 #blixvoronin #wowrp #moon guard #ic #indy #dwc

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