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walkingshcdow-a · 6 years

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🔥 gimme the salt on poto

Satly Saturday | Buckle Up. | Accepting!

Do you want ALL THE SALT or just some of it? Because i feel like I could write a dissertation on everything wrong with PotO and, more specifically, the Phandom and be only a diploma shy from my doctorate.

One of the things I’m incredibly angry about is that it is still an “unpopular opinion” that Meg Giry is anything but blonde and white. In the novel, she is described as “swarthy” with dark hair and eyes, but even if that were not the case, who does it harm to headcanon her as a WoC? I think it is much more damaging to ascribe white traits and white traits only to her, not only because in the Leroux text, she is not white, but because other interpretations of PotO, whether they be the stage show or a roleplay portrayal, should be more open to diversity in general. The world is diverse. And the world was diverse in the 19th century. Historians, novelists, and filmmakers tend to whitewash history and create a false monolith of Europe and the Americas, except when it furthers a particular narrative (typically revolving around the American South, even when the American South has no bearing on a story, like PotO, which takes place in a different country altogether). It’s disgusting.

The thing that gets me, though, is that the Phandom largely just accepts that Meg Giry is white and blonde. That’s the way it is in the stage show and since stage shows (and their subsequent film adaptations) are visual mediums, whereas novels rely on imagination, it’s “easier” to use images from the show to make aesthetics, fan art, etc. about Meg. It’s pure laziness most of the time; ignorance in other instances. This, to me, is dangerous in a different way than adamantly demanding Meg Be White for thinly veiled reasons tied up in racism. We know the latter is wrong. We take people to task on the latter. We demand more and better from our fandoms than casual, but intentional, racism. When it’s unintentional… or when it’s intentional because 99 percent of media including Meg Giry whitewashes her, we still hit that like button or that reblog button, instead of demanding better from our fandoms. I’m not calling for people to spam content creators with vitriol over their blonde, cherubic Meg Girys. I am calling for people to create more black Meg Girys, more Asian Meg Girys, more Jewish Meg Girys, more Latina Meg Girys, more Middle Eastern Meg Girys. Take what precious little Leroux gave us about her and expand your interpretation. Be kind to interpretations that are racially/ethnically different than the norm, or even than your own. The headcanons someone is posting about a Romani Meg Giry might be their way of connecting their own heritage to the text, of seeking representation that was hinted at in the book and destroyed in later interpretations. The fan art of a black Meg Giry might be a young woman’s way of seeing herself or her friends or her sisters in an art form (ballet) that has traditionally been unkind to WoC. Meg as a woman of color is so important - especially when you dare to mash up Leroux with ALW because the traits they each give her, when put together, create a complex and nuanced young woman that anyone might be happy to identify with. Whitewashing her takes that opportunity away from fans, especially young fans, who do not otherwise see themselves reflected in this beautiful melodrama. Ad who wants to be the gate keeper to a world of fun and joy? The ones we should be taking to task are the casting directors of PotO productions - especially in the US and UK, since those shows are most widely seen and publicized. Not just the ALW show (although I do hold the ALW show responsible for whitewashing Meg in the first place), but future productions of PotO by other creators.

I also think that for people who aren’t fans of Meg, who don’t pay her much mind, don’t understand why this is such a contentious issue for those of us who love her, whether we love her from Leroux, Webber, or another iteration. For me, the version I take issue with is the ALW version… largely because I believe ALW Meg to be a composite of Meg Giry, La Sorelli, and Cecile Jammes from the Leroux novel. You see traits of each woman reflected in ALW Meg. She’s aged up, perhaps not prima ballerina, but a principal dancer. She’s superstitious, but level-headed. Kind, almost maternal, but bubbly and fun. She’s bold and fascinated by the strange goings-on around her. If ALW had wanted to give her the blonde, blue-eyed good looks of a Barbie Doll, he would have done better to name her after Jammes, who has a peaches and cream complexion in the novel. He could have even named her after Sorelli, though this move would have been more difficult, since Sorelli was a principal dancer and not the daughter of one of Erik’s employees. No. He chose to name her after Meg Giry and elevate her to secondary character status. The least he could have done was make her look the part. It would not have been the first time a principal cast member in an ALW was a PoC. Ben Vereen played Judas in the Broadway debut of JCS. So, why so scared to cast a black woman (or, really, any WoC) as Meg Giry? Come on, ALW. Would it have been so hard? It could have started the conversation about race in period dramas or the conversation about racism in the fine arts (especially ballet) twenty or thirty years earlier. And even if it didn’t, PotO would still be the beautiful leviathan it is today.

Of course, I know that in a post-LND world, a lot of people have bigger complaints about Meg Giry’s treatment in modern stagings. I agree with them - the characterization of Meg Giry in LND is painful to watch. It’s inconsistent with what we know of her in the original show; it certainly is divorced from the novel in all ways. The flaws with Meg’s character in LND have nothing to do with the fact that she’s made into a sex worker (although that choice is questionable from a narrative standpoint, not a moral one. What does it add to Meg’s arc that she sold herself to help buy Phantasma? The implication that we’re meant to see her as lesser than Christine for it is the real moral quandary, But I digress). Rather, the flaws with Meg’s character stem from her being inconsistent with all previous and recognizable versions of her character and with the anti-feminist need to pit two women, who were previously the best of friends, against each other over a man… Not even a man who treats one or both of them right… like… it pits two best friends against each other over an abusive narcissist. It does no characters any favors, least of all poor Meg, who is made out to be needy, jealous, emotionally unstable… It does a poor job getting from Point A to Point B.

This bastardization of Meg’s character would probably seem like a great bullet to dodge, insofar as representation goes. I think it would be absolutely disgusting to cast a black woman as LND Meg, due to all the negative stereotyping that would end up clouding even the best performance. However, LND was not the commercial or critical success ALW hoped it would be. Not even close. It underwent a lot of rewritings, still was not highly successful, and (by and large) disappoints both fans of the original story and newcomers to the PotO story. It is nowhere near the cultural phenomenon that PotO is. And so, then, again I ask - why have we not seen a WoC in the role of Meg? It’s only very recently that we’ve seen PoC in the roles of Christine, the Phantom, and Raoul. Meg is still depicted as white. I’m hoping that the trend of diversifying Broadway is more than a trend, but instead a cultural shift in how Broadway appeals to the masses. I hope to see a WoC play Meg (and Madame Giry, who I’ve neglected to mention until now, woops) within my lifetime.

Honestly, I think that I only really started thinking about this critically two years ago when my Salt Squad and I got talking about representation in the Phandom, particularly in the RPC. I was rereading Leroux at the time and meditating on Kay (as one does) in my spare time and it occurred to me that if I wanted to see some change in the Phandom, I had to be a part of the side I wanted to see prevail. I had to be some of the change I wanted to see in the Phandom. So I took up Meg as a muse. I’m starting to see more and more racially diverse Megs in the Phandom and that thrills me. I want to @fillescharmxnt because her Meg is what I aspired for mine to be in so many ways. There are plenty of other fanartists, fic writers, and aesthetic makers who are doing such great things with recontextualizing Meg Giry for the 21st century.

I do want to include this disclaimer, though: just because someone is roleplaying, writing, drawing, headcanoning Meg as white, doesn’t mean that their ideas are without merit. There are plenty of very talented artists, writers, and bloggers who depict Meg as white. My goal is not to shame them - a lot of them do great work, both from a technical and emotional standpoint - but rather to invite them to the conversation about Meg Giry, race, and representation. I urge these fans to challenge their notions about Meg Giry and to be open to accepting ideas that are different from theirs. Even those of us who HC Meg as a WoC enjoy and support content with blonde Meg (like… can we talk about the Brazilian actress with the freckles?!). All I ask is that fans of white Meg Giry enjoy and support content with black/Asian/Jewish/Romani/Latina/Middle Eastern/Other Meg Giry in return.

Fans can question the media they consume. Fans can challenge the media they consume. But at the end of the day, it is the media that we create and ask to be created that make the most difference. The only way media gets created is if there is a demand for. Be willing to demand a more inclusive, more historically accurate depiction of Meg Giry and you will be rewarded with a creative explosion of fan created content.

#asks #meme response #((this is not what you asked for is it?))#tw: racism #fictioncoxnt

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deepseawritings · 7 years

Text

The Long Road (part 1/2)

In Scar's opinion, there had never been a more appropriate time to use the expression raining with a vengeance. Normal raining, even torrential rain, was nothing like this. This was like a flood. Water came pouring down like a waterfall, drenching you to the very bones and making it nearly impossible to see anything further than a hand span away from your face. It didn't help that sun had already set.

He had no idea of where he was. Okay, that wasn't exactly true. He knew he was in Limansk, but he didn't exactly know where in the city he was. He would check it on his PDA, but Scar wasn't one hundred percent sure the water would not damage it. That supposing he could decipher the display on the screen under such deluge. He could sort of see the indistinct shape of a big building looming ahead. That meant refuge and a roof to sleep until the raining stopped, or until morning. Whichever came first. Scar just hoped it wasn't too irradiated or worse, crawling with Monolith troops. He'd had enough of Monolith for the rest of his life.

It turned out to be a familiar looking building. He'd been here before. Still, that didn't save him from stepping into the overflowing pond on his way to the entrance. Fuck, he was now drenched to his socks. At least this time there was no barbed fence barring the entrance to the building. Once on the inside he now checked his PDA. There was someone else here, another person. He supposed it would be a lost bandit or a renegade, Monolith always went in groups. Scar didn't even bother turning off the flashlight, he just went in search of the bandit. He would kill him and then find a decent spot to sleep.

Strelok was tired. Not just a physical tiredness, but an emotional one as well. His life had been such a rollercoaster in the last weeks: becoming amnesiac, being tasked to basically kill himself, recovering his memory, going to Pripyat and facing hordes of Monolith bastards, infiltrating the CNPP and destroying the C-Consciousness. And that was the condensed version. If it was up to him, he would just lie in a ditch and sleep in the grass. Unfortunately, he couldn't do that forever.

A small group of Monolithians spotted him this past morning and took great exception to his presence. The persistent sons of bitches had been chasing him from a distance since then. Nothing like the occasional sniper shot aimed at him to motivate Strelok to run faster. Then came the rain; thick, persistent rain. At least it would serve to shake them off his trail, or so he hoped. Anyways, he could always be ambushed by another Monolith group here in this city. In deserted urban spaces it was always a possibility, and his unfamiliarity with this place put him at a disadvantage.

The sun was setting. Soon it would get dark, well, darker than it had been all afternoon long. Strelok decided to take shelter in a big nearby building, some kind of institute or something similar. He would find a place to spend the night, and spare himself the torture of walking around in the dark, under heavy rain, in a city he'd never been in before.

Scouring the building was an eerie experience. Scar almost expected to stumble into someone wearing the Clear Sky uniform every time he turned a corner. It was like chasing ghosts.

He'd been as loud as possible, trying to lure whoever was there out of its hiding place, but no luck so far. He started to think there was nobody else in the building and his PDA was faulty. Then he finally heard a faint noise coming from one of the dark rooms. Good, at last a clue to follow. He readied his rifle, and then went into the room. A jarring impact rattled him when he collided against someone at the door's threshold.

It was not a bandit. And his face was unmistakeable. Strelok. The man looked at him like a deer caught in the headlights. They stood there, looking at each other, not daring to move. Strelok's gaze went from confused to startled realization. He narrowed his eyes and moved his gun, the intent to shoot Scar plainly written in his face. Nevertheless, Scar was quicker. He wacked Strelok up the head with the butt of his Vintar, and Strelok fell down like a sack of flour. Well, that had been unexpected.

Deciding to play it safe, Scar took all of Strelok's weapons (including the knife) and tied his hands with a spare bandage, because there was nothing else around he could use. What was he going to do with him?

He could finish his assignment and kill Strelok, but it was pointless now. Besides, he didn't work for free, and there was no Clear Sky faction anymore. Lebedev and the rest were dead; or, if they were unlucky enough to survive massive amounts of psy damage, they would now be part of the brainwashed forces of Monolith. Killing Strelok now would achieve nothing. So he wasn't going to kill the stalker, at least for now, but neither could he let him go free. He'd already seen that Strelok didn't have any qualms about trying to shoot him in the face.

He gave up on thinking what to do with his captive. Strelok was unconscious and tied up, he wasn't going anywhere. Scar moved him to a corner of the room, tied his feet as well just in case, and then lied down on the floor to sleep.

The first thing Strelok noticed upon waking up was the throbbing pain on the side of his head. Ouch, he must have hit his head really hard. Then he remembered the night before. Scar had found him! He opened his eyes and there he was, sleeping just a few meters away. He had to flee. Then he noticed he couldn't move freely and Strelok panicked. His hands and feet were tied! He squirmed, trying to slip free of his restraints, but it wasn't working. Fuck!

"Stop it." Scar grumbled. His thrashing must have woken him up. Then he proceeded to calmly check his PDA and eat a loaf of bread, like having Strelok tied up at his feet wasn't worthy of more than a passing glance. Eventually, he finished and regarded Strelok with a strange expression on his face.

"And what now? You kill me here or do you prefer to make me run for a while before shoot me in the back?"

"Don't be stupid, if I wanted to kill you, you'd be already dead." Scar answered him while he picked up his backpack and Strelok's confiscated weapons. "I'm going to untie your feet. Don't make me regret it, ok?" The mercenary warned him.

If looks could kill, Scar would have dropped dead in the spot. However, the mercenary didn't seem very impressed with Strelok's hate filled stare. He was sorely tempted to kick the bastard in the face, but that would only worsen his situation.

It was a miserable experience for Strelok. He was made to walk all morning in front of Scar, hand still tied because the mercenary didn't trust him unbound. Smart of him. He remembered all too well how the mercenary relentlessly followed him across the Zone, hunting him like an animal. It was because of him and his damned Clear Sky friends that Strelok ended up amnesiac. And if he remembered correctly, it was also their fault that Fang died. Yes, Strelok would not doubt to jump at him and try to kill him if he wasn't tied and unarmed.

The day was oddly peaceful in the ghost town of Limansk. The most dangerous thing they encountered was a cluster of whirligigs in the middle of the road and a heavily irradiated construction site, but otherwise nothing worth worrying about. They should have known that peace didn't last long in the Zone. At some point Strelok's old Monolith chasers caught up with them. And they brought reinforcements. They fell upon them like an avalanche, shooting at them, while a pair of snipers shot from the balcony of a nearby building. At least none of them had a Gauss Rifle. Scar bodily dragged him behind a rusted car.

"Stay put and don't try anything stupid." The mercenary warned him.

He took up his Vintar and focused on taking out the snipers. The mercenary shot twice and then changed his focus of attention to the approaching Monolithians on the other side of the street. Strelok tugged with his teeth at the bindings on his wrists, loosening the bandage enough to move his hands a bit. After some more twisting, he eventually got his hands free.

The mercenary was completely focused on killing the Monolith troops, with his back to Strelok. If he was quick enough, this was the perfect opportunity to take something out of the mercenary's backpack. Like for example, one of his weapons. He could see the shotgun poking out, so he decided to risk it. He really hoped Scar hadn't bothered to unload his weapons, otherwise this would prove useless.

Strelok yanked the shotgun out in a fluid movement. Of course, Scar noticed it. He turned around, furious. Strelok went beneath the vehicle and rolled to the other side. Right after emerging from beneath the car, he came face to face with a surprised Monolithian. He fired his shotgun and the man stumbled back, a dark red stain expanding on his chest. Thank God it was still loaded. Strelok shot him again, just to be sure. The Monolithian fell to the ground with a dull thud. He saw another one further away go down with a bullet in his head, courtesy of Scar and his Vintar.

He ran to the nearest tree and hid behind it, then surveyed the street. The reason he'd taken his shotgun back was to kill Scar, but it was actually more advantageous to have the mercenary alive and helping him kill those angry Monolithians. So for now he would not turn against him, at least not until the Monolith guys were all dead. Strelok gunned down one of them that got too close to where he was hiding. A bullet sailed inches away from his face, courtesy of yet another sniper, and Scar made quick work of him.

The usual cacophony of a gunfight was suddenly drowned by a hellish chorus of menacing growls and barking. A pack of wild dogs poured in from an adjacent street. It wouldn't be a great problem if there were only blind dogs since those were cowardly beasts. The problem was the half dozen pseudo-dogs leading the pack.

The dogs came out of nowhere, or so thought Scar. The pack of beasts quickly swarmed up their improvised battlefield, lured in by the smell of fresh blood. Scar made good use of his enemies' distraction and shot down one of the Monolithians, who'd been too busy shooting at the dogs to remember he was in the middle of a firefight. Scar saw another Monolithian on the ground, being torn apart by the dogs. His raw screams were one of the worst things Scar heard in a long time. It was a horrible way to die and Scar actually thought about gifting him a quick death, but his screams soon turned into low, wet gurgles and then stopped.

However, not all the pseudo-dogs were feasting on the dead, a couple of them were chasing someone else. Strelok. The stalker was running like the wind, coming back to Scar's position. He trained his Vintar on the pseudo-dogs, but judging by Strelok's reaction the stalker thought he was aiming at him. One of the pseudo-dogs lunged against Strelok and Scar shot at the beast. The stalker's astonished face was priceless.

While Strelok finished off the injured pseudo-dog, Scar jumped on top of the rusted car's hood to get away from the dogs swarming him. He shot at them, spraying blood and fur on the asphalt. Some ran away hurt and yelping, and some continued growling and trying to jump after him. Meanwhile, Strelok finally arrived there and jumped on the car as well. They were face to face, eyeing each other warily. However, they had more pressing concerns right now. Like the furious, vicious dogs trying to rip them to shreds.

By silent agreement, they started shooting at the beasts at the same time. Strelok killed the ones closest to them with the shotgun, while Scar took care of the pseudo-dogs with his rifle. Perhaps the pseudo-dogs were mostly chewing on the fallen Monolithians, but Scar didn't want to risk being jumped by one of them later on. He shot down most of them, but two were still missing. Strelok stopped to reload the shotgun, so Scar took out his pistol, a Martha, and killed the blind dogs still circling around the car.

Like summoned by his earlier thoughts, the remaining two pseudo-dogs appeared around a corner. Scar emptied the pistol's magazine on one of them. The other jumped at Strelok while he was still reloading and dragged him down the car. The stalker rolled around, trying to evade the mutant's vicious attack. The first one wasn't dead either. Instead of reloading the pistol, Scar grabbed his rifle and finished off the pseudo-dog. Then he focused his attention on Strelok. He saw the stalker trying to hit the mutant with his shotgun like it was melee weapon, in a desperate attempt to get away from the pseudo-dog. That only enraged the animal. The beast got him by the leg and shook its head, tearing into the flesh. Strelok screamed in pain.

Scar shot at the pseudo-dog once, twice, thrice. Finally, it died. He jumped down the car and approached Strelok. He dragged the animal's carcass off of the injured stalker and caught a flash of fear on Strelok's eyes when he saw him, rifle still in hand. He kicked the shotgun out of his grasp, just in case he got any funny ideas.

"What am I going to do with you?" The stalker only meant trouble and headaches, Scar was sure of that.

"If you're going to kill me, make it quick." Strelok hissed between pained groans.

The stalker's leg was a disaster. Pieces of torn fabric clung to the wound, soaked in blood. The bite wound was a ghastly sight, the flesh torn by deep tears and lacerations that bled profusely. Strelok could count himself lucky if the bone wasn't splintered or crushed. It definitely was easy to feel sympathy for him right now.

Scar ignored his earlier question and fished around the backpack for a medkit, one of the military issued packages. Strelok's trouser leg was so torn he didn't need to rip it to treat the wound. Scar cleaned the wound as best as he could, but that wasn't enough. It hadn't stopped bleeding and probably needed to be stitched. He could try to just bandage it, but he knew it wouldn't do much. The only good news was that the bone didn't seem damaged, as far as he could tell.

"Why are you doing this?" Strelok asked him, clearly confused.

"Because I'm a fucking saint, obviously." Scar deadpanned. It was an excellent question. One he couldn't really answer. He still didn't know if it was out of gratitude for not turning against him while they fought, or if it was a rare act of compassion or what.

"Need to take the Urchin off before I bleed to death." Strelok said with urgency.

He fiddled with the containers on the belt and took out the artifact. Scar put it in the backpack, taking great care to not prick himself on the spiky surface.

"That will help but this still needs stitching." Scar warned him.

He had some experience dealing with bad wounds, but he was far from being an expert. At least it wasn't the first time he stitched someone. Strelok passed out soon after Scar started the process. It was for the best.

Time became a blurred haze for Strelok. His last coherent memory was getting attacked by the pseudo-dog, and then Scar showed up like a knight in shining armour. Except in such scenarios, one usually didn't fear the saviour could blow your head off as well. He vaguely remembered Scar cleaning his wounded leg and trying to stitch it closed. After the pain came the darkness, and then all sense of time went out of the window.

Whatever else he remembered, it had a dreamlike quality to it; he couldn't be sure they weren't hallucinations induced by the pain or the blood loss. Someone carried him around, his head against a hard backpack; lying on a lumpy surface that smelled musty...

He awoke to rumbling thunder, reddish light filtering into the darkness. Strelok sat up startled, he had to find a refuge if he wanted to survive the blowout!

Wide awake now, and aware of his surroundings, he realised he was already indoors. He'd apparently been sleeping on a ratty couch, covered with a dusty and moth-eaten blanket. He supposed all this must have been the mercenary's doing. It was quite difficult to wrap his mind around the fact Scar had taken care of him and, most probably, saved his life. Which made him wonder where was said mercenary now. The light filtering through the windows was redder with each passing moment and the emission would soon be deadly.

"I see you're awake." Scar's voice startled Strelok. When he surveyed the room before, he hadn't noticed the mercenary sitting quietly in a shadowed corner.

"How long did I sleep?"

"You were out of it since yesterday afternoon."

A horde of questions danced in Strelok's mind, most of them starting with Why, but the mercenary had already proved he wasn't going to answer those truthfully.

"Thank you, I guess," he finally said. The words were heavy and bitter on his tongue.

They sat in silence, enduring the trembling ground and thunderous noise that always accompanied the emissions. Strelok blindly played with the frayed blanket, tugging at the threads until they unravelled. It was difficult to see much in the hellish red twilight, but at least this time Strelok didn't see ghostly figures attacking him. He hated those illusions. Eventually, the thundering faded and the sky cleared again, like that terrifying interlude never happened.

"Are you going to tie me up again?" Strelok broke the tense silence.

He could try to fight him, but he was unarmed and his wounded leg was a liability. The odds were definitely not in his favour.

"Are you going to try to kill me?" The mercenary asked him in return. Strelok remained stubbornly quiet. "Look, if you agree that we're even and don't try anything funny, you're free to go. If not..."

Scar's answer surprised him. He wanted Strelok to forget about the past? The blowout had definitely messed him up.

"Are you out of your mind? You and your Clear Sky pals made my life hell, killed one of my best friends and are the reason I ended up with amnesia for weeks!" Strelok sputtered enraged.

"For me it was just a contract, nothing personal." Scar told him, like that absolved him of any responsibility! "Clear Sky honestly thought you had to be stopped for the good of the Zone. Doesn't matter now. In case you haven't noticed, there is no more Clear Sky. Because of you, they're either dead or under the thrall of the Monolith."

They could all rot in Hell for all Strelok cared. Fang was dead. Strelok remembered how he had to flee for his life as Scar chased him relentlessly. He would never forget the panic he felt when they caught up with him in the CNPP and the mercenary fired that Gauss Rifle against him. And more recently, Scar hit him on the head and tied him up like a prisoner waiting for the execution. Except the execution never came. Instead, they fought together against Monolith and rabid dogs. And then he saved him from that pseudo-dog, and patched him up. It seems he even had taken care of him when he could just have left him to die. Ugh, why had he done that?!

"So what's your answer, are we even?" Scar asked him

"Alright, we're even." Strelok spat out, angry that he was forced to accept this. Strelok wasn't fit to run away or fight against Scar right now, and he supposed the mercenary's recent actions sort of made up for some of his past transgressions. Sort of.

The mercenary said nothing, he just looked at him intently. It was unnerving, those impossiby clear eyes seemed to pierce right through him. It sent shivers down Strelok's spine. He didn't know what Scar was searching for, but eventually he nodded.

After reaching such agreement, Scar told Strelok he was free to go if he pleased, and gave him his weapons back. The stalker eyed him with suspicion, and declared that he preferred to stay close and keep an eye on him, as he told Scar, because he didn't trust him at all. Apparently, he still expected Scar to shoot him in the back from afar. Fair enough, he didn't trust Strelok much, either. He would have sworn Strelok had been bitterly sincere when he agreed to bury the hatchet, but perhaps he'd been wrong and the stalker wanted to kill him in his sleep. Or perhaps Strelok didn't want to admit that, in his current state, he would probably need help to walk across the city and its obstacles.

Travelling together was mostly a silent, tense and awkward affair. They traversed Limansk at a slow pace, the city was difficult to navigate, especially if one wanted to avoid radiation hotspots, the odd Monolith patrol and bandits roaming around. It didn't help either that parts of the city were almost inaccessible, or some were even fenced off with barbed wire.

"Where are you actually headed?" Strelok asked him out of the blue.

"Someplace where I can drink and get a job. Like the 100 Rads."

"I thought mercs stuck together in Wild Territory, killing stalkers and terrorizing the scientists. That's what they do best, isn't it?" Scar could say that Strelok's bitterness surprised him, but that would be a lie. Besides, what he said was sort of true.

"I guess. The same way one could say that what stalkers do best is risking their lives stupidly and dying." Strelok didn't seem to appreciate Scar's quip very much, judging by his disgusted huff.

After that, a dense silence stretched between them. It wasn't until a good while later that Strelok broke it again. "So why won't you go back to Wild Territory? Did you kill someone of your own faction or is it something else?"

This question was missing much of the venom from before, so he decided to answer him instead of ignoring his question.

"Honestly, I just don't care. I'm getting too old to go back to an endless fight with Duty over a handful of railways and warehouses." That was true, there was nothing he missed from Wild Territory.

"Yeah, that place sucks big time. Mercs have lousy taste setting up base." Strelok chuckled. He looked oddly endearing when he wasn't frowning at him all the time.

They lapsed into silence once again. Thankfully, their brief exchange seemed to have defused the tension somewhat. The relative peace was broken once again that same evening, when Strelok saw a fruit punch anomaly between two buildings. The detector pointed there was a lone artifact lost in there, and of course Strelok wanted to get it. Scar couldn't understand why he wanted to hobble around an anomalous acid pool to retrieve a Bubble. Must be an instinct of all stalkers, to gather artifacts even if they had to risk their necks to retrieve it. In his opinion, it was much easier to just loot artifacts from your victim's belongings, or getting one in payment for killing said victim.

None of them noticed they were being observed. The chimera seemed to appear out of nowhere, leaping with deadly grace. Scar was thrown to the ground, ears ringing from the harsh impact. The chimera then pounced away and Scar finally could breathe again, now that he wasn't being crushed by the mutant. He knew the chimera would either leap at him once more and crush his neck in its mouth, or play with its prey by slashing him with those sharp claws. He desperately searched around for his Vintar, but it had fallen far away from him. The Martha was all he had right now. Except that wasn't one hundred percent true.

Surprisingly enough, Strelok came to his aid, shooting at the chimera with his SIG and attracting the mutant's wrath. A terrible clicking sound could be heard when the weapon jammed. The chimera leaped towards Strelok the moment he stopped shooting at it. Luckily, he evaded the attack, but his leg gave out on him and he fell to the ground as well. In the meantime, Scar got his pistol out and then he fired all fifteen rounds, one after the other, right into the mutant's back. The resistant bitch wasn't dead yet, but at least it was limping. It turned again towards Scar, and Strelok took it down with the shotgun. At long last, the chimera died. Both Strelok and Scar lay on the ground, panting in pain and exhaustion.

"I hate chimeras." Strelok declared from his spot on the ground. Scar couldn't agree more.

It must have certainly been a curious sight, Strelok pondered, a mercenary and a loner travelling together, both injured and tired. It sounded like the set up to one of those terrible jokes Ghost liked so much.

They continued their way until the sun started to set. Scar insisted that the tunnel that would lead them out of the city was close, and if they kept going they would be out of Limansk that same night. Yeah, Strelok heard about that passage. It led to the fucking Red Forest. He would sooner shoot himself in the foot than prance around Red Forest past nightfall. Scar was free to go on, if he wanted. However, he reluctantly agreed with Strelok. Probably because after being almost crushed by the chimera, he wasn't feeling so great either. They decided to find a place to set camp and rest, and maybe they would feel better in the morning.

Nevertheless, the houses they checked out turned out to be completely unsuitable. One was a giant nest of rats, better to stay the hell away from it. Another was so collapsed it was impossible to enter. And the other one was too radioactive, the dosimeter going crazy once they were inside. The last one seemed fine until Strelok noticed a faint distortion in the air. One bolt later the room was like an oven when no less than four burners started spouting fire. Scar just muttered "like that damn tunnel in Wild Territory", and it brought a small smirk to Strelok 's face. He remembered that place all too well, Kruglov almost got them both roasted in there.

The tunnel out of Limansk was their last option. It was just there, so close, and it offered good cover. It would be definitely better than staying out in the open or, God forbid, actually going to Red Forest. Strelok sincerely hopped nothing tried to get in from that side. Limansk was no walk in the park, but he remembered Red Forest being a radioactive hell full of Monolithians, zombies, bloodsuckers and home of at least one vicious psy-dog. He was pretty sure a pseudo-giant wouldn't fit in the tunnel, so that was something he didn't have to worry about.

The inside of the tunnel was full of old vehicles and the occasional pile of debris where the walls had started to fall down. They found the remains of a campfire between two rusted cars, the ashes cold and brittle. Well, that meant no one had been here in a while. It was a spot as good as any to pass the night. Strelok sat down and proceeded to change the bandages on his leg, while Scar searched the cars for anything that could be of use.

"Find anything good?" Strelok idly asked him, suppressing a wince of pain when he tied the bandages around his swollen wound. It would be a godsend if they found more medkits or bandages.

"A loaded Makarov and a bottle of vodka." Scar showed him his bounty. So no, nothing good. Nevertheless, he supposed it was better than nothing at all.

The vodka was always good. Perhaps they should have saved it for later, to deal with the radiation in Red Forest, but sometimes you just need a drink. They sat side by side, reclined against the decaying wall, sharing a bottle of vodka in silence. If someone had told Strelok a week ago that he would ever be this close to Scar willingly, and without trying to gut him, he would have never believed it. And yet, here he was. He blamed the vodka.

Although Strelok had to admit having some company was almost nice. Almost. He still wanted to strangle Scar most of the time, but Strelok would keep his word. They were even for now. However, he didn't know why he helped him before, with the chimera. He could have just finished off the mutant after it killed Scar. Yet somehow that idea didn't sit right with him. Maybe it was because Strelok was a good person deep down. He hoped it wasn't because of any misplaced feelings of gratitude, because... A blood chilling screech rang in the distance, shattering his train of thought. They looked at each other in alarm. After a few seconds, when no unknown mutant or dangerous beast appeared, they relaxed slightly. Whatever that was, at least it wasn't close to them.

"What the hell makes that noise?" Scar asked before taking a long gulp of liquor.

"I don't know, and I don't think I want to meet the creature." Strelok scratched his neck, trying to forget how that sound froze the blood in his veins and made him want to scoot closer to Scar.

"You could invent a story and scare the rookies like everyone does." The mercenary suggested.

"I think there are enough tall tales floating around." He remembered many scare tales being told around campfires, especially in the rookie's camp. The majority of them were nonsense, and the ones that were true were vastly exaggerated after several retellings.

"Did you ever hear that one about some kind marsh creature similar to bloodsuckers, which can imitate voices and then drag you underwater until you drown?"

"Yes, it was a popular story amongst Clear Sky, even though their base was on a fucking swamp." Scar chuckled. He looked different when he did that, kinder. "I remember a fellow merc that used to swear there was an electric chimera roaming in Dark Valley. He said he fought against it, a monster that electrocuted its prey when it jumped at them. Bullshit."

From that point the conversation evolved into sharing some of the most outrageously fake stories that circulated in the Zone. Neither of them noticed it was the first time they carried on a wholly civil conversation for more than a minute. At some point, long after the vodka ran out and Scar closed his eyes, Strelok fell asleep against the mercenary's shoulder. He felt Scar putting his arm around him, but maybe he dreamt that part.

He awoke to total silence, yet Scar felt uneasy. Something wasn't right. However, he saw nothing unusual. His right side was unexpectedly cold, Strelok wasn't leaning against him anymore. What a shame, he'd felt so nice and warm pressed against his side.

The dim light of early morning painted some strange shadows on the tunnel walls, but nothing seemed to move around. Then he heard it, the wheezing sound and unnatural grunts. It sounded like a bloodsucker. They needed to get the fuck out of here. He elbowed Strelok to wake him up.

"Yes, I hear it." The stalker whispered, already awake. "Where's it coming from?"

"I'm not sure." He strained to hear better, but the sounds on the tunnel echoed weirdly. "Red Forest end, probably."

"I knew it." Strelok grumbled. Yeah, he could harp about how much he hated Red Forest all he wanted, once they were out of here.

Scar got up, ignoring the pain radiating from his stiff back, and helped Strelok up as well. The stalker gathered his backpack and went towards the exit to Limansk as quietly as possible. Scar followed behind him. The tunnel did indeed distort the sounds, but for a moment he believed he had the mutant just at his back, growling and grunting, prepared to attack. Scar halted and turned around, dreading what he might find. There was nothing. The noises echoed further down now and then stopped, like the mutant had gone away. He wasn't fooled, not even for a second. He observed the dark corridor intently and spied a pair of bright eyes in the distance. Shit, he hoped the bloodsucker hadn't seen him. Scar slowly backed away, paranoid that the mutant would attack him from behind the moment he turned away. Then he heard voices coming from the other end of the tunnel. That got his attention. Was Strelok saying something?

"And you said we wouldn't find anything worth it at these hours!" It wasn't Strelok talking.

That raised all kind of alarms in his mind. He would bet good money on bandits. God damn it that was the last thing they needed! He was too far away to hear everything they said, only the loudest words or sentences got to him. Scar crept closer, hidden in the shadows and readying his Vintar, waiting for the right moment to shoot.

"... it's better to rob the dead Yashka."

He was finally close enough to hear all they said. There were three bandits aiming their pistols at Strelok.

"First I want to have some fun. Don't you want to?"

He saw Strelok posture become rigid at such idea.

"S'not my type."

Scar watched the scene unfold through his scope. He followed the first guy's movements, ready to shot.

"Whatever Gleb, they all look the same from behind."

Scar pulled the trigger and observed with satisfaction as the bullet went through the bandit's head like it was a rotten watermelon.

"Fuck, this little shit wasn't alone!" The other bandit, Gleb, shot blindly in Scar's direction. He had a frightening accuracy, the bullets ricocheting uncomfortably close to him. Scar tried to gun him down, but he missed the shot.

The remaining bandit seemed to doubt between joining Gleb in his target practice or getting rid of Strelok. Making good use of his indecision, Strelok got his knife out and slashed the bandit's hand. The injured bandit screamed in pain and surprise as he dropped his pistol.

Amidst all this chaos, an invisible, hissing presence rushed past Scar, going directly to the thick of the action. All that noise had attracted the bloodsucker.

The mutant became visible and slashed at the face of Gleb the bandit, whom in turn emptied the pistol's clip shooting at the air, since the bloodsucker turned invisible once again and evaded the attack. Scar shot down the bandit while he was distracted by the mutant. Meanwhile, Strelok had managed to kill the other bandit, and now was nervously trying to locate the bloodsucker. Scar went out of the tunnel, also searching for the bloodsucker.

"Where the hell were you?" Strelok yelled at him. The grunting and hissing sounds came one moment from their right, next from the left. The bloodsucker was circling around them.

"I was trying to prevent the bloodsucker from following me," Scar replied.

"What an excellent job you did." The stalker deadpanned.

The bloodsucker growled and materialised before Strelok. He opened fire, making it stagger. Scar also turned around and shot at it. The damned thing still didn't die. It turned invisible once more and began their little dance around them again. The bloodsucker attacked Scar, catching him unaware and clawing at his right side. Strelok fired his SIG and half the bullets missed the target. The damn thing moved too quickly. It took yet another round of this weird choreography, with both Strelok and Scar shooting madly at it, until the bloodsucker dropped down.

"You alright?" Strelok asked while poking the mutant with the barrel of the rifle, making sure it was dead.

"Yeah, it only sliced my jacket." He liked his jacket, damn, but better to have holes on the coat than on his body.

Scar heard Strelok mutter something that sounded like "figures, the lucky bastard," and it brought a small smile to his lips. One of the bandits had been wearing an oversized trench coat, so Scar just took it. The bandit wouldn't need it anymore, and it was in better condition than his now slashed jacket. Of course, first he ripped out the faction patch on it; he wouldn't want to be mistaken for a bandit.

At long last they went into the tunnel and crossed into Red Forest.

Author’s note: well, here it is, the longest fic I've ever written (at least for now). I'm splitting this in two parts, I'll post the second one in a few days.

EDIT : Second part here

#S.T.A.L.K.E.R.#fanfic #Strelok #Scar #scar/strelok

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