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blueyesandleatherjacket · 5 years

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Ghost of you, 17/?

Volume: 1.

Number of parts: 17/?.

Pairings: Human!Nine x Rose; Human!Ten x Jack; Clara Oswald x Olivia Baxter (OC).

Synopsis: “Be thou spirit of health, or goblin damn’d, Bring thee air from heaven or blasts from hell, Be thy intents wicked or charitable, Thou com’st in such questionable shape That I will speak to thee.”

A/N: I've started writing this fiction last year after I had a particularly weird dream (as usual) and after I wrote the prologue, I've put it aside to work on other stuff. I've gone back to it not so long ago and decided that it would be the fiction I would post next, after not posting anything for a while. I must have watched I am legend and Game of thrones way too much to come out with something like this but I hope you will like it. I am not a scientist, nor did I have a particular knowledge of sciences. I do my researches on the internet like everyone to make sure everything is as close to the reality as possible. I have a literature degree only. Writing is what I do and it makes me explore next fields, and learn new things.

“Prithee, see there! Behold! Look! Lo! How say you? / Why, what care I? If thou canst nod, speak too. / If charnel houses and our graves must send / Those that we bury back, our monuments / Shall be the maws of kites.” - Macbeth, Shakespeare.

CHAPTER 17:

Eleventh day of October. Day 1755 since the infection. Jack Harkness video log. Our researches are finally leading us somewhere. We have all this different information scattered and we’re trying to make them fit together like pieces of a huge puzzle. The noctiagus isn’t a simple deadly virus like the pest or the cholera. Unfortunately. We have the necessary weapons against those. The noctiagus is more like a cancer. A corrupted cell corrupting everything around it until the body gives in. It seems like nothing since we can’t cure most of the cancers yet but knowing how the virus works is a huge step still. We can adapt our researches to it. That’s what we’ve done already. The doctor Clara Oswald and myself are currently trying to find a way to fix the DNA and stop it from changing to the contact of those corrupted cells. This would be a great improvement for the sick people. And for our friend. The doctor Martha Jones helped us synthesising this sort of temporary cure. It has the form of a tiny pill that can be swallowed with a bit of water. Nothing too complicated. Except we’re afraid of testing it. Our only living subject is Maxence and the latest report on his health isn’t great. Testing it on him can be too dangerous. I don’t want him to suffer more than he does at the moment. And none of us wants him to… we want him to hold on. It wouldn’t be fair if he was dying now. The thought of Maxence dying forced Jack to stop speaking for a moment. He didn’t turn off the recording. He just needed a moment to breathe deeply and pull himself back together. He looked down, moved away, took deep breaths. Maxence being infected was a hard blow on him but there still was that hope to save him. Maxence fighting the virus had been a good thing at first but now… he was dying and Jack couldn’t handle that. He was putting his brave face on when he had to face everyone but deep down… deep down, he wished for this nightmare to be over. With all the geniuses gathered in this place, how could this cure still be unreachable? Jack ended up turning off the recording. This entry to the video log was over. He couldn’t say more. There wasn’t anything more to say anyway. The main information was inside. He sent the video to their common server. He didn’t mind what would be murmured behind his back for being so emotional. They could say whatever they wanted. They could even go to hell. His friend was dying for fuck’s sake! His best friend, the man who saved him from the consequences of after war. It couldn’t end like that. It couldn’t end before Jack found a way to thank him for this. He let himself fall on his desk chair and rubbed his face. It was hard to focus and worry at the same time. He hated this situation as much as everyone else in this building except for Colin. Colin who couldn’t harm anyone anymore thanks to Tegan. “Last time I’ve seen you looking so defeated, you were refusing my job offer.” For a second, Jack thought he was hallucinating, that the lack of sleep had finally gotten to him, but his brain was telling him that Maxence was speaking to him. He raised his head. His boss was sat on the chair on the other side of the desk, his legs crossed, and was observing him. Jack was a former soldier. Consequently, he knew that hallucinations came to him in his moments of weakness and guilt. The guilt to still be alive, the guilt not to have been able to save the men and women and children around him, the guilt to have killed in order to survive. Right now, he was feeling guilty for not working faster, for not finding a concrete answer, for not being able to save his friend and he was beyond exhaustion. All he needed was damn good news and days of sleep. Which he wasn’t gonna get this time again. He was clever enough to ignore the image of his boss. Last time he had spoken with an hallucination, he was in the psychiatric unit of a military hospital. Weeks after he was sent back home, he had lost his mind. He had broken down and his boyfriend at the time had had to have him locked up for his own sake. They had broken up because of that decision but Jack now had forgiven him. It had been the best decision at the time and he couldn’t see it. After that, he had gone back to his first love: sciences. That’s how he had met Maxence, how he had arrived here today. “Good thing I’ve insisted.” “What are you here for this time?” The words had blurted out of his mouth before he could hold them back. He stared at his boss straight in the eyes and folded his arms on his chest. He was aware that he was talking to someone that wasn’t there but it was too tempting to answer, to have a proper response to his questions. However, this time, Maxence remained silent and his image flickered. He looked at his hand that was almost translucent and frowned. A usual reaction when something wasn’t going the way he thought it would. “I came to say goodbye, Jack.” The former captain felt his heart furiously beating against his ribcage as if it was gonna come out of his body at any time. It was painful but the physical pain was nothing compared to the psychological one these words caused in him. ‘I came to say goodbye’ could only mean one thing and Jack didn’t like the meaning of it. He didn’t wait for the next sentence this fake Maxence could say. He jumped to his feet and rushed out of his office. He ran to the underground part of the lab, to the place his painful heart and the stabbing alarm resounding through all the building was leading him: where everyone was gathered to watch the worst happening under their eyes…

Tegan had thought that now that he had figured out who was behind this worldwide mess, things would be easier. He just needed to transfer the information to his team and they would be able to work harder on the noctiagus. With a copy of all the researches done by Myrtle Appleton that he had found in Colin’s computer, they had everything in hand. They couldn’t fail now. He was done typing the mail. The attached documents were done charging in the mail. He clicked on the ‘send’ button, closed the messaging service window and moved from his chair to his couch. He barely had his eyes closed for a bit of rest that he was getting a call on his phone. He groaned, pressed a pillow on his face and tried to ignore the call. How was Maxence doing this job? Worse, how was Harvey dealing with this whole building so well? The phone stopped ringing and he felt guilty for being so relieved. What he wanted was just a little bit of rest. Like the rest of his team, he was way beyond the exhaustion. They were all holding on to the nerves to find that cure and it wasn’t a good thing. Saving Maxence was becoming very urgent – more urgent with every minute – but working in these conditions was pushing them to make mistakes. Or to miss someone who was sabotaging their researches. Tegan was still feeling like an incompetent idiot for almost killing his boss. His boss… The words felt strange now that he was the boss and Maxence was a simple patient in his special unit. A patient with very worrying scans. The virus was winning but Maxence refused to let go. This was killing him, and Tegan wondered if the mistake he had made hadn’t sped up the process. His phone rang again and he couldn’t ignore it anymore. It could be important. It could be a life or death question. It could also be nothing. There were still blokes who thought that they were funny by calling people and scaring them. The communication means were almost all down. The CRCD had its own aerials that were giving the whole building a constant access to internet and phone lines. It was a real blessing in times like this. They were rarely getting calls from the exterior but it sometimes happened, especially through radio frequencies. Usually, they were coming from survivors that were looking for loved ones or for help. Everything was written down in a notebook and transferred to the appropriate security services. The normal police had long lost this battle and Tegan ignored if the messages they were transferring were helpful to the persons who launched them. He finally picked up his phone on the third attempt of his caller to reach him and mumbled something in the speaker. He hoped that it was for something important because he wouldn’t move from this couch if this was just for a fight that had occurred somewhere in the building. It was up to the security to deal with that. He had had enough to do with Colin already. The news he was given was far more interesting though. He sat up quickly. “Say that again.” The man on the other side of the line repeated his words. “Let her in. Lock her in a crate and take her to one of the sterile rooms.” He ended the call and pushed the pillow away. He also pushed the fatigue away. It wasn’t time to sleep. Not anymore. Myrtle Appleton had decided to come into his realm and it was his duty to go and welcome her in person. She was infected but, unlike Maxence, she had all her abilities. It was another sort of sick person and he was willing to work on this. He would take care of her case personally. Scans, blood tests, saliva tests. Everything that would enable him to find the answers they were all craving for. If he hadn’t lost his trust in Adam, he would have taken him as his assistant. He would have learnt a lot but he had chosen Colin and Colin had ruined him. Now, Adam had been transferred to a lesser job and he had been advised to shut up about Maxence’s case or worse could still happen to him. Being fired, having this behaviour mentioned in his file and he was done in the job. He stopped by the lockers room and pulled on a hazmat suit. He wouldn’t lose any time. He would start working as soon as he got there. He was closing the door of his locker when he heard someone behind him. He jumped and turned around to find no one. Once again, he called himself an idiot for being so easily scared of a small noise, for being paranoid. “I’ve always known you would make a great boss for them all. You just needed someone believing in you and the necessary push.” This time again, Tegan jumped and turned back around. A pale image of Maxence was leaning against the lockers and looking at him. He had that smile a father would have after his kid told him about an achievement they would have done. Tegan was a scientist and didn’t believe in spectres. So, he just rubbed his eyes to get rid of their fatigue and passed through the ghost as if it wasn’t there. When it appeared again before him, he thought that maybe some help for this new case would be needed because he was really tired. “Be thou spirit of health, or goblin damn’d, Bring thee air from heaven or blasts from hell, Be thy intents wicked or charitable, Thou com’st in such questionable shape That I will speak to thee.” Tegan was quoting Hamlet in the beginning of the Shakespearean play when the young prince faced the spectre of his father for the very first time. His own ghost, the ghost of his mentor, seemed amused by the reference. If Tegan had believed in supernatural stuff, he would have been terrified by this. He had read enough Shakespeare to know what spectres could push you to do in their names, or just because they were the manifestation of a deep guilt. The Macbeths once experienced it and it led them to madness and death. “I am thy mentor’s spirit, Doom’d for a certain term to walk the night, And for the day confin’d to fast in fires, Till the foul crimes, done in my days of nature, Are burnt and purg’d away – Are you a man?” “Ay, and a bold one, that dare look on that Which might appal the devil.” From Hamlet to Macbeth, there was only one verse and they had crossed the line. Tegan thought that he might have fallen asleep in the end. This was too unreal for his liking. He had no time for such fantasy. He needed to wake up and quickly! “I’ve got no time for this.” “I’m proud of you, T. Keep up the good work.” “What?” The image faltered and, with a bright smile, it disappeared and Tegan was left alone in the corridor he had stopped in. For a couple seconds, he remained still, unable to move or think. Until the alarm went off. An alarm that made his blood speed up in his veins and fear crush his heart. He completely forgot about Myrtle Appleton, about her researches, about everything that wasn’t Maxence and he ran, ran like crazy toward the current disaster of the building.

Amy was standing in front of the wall of pictures. She was still in Maxence and Rose’s room but she was alone now. Rose had thought that taking a shower would do her a world of good after this failed nap – for her at least – and she had left Amy to observe her surroundings. The therapist wouldn’t say no to a shower. After such a deep sleep, she felt rested but she needed to refresh herself and to change clothes to feel even better. Rose had allowed her to have that shower here when she would be done and she would also lend her some clothes. It felt weird to Amy to have a friend willing to do so much for her. From what she could see on this wall, Rose was quite the popular girl. Her childhood might not have been one of the best but she had managed to beat fate and to build herself this life she could be proud of. These pictures were showing the story of Maxence and Rose’s life. It almost looked like a fairy tale to Amy. There was so much love between those two human beings that she was almost jealous. Her husband never loved her the way Maxence loved Rose. He never did any of the things Maxence had done for her. The scientist seemed like the perfect man that every woman was dreaming of. He wasn’t as handsome or sexy as those photoshopped playboys you could find in magazines but he had something. Charisma. Gentleness. Intelligence. A rare combination in a man. Rose had found the rare gem and everyone could be jealous about it. She hadn’t let the opportunity disappear thankfully. She had grabbed it and kept it and her knight in shining armour was now the damsel in distress. Funny how things could change quickly. Her eyes stared at another picture. A friends’ picture that looked almost like a family picture. Taken around Christmas time. Maxence and Rose were gathered with Allegro, Jack, Tegan, Clara and Olivia around a small barbecue on the balcony of some flat. Maxence was roasting some chestnuts on the fire. Amy regretted not having friends like this to share such a moment. Her last Christmas… When was it already? What had she done? Probably gotten drunk and been sick for the next few days. She used to love this celebration so much before. She was always overexcited when Christmas time was rolling around. But with William’s death… “It was our last Christmas.” Amy jumped. She hadn’t heard Rose coming out of the bathroom. She turned to face her. Her brown hair that she was usually colouring into blonde or red were falling on her shoulders, wet. She had pulled on clean clothes but hadn’t finished with her hair yet. That was why she had a towel around her shoulders so it wouldn’t soak her T-shirt. “Sorry. Thought you’ve heard me.” “It’s okay. I’ve got lost in your story.” “Almost a fairy tale.” “Definitely a fairy tale.” Rose sighed and sat on the bed. She used the towel on her shoulders to dry her hair the best she could without using a hairdryer. She would just do a quick ponytail. No need to do anything fancy for work. She needed to go back to Maxence. She needed to find this cure. “You can use the bathroom. I’m done with it.” She grabbed the brush on her bedside table and started brushing her hair slowly. She would dye it in any colour Maxence would like to if she managed to save him. If it was the contrary… She would certainly die. She wouldn’t have the strength to keep going. Amy didn’t move. Not yet. Her eyes were still on the pictures. She wished she had such a wall, such memories. It was never too late to start. Maybe when the virus would only be a bad memory. Maybe Rose would take her in that sweet band of friends. She turned around when she heard Rose gasp and drop her brush. Her face had gone pale and her eyes were wide open. She was staring at something beside Amy. The therapist looked at the wall but couldn’t see what was scaring her patient so much. “What do you see?” “Not in the mood for therapy,” retorted Rose. She suddenly was up. She walked to the spot right next to Amy and raised her hand much to the therapist’s astonishment because she couldn’t see what Rose was seeing: the pale figure of her husband standing there with an apologetic look. He avoided her touch. “I’m just an image,” he declared sadly. Tears filled her eyes and rolled down her cheeks silently as her hand fell back by her side. She never saw a ghost before but she knew how to tell that what was before her was real. His voice was distant, almost like an echo of lost words, and he was so pale she could see the wall and the pictures through him. As if he was nothing but a veil before her eyes. “Rose?” hesitantly called out Amy. “Why?” The question came out of her trembling lips. She had read enough books and myths to know that ghosts only appeared to the persons they loved. They were coming to say goodbye. A one last goodbye. There were people down there. They could save him before she even left this room. What were they doing? “I’ve never been that strong. My brain went through a lot when I was a boy. It couldn’t handle the virus any longer.” “You can’t…” Rose couldn’t form full sentences and Amy was watching her patient talk with a wall. Her attitude was clear enough: she was seeing her husband. It was her exhaustion and her anxiety playing tricks to her, making her hallucinate. She put her hand on her shoulder but Rose shrugged it off. She had no time to waste. Once again, she tried to touch Maxence. His image flickered and almost disappeared. She swallowed a sob. “I’m sorry, I wish our song wasn’t ending this way.” “I…” “I love you, Rose. In this life and all the others if they ever exist. Be strong for me, my love. Find this cure. Become the hero I’ve always known you were.” He bent over and she closed her eyes, thinking she would feel the ghost of his lips pressed against hers but there was nothing and when she opened her eyes, he was gone. She could have collapsed and cried but she swallowed the sobs again and rushed out of the room. She didn’t want this to end like this. Amy would have followed her if she hadn’t been facing the very same spectre Rose had been talking to. She opened her mouth but considering that he was barely visible now, that the image was fading away, she wouldn’t have time to say anything before he disappeared. He had one last thing to say and it was for her. “Take care of her for me. She’s the best woman you’ll ever meet.” “I will,” Amy promised. The next words he pronounced struck her. They were like a stab in her heart but in the good way. If a stab could be good in any way. ‘William wants you to know that he misses you and he’s happy you’re making friends again.’ Was he…? Her son… Was he around like Maxence? Could he see her and watch over her? She wanted to ask but Maxence was already gone and, the weight of these new words on her heart, she followed Rose’s path.

Liv was in Allegro’s cage when the alarm went off. Both of them raised their heads. Liv rushed to the interactive wall and checked Maxence’s vital signs. They were almost inexistent. She glanced at Allegro and mouthed a sorry before she rushed out of this cage to go to the other one. She dragged Maxence away from the broken bowl and spilled food and turned him on his side. The fall hadn’t hurt him badly but it was clearly not the matter now. She didn’t have time to lose. His heart was giving up because his brain was suffering from a severe pressure. The reason was unknown at the moment but they would find it later. Right pupil blown, cerebral fluid flowing through his nose. How had they missed the signs? They should have seen it long before this happen. She ran to the airlock and grabbed the medical bag she left there earlier. It would be very needed. She hurried back into the cage and knelt down beside him. She pulled out disinfectant and cleaned the area she was gonna work on. She hated this. She wasn’t a neurologist but she knew the process. She took the medical portable drill and cleaned it off quickly. Then, she pulled on latex gloves above the gloves of her suit and took a deep breath. Three fingers above the ear, two on the side of the blown pupil. A quick vertical cut. Ignore the blood. Place the drill in the middle of the cut. Drill a first hole. Behind the hairline, a bit off the midline. Second hole. Drill around the hole. Remove as much blood as possible. It was the process but she didn’t know what to do anymore now that the holes were pierced, now that the brain pressure was relieved. Tegan would know. That was his specialty. And she was just a simple doctor. Her eyes were clouded with tears as she was taking off as much blood as possible with gauze. Maybe a derivation would have been the best way but she hadn’t had time to do things properly. She was trembling. The life of her friend was between her hands and she was lost. “You can’t leave, Max. Not now, not when we’re so close. You gotta hold on. For Rose, for me. What will happen to us if you die?” She sniffled. Her tears were flowing. She didn’t hold them back anymore. “Rose will survive. She’s strong, she can do it but me? I need you. I need my friend. I need the man who saved my life and got in troubles for helping me. I need the man who gave me a second chance, the man who healed me with his kind words and hugs and support. I need to hear you tell bad jokes and I’ll laugh along even if it’s not funny. I need to see your smile again to think that the world is a good place. I need your presence to stop thinking that I’m unworthy, to think that I have my spot in this world. I need you to keep me above the water because I can’t do this without you, Max. Do you know how many times I’ve thought about dying and you’ve just come around and get this out of my head? Do you know how many times I’ve told myself that I couldn’t disappoint you after all you’ve done for me? Now is not the time, Max. This is not your time. I won’t let you.” She wiped away her tears. She couldn’t focus, couldn’t see a thing because of them. She was still cleaning that blood. There was too much, way too much and she was afraid that she might have done wrong. What if she had killed him instead of saving him? Rose would kill her this time. She would be so angry and devastated that she would kill her for ruining her husband’s last chance. “Please,” she begged. “Please, don’t die on me now.” Maxence had come to her too but she wasn’t seeing him. He was standing beside her, beside his wrecked body and was sadly looking at the scene, at his friend. She couldn’t see him because he was too translucent, couldn’t hear him because he was too weak but he was there. He put a hand on her shoulder. “I believe you’re stronger than you think you are, Olivia.” He was the only one able to use her full name, a name she hated for reasons only Rose and him knew now. “I believe you will go on with your life without me. And it’s gonna be fantastic.” He gave a small sad smile at the scene. He wished she could have heard him. He wished she could see how strong she was. He had been their cornerstone for so long and now, they were gonna have to learn how to live without him. It would be hard at first, but with time, it would be okay. He would find a way to stay around them, when he would be less tired. He closed his eyes. Now was his time to go…

To be continued...

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In the next chapter:

She could hear his voice now but she didn’t react to it. It was her grief speaking. Just a memory in a spectral form. It was no way to remember this fantastic man. She preferred keeping the precious memories of him smiling and laughing, the priceless image of the man who took her out of the orphanage when she was sixteen, the picture of him bruised after he got involved in a fight with his biological father who was responsible for her rape, for her miscarriage and her now inability to carry children. She remembered the many nights spent on the phone with him because she couldn’t sleep without nightmares, the many times he came over so she wouldn’t be alone and do something she would regret later.

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#doctor who #ninth doctor #rose tyler #tenth doctor #jack harkness #doctor x rose #ficandchips #dwfic #dwau #ghost of you

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pcurrytravels · 6 years

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Las Vegas - A Love Hate Thang (Chapter II: The Ultimate Paradox)

Something I’ve noticed about my hometown: This place really thrives off of paradoxes and oxymorons.

Our outlook? Perpetually stuck in the future (*points at the innumerable mothballed construction sites dotting our local landscape*). Our attitude? Perpetually stuck in the past (You know, it would have been a good idea to start diversifying our local economy after how hard we were hit by the recession, but instead we went right back to putting all of our eggs in the tourism, gaming, nightlife and real estate industries)

Our demographics (in just about every area imaginable) look like gumbo these days. But don’t hold your breath on that explosion of flavors you were expecting, because culture-wise? We still taste like chicken noodle soup.

“Minors are not to be anywhere near the slots, alcohol, nightclubs or any of the other sinful stuff!” Is that right? Then explain why all of the movie theaters, bowling alleys, video arcades and even high school graduations are located within casinos please.

“We have so much love for our local community!” Yeah, you speak so highly of us when the “needs” of tourists, conventioneers, celebrities and, well, literally everyone except the city’s residents are fulfilled first, effectively rendering us as second-class citizens within our own city.

None of these things sound like they make any sense, do they? Welcome to Las Vegas baby!

I could come up with numerous examples to be honest. I mean, I have lived here for nearly my whole life, so I think I can talk, but the paradox I personally find the most disturbing is this: We love to act like we’re this world class, progressive and forward-thinking metropolitan area on par with places like NYC and L.A. when the truth of that matter is, we’re essentially an overgrown Western hick town that just so happens to have a giant theme park for adults in the middle, a lot of traffic, some fancy houses and more diversity than usual.

When I first went to San Francisco back in 2011, I was in awe. There were so many things that shocked and caught me off guard.....in a good way. I won’t go into detail, but let’s just say they were all things that I KNOW would never fly here in Vegas, and yet we’re supposed to be “Sin City.” (And, although I didn’t see much of it myself during my excursions to these places, some of the people in this thread from Quora are saying that even NYC and LA are more lenient about a lot of these “sinful” things than we are these days. Can’t say I’d doubt it)

Yes, we are Sin City in terms of gambling and sports betting, alcohol, tobacco and now marijuana consumption, sex-related entertainment and services (and even then it’s all so sanitized and PG-13 these days it barely even qualifies), quickie marriage/divorce and a history with organized crime. Beyond that, however? Let’s just say we have a lot more in common with Arizona and Mississippi than we do with Amsterdam.

Remember how in the first chapter of this series I told you all that I felt it was best to keep my thoughts and feelings about Las Vegans in general to myself? Okay, let me give you a tiny little sample: When talking to the typical Las Vegan, you’re more likely to be treated to the stereotypical thought process of either a flyover country redneck, a resident of a southern small town or a suburban high school student than you are that of someone who resides in a city with a global presence. Odd as it may seem, especially when this place’s international influence is taken into account, believe me, tis’ true.

Having to constantly deal with such a smug, judgmental, provincial, insular and occasionally, dare I say it, behind the times populace is already exasperating enough on its own, but this is only further complicated by the relentless insistence that we aren’t. Not at all to say such a mindset is ever okay (nor am I saying that EVERYONE in these types of locales thinks and/or behaves in this manner), but at least towns and cities in flyover country, the old west and the deep south are HONEST about being stuck in their narrow-minded and prejudicial ways.

Vegas on the other hand takes part in a charade wherein an image of being a forward-thinking and cosmopolitan metropolis is played up only to turn around and gag at the thought of actually embracing those same progressive ideals and values when no one’s looking. (Meta-Tangent: Mind you, we actually do have most of the ingredients to be that type of city already. The things we’re missing come as a result of having a populace that’s insistent on talking the talk but not walking the walk) Although I certainly don’t agree with it, I can at least respect the former to a point, compared to the latter which is just annoying, frustrating, and doesn’t make any damn sense. In layman’s terms, we’re total latte liberals.

.......okay, maybe it’s not THAT bad. (Hey, this is called a “Love Hate Thang,” remember?)

There are certain pockets that are slowly evolving into the sort of environment that reminds me of SF and LA where things are more laid back and “free” if you will. See: DTLV/East Fremont, 18b Arts District, The Naked City, Huntridge, Winchester, the “Central” East Side if that makes sense, Charleston Heights, West Sahara (for the Las Vegans reading this: sounds general AF, I know), the Fruit Loop/Harmon Corridor, the University District, Paradise Palms/Maryland Parkway Corridor and (to a lesser extent) Chinatown/Asiatown.

The rest of the city and the suburbs on the other hand leave quite a bit to be desired in the department of open-mindedness in my not so humble opinion. So it should be no surprise that I spend nearly all of my time in the aforementioned neighborhoods these days. I feel much closer to my element in these places than I do even in my home neighborhood/suburb of Spring Valley, most of which I don’t even touch with a ten foot pole ever since moving away.

Meta-Tangent: Having grown up in Spring Valley and the Western suburbs, I know from experience that most people out there are DEATHLY afraid of venturing into any of these areas. A lot of it has to do with the perceived danger of them, despite all the evidence to the contrary (I know, I know, pretty general article, but given that I live here, I can tell ya: these murders, robberies, violent and sexual assaults have been occurring EVERYWHERE. However, a large amount of residents as well as our local media would be insistent in having you believe it’s all taking place Downtown or in the long-maligned northern, eastern and central portions of the city/metro area).

On the other hand, there’s also a lot of people who condescendingly put these parts of the city down just because they’re old, even though those horrible old houses they’re talking about are actually of far better aesthetic quality and much more structurally sound. Meanwhile, these same snobs are living in cheaply-built, cookie-cutter homes that were probably slapped together in a week and will likely start falling apart in five years.

As for my honest opinion? These are only half-truths. I know for a fact that a lot of them are just being low-key racist and high-key classist/elitist. I also have a pretty strong theory that the strong hatred, fear and/or disdain people in the western suburbs have for these areas is because they know it’s a different world from the provincial, suburban bubbles they choose to live in. Oh well, that’s fine by me. Let those of us who actually are forward-thinking and progressive have all the fun. /tangent over.

Truth be told, none of this should really come as a surprise if you take a deeper look into this city’s history. Although, eschewing the thousand year legacy of the Paiutes, the modern-day origins of Las Vegas can be traced to Spaniards; being along the Old Spanish Trail and even being named “The Meadows” in Spanish due to the abundance of grassy meadows, hot springs and rivers in the area back then (all of which have long disappeared thanks to urbanization), the first permanent settlement here was a fort built by Mormon missionaries.

That’s right, “Sin City” owes it’s existence to the same people with a stance on women that’s perpetually stuck in the 19th century, have beliefs that not-so-subtly imply black people are afflicted by the curse of Cain and wear very prudish undergarments (although the whole polygamy thing is probably what we have to thank for our quickie marriage/divorce culture). On top of that, while hidden from the naked eye, Mormons still have an active influence on the politics and overall society of this city with some very vocal moral guardians, always letting themselves be heard when things get “too” sinful.

Oh, another thing: In the early/mid-20th century there was a place that was known as the Mississippi of The West. Where do you think it was? Utah? Arizona? Nope! It was right here in Nevada. They really did go hard with the Jim Crow thing here back in the day. Why, Sammy Davis Jr. couldn’t even walk through or have a drink in the same casinos where he performed to rave audiences for goodness sake. Now, that level of injustice and segregation is unheard of nowadays, but there’s many lingering signs of this era that can still be felt. They’re subtle, but they’re there. (Psst! The mascot of our local university was originally a confederate soldier. Seriously. In more recent years he’s been made to look like a cowboy instead but still)

Lastly, we grew from a small town in the desert where people from California and the Midwest came to gamble and watch showgirls to a rapidly growing metro area which plays host to a world-renowned resort, nightlife and fine dining destination that attracts people from all over the world. Almost literally overnight. Just about any Vegas native born before the late nineties can tell you stories of playing in the desert as a kid, including yours truly. All of us can remember when that housing development, Walmart, school, park, or whatever was a vacant lot. In turn, despite the growth, this leads to a fairly large portion of natives who are very much stubbornly stuck in their small town ways, many of whom are insistent on teaching their ways to their offspring unfortunately.

The ingredients and the potential. We already have it. In terms of demographics, we’re a total melting pot. We’re located in one of the nine states where recreational cannabis use is legal and the only one where prostitution is legal (even though it’s not allowed in our county for whatever strange, puritanical reason). We have all the makings of a sexually-liberated, alternative/counterculture/subculture/generally non-conformist paradise. There is a growing and active community of creatives. And yet, a lot of this growth in the realm of free-thinking is borderline stunted thanks to the Mormon influence, the Mississippi-esque history and the small town attitude.

Alas, even though Vegas may be living proof that a physical city can grow and change overnight, culture and community are two things that can’t change overnight, no matter how you slice or dice it. I regularly find myself pining for the Vegas of my childhood during the nineties; when it was far larger than a town but barely a city. I’d also love to experience Vegas during the 60s, 70s and 80s (minus the racism part, obviously), but at the end of the day, these are just frivolous ideologies. A more substantial wish would be that the local attitude and mindset finally catches up with the rapid population growth, urban development and all of the related side effects. My fondness for the neighborhoods listed above is a direct result of this desire I have. They represent what I wish all of Vegas could be.

As a new age and generation comes into play, perhaps this wish will be reality one day soon. Until next time.

#Las Vegas #a love hate thang #musings

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kiraalexander · 7 years

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BCS/Young Pope AU part cuatro:

Valente led Jimmy up another flight of stairs, and Jimmy was beginning to get worried that he wouldn’t be able to find his way out again.

“So, uh, where are we going?” he asked, trying to keep his voice down. He had no idea whether there were any cardinals asleep behind the imposing doors they were passing, but his footsteps echoed ominously on the gleaming floor. Father Valente’s shoes, on the other hand, didn’t make a sound.

“The holy father wishes to see you,” Valente said implacably.

“Yeah, you said that,” Jimmy said, his voice raising involuntarily, then hastily lowering it again. “But isn’t his office back that way?”

“Yes,” said Valente, “It is.” Then he turned, and continued ascending the stairs.

Those stairs led to a tightly coiled spiral staircase, which Jimmy ascended, trying not to rattle the metal and cause more of a racket. When the staircase ended in a tiny smoked glass bubble of a vestibule, Valente opened a door embedded in one translucent wall and stepped back, holding it open for Jimmy to step through. “Please,” he said, and when Jimmy stepped onto the roof, he retreated, closing the door behind him before descending the stairs.

And there he was, standing in front of the thick stone railing that partitioned the roof of St. Peter’s Basilica from the empty air over the vast square below. He stood like he always did, perfectly ramrod straight, and maybe that’s why Jimmy started thinking of his mother - how she’d always grab his shoulders and wrench them up when she caught him slouching. “You’ll get a hunch, like Father Thomas,” she’d say. Father Thomas walked with a permanent shuffle, his head jutting out in front of him, and his shoulders a rounded hunch that threatened to go higher than the top of his head. Still, he always said a short homily, which was why Jimmy always signed up to serve at his mass. Father Thomas sucked horehound drops almost constantly, and it mixed with the communion wine and his halitosis into a sweet and sour reek that Jimmy forever associated with Latin. Sometimes he gave the altar boys a piece of the candy after service. The other kids joked about how gross it was, but Jimmy always secretly liked the bitter herbal flavor. He tasted it now, and wondered what Father Thomas would say if he knew Jimmy were on top of the Basilica of St. Peter, about to talk with the pope.

Of course, that would entail Father Thomas knowing what Jimmy had been doing with the pope over the past few weeks, and the thought made his stomach twist.

He tried to dispel it by walking forward - after all, it was a little late to start getting squeamish - and realized that the pope’s silhouette was all wrong. There was no capelet thingy - what the name of it was, he had no idea. Kim would know, she knew every stitch these people wore, there was some fancy name for everything. But he wasn’t wearing it. Instead, he was wearing what looked suspiciously like a hoodie.

Well, Jimmy decided, even popes were allowed to be comfortable now and then. He cleared his throat a little, just in case Valente’s “please” hadn’t signalled that he’d arrived, but the pope didn’t turn around. So Jimmy walked up beside him, and put his hands on the heavy stone balcony.

“This is quite a view,” he said, then cleared his throat in embarrassment. “Your, uh, holiness.”

“Yes, isn’t it?” the pope said. “I didn’t even know you could come up here before I was elected.”

“Well. Thank you for showing it to me-”

“No. Don’t thank me. I’m being entirely selfish.”

Jimmy didn’t know what to say to this, so he stayed still, rubbing the pads of his fingers on the smooth stone of the balcony until his holiness continued. “I usually ask Don Tomasso up here when I can’t sleep. But it seems he’s taken ill and needs some rest.” Finally he turned to look at Jimmy. “You can’t honestly be happy that I dragged you out of bed at two in the morning.”

Well, Jimmy thought, but decided not to vocalize this particular train of thought. “To be honest, I was having trouble sleeping myself.” At least this wasn’t a lie. He hadn’t even been in bed, or even undressed - he’d been pacing his tiny room in the Casa Santa Marta after Kim had given up the ghost and stopped work for the night.

“Well then, you can thank me,” the pope said, turning back to look over the square.

“Thank you,” said Jimmy. “Holiness.”

The pope made a satisfied little sound in the back of his throat at this, but didn’t say anything further, leaving Jimmy floundering as to how he’d fill the silence. He tried to go back to what he’d been thinking about, and landed on Kim. She’d been agitated when he’d come back from his… well, one on one audience with the pope in the afternoon, and for a few heart-stopping minutes, he’d thought she’d found them out. Finally, after he’d nagged her, she’d told him what her real problem was.

“So,” he started. “Kim - Ms. Wexler - told me that she’d talked to the head of marketing for the Vatican - and she heard you were refusing to have your picture taken? For any of the new merch?”

“That’s right,” the pope said, with the edges of a satisfied smirk.

“Huh,” Jimmy said. “That’s - I mean, it’s different. Like, I remember my mom had a whole shelf full of commemorative plates. Paul the sixth, John Paul the first, but John Paul the second - man, she really loved that guy. She had at least five, six of those plates alone, you know.” Glancing to one side, he saw that the pope’s expression hadn’t changed. “Not that I’m saying you should do it if you don’t want to, right? Just, you know, if my mom were still around, she’d probably double her order for you. I mean, you’re kind of a looker.”

“Oh, you noticed that?” the pope said, bringing his fist to his mouth, and leaving a cigarette parked there when he withdrew it. He lit it, and Jimmy looked away to avoid that dry craving in his mouth that he felt whenever Kim lit up in front of him. Ostensibly he didn’t smoke any more, and never bought for himself, and he knew it was a shitty thing to do to bum whenever he was with someone smoking. So instead he looked away and just breathed the secondhand smoke as hard as he could. He thought about the incense that Father Thomas used to swing in the censer, how rich and heavy it smelled compared to the shitty stuff he used to get to hide the smell of weed on his clothes.

“The plates,” the pope said. “Let me guess. Franklin Mint?” The disdain with which he cut off the final plosive was palpable.

“Oh no,” said Jimmy. “Bradford Exchange. Much classier.” This brought the first genuine smile to the pope’s face, and Jimmy felt his shoulders relax a little.

“It’s still tacky,” the pope said. “Just more expensive. I couldn’t bear to be party to tackiness. Don’t you think it’s inherent, that tackiness, to being flattened out? Reduced to a two-dimensional image? Perhaps that’s the trouble with the Word, after all. When it’s pressed into a page, when it’s flattened, it loses its breath and its life. Perhaps that’s why it’s so hard to - to hear.”

Jimmy turned to look at his face, and was startled to see the pope looking back. “Look,” he said, and grabbed Jimmy’s arm, pulling him back to a bench facing the balcony rail, sitting him down thigh to thigh as the edge hit them both behind the knee. “Look,” he said again, pointing upward to the stars above the square. “Each and every one of those tiny dots is greater than a world, and made entirely of fire. The distance between them is so vast that we could never hope to travel a fraction of it. But when we look up, all we see is white spots on a black canvas. Flat. And we tell our fortunes by them.” He scoffed, sending a stream of smoke through his nose. “That’s the danger of a two-dimensional image.”

He flicked his cigarette butt over the balcony, and the red, dying sparks it gave off seemed to momentarily join the white stars overhead.

“They’re trying to flatten me,” the pope said. “Every single one.”

“They can’t,” Jimmy said compulsively, and the pope scoffed.

“There’s so many of them,” he said. “Every single person in that square. Every member of the clergy. Every middle aged housewife with a John Paul the second commemorative plate. They want to turn me into a thing. And in the end, they will.”

“No,” Jimmy said. “You’re going to burn.” And because he couldn’t think of anything better to do to get the message across, he snaked his hand up the thigh of the pope’s track suit trousers, to find him already hard.

The pope’s breathing didn’t quicken as Jimmy worked, but seemed to get more deliberately slow and calm. He even lit another cigarette, and closed his eyes only after he’d taken the first few drags. So it was Jimmy breathing hard, feeling the first beads of sweat on his forehead, trying not to think that this was the pope, the goddamn pope, and only that he was breathing an inch away from the man’s neck.

He had to be careful, he’d figured that out weeks ago. The man was wearing all white after all, so when the moment came, Jimmy made sure to position his palm just so to avoid any staining of the pope’s pristine athleisure. He tried to hold his breath, but it came out in ragged exhalations in spite of himself. He felt desperate to press himself against the

Christ almighty, pope?

man next to him, to feel his tongue along the back of his own teeth, the back of his hand doing - what, he didn’t care, something.

When the pope moved, Jimmy surged against him, but met stolid resistance. The pope took a last drag from his cigarette, and flicked it, as with the first one, over the balcony, letting the sparks from the cherry wink out in the black. Then he stood, adjusted his track suit bottoms, and pulled something from the pocket. He threw it at Jimmy.

“Clean yourself up,” he said. “Valente will see you out when you’re finished.”

It was only after the pope had vanished down the spiral stairs that Jimmy realized he’d been given a linen handkerchief with the papal insignia embroidered on it in delicate, tiny stitches. As he used it to scrub come off his palm, all he could think of was how much his mother would have loved it.

#welp here we are #actually it's my first m/m scene so sorry it's a bit perfunctory #i've never been big on long detailed sex scenes #we'll get a bit more prose when sofia seduces kim over a dinner she pretends to cook herself and amaro laced espresso #bcs #lil' pope #better call st. paul #jimmy mcgill #lenny belardo #up on the roof #oh btw again this is completely unedited

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