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aquitainequeen · 3 years

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All Is Bliss (Until Someone Loses An Eye): Chapter One: This Is A Glorious Day/Nightmare; Strike Out As Appropriate

Special thanks to @fairy-anon-godmother and @yototothelalafell for being rubber ducks to my rant about this chapter, and to @ellynneversweet for so kindly reading it through several times as it hinged on completion!

(Previous Chapter)

When Vlad closes the doors behind Marial, that’s when Catharine asks her, ‘The Sun Summoner. Is she the real thing, or a fake?’

Marial halts so quickly that the items on the breakfast tray rattle. ‘Really? You’re asking me this?’

‘’Well, yes. Of course.’

Marial sets down the tray and promptly starts raiding it. ‘Real. Kirigan wouldn’t have any part of this if she were a fraud, and he would’ve tested her the moment she was brought before him. She’s real.’

So: Yes, yes, yes! Catherine finally releases all the bubbling joy and it’s flowing everywhere like sparkling wine foaming out of her glass . It’s like the time when she was lording it over Angelique about going to the East to be Empress; it’s the moment she went to her knees and first kissed the ground of East Ravka, greeting it, marrying it. Saints, saints, thanks to you all, how you love me!

What to say, how to say it? Upon this cornerstone she’ll build her claim. ‘The Sun Summoner. Ravka’s shining blazing hope, rising to banish the darkness and the divide in our beautiful land.’ Catherine thumps her clenched first against her breast, that will be most affecting. ‘So soon after I crossed the Fold from West to East, the Sun Summoner rose up to help me light the path ahead, for Ravka and my people —’

‘Who are you talking to?’ Marial says through a mouth full of soft cheese, lounging against the settee. It does not bode well for future speeches.

Nonetheless, Catherine persists: ‘Practising. For when the time is ripe. This is an auspicious beginning for my journey to true power. Ravka’s saviours have emerged together to free our land and our people from tyranny and shadow.’

‘Maybe get some food in you, before you go any further with the speechmaking and the grand plans?’

Impudent; but, Marial is right. This is going to need a full belly and some careful thought. She will have so many blinis with sweetened soured clotted cream and jam, oh, and some tea filled with more jam, sweetness galore!

Marial sticks with the cheese and a plain cup of tea. ‘What did Kirigan say about her? In his letter?’

‘Apparently not much; Orlo says he likely dashed it off before starting back to Os Alta from the Fold. He’s sent the Sun Summoner ahead of him, heavily guarded. Her name’s Alina Starkova, isn’t that just so perfect? She’s young, she’s a cartographer in the First Army. Or,’ Catherine’s throat twitches, a gulp of tea to moisten it up, ‘she was a cartographer. She’ll never have to sketch a map again.’

‘So…’ Marial makes Catherine wait while she takes her own sip of tea. ‘The Sun Summoner just happens to emerge, right at this point, after escaping notice in the First Army for years?’

‘Evidently. What about it?’

Marial fusses with her cup. ‘Seems a bit convenient. How was she able to go without being discovered for so long?’

‘By the Grisha testers?’

‘They test every child in Ravka. Every child. How did they miss her? How did she hide her powers for so long?’

Catherine swallows more of her tea and her why does it matter? because clearly Marial thinks it does and if she’s going to be Empress in her own right, she needs to start thinking beyond the first flush of joy, the fantasy of a storybook romance and a cute pet bear. ‘Maybe she wasn’t tested. There are so many people in East Ravka and the records are shoddy, some people are bound to slip through the cracks.’ Not that this will happen in the future. When she is in power there will be bread, freedom and security for all, never mind what Marial and Orlo say, and all voices will be heard.

Marial sits on the chaise’s arm. ‘And she’s never shown her powers before now? The baby Grisha in the Little Palace are always losing their tempers and causing uproar. One of them killed a man by accident, once, right in front of me.’

‘You’re not serious.’

‘I’m absolutely serious. Though admittedly Count Kireyev was an absolute cunt, and the Emperor thought it was hilarious, so all was forgiven.’

Catherine is not going to ask what exactly happened to the cuntish Count Kireyev , if Peter of all people found it amusing. ‘Well. If she couldn’t control her powers, then she would have been found before now.’ She twists about in her seat and manages to catch and hold Marial’s eye. ‘And if you’re suggesting she’s a spy, then she wouldn’t have survived in Fjerda and in Kerch they’d have enslaved her.’

‘Granted. What do you think she’s like?’ The last question is a little less sour and more intrigued, so it deserves some consideration.

Cuddling into cushions, Catherine licks up jam and thinks. All those old performances of Sun Summoner plays from her girlhood, before the independence movement began stirring and they fell out of fashion. A girl in yellow, fighting and bashing other dancers in black, and now the story those girls performed has stepped out of myths and legends! It’s all too much! What’s most important now?

‘She will be… tall. Golden haired,’ as she tucks her hair strand back in place and takes up her cup again. ‘Graceful...polite, delicate, refined, poised, punctual.’

‘Did you get that from another one of your books? What was it on, deportment?’

‘From my mother. She gave me a grand speech about how I should make myself pleasing to my husband. She said they were the ideal qualities of a perfect wife.’

Catherine could picture her mother’s face. She could imagine her standing tall, golden and graceful, refined and poised, splendid and outshining her scant finery. She’d rather fantasize about grabbing her mother, shaking her, knocking her to the ground, getting in her face and screaming what were you thinking to send me here, to him, so unprepared; did you know, did you know what he was?

Best just to focus on the bright sunshine coming through the window, and to sip her tea.

They both chew and swallow several times before Marial speaks again: ‘If the Sun Summoner’s from the First Army, she’ll likely be none of what you just mentioned. Chances are she’s a foul mouthed, filthy peasant, with mud coloured hair underneath all the dirt. You really want to ally yourself with something like that?’

Marial’s only being her usual sour and snarkish self, true, but Catherine bites down hard on I’m allied with you right now, aren’t I? Marial might technically be all of those things at this very point in time (save the filthiness) but Catherine herself is not one of the bitchy court ladies. Though, need Marial be so sour and snarkish about everything again?

‘Of course I do. And why are you so determined to be gloomy, when a new hope has dawned over Ravka?’

‘Gloom is my refuge, Empress. A servant has no right to react, even to the country’s salvation.’

Catherine’s fingers are sticky from the jam, but Marial needs a hand on her wrist to shake her out of staring at nothing and her desolation, right now. ‘You’re not going to be a servant for much longer, Marial. Don’t let it grind you down.’

Marial smiles all sharp. ‘I’m already placing my hope in you, Empress. Placing it in the Sun Summoner as well is deadly. Hope’s such a dangerous thing.’ And she’s keeping her hand limp in Catherine’s, like a loose glove filled with long stones, too wary to grasp.

‘I will kill Peter. And you will be free.’ Catherine tears off a bit of blini with her teeth, just to prove her point, and it does get Marial smiling a little softer!

That’s enough touching, now; time to let Marial go, time to be Empress again. ‘And if Alina Starkova has served in the First Army, she’s no doubt brave, noble, bold, courteous and devoted to her mother country.’

‘No doubt. Have you ever spoken to one of the First Army’s soldiers, Empress?’

‘No?’

‘Then you’re in for a treat.’

Catherine sniffs and looks back to the window, the sunshine quite lovely on her cheeks. ‘Alina Starkova will also naturally be tender, compassionate and joyous.’

‘That I do doubt. It’s been a long war, Empress, and no one has gotten much joy from it, save the Emperor.’

‘Then that is one more thing I will have to remedy, when I take the throne. I should make some notes. Where’s the paper? This is a glorious day.’

***

‘This is a fucking nightmare.’ Thus, Orlo opens their latest council of war. It is not glorious.

‘Orlo, not you too! She’ll banish the Fold, she’ll help me reunite Ravka.’ And when Orlo raises a finger to try and cut in or tell her to just wait a moment while he waffles on, Catherine only says louder, ‘In what way, pray tell, is this a nightmare?’

‘It’s!’ Orlo actually seems close to panicking; listen, listen. It must be important. ‘It’s not the Sun Summoner, that’s actually very good. But I hoped we’d have months. I thought you would be far more established at court by the time Kirigan got back, you would have been able to meet him fully secured in your role. Right now Peter’s only barely been persuaded out of killing you, the Apparat’s support is fleeting, all the court ladies are wary of you, and the Little Palace thinks you’re an utter joke.’

Well. Hardly a pleasant thing to hear, but regrettably true for his first three points. Marial gets there before Catherine when it comes to the fourth: ‘How the fuck do you know what they’re saying about her in the Little Palace?’

Orlo clearly already regrets everything. ‘I. Well. I have a few acquaintances there.’

‘What kind of acquaintances? Is it a Heartrender? Big, beefy Heartrender? I can see the appeal; the best ones can make you come without even touching you.’ Marial tries her best to bring her lips to Orlo’s ear as he tries his best to get away. ‘Multiple. Times.’

‘Fuck’s sake!’ Orlo decamps to a place of greater safety, so Marial gets the whole of the settee to lounge upon. ‘I have to discuss aspects of Peter’s policy with Kirigan’s delegates on occasion. You know, my job.’

‘Oh, disappointing. Once again I’m reminded just how boring a life you lead.’

Once Marial shuts up, Catherine can finally get her word in. ‘So, wait, you actually talk to the Grisha, Orlo?

They stare at her like she’s a pet bear.

‘Well, yes. Of course. If we wish.’

‘They can even talk back, if they wish. They’re not servants.' Marial stands up all of a sudden at that, just in case someone bursts in and catches her lounging.

‘Do you not talk to them? Empress?’ This from Orlo, beginning to look most worried. Is Catherine the cause of that? She can’t lose him now! What does he want her to say?

‘Our estate wasn’t near enough to the border, or wealthy enough, to merit one being in residence. And any children on our land who were discovered were sent to the Little Palace right away. The first time I ever saw a Grisha up close was during the journey through the Fold, and then I wasn’t allowed to talk to them for fear they’d get distracted and we’d all die with the Volcra chewing our guts.’

They all nod. Indeed, something to be avoided at all costs.

‘And then I saw some of them were at the wedding banquet, but none of them got near enough.’

‘Empress, may I just ask –’ No, no! Orlo is worried by her now. By what she’ll say. What did she do wrong? ‘What are your attitudes towards the Grisha?’

Careful, careful. ‘How do you mean?’

Marial, casting her eyes up in thought: ‘Well, let’s see; do you think they’re demons walking around in human skins and devoid of souls?’

‘What? No!’

‘There, you see?’ Marial ignores Catherine to look at Orlo. ‘Already she’s doing better than the Church.’

‘Oh saints, do people here actually still believe that?’

‘A few.’ Marial considers. ‘Mmm, more than a few. Most of the peasants. Some of the more devout and stupid nobles. The Apparat, on his bad days.’ She spots Catherine’s face and grimaces. ‘Yeah, he and Kirigan don’t really get along.’’

This from Orlo, clasping his hands like he’s ready to rub them in glee — not worried now, is he?! ‘What is your position on the rise of indentured servitude inflicted upon the Grisha in Kerch, and particularly Ketterdam?’

‘Abominable, of course!’

Orlo hisses Yes! and pumps his fist. ‘And if Kirigan should ask what you think of the fact that General Zlatan’s likely turning a blind eye to Fjerda raiding West Ravkan ports, and abducting Grisha?’

Catherine bites down hard on He’s fucking doing what? because she isn’t talking to Orlo now, this is merely a prompt for when she will be speaking to Kirigan, who will be judging her and cannot find her wanting when it comes to the Second Army, his army, her army. ‘I would say that — that Zlatan is a fool and a traitor towards Ravka, to not only let her subjects be captured and slaughtered by her enemies, but to actually permit it.’

‘All right. That’s wonderful! Oh saints, that’s such a relief.’ Orlo almost falls into a chair, takes off his glasses and rubs away the sweat.

While he recovers, Catherine turns to Marial. ‘I just thought, because Peter was the only one to speak to them at the banquet, no one else was of high enough rank? Or we both are, as Emperor and Empress. But the nobility can talk to them as well?’

Marial shrugs. ‘Even we servants can; but, that’s the thing. You can, but why would you want to?’

Catherine meets Orlo’s eye. Once more she feels his kindred spirit, how he pleads with all his soul for her to deliver him from this uneducated hellhole, he hates it here too.

‘Aside from the fact that I need to get the Second Army on my side, why would you not want to? When they practise the Small Science? When their existence so thoroughly shapes and affects the universe, and they have fought so hard to protect Ravka against her enemies?!’

Marial, she who has no romance in her soul, snorts. ‘Again, watched a baby Grisha kill a man before my very eyes. And they’re all arrogant pricks.’

‘Which you clearly have plenty of experience with.’ Orlo stands and twists out of reach of Marial, snarling and trying to land a blow on his arm. ‘The Grisha rarely come to the Grand Palace save on official business, and non-Grisha are only welcome in the Little Palace by special invitation. I was hoping we’d have a chance to improve your reputation with the Grisha, before Kirigan returned; I know certain of them will have written to him about your — ’

He gestures helplessly at the entirety of Catherine. ‘Your everything.’

‘But now he’ll return to find me with a husband who barely tolerates me. A court that hates me.’ Strange, that Catherine only really starts thinking of the Black General himself when he’s opposed to her, rather than serving her. She should be terrified. Should she be terrified?

‘He’ll judge you, and – forgive me, Empress, but he’ll find you wanting. And you’ll be a weakling in his eyes forever. He might not be able to fob off Peter, but he’ll never allow you to touch the Sun Summoner’s train if he deems you worthless.’

Think of being the object of disdain, for a man like that! Enough to make one shrivel and die. But if she’s going to be Empress she cannot be afraid of anything. She especially can’t be jumping at, hah, at shadows. Not when the sunlight is so warm on her hair and skin, even through a window and her gown.

Marial breaks the silence in her own special way. ‘Besides which, he’ll be inclined to fuck you over regardless, since he can’t get at General Zlatan.’

Ah. Zlatan. Of course he would still be cocking things up for her, even on this side of the Fold. ‘Zlatan protested my betrothal at every turn, and I shall see him dealt with. But why would Kirigan hate me, if my marriage unifies Ravka?’

‘Therein lies the problem-’ This from Orlo, palms facing upwards and empty- ‘-he dearly wants West Ravka brought back into the Emperor’s bosom-'

‘Brought to heel, ‘ Marial mutters.

‘-but not at the expense of the East. Peter’s already far too obsessed with the West and western thinking for Kirigan’s liking as it is. He’ll worry that you’ve brought dangerous ideas to court that could threaten his position.’

‘Plus his Little Palace and his army.’

Orlo nods agreement with Marial. ‘The General is a most fervent protector of the Second Army and the Grisha. When the search for Peter’s bride moved to West Ravka, Kirigan did voice his concerns about an Empress with western attitudes towards Grisha.’

Frankly, Catherine’s flattered that Kirigan might think her attitude has any weight whatsoever right now; and more flattered Orlo believes that Kirigan would think it. ‘His concern is misplaced. All people of Ravka are my children, West and East, Grisha and non-Grisha alike. Every Ravkan child has the right to live without fear, in the knowledge that Mother Ravka is their staunchest defender.’

Marial groans — she actually rolls her eyes, the cow. ‘Pretty words, but he’s heard such things a thousand times before, signifying nothing. You’ll need to back up all your grand speeches.’

Catherine marches over to the table so that she can at least finish her bloody breakfast. ‘Fine. Then how am I to do that, if he’s apt to “fuck me over ” rather than listen to me?’

‘Marial’s being ridiculous; there would be no fucking.’ Orlo pauses, distracted, and shudders like a startled horse. ‘And you do have some advantages — the chief being that you aren’t Peter.’

‘That is not the least bit encouraging, Orlo.’ Catherine bites into the last blini, looking him dead in the eye and chewing hard.

‘I meant that Kirigan’s known Peter for nearly all of his life, and any hopes he had for him are thoroughly burned. You, now, are an entirely new and unknown factor. You can woo him with your ideas and plans. You need to show him that when you take the throne, you have the drive and capacity to bring about the change he desires.’

‘Right.’ Catherine nods, swallows, sets her best foot forward in her mind. ‘So. What exactly does he want?’

‘Basically, just promise him whatever he asks for when it comes to the Grisha, and you’ll have him eating out of your hand.’ Marial’s voice gets lighter as she stares off into the distance: ‘Maybe even eating from further down.’

What?

Orlo chimes in thank the saints. ‘Whatever he asks, within reason. Remember, it has to be believable. And you do not want Kirigan angry at you, if you fail to keep your promises right away when you come to power.’

Catherine waits for the terror to finally arrive. Think of one of the most dangerous men in Ravka, in the world, furious with her! And yet think, too, of making deals with the Black General, of being able to lure and hook and reel him in, of having the ability to grant his desires! ‘He’s the leader of the entire Second Army, he won’t be satisfied with small promises.’

‘All right then. Forget wooing him, try seducing him.’

Catherine glares at bloody Marial. ‘Two minutes ago, you were saying he’d gladly fuck me out of spite because he can’t get at Zlatan. Now you’re saying I should spread my legs for him? How is this in any way an improvement?’

‘This is quite different . Make him want to fuck you out of raw desire, as opposed to revenge by proxy.’

‘Yes, because that worked so well last time.’ And they both look at Orlo. Who looks at his shoes and also looks like he wishes to shrivel up and disappear, but he manages to squeak, ‘He’ll never go for it.’

‘Unlike some people around here, Kirigan actually knows what to do with a woman. And he has a definite taste for royalty.’

Not Peter. Don’t let it be Peter. Please, Sankt Valentin, don’t let her have to compete with her husband over another one of his bed mates.

‘Supposedly he was one of Elizabeth’s lovers for a time, back in the day.’

That…is marginally better. ‘Really?’ Somewhere behind Catherine, Orlo’s saying ‘oh saints’.

‘Oh, yeah. Sometimes when she’s more off her tits than usual, she says he ruined her for anyone else, no matter how she searches, and I do believe she’s serious. So, he must have left quite the impression.’

Which means Catherine might have to try and seduce the deadliest man in Ravka, who is also old enough to have swived her aunt-by-marriage in her girlhood…so, old enough to be her own father, at least. Saints. At least Peter’s young and easy on the eye, and he smells like something living. Plus Kirigan was able to satisfy Aunt Elizabeth; who knows what kind of bizarre tricks he’ll expect in bed, or against a wall? And she fucked it all up with just virgin Orlo, fuck.

Orlo breaks out of whatever had him so horrified and enthralled (likely also the act of satisfying Aunt Elizabeth) to say in desperation, ‘Why does she have to seduce anyone?’

Catherine suddenly might just love Orlo, though not enough to kiss him.

Marial hmms and nods. ‘That’s true. If you threw yourself at Kirigan right now, with how little you still know of sex, you’d just look utterly desperate.’

‘…as opposed to when I threw myself at Orlo?’

‘Orlo knows nothing of sex and was far more frightened of you than you were of him. The General, now, would either be amused or despise you, and we’d go right back to “being weak in his eyes for eternity”.’

‘Well.’ Her voice cracks, shit. Catherine swallows and tries again. ‘Well, first I must meet with him, and then I can decide if it is a route I will take. In due course.’

‘No, first you must decide on how to win back the approval of the ladies. Get your court in order before you start courting the armies!’

‘Fine; but, Orlo, I cannot lose sight of the Sun Summoner. I will not let Peter take the credit for her!’

‘I know, I know. We can plan for that, we’ll start right now, she’s not going to arrive for at least a few days yet. Where’s the paper?’

‘And there is this.’ Marial goes to tidy up the breakfast tray and clear the table for plotting purposes. ‘Kirigan’s going to hate sharing his big find with Peter and the Apparat. You’ll look like a saint incarnate when the Emperor starts screaming and throwing a tantrum.’

‘Indeed. Praise saints for once that I’m married to a fucking moron.’

(Next Chapter)

#shadow and bone fic #shadow and bone #the great #the great fic #catherine the great #count orlo #marial #the great hulu #hulu the great #cw language #fic: all is bliss #alina and Kirigan will be in the next one

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carewyncromwell · 3 years

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“How does a moment last forever? How can a story never die? It is love we must hold onto -- Never easy, but we try. Sometimes our happiness is captured; Somehow our time and place stand still... Love lives on inside our hearts and always will... Minutes turn to hours, days to years, then gone, But when all else has been forgotten, Still our song lives on...”

~“How Does a Moment Last Forever? (cover)” by Celine Dion

x~x~x~x

tw: character death, funerals, grief

x~x~x~x

The kelpie known as Ru Ollivander always knew their time on Earth would be fleeting -- at least, in comparison to the human witches and wizards they’d ended up living alongside. It was the main reason Ru had such a passion for photography, animation, and moving pictures. The thought of capturing a single moment and making it last beyond that moment...making it possible to relive that moment over and over again, as many times as one wanted...it was meaningful in a way Ru couldn’t quite put into words.

And so over the years, the eccentric, blunt kelpie -- never the best at expressing themselves in the way more upright, classy humans did -- captured as many memories as they could of the things they found most remarkable about the Wizarding World they’d entered. They sketched the rows upon rows of disgusting-looking ingredients in jars set up in the Potions classroom. They took pictures of the way the moon looked from the Astronomy Tower after a thunderstorm. They made animations of how Venomous Tentaculas and Mandrakes grew, compressing entire months into mere seconds. And, of course, over the years, Ru used their cinematograph, Aeroscope, and other cameras to film the humans who had become most important to them -- their best friend, Galen Stagg @cursebreakerfarrier; their fellow Ravenclaw and Galen’s eventual other half, Siobhan Llewelyn @kc-needs-coffee; and their “keeper”-turned-muse-and-life partner, Estrid Soelberg @thatravenpuffwitch.

One morning, however, in the 1930′s, Estrid returned to the cottage she shared with Ru from a trip to the market to find the entire place in disarray. A table had been overturned, Ru’s camera was knocked over on its side, and a drawer of photographs had been pulled out, its contents spread out all over the floor. Alarmed, Estrid rushed to find Ru -- when she did, she found them on the floor, in full kelpie form, looking very restless and distraught as they huffed and puffed through their nose and mouth. Estrid hurriedly rushed over and bent down, trying to help, but it soon became clear what the problem was.

Ru couldn’t change form. They couldn’t transform themselves out of their real appearance. ...They couldn’t turn into a human anymore.

The realization overwhelmed Ru. As much as they always knew the day would come, it wasn’t any less devastating. They’d never have hands again. They’d never have legs or feet again. They’d never speak properly again. They’d never be able to take any more pictures, or make any more movies, or make improvements to their cameras, or draw any more sketches or animations. They’d never be able to visit Galen’s classroom anymore for his lectures. They’d never be able to exchange any more friendly swears with Siobhan over a game of Wizard’s Chess. ...They’d never be able to comfort Estrid again...never be able to stroke her hair and hold her until she stopped crying...never be able to play her film reels of her grandfather, or plant flowers in the garden with her, or dance with her in the rain...they’d never be able to tell her how much they loved her.

The kelpie’s eyes fell toward the ground, darkening, as they flooded with tears. Those tears streaked down their long face in cold, deafening silence. Estrid, who’d almost never seen Ru cry in all their time together, found herself struggling not to break down completely herself as she threw her arms around Ru’s snout and hugged them, resting her face in their overgrown seaweed mane. The two sat together on the floor for what felt like hours, crying and cuddling as best they could, Ru pressing their soft nose into Estrid’s cheek and the crook of her neck and Estrid kissing their nose and the top of their head.

Estrid wrote to the Staggs to pass along the news. Galen pretty much dropped everything to be by his friend’s side -- the magizoologist had always had a particular talent for speaking to magical creatures, and it had never been more useful than in those final weeks of Ru’s life. It seemed that what upset Ru most out of everything was that they’d had a project they hadn’t been able to finish. It was an incomplete film reel they’d stored under their and Estrid’s bed for the last year, taking out and working on only whenever Estrid wasn’t home.

Galen had made as if to go get it, but Ru had snatched his sleeve in their teeth and pulled him back so he couldn’t leave their side.

“Not yet,” they were clearly saying. “It’s not time. Please, not yet.”

Reluctantly Galen respected his friend’s wishes.

Within a month of them being unable to change back into a human, Galen and Siobhan received the owl they’d been dreading. Ru had passed the previous night, Estrid by their side all the way up until the end.

As per Ru’s wishes, their funeral service was very small. They were laid to rest beside the small pond behind their and Estrid’s cottage -- Galen knew that kelpies’ bodies tended to decompose quickly, leaving only the seaweed of their manes behind at the bottom of the seafloor. There wasn’t a dry eye during the modest ceremony.

On Galen’s prompting, Estrid went to their room and fetched Ru’s unfinished project from under their bed. Inside the box holding the film reel were hundreds, maybe thousands of old photographs and drawings, many of which Galen, Estrid, and Siobhan had never seen. Some featured Hogwarts, from different angles; some were of the places they’d been to, or the creatures they handled, or the food they ate, or just cool and random things they only half-remembered. Most of all, though, the pictures were of them...and a small fraction, toward the very front, were of Ru themselves.

It was incredible, just looking through the pictures. Forty years of memories were compiled together, documenting not just the changes in those years, but the advancement in Ru’s talent as an artist. The newest pictures were so much clearer and more life-like -- the magical ones moved with such clarity -- the drawings were more refined -- the animations more complex. The pictures placed side-by-side were an animation unto themselves: a beautiful montage of time, like a blooming flower.

Siobhan was the one who knew Ru’s equipment well enough to work out how to set up the projector so they could play the incomplete film reel. The beginning featured Ru as the three remembered them -- very long, wavy black hair, bright blue angled eyes, and diamond earrings, dressed in a dark violet velvet suit and vest with no collared shirt underneath and a gold and emerald necklace around their neck. They were smirking right at the camera, but it seemed to be a bit strained.

“Hi, Estrid. Galen...Siobhan...reckon you’re both here too. You are the only one who could ever figure out how to work the projector, Sha.”

They cleared their throat, snorting through their nose before continuing.

“...I’ve...recorded this a few times already, trying to get it right, but...well, I’ll just be straight. This morning...I had trouble creating my daddles.”

They held up their right hand and flourished the fingers in explanation.

“I woke up with hooves and it took me about a minute to conjure up my fingers. I didn’t tell you, Estrid, since I knew it’d only make you worry, but...well, I know I’ll only be doing more of that, soon.”

They forced a stronger smirk.

“So I decided to make this for you. It’s a compilation of our lives...one that you can hopefully play, when you need to remember. When you need to get away from the present, and run back to the past for a bit. Watch it every time you feel the urge to drink -- and then push away that urge.”

The moving image of Ru was replaced with the pictures, movies, drawings, and animations the three had seen in the box, overlaying Ru’s voice as they continued.

“When I first started disguising myself as Rudolph Ollivander, all I cared about was living in the moment. But the thing I found so amazing about being human was this instinct you all have to try to make moments last long after they’re over. Considering how long you all live, and therefore how short my existence is in comparison, I loved the thought of making something last. Something I made last. I wanted to plant some seed that would grow into something that would keep growing long after me. But it didn’t take me long to realize that even if I took great photographs, or made beautiful films, or made the best magical camera in the world...it didn’t matter. Because I didn’t have a family who would tend to my garden, after I left it. I didn’t have a family who would keep the things I’d made, and pass them on, and share them with the world. ...I didn’t have a family who would pass on my legacy. After Hogwarts, it’d be a lot harder to hide what I was from the world...and once everyone knew the truth, I would undoubtedly be alone again. It was something I knew was inevitable, really, so it didn’t break me or anything...but me leaving something lasting behind was still a dream I knew would never come true. And I won’t lie, that hurt like shit.

“But then, somehow...somehow or another, I ran into you, Estrid. I was steamed as all get-out when we first met, mind you...but I don’t think I’ll ever be more grateful for anything than you stopping me from eating that first year that day. The bridle you put on me? I hated it. I had to stay in one form for almost eight whole years, and that was a real pain in the arse. But as I told you before, over time, I found I didn’t mind so much. Kelpies don’t stay in one form because changing forms helps us survive. It keeps us safe and keeps any other creatures from getting close enough to eat or trap us. And sure, I couldn’t change form...but I wasn’t exactly trapped. Hogwarts was a fun place to be. There was a lot to learn and do and get into, and there were all sorts of rules to buck and dozens of lick-spittles to give a good arse-kicking to. And better still...there were even some humans that were fun to be around.”

The pictures all started to reflect Galen -- at the piano, with a tree of bowtruckles, laughing at a joke -- Galen and Ru running down the lane away from the Shrieking Shack --

“There were ones who were gentle. Pacifistic and wussy, yeah, but also...well, kind. Good at expressing their feelings and making others feel stronger. Good at being brave without being loud or obnoxious. Good at being a friend, to someone who didn’t know anything about friendship.”

The pictures then started to add Siobhan, often alongside Galen, but also on her own, or even with Estrid and Ru.

“There were ones who were clever. Too proud for their own good and prone to overthinking things that are really quite simple...but brilliant, and witty, and a blast to be around. Someone who you can share your interests with and know they appreciate them.”

The pictures then shifted over to Estrid with braids in her hair -- Estrid sitting by the pond in their garden -- Estrid dancing --

“And...there were ones who could change you...more than you ever thought possible.”

The pictures abruptly cut off -- Ru’s face returned to the projector. They were still talking to the camera, but it was clear they hadn’t intended for their face to be seen, as they weren’t looking straight at the lens anymore.

“A ‘keeper,’ who became a friend, and then a muse...and then something more. An equal and a partner...someone who makes you unafraid of the future and how fleeting life is, who actually makes you think that your life makes a difference. Who teaches you more than any book, without even trying. Someone patient, and brave, and compassionate...who never tries to stuff the silence full of worthless words...whose beauty masks a greater one underneath, one that few people ever are fortunate enough to see...”

Ru’s eyes on screen had begun to flood with tears. They closed their eyes and breathed in and out through their nose to try to get a rein on their emotions.

“...Estrid...my whole life, I wanted to leave something behind that would outlive me. That thing isn’t just my pictures, or my films, or my drawings -- it’s you. You are my legacy. You and Galen and Siobhan...you are the wonderful thing I’ll leave behind. It breaks my heart that I’ll have to...and it breaks my heart more, knowing I can’t make sure you all remain as you are, in this moment. Healthy. Successful. Stupid and happy and full of life.”

They forced a smile even as their electric blue eyes overflowed with tears that streaked down their face.

“I don’t have a family to make sure you all last beyond me...but I do have you. So, for me...I need you to tend to my garden. I need you to maintain my legacy -- by maintaining yourself. I need you to live, and heal, and grow, and do everything I can’t do...”

Ru was unable to keep themselves from breaking down into sobs. They bowed their head, clutching onto their own hair as they vainly tried to keep their voice steady.

“Don’t throw your time away. Don’t throw your lives away. If you do, I’ll never bloody forgive you!”

For the next minute they took a few stabilizing breaths, sucking in air shakily through their nose and mouth.

“Damn it...” they hissed under their breath. “Now I have to cut this...”

They swallowed, wiping the tears from their eyes with both hands. The tears left tracks on their face even as they forced themselves to return their focus to the camera.

“...Make every moment count...and when you can, make that moment last forever.

“I realized, when I was looking through my old pictures, that I’ve never really taken many pictures of me. I guess in the moment, I really was a lot more focused on capturing everything I saw, rather than myself. So here are some pictures I took more recently that have me in them. Hopefully you can use them to imagine me behind every picture I took earlier, of all of you. Even though I probably wasn’t smiling or anything...I’m sure you know I was enjoying myself, right? ...I did enjoy myself a lot, with all of you...”

They forced another smile, even though the tears on their face still shone in the light from the next room.

“I remember you once said, Galen, that you could see the love in the pictures I take. I still don’t really know what the hell that’s supposed to mean...but I reckon you bringing up love made some sense. I did love taking those pictures, every one of them -- and more than that...I learned about love, through the people in those pictures. So thank you. Thank you for loving me...and for teaching me so much. And even when this film reel’s obsolete, and my pictures are ruined, and my drawings fade...don’t stop doing things that are worth remembering. Keep making more memories. I know I’ll never forget you -- all you have to do now is make sure the rest of the world won’t either.

“So live. Live, and learn, and love. Make today last forever.”

When Ru’s film reel finally ended and faded to black, Galen, Siobhan, and Estrid were all in tears. Galen was clinging to his wife, his face buried in her hair and his hands clutching at the back of her dress as he sobbed. Siobhan herself had her eyes shut tight as she held Galen in return, unable to contain her own grief. Estrid was holding herself, tears streaming from her hazel eyes still staring at the blank projector screen where Ru had been smiling moments earlier. She closed her eyes, her hands covering her face as she cried silently.

The grief in the room was overwhelming, and yet Ru’s final unfinished present tapped into something at the base of the grief -- the deep, bottomless love they all felt. For as blunt and stubborn as Ru could be, the depth of their feelings was undeniable. They didn’t want their loved ones to despair -- they wanted them to remember, yes, but not languish in the memories...to live with an eye on the past and feet walking toward the future. Ru knew the grief Estrid had gone through when she’d lost her grandfather, and had tried so hard to give her something to help her through her grief again even when they weren’t there to physically support her.

And so over the years, Siobhan, Galen, and Estrid maintained Ru’s legacy. The three lived their lives to the fullest and worked to make sure that no one forgot about all of the advancements Ru had made in the world of wizarding photography. Galen used Ru’s old film reels of magical creatures in his classes; Siobhan took even more pictures of her own; and Estrid fought to ensure Ru’s work was put up in wizarding museums and exhibitions all over Europe, as a testament to her partner’s talent and dedication.

A man has no control who lives, who dies, and who tells their story...but the ones who they love in life, and who inspire them in death, are the most precious legacy they can leave behind.

#hphl #hogwarts legacy #ru ollivander #estrid soelberg #siobhan llewelyn #galen stagg #my art #my writing #*throws herself off a cliff sobbing* EHHHHHH #I cried several times writing this good god ;~;#I am so sorry everybody #but this song gave me such ru feels and I just had to get them out #in my headcanon kelpies grow more and more seaweed-like hair on their bodies as they grow hence why ru's got so much now #most real life horses die between the ages of 25-30 so ru actually lived a pretty long time in comparison #but yeah estrid galen and siobhan would've been in their 40's when ru died #I tapped into a lot of feelings surrounding the people I've lost while writing this #so hopefully the grief comes through #'hopefully' guh #if it does I apologize in advance

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project-paranoia · 3 years

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Live Watch: Thousand Autumns Episode One

Oh wow someone got the good... guzheng? Something in that family of instruments anyway. They got the good music for that. And the animation is beautiful and beautifully synchronised to the clip excerpts.

And the imagery! The opening with the symbol of the Dao, and then main character number 1, Shen Qiao, all in white, in a fantastically and subtly ornamented outfit - I love the textures of the cloth they put in on the animation here, cloth and clothes textures are so easy to get wrong and they’ve done it beautifully here. I think this is supposed to be Shen Qiao’s original sect leader/zhangjiao outfit and he looks properly leaderly in it.

And this, followed by a closeup of Yan Wushi’s hand holding the ring of contention, and then Yan Wushi himself, very handsomely rendered in 3d animation - and again I have to voice my appreciation of the cloth textures. That’s actual subtly 3d brocade textures they’re rendering there, with the correct flow for how cloth hangs on the body, and the correct variances of light on the areas with thicker brocade and it is, frankly, very impressive. And they didn’t lose colour saturation doing it either, making that purple robe look suitably luxurious. The shiny hair ornament and one sidebang in white is a nice touch as well. As are the hints they set right in the opening that Shen Qiao and Yan Wushi are ... opposites, and complements, linking them back to the Yin/Yang balance of the symbol of the Dao.

So much love for this opening song it’s so good. Also going to be a pain to translate accurately with a proper sense of the poetry of it, but so good.

Alright episode 1 proper, 风雨欲来. The coming of the wind and rain, literally, I think. Maybe even the foreboding or oncoming storm, if you’re going for the feel of the term instead of literal translation. Oh. Oh that opening montage with the bird’s eye view and the fog and the high mountains - I was so taken by this scenery I sketched and tried to paint it at least 3 times. It’s a very moving shot. Also very much in the grand tradition of xianxia/wuxia, and also, even without a word, hinting at the traditional stance of the Mt Xuandu sect - to 出世， to remove themselves from the world to cultivate in the seclusion and clarity of the literal peaks above the clouds and dust of the world.

Oh. Oh that opening shot. The challenge to combat by Kunye to Shen Qiao. The.. subtle and ornate embroidery and brocade and patterning on Shen Qiao’s sect leader robes is so awesome. The wave motifs repeated in the 3 layers of robes, even on the hair ornament/冠 in his hair, the resolute look on his face! The closeup shot of the 山河同悲 sword - and what a name for it. A sword named for, if I may be excused poetry in translation - compassion and pity and fellow feeling for the griefs and pains and trials of the world as encompassed by the mountains and rivers - what a blade, and what a name, and what a bearer that would be worthy of it. A very good hint, at the kind of person Shen Qiao is, even before they have him open his mouth.

The contrasting costuming decision for Kunye et al is also very nice, hinting at the cultural differences between, say, the peoples that live on the central plains and the more nomadic groups living on less kindly land, shown in the different materials available/preferred - leather, furs, etc vs cloth, silk, cotton etc

And the fight choreography! So nice! The 3d animation works really well here,in that there’s no limitation to the capabilities of human bodies and it’s possible to really show in the visual medium the knock out drag down fight between 2 people whose martial - and quasi magical - capabilities are already at potentially mountain splitting levels. Not to mention also, showing that a Shen Qiao who isn’t being handicapped by sabotage... really can wipe the floor with Kunye if he wants to. And then, of course, once the fight gets to Half-step Peak and they’re out of sight of inconvenient witnesses, the signal for the ambush. And then the effects of the sabotage take hold.

Ah, flashback to 20 years ago, to provide the audience with the world info we need to understand the rest of the story. Not to mention also informing us why Hulugu would even bother. Or why Kunye coming in to challege Shen Qiao is so narratively important. And also introducing the ring that so many would fight over later.

Yan Wushi’s character introduction.. is quite something. As is Yu Shengyan’s. Ah, Shizun, congratulations on exiting your 10 year cultivation seclusion, would you like the highlights on the changes in the world in the past 10 years? But also a good show of character, because they have him not even looking at Yu Shengyan, but looking away in the distance, and telling him to only tell the most important bits, he’s not interested in useless words. Also serves as a nice introduction to some people who’ll be important later, and giving us a time marker for when Shen Qiao ascended to the sect leader post - 5 years ago, after the death of his shizun Qi Fengge. Ah Yan Wushi, your characteristically arrogant attitude - aside from Qi Fengge, who in life was worthy of being the first among all the wuxia world, the rest are not worth even mentioning. And here too a little hint that Yan Wushi might care a little bit in some way for those who are his, including his disciples - He tells Yu Shengyan that this location, this Half Step Peak that they’re at, because of its physical characteristics, is good for him to cultivate to the next level of understanding/enlightenment of the martial arts used by Huanyue Sect.

I love it whenever they hint that the more... developed characters whose martial arts are very good have improved senses. A little flow of blood in the water, Yu Shengyan notices something is wrong, looks at his shizun, and receives a nod of affirmation that he perceived correctly and should take action. And then after that, they come upon a body of one of the Mt Xuandu disciples, and Yan Wushi’s verbal remark that today, Mt Xuandu is troubled and not pure and clean. And then Shen Qiao literally falls from the cliff top - and the pan up makes it very clear that for most people, this is a lethal fall.

And then the surviving ambushers attempt to finish the job when Yu Shengyan checks whether Shen Qiao is still alive... and Yan Wushi takes the training opportunity when he sees it, and tells his disciple to use his strongest techniques to take on the remaining assassins. And then, when Yu Shengyan can't quite wipe the floor with them... criticizes his lack of growth, as might be expected of Yan Wushi, and steps in to really wipe the floor with the assassins, as might not be expected of Yan Wushi. Also doubles as a really nice display to the audience of his level of strength. In fact.. listening to the voice, I think one of those assassins appears, unhidden, in later episodes. Heh. Plot continuity, a nice one. As are the assassins having common sense, recognising Yan Wushi's infamous technique, and running before they're cut down.

Ahahahaha yes Yu Shengyan, your shizun really had you pick that fight for training, and he's really about to pick up Shen Qiao and have him rescued on a whim. Also nice to review, on rewatch for the details, that part of this whim is perhaps curiousity as to Shen Qiao's ability to survive and/or recover, as hinted by the thin thread of strength provided by the Zhuyang Ce, that Yan Wushi identifies as the thin strength keeping him alive, despite the aforementioned lethal fall.

Heh. Yu Shengyan – and maybe Huanyue Sect's other job – information gatherers aka spies.

Ah, Yan Wushi, you really are fascinated by people's reactions under stress, aren't you.

Shen Qiao awakens! Oof, the amount of damage – can't see, amnesia – damaged or even broken meridians – the donghua doesn't mention how much time passes, but given that Yu Shengyan mentions that Shen Qiao's broken bones have only just finished healing – could not have been a matter of days. Weeks, maybe even a month, minimum. Unless Yu Shengyan meant that the bones have only just been set – which could mean a few days. And then the mindscrew from Yan Wushi, telling poor amnesiac Shen Qiao that, yes, your name is Shen Qiao, oh, and you are one of my disciples from Huanyue Sect! Someone sure is hasty to put his poke the injured person plans into action! Ah Yan Wushi, if you could please give Shen Qiao a break, he just had a near death experience! But also – the scope of the injuries – yes, it benefits Yan Wushi's plotting but also – Shen Qiao was injured beyond the scope of ordinary medicine? Yu Shengyan has to be stationed to basically care for him until he is able to awaken – and presumably recover – appropriately!

Alright, time marker, 3 months after previous events.. okay. Shen Qiao can walk, some, though the animators were careful to make it a clearly pained walk, in comparison to how he was moving pre-Kunye fight. And then of course the blindness, which may also explain how they've animated him moving with more cautious steps. And the coughing, and the eyes that can't focus – all in all, a detailed and careful show of how badly injured Shen Qiao still is. Can't help sniggering at every 'shidi' I'm hearing him say though. And Yu Shengyan... yes, really, even though you and your shizun can't quite believe it, there really is a person this kind and considerate of other people.

The appearance of the weiqi board motif! Strategy, and planning, and part of the arts of the refined gentlemen..and the hint of how Shen Qiao is perceiving/visualising the input that he hears, since he can't see right now. And the hint that he might be using qi to help sort through what he hears – well enough that he can identify it's a weiqi board, and even the piece being placed. Very Awesome. Especially when they show Yan Wushi possibly testing Shen Qiao's capability to perceive the world around him by hesitating and purposely not putting down his piece.. and Shen Qiao very naturally picking up the piece – black, the correct colour and the one Yan Wushi was about to play – and putting it in the correct position on the board that Yan Wushi was about to place. Is it any wonder that the next thing Yan Wushi checks is the state of his recovery?

And then we have Yan Wushi's characteristic multipronged planning – creating trouble for Hehuan sect, training for Yu Shengyan, testing opportunity for Shen Qiao. Very excellent, any and every outcome has benefit to Yan Wushi.

Ah the encounter at the medicine shop. Hm. Okay, the sharing of the medicine is clearly a hint to Yan Ziwen of some kind that he and his should be especially cautious tonight, perhaps even to run for their lives tonight. Though it's maybe a hint in the actions, and not the words, because the words don't sound suspicious at all. Neither do the actions, if you were watching as a observer and didn't know Yan Ziwen's paranoid character – a blind person would unsurprisingly wish to be extra careful where they put their hands. And at night, on the attack... for all that Shen Qiao can't quite see, and is currently relying on the rest of his senses... he can tell that something's off about Yu Shengyan's actions. And then... Shen Qiao remembers... the sword, and what Qi Fengge taught him. And then the confrontation, and the near strangulation by Yan Wushi... Shen Qiao has such a nice literary register to his speech. Four word phrases even under severe near strangled stress, with the right philosophical meaning to make his point to Yan Wushi. And then the reveal of Yan Wushi's plotting. Very nicely done.

And now, the first of Yan Wushi's many many invitations to Shen Qiao to forsake his daoist path and join Yan Wushi's ... evil sect is not the right word. Demonic path is technically correct but has moral overtones that don't fit. Join Yan Wushi's cultivation path, maybe. Join and get bloody revenge on everyone who's wronged Shen Qiao – and already there are so many of them. And we the audience wonder for half a second – is he going to do it? Is this going to be a revenge story? And Shen Qiao flat out refuses in words, in the first of many times. And then Shen Qiao walks away from Yan Wushi. Here the animation is a delight again – the audience gets to see the little micro expressions that flit across – he's actually walking away?! And then Yan Wushi does his dramatic gifting of the bamboo stick. And too, a few seconds later, the reveal of their movements being spied on by Duan Wenyang, and Yu Shengyan's orders to continue searching for .. something. Ah, the plotting in Thousand Autumns. Always a delight.

#山河剑心 #thousand autumns

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queerchoicesblog · 4 years

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The Masquerade Ball

Hiya folks, here’s a new chapter of the wlw story set in the Italian Renaissance suggested by @scottishqueer for the wlw writing project...hope you will enjoy it!

This chapter contains reference to Palazzo Schifanoia, a Renaissance palace I highly recommend everyone to visit if they ever stay in Ferrara. Not sure if you’re interested in knowing more than this but just in case, here’s the link to the Wikipedia page.

If you do happen to like this miniseries, please consider spreading the word!

Previous chapters: After The Storm, The Florentine Lady, A Remedy For Melancholy

Previous series: Ancient Greece

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The night of the masquerade I'm beaming. My costume is just as I pictured it and gorgeous: every flower, every little detail is perfect. I only wish Riccardo would have chosen a costume matching mine but he was adamant to surprise me so Neptune it is. We don't look bad together, though.

The ball hall is opulent and extravagant: the torches lighten up frescoes portraying a banquet of the ancient gods, the music is loud and the room filled with the perfume of essences and mulled wine. It's magic, as always. The Duke himself in the attire of Caesar comes welcoming me and my husband. He praises my costume and beauty before offering his apologies for walking away with my Riccardo. I mock a despaired face that succeeded in making us all laugh then I join my friends. Maria is dressed up as a Roman matron while Virginia is the queen of the ball or at least I'm positive she will be tonight: her costume is inspired to the colourful bird from the West Indies and she's absolutely gorgeous. We all take a goblet of wine and discuss the latest rumours: will Lucrezia Borgia be the Duke's wife? Nothing has been confirmed at the moment but the whole court is already gossiping about it. Virginia is not happy with it: the Borgias sound shady. I note that all Duchies are shady to some extent. She's about to contradict me when she stops mid-sentence and points behind my back.

"I'll be damned if that's not the Florentine lady!"

I turn and yes, she's there. I'm pleased to see she followed my advice: I recognise my sketches. She's at the arm of a man that I wager be her husband, the right hand of Rossetti, and they wear matching costumes: he's the Sun and she's the Moon. Not so original but they look nice together. They're whispering words to each other when our eyes meet across the room. She waves in my direction and whispers something to her husband. He smiles too in my direction and courtly tips his hat, bowing his head before being approached by a guest.

Cristina makes her way through the crowd towards us. As she approaches, I notice how her costume, although not most refined, looks gorgeous on her. The ivory tunic and mask match the pale tone of her skin perfectly. The brightness of her eyes catches you by surprise as they sparkle like gems at the light of the torches.

She greets us, bowing her head, and accepts a goblet of mulled wine from a servant. If she's nervous as she has every reason to be at her first public appearance, she conceals it well.

"You look lovely tonight, lady Cristina" Virginia comments, and I'm grateful she's not jumping at her throat.

"Absolutely" I agree and add with a smirk. "And you found me quite easily"

Cristina takes a sip of wine.

"You don't go unnoticed" then as if correcting herself she addresses the three of us. "Your costumes are wonderful, the best ones I've seen so far. Hope you will get a prize at the end of the night"

My friends start talking of prizes and winners and previous balls and costumes until I lose interest and turn towards Cristina. She does the same.

"And who are you tonight?" she asks.

"What's your guess, Moon?" I smile, showing my costume with a twirl.

"I'd say Flora or a silvan nymph, even if..."

"Even if?"

She looks at me, probably wondering whether to share a confidence or not. Then she shakes her head and smiles.

"Have you ever seen a painting called 'The Spring' by Sandro Botticelli?"

"I can't say I have, no"

"Let me guess, is it in Florence?" Maria intervenes and I'm displeased by her comment, innocent only for those who don't know her sharp tongue.

Cristina doesn't seem to notice though.

"Yes, I admired it in Florence. The painter is a personal friend of my father" she explains before turning back to me.

"One of the dames, the allegory of Spring, looks just like you tonight. The similarity is striking"

"I demand a local artist to paint me in their next work then" I cheer, rising my goblet.

"Yes, yes a toast! A toast!" Virginia squeals.

We all share a wish to the ball, to us, to me getting a portrait in a fresco. I sink my goblet just as the quintet starts playing a lively saltarello. The guests converge towards the centre of the room to dance.

I lay my goblet on a tray and place a hand on Cristina's arm.

"Ladies, let's s dance this night away!"

I don't have to repeat it twice: my friends immediately run into the crowd to get the best spots. Cristina fidgets with her goblet.

"Hurry, sink that wine and come before the saltarello is over" I say, instinctively pulling her hand.

"But-"

She stiffens for a moment but I pull again, smiling. I won't take no for an answer!

"No buts, drink that wine and come dance with me"

She looks at me for a moment then she laughs too and sinks her goblet before joining me.

She's an excellent dancer, better than I expected...but after all what was I expecting? We jump and twirl at the beat of the tambourines in perfect synchronism, mirroring each other moves until we're out of breath.

I guide her towards the grand balcony to catch some fresh air. The ball is still in full swing and music echoes from inside. A lovely breeze is blowing from the sea not too far from our city: you can smell a hint of salt in it. The moon shines bright up there in the sky, a full moon celebrating with us from afar. A real beauty but tonight my eyes are drawn towards her earthly sister, the Moon leaning over the railing by my side. I find myself wondering if that painter friend of her father has ever painted a portrait of her or added her figure in one of his works: if I were him, I wouldn't hesitate. There is something unreadable yet charming in her grace.

Cristina is now quietly observing the dancers inside, she looks lost in her thoughts. After a moment, she speaks.

"You were right, the ball is truly something"

"See? You should trust me from now on" I smirk.

She meets my gaze and smiles, shyly, before a shadow of melancholy crosses her face again. She diverts her eyes and looks back towards the hall.

I try to find words to cheer her up but she speaks again before I can come up with something. She recites a quatrain.

"How beautiful Youth is yet it flees! Be happy if you want to, For tomorrow is not certain."

The mix of melancholy and softness in her voice is hauntingly touching and dreamy, just like the smile on her lips.

"Lorenzo the Magnificent, Song to Bacchus" she adds, as if to say 'alas, I didn't come up with these lines myself'.

As if pulled by an unknown force, my fingers brush over hers on the railing. The gesture startles her at first but she doesn't retrieve her hand. Instead, she searches my eyes.

"Are you getting sad again?" I wince.

She doesn't answer straight away. For a moment, she just looks at me then she shakes her head.

"No, Emilia, no. I'm jolly tonight" she sighs, parting from the railing. "Be happy if you want to, for tomorrow may not come" she repeats.

Then, to my surprise, she stretches her hand out for me.

"Let's have one more dance, shall we?"

Cristina and I never part till the ball is over and it's time to head back home. We dance and chat and I believe I get to know her a bit better. I like that more than I probably admit. So I'm incredibly happy when a couple of days after the ball I receive a note from her: she invites to another walk. She suggests we could admire a little preview of the new Palazzo Schifanoia: her husband has been reassigned to coordinate the works there to speed up the building process after the recent delays. We can have a look around when it's not too loud and crowded, she says. How could she possibly know I was dying to get a glimpse of the new palace? Was it a lucky guess or am I that easy to read to her? I accept, obviously.

I meet her in front of the palace: on the outside, it doesn't reveal much, it looks like many other buildings in red stone and white marble I am so used to by now. Cristina is waiting for me underneath an arch, she waves at me with a smile. I smile to myself: what a joy to see her finally free from the sorrowful clutches of melancholy. I may be mistaken but her eyes look even brighter than before and I cannot help but notice that even if this is no particular occasion, she is a vision basking in the late sun of the afternoon.

Has her voice always been so sweet?, I wonder as she wraps her arm around mine and leads me inside. If it was, I'm surprised I never noticed.

I have never been inside the palace: when the main corpus was crafted and decorated I was too young to be admitted, barely a child so I only heard the wonders it hosts by older courtiers. Maria must have been here but she has little liking for the arts: to her this probably was simply a place where "escape from boredom". I am by no means prepared to what I am about to see. The corridors are richly decorated and punctuated with statues of rare beauty and I imagine them filled with the music that certainly echoed through these walls. Joyful string music.

It takes me a moment to realise that Cristina is speaking. I stop, slightly embarrassed to be so grossed into the art surrounding us that I almost forgot of my fair guide, my personal Virgilius. Thank God, she doesn't seem bothered at all: her lips curl into an amused yet soft smile when she asks me to close my eyes, if I trust her. The request surprises me: I do trust her but what does she have in store?

"No tricks, I promise" Cristina assures me. "I just want you to experience the real attraction properly" she adds, nodding to the door standing silent in front of us. My eyes wander from it to her before obliging. I close them and curiosity fills me as I hear the unmistakable sound of the door open. A shiver runs through my spine when, still in the darkness, I fell Cristina gently taking my hand into hers and placing the other on my back. She's so close I can smell her perfume just like at the ball night when we danced. My Virgilius guides me inside the mysterious room: our steps echo breaking the silence and I feel as if we were explorers venturing into yet undiscovered lands, our personal West Indies.

We come to a stop and I hear her voice whispering I can open my eyes now.

She doesn't have to tell me twice: I do as she says and...I gape in awe. I have never seen anything like this. The colours of the frescoes are so bright and vivid I wish I could touch them. I move closer and lose myself in the contemplation of their overwhelming beauty.

After a while, I turn back towards my guide with a smile.

"Am I dreaming, Cristina?"

My guide mirrors my smile and joins me by the wall. She stands by my side and takes in the fresco in front of us. This is the Halls of Months, a pagan cycle of allegories of seasons as Olympian Gods proceeding on fanciful cars, and personifications of the constellations of the zodiac, she explains: the one we're looking at is May. I admire every single month, Cristina at my side, before we move to the other room, the Halls of Virtues, where the frescoes have a political flavour: past Dukes beaming in their glory surrounded by the Cardinal and Theological virtues.

I demand we go back to the previous hall that caught my eye and heart. I almost do not recognise Cristina: she is unusually chatty today. Nothing compared to our first meetings. She knows every myth, every story behind the allegories, every little detail and curiosity about the works of the artists who decorated these halls. She even shows me the new section, the one her husband is working on with his brigade. There is still little to see, only the draft of the frescos have been drawn on half the room but she knows what they'll show once finished. I could listen to her all day.

It's almost sunset when we explore the summer loggia overviewing the gardens. I am used to beauty living at the castle but this place is different. The atmosphere is different as if this palace didn't fully belong to this place and time: there's no such thing as Time and space here. We're in another world, a world of our own, close yet magically separated from the Ferrara we know.

As we let our eyes rejoice of the sight of the gorgeous natural wonders below,I ask Cristina where such an extensive knowledge of the works come from. I am genuinely curious and genuinely surprised to hear her saying that her father is a renewed patron of the arts in Florence. He has offered his services to the House of Medici more than once: he tried and failed to be a painter himself when he was younger so he settled for providing money to those he wagers be the most talented artists of our times. Artists and painters visiting and sometimes even working at her family palace has been part of Cristina's life since childhood.

"That is why he wanted me to marry Davide, one of his protege" she explains. "And actually...this may surprise you a little, but it's maybe why I was glad to move here after Sir Rossetti's offer. Your Duke is a patron of arts too and values art above all things: sounded like a nice place to be"

"You didn't seem to like this city much when you arrived" I note but there's no malice in my words.

Cristina hangs her head and sighs.

"It's never easy to leave a place that means so much to you. Davide had his job to keep him busy while I had all the time to think back to what I have left behind, my life there. I had family, friends, connections there...here all was new and stranger"

"Are you still unhappy here?" I inquire, instinctively reaching for her hand.

Her bright eyes travel from my hand to my face.

"No, Emilia, I'm no longer unhappy here."

#wlw writing #wlw writing project #wlw miniseries #orginal work #lgbtqa+#italian renaissance

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toothpaste-dragon · 4 years

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I know for questions, you're probably talking about Far From Home, but what about William, the fish guy? What was he like in the early days of character development? How has he changed since you first thought of him? And I guess, same question for the FFH folks. Thanks in advance.

I was honestly so excited to receive this question because I LOVE my boy William! Plus it’s fun to talk about character origin stories.

Buckle up. This is gonna be a long answer.

Up until 2014 my art largely consisted of fanart or fan characters, so I had never produced content that was truly original. During spring of that year, I stumbled upon and quickly become enamored with some original characters on deviantart, many of which were ‘monsters’ (vampires, mermaids, werewolves, etc.). Seeing these characters inspired me to create my own story with characters that catered to my own interests.

William is the first original character I ever created, so he has a special place in my heart. This is my very fist sketch of him! (Sorry for the low quality.)

My initial idea for his story was disorganized and had a lot of missing pieces. In the early days of character development, William was nothing more than a character I liked for his design and personality. I had very little experience with character creation, so I put a lot of myself into him. He was shy and timid and anxious at times, but he also had low self-esteem and didn’t feel like he fit in anywhere. And for good reason — his backstory was one of confusion and grief. Originally, he was an orphan that had been kidnapped by scientists and genetically modified to resemble a fish, all while retaining his previous characteristics and a humanoid shape. The scientists raised him and were training him for some unknown task, of which I never decided before changing the direction of the story entirely.

William and his story turned six during March of this year, and both have changed A LOT since then! He’s no longer a chemist, nor does he have any experience in the sciences. I also gave him some glasses and a nice argyle sweater (which now serves as his classic look, haha), and I’ve decided he’s of Asian descent for reasons explained in a few paragraphs. Not only have I refined his story to be more practical and understandable, but I’ve also given William a purpose, something to pursue. He’s still anxious and feels like he doesn’t belong, but he doesn’t stay that way forever.

I always liked stories about monsters, in the sense that something not-quite-human longs for a place among normal people. Society views these ‘monsters’ as unnatural or potentially dangerous, and yet the monster displays more humanity than the humans themselves. I really want to lean into that idea as I tell William’s story. He may not be your typical monster, but he certainly feels like one. Different, unnatural, out of place. Yet he has a kind heart and a childlike fascination with the world. The road is difficult, but with a bit of help he eventually finds his niche.

Here’s my most recent sketch for comparison, and a lovely depiction of William by my pal HareSoup!

Besides the few changes mentioned above, Will hasn’t changed much design-wise. He has fins in place of ears, gills on his neck, scales scattered across his face/trunk/limbs, and a bit of webbing between his fingers/toes. He can breathe underwater and on land, but his scales and gills have to receive moisture every 1-2 hours or he’ll develop health issues/fall ill.

I don’t remember when I decided I wanted to write a full-length book telling Will’s story, but it’s still a goal of mine! To give you a brief synopsis of the current story, now titled “Fish Out of Water”, it takes place some years after the signing of the Conventional Forces in Europe treaty, which officially brought the Arms Race to an end. During the Arms Race, nuclear weapons were tested without concern for radiation and the effects it had on nearby civilians. In one particular scenario, Asian civilians were evacuated from a small town-turned nuclear test site, but they were not properly protected. The offspring of these civilians developed unnatural deformities/features, such as extra limbs or feathers, as a result of exposure to unhealthy levels of radiation. Worried that this development would mortify the public, the government hid the children in a science facility stationed in a secluded part of the ocean, and they remained within its walls for years. After 28 years, William escapes the facility with the help of his guilt-ridden caretaker and is found unconscious on the shore of a coastal city by marine biologist Martha Collins. The story follows Will as he attempts to shake his government pursuers, but it’s really a story about friendship, self-worth, and discovering what it truly means to be human.

Though unfinished, William’s story is very special to me, and I’m looking forward to sharing it with the world someday :>

As for the Far From Home folks, they came from simple beginnings. It all started with a sketch — this one to be exact!

Back in the spring of 2017, I was stressed and tired and frustrated with school, so I thought it’d be fun to create some new characters. Specifically, comfort characters that fit my favorite tropes. I took a lot of inspiration from the movies “Ernest & Celestine” and “You Are Umasou” when it came to personalities and character dynamics. I loved the idea of a tough, grumpy man who is completely unqualified to be a father stumbling upon and eventually adopting a small, bright-eyed child. There’s just so much you can do with that concept!

I specifically remember sitting in the library at school and just…drawing. I had no initial designs in mind besides something big and sharp, and something small and soft. Two opposites that would become a makeshift family.

I liked the designs enough to digitalize them, reworking aspects of their designs in the process. This was the first ‘accurate’ drawing of Baz and Toko. (I don’t like it too much anymore, but it’s a good color reference!)

I never like leaving a character without a story, so I eventually came up with a couple ideas that adequately described their relationship. In fact, my first idea presented Toko as some sort of child princess and Baz as her assigned bodyguard! That one obviously didn’t stick, but it did allow me to gain a better understanding of what I wanted.

Over time, I did a bit of world building and expanded upon the FFH universe, which opened and closed doors for potential storylines. I realized I wanted to add more characters too, leading to the creation of Gerdie and some other important figures. Gerdie looked quite a bit different than he does now — in fact, he was originally supposed to be an android! I played around with that idea for a while before eventually discarding it.

Here’s my most recent size chart featuring all three main characters!

I honestly never expected Far From Home to expand beyond a simple idea, and yet here I am, thinking I can turn the story into a trilogy someday. There’s still a lot of work to do if I want to reach that goal, but I genuinely enjoy these characters and their dynamic is really fun! They’ve grown very dear to me over the past three years. So I think that’s reason enough to try, anyway.

To give a bit of background on the story itself, it’s set in a fictional version of outer space where humans don’t exist. Intelligent, technologically-advanced aliens from neighboring planets/galaxies have established contact with one another, leading to the gradual formation of an intergalactic government and melting pot mega-society. Due to the unforeseen complexity of this endeavor, strict rules were put in place to regulate the selling/purchasing of certain goods and services, transportation between galaxies, and other related activities. This system is not without complications.

Baz and Gerdie work as intergalactic merchants, but that’s just a cover for their job as smugglers. Together, they travel to different galaxies and exchange goods for the designated currency, as well as deliver illegal substances to specific planets. Baz is the captain and pilots the ship while Gerdie is an engineer and works as the mechanic. They’ve known each other for quite some time when the story first begins. Baz has quite the interesting history, much of which ties into important aspects of the story.

Toko is a young alien who gets separated from her family and wakes up in the storage unit of Baz’s ship, with no memory of how she got there. Baz finds her and suspects she’s a thief, but she quickly explains her predicament and asks that he help reunite her with her family. Baz is reluctant at first and denies her request, only to discover there’s more to her story than he originally thought. Unintentionally dragging Baz into a frightening adventure full of old friends and all-too-familiar foes, Toko eventually inspires a change of heart in the smuggler. The story explores themes like forgiveness, what it really means to be good/bad, and the idea that family isn’t defined by blood.

I know that was a lot, but I hope it was at least somewhat interesting! Thanks for asking about my characters and sticking with me through this <3

#ask #ihavebeencalled #Far From Home #Baz #Toko #Baz and Toko #Gerdie #Fish Out of Water #William

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stanprokopenko · 6 years

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Process for Successful Drawings – Caricature Essentials

This is an example by Court Jones based on his video on Shape Design and Facial Features caricature lesson.

youtube

***

I figured a good way to end the course is with a caricature of Stan the Man himself, Mr. Prokopenko.

Stan’s likeness is a little tricky. It could go many different ways. Even with his heavy eyebrows and manly stubble, he still has kind of a baby face. So to help me out, I decided to use the Spirit Animal technique to come up with the exaggeration. After some thought, I’ve determined that Stan’s Spirit Animal is… a beet.

Now I know what you’re thinking, it’s just because he’s Ukrainian and I’m stereotyping. And that’s not true at all. Stan is actually a huge fan of beets. Every time I see him at lunch, he’s enjoying pickled beets or beet salad or just a big ole’ bowl of borscht. His favorite song is Beat It. The man is beet-crazy! If you see him at a convention or out on the street, feel free to just give him a handful of beets. He’ll eat them raw.

Thumbnail Sketch

Of course Stan’s large cranium and thin neck coincidentally worked really well with the beet shape. So I begin with some thumbnail sketches, to try and figure out how to make Stan’s face work on this beet. I soon realize his features should sit low on his head, because his forehead and hair take up more real estate than on the average person. I think the concept here is a good start. But the features aren’t executed in a way that’s accurate to him. So I end this one and try sketching from a different angle.

For this second sketch, I maintain the same basic concept of the inner beet spirit, but I thicken the beet-neck just a bit at the top. I also like the idea of really small features set into a large wide head. It’s funnier. This one is working much better than the first sketch. Although I’m not a fan of straight-on views. I prefer more dynamic angles that allow me to show the three-dimensional quality of a face. So I move on to a photo with a more interesting angle.

Again, I try to maintain the beetroot proportions for the head shape and then place the features on top of that. In this thumbnail sketch, I’m able to draw a more dynamic angle which I push even further to give it more visual interest. And there’s even a slightly sassy expression on his face that I try to make more obvious in my sketch. Because of the interesting angle and expression, I feel like this is the one that I can take to the next stage. The likeness needs some work, but that’s what the rough sketch is for.

Rough Sketch

I begin the rough sketch by tracing directly over the thumbnail. I use some simple guides to align the features in perspective on the head. And I slow down a bit to give more attention to each feature. More time than I allowed in the thumbnail sketch phase anyway. One of the distinctive traits about Stan that isn’t strictly physical is the darkness around his eyes. His eyes are heavy-lidded, but also a slightly darker tone than the rest of his face. So I try to indicate that in my rough sketch.

At this point, it feels pretty good, but I’m not entirely sold on the likeness yet. Something I’ve learned about likeness is that it’s usually easier to see with the use of light and dark values, rather than with just lines. I could continue crosshatch shading to darken the values, but for the sake of speed, I add some more shading with a large brush. It’s pretty rough and simple, but I think it does add some visual information to define the likeness which wasn’t there before, like the volumes of the forehead and cheeks. When I squint down and blur my eyes, I really see it. So It’s just enough to confirm that I’m on the right track even if it’s not perfect yet.

Abstraction

For this next stage in developing this caricature, I flip the rough sketch over to better see any structural problems and then draw a Reilly Abstraction on top of it. The rhythm lines of the Abstraction are drawn from one side of the head to the other to help check if things are lined up or if they need to be moved. Some features, like the eyebrows, are going to be asymmetrical, so I allow for that and look for unintended distortions and asymmetries. I discover that the ear I drew on the rough sketch was too low. But for the most part, everything else was in a good spot. Even if all the features are determined to be well-placed, these geometric rhythm lines are most helpful because they act as an idealized template of Stan’s head – sort of a cleanser, washing away the rough lines of the earlier sketch, so that I can trace much more nicely designed shapes and features in the right locations at the next stage.

Oh, and besides the ear being too low, the Abstraction helps me figure out that the head would look better if the forehead was more bulging in front.

Final Sketch

After a quick check, I flip it back around, dim down the Abstraction and begin my final linear drawing on new layer, tracing over the Abstraction, but with much more attention to the exact shapes of the contours and features and also to the quality of my lines.

This lesson is all about drawing caricatures with special attention paid to the visual design. As I’ve said, a good exaggeration and likeness is not enough. To draw at a professional level, you need to slow down and spend time creating a refined look or visual design. It doesn’t have to be realistic and based on anatomy, like my work. You can draw abstractly or simple and cartoony. But whatever it is, you need to figure out what you want the finished style to be and then keep working on this until you’ve achieved that look. Tracing over the previous drawing is a great way to do that.

Now, the problem with being the judge of your own progress is that while you’re learning, your artist’s eye may not be able to see all the flaws that a more experienced artist may see. As you continue your studies, your eye will improve, followed by your hand’s ability to make the right marks. But during this time is when it’s important to have a teacher, mentor or at least another artist at a higher level of development help you and let you know where you can improve. Eventually though, you’ll be able to look back on your older work and wonder why you missed all those drawing problems the first time around.

With my linear lay-in finished, I now add the soft edges. Wherever a form transitions from a light to dark value, that transition will be either a hard, firm, soft or lost edge. Once those transitions are all in, I finally start to add the values, which is the final stage of this drawing.

I always seem to have the most success in a drawing or painting when I work on a middle grey background. In the premium version of this course, I demonstrate shading drawings with different strategies. On my David Bowie caricature, I shade on a white background, which shows how it negatively affects my perception of the values on the face. Working on a white background prevents me from shading as darkly as I should because the bright white fools my eyes into thinking a value I use on the face is darker than what it really is. A light-middle grey, as I’ve used here, sets me up right in the range of what Stan’s caucasian flesh tone already is. So even before I begin, I’m in the right value range.

Most of the time in a realistically shaded portrait like this is spent working in the middle range of values. Or the halftones. The dark accents and bright highlights are fun and give the drawing more visual punch. But they wouldn’t work if the the middle values aren’t properly figured out and correctly placed first. The meat of the portrait is in the halftones. They are what’s going to sell it to the viewer. And the halftones are usually all within a very narrow range on the value scale. So there’s not much room for error. If you shade the halftones with too much contrast, the subject will look shiny or metallic. If you don’t have enough contrast, the portrait will look dull and flat. And if you don’t shade and cover the shapes evenly, you may get spotty or streaky effects where bits of light or dark peek through your strokes. So make sure you’re using the right tool for the job.

Most of the Photoshop brushes I’m using to shade here are very subtle brushes already. One stroke from them doesn’t cover much because they have heavy textures applied to them. I have to keep on adding stroke on top of stroke to lay down a value. It’s similar to using very light pressure with a hard charcoal or graphite on a rough paper. In fact, I think my main brush here is called “Shady Graphite” by Kyle Webster. It comes standard with the latest version of Photoshop. But you can find or even create similar brushes in other painting apps.

Also, it probably goes without saying, but when shading a drawing or painting, use the largest brush for an area that you can. You want to be able to cover broad areas with less brush strokes. But to get hard edges or for textures like the hair and stubble you’ll need a smaller brush. But those should be used sparingly, lest you end up with a streaky and sketchy rendering. Most of your time in a drawing like this will be spent using large brushes.

Some final bits of advice to create professional quality caricatures with a strong sense of design are: First and foremost, keep working on it until you can’t make it any better. Push yourself to draw and paint like the people you admire. If you get to the end and aren’t sure if it’s a success, get up, walk away and come back to look at it with fresh eyes. Or flip it in reverse one more time to examine it backwards. If there are any structural problems, they’ll be much more obvious. If you can correct those problems, then do so. If there are just too many problems to fix, you may need to go back a few steps and start again from your rough sketch or Abstraction.

#proko #caricature #digital art #digital painting #photoshop #stan prokopenko

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rowanstories-blog · 7 years

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The Path of Ink

Finally, a moment's peace. Kian leaned back in his dorm room chair and pushed his shoulders against the wooden frame, stretching them apart in preparation. Any physical activity required some form of warm-up; bodybuilders, endurance runners, swimmers, golfers, they all let their muscles stretch out beforehand for maximum efficiency. Sure, he wouldn't be running a two minute mile or two hour marathon sitting on the rickety chair of a dimly lit room, but he still planned to be active, just in a more focused, precise manner.

He leaned forward, letting his eyes fall onto the unopened sketchbook before him. It sat under the single desk lamp's spotlight, almost glowing with how white its pages still were. That would soon change. Kian had to make that change. When Kiara from class AR101 asked him about his artistic history, his mouth made some big claims before his brain could remember that anything more than a stick figure never turned out right on the page, and even the stick figures had about a 40% success rate. He sighed. If Kiara saw his current work ability, she'd realize his lies and never see him the same. If he was to keep up his position in her eyes, he'd have to do a lot more practice than the homework required.

With a triumphant breath in, he grabbed the pen, borrowed from his art-loving father, and flipped the sketchbook open. The pen's side glinted in the light as his hand positioned it for optimal drawing, the symbols on its side almost flashing with the movement. Kian took a moment to appreciate that he had access to pens that were far more fancy and expensive than those that banks and other school sponsors gave out by the fistful. This pen didn't need to advertise anything on it, not even itself; it knew it was good quality. The glyphs on the side were a decoration, nothing more.

The pen glided across the paper as Kian lightly sketched out the shape of the tissue box hidden in the shadows of his desk. At times he wished for an eraser, but the professor of AR101 made it very clear on the first day of class that learning to draw without an undo ability would help them greatly in the end. He focused on remembering all the advice that the professor gave during her lecture, about the basic forms of objects becoming refined over time as the strokes became darker and more defined.

A phone alarm beeped, signaling the end of his hour of drawing. Kian leaned back again, taking in the full view of his sketch. It was awful. Truly hideous, even by his standards. The lines of the box didn't match up right, there was no sense of perspective, shadows seemed random at best and intentionally misplaced at worst. He considered trying again, but once his pen stopped moving, he felt a deep ache in his hand. He clearly hadn't stretched enough for this feat after all.

With a defeated breath, he decided to try again in the morning, before class. If he woke up early, he would have time for a second attempt before AR101.

---

Kian did not wake up early. He made the mistake that all freshman of college do: believing that their still-growing bodies will accept being jolted awake by a phone alarm at a ridiculously early hour to get work done. By the time that his body accepted wakefullness and let his eyes open, he had twenty minutes to get to the art studio on the opposite side of campus.

As he slipped through the studio doors five minutes late, he tried to calm his heart, beating quickly both from running and the worry that Kiara would see his work. That was an unfounded worry, he reasoned to himself. He just needed to not sit next to her, so she wouldn't see his sketch as the professor went around.

"Kian Ruker," the professor called out as he tried to slide into a seat in the back. "There's no need to be shy on the second day. Come up here, sit with the rest of the class."

Professor Romera tapped her pen on the front of an open spot at one of the studio tables. Kiara's studio table. Of course.

He could say no, or just leave, he thought. But no, in reality, he didn't truly have those options. His body would never let him be so free-willed, and his brain would shut down from the social pressure of rebelling. After a moment's pause, his feet brought him to the free seat, slumping down in an attempt to be as unnoticeable as possible.

"Kian, you made it!" Kiara whispered to him as Professor Romera continued talking about expectations and whatnot. "I can't wait to see what you did."

He gave a quick nod and turned away, trying not to let her beautiful eyes see his face turn red.

After ten minutes of talking that felt like an eternity sitting on an electric chair, the professor announced that she would be looking at the hour-timed practice sketches from the night before. A uniform rustling of papers sounded out as the students pulled out their sketchbooks. Kian briefly considered claiming to have lost his.

"Here you go, Kian," Kiara said with a glowing smile, handing him his sketchbook from under his seat.

"Thanks," he stammered, plan ruined.

Professor Romera towered above them, looking down in judgement. "Kiara, good work. You really have an eye for form. Your shadows are a bit disjointed, but that's nothing that practice won't fix. Try to use a very harsh light to get a good idea for where they land next time." She turned her head. "Kian, please open your sketchbook."

The thoughts of refusing, running, or even eating his terrible work came up in quick succession, but his hands betrayed him through their obedience of authority. The sketchbook opened, cover slapping down on the table, reminding Kian of what a guillotine would probably sound like as it thudded on the wooden block beneath its victim.

"Oh my..." Professor Romera said.

"Well, I-"

"...this is excellent work!"

Kian jolted a bit, completely caught off guard as he stared up at her.

"You clearly have a lot of practice with art. Honestly, you may be above what AR101 can teach you. What's your experience?"

"He was the senior art lead at his high school," Kiara said, echoing his lie from their last class. "Now I see why!"

"I do as well," the professor said with a chuckle. "But don't get cocky now, there's always ways to improve." With that, she continued down the line of tables, giving feedback on all the sketches in the open books.

Kiara gave him a light hit on the shoulder, catching his attention. "You really are talented! To be honest, I didn't think of you as the artistic type before, but maybe you could teach me some tricks later?"

Kian stammered out an agreement, and Kiara giggled happily. Was he crazy? Why did everyone think his terrible drawing was good? Did he really understand art so badly that he somehow made a great art form, like Picasso? He turned away from Kiara and looked down at his sketchbook to try and piece together the puzzle. Instead, he saw another mystery.

A near perfect photo-rendition of his tissue box filled the page. Light cross-hatching of lines, evenly spaced, filled the areas of shadow in a way that balanced perfectly with the lightening of lines in highlighted areas. It looked less like a drawing and more like an Instagram filter designed to make photos look hand-drawn.

Professor Romera began addressing the class again. She told them to put their sketchbooks away, so they would focus on her lecture. Kian did as instructed, but his brain wandered the entirety of class, trying to find some explanation that made sense.

---

As Kian sat down in the back of the campus cafeteria, he pulled his sketchbook out from his bag and flipped it open to the perfect drawing. Did he somehow switch sketchbooks with someone? No, this was clearly a rendition of his tissue box, bent side and all. To be sure, he pulled the cover back over the drawing. Clear as day, the name section read KIAN RUKER. A green sketchbook, 100 pages, opening from the top, with his name, and his tissue box's likeness. It was his, all right.

He pulled his pen from his pocket and decided to draw something new. The pizza slice in front of him looked like a good choice. He had no plans to eat it; he grabbed it out of habit but lost his appetite from the whole sketchbook business. For the next half hour, he focused intently on transferring its likeness to the page, experimenting with the cross hatch method the new tissue box drawing used. It turned out terribly, of course, but it did look a bit better than the attempt from last night.

"Hey!" a voice called out from behind him. He closed the sketchbook immediately, turning back. The table behind him greeted a passerby, the group shouting at each other about fraternity plans and annoying professors.

Kian sighed, mentally reprimanding himself for being so jumpy. He opened the sketchbook to resume his pizza drawing. There was no need to finish it, he quickly learned. Just like the tissue box drawing, the pizza had become photo-realistic. This time, however, there was another change. Just beneath the pizza, Kian saw the words "looks good" written in a handwriting completely unlike his own.

He paused, considering what to do. His rational brain said to throw the sketchbook in the trash and be done with it, but he felt a deep curiosity well up from places in himself that he hadn't felt in years.

"Thanks, it's pretty good," he wrote on the page, just below the previous comment. He closed the sketchbook, waited a moment, and opened it back up again.

"It's been a while since I've had pizza," a new comment read.

His heart skipped a beat. He looked around, seeing all the people around him. He felt a strong mix of concern and security; he worried that someone would see what was happening, but felt safe knowing that if any strangeness happened, he would not be alone in the dark woods or the basement or something. After all, what horror story begins in a crowded cafeteria? Well, he didn't actually know the answer, seeing as he hated horror, but he had a good feeling that they didn't favor crowded and brightly lit areas.

"Who are you?" he wrote, closing the sketchbook and opening it again.

"Did you like my work earlier? Kiara liked it, I bet."

His heart sank into his stomach. "How do you know about that?"

"Relax, I'm helping, aren't I? It gets awfully boring where I am."

"Where are you?"

"You wouldn't understand, so stop asking."

Before Kian could reply, his eyes caught sight of the clock, arms pointed at ten past one. MA100 started five minutes ago! All thoughts about the talking sketchbook flew out of his mind, replaced with the hurried rush of putting everything away and sprinting to the lecture hall.

---

That night, after journaling in his personal marble notebook, as he did every night, Kian pulled out the sketchbook. He felt afraid to in the darkness of his room, but he had to in order to do his homework. Plus, despite the fear, the deep curiosity still bubbled within him.

"Way to just run off on me. I thought we were bonding," the writing said on a new page. A small but very accurate drawing of a frowning face punctuated the sentence.

"Sorry," Kian wrote, thinking to himself how silly it felt to apologize to a piece of paper. "I was late for class."

"It's fine. I'm used to not doing much. Are you going to give me another crap drawing to fix?"

"No need to be rude about it."

"Realistic, not rude. It's just not your talent. We all have things we're crap at."

"What are you crap at?"

"Having a physical form, for one," the reply read, next to a small drawing of a laughing audience.

So it has a sense of humor, Kian thought to himself. "What should I call you?"

"Whatever you want, I don't really care."

He thought for a second. "I want to call you something. Is Estes okay?" He remembered the name from an art history project from high school, belonging to a photo-realistic painter.

"Cool, I have a name now. Estes it is. Whoopie." The final word had droplets drawn on it. It took Kian a moment to realize it was a visual version of words 'dripping with sarcasm.'

Before Kian wrote down his reply and closed the sketchbook, the ink of the page shifted, creating a reply before his eyes for the first time.

"Anyway, if you'd like me to keep helping out with Kiara, I'm gonna need a favor," Estes wrote.

A favor? Kian felt a sudden chill through his spine. "What kind of favor?"

"Don't worry, I'm not going to steal your soul," Estes wrote next to a drawing of a devil with an X over it. "We can talk about that later. Just say you'll be open to it, and I'll keep helping with your drawings."

Kian paused. On the one hand, offering a favor to a sketchbook sounded like a really bad idea. On the other, if the drawings suddenly turned back to crap, Kiara would never look at him again, and he'd have to suffer three times a week in class with her on top of the constant suffering of losing any chance with her.

"Okay," he finally wrote.

"Great," Estes wrote. "Now let's get drawing."

---

Over the next few weeks, Kian became rather fond of Estes. He already loved journaling, since he had done it every day for several years, but being able to write to something that replied immediately gave him so much more satisfaction. He kept up the personal journal out of habit, but opened up to Estes about some aspects of his daily life. Estes had a dry sense of humor, which Kian enjoyed, and while it never said so outright, it seemed to really appreciate having a view of the world outside of "the formless place," as Estes called it.

The drawing plan worked perfectly with Kiara. He sat down next to her each class, showing her the drawings that he started and Estes refined. He worried when she followed him into the cafeteria the first time in order to watch his methods, but between him distracting her with conversation and Estes working fast to fix his lines, she didn't seem to notice anything strange happening on his paper. She continued going with him to the cafeteria, less for drawing practice and more for just speaking with him.

After two months of hanging out casually, Kian was ready. With some encouragement and advice from Estes, he managed to keep his cool with her enough to ask her on an official date.

"Of course!" she said with her glowing smile. They arranged for a dinner that evening before the clock forced her to leave for class.

"Estes!" Kian scrawled down, hurried in his excitement. "She said yes!"

"I told you confidence is key," Estes replied, the words circling a drawing of a key.

"Thank you so much," he wrote back, feeling like a superhero with a secret ally.

"Do you remember what I asked of you before?"

Kian paused. The words from their last conversations had turned into later replies and drawings, so he couldn't look back to see.

"I asked if I could have a favor, in exchange for helping with Kiara. You're going out, so I think it's favor time, don't you?"

The memory came back to him. The last time he saw Estes ask about a "favor," he felt his heart freeze and race all at once. Now, however, he considered Estes a type of friend, always knowing what to say to help him out. "I remember," he replied. "What is the favor?"

"Come closer," Estes replied.

Kian leaned close to the page, expecting some tiny written humor from Estes.

His vision suddenly filled with the face of a wolf, lunging at him, teeth bared and mouth opening as it rushed toward his face. Kian flinched in shock, his hand jolting and sending the tip of the pen into his arm.

The wolf vanished as quickly as it appeared, replaced by the image of a laughing child.

Kian pulled the pen out from his lower arm, shaking off bits of blood on the tip from where it pierced his skin. "Not funny!" he scrawled, the black ink mixing with the red.

"Sorry," Estes replied with a sad wolf image. "Just trying to prepare you for anything. Dates can be stressful, after all."

"There won't be any wolves."

"But there will be a romantic interest, and that's even scarier."

He rolled his eyes. "What about this favor?"

"I was just joking about that," Estes replied. "Go have fun."

Kian caught sight of the clock, noting that it was getting dangerously close to math lecture time. He continued to chitchat with Estes for the remaining few minutes he had before packing everything up and heading off. He spent the trip thinking about his later date, ignoring the throbbing in his arm where the pen had stuck into him.

---

The sun set and evening arrived, and with it came a feeling of absolute panic for Kian. His sketchbook laid open as he searched his dorm closet for something presentable, something that would really wow Kiara on their first official date. Estes filled the visible pages with types of acceptable formal wear for Kian to match with his belongings, since he never learned the names and functions of each type of clothing he owned. Like many college students, this was the first time he had to dress for a formal event without his mother's eye ensuring he didn't make a fool of himself.

Once he felt properly dressed, he wrote out a goodbye to Estes, with an added thanks for the fashion tips.

"No need for goodbye," Estes replied, "I'll be around."

Kian rushed out the door and made it to the pre-determined restaurant, a sushi place just off campus. As he arrived, he saw Kiara approaching.

"Hey," she called out, her blue dress shining under a nearby streetlight. Her smile shone like a beacon, out-performing every light source in the vicinity, and her eyes bore deep into him as they stared with what could only be described as pure, unquestioned happiness.

He stammered out some formalities as they entered the restaurant and took their seats near the back. Instead of sitting on opposite sides of the table, the two sat on the L-shaped bench so they sat close to one another, as they did in the cafeteria so many times.

"I always like the back," Kiara explained, "since it lets me see everything that's going on. I hope you don't mind."

"No, I like it too," Kian said, trying to control his smile.

As they looked over the menu and made some small talk about their classes for the day, Kian noticed the pain in his arm return. He felt a sudden throb and winced.

"I'm okay," he explained to Kiara's concerned look. "Just jabbed myself with my pen. Well, it was my dad's, really. But I carry it around for good luck." He pulled the pen from his pocket, letting the glyphs sparkle in the dim lighting.

"That's so sweet! Will you be able to see him over the break?"

"Well..." he paused, deciding how to phrase his next words. "I haven't seen him for a long while. He was an artist, but I guess he got too caught up with his work. He left one night and never came back." He quickly resumed his smile. "It's okay though, I was only one year old when that happened, and my mom is very good to me."

"That's such a shame," Kiara said, with not pity but empathy, which warmed Kian's heart. "I guess that's where you get your artistic flair though, huh?"

"Yeah," Kian lied with a laugh.

Dinner resumed, with the two talking as they waited for the sushi they ordered. In the middle of Kian explaining an event from high school, Kiara jumped a little and blushed.

"Kian! That's a bit forward, don't you think?"

He didn't understand what she meant at all; how is a story about high school forward? He noticed her eyes staring down, and he followed her gaze to her lap, where he found his hand gripping the top of her thigh. He jolted his hand back, feeling a throb in his arm.

"Sorry! I didn't, I mean-"

"Let's take it slow, okay?" Kiara said, red but smiling.

"Of course," he stammered back. She started talking about something else, but he couldn't stop thinking about what just happened. He had absolutely no intention of grabbing her, he wasn't drunk, or high, or too tired... so how did he not notice himself doing that?

"So be honest with me," Kiara said with a flirtatious glance. "How long have you liked me for?"

Kian paused to think of how to answer this question. The right answer was since he stumbled onto her Facebook profile through the college freshman's Facebook page, and that he saw a lot of her posts since she left them public. He couldn't actually say that, though.

"Woah, really! Wow, you really are something, you know that?"

Kian came back out from his thoughts to find himself speaking without his awareness. "I know it's creepy, but I just couldn't help myself, and it was all public," his mouth said for him. He grabbed his water and drank it, forcing himself to stop talking. Was this what people meant by first date nerves?

After several more lines of conversation, Kian now controlling the words he said, the food arrived. The waiter placed the large sushi boat on the table in front of them, and they stared in awe at all the sushi options that the boat offered.

"Time to taste test," Kiara joked as she clicked her chopsticks together.

Kian opened his mouth to agree, but found it suddenly filled.

"Wow, too hungry for chopsticks, huh?"

It took Kian a moment to realize that his mouth was filled with one of the sushi pieces, grabbed and moved by his hand. He took his other hand and pushed it down, quickly chewing and swallowing the piece so he could speak. "I'm just nervous I guess," he lied. "I need to go to the bathroom though, I'll be right back."

Before she could reply, he rushed away from the table and into the back, which thankfully had single-stall bathrooms. The lights of the bathroom were much harsher and brighter than outside, momentarily blinding him. He shook his head, as if shaking the light away, and opened his eyes to look at his hand. His heart froze.

Extending out from the pen injury, hidden away by a single bandaid, his veins rose up to to the surface of his skin, appearing to be a dark reddish color, creating a network of black branches reaching down to his hand and up his arm. He looked around the rest of his body, raising his shirt and pant bottoms, and found other areas with slightly dark veins, not as affected as his arm but clearly different than they should be. He looked up and stared in the mirror to inspect his face. As his eyes scanned his cheeks and lips, he noticed movement in the corner of his vision. His eyes moved just in time to see his affected arm, with his hand holding the pen, jab it down into his chest.

He yelled out in pain and stumbled back, pen sticking out of his body. Blood poured out as the inch of pen stuck inside of his muscle moved around with his jolting, leaving an expanding red stain on his nice shirt. He tried to move his hand to grab the pen and pull it out, but his hand stopped right before it, and refused to move and further.

"Sorry about this," he heard a voice say.

"What?" he said out loud, looking around for a source of the voice.

"You said I could have a favor. It would have taken far too much time to explain. I'm sure you understand." Kian realized as the voice spoke that he didn't hear it from around him, but inside his head, as thoughts his mind was having but that couldn't be controlled.

"Estes?" he asked, barely above a whisper. "But... but I didn't bring you here..." He racked his brain, but was completely sure that the sketchbook remained on his desk, where he said goodbye just before the date.

"You did, though." Kian felt his eyes move down against his will to the pen sticking out from his chest, throbbing with pain. "And you said I could have a favor, right? I just want to experience a few things, things that only a body can get you. You don't mind, of course."

Kian tried to move his mouth to protest, but his lips wouldn't move. He decided to try thinking. "People will notice," he tried to threaten with his thoughts. "They'll know something's wrong with me."

"No, I don't think so," Estes replied as Kian's body pulled the pen from its flesh without a flinch and began cleaning itself up. "I know everything about you, after all. I have years of information all saved up. All of your personal thoughts, all laid out for me."

Years? But he only had the sketchbook for a few months! The only place he had his personal thoughts, other than his mind, was his daily journal, but how could-

"Besides, it's not like I'm taking hold forever," Estes said with exaggerated assurance. "Just until the fun is over. I haven't had a joy ride since... how old are you again? A year less than that, I didn't keep track."

A year less than his current age. Kian's heart sank as his body threw the bloody shirt in the toilet and bandaged itself. His thoughts wandered to his father, to his nightly journal, to the pen, to Kiara...

Kian's body, no, Estes' body, gave a swift turn and returned to the restaurant, telling an elaborate lie to Kiara about tripping and hurting himself while getting a bandage from the waiter. Kiara snuggled up close to him, pouring sympathy for his situation and offering to help him eat. He felt an arm reach around her and hold her close. He wanted to shout out, to tell her that he was trapped, but he no longer had control.

"Besides," Estes added in thought as Kian felt his body smile. "You'll be able to watch and feel it all, so it's not like you're missing out!"

#horror #anthology #short story #writing

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ellayuki · 7 years

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25.02.’17

family trips, kimonos and kitten children who love their dads

yuri!!! on ice, yuuri pov, (implied) victuri, (maybe vaguely hinted at) otayuri

victor orders some custom made kimono, victuri are basically yuri’s dads and yuri is so their child and doesn’t even bother denying it if asked, there’s a two-week vacation in hasetsu where even otabek is invited, a festival and lots of family fluff.

(i literally wrote the last last part of this chapter while listening to the duet on repeat. as one does.)

part 2 (part 1 here), (ao3)

the next day, yuri is loud and excited.

he goes through the photos from the previous day with yuuko's triplets, an enormous smile on his face, and showing off the goldfish he caught. yuuri wonders what his face will do when he sees today's outfit. he has to bite his lip to keep from laughing.

the day passes by pretty fast, between boisterous children (and “children”) who want to post every little thing to social media, some skating (because it’s them and they can’t help themselves) at the ice castle where yuuri and victor manage to rope yuri and otabek into trying some lifts and spins with them, and a nice, long, relaxing soak in the onsen.

before any of them know it, it’s almost evening, and yuuri can honestly say that he’d be okay with it if they were to decide not to go to the festival, because the day has been wonderful enough so far.

but then victor comes back from where he’d went to his room, this time still dressed comfortably in his usual green jinbei (because it’s too early yet) and carrying four packages.

yuuri sits up straighter. even axel, lutz and loop quiet down, curious, but with their cameras at the ready. yuri looks like he’s trying really hard not to show his curiosity.

victor puts all four on the table, spreading them out carefully, like they’re precious cargo (and they are), before picking one up and setting it down in front of yuuri.

yuuri pulls it close but doesn't open it yet. he knows what's inside, has a decent idea of what it looks like, though not an exact one, and he'd rather first pay attention to the others. victor seems to understand, because he doesn't urge him to open it, just picks up two of the remaining three and drops them in yuri and otabek's laps.

yuuri hopes the triplets caught their startled faces properly.

'n-now what? what's this? wha-' yuri stutters, clearly not having expected anything more after yesterday. his fingers fumble over the ties, hurrying to unwrap, disbelief and wonder and eager anticipation clear in his every movement.

the reds and blacks of the kimono and the dark green of the obi look refined, gorgeous, and yuri's lower lips trembles before he bites down on it.

'do you like it?' yuuri asks, and yuri nods almost numbly, unable to say a word. he can’t stop looking at it, he can’t stop touching it.

they turn to otabek then, who has kept quiet so far, his earlier surprise replaced by a soft, fond look directed at yuri. his hand on the younger boy's shoulder is gentle, but tethering like an anchor.

he's not quite as shocked as yuri, but he is surprised, the bashful smile on his face, the mindful way he handles the material, and the soft, grateful 'thank you.' as he looks it over speaking volumes of how much he had not expected to be included in this, and how touched he is by the gesture.

before any of them know what's happening, yuri pushes his bundle into otabek's arms with a ‘beka, hold my kimono’ and stands up, stomping his way to the side of the low table where yuuri and victor are sitting together.

‘yurio?’ yuuri barely has time to say, only just managing to catch a glimpse of teary eyes and red cheeks, before yuri swoops down and furiously hugs him and victor. both at the same time and hard enough to bruise.

it’s over in a matter of moments, and then he’s gone, back by otabek’s side.

the room is left in stunned silence. only loop’s camera shutter can be heard. if yuuri’s shoulder didn’t ache from the harsh embrace, he’d think he’d imagined the whole thing.

before anyone can say a word, yuri’s a flurry of movement again. he’s picked up his bundle from otabek’s arms and he’s dragging yuuri by the arm, shouting over his shoulder.

‘come on, katsudon, help me get dressed.’ and then, louder, ‘yuuko, i’m going to need your help with my hair when i’m done.’

yuuko smiles at him, though he can’t see it, and agrees. then she corrals her daughters, keeping them from sneaking after them. the internet does not need half naked photos of yuri plisetsky. yuuri, as always, is thankful for his friend’s amazing everything.

he almost falls over when yuri abruptly stops, steps back into the room and yells for otabek.

‘oi, otabek, you better come, too. victor’s probably shit at tying these things, you might as well have katsudon do it.’

yuuri can’t help laughing a bit at his fiancé’s affronted ‘hey!’ as he is once again dragged along.

the kimonos are even more exquisite than the sketches made them seem and a lot softer to the touch.

yuuri’s and victor’s have gold threads that give them a glimmering look in the flickering lights of the festival.

that aside, victor’s burgundy one is rather simple, lighter around his shoulders, becoming shades deeper, darker further down his body, becoming almost black near the bottom hem. the golden obi makes the simple yet elegant ensemble look regal, and yuuri can’t help thinking it’s only fitting.

yuuri’s own is dark indigo, the colorful, sequined design on the back of his costume carefully, if more elaborately stitched on the back. yuuri thinks he’s never worn something so precious (in every sense of the word) in his entire life. he makes a mental note to thank victor properly after they come back to the inn.

the second evening of festivities is no less fun than the first.

yuri challenges each of them to whatever games catch his eyes and interest, for once more carefree than yuuri has ever seen him, even after he’d one his grand prix finals’ gold. he doesn’t know more than a couple of words in japanese (not that anyone expects him to), so where he can’t get by on his english, he asks yuuri for help (actually asks, not demands passive-aggressively).

otabek is more relaxed than yuuri thought he’d be, clearly enjoying himself, and not getting overwhelmed. when yuuri asks, he tells him that it’s actually not the first such festival he attends, having visited japan a couple of times before.

they talk for a while, about their experience training in countries other than their own, as they walk behind victor and yuri who bicker in rapid-fire russian about something or other.

at one point, yuri decides he’s had enough of walking with the “gross lovebirds” and drags otabek away, going in the direction of a booth that yuuri remembers had a tiger almost as big as yuri as prize for some game.

‘it’s good that he finally has someone he’s willing to call a friend, don’t you think?’ victor asks from beside him, voice fond, eyes fonder, and yuuri leans his head against his shoulder, still looking towards the teenagers walking unhurriedly and talking happily.

‘yes.’ he agrees, because it is.

the blues and whites of otabek’s kimono paint a nice contrast to the reds and blacks of yuri’s, and yuuri privately thinks that they’d look like a couple if he didn’t know any better (wonders if victor made them to match on purpose).

he does know better, though, because yuri’s too focused on his career right now, and maybe a bit too young and too full of himself to think of such things, especially when he wants to take the world by storm, and besides, a first, real connection with someone doesn’t always end up in such relationships.

still, they look cute, they seem to understand each other, and they’re supportive of each other. if they have that, if they respect each other, no matter what their relationship’s like, then it’s okay. they’re still growing and they have all the time in the world.

by the end of evening, they’re all sitting together on a grassy hill, surrounded by people and waiting for the fireworks to start.

yuuri is leaning against victor’s chest, holding a cup of still warm tea in one hand and petting makkachin with the other, listening to his fiancé reminiscing about a festival he went to once, as a young teenager.

next to them, yuri is sitting with the stuffed tiger otabek won for him in his lap, hugging it to his chest like it’s the most precious thing he owns, talking excitedly with his friend. otabek, for his part, while he looks as subdued as he always does, also looks like he’s right where he wants to be, smiling gently at yuri’s exuberance.

the grin on yuri’s face is too adorable for a usually moody sixteen year old, yuuri can’t help thinking. it seems being able to unwind, to have fun and be around people he cares about (whether he admits to it or not), away from the pressure of skating and training and having to win, is good for him.

yuuri wonders if they could make this sort of holiday a regular thing. he’ll have to talk to victor about it sometime, though he’s sure he will agree. it’s the kind of thing victor would love.

when the fireworks finally start, yuuri looks around at his small group, each one enjoying the beautiful, colorful display, and feels like his heart is going to burst with warmth.

it feels so much like family, like a family he’s made for himself, and the happiness the thought brings him has him glowing inside.

he revises his earlier mental note. he has to properly thank victor later, not only for the wonderful kimonos, but for being him, for taking yuuri’s drunken ramblings to heart and deciding to become his coach, and for not letting yuuri go when yuuri was being anxious and self-doubting and stupid.

yuuri has never been so content, so happy in his life than in this moment, and he can’t help looking forward to whatever the future holds.

he buries himself deeper in victor’s embrace and fiddles with the ring on his finger, watching the fireworks light up the night sky. he smiles quietly to himself, one thought crossing his mind.

‘well now, there’s just one more thing that needs to be done.’

#yuri on ice #yuri!!! on ice #victuri #otayuri #katsuki yuuri #victor nikiforov #Yuri Plisetsky #otabek altin #by moi #fic #my fic #ellatriestowritedaily #yoific

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carewyncromwell · 3 years

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Cinderelly, Cinderelly, night and day, it’s Cinderelly~... ^.^ Okay..before I jump into the next part of the Cinderella AU, here’s your usual appetizer of random historical/etc. notes!

Although carriages were developed centuries earlier, actual coaches like the kind we think of from Cinderella stories were first developed in the late 16th century in Hungary, specifically a little town called Kocs. (The word “coach” and its alternatives in other languages, such as the German Kutsche and the Spanish and Portuguese coche, are thought to have been derived from the Hungarian kocsi, meaning “of Kocs.”) They then really caught on in the rest of Europe after Queen Elizabeth I of England started using them in the 1580s. The terms “coach” and “carriage” are often used interchangeably, but if one wanted to pin-point the advancements coaches specifically made in contrast to carriages of the past, there are a few differences one can pick out in how they’re built. Coaches generally are four-wheeled enclosed vehicles with doors and/or windows (glass was added in later centuries), and often include a “boot” seat on the outside for a footman and/or luggage to sit on. Coaches also generally have a reputation for providing a smoother ride than previous modes of transport because they’re suspended between the wheels rather than directly over or beside them. After the invention of the coach, one can find carriages (royal ones, in particular) adopting some of these same attributes.

Sadly wheelchairs really weren’t a thing in the 16th century. The first self-propelled wheeled chairs were developed in the mid-17th century and refined in the 18th, with sedan chairs or litters (A.K.A. chairs you carried) generally being used by the nobility prior to that. But there’s no way in Hell I’m not going to give McNully the independence he deserves, so I used a completely anachronistic design inspired by this antique wheelchair I found online, made circa around the 1840′s. Hey, this is a fantasy world anyway, so bleh. :P The flower detailing on the wheel is supposed to evoke an emblem I see being on Florence’s green and gold coat of arms (get it? “Florence?” “Flora?”). You might also notice that McNully has little Snitch-like “wing” frills on each of his buttons! XD

Another fun thing I learned while doing research -- although cloaks were often worn for warmth during the medieval period and beyond, in England during the Elizabethan era, their use was actually actively discouraged and even prohibited, as they were associated with criminals and rebels! Therefore it was common for a lot of English noblemen and women to wear thicker clothing made of wool and accessories like muffs, gloves, and even jackets for warmth instead. I tried very, very hard to find historically accurate examples of period-worthy jackets and capes for women around the time of the Renaissance, and was very frustrated to find a lot of fantasy-esque costume pieces or historical clothing from later eras that were simply mislabeled -- but I did find one lovely recreation of a 16th century wool jacket, so that’s what I used as reference for Carewyn’s jacket in this sketch, though I personally imagine it as a dark red, so as to better blend with her burnt orange and beige servant’s uniform. Bill’s uniform is based off a real castle guard uniform from early 16th century France, though with a much simpler color palette (I see Royaume’s colors being blue and red). Like with McNully’s chair, there’s a crown on the chest of Bill’s uniform, which I see being on Royaume’s coat of arms (“royaume” is literally French for “kingdom”).

In her canon, Carewyn was born when Jacob was nine years old. Although in most of Carewyn and Jacob’s canon post-Portrait-Vault, they end up being only two years apart in age, that’s only because Jacob stopped aging while trapped in a Portrait for seven years. From Carewyn’s fifth year on, Jacob and Carewyn in canon therefore act much more like contemporaries, even though Jacob actually kind of ended up partially raising Carewyn alongside their mother Lane.

Previous part is here – whole tag is here – Katriona “KC” Cassiopeia belongs to @kc-needs-coffee and I hope you all enjoy! xoxo

x~x~x~x

Every day over the next week, Carewyn met Orion at the gate of the palace of Royaume, and the two would spend an hour or so together. Orion would ask her about life at the palace, Carewyn would playfully respond, and sooner or later, they’d end up getting diverted and talking about something else completely, whether the upcoming Winter Festival, the language of flowers, art, poetry, the meaning of life, music, fencing, or (after seeing a rather beautiful eagle flying overhead) what it might be like to fly. Carewyn honestly wasn’t entirely sure what Orion got out of their meetings besides entertainment, and naturally she couldn’t afford to indulge in such entertainment too long, when she had so much work to do around the castle and she still had to find out where Jacob was positioned. But she had to admit, with the King and Queen having invited Iris over to stay in one of the guest suites at the palace for the remainder of the month, Carewyn didn’t mind having an excuse to stay far away from her cousin. Lately Carewyn had actively planned her days so that she could clean the guest suites at teatime, when Iris would be in one of the foyers with the King, Queen, and Prince on the opposite side of the palace. She did not want a repeat of the other day, after all...particularly since she’d also need time to change out of the nicer, collared dresses she’d wear when spending time with Orion.

Orion, meanwhile, was of course getting a bit more than entertainment out of his and Carewyn’s meetings. Through speaking with Carewyn, he’d sussed out some very helpful information about Royaumanian culture, the dynamics within Royaume’s royal family, and both their and their country’s financial state. One day he told his closest confidantes at court, Skye and McNully, some of what he’d learned...but Skye didn’t react quite as favorably as Orion had expected.

“...I gave Lady Cromwell a copy of the sheet music for ‘No One is Alone’ last week -- you remember the song, of course? And from what I understand, Prince Henri and the castle staff have quite taken to it. Not that I’m surprised -- Carewyn has a very soothing voice. I’m sure she performed it very well. But the Prince listening to the words at all is a good sign -- I even asked Carewyn if the Prince enjoyed them, and she said she believed so. She also found their message meaningful...one of Florence’s best-loved anti-War songs, and one about looking through another’s eyes and forgiving past grievances, no less! That can only be a good sign, for Royaumanians to take heart in it. It surely must have been fate that Lady Cromwell and I collided at the market -- I had a feeling we were kindred spirits, when she came to my aid, but now I am most assured of it. I might hazard a guess that she wishes for peace just as much as I -- for the sake of her brother fighting in the field, yes, but also selflessly for the sake of others, not wishing to see any other person in pain...”

“She sounds like a perfect knight in shining armor,” said Skye, her voice oddly cutting.

Orion looked up at Skye, startled by her tone. Her arms were crossed over the chest of her faded blue linen dress.

“Anything else you want to tell us about the fair Lady Cromwell,” she said rather icily, “or are you actually ready to talk about how you plan to end this War?”

Orion blinked slowly. “...I thought that we were already discussing that.”

“Really?” scoffed Skye. “‘Cause it sounds to me like you were busy gushing over your new conquest.”

“Conquest?” Orion repeated. His confused tone then melted into something more soothing and indulgent, “Oh -- no, Skye...you misunderstand me. I have no interest in courting Carewyn -- she’s just my contact point, with the palace.”

Skye gave a very loud, disbelieving snort. “Ha! Right, of course she is -- that’s why you can’t stop gushing about ‘Carewyn this’ and ‘Lady Cromwell that.’”

“Skye has a point, Orion,” said McNully, though his voice was a lot less confrontational. If anything he sounded almost sheepish. “I mean, about 85% of your report was about Lady Cromwell. You used her name over ten times just in the span of a minute.”

Amazingly Orion’s calm, hard-to-read expression didn’t crack. His hands clasped lightly in front of him.

“Lady Cromwell plays an essential part in this strategy. I’m an outsider looking in, without her insight -- a ship sailing blindly, without the light from a lighthouse to give me direction.”

“A lighthouse for a lost ship -- oh yeah, those sound like the words of someone who’s focusing on winning a war and not swooning over a pretty face,” said Skye scathingly. “Maybe instead of always running off and playing dress-up, you could actually bother to do your duty and go help fight on the battlefield for once!”

Orion’s lips came together tightly, but it didn’t make his expression any less composed. McNully shot Skye an uncomfortable, faintly disapproving look.

“Easy, Skye,” he murmured. “You know Orion -- ”

But Skye didn’t seem to hear McNully. Instead she tore into Orion.

“Face it, Orion -- you just like being treated like a commoner again and being able to make believe that you don’t have any responsibilities or worries...well, guess what? You’re not a commoner anymore! You’re the Prince of Florence -- you reckon little Miss Knight-in-Shining-Armor would take kindly to that, when she finds out?”

Orion’s dark eyes narrowed ever-so-slightly upon Skye’s face.

“Carewyn’s not an unreasonable woman,” he said softly. “I’m certain she would understand the reason behind my secrecy.”

This, if anything, only seemed to make Skye madder.

“Of course she would,” she muttered sourly. “Little Lady Royaume can do no wrong in your eyes, can she?”

She turned on her heel and stormed out, leaving Orion feeling very resigned and confused. McNully gave a heavy sigh, before facing Orion with a more serious expression.

“She’s overreacting, as usual,” he said, “but she’s still 60% right. It’s risky enough for you to get this close to anyone right now, when your position as Crown Prince is threatened by the likes of Lord Malfoy. He’d frankly love to have something like that over you. But someone from Royaume? The granddaughter of one of the most powerful, wealthy, and feared noblemen in their country? Orion, that’s dangerous.”

Orion leaned his hands on the table, looking down at the map of Florence and Royaume laid out on top of it.

“McNully, I assure you...my objective has not changed,” he said very levelly. “Everything I have done is for Florence -- for peace and balance. I admit, Lady Cromwell is a fascinating woman, and certainly one to be admired...but I spend time with her to gather intelligence I can obtain nowhere else. That is all.”

McNully looked doubtful, but didn’t directly address it. Instead he said, “I understand she’s your eyes and ears inside the palace, and the intelligence you’re getting is valuable...but don’t forget, she isn’t on your team. She’s on Royaume’s. And right now, Royaume is kicking our tail out there, on the battlefield.”

Orion’s dark eyes drifted away from the table as McNully leaned his arms on the table himself.

“It’s getting bad again,” he murmured very seriously. “I know you said the palace of Royaume’s strapped for funds, but somehow or another, they’ve scrounged up enough to get more cannons, and their troops have been moving them around every couple of hours so that our men never know where they’re going to be firing from next. It’s been very effective. Whoever’s been giving Royaume’s King and Queen military strategy lately, they’re a bloody genius.”

McNully clearly was irritated about this, given the flash that shot through his narrowed eyes.

“Your father sent me a request for a counter-strategy this morning. You know it’s likely if the strategy isn’t one he can execute on his own, he may ask both you and me to join him there, on the front lines.”

Orion did not respond. His expression was as unreadable as ever, but there was something oddly detached and avoidant in his posture.

“I know you don’t want that, and you know I have faith in you,” said McNully, “but your strategy is a slow burn, Orion. It requires both patience and time...and we might not end up having as much of those as you think.”

Once again, Orion chose not to answer. McNully sighed again.

“You know I’ll be right behind you in a coach, if you need me,” he said tiredly. “Just...mind that you use your head as well as your heart, all right?”

Orion threw on his black traveling cloak and headed back to Royaume not long after, hoping to meet up with Carewyn for an evening stroll. There was a notable chill in the air -- if it got much colder, he thought that any rain might instead come down as sleet or maybe even snow.

When Orion arrived at the gate, however, he was met not by Carewyn, but by KC. She was dressed in a high-necked gown made of black velvet and holding a leather-bound book and a stack of parchment in her arms.

Orion tilted his head slightly to glance at the piece of parchment on the top of the stack, which had several “X’s” scattered over an oddly familiar map.

“Plans to bury some pirate treasure?” he asked pleasantly.

KC gave a lightly amused snort. “No, just military plans.”

Her lightly freckled face then grew a bit more serious. “I guess you’re here for Carewyn?”

Orion had been ready to ask more about the military plans KC was holding, but decided not to circle back to it when she changed the subject.

“Yes. Has she been detained?”

“I guess so...” said KC. Her lips twisted into a concerned frown as she looked out at the darkening sky.

Orion’s eyebrows knit together over his eyes slightly. “You seem concerned.”

KC bit her lip. “Mm...it’s just...well, you see, one of the royal carriages broke down earlier today, when the Queen was riding through the country with Lady Yaxley.”

Orion raised his eyebrows. “Lady Iris Yaxley, do you mean? Carewyn’s cousin?”

“Yes. No one was badly hurt, fortunately, but the Queen, Lady Iris, and the coachman and footman were forced to ride the horses back and leave the carriage behind. When they got back, they asked the royal carpenter, Charlie Weasley, to go fix it. Charlie said that he probably wouldn’t have the proper tools to fix it here at the castle, so Carewyn offered to ride out with him, so that their horses could drag the coach together to the Weasley family cottage, about forty minutes away. The problem is,” she said with a deepening frown, “they left over two hours ago, and they’re still not back yet. Bill headed out after them on his own horse not long before you got here...he’s Charlie’s brother, so he knows the route they would’ve taken...”

Orion’s dark eyes had narrowed significantly.

“Which road did Sir Weasley take after them?” he asked, his calm voice nonetheless touched with the faintest edge.

KC pointed. “Northwest -- toward the mountains.”

Orion nodded. “Thank you.”

And with this, he turned on his heel and rushed back toward where he thought he might find McNully’s coach. He needed to borrow a horse.

Setting one of the black horses free of the black coach, Orion rode off toward the mountains, his slightly-too-long dark hair flapping freely behind him. The road was well-marked, but it soon veered off into dense woods as it migrated up toward the mountains. Orion had never gone so far west into Royaume before, let alone far from Florence before. Despite himself, he had to acknowledge the beauty of the landscape. The views of the castle below were breathtaking -- it looked as tiny as a toy, and yet the infinite glass windows made it sparkle like some diamond-like beacon in the darkening sky. He wondered if his own palace in Florence looked so beautiful to others, at a distance. As much as he himself hadn’t been raised a prince, it was difficult for him to look at his own palace as anything other than a cage.

As he went further uphill and the sky darkened, it also grew colder. Orion was starting to see his own breath on the air. He thought of Carewyn alone in the cold, perhaps hurt, and had to take several deep breaths to sooth his nerves. He was never in a right state, when he let his thoughts run too wild or his fears chatter too loudly.

Finally Orion caught sight of two familiar ginger-headed men, standing by an overturned coach, covered in mud and missing one of its back wheels. One of the men was the tall, freckled castle guard from the other day who Carewyn called Bill, dressed in his high-collared blue and red patterned uniform tunic and matching white feathered, blue-velvet hat -- the other was much stockier, but no less freckled, dressed in a burgundy-colored tunic and loose brown pants and boots, and he wore his ginger hair in a ponytail not unlike Orion’s when he was at court. When Orion approached them, Bill immediately reacted with suspicion -- Orion explained what KC had told him and asked where Carewyn was, and was incredibly startled to hear her voice coming from over the edge of the cliff.

“I’m down here!”

Orion couldn’t help but feel a flash of concern. He raced over as if to look over the edge, but Charlie lashed out an arm in front of the taller man to stop him.

“Uh, I wouldn’t look over if I were you, mate,” he said, having trouble biting back his laughter despite himself.

He pointed at the broken carriage. Hanging over one of the doors was what looked like the burnt orange and beige skirt of a dress and several wool petticoats.

Orion blinked a few times in great surprise, his tanned cheeks darkening with a faint blush. Bill, however, reacted with anxiety.

“Carewyn!” he shouted over the ravine. “Are you in your underwear down there!?”

“Ugh -- well, I couldn’t very well climb down into this briar patch and wrench this wheel loose in my dress, could I?” Carewyn called back up rather haughtily. “At least my bloomers are slightly akin to the sorts of trousers you all wear.”

“You’ll catch a death of cold out here!” said Bill.

“I’m all right,” Carewyn reassured him. “Ulk -- ugh -- I have the wool jacket Andre made for me on...”

Charlie took a step forward, his eyes moved up toward the darkening sky pointedly so as not to look over the edge as he called down,

“Bill’s right, though, Carewyn -- it’s getting colder by the minute...and it’s getting dark too. Are you sure you can lift that thing up and over all by yourself?”

“Ugh...I admit, it’s a bit difficult!” she called back. “But I think I can manage.”

Recalling Carewyn’s blatant refusal of help in retrieving her horse, Orion -- still fighting back a slight blush -- called over the ravine himself.

“We do not question your capabilities, Carewyn,” he said patiently, “but would you like our help?”

“Ugh -- don’t be silly,” said Carewyn, sounding faintly haughty. “You, Charlie, and Bill would break your necks, climbing down here. And I’m still in my undergarments -- I have no interest in anyone seeing me prance around without proper clothes on, thank you.”

“It’s no use,” Charlie muttered under his breath, “I’ve tried to offer her help for the last hour, but she keeps putting me off, saying she’s fine. I don’t get why she feels like she has to do everything by herself...”

“Probably because she’s always had to, Charlie,” said Bill quietly. His voice betrayed a lot of sympathy and sadness as he exhaled through his nose.

Orion’s black eyes deepened with some compassion for Bill as he called back over the ravine to Carewyn,

“Your points are well made, my lady...but we’d still like to help you.”

“Ugh -- you can help me by leaving me my dignity and not looking over while I’m only half-dressed...ack...”

“Would you accept us doing more than that?”

“Urgh -- I am...sorry to have made you and Bill come out all this way -- but I’m all right, really.”

Bill glanced at Orion out the side of his eye, and then back at the cliff. Despite his distrust of the man, the eldest Weasley was sort of glad he wasn’t the only one who disliked how reticent Carewyn was to accept help.

“You don’t need to apologize,” he said earnestly. “I was -- we were worried about you, Carewyn. You and Charlie.”

He and Orion glanced at each other. Bill wished the other man’s expression wasn’t so hard to read. The castle guard tried to twist his uncomfortable frown into a smile that Carewyn would hopefully be able to hear over the edge of the cliff.

“Come on...let’s get you and that wheel up and over so you can get back into your dress.”

There was a silence. Then Carewyn said a bit more quietly,

“...You don’t need to worry about me.”

“Wha -- oh, come off it, Carewyn!” said Charlie exasperatedly. “To hell we do! You think I was mucking about, calling you my pal and saying I needed to figure out a nickname for you? Now let us help you, or I’ll consider making that nickname an irritating one!”

There was another silence. Then Carewyn sighed very loudly and tiredly, and Orion couldn’t help but grin, because he could tell she’d finally given in.

“Oh, all right,” she said begrudgingly. “But I don’t really know how you’re going to help, when you can’t look at me.”

Orion closed his eyes.

“Describe your surroundings, Carewyn,” he said. “Paint a picture for me, with your words.”

“...Well, I’ve gotten the wheel out of the briar patch. I’m trying to roll it back up, but it’s as large as me, and the downward slope and the ice is making it difficult. Plus the wheel isn’t in great shape -- all of its spokes are broken, so there isn’t much for me to push up on, while rolling it uphill.”

“I would’ve told her to just forget it, but it’d be much easier for me to carve a new wheel if I have framework from the old one,” Charlie explained. “I’m already going to have to make the new spokes and hubcap completely out of wood instead of using any gold or metalwork, but it’s still going to take a lot of time...even more so if the old wheel framework can’t be saved...”

Orion considered the matter, visualizing the set-up down below on the inside of his eyelids. “...What’s left of the wheel...is it made of metal or wood?”

“Wood...but there seems to be some sort of metal lining around the rim, held on by nails.”

“That’d be for durability, I reckon,” said Charlie. “Wood alone would get chaffed badly on the ground, moving in a constant circle down cobblestones or over anything rocky.”

Orion opened his eyes and looked over the broken coach. His gaze lingered on the thick leather straps coming off of the front that no doubt would’ve attached it to their horses. Then he abruptly got up, rushing over to undo the straps from the carriage.

“What are you doing?” said Bill, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

Orion quickly knotted the long, thick leather straps together with several complex-looking and strong knots.

“Carewyn,” he called over very calmly, “I’m going to lower this down to you -- use the buckle and loop it securely around the inside rim of the wheel, so that it’s tight. Give it a light tug when it’s secure.”

He blindly tossed one end of the rope made out of leather straps over the edge of the cliff. After a minute, he felt a light tug at the end.

“Gentlemen,” Orion murmured to the Weasleys, ��I’ll need you to hold this, for just a moment. Carewyn,” he added, as Charlie and Bill both grabbed the end of the makeshift rope and he let go, “I’m going to need you to step onto the wheel yourself and hold on.”

“What?” said Carewyn. “Orion, you can’t lift both me and the wheel -- it’s far too much! I’ll climb up and out myself -- ”

“Not to worry, my lady -- none of us will be doing the lifting,” said Orion serenely.

He led both his black horse and Bill’s chestnut horse over by their reins, and -- taking the makeshift rope from Bill and Charlie again -- he looped the end under the straps of both his and Bill’s saddles. He gave several tugs at all of the connections to make sure they were tight and secure before mounting his horse.

“Sir Weasley, if you would assist me.”

Catching onto Orion’s idea at last, Bill rushed forward so he could jump up onto his own horse.

“Mr. Weasley, you may want to have your hands ready to help Carewyn climb out when she gets close to the top,” said Orion over his shoulder. “Sir Weasley, together now.”

With a lot of effort and strain, the two horses were able to lift Carewyn and the broken wheel up and out of the ravine. Once Carewyn was out, all three men averted their eyes so she could put her dress back on. Once she was suitably redressed in her orange-and-beige dress, snood, and dark scarlet wool jacket, she, Bill, and Orion helped Charlie secure some makeshift posts he’d carved out of some nearby tree branches under the broken coach so that their four horses could lift it up off the ground and help support it without its second back wheel. Then the four hobbled the coach up the mountain the rest of the way to the Weasley family cottage.

The home of the Weasley family, affectionately nicknamed “the Burrow,” was built up against the side of a hill. Attached to the house was a large farm with sprawling pastures and short, rustic wooden fences. Its roof had clearly been patched up multiple times over the years with whatever kind of wood was on hand, making it resemble a patchwork quilt.

When the group arrived, Bill and Charlie’s youngest sibling and only sister Ginny immediately ran out to greet them -- she’d seen them coming up over the horizon and was beyond thrilled to see that it was her eldest brothers. Bill and Charlie’s teenage brothers Percy, Fred, George, and Ron soon followed along after. Fred and George -- who were identical twins -- were quick to crow that Charlie had brought them an early birthday present (namely, the coach), and Percy scolded them that clearly it was for work and they should let it alone. Orion and Carewyn ended up staying back at a distance, both faintly baffled by the amount of warmth and noise emanating from the seven siblings as they chattered amongst themselves, constantly stepping on each other’s feet and interrupting what everyone else was saying. Neither of them had ever encountered a family quite like this before. When Bill and Charlie’s parents, Arthur and Molly Weasley, emerged from the house, however, Molly very quickly bustled every last one of them inside, including Orion and Carewyn.

“In you go, the lot of you,” she said in a forceful, but very warm tone of voice. “You all look like you need some supper-- ”

“Oh -- no, Mrs. Weasley,” said Carewyn very quickly, “I couldn’t impose -- ”

“Nonsense, dear!” said Molly, as she took Carewyn’s hands and led her inside. “Why, you’re positively freezing! To think, you came all the way out here without a proper muff for your hands...”

“I had to help Charlie with the carriage,” Carewyn said, her eyes drawn away awkwardly rather than looking at Molly, “I couldn’t hope to have my hands free, using a muff...”

“Then both of you should come inside and get warm,” said Arthur, startling Orion with an amiable clap on the back. “Any friend of Bill and Charlie’s is a friend of our family.”

Carewyn had never been the subject of such coddling and generosity before in her life. Her mother had always taught her to treat people with respect and compassion, of course, but she had been a soft-spoken and understated person, and their family life had always been very quiet. And of course at the Cromwell estate, it had been less modest and quiet, but far less affectionate as well. Never had she ever visited such a loud, crowded, and faintly uncomfortable place that still nonetheless felt like a home, full of warmth and love.

Even Orion found himself feeling a bit unsettled by the Weasley family’s overwhelming hospitality. He’d been in plenty of unruly, crowded, and loud settings like this before -- but none of them had ever been quite this...well, jovial. It made it so that Orion yearned for peace, quiet, and returned distance, and yet also couldn’t help but marvel at the positive vibes that rippled off of this family and how much they could give, despite clearly having so little. When dinner was served, Orion had to politely decline a bowl of beef stew because he didn’t eat meat, and Molly Weasley immediately handed the bowl off to Ron so she could set about making Orion his own plate, piled high with cheesy mashed potatoes, sauteed mushrooms, and roasted cauliflower seasoned with garlic and chives.

The Weasley family and their guests sat in an uncomfortable, messy half-circle around the large brick fireplace, laughing and talking as they ate. After supper came the dessert of hot, fresh apple dumplings, and after dessert came some hot tea and scones. After all, said Molly Weasley, having guests over was a rare treat, so they were going to celebrate appropriately. Neither Carewyn nor Orion could remember ever having felt so full in all their lives.

As everyone enjoyed their scones and tea, stories and songs were swapped around the fire. At one point in the evening, twelve-year-old Ginny -- who was perfectly thrilled to have another girl around, for a change -- begged Carewyn to sing for them. Apparently Bill had told his family all about her lovely voice. So, with some encouragement from Charlie, Arthur, and Molly, Carewyn bit back a broad, amused grin, took a deep breath, and started to sing.

“Mother cannot guide you...now you’re on your own.

Only me beside you -- still, you’re not alone...”

Orion had thought to himself that Carewyn must have done the song from his youth proper justice while singing for the Prince, but hearing her sing it in person, seeing her smile at him and her eyes sparkle as she did so...it was a completely different matter. As before, Orion felt all of the tension in his shoulders ebb off of him, as easily as dirt was washed away in warm water. He bowed his head and closed his eyes, tilting his head a bit so that he could hear her better, as his breathing and heart rate slowed. Even with his eyes closed, he could hear a smile in every word Carewyn sang...even when she likely wasn’t smiling at all, he thought. How could she be smiling, when lines like “sometimes people leave you half-way through the wood” and “people make mistakes -- fathers, mothers” rang with such emotion and pain? Was that pain visible on her face? Orion thought not, given Carewyn’s sense of grace and composure...but he heard it, all the same. He felt it -- her heart, aching with a kind of deep, blazing empathy Orion had never encountered in anyone else before.

When Carewyn came to the end of the song, Orion opened his eyes at last. The Weasleys all clapped, delighted, but he barely heard them as he turned to Carewyn.

“...That was remarkable,” he murmured.

Carewyn smiled. “I’m glad you think I did it justice.”

“Mm,” said Orion. “I’ve...never heard anyone drown like that, before.”

Carewyn couldn’t bite back a laugh. “Perhaps I didn’t do it justice then, if I sounded like I was drowning...”

“You were drowning in the words’ meaning,” corrected Orion. “Enveloping and submerging yourself in them -- allowing them to pull you in and take your breath away.”

He smiled, his black eyes very soft upon Carewyn’s face.

“It was...very moving.”

Molly’s face spread into an indulgent smile as she reached forward and patted Carewyn’s hand. “It was absolutely beautiful, dear.”

“Orion’s right, Carewyn,” agreed Arthur. “Your feelings really came through. I could tell the words mean something to you.”

Carewyn offered a polite smile, even as her eyes drifted away. “...I suppose they do.”

“It sounds like a lullaby, sort of,” mused Ron. “Even if it talks about your mother not being around.”

Ginny tilted her head toward Carewyn, Ron’s words prompting concern.

“...Do you not have a mother, Carewyn?”

The rest of the family went very quiet -- some like Percy shot Ginny warning looks, while others like Molly and Ron couldn’t help but glance at Carewyn in similar concern.

Carewyn’s gaze had drifted off onto the fire. Although she was turned away and her face was stoic, however, Orion could see her eyes rippling like turbulent ocean water, before she closed them solemnly.

“...I had one,” she answered softly at last. “She died when I was twelve.”

“Was she sick?” asked Ron, very hesitantly.

Carewyn bowed her head and gave a single, silent nod. Everyone in the room knew what that meant. The Plague had swept through both Royaume and Florence several times, over the span of the War -- one of the worst years was about nine years ago now...probably the same year Carewyn had lost her mother.

Orion’s black eyes narrowed ever-so-slightly upon her face. Molly looked like she wanted to envelop Carewyn in the biggest hug and was only holding back the urge because of her husband’s tight, reassuring squeeze to her hand.

“Oh, you poor dear,” she murmured.

Carewyn raised her head at last, her expression once again touched by a small, resilient, pretty smile.

“It’s all right,” she said gently, her eyes only briefly grazing each of the Weasleys’ faces. “I’ll always miss my mother...but I’m getting along all right. And I still have Jacob.”

“Your brother?” asked Percy, and Carewyn nodded.

“He left for War the same day he and I moved in with our grandfather,” Carewyn explained.

“Your brother must be quite a bit older than you, then,” said Orion.

Carewyn glanced at Orion out the side of her eye, smiling slightly. “Nine years older, yes. You know...you actually remind me of him, a bit.”

Orion raised his eyebrows. “Oh?”

Carewyn was forced to stifle a giggle behind her hand. “Jacob is also the sort to do things in his own clever way. Only he’s a lot more aggressive than you -- and more talkative, and arrogant, and overprotective...”

“And uglier,” inserted Fred.

“And smellier,” added George.

“With a long crooked nose and ears like a bat’s.”

The younger Weasley siblings were all laughing now. Carewyn had to cover her mouth to stifle her giggling.

“No!” she choked. “I don’t mean it like that! He’s wonderful, really. He’s just...well, an absolute idiot about how to interact with other people. He’s completely brilliant, mind you -- he could give you whole lectures about anything from geography to mathematics to physics...but coming up with spontaneous gifts for no occasion at all, just based on someone’s interests? He’d need some prodding, to do something like that.”

She smiled at Orion, who couldn’t help but grin fully in return.

“It was truly nothing at all, Carewyn,” he said. “With your love of music, it felt like that song would be something you would appreciate.”

Arthur glanced at Orion curiously. “Where is that song from, Orion? I’ve never heard it before.”

“I learned it as a boy,” Orion answered. “I would hear it sung outside the window of the workhouse, sometimes.”

Molly looked very troubled. “Workhouse? Orion dear, you don’t mean to say you grew up in one of those terrible places?”

Orion felt Carewyn’s gaze on him. When he looked back at her, her almond-shaped blue eyes were rippling with concern as well, though much gentler and more empathetic than Molly’s. He tried to offer her a smile.

“Let’s just say the words spoke to me as well, at the time,” he said lightly. “Not just to me, either...all of the boys there, one way or another, were where they were because of other people’s ‘terrible mistakes.’”

Orion’s gaze drifted down to his own hands as he lightly clasped them in his lap.

“...The War doesn’t touch you the same way here, but...the closer you are to Florence...the more the reality of it hits you in the face, every day. Even when you’re not on the battlefield itself -- even when you’re just at the border -- you, and the ones you care for, run the risk of getting caught in the crossfire. And on the border of Florence and Royaume...in those towns where it’s hard to tell where one country starts and another begins...tensions are like gunpowder. One spark from the tiniest match can set it ablaze -- can make everything implode, and force you to start all over again.”

His face was unreadable, but his black eyes were endless, rippling with the recollection of the fire and smoke -- the red and blue colors of Royaume, on the saddles of horses -- the life leaving his mother’s eyes -- his own heavy, terrified hyperventilating...

He closed his eyes and took several very deep, measured breaths before continuing.

“In such a place...one can find people desperate enough to want to lash out at others, to avenge their pain,” said Orion solemnly. “But there was one sweet old woman who owned a flower and herb shop near the workhouse. She’d had to rebuild her establishment several times over the years, and from what I understand, she finally had to leave town not long after I did...but every time she caught wind that the army was coming to town, looking for new recruits...she’d sing the song just loudly enough that we boys could hear it through our window.”

He absently played with the crudely carved circular charm on the cord around his neck in one hand.

“And although there were those who still enlisted afterwards...many others did not.”

Carewyn’s eyes widened.

“‘While we’re seeing our side,’ ” she sang again, more softly, “‘maybe we forgot...they are not alone. No one is alone.’ ”

Orion’s lips spread into a smile as he looked at Carewyn, his black eyes rippling gently as he nodded.

“So it’s against the War, then,” murmured Charlie. He glanced at his parents, who both looked concerned.

“Did that woman with the flower shop give you that?” asked Ginny curiously, indicating the charm around Orion’s neck.

“Yes,” said Orion. “She gave it to me one night when I tried to run away, to soothe my nerves. Its effects wore off by the next morning, but I’ve never really had the heart to throw it out.”

Percy sputtered, looking very pale. “Th-then she was a witch?”

“Whoa,” said Fred and George, looking almost too eager.

“Did she turn all the army into pigs?” asked George.

“Did she lure you in and try to cook you in a soup?” said Fred.

Orion smiled indulgently. “Of course not -- ”

“Well, thank Heavens for that!” said Molly, shooting the twins a very reproachful look. “Magic isn’t something to make fun of, you two -- it’s frankly a wonder you weren’t hurt, dear...”

Orion frowned. “There was no danger, Madam Weasley, I assure you.”

“No danger! Orion,” Molly scolded him indulgently, “I applaud your courage...but nature has its own way of things, and any magic that twists it out of shape is more dangerous than it’s worth.”

To the Weasley family’s surprise, Carewyn actually spoke up.

“Mrs. Weasley, men tend fields, plant seeds, domesticate horses and dogs...treat illnesses and injuries...cut hair and wear makeup and put on heeled shoes to make ourselves appear taller. Would that not also be twisting nature’s intent?”

Molly actually faltered somewhat. “Well, yes, but...that’s very different from magic, Carewyn! Magic is...well, it’s wild. Uncontrollable.”

“It’s untamed chaos,” said Arthur more levelly than his wife. “A kind that’s done a lot more harm than good.”

“But it still can be used for good,” said Carewyn very firmly. “And if it has that potential, why must we treat it as though it and all of its users are inherently reprehensible? If magic can be used to save lives, or heal the sick, or even just calm a scared boy down after something horrible...”

She glanced at Orion out the side of her eye.

“...Then it seems to be like any other weapon or tool, or even any other person -- something that could protect or hurt.”

Orion felt like his heart was being flooded with warmth, and his entire expression melted with pride and something like affection as he stared at Carewyn.

She truly is a woman to be admired. The memory of Skye’s irritation and McNully’s warning rippled over Orion’s mind and he found himself faltering. Admire...yes. Anyone could grow to admire such a woman, couldn’t they? To respect and esteem her...to...grow an attachment, to her... Even I? Could I...?

The Weasleys exchanged uncertain looks amongst themselves.

“Come to think of it,” said Ron thoughtfully, “wasn’t there that old myth about fairy godmothers who grant you wishes?”

Fred brought an arm roughly around his younger brother’s neck and put him in a rough choke hold. “Aww, ickle Ronnie wanting a pwetty new dress?”

“‘Oh fairy godmother, I just gotta have a new dress for the Winter Festival!’” said George in a high-pitched squeal.

“Geroff!” growled Ron, as he pulled free.

“Oh, but that would be fun!” sighed Ginny. “Dancing at the Winter Festival, in the prettiest dress you’ve ever seen...you’re going to the Festival, aren’t you, Carewyn?”

“Probably not, Ginny,” said Carewyn gently, “I’ve got so much work to do...”

“Oh, but you have to!” whined Ginny. “The Festival’s tradition! Right, Orion?”

“So I’ve heard,” Orion said modestly, “but I’m afraid I’ve never attended a Winter Festival either.”

“What?!” said all of the Weasley children except Bill in thoroughly aghast unison.

“It’s the biggest celebration of the entire year -- ”

“Everybody in town will be there -- ”

“ -- well, aside from the noble tarts -- ”

“ -- but hey, who needs them?”

“Everybody makes the best mince pies and hot apple cider -- ”

“There’s dancing and singing and games and gift-giving -- ”

“You just can’t miss it -- ”

Before long, they’d completely gotten off the topic of magic all together, so the Weasleys could tell Orion all about the Winter Festival. Carewyn took the opportunity to start carrying dishes into the kitchen so that she could help Molly clean up. While she did so, Bill pulled her aside.

“Carewyn...can I talk to you? Alone?”

Carewyn blinked, but nonetheless put down the dishes she was carrying and followed Bill off into a secluded corner.

“What’s wrong?” she asked in concern.

Bill bit the inside of his lip, his brown eyes drifting over in the direction of the fireplace where the rest of his family was sitting with Orion.

“Carewyn,” he said slowly, “who is that man, really?”

Carewyn’s eyebrows knit together. Bill ran a hand over the undone collar of his tunic absently.

“He’s hiding something, I know it. And I’m sure you see it too. He dodges questions he doesn’t want to answer, and as much as he’s even told us tonight about himself, he never gives important details. He lived near the border, but he didn’t mention what town he’s from. He lived in a workhouse, presumably after losing his parents, but he never said what he lost them to.”

“Those things might not be easy for him to talk about, Bill,” Carewyn said softly.

“Yes,” said Bill in a bracing voice, “but he also hopped the walls of the palace, completely ignorant of how tight royal security is and why, has enough time to chase after you most every day, and gets paints from people he can’t identify and learns songs from people who, from the sound of things, practice witchcraft.”

Bill crossed his arms. He clearly was trying to be considerate to Carewyn’s feelings, but couldn’t hold back his concerns.

“Look, I...I understand you like the man. And I understand why -- Ginny and the others seem to have taken to him pretty well, too. But there’s no reason for someone to hold back that many secrets, unless they’re up to no good. He could be a cad, or a criminal, or maybe even something worse. Judging by his stance on magic, he could even be a magician himself...”

His brown eyes narrowed slightly upon Carewyn’s face.

“I’m just...worried about you, that’s all,” he said lowly.

Carewyn considered Bill for a long moment. Then, reaching out a hand, she gently took hold of Bill’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze.

“Bill...I understand how you feel. And I’m grateful, truly grateful, for your caring. I hardly deserve it, and it...it means a lot to me.”

Bill frowned deeply, ready to say something, but Carewyn cut him off.

“But believe me when I say that people don’t just keep secrets because they mean to do harm. Sometimes -- for some people -- they’ve had to learn to hide themselves and shield their hearts...so much so that even when they encounter good people, it’s hard for them to let their guard down. Sometimes they’ve known so much pain that, even though they’re kind people, they’ve numbed themselves to a degree, just to protect themselves. Lied so much...that it becomes second-nature. Or worse, lie because they don’t know who they can really trust...because so many people have hurt them that they don’t know what trust even feels like anymore.”

Bill’s expression lost some of its edge, though it still looked wary.

“...And if he is a magic user?”

“Then he’s one of the good ones,” said Carewyn firmly.

Bill still looked a bit unsure. Carewyn squeezed his shoulder a bit more tightly, her eyes resting there instead of on his face.

“Bill, my brother is only alive, thanks to magic.”

Bill was startled.

“The Plague swept through our whole house,” said Carewyn lowly. “First the landlord and his family -- then my mother...and then Jacob. We were living hand-to-mouth, and I didn’t have anyone else to go to...so I went to the Cromwell estate.”

Bill’s brown eyes became a little smaller, darkening with grim understanding.

“...You went to your grandfather.”

Carewyn nodded. “He disowned Mum long ago, but he was still our family, so I thought he might be willing to help us. He agreed to take Jacob and me in and nurse Jacob back to health, so long as we paid back his generosity. Grandfather then tracked down a witch who could cast a spell to save Jacob’s life.”

Bill’s eyebrows furrowed. “Lord Cromwell hired a -- ?”

“Do not repeat this, Bill!” Carewyn said very sharply and urgently. “To anyone, do you understand? No one.”

Her eyes then softened visibly, becoming grimmer and sadder.

“Jacob was dying. There was no other option.”

Bill looked like he was in pain, just hearing this second-hand. He swallowed, and then gave a nod.

“So that witch saved your brother’s life,” he said quietly.

Carewyn nodded, her eyes full of emotion despite the stoicism of her features.

“The spell she cast bound Jacob’s life to Grandfather’s will. Jacob was brought into the house on a stretcher just after dawn, and within a half-hour...he was up on his own two feet again.”

Carewyn closed her eyes. She could still remember Jacob’s blazing, relieved smile as he barreled down the stairs and threw his arms around her, cradling her like a baby.

“My Wyn -- my sweet Wyn -- ”

Not long after that, though...Jacob’s arms were yanked away -- all of him was yanked away -- held back by Blaise and Claire and Pearl’s husbands, who all had work to together just to restrain Jacob as he fought to reach her, screaming and raging like a mad man --

“WYN! NO! GET OFF OF ME -- WYN! I WON’T LET YOU -- CAREWYN!”

Carewyn opened her eyes, the soft longing fading from her face completely and leaving a much more stony expression behind.

Bill himself, however, looked more troubled than ever.

“You said your brother left for War the same day you and he arrived at the Cromwell estate,” he whispered shakily. “Do you mean that, right after saving your brother’s life...Lord Cromwell immediately sent him off to War -- all while knowing how few men return home alive?”

Carewyn’s lips came together tightly.

“Grandfather sent him to the front, so that Jacob could start paying back the debt I owed him,” she said, her voice very soft and oddly distant. “After all...a man who wouldn’t die, so long as he willed it...would make an excellent soldier.”

Bill looked horrified.

“Then...” he whispered, “...then Jacob’s only alive because your grandfather decides whether he lives or dies? You only know your brother’s still alive after so many years at war...because Lord Cromwell is bound to him through magic, and he’s holding his life over your head?”

Carewyn withdrew her hand from Bill’s shoulder and turned away.

“Carewyn...that’s monstrous!” said Bill, and he was unable to keep his voice from rising. “I didn’t even know magic could do something like that -- but -- but that’s nothing, compared to...”

He couldn’t restrain himself. He actually threw an arm around Carewyn and pulled her into a hug from behind. The small ginger-haired woman stiffened like a startled cat.

“Bill?”

Carewyn looked up at him -- were those tears, in his eyes?

“Have you...never told anyone else, about this?” Bill murmured.

Carewyn tried to turn around, her blue eyes welling up with regret and pain. “Bill...”

She brought a hand through his hair, trying to soothe him the way she used to for Jacob.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I -- I didn’t mean to upset you -- I only wanted to explain why I’m not scared of magic...please forgive me.”

Bill closed his eyes to try to hold back both his righteous anger and his tears.

“Forgive you?” he repeated in a choked voice. “For what, trusting me with the truth?”

“For making you worry unnecessarily,” Carewyn said forcefully, trying to ignore how uncomfortably her stomach was squirming.

Bill opened his eyes, looking both flabbergasted and more upset than ever. “Unnecessarily?”

He roughly grabbed both of Carewyn’s shoulders and forced her to look up at him.

“Now you listen here, Carewyn Cromwell,” he said, taking on the sort of tone he only ever used with his younger siblings when they were being rowdy, “you may get to decide if you want to interact with me or not, or rely on me or not, or accept my help or not. But you don’t get to decide whether I worry about you or not. And from here on out...”

Bill’s brown eyes were blazing with resolve.

“...I’m going to worry about you. Because I hate the thought of someone feeling like anybody else worrying about them is somehow a problem.”

Carewyn was left speechless.

Bill’s face broke into a broad smile through his tears. “Until your brother’s back from the War, Carey, I’ll be looking after you for him -- no arguments, no dismissals, no saying you’re fine on your own. Got it?”

Carewyn looked at Bill, perfectly stunned. Then her gaze fell away toward the floor.

“...It sounds like...I really don’t get a choice in the matter, then,” she whispered.

“Nope,” said Bill, grinning broadly.

Carewyn was unable to fight back the weak smile prickling at the sides of her lips, nor the emotion flooding her eyes, even as she kept her face turned away.

“...And I suppose ‘Carey’...is a suggestion of a nickname you plan to give Charlie, for me?”

Bill’s eyes sparkled fondly. “Well, every one of my siblings has a nickname, in case you haven’t noticed.”

#hphm #hogwarts mystery #cinderella au #carewyn cromwell #orion amari #murphy mcnully #skye parkin #bill weasley #charlie weasley #percy weasley #fred weasley #george weasley #ron weasley #ginny weasley #molly weasley #arthur weasley #katriona cassiopeia #charles cromwell #jacob cromwell #my art #my writing #GAAAAHHHH BILLLL #I LOVE YOU SO FRIGGIN' MUCH MY PRECIOUS BOY ;~;#you go be a good big brother and best friend for carewyn you wonderful thing #also ooh hoo hoo~ orion you can claim you're not crushing but you aren't fooling anybody hahahaha #you'll figure out what you're feeling soon enough >D #we're learn more about how magic works in this universe as time goes on of course #but yeah rest assured there's still a lot to unravel in regards to what happened to jacob... >>#and of course this part is another reminder that charles cromwell is a no-good son of a b****

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goope-jp-tenmei · 6 years

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Behind the Stationery: Fox and Fallow

Today we’re taking you all the way to Australia to meet Janet from Fox and Fallow! Her bright designs and style reflect her surroundings in Brisbane. Janet shares her schedule for creating new product collections, how she brings each new product to life from design through production, and how her team helps to get it all done and shipped out each day. Take it away, Janet! —Megan Soh

From Janet: My background is in graphic design and art direction but after spending 10 years in design studios and advertising I felt like I needed a bit of a change. I really wanted to build my own brand after so many years of building other people’s brands. I fell in love with weddings after designing our own wedding stationery and signs and in 2013 we began creating wedding stationery and signs for couples as a side project. After about a year and a half I really wanted to reach a wider audience and create products of my own. So in 2015 we jumped right into the deep end and we launched our brand at the National Stationery Show in New York in 2015 and haven’t looked back!

We’re located in sunny Brisbane, Australia. It’s a fabulous city, the people are laid back, the food and bars are great and we’ve got more sunshine than we can handle! Our style is bright, fun, intricate and we love foil, so most of our paper goods are offset printed and foil stamped. I like to design in collections, releasing 3-4 collections per year, each with a totally different theme and style. This keeps things fresh and interesting and allows us to keep evolving our style each year.

Our studio is part office, part warehouse. All the design work, invoicing etc. gets done in the office and orders and products are checked, assembled, packaged and shipped out of the warehouse.We make a wide range of paper goods including greeting cards, gift wrap, flat notes, gift tags, prints, journals, notebooks, notepads and calendars.

We also make clipboard packs which are a really fun gift item and we make the clipboards in house, which involves sourcing the wood from a local supplier, laser cutting and engraving them, sanding, riveting and shrink wrapping the whole pack together.

We take care of the design, quality checking, packaging and assembly but leave the printing to our local and offshore printers. We make most of our products locally in Brisbane or Sydney, but a few products we had to get manufactured offshore to make sure the price points work for our customers.

I usually start with a double espresso and an attempt to clean out my inbox (which rarely happens)! We’ll get any orders from the previous day and ones that have come in overnight to the team to pick and pack so they’re shipped out ASAP. We try to wrap this up by 2pm so they’re ready to be collected by our couriers. After the orders are done for the day the team often keeps working on quality checking, assembling and packaging products and anything else that needs doing before finishing up around 5pm. If we’ve got a big order to get out, it’s all hands on deck and we’ll do some pretty big hours to get it out in time, but it’s great we can be flexible and have our team take product home to package – which works great! No one wants to be working late in the office right?

I’ll usually grab another coffee and get started on artwork, product sourcing, bill-paying and general day-to-day business things. Darrell and I are both night owls, so we usually work pretty late. I wish my days were filled with painting and making new products, but as I’m sure all creative business owners know, the creative part is a tiny sliver of the running-a-small-biz pie.

I start each collection with a bunch of random thoughts in a notepad file on the computer and on my phone, then I’ll scour Pinterest, Google or books for snippets to create a mood board. I like having the inspiration and colours for each collection all nutted out on a mood board so I can show Darrell and get his thoughts. Once we’re happy with the direction it’s a matter of more research, sketching, scanning, detailed ink sketches, painting, scanning, colouring and refining and deep-etching each element in Photoshop.

I like painting all artwork as separate components so I can change the colours easily in Photoshop and change the size if needed. If I’m working on custom typography I’ll usually start with sketches and then use a brush pen and ink before I scan each word and vectorize them in Illustrator. I composite all artwork in InDesign and send it off to print for the proofing stage. Once we’ve checked and approved the proofs we wait for the finished goods to arrive.

This is the most fun part of what we do and it’s so rewarding when we see our retailers and customers loving our products. We love doing trade shows and pop up events as you really get to see people’s reactions to your products – it’s super valuable having that face-to-face contact. We love it when we meet people who are discovering us for the first time – it makes all the hard work so worthwhile!

All photos by Fox & Fallow.

Want to be featured in the Behind the Stationery column? Reach out to Megan at megan [at] ohsobeautifulpaper [dot] com for more details.

from Oh So Beautiful Paper http://ift.tt/2zq7Oo4 via IFTTT

#IFTTT #Oh So Beautiful Paper

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jonathanblackihbcbhf-blog · 7 years

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Final Evaluation

Research

For this project I researched many different subject with a myriad of different resources: I did much research into retro 3d platformers, for example Banjo-Kazooie, Super Mario 64; as I discovered that this genre was well liked by our target audience and as such our game would be a part of this genre, so I researched the design techniques used in these games as to best emulate this genre and appeal to our target audience.

I also analysed theories and perspectives from industry professionals that pertain to both game design and production, although I evaluated their relevance to our project and only adopted ideas that made sense for us and our target audience; I did this to make the game we designed was as good as it could possibly be and we could make it in the most effective way. I looked at Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi’s theory of Flow in entertainment, and compared it to Jenova Chen’s revised version from his website, that pertains more to game design and discovered Chen’s was more suitable for our project, and so I incorporated some of his ideas into the design framework of our game by ensuring levels were designed in a way that the player’s movement was not restricted, and thus their control not revoked.

I also did much technical research into Unity, as I would have to build a level in it and had never used it before. I learned much about the interface, controls and how to create lighting and particle effects from official online tutorials and a book called “Unity Game Development Essentials”.

I felt that I implemented my research well into our project and always gave valid reasoning for it; I also always stayed true to our target audience and ensured everything I researched and implemented into the game would appeal to them. For example, I did much research to support that the genre and gothic theming appealed to our target audience.

However; while I always stayed true to what I knew about my target audience from my secondary research, I failed to gain greater insight into them through primary research; while I did do primary research, I was unable to do a focus group or survey featuring responses from members of our target audience. Next time I would ensure that I had primary research in which I received feedback on our project from our primary target audience, to gain a greater insight into their thoughts and opinions.

From this I’ve learned that direct communication between yourself and your target audience is extremely important and gaining first hand insight on their thoughts and opinions is invaluable in a project like this.

Pre-Production

As creative director, I did much concepting for the game: coming up with the general premise, and designed much of the gameplay of the game; for example, producing a diagram describing the base and environmental combat system I had created (the environmental combat, based on ideas of the lead writer); I did this to give, people who weren’t members of the design team an understanding of what we were doing, and people who were a visual reference for when they were animating, designing a level, etc. I then designed levels based on my research; by first doing a rough sketch on blank paper, and then doing a finalised and detailed version on graph paper or in Photoshop, as to create the most refined level possible

I faced some push back from other departments because of my game design ideas, namely the combat system; and so I made a comprise that we all liked in the form of a simplified combat system that we all liked, that still remained true to our genre and interests of our target audience.

I think our game was well designed: I put much thought and did much research into the design of the game and the levels and felt they worked on a gameplay level and appealed to our target audience (although my sewers level design was rushed due to technical problems and reasons I’m about to specify, it was later corrected). However; I felt we lingered far too long in the pre-production phase of our project, and, although I created a team schedule for our department, we all essentially ignored it; this resulted in us staying idly in pre-production for far too long and ultimately resulted in us producing less work than we could have.

In the future, I will always ensure to create a detailed schedule for my team and make sure we stick to it firmly. Based on this, I learned that organisation is absolutely essential in a project like this and the work flow must planned and managed properly.

Practical Work

For my practical work I created a level in Unity; as creative director, I felt my practical work in the design department was best lent to level design, as I had much knowledge of the process and had experience building levels in map makers in video games. I used Unity to construct my level and although upon initially following my level design, I realised upon further evaluation of it that it was flawed, and so I made some changes to it in Unity, based on my research.

I at first found Unity work tedious and that made it difficult to concentrate, and after a system designer lost all his work, my Unity workload increase quite a bit and I found it frustrating; however, after my experience wit Maya in my previous project, I decided to force myself to I open myself up for to the practise, rather than give up and forced myself to work at it, and it time I found it quite therapeutic and ended up working much more efficiently.

I think that overall, my level was well made; it worked on a gameplay level for our genre and was simple yet challenging enough to appeal to our target audience. I also thought visually it reflected my research and the concept art and generally looked nice.

However; I feel we were overly ambitious in our design of the game, given our technical and time limitations, and didn’t account for the inevitable technical issues we would encounter and as a result only my level was coded and exported and it was very rough around the edges. As such, in the future I will be sure to calculate our limitations and risks my team faces going into a project like this and plan the game accordingly, making sure it is feasible so we can produce great nice at the end.

Communication and Teamwork

For this project we primarily used Facebook to communicate outside of college: we created a Facebook group where everyone on the course could post things for the rest of the course to see; we also created individual Facebook chats for each departments where they could discuss their organisation of work with each other and a leaders chat where we could all keep each other in the know of what our departments were doing. Although, giving general updates and sending files was very easy to do and effective on here, having actual discussions about the project was very difficult, and due to the text format people could often misconstrue what you would say.

For example, when I spoke to the lead writer, Jamie on Facebook about the Clocktower idea for the project he was very unreceptive; but once I spoke to him in person about it and was able to clarify what I meant, he was much more receptive to the idea and his team did end up including it in the story. So began to only discuss bigger ideas in person, which improved communication a lot.

Another time communication and team work were difficult was when the technical director, Josh, had an argument with Jamie and others from group A about the combat system and as a result they were steadfast in there being no combat system in the game, and they told me as such. However; reflecting on how I had communicated in a frustrated manner with Jamie in the past and this damaged our communication and cooperative work, I knew I couldn’t answer them with hostility, and so I approached Jamie with ideas of a simpler, less intrusive combat system than Josh had suggested, and incorporated some of Jamie’s own ideas about environmental combat and I used the diagram mentioned above to further visually communicate my ideas to him, of which he was very receptive; thus resolving this issue in the team with communication.

From this I learned that if went someone to be open to your ideas, you must approach them in an open way and that frustration towards another member of the team simply leads to frustration towards yourself. I took this knowledge on board for the rest of the project and will so in the future as well.

I worked well as a part of a team when creating the GDD; we had requested to have our classes moved next to each other for some time to improve the poor communication between the classes and they just had been moved; making a checklist for what we needed for it, I went around to every department between the classes and found out what everyone was working on and routinely checked up on them using my checklist to ensure they got the work done and sent to me, everyone was very receptive and for the first time everyone in our team worked together on something and because our constant communication and moving between classes resulted in us creating the basic GDD in just 1 day, a task I thought was impossible.

While initially I was somewhat unsteady; later into the project I think I was good at managing my team and communicating my ideas; after my conversation with Daryl Marples, whenever a problem arose, my first response was how to allocate my team members in the solution of it, while ensuring they could handle the work they had been given. I also learned to communicate my ideas in a better fashion by using visual aids to accurately describe my ideas to others.

From all this I have learned the absolute necessity of communication in a project like this, and that you cannot work in an isolated bubble away from everyone else, you must constantly and routinely communicate with your team. I also learned that you must understand your team and give them work they can handle, and also recognise they learn things differently from you and so you must communicate with the them in a way in which they will understand you and your ideas.

In the future I will ensure to establish a sophisticated network of communication that is routinely used by the team and make sure I communicate with all members of team in way in which they, specifically will be receptive to.

Exhibition

See Exhibition Evaluation Posts

Conclusion

I have grown much in many ways over this project. My practical skills gave grown immensely; at the beginning of this project I had never used Unity and knew little about it, now I am able to not just use Unity, but create entire levels and worlds in it, understanding the controls, interface as well as the lighting and particle systems. This will be invaluable as the university course I am going to, following this one, uses Unity, and thus this knowledge will be of great use when I am making more advanced games on that course.

My knowledge of game design has grown greatly throughout this project; not only through the research of theories like Chen’s interpretation of Flow, which I will now always consider when designing a game, but also through the experience of designing a game of this scale, and although it turned out quite rough around the edges, this has given me the experience and understanding to design larger scale games in a practical way.

I learnt much about industry processes on this project as well; most notably that you always consider your audience before a creative decision as to best appeal to them, and I will do this when creating games at my university course and hopefully if I have a career in the future. I also now better understand the work flow on a project much better now and in the future when planning and creating a team schedule, I will be sure too keep this in mind.

Working in a professional environment has also been a big change for me; I am quite a loud and abrasive person and using this approach initially in the resulted in a negative response and damaged the work flow. As such I have learnt to be more courteous and to be mindful of the ways in which others will be receptive to me and my ideas, and I will hold true to this attitude when working with my new teammates at university, as to create the best work environment possible.

Furthermore; I learned to be more mature and reasonable when handling difficult situations; initially I would get frustrated easily and take that out the person I had a disagreement with; however, I learnt to keep calm and understand the other person’s point of view, and how to find a solution through compromise that we can both be happy with. Also an attitude I will take with me to my new team at university.

Finally; I leaned much about leadership: I learned that you have to take your time to understand your team and ensure you know their abilities and give them an appropriate work load accordingly. I also learned that you can solve and mitigate problems quickly with immediate team management, evaluating your team members’ strengths and giving them the right positions in which they can solve. In university and beyond, I will be sure to be mindful of team members’ abilities and manage them appropriately to solve problems.

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