#make it more female like which will not prevent the crystals from forming but should make it easier to pass them instead of getting blocked
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https://www.youtube.com/embed/tFOHHM11Qv4
the litter box to relieve itself
If your cat is sitting in the litter box to relieve itself, the behavior is probably temporary. However, you should always visit a veterinarian to rule out a health issue. If the behavior is more persistent, you can change the litter more frequently or provide your cat with a different place to rest.
In these situations, cats usually stick to the toilet to protect their territory. Sitting on the toilet, the cat marks the place with its scent glands, sending a clear signal to other cats to stay away.
Symptoms of urinary tract infection
Urinary tract infections (UTIs) are caused by bacteria that live in the urinary tract. These bacteria may originate in the lower urinary tract or the gastrointestinal tract. Some cats are more susceptible to these infections than others, especially those with other health conditions. A veterinarian can diagnose the condition by collecting a sample of urine. The urine sample is taken through a process called cystocentesis, which uses a fine needle to draw urine from the bladder. This method prevents contamination of the sample.
A cat may also be suffering from urinary tract infection if he/she begins to sit in the litter box more often than usual, produces small amounts of urine or urinates on other places in the house, and seems lethargic. In some cases, the urine may even contain blood. If left untreated, urinary tract infections can lead to blockages and other serious health problems.
Urinary tract infection in a cat is a dangerous disease. A blocked urinary tract can cause a cat to produce no urine at all, and can even kill it. This is why it's vital to see a veterinarian immediately. Even if it's only a minor infection, a blocked urinary tract could cause a cat to die.
A urinary tract infection in a cat is painful and can lead to other health problems. Cats with a urinary tract infection will experience more frequent trips to the litter box and may make more frequent meows. Additionally, cats that have trouble peeing may also be house-soiled and may have an increased chance of developing kidney failure. A veterinarian will be able to diagnose the condition and provide the appropriate treatment for the cat.
A veterinarian will diagnose a urinary tract infection by performing a physical exam and urine analysis. He may also suggest dietary changes for the cat to prevent crystals from forming in the bladder. If the symptoms of a urinary tract infection are present, he will prescribe antibiotics to treat it.
If your cat is experiencing symptoms of urinary tract infection when cat sits on the litter box, visit a veterinarian. Your vet can prescribe a special diet for your cat and prescribe a feeding schedule. This will help prevent urinary tract infections and promote overall health.
Causes of dysuria
Depending on the underlying cause, dysuria in cats can have various causes. Male cats are more likely to experience this condition than females, which is due to their thinner and longer urethras. These structures are more vulnerable to blockages, so it is important to properly diagnose the problem. Once the cause of your cat's problems is determined, your vet can prescribe the appropriate medication. He can also give you advice on dietary changes for your cat that may prevent the condition.
common symptom in cats
Dysuria is a common symptom in cats, and should be investigated. The condition is usually accompanied by pain or discomfort during urination. The condition can also cause excessive urination. Your vet will likely prescribe medications to treat this condition. While these medications will help relieve your cat's discomfort, it is important to monitor your pet's urination habits and make sure your cat is not experiencing any further discomfort.
A urinary stone, also known as a urinalysis, can be the cause of your cat's dysuria. These stones are a collection of minerals that form in the urinary tract.
The symptoms of this condition will vary from cat to cat. They are often caused by diet, but some diet changes can control the formation of crystals of magnesium ammonium phosphate.
A urinary tract defect is another common cause of dysuria in cats. The most common one is a stricture in the urethra. In a cat with a urethral stricture, fibrous tissue can grow and restrict the urethra's diameter. If the condition progresses to a tumour, the cat will not be able to pass urine normally.
A catheterization procedure may be necessary to treat a urethral obstruction. The catheterization procedure involves passing a narrow tube through the urethra. The procedure is typically done under sedation or anesthesia. Follow-up treatment may include intravenous fluid therapy to treat dehydration and electrolyte imbalance. Medications may also be given to help your cat regain urinary function.
The most common cause of urethral obstruction in male cats is a urethral plug. A plug is an accumulation of proteins, blood cells, and debris that travels down the urethra during urination. If the plug is large enough, it can lodge in the penis and prevent urination. Occasionally, small stones can also clog the urethra.
Signs of a medical condition
If your cat refuses to use the litter box, it might have an underlying medical problem. It may have arthritis, degenerative joint disease, or a spinal condition. Pain can make the cat associate the litter box with discomfort. Therefore, it may look for a spot away from the litter box.
If your cat has not eaten in days or weeks, he or she might be suffering from a medical condition. These illnesses require extensive medical management. Your veterinarian can diagnose and treat your cat's condition. Cats that refuse to eat or drink may have a kidney or liver problem.
Some cats prefer the comfort of their litter boxes and may not be toilet-trained. You may have to change the litter to make it more comfortable for your cat. A litter box that is made of recycled paper may be better suited for your cat.
Decreased urine output in the litter box can also indicate a medical problem with the bladder or kidneys. If the urine level has decreased or stopped, the cat is suffering from urinary tract disease and should be treated immediately. This condition can be life-threatening.
In some cases, a cat will spend long periods of time in the litter box while suffering from a urinary tract infection. The resulting pain can be severe or even fatal if left untreated. If your cat does this regularly, you should take it to a veterinarian for a checkup. The veterinarian will help rule out any underlying medical conditions and prescribe an anti-anxiety medication if necessary.
Another possible medical condition that causes your cat to sit in the litter box is chronic constipation. This is a problem that often affects middle-aged and geriatric cats and can lead to abnormal enlargement of the colon. This is a condition that is difficult to treat without the proper care. Also, your cat may be experiencing diarrhea, which is a common symptom of inflammatory bowel disease, similar to irritable bowel syndrome in humans.
There are several other medical conditions that can cause your cat to stop using the litter box. While the majority of these conditions are easily remediable, you should see a veterinarian if you notice any of these symptoms. For example, if your cat is straining to urinate, licking its genital area excessively, or has blood in its urine, it's best to visit a veterinarian.
Signs that your cat is hiding in the litter box
Your cat may be hiding in the litter box for several reasons. Some are related to the litter you're using. Other factors may be undiagnosed medical conditions. Regardless of the reason, there are many simple ways to fix this problem. Keep reading to find out what to look for.
Signs that your cat is hiding in the litter box
If your cat keeps hiding for long periods of time, this may be a sign of stress.
Stress can occur for many reasons, including illness or overly enthusiastic people in the home. If your cat is constantly hiding in the litter box, you may need to find a way to relieve the stress he or she is feeling.
If your cat is hiding in the litter box after moving into a new home, it is likely that it is feeling anxious. The litter box is their only familiar space in the new house, and they may be seeking refuge there because they're scared. Fortunately, most cats will eventually come out of their shell and explore their surroundings.
Besides hiding in the litter box, your cat may also prefer to hide for certain times of the day or seasons. For instance, cats may choose to hide in a warm place during the winter or a quiet place when your family is home. In addition, cats are diurnal creatures, meaning they're more active during the dawn and dusk hours.
If your cat is not eating or grooming properly, it may be ill. It may also show symptoms of depression or an overactive thyroid. If your cat is starving itself, it may also be a sign that it's suffering from a disease. Lastly, if your cat is suddenly lethargy and unable to jump, it might be hiding in the litter box.
The litter in your cat's litter box is too deep. The ideal depth for a cat's litter box is one to two inches deep. Some cats can become accustomed to certain types of litter and can be difficult to clean. Luckily, there are some easy ways to fix this problem.
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Sorry for the hiatus btw yall, and im probably still gonna have a little bit of a tumblr hiatus, i could blame it on my cat but honestly im just trying to get out of doomscrolling all day so im trying to get better at not getting stuck on social media sites. Unfortunately im most successful at this if i dont even open them.
Since im back for a second tho ill update yall on my cat, Shadow,
He's had to have surgery earlier this week for urinary problems and seems to be doing okay right now? But this will be ongoing and he's been very expensive. (Im not asking for money on this its just a pain that this has been so expensive) Anyway ive been doting on him since like. October 10th now i think? Hes been pretty much living in my room since the 14th. Surgery was on the 20th. So this has just been stressful as fuck lol. Oh also he had Xrays at one point and we discovered he has been shot before with like an airsoft or bb gun???? In his youth, when he was indoor/outdoor instead of indoor only. And thats just been in there since, they're leaving it alone tho since it doesnt seem to be causing any problems. Im now wondering if thats what it was that time when he came home with 2 holes in his sides that the other vet in MD thought was maybe an animal bite, but wasnt sure. Thats not really relevant to anything happening right now its just kind of a horrifying trivia that was uncovered in the process? And i feel vindicated in my pushing to convert him to an indoor cat. Also angry at whoever did that.
#toy txt post#hello im not dead#littlw more detail but uhh unsanitary tw?>#basically he had maybe a urinary tract infection but then also he had developed crystals in his urine#and there was a partial blockage of the urinary tract. they put a urinary catheter in to flush stuff or smth and that went okay until#he managed to get the cone off and rip the catheter out at the vets before we even picked him up#then he was still blocked off bc the catheter didnt actually flush the blockage out just back in or something???#and it wasnt fully blocked. he was dribbling and leaking urine out this whole time and making a huge mess bc his butt was soaked with it and#then he would lay in the litter pan and track the litter everywhere and it was a nightmare. he kept not eating or drinking.#then the vet suggested to go ahead w the surgery even tho hes old and fat and everyone was worried about that.#and basically it was like. they amputated the penis and maybe made the hole a little bigger? vet described it as altering his plumbing to#make it more female like which will not prevent the crystals from forming but should make it easier to pass them instead of getting blocked#the downside of this is that its possible he may dribble and or leak pee for the rest of his life depending on whether he figures out his#new anatomy and how to hold it etc?#and now hes going back again today to get an injection of antibiotics bc he wont take the pills and thats been a nightmare.#the syringes of liquid pain meds onto his gums? fine. that other smaller pill that started with an o? fine. the antibiotic? nope.#also after the surgery we got a different shredded paper pellet litter that doesnt stick to him as much and track all over the room#mixed feelings about it tho bc i cant scoop the pee out bc it doesnt clump#anyway. thats been shadows medical misadventures so far. its a pain and also stressful. i need to clean the room again this weekend and#put down freah blankets etc
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Goretober dump number 2. Again ⚠️ warning there will be blood, and guts and gooey stuff, so 14+ pleez. ⚠️
this should be the last of the Goretober stuff before I go into the still images for the music video.
We got more Gothi and the #foolsgold crew! Got more DnD characters, and two DnD characters that are not mine, they belong to @dingodoodles Bree the Aasimar and her ex-husband Topachy. I apologies he seemed like a good candidate for Hanahaki Disease, as I’m sure he still loves Bree but it is certainly unrequited. Hanahaki Disease is apparently for unrequited love, lost love, and the person coughs up red flower petals till the flowers grow up out of their mouth. The only way to cure this disease is for the person they like to like them back.
The picture of Bree is the one of her curing her abdomen wound. I couldn’t get into the context of why I like this one so much. I wanted to convey what it would look like for a severe wound to start healing itself with a healing spell, the muscle tissue to reattach itself, and blood vessels regrowing. Obviously she looks in distress, but thinking about it, it would make sense. The body is already in shock with such severe wounds, adrenaline is high, and then she has to heal herself to prevent bleeding out. I imagine she probably faints after finishing the healing spell, more for flavor than for damage to hp. Some of the inspiration for this actually came from working in the emergency room. Person’s car rolled down a 100 ft embankment or 30.5 meters, this person called an ambulance, walked up the embankment and was in absolute shock, and running on adrenaline. They had multiple broken bones including a broken hip (it looked like someone took a knife to the neck of their femur,) bruised and bursting organs, a compressed spine, and a concussion. This person should not have been able to walk, and yet they walked up A HILL WITH A BROKEN HIP! I almost feel like this would be what it is like when a barbarian is in a rage, like they will kill you even though they have 1 hp, and then die.
The rest are my female orc who got punched in the face and has a bloody nose. I hope the person who punched her can run fast haha. Two drow elves, the female is from my evil campaign in which she became ill with a nasty form of mummy rot. Instead of healing wounds not working on her they killed her. Her con went to zero and she caught on fire and turned to ash. The other drow is a male drow being prepared to go into the holy way of Lolth. The first time I heard how this works I was rather horrified. Death by spider snoo snoo.
Lastly the crystal prompt and the drip prompt for poor Kris from DeltaRune. These are more examples of how I love to draw crystals, they are a pain, but so worth it when done right. I saw Lauraa Annunaki’s gems with her tattoos and was just like 🤩🤩🤩🤩🤩🤩🤩. I just had to learn how to do it.
#fanart#dungeons and dragons#aasimar#dnd 5e#adventure#dnd art#crystals#gemstone#gems#burn#dnd drow#hanahaki#deltarune#kris deltarune#heart
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Father Brown Reread: The Absence of Mr. Glass
The consulting-rooms of Dr Orion Hood, the eminent criminologist and specialist in certain moral disorders, lay along the sea-front at Scarborough, in a series of very large and well-lighted french windows, which showed the North Sea like one endless outer wall of blue-green marble.
I like how the first and second collections both start with a story focusing on a professional detective who’s not Father Brown.
True to form, we’ve got a color word in the first sentence. And not only that--a hypenated color word! You don’t get much more Chesterton than that.
Everything about him and his room indicated something at once rigid and restless, like that great northern sea by which (on pure principles of hygiene) he had built his home. Fate, being in a funny mood, pushed the door open and introduced into those long, strict, sea-flanked apartments one who was perhaps the most startling opposite of them and their master.
Highlighting this because “Fate, being in a funny mood” is a great phrase.
But also because I love when the stories contrast Father Brown’s clumsy, homely shabbiness with characters who look more distinguished and accomplished.
"My name is Brown. Pray excuse me. I've come about that business of the MacNabs. I have heard, you often help people out of such troubles. Pray excuse me if I am wrong."
It’s odd that Father Brown is consulting another detective on this. He doesn’t seem the sort to seek out other help. He usually just winds up on the scene of the crime by accident.
It seems like he should have the confidence to solve the mystery himself.
It seems like the more natural way to bring Hood into the story would be to have the girl approach Dr. Hood and Father Brown just to be at the house for priest reasons before figuring out the mystery.
But maybe Father Brown’s stumped from lack of evidence and doesn’t have the time for an investigation. (Actually paying attention to his priestly duties for once?)
After all, it’s only luck that the crisis that gives them an excuse to investigate the apartment happens two minutes later.
And of course, the whole point of the story is getting this Holmes detective to the same crime scene as Father Brown to contrast their methods, so it doesn’t much matter how he gets there.
And there is a lot of fun in seeing shabby little Father Brown in this professional detective’s immaculate study.
"Oh, this is of the greatest importance," broke in the little man called Brown. "Why, her mother won't let them get engaged." And he leaned back in his chair in radiant rationality.
It’s not a full-fledged Father Brown story unless the mystery is centered on a romance, is it?
A stock Chesterton exchange: foolish-looking character says simple, silly-sounding statement as if it’s the most sensible thing in the world, before being forced to elaborate by a confused listener.
This story gives us Father Brown at his most silly-seeming. Here he’s not just unassuming and sheltered; he seems like one of Chesterton’s holy fools. He hasn’t looked this simple-minded since “The Blue Cross”
"Mr Brown," he said gravely, "it is quite fourteen and a half years since I was personally asked to test a personal problem: then it was the case of an attempt to poison the French President at a Lord Mayor's Banquet. It is now, I understand, a question of whether some friend of yours called Maggie is a suitable fiancee for some friend of hers called Todhunter. Well, Mr Brown, I am a sportsman. I will take it on. I will give the MacNab family my best advice, as good as I gave the French Republic and the King of England--no, better: fourteen years better. I have nothing else to do this afternoon. Tell me your story."
Sure, he’s a condescending ass, but I can’t help liking this guy. He’s got a good heart and a good sense of humor.
I kind of wish he’d have showed up in at least one or two other stories (preferably with a better end than Valentine).
The little clergyman called Brown thanked him with unquestionable warmth, but still with a queer kind of simplicity. It was rather as if he were thanking a stranger in a smoking-room for some trouble in passing the matches, than as if he were (as he was) practically thanking the Curator of Kew Gardens for coming with him into a field to find a four-leaved clover.
I like this metaphor very much.
Brown is still very, very much the simple little curate of “The Blue Cross”. But with the bumpkin traits turned up to eleven.
I’m very curious about Dr. Hood’s past cases, and how he achieved such renown.
"I told you my name was Brown; well, that's the fact, and I'm the priest of the little Catholic Church I dare say you've seen beyond those straggly streets, where the town ends towards the north.
Yet another parish! How many is this? This seems like the most distant, rural parish that Father Brown has yet had.
And Father Brown’s actually doing some work at it!
He seems to have quite a pocketful of money, but nobody knows what his trade is. Mrs MacNab, therefore (being of a pessimistic turn), is quite sure it is something dreadful, and probably connected with dynamite. The dynamite must be of a shy and noiseless sort, for the poor fellow only shuts himself up for several hours of the day and studies something behind a locked door. He declares his privacy is temporary and justified, and promises to explain before the wedding.
Doesn’t the landlady have a key to the door of her own lodger? Can’t she just demand to look?
British people, I tell you.
Unless the daughter is preventing her from looking, out of respect for her beloved.
And, you know, he does promise to explain, so it’d be rude to just barge in.
So why bother consulting the great detective in the first place? If Todhunter’s really on the up-and-up, he’ll explain eventually, they’ll get engaged, and all will be well.
he is tirelessly kind with the younger children, and can keep them amused for a day on end
Given Todhunter’s chosen profession, this makes perfect sense.
You see, therefore, how this sealed door of Todhunter's is treated as the gate of all the fancies and monstrosities of the 'Thousand and One Nights'.
Another Father Brown mystery built upon a fairy tale atmosphere.
To the scientific eye all human history is a series of collective movements, destructions or migrations, like the massacre of flies in winter or the return of birds in spring. Now the root fact in all history is Race. Race produces religion; Race produces legal and ethical wars. There is no stronger case than that of the wild, unworldly and perishing stock which we commonly call the Celts, of whom your friends the MacNabs are specimens. Small, swarthy, and of this dreamy and drifting blood, they accept easily the superstitious explanation of any incidents, just as they still accept (you will excuse me for saying) that superstitious explanation of all incidents which you and your Church represent.
A lot of the most racist characters in Chesterton are the most educated, scientific and progressive.
Granted, Chesterton does a lot of stereotyping along national lines himself. But usually it’s not with the idea that these differences are bad things. And certainly not with the idea that race is the cause of all war.
the door opened on a young girl, decently dressed but disordered and red-hot with haste. She had sea-blown blonde hair,
Is this the first blonde female love interest in these stories?
They were quarrelling—about money, I think—for I heard James say again and again, 'That's right, Mr Glass,' or 'No, Mr Glass,' and then, 'Two or three, Mr Glass.'
Given the eventual explanation of what’s really happening here, wouldn’t she have heard some other noises (possibly crashing noises?) alongside this?
"I do not think this young lady is so Celtic as I had supposed. As I have nothing else to do, I will put on my hat and stroll down town with you."
Wow, you were really just going to disbelieve her because of her nationality, weren’t you?
Playing-cards lay littered across the table or fluttered about the floor as if a game had been interrupted. Two wine glasses stood ready for wine on a side-table, but a third lay smashed in a star of crystal upon the carpet. A few feet from it lay what looked like a long knife or short sword, straight, but with an ornamental and pictured handle, its dull blade just caught a grey glint from the dreary window behind, which showed the black trees against the leaden level of the sea. Towards the opposite corner of the room was rolled a gentleman's silk top hat, as if it had just been knocked off his head; so much so, indeed, that one almost looked to see it still rolling. And in the corner behind it, thrown like a sack of potatoes, but corded like a railway trunk, lay Mr James Todhunter, with a scarf across his mouth, and six or seven ropes knotted round his elbows and ankles. His brown eyes were alive and shifted alertly.
The clues are laid out very nicely here.
This is one of the most Romantic (in the literary sense of the term) crime scenes in all of fiction. Every clue is as picturesque as possible.
"How to explain the absence of Mr Glass and the presence of Mr Glass's hat? For Mr Glass is not a careless man with his clothes. That hat is of a stylish shape and systematically brushed and burnished, though not very new. An old dandy, I should think." "But, good heavens!" called out Miss MacNab, "aren't you going to untie the man first?"
This entire segment is so funny. I laugh every time one of his long-winded deductions is interrupted by the common-sense demand to untie the man.
Now, surely it is obvious that there are the three chief marks of the kind of man who is blackmailed. And surely it is equally obvious that the faded finery, the profligate habits, and the shrill irritation of Mr Glass are the unmistakable marks of the kind of man who blackmails him. We have the two typical figures of a tragedy of hush money:
So much of the Holmesian deduction process relies on stereotypes, doesn’t it? Sure, Holmes doesn’t label people in “types” quite this way, but it relies on using the evidence to reach the most stereotypical conclusion without factoring in the random possibilities of life. (The suspect might have ink on his hands, but it doesn’t mean he’s a clerk). It’s fun that this story calls out that conceit.
"No; I think these ropes will do very well till your friends the police bring the handcuffs."
Okay, so there’s a sensible explanation for why Hood ignores their cries to untie Todhunter. But it doesn’t make the previous exchanges any less funny to read.
"But the ropes?" inquired the priest, whose eyes had remained open with a rather vacant admiration.
It’s interesting that Father Brown’s actually buying into this. My memory had him being more skeptical of the deductions, but he’s admiring the chain of logic being built here.
It’s kind of a nice change from the usual Chesterton tack of the mouthpiece character disdaining every scientific explanation.
It was not the blank curiosity of his first innocence. It was rather that creative curiosity which comes when a man has the beginnings of an idea. "Say it again, please," he said in a simple, bothered manner; "do you mean that Todhunter can tie himself up all alone and untie himself all alone?" "That is what I mean," said the doctor. "Jerusalem!" ejaculated Brown suddenly, "I wonder if it could possibly be that!"
And we’re off! I always love the moment when Father Brown puts everything together, and it’s especially satisfying here, after he’s spent the whole story sitting back and letting another man do all the detective work.
"His eyes do look queer," cried the young woman, strongly moved. "You brutes; I believe it's hurting him!" "Not that, I think," said Dr Hood; "the eyes have certainly a singular expression. But I should interpret those transverse wrinkles as expressing rather such slight psychological abnormality—" "Oh, bosh!" cried Father Brown: "can't you see he's laughing?"
Each sentence gives a vivid picture of the three different personalities here. The tender-hearted young woman. The too-practical man of science. And the brash common sense of Father Brown.
He shuffled about the room, looking at one object after another with what seemed to be a vacant stare, and then invariably bursting into an equally vacant laugh, a highly irritating process for those who had to watch it.
Irritating to watch, I’m sure, but very amusing to imagine.
"But a hatter," protested Hood, "can get money out of his stock of new hats. What could Todhunter get out of this one old hat?" "Rabbits," replied Father Brown promptly.
I love the hat conversation and these lines in particular.
He was also practising the trick of a release from ropes, like the Davenport Brothers
According to Wikipedia, the Davenport Brothers were an American magician act that toured England in the 1860s. They built on the Spiritualism craze and claimed all their tricks were done by spirit power. There isn’t much about what their tricks wer, (besides a couple of escape tricks and spirit cabinet things). Most of the Wikipedia article is about the many times their tricks were debunked. (Naturally, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle refused to believe they were frauds).
But the mere fact of an idler in a top hat having once looked in at his back window, and been driven away by him with great indignation, was enough to set us all on a wrong track of romance, and make us imagine his whole life overshadowed by the silk-hatted spectre of Mr Glass."
This isn’t so much a debunking of the Holmesian deduction methods as a case study proving why logical deductions have to be built upon sound premises. One mistake at the beginning can send you in a completely false direction.
"You are certainly a very ingenious person," he said; "it could not have been done better in a book.
I love when the characters get meta.
This is a very snide remark in context, but of course Father Brown proves himself.
Mr Brown broke into a rather childish giggle. "Well, that," he said, "that's the silliest part of the whole silly story. When our juggling friend here threw up the three glasses in turn, he counted them aloud as he caught them, and also commented aloud when he failed to catch them. What he really said was: 'One, two and three—missed a glass one, two—missed a glass.' And so on."
I can’t explain how deeply I love that the entire mystery is built on a pun. This one section is the reason this is one of my favorite Father Brown stories.
This drives home the idea that mysteries and jokes are the same types of story. They both require laying out information that’s put together into a surprising conclusion.
There was a second of stillness in the room, and then everyone with one accord burst out laughing. As they did so the figure in the corner complacently uncoiled all the ropes and let them fall with a flourish. Then, advancing into the middle of the room with a bow, he produced from his pocket a big bill printed in blue and red, which announced that ZALADIN, the World's Greatest Conjurer, Contortionist, Ventriloquist and Human Kangaroo would be ready with an entirely new series of Tricks at the Empire Pavilion, Scarborough, on Monday next at eight o'clock precisely.
I grew up on cheesy sitcoms. I’m a sucker for the “everyone laughs” ending.
If Todhunter’s willing to admit the truth here, he could have saved himself a lot of trouble by just admitting the truth right away. (I don’t buy the “he keeps it secret to keep his tricks secret” explanation. You can tell people you’d a magician without giving away everything about your act).
Does Mrs. MacNab let them get married? Now she knows he has a harmless vocation, but it’s not exactly a stable one. Would she let her daughter marry a guy so flighty that he can’t even settle on a coherent focus for his own stage show?
Given that the story ends here, we’re supposed to assume that she does. I guess he must be a successful performer--part of her mistrust came from the fact that he had too much money. So he and Maggie should have a comfortable life together.
I’m glad. He seems like a nice young man.
#lb this is all your fault#father brown reread#father brown#g.k. chesterton#the wisdom of father brown#the absence of mr. glass#i remember why i stopped doing these things#they take forever#'but they wouldn't take forever if you didn't comment on every second sentence'#'be quiet logical brain'#this one feels very subpar but i'm out of practice
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The Rebellion Story Analysis Addendum
It’s been four years since I finished the analysis, and a lot of my views have changed! Here are my revised opinions!
In italics is something I said in the analysis.
In plain font is my updated interpretation.
I highly doubt that Kyubey has a biological need for sleep, so I guess that means he’s just been lying there all night. Contemplating.
Another possibility is that he’s communicating telepathically with the other Incubators. After all, what better time would there be to discuss their plans?
Sayaka is a raspberry. Raspberries are soft, but have a strong and distinct flavor. That describes Sayaka pretty well, I think.
Kyoko is an apple. Apples are sweet and wholesome, but their seeds have traces of cyanide. This suits Kyoko well because, while she’s generally nice nowadays, she can be kind of a jerk sometimes.
Homura is a pumpkin. The pumpkin is a delicious and fulfilling produce, but it can be twisted into something frightening (like a Jack-o-Lantern). Considering Homura’s mutation later in the film…
Mami is cheese, a dairy product made from milk. The purpose of milk is to nurture young, and Mami is easily the most nurturing of the girls, so the cheese is referencing her motherly personality.
I wasn’t very serious about these interpretations to begin with, but in hindsight, there are far more straightforward connections between the girls and their respective foods:
1) According to the Madoka Wiki, raspberries are known as “healing fruit” in Japan. I couldn’t find a source for this, but if it’s true, then the connection to Sayaka should be obvious.
2) Kyoko being an apple is probably an allusion to her religious background (think forbidden fruit). This is reinforced by the fact that she stole a bag of apples in the original series.
3) The pumpkin is another one of Homura’s witch symbols, like the newts and owls.
4) Mami is cheese because Bebe eats cheese, and… well…
…Yeah.
This part makes no sense. The figures start crowding around Homura and Kyoko, and don’t leave until Kyoko agrees to keep a lid on things. Homura’s emotions influence the Gemworld, but all she wants is for Kyoko to keep a low profile. This would mean that Homura wants Kyoko to avoid drawing attention to herself, but at the same time is unconsciously willing attention towards Kyoko. What?
The figures surrounding them probably reflect Homura’s fear of causing too much of a disruption. When Kyoko agrees to keep her head down, the fear is assuaged and the figures leave them alone as a result.
The Incubators should’ve spent more time beta testing their memory-altering tech, because it’s proven to be very easy to awaken the girls’ memories of the real world.
Originally I assumed that the Incubators had wiped the girls’ memories so that they wouldn’t catch on to their plan. However, there’s a distinct possibility that it was Homura altering everyone’s memories, which would explain how she recovered her own so readily (and this is supported by the fact that her new world ability is memory manipulation). Kyubey does explicitly state that he wants Madoka to remember her purpose, so unless he thought that her amnesia was some sort of technical failure, I’m gonna place my bets on Homura.
WHAT THE-?!
This... This thing randomly appears behind Mami and displays a walnut, presumably for cracking purposes. I honestly haven't the tiniest clue what this is supposed to represent. Is it symbolic of Mami's dormant memories "cracking open"? Is it foreshadowing Homura's transformation into the Nutcracker Witch? Just... what the heck?!
Since this happens immediately before Bebe is ruled out as the witch, it’s probably just vague foreshadowing without any real symbolism. It could be argued that the uncracked nut represents the unsolved mystery, but since Homulilly is incapable of cracking nuts to begin with, that feels like a stretch.
A rune briefly flashes. It translates into, “you”. As in Homura.
This is supposed to be an answer to the question, “Who is dreaming?” from earlier. I��m sure most of you already knew that, but I feel as though I should’ve pointed it out anyway.
(If you don’t remember this part, it happens right before Homura does her witch test)
The pink spool reappears, only to be kicked away by the Clara Dolls. Not even Madoka’s influence can save Homura from this despair.
Another possibility is that, in her mind, Homura deliberately defied the Law of Cycles (hence the spool getting kicked). It isn’t until Kyubey opens his telepathic mouth that she realizes this isn’t the case.
Shouldn’t Homura’s parents be wondering where she is? Does she even have parents?! I’ve been wondering that since the original series…
I can’t believe it never occurred to me that Homura didn’t invite her own parents into the labyrinth. That’s pretty strong evidence that they’re either dead, or put her up for adoption at a very young age.
Seeing Kyoko at a diner makes me wish there was a spinoff series exploring the personal lives of the girls (preferably with drama-comedy themes). Also, those familiars are giving me chills.
Another thing that flew over my head is that those familiars were sent to kidnap her. Same with Mama, Hitomi and Kyousuke.
Mami summons a train, and unsurprisingly, it has a teacup motif. The deer are kind of random, though…
Since Mami primarily fights with guns, the deer are most likely a reference to trophy hunting.
The runes translate into, “The Eternal Feminine”. This is probably a reference to Faust, a poem that apparently served as an inspiration for Madoka Magica (it’s about a man who trades his soul for unlimited power. Sound familiar?). Here’s a snippet for context:
“Everything that can be perceived is only a symbol; the imperfect, which cannot be realized, here makes itself reality; that which cannot be described, here finally completes itself. It is the eternal feminine, always attracting us to the higher.”
Homura is definitely drawn to “the higher”, though the underlying theme of salvation kind of gets subverted in the end…
While I still agree with this interpretation, I don’t think I did a very good job at describing/contextualizing it. At the end of Faust, the main character’s soul is saved from damnation and guided to Heaven by Gretchen*. This achievement is attributed to the Eternal Feminine, a female essence that draws humans to salvation. This is precisely what Madoka accomplishes at the end of the TV show and is attempting to do with Homura in this very scene.
*The namesake of Madoka’s witch form.
When the explosion the over, the magic forms this symbol. I’m not sure what it’s supposed to be, though? It vaguely resembles the portal to Magical Heaven, but the color effects make it hard to tell. It might also be a wheel, but the contours are very crystal-like.
Don’t know if this was intentional, but the symbol bears a loose resemblance to a dreamcatcher. “Who is dreaming?” is a recurring question throughout the movie, and at this point in time, the world Homura “dreamed” inside her soul gem is becoming a reality. From her perspective, she’s also preventing a “nightmare” by relieving Madoka of her duties and returning everything she sacrificed.
I’m not sure where else they would go, Homu. You didn’t make a new world, you just rebuilt the old one.
She’s probably talking about the Law of Cycles Dimension/Magical Heaven/Land Without Cheese/whatever you want to call it. Homura only took the part of the Law that contained Madoka’s original identity, but since it was the original Madoka that wished for the Law in the first place, her removal caused the entire system to collapse and expel her angels, too. This is why she says that Sayaka and Nagisa “somehow” got dragged along too even though she only wanted Madoka.
In other words, Homura pulled the wrong block from a Jenga stack.
Lastly, I want to point out an observation I made about Demon Homura’s world. When she unravels the Law of Cycles and renders it inaccessible, but also forces the Incubators to shoulder humanity’s curses, the end result is a “middle ground” between the previous two worlds. Think about it: In the first world, Magical Girls are doomed to become witches, while in the second world, they’re ultimately saved by Madoka. In Homura’s world, however, neither of these things can happen, which means she essentially created a world where there is neither salvation nor damnation. I really hope the eventual sequel explores this concept further; it’s very interesting.
Aaaaaaand that wraps it up! I hope you enjoyed this little bonus round as much as I did!
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Iris Publishers - World Journal of Agriculture and Soil Science (WJASS)
Ailanthus Altissima (Mill.) and Varroa Destructor (Anderson & Trueman) - Two Alien and Invasive Species with Impact on the Environment and on the “Hive System”
Authored by T Gardi
Ailanthus altissima (Mill.), Is a genus of plants of the Simaroubaceae family, which includes seven species of trees originating in the tropical areas of Asia and Australia, which can reach heights just over 25m. The common name is ailanthus or tree of paradise.
Introduced in Italy also for ornamental purposes, it has proved over time to be a highly infesting, very aggressive plant, with a very rapid proliferation, whose roots extend in width up to thirty meters from the trunk, giving rise to colonies of new daughter plants both for root suckers than via gamic (from seed). The bad smell emanating from its leaves is known.
The stem, of very little commercial value, as it is soft and not durable wood, is generally erect and very branched with a lighter brown-gray bark on the young branches. The leaves are composed, pinnate, spiraled or opposite, and without stipules. The flowers, gathered in spike or panicle inflorescences, are generally unisexual.
The most widespread species in Italy, Ailanthus altissima (Mill.), Is dioecious, i.e. each tree of this species hosts only male or female only flowers. It produces winged dried indecent fruits (samare). It was introduced in Italy for an attempt to breed the moth Philosamia cynthia originating in the Far East for the production of silk, it is now found in the woods, on the ripe, on the greti, on arid, stony and unstable soils, along the roads and close to of the walls of buildings and in the splits of reinforced concrete pavements. Its spread goes from the plains to the mountains, becoming a very aggressive weed. It slowly replaces the existing native vegetation, forming colonies. It is also found more and more often in cities, where it is used, unexpectedly and thoughtlessly, as a quick remedy against the sun’s rays; the plant is in fact known also for the extreme rapidity of growth in height. Its weed characteristics, however, should suggest careful control of its propagation, which has long been ignored for too long. In fact, the ailanthus is spreading in an increasingly worrying way at the expense of the pre-existing indigenous vegetation, in Umbria we find it, in fact, also on the summit slopes of Subasio Mount, along the left side of the road that from the Eremo delle Carceri leads to Collepino – Spello (PG). The species is spreading so rapidly that today it is difficult to try to eliminate it as the cutting of adult plants leads to the issue of numerous shoots of radical origin even at considerable distances from the place where the adult is located. The only system to be able to contain and eliminate it from an area, respecting the environment, consists in cutting the trunks of the existing plants at about 1.5 meters in height and letting recesses form on the trunk; these must be eliminated by “crushing”, in the middle of summer, repeatedly and for several consecutive years, so as to obtain complete drying of the stump due to the weakening and rotting of the wood with a soft and centrally suber consistency. Clearly, this type of intervention can only be proposed in private properties and with still a low number of individuals settled, as it requires assiduity and availability of manpower. In all other cases, even if it is not environmentally possible, the only remedy is the use of synthetic systemic herbicides.
American studies [1] have shown that excellent results can be obtained by resorting to the use of 2 specific active synthetic ingredients: Picloram and Triclopir. These molecules are contained, respectively, in the commercial products available in Italy under the name: TORDON 22K®, a systemic herbicide with leaf and radical absorption, persistent in the soil and with a broad spectrum of action. Particularly used for weeding uncultivated areas, roads, industrial areas, etc.; in the reclamation of pastures, against ferns, romici, etc.; in maintaining the cleanliness and integrity of the nets and in any case of the fences. The product is highly phytotoxic for poplar, vines, orchards, arboreal and herbaceous crops in general. Absolutely to avoid treatments on windy days and pay attention to any neighboring crops avoiding them being affected. The second commercial product is GARLON EV®) whose active molecule, Triclopir, puts it into use as a systemic, non-residual herbicide. The synergy of the two active ingredients enhances the action on plants that are difficult to control, making it more effective than the well-known Glyphosate (Roundup®), banned in some EU countries and beyond (Malta, New Zealand, the Netherlands, Portugal, Spain, Scotland, Slovenia, Sri Lanka, Sweden, Switzerland, the United Kingdom and Vietnam), for precautionary reasons as a substance believed to be at risk of procuring cancer and highly polluting for agro-ecosystems. The Triclopir molecule is quickly absorbed by plants and translocated both downwards and upwards. The product is most effective in the active growth phase. Compared to Picloram, Triclopir is rapidly degraded by soil microorganisms (2 hours). It is not volatile and can therefore be used near green areas to be protected without danger of drift damage. Its effect manifests itself after a few days. These herbicides given in succession and repeatedly during the summer (from May to September) must be applied to the green leaves and stems, including shoots and suckers, until these are completely wet, but not to the point of outflow of the mixture. The first lasting results are obtained six weeks after the treatment. Unfortunately, against this alien and invasive species, too long ignored by public institutions and private citizens, this turns out to be the only effective control method, as it is able to kill young trees born from seed and able to prevent regrowth from root suckers, as once moved to the root system, it kills the roots. In the case of isolated specimens, the fight can be conducted by directly injections with the aforementioned active ingredient, directly at the base of the trunk, thus avoiding that the molecule can reach different and neighboring plant species.
The only positive aspect attributable to ailanthus is that it is a nectariferous species from which, in certain vintages, good monoflora honey can also be obtained. In fact, contrary to the unpleasant smell emanating from the different parts of the plant (leaves and stem), given the spread of the species and its flowering that occurs in June, ailanthus honey tends to hide the flavor of many other types of honey, like acacia and linden, while adding a very pleasant note to many kinds of wildflower honey. Ailanthus honey looks like a thick product with an amber color, which tends to crystallize quickly within a few months. The aroma of this honey is generally associated with that of fresh mushrooms, with a consistent fruit note. The flavor, on the other hand, is considered as intense and enveloping and reminiscent of Muscat, managing to be easily combined with sweet dishes, fruit salads or fruit ice cream, obtaining a delicious and refreshing food for the summer.
Ailanthus honey also has the ability to harmonize and bind very different flavors: it should also be tried with aged cheeses; Furthermore, it seems that this honey also has antiseptic properties: according to traditional Chinese medicine, ailanthus and its honey can have positive effects against infections and dysentery. In reality, the leaves of the plant and the plant itself have no healing properties, they can actually be harmful to the human organism. However, the antiseptic properties of honey are definitely more plausible. It appears to be a soothing anti-cough: According to some “popular” legends it is claimed that ailanthus honey can be a good ally for fighting respiratory problems. Excellent sweetener: thanks to its intense “fruit flavor”, ailanthus honey is an excellent sweetener for herbal teas and more.
Varroa destructor (Anderson & Trueman) - The Alien and Invasive Mite of the “Hive System”
Among the various pathologies affecting honeybee colonies, Varroa destructor (Anderson & Trueman), is today the most dangerous parasite because if left unchecked it can lead to the collapse of colonies over the course of one or two bee seasons. Four species associated with the Apis cerana (Fabr.) Belong to the genus Varroa: Varroa jacobsoni Oudemans, Varroa underwoodi Delfinado & Aggrawaal, Varroa rindereri de Guzman & Delfinado, Varroa destructor Anderson & Trueman. The latter only recently in 2000, thanks to Anderson & Trueman it was possible to distinguish it from Varroa jacobsoni; discovered, however, in 1904 by Oudemans, on the island of Java and spread exclusively in Indonesia on Apis cerana and others, but it does not reproduce on A. mellifera and has little economic importance. Hence, most of the works published in the past on Varroa jacobsoni actually refer to Varroa destructor [2]. Originally, Varroa destructor, parasitized the Apis cerana to which it does not cause particular damage, but starting from the 1940s to increase bee production, European bees were introduced to South-East Asia; from that moment the parasite was also found on A. mellifera. Subsequently, it was reported in Russia and spread, in almost all the countries of southern and south-eastern Asia and subsequently in almost all the countries of the world (Figures 1&2) [2].
Direct Damage to the Honeybee Colony
The direct damage that varroa mite causes to bees, are mainly developmental alterations as well as effects of loss of orientation and weakening.
The main effect that has been found concerns weight loss that can exceed 10%, in the case of bees infested by a single parasite; and it has been shown that this loss does not only concern a reduction of the hemolymph stolen from the bee, but also the loss of water. In addition, parasitized bees are born with a reduction in the levels of protein concentration in the head and abdomen (20%). For these conditions, the life expectancy of bees is reduced by 50% [4]. As a consequence of this, there may be reductions in the population, evident flight difficulties, problems with the queen and also the presence of tracheal mites. In the brood, an irregularity of this can be observed above all, symptoms similar to European plague, American plague or sack brood and larvae out of place in the cell or dark-colored [2].
Indirect Damage on Adult Bees and on Broods
Direct damage is not insignificant but is of secondary importance with respect to the transmission of viruses, in fact, the main cause of mortality of the infested colonies is the viral infection that occurs.
Twenty viruses have been identified in the bee [7], the most harmful being the deformed wing virus (DWV) (Figure 10) and the acute paralysis virus (Acute Paralysis Virus, APV). Varroa is able to transmit and transfer viruses between bees and this assumes that the virus is able to replicate within the parasite, a capacity that is still uncertain, except for the deformed wing virus [4]. In 50-80% of cases, the mite transfers the virus from an infected pupa to a healthy one, therefore, as the infestation increases, the risk of spreading the virus itself increases [2]. Therefore, these transmissions must be avoided or at least reduced to keep the varroe in low numbers, generally treating the removal of the honey bees in late summer, avoiding dangerous delays in the treatments because this entails the birth of winter bees infected with viruses, and there is a risk that the colony succumbs during the winter.
According to a recent study conducted by Schroeder in 2015 on the deformed wing virus, it has been observed that, in England, some apiaries have an avirulent strain of DWV (called type b), and that they are also immune to the more virulent strain (type a ) which instead causes the colonies to collapse; the presence of a third strain (type c) has also been observed, the characteristics of which are not yet certain. This new interaction could be exploited to minimize the problems caused by this virus (Schroeder, 2015). Finally, the acute paralysis virus, in severely infested colonies, can also cause a considerable mortality of uncapped brood as well as shortening the life of adult bees which, following this virosis, present tremors and weakening. To date, unfortunately, beekeepers do not have a pest eradicating care system; so much so that the methods of struggle are based on the application of biotechnics (confinement of the queen, use of heat, etc ...) that allow interventions with low chemical impact on the hive system [8-10], or through the use of chemical molecules that do not always guarantee the health of bees and consumers [11-22].
To read more about this article: https://irispublishers.com/wjass/fulltext/ailanthus-altissima-Mill-and-varroa.ID.000586.php
Indexing List of Iris Publishers: https://medium.com/@irispublishers/what-is-the-indexing-list-of-iris-publishers-4ace353e4eee
Iris publishers google scholar citations: https://scholar.google.co.in/scholar?hl=en&as_sdt=0%2C5&q=irispublishers&btnG=
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Eastern Skunk Cabbage,
Symplocarpus foetidus
This species is best known through it’s north-eastern temperate range as the primary species first to bloom along the first vernal dam periods of spring. This is usually a period in mid February that marks the first thaw of the organic horizon where the nutrient cycles of ambient nitrogen rich molecules are progressively heaved upward and permeated into hydrostatic and hydrodynamic soil paths where they can be more readily accessed by ecological interactions.
I say this species is the primary species we see blooming this early only for the reason of including vernal witchhazel into this group; but, if we delineate what I am referring to as only forbes then we can say this about skunk cabbage.
The evolutionary factors that have lead to this species success in our region rely mainly on how it blooms when no other flowers can. From these images you may be able to tell that inflorescence of skunk cabbage is quite complex, It is considered a bractoid composite inflorescence. When we talk about bracts we are talking about petiole true leaves that are not usually as highly modified as a flower petal and sepal systems can be, In this case of the aroid groups we can argue that this is just as heavily modified in this respect.
The spathe(bractoid dome), is the tough colorful section of this species compound inflorescence and has been highly modified in theory throughout however long this species has been functionally separating it’s self from its previous common ancestors. It has many important features that give it an evolutionary presence that is so complex it needs to be broken down step by step.
The pigmentation of this species can be varied but usually maintains some form of high levels of betacyanin in betalin/ betanidin formation. Radiospectral analysis and chemical analysis has provided plenty of evidence of this through either chemical feeds or analysis of absorption features. (((Betacyanins and betaxanthins exhibit absorption peaks at the range points of 532–550 nm and 457–485 nm, if you wanted to compare to other phyto-active pigmentation absorption's (Khan, 2016). The key evolutionary apparatus at play here is UV shock mitigation while still having some form of photopotential, it is also a similar red that we visually, not spectral necessarily, to open flesh. In this right it’s goal is to act with a certain level of mimicry, mimesis (mimicry of inanimant), specifically ovipository mimicry and carrion mimicry combine. The yellow modelling found along with the spathe can have the effect of light channels as the plant systematically develops cells with certain range of pigmentation's, weather or not there is a specific rate of this patterning seems to be to variable to see patterns and the chemical pathways provoking the lack of pigmented cells in this species are not well researched to the extant of transparency(no pun intended). The fitness of an individual seems to be centered around: size of this spathe, level of invagination( to form both a heat dome and a proper floral trap), and the ability to protect the true inflorescence known as the spadix from the surprise frosts that early spring can bring. A thick cuticle, and the production of a small epicuticular wax crystals are noticeable when looking at the outside of this spathe. The insulation mechanisms that are present aid in thermoregulation for this species more than any other arroid( memeber of Araceae).
The Spadix of this plant is the most delicate and evolutionarily astounding macro-organ for this specific species. As I mentioned earlier this is a delicate organ and can’t take frost damage. it is elevated from the base of the spathe on an inflorescencephore (stalk which the inflorescence rests on). The spadix, it’s self, is responsible for not thermoregulation in it’s entirety; but, its responsible for thermogenesis or the endothermic(production of heat) from it’s cell to cell metabolic pathways. This is done following basic physics based chemical principles as a governing basis.
“NADPH production, catalyzed by mitochondrial isocitrate dehydrogenase in a chemically endothermic reaction, plays a role in the pre-equilibrium reaction....That a law of chemical equilibrium known as Le Châtelier’s principle governs the homeothermic control in skunk cabbage.” via ((The biochemical basis for thermoregulation in heat-producing flowers)( Umekawa et. al.)).
Homeothermy( rather thermogenesis based) as a presence in thermoregulation complexities in this species is not the only interesting mechanism at play here for improved intricate fitness. As a carrion flower, fetid lads for the flies, getting your scent out there for all your beetle and fly friends is a necessary thing. The osmophore cycling and streaming out of osmophore glands is a regulatory thing and the metabolic actions in producing other trace and lead volatile attractants is acquirable more through better temperatures. Heat ducting these volatilized substances allow for a build up in the spathe and a slow but thick rapidly dispersing(by heat) odor trail. The heat that is produced from this metabolic action is in generational fluctuation usually. 70 to 80 degrees Fahrenheit (hot enough to melt snow) during different sexual orientations, male stamenoide flowers vs female parts of the spadix life cycle. Male flowers are first to appear and then female flowers are next as a way to prevent self pollination and provide a means for crossing to be maintained. Theories have even been produced about the mechanisms to heat and even temperature fluctuations being and advantageous adaptation to the ideal micro-physiological functions necessary for the promotion of fast pollen tube development; weather or not these will be applied and tested on this species to a critical level remains to be seen. Via -(Ervik F, Barfod A (1999) Thermogenesis in palm inflorescences and its ecolgocial significance.)
This individual was in it’s male flowering stage of anthesis.
Hope you liked this post, this is one of my favorite spring species and its beauty and complexity should be enjoyed by everyone imo.
Photographed Feb 2nd, 2020, Richardson Forest Preserve, Richardson Fen, Cincinnati, Ohio. by John Potter.
@locallysourcedtrauma and I are trying to see if we can figure out how to make an educational youtube channel and we will be using this species to see if we can figure out a pilot. so far the footage is rough and we may need to get better camera gear.
#botany#cottagecore#ecology#evolution#plants#native plants#plant#plantblr#plant biology#plant blog#botanical#botany blogs#botany is cute#horticulture#plantmom#plantdad#plant identification#araceae#fetid#carrion flower#spring#wildflowers#hank williams#thermogenesis#homeostasis#cottage#cottagestyle#cottage style#cottage witch#nature photography
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Books “Read” in 2020
Previous entries: 2019, 2018, 2017
I don’t rank these based on actual literary quality, but by how much i enjoyed reading/listening to them. Hopefully with Audible’s new “Premium Included” feature it would cut down on so many Average/Below Average books next year, it’ll give me more of a choice on what kind of books/podcasts i want to listen to rather than given a handful to pick from a month.
The “Top 10″
Forging Hephaestus / Bones of the Past: Villains' Code Series - Drew Hayes has became one of my fav authors over the past couple years, from his Vampire Accountant series, 5-min Sherlock, and his Spells, Swords, and Stealth books. FH is one of the few times he wrote Adult Fiction. This is the second time Drew created a world of super heroes (the YA Superpowereds), thus previous experience in dealing with the nuisances and meta of super meta dynamics. I love the main character, Tori, and especially love many of the side characters (like Ivan) and the comedy is the right tone of dark and not-in-your-face (not quite as well -written as something like The Venture Bros or The Tick, but being adult fiction you can get away with having characters named Johnny Three-Dicks and Captain Bullshit)
Dreadnought / Sovereign - the second super hero series I’ve placed on my top list this year, this one is Young Adult. This one is far more serious and deals heavily in issues like trans and women’s rights, mental abuse, and social acceptance. The main character is full of angst, but that should be a given for a 15 yo with lots of mental baggage and new social pressures. The main character is the main draw, most of the side characters are a bit more one-dimensional.
The Trouble with Peace: Age of Madness, Book 2. It isn’t a “First Law” book if you don’t want to strangle half of the main characters. Many are stepping outside of the shadow of the previous generation and finding themselves falling flat on their faces. If they aren’t at each other’s throats, they would soon have to deal with rebellion in the streets and the constant looming presence of Bayaz, who waits to sweep the board clear and rearrange the pieces the way he sees fit.
Michael J. Sullivan’s: The Riyria and Legend of the First Empire Books.
Riyria Revelations: Theft of Swords / Rise of Empire / Heir of Novron
Riyria Chronicles: The Crown Tower / The Rose and Thorn / The Death of Dulgath
Age of Death / Age of Empyre, Pile of Bones
After finishing the Legend of the First Empire books that came out earlier this year, I went ahead and read the prior series that takes place in the same world. I would suggest reading the entire series by Publish order, but they can be read Chronologically. I read the Legends books first, and it helped me see where Sullivan was heading and when he started to plan out the Legends books in more detail. (The early cameo of the Main characters from Legends in a mural in Heir of Novron, and knowing who is behind the events in Dulgath)
The Dresden Files: Peace Talks / Battle Grounds - They really should be read as one book, because that was how they were written. It is a Feast of Crows / Dances with Dragons situation, where the book got too long and got split up. The fans are pretty divided by the book(s) ending and how some of the main characters are handled, but these are Jim Butcher’s characters not theirs and he can drop bridges on whom ever he wants.
What Lies Beyond: Cycle of Galand, Book 6 - This is a “mythology” book (like Sullivan’s Age of Death was) where it introduces most of the Pantheon of their religion and corrects much of the mythology that had been lost over the decades. They seek a weapon to vanquish the Litch and save their world and the afterlife from oblivion, but not all of their Gods are happy about it.
Will Destroy the Galaxy for Cash - Yahtzee (Zero Punctuation!) has to be one of my favorite internet personalities for the past 10+ years, and I eat up every book he puts out and because he wrote the books, and is an actor himself, he could deliver the lines as they are intended to be. The sequel to Will Save the Galaxy for Food does not disappoint and even ups the stakes from the previous book.
The Girl Who Drank the Moon - This has to be one of the most charming books I’ve read. It is magic and wonder at it’s finest, no need for long explanations on how the world works. If you like Ghibli movies, you’ll be interested in this book. It has its dark moments but isn’t outside of what you’ll find in something like Spirited Away, Princess Mononoke, and Nausicca.
The Goblin Emperor - the youngest son of the Elf King finds himself emperor after the death of his father and brothers in an assassination. The only problem is, that he is only half-elf... his late mother was a Goblin, and he had been in exile as an embarrassment to the family for most of his life. He knows nothing of how the courts work and what’s left of his own family work against him just for being who he is.
Lost Gods: Brom - I liked this book more than I did American Gods (which I read a few years ago). It is darker and bleaker by the bucket loads. One of the few books with a downer ending that I actually liked. I would compare this book to books like All the Pretty Horses and No Country for Old Men-- but it is a Fantasy!
Above Average.
Siege Tactics (Spells, Swords, & Stealth. Book 4) - What happens to adventurers after they retire? A fun concept that is explored with our party of NPCs running across a town full of epic-level characters that no longer have a player.
The Arthurian Saga - The Crystal Cave / The Hollow Hills / The Last Enchantment / The Wicked Day - A more realistic version of the Arthurian tales, taking the POV of Merlin, bastard son of a princess, as he earns notoriety as a scholar and wizard. The Wicked Day takes the POV of Mordred, making him far more sympathetic than other iterations of his character.
Arc of a Scythe - Scythe / Thunderhead / The Toll - Science and Technology eliminates death and in order to prevent over population and complacency an order of grim reapers are chosen to randomly deal out quotas of permanent deaths. An example of what happens when every need and want is satisfied by a higher force and the apathy that causes rot in human society and the superiority complex of those in charge of life and death.
The Diviners / Lair of Dreams / Before the Devil Breaks You / The King of Crows - Horror during the Roaring 20′s. Tackles issues as Racism, Poverty, Government Secrecy, Christian-Evangelical Cults, Nationalism Cult Mentality, Communism, Labor Unions, Eugenics, Post-WW1 trauma... It could almost pass as an adult fiction book. I wouldn’t recommend giving it to someone under High school age.
Ancillary Justice / Ancillary Sword / Ancillary Mercy - Artificial Intelligence takes over human bodies as a form of capital punishment, controlling ships and space stations. The dominate human empire outgrew the need to label any gender, using “she” to refer to everyone rather than the vaguer “them/they” pronouns, and only outlying colonies stick to the binary ideals. Think of “The Left Hand of Darkness” but on a more broader scale and as the default majority/ruling empire. Toss in a solid military action novel on top and it isn’t nearly as boring as Left Hand.
Children of Time / Children of Ruin - War destroys the human population of Earth and those that remain are the ones that headed out to the stars on tera-forming missions. A virus created to advance life forms to prepare a world for human habitation runs amuck with out its overseers, creating intelligent arachnids, crustaceans, and squid.
The Licanius Trilogy - The Shadow of What Was Lost / An Echo of Things to Come / The Light of all that Falls - It is very heavy on info overload, there is a lot to keep track of, so much so there is a summary of book one and two at the start of the third. I like the twist at the end of the first book and that the villain is actually trying to help save the world, and you spend most of the second stuck between who thinks they are doing the right thing and who is actually doing the right thing - a lot to talk about doing the lesser of two evils.
Mythos - Steven Fry - A humorous retelling of Greek mythology. I read Mythology - by Edith Hamilton prior to this book, which is a more scholarly take on the myths, and helps if you are unfamiliar with classical mythology prior to reading Fry’s take on it.
Iron, Fire and Ice: The Real History That Inspired Game of Thrones - a nice history book about Iron Age royalty. It is actually refreshing to read after going through so much faux fiction that is in Philippa Gregory’s books.
Will My Cat Eat My Eyeballs? - Children ask questions to a Mortician about death and what happens to bodies after people die. I listened to her autobiography last year/year before and it is worth picking up this one along with it.
Average, but still good.
Jack Campbell’s Lost Fleet Universe: Triumphant (Genesis Fleet, Book 3) / Tarnished Knight: Lost Stars, book 1 - The realistic space battles just drag me back in each and every time.
The Case of the Damaged Detective: 5-Minute Sherlock - Drew Hayes can’t write a boring book. It isn’t quite on point as his other series, but still fun to read. Hayes is really good at making YA books with Adult Protagonists. It is a road-trip book, the main character is a washed-out operative that is getting his second chance playing bodyguard and future assistant to the 5-minute Sherlock.
Locked In / Head On - Do you remember “Surrogates”? that Bruce Willis movie where people walk around in robotic avatars, well... it’s almost the same thing. A virus kills millions, save for a select few that experience “lock in” syndrome and are able to connect to robots via their brains and the internet. The main character is gender neutral and you get a choice to listen to the book with a male or female reader.
Murder by Other Means: The Dispatcher Book 2 - more John Scalzi! The first book was in my top list a few years ago, and i enjoyed the sequel just as much. Between Scalzi’s The Dispatcher and Locked In series, i like the Dispatcher more.
The Shattered Sea Trilogy: Half a King / Half the World / Half a War - Joe Abercrombie’s attempt to make Young Adult books. It keeps all the grim dark, but lacks all the swearing and humor that made The First Law books more enjoyable. Many of Joe’s favorite character tropes are still present and is one of the better “Fall to Darkness” stories I’ve read. It also has different POV characters each book and is one of those “faux fantasy” settings.
Mage Errant: Books 1, 2 & A Traitor in Skyhold: Book 3 - If you are wanting to get away from Harry Potter, pick up this book series. It takes place in magic school, but it is its own world and setting and not just a hidden world within our own. The main group of kids are misfits among the school, unable to master their powers, that get taken up by the badass librarian to be trained in more unconventional ways.
Dawn of Wonder: The Wakening Book 1 - the main character has ptsd from growing up in an abusive household, and i thought it was handled rather well. He would be rather competent and cleaver most of the time until he gets triggered into an episode, he fights really hard to overcome this short-falling of his. Standard classic affair else wise, family leaves home because the local authority figure doesn’t want them around anymore, goes to big city, kid wants to do good and avenge the deaths he was accused of, joins the badass school of hard knocks... big powerful evil thing trying to consume the world.
The Rage of Dragons - It shares a lot of tropes and story points with Red Rising... just in a fantasy setting, not in space. If you are wanting fantasy with POC main characters and a non-European-centric culture, that doesn’t pull any punches, give it a shot.
Earthsea - Tehanu and Tales from Earthsea - I had read the first three books several years back, and i did re-read them in order to refresh myself prior to reading the final two.
The Secret Garden - I absolutely loved the movie from the 90′s as a kid, and finally got around to listening to the book.
Six of Crows - A heist book in fantasy world with the magic users being heavily “Jewish / Slavic” coded by how they are treated and persecuted. I might have thought more favorably about the book if i hadn’t read other books with “street rat slum” main characters. (Seriously, after spending six books with Royce in Riyria someone like Kas is just second bananas)
Unconventional Heroes / Two Necromancers - Comedic Fantasy, the humor’s not on par with say MogWorld, and has more jokes than Fred The Vampire Accountant. It is still a parody of villains and heroes in fantasy worlds. I would find it safe for a 12/13yo to read, cursing and all, though they might not be aware of many of the tropes that are being deconstructed. The reader of the book did better in this one then he did with Six of Crows and Beezer, still the audio needed some editing because it repeats itself a few times.
Once More Upon A Time (Free Audio Book) - I don’t always care to read romance stories. I like the idea behind it however, to trade their love for each other in order to save their partner’s life, then learn to re-love one another again.
Monster Hunter International - If you think Dresden is too liberal, this takes a hard turn to the right.. replace the magic with GUNS, lots and lots of GUNS. An organization that hates the government but hunts monsters for government bounties. The main cast is multi-ethnic and they do make fun of that at one point. There isn’t a lot of thought into the plot, because action is #1, but it is fun enough to ignore the politicking.
The Chronicles of Narnia: The Collection - i bitched about there not being an omnibus last year, and then Audible uploaded one. The ending is still one big clusterfuck.
Stephen King’s Insomnia - this book is the bridge between Steven King’s two universes. It is a sequel to IT and brings up the Darktower often. IT dealt mainly with childhood fears, Insomnia deals with Elderly and feminine fears.
D’Arc / Culdesac: War with No Name - I liked D’Arc more than i did Mort-e, and Culdesac is more on track with Mort-e. The virus that mutated the ants and animals reminded me of the virus from Children of Time/Ruin, even though i read Mort-e first, reading D’Arc after CoT let me notice it.
Michael McDowell’s: The Amulet / The Elementals / Gilded Needles / Blackwater - From the guy that wrote the screenplay of Beetlejuice, and the pioneer of the Southern Gothic Horror. Gilded Needles is a bit out of place, taking place in 1890′s, and is more of a social horror rather than a super natural horror the other books are.
Gardens of the Moon: The Malazan Book of the Fallen, Book 1 - high fantasy dark fiction. if you really want some CHONKY door stoppers, there’s over 10 of them in this series. Could’ve done less with the manipulative bastard mage that speaks in 3rd person. I had read The Willful Child, an attempted comedy science fiction novel by the same author, and it showed that the author was unfamiliar with that kind of genera and should stick to grim fantasy.
The Knife’s Edge / Citadel of Fire: The Ronin Saga - This is one of those series that I’m always going “oh, that reminds me of [insert another better series]” At times it reminded me of The Licanius Trilogy, Shades of Magic, Arc of Scythe, Riyria, Korra... It is just shy of being as good as them, and is rather firmly in that Sci-Fi Fantasy Ghetto and has a bit of “anime” feel to it with their magic users having ‘power levels’ and the power creep.
In Calabria - My only problem with the book is the massive age-gap between the Main character and his love interest. Outside of that, the whole Unicorns in the modern world concept is done very well.
Pout Neuf (Audible Free Book) - Journalism and romance during WW2. A quick read and the book really shows that research had been done about the setting and time period.
Nut Jobs: Cracking California's Strangest $10 Million Dollar Heist: An Audible Original - Not only does it talk about the heist, it actually touches on the subject of migrant farmers and slave labor, as well as the desertification of the California Valley.
The Science of Sci-Fi: From Warp Speed to Interstellar Travel (Free Audio Book) - a neat little informative podcast if you are looking for an introduction to some of the harder science fiction.
Mythology - by Edith Hamilton - Text book about Greek Mythology. Like “used in schools” text book. It is a good read if you don’t want to go through Ovid, Virgil, Homer, and all the other classical writers on your own.
The Space Race: An Audible Original - America didn’t win the Space Race. Russia did just about everything first. The only thing we did first was put people on the moon. It also goes into detail about how the inventor of the Nazi’s V2 rockets became employed with the US Space program. As well as the government’s announcement to let space travel become privatized.
Pale Blue Dot / Cosmos: A Personal Voyage - It’s Carl Sagan. Come on! Everyone should be reading them. Pale Blue Dot was being turned into an Audiobook in the 90′s but with Sagan’s death, only the first few chapters were read by him and his partner reads the rest of it (she does a decent job, and i understand why they wanted her to read it, it should’ve been done similarly to Cosmos, with guest readers doing each chapter)
Thicker Than Water (Free Audio Book) - start up pharmaceutical company scams people out of millions with promises of a miracle machine that was ahead of its time. Story told from the whistleblower himself as he recounts what his job was within the company and how he knew the owner/founder of the company and how coming out about what was going on ruined his relationship with his family and friends.
Don't Panic: Douglas Adams and the Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy - biography on Douglas Adams and the history behind the creative process behind the Hitchhiker’s Guide series.
The Genius of Birds - It reminded me a lot of “The Soul of an Octopus” in quality. It is rather informative about birds, how they behave, and how we judge intelligence in non-human animals.
It’s “ok.”
Les Miserabes - I can see why people favor movies and theater versions because of how dense the book is, getting the cliff notes version of the book instead of reading several chapters about the Battle of Waterloo.
Viva Durant and the Secret of the Silver Buttons (Audible Free Book) - It’s cute, and I spent the next several weeks humming that freaking song.
Challenger Deep - A book about mental illness by the same person that brought us The Arc of a Scythe series. It isn’t a bad read, but if you are prone to get panic attacks and have mental illness yourself, you might get too into it and make you uneasy. It can help with neurotypical people with understanding how some illnesses work.
Into the Wilds (Warriors, Book 1) - Ah, the cat book. It is prob because there are soooo many books in this series that it over-saturates the kids impressionable minds.
House of Teeth (Audible Free Book) - I read this book prior to Monster Hunter International, and thinking back on this one, i am reminded about the other. Save for this one is PG. So... the kid friendly version.
The Martian Chronicles - Space Horror, on Mars. If you like old science fiction, like Classic Trek, Wells, or Forbidden Planet stuff. There is a lot of zerust.
Andrea Vernon and the Corporation for UltraHuman Protection - The third superhero series I’ve read this past year. It is not as ground breaking nor subversive as Villain’s Code or Dreadnought. The humor is a bit too forced and parts of it falls into “we can be more offensive because it is an adult book” category.
Interview with the Robot - Don’t really care for books or programs that are set up in the “interview” format where it is two people talking to one another. (I have no fucking idea how this book got top Kids book of the year on Audible, it is more of a YA book... it must been because it was Free and lots of people picked it because the rest of the choices that month were complete garbage)
Micromegas - perhaps one of the oldest examples of Speculative Science Fiction. Written by Voltaire, it is about a giant from another solar system that is so big that humans and life on Earth are microscopic. “what value are the lives of ants to a man?”
The Three Musketeers - i had forgotten how much espionage there was in this book. I would say this is a good companion book to Don Quixote, as it takes its fair share of inspiration from and even name-drops the character a couple times.
Charles Dickens: Oliver Twist / David Copperfield / A Tale of Two Cities - DC is the standout IMO among the three, it is Dickens’ Magnum Opus. Les Mis did a far better job with the Revolution than Tale did as well. I felt rather obligated to reading these books because of the subplot in the Age of Madness books being about Poverty during the Industrial Revolution and Workers Revolts against the Ruling Class.
20,000 Leagues Under the Sea - the version i listened too made most of the Americans sound like GWB... which is funny because one of them is Canadian, and the Comic Relief character about how boorish Americans are.
Stuck (Free Audio Book) - it is a neat idea, getting jarred free of time but everybody else isn’t and doesn’t remember. It gets a little heavy for a kids book near the end, edging into YA territory as the character gets older mentally and the people around him age physically.
Phreaks (Free Audio Book) - i knew a lot about Captain Crunch and other phone hackers of the 60′s. There is a subplot of the big radioactive corporation covering up causing cancer to their workers, and the father (voiced by Christian Slater) being in the closet but still homophobic about it.
Silverswift (Free Audio Book) - If you like fairy tales set in modern times, it is worth a look. It is similar to In Calabira in that way. The mom being the nonbeliever and thinking grandma is off her rocker, but the granddaughter knows it in her bones that grandma is telling the truth.
Sleeping Giants - alien mechs from the distant past, once mistaken as the titans and gods form mythology, now being studied and experimented on by the government. This is another “interview style” story telling.
Celtic Mythology: Tales of Gods, Goddesses, and Heroes - there is a lot of names and stories, it is worth prob getting a physical copy of the book to keep things straight and to use as a reference.
How to Defeat a Demon King in Ten Easy Steps - A love letter to The Legend of Zelda’s Ocarina of Time and other RPG games.
Casino Royal: James Bond - the movie was rather faithful, including the part of being tied to a chair. I do wish they kept more of the book’s ending where Bond was ready to retire prior to his secret-spy love interest gets killed.
Aliens: Bug Hunt - a compilation of Alien stores about people landing on various planets and encountering aliens, not always the Xenomorphs we know, but the term “Bug” came synonymous to any dangerous alien lifeforms encountered.
Macbeth: A Novel - retelling the story of Macbeth but in a novel form. If you can’t get past the language of the original play, this would help. It sets it more firmly in historical fiction.
Hannibal: A Novel - I went ahead and re watched the tv show after finishing the book. I’ve seen the movie a dozen times, and i understand why they changed the ending to the movie. The book is the main one that characterizes Hannibal and the show uses a lot of the plot. Hannibal Rising wasn’t really needed because Hannibal (in this book) does think/talk about what happened to his sister and home, and i can see why Harris didn’t want to write that book either. The audiobook is rather poor quality, they talked too fast in places and i don’t really care for their acting...
The Power of Six - I read I am Number 4 several years back and this one popped up on sale so i nabbed it. I like Neil Kaplan, and i think this one is better than the first one and actually gets into the meat of the story.
Cut and Run: A Light-Hearted Dark Comedy - body parts harvesting.... mmmm.
Calypso - non-Fiction, biography of the author. Talks about his family, his life with his partner, and what he does. Much of it is charming and it is read by the author. this was prior to him loosing his marbles about retail workers and becoming a karen.
Our Harlem: Seven Days of Cooking, Music and Soul at the Red Rooster - the history of Harlem and the Harlem Renaissance. I didn’t mind this podcast so much because i was reading The Diviners during the same time.
Malcolm and Me - another biographical book. one of the free books i got during Feb’ Black History Month.
History of Bourbon (Free Audio Book) - Informative about the liqueur industry in America.
Junkyard Cats: Shining Smith Book 1 - post apocalyptic action science fiction novel. the moment that guy showed up i was “that’s your bf.” and it was so... the plot wasn’t hard to figure out, it’s all about the action and setting.
The Moon is a Harsh Mistress - One of the better Heinlein books. The man can’t write romance and he is rather big on casual polygamy and open marriages. An anarchist-revolution book written by someone that is more on the Libertarian side of the aisle. Mycroft (the computer) comes off as rather antiquated, an AI that runs on a closed server, communicating through the telephone lines and printed paper, makes me wonder what Heinlein would’ve done if he was told about the internet and Deep Fake tech. (the book takes place in like 2075, but written in 1966)
Caffeine: How Caffeine Created the Modern World - the production of coffee and it’s prevalence around the world.
The Life and Times of Prince Albert - Exactly what it says on the can. *rimshot*
The Real Sherlock: An Audible Original - a biography of Sir. Arthur Conan Doyle.
The Design of Everyday Things - using psychology to improve the design of systems, products, and the modern business model. It gives proper terminology for several common design features and how to improve on existing structures.
Bottom of the Barrel.
The Pagan World: Ancient Religions before Christianity. I was hoping there would have been something in there about European Religions, there isn’t, and the book was mostly Greek and Roman life styles and how gods are worshiped. It let me know where the word “auger” came from and why it was used in the Licanius Trilogy.
Life Ever After - disjointed at best. a couple that aren’t good for each other spend the next several hundred years in a crappy relationship.
Beyond Strange Lands: An Audible Original - The audio was complete crap on half of the voices. Which is bad because this could’ve been better. It is a Pod Cast Show and the director couldn’t make sure everybody had decent recording equipment and the sound effects often drown out the actors.
Henrietta & Eleanor: A Retelling of Jekyll and Hyde: An Audible Original Drama - They were going for a modern telling, but the language used is archaic. They speak like Dickens characters even though they talk about cellphones and computers.
A Crazy Inheritance: The Ghostsitter book 1 - The concept is there, but it is too nerfed. It was made for the 8-12yo crowd in mind by people that don’t know how to write for children.
Tell Me Lies (Free Audio Book) - It really wants to be smart. Who’s playing who and who is the actual villain of this story? If you want a quick “who done it?” maybe look into it.
Evil Eye (Free on Audible Plus) - told through phone calls between a mother and daughter. The whole genera of evil boyfriends/husbands isn’t really my cup of tea, and the boyfriend’s actor was too fake and the set up to the meat of the story was annoying.
The Half-life of Marie Curie - I didn’t mind learning stuff about Marie Curie... falls squarely in “made for TV lifetime movie” quality though. You should not carry around a vile of uranium where ever you go.
Alone with the Stars - A girl in Florida hears the call for help from Amelia Earhart, but nobody listens to her. Part fiction, part biographical. It would’ve been better as a biography and talking about various conspiracy theories about what happened to her and finding the pieces of the airplane.
Beezer - The son of the Devil learning to become a good person with a found family... however, most of the characters are annoying.
The Year of Magical Thinking (Free Audio Book) - very heavy on the subjects about loss and death.
Complete Garbage.
The Getaway (Free Audio Book) - A man being a POS by stalking and abducting women. It broadcasts just about everything that is going to happen.
Agent 355 (Free Audio Book) - Do you like “American Mythology?” Like the whole “the founders are the greatest people in the world” kind of vibe? I don’t. I also hate the main character for being one of those “i’m smart, because i read books that women aren’t supposed to” girls when she doesn’t really think for herself at all.
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Nulla dies sine linea
Line.
A blunt, straight-edged cut that divides the surface into twain separate expanses, or a curve, soft and feminine – a contrast for what is stern and malevolent – a pair that undeniably completes itself, deprived of all the flaws, yet soaked within, exemplary balance of two factors.
Equilibrium.
Turmoil, sleeplessness that is supposed to bring answers – a foolish hope of an at-halt man.
Outdated ways of thinking, of perceiving reality, the ones that prevent a person from seeing any alternative, an entirely new approach, a breakthrough that results in remarkable success.
Uniqueness – a pursuit never meant to be achieved.
Truism that holds all the components of the world, a design of another restless demiurge, a greater one maybe, yet a parallel for every single creator, architect of his own destruction.
The Lambs, lost in post-delirium state of an incompetent mind.
* * *
Smoke has never ceased to mesmerize him, the fluency of transferring into billowing shapes that it acquires, only to evaporate moments later – a fleeting notion, so difficult to capture, which might be the exact factor that makes it so appealing to the eye, so desired, a conviction that it is only a matter of seconds required for the vapor to dissolve. Fire has always hit him with a similar impression – hypnotizing, yet fascinating, in possession of a power that he could only dream of obtaining, the one that could easily destroy acres of land, leaving only the grotesque stumps behind – remains of prior imperiality.
Crystal used to rant about how ‘those cancer sticks’ are going to kill him one day, how each of them reduces his life expectancy, how it is even possible for a person to be so blind, so ignorant, so coarse... Truth to be told, he doubts whether she, indeed, cared about his well-being that much, suspecting an entirely different outcome, even more straightforward; she liked to stand out of the crowd, a single woman bathed in the mist of smokers, inhaling the pungent scent either way, as if her perseverance, or maybe stubbornness is a better word, made any difference here – a gloss of irrationality.
Simplification: she was just a pain in the ass.
Past tense.
Either way, he somehow managed to tolerate such behavior for exactly fifteen days, then broke up with her, though she never failed to amuse him, such a frivolous, little girl who took a liking into playing adults, not even referring to her age. He has never believed in such absurd concepts, age as a life-defining factor, ultimate description, featuring every single aspect imaginable – paradox, blatant simplification, something that people seek out in their free time to paraphrase the reality – a trait of the weakest, majority of population.
Such a shame to be a human.
Deep in his reverie, he fails to notice that the cigarette is almost smoked to the filter until it literally burns him, a telling sting in between his fingers, slight but still unpleasant, enough to toss the remains on the street – a dole to society. He catches a glimpse of the smoldering tip, before it disappears into the night, swallowed by the darkness, blinded by the city lights – another contribution to the transience of the temporal world.
Truth to be told, the rooftop has always been his favorite place in this fungous building – a coalescence of equally moldy flats – with the view spreading across miles of urban estates, skyscrapers, and parks. It bestows him with a certain understanding that in spite of his lifelong inhabitance of said space, he is never meant to reveal all of its mysteries, cover every square meter of land, which in turn evokes this peculiar feeling of pettiness, the one he absolutely loathes – helpless man within a harmful world.
Nevertheless, he can either accept, or deny it, while keeping in mind that the latter is a trait of permanently stupid, close-minded people – a group that he wishes to collaborate with at last, if ever. It reminds him of a sect, less formal obviously, yet the analogy is obtuse: one sacrifices the prospect of self-development on behalf of leading a facile life – a blessing as some of them might say.
But not him.
What is beneficial about flatting out one’s existence? Rolling it out to the point where it is almost impossible to surmise whether there is a carpet sprawling on the floor, or the woodblocks are just bumpy? To make sure that there will not be any need to pay the professional to deal with said issue?
Worthless.
Aside from the cult-related illations, he senses yet another alteration lingering in the air, a distinct notion that shifts his focus, akin to a smell of a freshly cooked bacon that tickles one’s nose in the morning, prompting to lift the heavy eyelids, a burning sensation of being watched, even if for a split second, spreading over the flesh of his back, until he is forced to break the logy lull.
“Fancy a cigarette with me?” A thick timbre that slices through the silence, clearly startling the intruder, evident in a startled gasp that the person utters.
“I thought no one comes here,” a silvery voice, definitely female, accompanied by a telltale clink, signalizing that the woman is approaching his sitting spot.
“That would be ignorant, don’t you think?” He remarks, fingers dipping inside a package for another cigarette. “To deprive yourself of the opportunity to see the city from such exceptional perspective.”
“Maybe you’re right,” she shrugs, flopping down on the concrete beside him, gaze flicking to meet his – green interfering with grey – topping it up with a subtle, polite smile thrown in his direction. Her face seems familiar: unlined, with round eyes and shapely nose, prompting that their paths must have crossed somewhere in the past, which evokes a burning need to ask about said issue, followed by a blunt query.
“You live here, don’t you?” He mutters indistinctly with another cig pushed in between his lips, flicking a lighter to ignite the flame.
“I do,” she affirms with a refined nod, hand reaching out to draw the coattails together, as if to keep herself warm, exhaling a billow of air through her nose, visible due to the low temperature. “Is the cigarette still available?”
“I think so,” he flashes her a fleeting smile as the package tilts in her direction, inclining the woman to help herself, to which she complies, fishing out a single fag. He lights it up for her with seemingly no effort – a proficient manner of a long-term smoker – watching her drag on the cig as if anticipating her to choke on its contents, but nothing like this happens. Instead, she lets out a puff of smoke that forms another bizarrely shaped cloud, soon to evaporate with the cool, autumn breeze – another ephemeral prove of world’s temporality.
“You are that painter, am I right?” She conjectures, glancing at him briefly, as if his reaction was supposed to affirm the surmise.
“Should I be concerned that you know about my trade?” He cocks an eyebrow at her – a cunning, seemingly playful banter.
“I thought artists aim for being renowned,” she remarks with a sarcastic tingle that he subconsciously notices, either way decides against acknowledging for now. “But no, I’ve been told that someone with such occupation lives here, and it someway fits you, I mean in appearance.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” he laughs, a throaty chuckle laced with a hint of harshness that comes from smoking.
“I wouldn’t say it surprises me,” she mimics his manner – a refined smile playing upon her lips – although not daring to crack yet. One of his friends would claim that if someone is interested, he, or she in this case, will subconsciously attempt to copy your gestures – knowledge that is supposed to be a key to success, at least according to his assertions.
(“I guide others to the treasure I cannot possess.”)
“You never told me why you chose come here,” he interjects after a few longer intervals, enlaced in a peaceful silence, if one excludes the metropolis din, dull and monotonous.
“Well, you didn’t ask,” she eludes, but carries on either way, her voice oddly tranquil in the mist of hectic city. “The explanation is simple: look down. They all seem so far-away, departed from our reality, unable to perceive the world in terms of integrity. I think sitting here gives you an entirely different perspective, allows you to see all the obvious correlations, the ones that they consistently miss.”
“In case someone would want to involve more deeply, am I right?” He retorts – a question that needs no verbal answer. “I think of it more like a paradox: we see more, yet less at the same time, the details long forgotten at such altitude.”
“Are any of those important to you?” She carries on with the queries, glancing at his briefly, as if to affirm whether he is serious. “Those, people, those trifles?”
“Nah,” he counters, flashing her another teasing smirk, “I disagree for fun.”
“Is ‘disagreeing for fun’ a trait of artist in general, or just your trait?” She laughs this time – a pearly chuckle that he finds oddly charming – as the cigarette slips from her fingers, following its path on the concrete sidewalk a few floors below. “Don’t take it personally, or even seriously. I don’t generalize, and to be honest I think it’s a holdover.”
“Trust me, I don’t,” he throws her a mild smile, his ember quick to follow its twin traces. “Also, sorry I haven’t introduced myself earlier,” he adds, luckily without bothering to shake her hand; she doubts whether there is anything worse than that, “Alexander.”
“Serena,” she reciprocates, holding the eye contact for a few longer moments – an affirmative gesture.
“It suits you,” he remarks, eyes glinting with an emotion she is yet unable to place, and so decides to shove aside for a while, soon to be back on the abandoned track of thoughts.
“Alexander…” she begins, letting it reverberate for a little while – time required to formulate a surmise, “like Alexander The Great?”
“Nah,” he chuckles, “like Graham Bell. My mother was particularly fond pf telephones, ‘such life-changing devices’, she would say.”
“To be honest I’ve never given names much thought,” she professes, running a single hand through her windswept hair, their texture silky in between her fingers, “I take them more as a-”
“Form of classification, I know,” he interrupts, spurring her to glance at him, both eyebrow raised, visibly caught off guard. “Quite a rare point of view if you’re asking me.”
She only hums in response, her eyes glued to the cityscape ahead, a bunch of high-rise buildings with most lights already extinguished, considering all the ‘sane’ people are fast asleep by now, with yet another question lingering on the tip of her tongue, curiosity waiting to be satiated.
“Why have you chosen to be an artist?”
“I wouldn’t say this is something you ‘chose’,” he frowns, two thin lines stressing out his relatively youthful face – an inclination that he might be right at the cusp between mid- and late-twenties. “It is more about going with the flow, doing things because you find certain pleasure in them, not a formal occupation with all those scraps of paper that people like to label as ‘employment contracts’. Plus it’s not my only ‘job’, considering I manage to pay the bills on time.”
“Okay,” she acknowledges with a fleeting nod, so subtle he suspects it to be yet another half-conscious implication of his mind, “but that still doesn’t answer my question.”
“Patience is a virtue,” he teases, an expression comparatively close to amusement enlightening his features. “Has anyone ever told you that?”
“Never heard of it before,” a flat response, betraying her mild impatience, “but do go on, I’m all ears.”
“Before I move on to the due story, it’s essential to know that my old man was a hippie,” he begins, green enlacing with grey once more. “During my childhood, I barely saw my father, so I used to idealize him as any kid would do, considering his constant absence – quite a simple mechanism if you’re asking me,” another fleeting glance thrown towards her, “and yet, when he wasn’t busy doing hell knows what, he taught me about aspects that appeared more useful to me at that time than all those school rules and down-to-earth expectations from my mother. He taught me how important it is to be free, to go your own way, and stand for what you consider essential, so I did that and almost got kicked out on the street for falling behind on rent.”
“Well,” she shrugs, as if not quite sure how to react, “some social standards are impossible to outrun.”
“It’s not even about that,” he contradicts with a graceful flick of his wrist, too dapper to appear as dismissive, “he was… how to formulate this properly… detached from reality, which is something that I realized during my teenage years, yet was unable to make a use of at that time,” he explains, quick to resume after a brief interval of silence. “Summing it up, I paint because I find certain pleasure in the activity itself, not to make some real money.”
“So are you working on anything particular?” She carries on with the questions, as if genuinely interested in what he is saying, not that he finds said aspect surprising. Something about him has always seemed to attract various kinds of people, maybe encouraged by his pertinent remarks, quick wits, or the general charm he oozes with, as if an intrinsic part of his body’s chemistry.
“Currently? Nah,” he shakes his head in denial, longish hair flowing around, skimming the tops of his shoulders, and luring Serena to run her fingers through the beach waves, to finally verify whether they are, indeed, as silky as they look like.
(Quite a weird thought if you are asking me.)
“Creator’s block? Is that so?” She nags further, as if irking him up already managed to situate itself in between her very special penchants.
“Something like that,” he huffs dismissively, pique evident in his manners, evoking the need to carry on with said intension.
(Mmm… that’s a bingo!)
“I hit the nail on the head, haven’t I?” She teases, too impudent for his tastes – a matter meant to be rectified in due course, another conception already blossoming underneath his skull, a brainchild soon to be implemented.
“Um, maybe you have,” he mutters indistinctly as he slips an unlit cigarette in between his lips, “which gives me a wonderful idea, if I’m being honest.”
“What kind of idea?” She inquires further, aware of the indispensability of said contribution, and despite knowing him for less than half an hour, she would have to be blind and deaf to miss his performative tendencies, topped with self-centered attitude – a form of paradox in itself: decoy and deter.
“Would you mind if I painted you?” He proposes, out of nowhere, snorting when he hears her choke on own saliva. The variety of reactions in this case is something that he still has not fully gotten used to: from the bewildered silence to excited squeals, each of them beautifully exceptional in some sort of way, or at least not overly repetitive.
(Uniqueness is for fools.)
“Excuse me?” She utters a brief moment later, as soon as she manages to compose herself, voice tremulous – a display of confusion and fuel for his amusement, gasoline to put out fire with.
“You’ve heard me,” he replies bluntly, exhaling a ring of smoke through his mouth, as if her response was not even included in the list of all current subjects of interest.
“I mean, um, I don’t know,” she fumbles with the words for a couple of seconds, as if not quite certain which one to pick. “I didn’t expect you to make such request.”
“Think it over then,” he suggests with a carefree banter that she finds a little annoying at this point, “I’m in no hurry.”
“But when-”
“Save the w-questions,” he cuts in, shushing her with a dismissive flick of his wrist. “It’s a simple, yes-or-no matter, plus I have no answers to any of them yet.”
“I don’t know if I should trust you,” she admits, long nails scratching the side of her face, as if it was supposed to relieve the tension and reclaim the focus.
“That’s okay,” he shrugs with suggestive smile adorning his lips – a prelude to whichever impure thought he is just about to verbalize, “I don’t trust myself either.”
“That’s not as reassuring as I would like it to be,” she chuckles – a girlish display of nervousness, or maybe a part of well-developed play, considering his doubts when it comes to whether he is able to read her like an open book by now, not that it lies out of his ability range in general.
“Okay, S,” he disrupts, dumping the half-smoked cigarette aside a brief moment later – a signal that he is just about to leave her here to own company, as if standing up was not clarifying enough. “no pressure. Supposing you make up your mind about this, you know where to find me.”
And with that he walks away, swallowed by the gloom prevailing the staircase, steps echoing in the dusty corridor.
Damn him.
* * *
To begin with, there are a bunch of aspects that can be easily associated with empty flat, solitude being the very first one of them in his case – room bathed in a daylight, clear and bright, such an unusual occurrence during the fall season. Almost blinding upon his face, eyelids forced to shut, as he decorates the ashtray with leftover ember, mashing in into the glassy surface, all remains turned to dust, black powder meant to be taken with the city breeze.
The habit of smoking by the open window should not concern him anymore, since the lingering smell makes no difference for the lone smoker, and still, each subsequent attempt to drop the subject ends up with following the well-known path either way. Said inference entails another one: certain aspects appear to be labelled with a transcendent meaning that walks one through life, upbringing for instance, what parents pass on their children – questionable balance of benefits and burdens – a lead to the final conclusion, a reason why he has to catch a cold every fall season, considering he rarely bothers to put on a coat – ludicrously futile pursuit.
A passing opportunity, bright daylight but no brushes, no easels, no paints, just a half-empty space, the aforementioned objects nestling in the corner, as if intending to express their permanent resentfulness, a silent question why he does not bother to flash them even the most insignificant glance. In the late night hours, he can almost hear their faint whispers, pleas for attention, paired with the jeering mockeries, all addressed to him, reminders that he is heading straight towards the inevitable lunacy, unless, of course, he gets back on track with all the abandoned works.
Highly improbable, considering the time expanse dividing his encounter with Serena from the present situation, rather unfavorable in his case, but also immune to any significant changes – such a life-defining paradox. At some point, he even dared to ponder asking her to come by, but then again he has formed a conclusion that the outcome might be his last intention, if not entirely omitted, having her perceive him in terms of some pathetic desperado who he is unable to sense when is the right time to let go.
People are truly the oddest creatures.
Final verdict followed by something else – a ring, a tearing noise that slices the lull into twain harsh pieces, all blunt, sharp edges, an exhortation to open the door and whisk away the thoughtless intruder, foolish to disrupt him during his time-out. With an exasperated huff, he moves towards said object, unlocking it with a deft flick of his wrist, and so revealing the visitor – a woman, moderate in her motions, hands shoved deep inside the pockets of her trench coat.
Speak of the devil.
“Seems like you’ve made up your mind, huh?” He greets her, first words that come to the mind as soon as his eyes land on her silhouette. The garment itself reminds him of one of his past girlfriends, or rather her clumsy attempt to surprise him with lack of clothing underneath back in his college days, times when he considered most of the career opportunities to lie sprawling within his reach, followed by the caustic awakening soon after the glorious drop out.
“Seems like I have, indeed,” she affirms, chin tilted upwards to meet his scrutinizing gaze, laced with undertones that she is unable to define yet, a manner that she has always associated with botanist examining his subject, spotted merely a few minutes ago.
“Would you like to come in then?” He proposes in time with a graceful step aside, exposing a sliver of his flat to her curious eyes – a bright room, lacking in almost all furniture that have a wide appeal in most houses, at least according to her observations, as if the oddity itself was calling her in.
Intending to find out what else might be hidden inside, she accepts his informal invitation, stepping past the doorway, her surmise soon to be confirmed – an open space with celling-high windows, oriented to the east, and a bunch of objects propped in the corner. On the side, a simple bed pushed up to the opposite wall, adjoining the compact kitchenette – a view that leaves little, if anything, to her imagination, display of exemplary minimalism.
“Tempting, isn’t it?” She cannot help but flinch at the low rumbling of his voice from behind her, a distinctive word, as if signifying a pending promise, an implication impossible to ignore.
“What precisely?” She manages to utter, concealing the incertitude evoked by the odd emphasis, all while he appears to be perfectly aware of her inner perturbation as his hands ghost over her shoulders, eliciting a surprised gasp from the woman.
“The liberty of open spaces,” he clarifies, smirk audible in his voice – a component that she finds rather annoying – blatant amusement, purposely on full display. “Let me take your coat.”
“I’ll manage,” she flashes him a brief glance, immediate to slip her arms out of the sleeves and hand over the garment, leaving him with no other choice than hang it in the wardrobe.
Deciding to have waited long enough, she walks towards the middle part of said main room, indicating to familiarize with the view sprawling just past the windowsill, while he is busy with all the essential preparations – a part that remains almost unnoticed to her until the jarring scrape reverberates in the air, enough to attract her attention. As he moves the easel towards its designed spot, she wonders how many people, or more precisely – how many women, he has brought here before he met her, intending to capture them even in the most vulnerable state, a fleeting expanse of time branded on the blank canvas, an opus for the clueless generations to ponder upon.
“So,” she clears her throat, following the query, “how are we gonna do this?”
“Without making you feel uncomfortable,” he mutters, in process of tying his hair in a messy bun on the back of his head, features now on full display: high cheekbones and sharp jawline obscured by the reddish stubble. “It’ll be visible, trust me.”
“No, I mean-”
“No?” He interrupts, lips laced in a teasing smirk, head tilted to the side, cocking an eyebrow at her in a manner that reminds Serena of some posh aristocrat, flirting with his love interest, but at this point she suspects it might be just an inherent part of his demeanor, approach towards women in general.
“I mean, where am I supposed to stand?” She queries, followed by a refined, although not suppressed, laugh – something that he has learned to associate with her mannerisms overall.
“I’m not sure yet,” he scrapes his nails over the chin – a signification of wonder. “We’ll try a couple of settings, ‘kay?”
“Okay,” she nods in affirmation, albeit quick to verbalize a newfound doubt. “Should I change?”
“Nah,” he waves her off with a dapper flick of his wrist, “I believe your personal choice of clothing is a form self-expression, and I want my models to look more organic, and by saying ‘organic’ I mean comfortable and self-assured with their appearances,” quite a fair explanation, she thinks. “Of course, if you are willing to strip, you can strip, that’s neither an issue nor something new to me, but there’s no pressure, as I mentioned.”
“Mmm… how diplomatic,” she almost purrs, sarcastic manners that fit in his tastes quite dearly, captivating yet caustic, enticing yet eerie, with an underlying promise, bulging just below the surface, meant to soak through the papery layer.
One of many reasons why he has always troubled with finding the right person, although is far from considering himself in terms of a delirious perfectionist with non-satiable cravings, searching for one sublime muse that would give his works meaning, pristine essence, remedy for all maladies, liquid to wash away the dirt. Truth to be told, the situation presents itself as no more no less than a mere cakewalk, which might as well be a polar exaggeration in such case, but either way it never appears to deny the existence of one distinctive aspect, appealing to him in almost every setting possible – freedom of speech, sparring match of two equal opponents, field for discussion, for development, for enrichment, mutual agreement laced with a hint of disparity, merely a flick of a lighter.
Ignition. Initiation.
Inception.
“You’re not listening to me,” a sentence that snaps him out of the trance, crawls in between his thoughts and pulls the threads apart – such an odd association – a slide to the temporal reality.
“I’m not,” he reaffirms, a ghost of what might as well be a smirk lacing his lips, as if to keep up with the ‘cheeky bastard’ profile, “so would you be so kind and reiterate that for me?”
“You don’t have much furniture,” she begins, a statement obtusely simple yet seemingly incomplete, gaze skimming past the empty space only to interfere with his in the end, pupils narrowed due to harsh brightness.
“Thank you, darling,” he smiles, seemingly polite – a well-sculptured façade, she has to admit, “I wouldn’t have noticed elsewise.”
“So I thought…” she carries on, not quite bothering to acknowledge the sarcastic remark, “maybe I could sit on the sill, since the light seems to do us a favor today.”
“Let’s try it out then,” he concurs almost at the spot, gesturing towards said window, to which she complies, helping herself up on the narrow seat, back supported by the wall, ruffling her hair to add some extra volume.
(Now that is interesting.)
“Is that acceptable?” She glances towards him, as if his countenance was supposed betray the intensions – highly improbable display of lacking control – although he would be lying if he said it strikes no cord within him, passes by without acknowledgement, without a single though occurring to be verbalized.
“Yes, darling, you look lush. Now focus,” he bestows her with a quick compliment, although definitely short-lived, his main interest now shifting towards more pragmatic matters. “Before we begin, you should know it’ll be exhausting, or fatiguing maybe, I don’t intend to hyperbolize, but tell me if you need a break.”
“Sure,” she nods, wriggling a little bit to find the most convenient position for those few following hours, “but I believe we’ll find a way not to bore each other out.”
“I believe we will,” he hums in agreement, pencil already in his hand, soon to initiate the process, graphite gliding smoothly over the canvas in a manner that reminds her of a longtime dancer in his natural habitat.
“You’re left handed?” She remarks, eyes glued to his movements from behind the easel.
“I vary,” he replies, ever at ease. “Although I happened to be called a communist from time to time in primary school.”
“What?” She laughs in disbelief, cocking an inquisitive eyebrow at him.
“It was a catholic one,” he glances at her briefly, with a sardonic smirk playing upon his lips. “I think that explains itself well enough.”
“Okay, but why a communist?” She carries on with the queries – a matter of incredulity.
“For some reasons they associated left-handedness with devilish collusions or, as I mentioned before, communism,” he shrugs, his gaze now glued to her face, although not quite meeting her eyes, quick to add a bunch of adjustments on the canvas. “No idea why.”
“Why did you went there then?”
“Well, I was just a kid,” he explains, impatience striking the chords. “My mother made that choice for me.”
“Seems like you managed though,” she remarks, voice laced with a subtle hint of carelessness, as if mimicking his manners, yet galvanizing them with something else – an act of subduing, partial eclipse, moderation.
“Well, I started smoking in the eighth grade and somehow went through,” he admits in a feignedly serious manner, chuckling at her frowning expression. “Christ, it’s just a joke, although I’m glad to be past that stage. It was too… restricting for me.”
“I think it’s every system’s main purpose – to restrict,” she reckons, glancing at the passing cars a few stories below. “But I also don’t have many fond memories concerning my pre-higher educational stage.”
“So you’re in college now?” She hums in agreement. “Well, I dropped out after three terms, I think.”
“Why?”
“I realized it didn’t matter,” he explains as if it was supposed to be the most evident absolute ever encountered. “At the beginning I thought it would allow me to discover fresh ideas, strengthen my expertise, but the professors mostly kept blathering about things that I’ve already come across at some point in my life, and to be honest it felt like a massive waste of money, and most importantly – time.”
“What were you studying?” She asks, most likely out of plain curiosity.
“Journalism,” he reveals, accompanied by a sarcastic snort, “but I intended to mix it up with sociology at some pointed, then switched to philosophy for a while, which actually helped me realize what a great waste it was, at least in my case.”
“Maybe you’re right,” she shrugs, noticing him switch from the pencil to brush, first few paints being squeezed out on the wooden palette. “If we look at education more objectively, I think we can risk saying that reading is the only necessary skill to acquire, and then you’re good to go.”
“Mmm… it’d be more interesting if you disagreed though,” he hums, as if genuinely displeased with the outcome, brush sweeping over the canvas with almost flawless agility that reminds her of a dancer once again, graceful and elegant.
“Then make me disagree,” she concludes, one finely sculptured eyebrow perking up in a teasing manner.
“Should I take it as a challenge?” He baits, glancing at her briefly as an essential.
“Take it however you want,” she replies, ever so carelessly, almost able to set the bar as high as he has once managed to.
“So what are you studying then?” He resumes after a brief moment, gaze glued to her figure in a scrutinizing manner that she finds slightly disturbing, still uncertain how she is supposed to perceive the given adjective – enticing – as seductive or maybe lethal?
“Criminology,” she informs bluntly.
“And what do they teach you there?” He asks, not quite bothering to look at her this time, engaged in searching for the most accurate color proportions – cinnamon mingling with some darker, much cooler shade.
“They teach me about criminal behavior,” she enlightens, an information so indecently obvious that she would find it offensive if uttered toward her.
“And more specifically?” He continues, as if not taking her point, or at least deciding not to indicate it.
“Its biological, psychological, and social causes,” she clarifies, unable to fight the faint shiver running down her spine as a response for the blatant acuteness he eyes her with, caught off guard for a brief moment, hopefully not long enough for him to notice, “so you can safely assume it’s sociology-related.”
“You think it’s the only place where you can learn that?” He quires, as if aiming to pop holes in her outlook, see if it holds up as sensible as it appears to be now.
“No, but it’s the only place where I can get the diploma,” she eludes, flashing him a refined smirk, as if ready to assume the inevitable victory, “since I would like to pursue with this line of work in the future. Although I believe that certain aspects lay beyond education.”
“Aspects such as?” He mutters, seemingly half-preoccupied with his work, stroking the canvas in formerly omitted areas, lighter shades now in use.
“The intuitive component,” she specifies, while he sets the items aside, abandoning the previously heeded canvas, “you either have a hunch where to seek out the truth, or you don’t, which I think is rather obvious.”
“Exactly,” he agrees, quick to snatch a pack of cigarettes from the kitchen counter. “Although I believe we should equalize the two components, since evidence influences the intuition, or the other way around, and it’s better to keep that in mind for more objective judgments.”
“Yeah, that’s obvious,” she reaffirms, pushing herself off the sill, landing on the floor with a quiet thud.
“I hope so,” he mutters indistinctly, cigarette already slipped in between his lips.
“We’re taking a break now?” She ascertains, quick to step aside in order to make a room for him by the sill.
“Yeah,” he nods, reaching out to open the window, cool air hitting her face, goosebumps rising on the exposed parts of her flesh, “and wait till the first layer is dry so that I could add some details.”
“So you have the background now?”
“Nah,” he shakes his head in denial, flicking the lighter with a barely audible click, “I had it prepared before. It was my very intension to paint you on the sill.”
“What if I wouldn’t have agreed?” She speculates in a teasing manner, ever so subtle he questions his abilities when it comes to judging whether it is a matter of fact, or yet another insinuation of his mind.
“Then we would’ve find a way to make you,” he banters, exhaling a cloud of smoke through his mouth, soon to be taken away with the fall breeze.
“Sure, don’t sweat it,” she replies in a careless manner, as if intending to nip the barely existing zeal in the bud, eliciting a horse chuckle from him. “Mind if I take one?” She asks then, having decided to cut the topic short, gesturing towards the pack of cigarettes on the counter.
“Well, that’s the only one left,” he laughs, glancing at the smoldering fag between the two of his long fingers, stained with carob paint that overlaps four runic symbols tattooed on his skin, “but we can always share.”
“That’s very kind of you, indeed,” she purrs with an ever present hint of sarcasm evident in her voice, nevertheless takes a drag from the offered cigarette, soon to be snatched from in between her lips by the greedy partner.
“I see you’re a man of generosity as well,” she huffs – a display of irritation, extending past the point where she considers repaying him in kind, even if for a brief moment.
“In capitalistic society you gotta work for your expenses,” he retorts, eliciting a pearly chuckle from the woman, outcome that she finds rather odd – his fluency and deftness in evoking contradict reactions from her.
“You’re relentless,” she laughs, shaking her head in amusement, either way leans towards him once more as he brings the cigarette to her lips, cheeks hollowing in time with the inhale.
“Can’t say I disagree.”
And with that he slips it out of her mouth, almost smoked to the filter, stealing one last drag, before he tosses it out of the window, soon to join its predecessors fouling on the streets.
Damn him.
* * *
A few weeks have passed since their last encounter, time essential for him to complete the project, merely disrupted by his mother’s attempts to call him, asking whether he is coming home for Thanksgiving.
Seems like three times is not always a charm.
Nevertheless, life has been good to him, sparing most of the nuisances that never fail to come along at some point, clinging to him like a limpet, until he collects the willpower to tear them all off, adorned with bloody pulp that once used to be an inherent part of his flesh. Some would claim it is not worth it, to sacrifice oneself for any profits, no matter how considerable, no matter how the so-called balance of benefits and burdens presents itself, to pursue but also prepare to face the consequences of one’s choices.
But placing any result above it?
Understanding this attitude has formed quite an issue for him since the very first attempt of cogitation – profound, not periphrastic – leading to one fairly important conclusion – immaturity is what clears out this path, paired with incapability, with imprudence, leaving only cinders behind – matter of self-destruction. Sinfully tempting, to burn it all down and begin as a newborn man – Child of the Ashes, Phoenix that raises from charcoal embers, shaking off the excess dust to despair of all sceptics.
Although he considers it as not necessary the easiest way available, he prefers to let this challenge shun him, regardless how interesting it might come out as in the end, since annihilating his lifelong ‘legacy’ is currently the last intension, supposing it even counts as one. Development has always appeared as more momentous to him, using anything in possession to form what one labels as artwork, not only in the narrow understanding that applies to exhibits and museums but also as an everlasting creation, as satisfactory as possible, reaching beyond the conceptual realm.
An ulterior motive of his.
With reasoning not quite as clandestine.
“I knew I would find you there,” a melodic voice, definitely female – déjà vu, throwback to their first meeting, enhanced by the prevenient notion, inkling that he was being observed, even if for a split second.
“You’re very astute,” he remarks with a lingering tingle of sarcasm, a tune raspier than she remembered, sending an unresolved shiver down her spine, fueled by the cold weather. “But I assume you’ve came here for a reason, haven’t you?”
“Look who’s a wiseacre now,” she chaffs, nevertheless quick to approach him, steps echoing on the dusty concrete. She perches down next to him, gaze glued to the blunt edge for a brief moment, required to restrain from dangling her feet off the edge – devil’s incitement, belonging to the conceptual realm, never meant to be carried out in reality.
(What if I scratched his car? Spilled hot tea on him? Seized his bag? What would he do? Would he make me pay? Scream? Call the cops? What if…?)
“I’ve came to ask if the painting is ready to be seen,” she rectifies, her head held upward, eyes gleaming with some odd determination, unplaceable, obscured yet visible enough for a perceptive man, the one who knows where to look.
“What would you do if your mother asked you to come home for Thanksgiving?” He ignores her question – a fill-in for time, purpose hold-up, verification of her intents.
“Depends on the relationship I had with her,” she bestows him with a rushed explanation, right according to his suppositions.
(Such a clever man I am.)
“If I wanted to signify I take it as an essential, I would come. Otherwise – not really.”
“That’s what I thought,” he nods slowly, as if hesitantly, which might as well be a misconception, not a fit for his usual demeanor, rather drawing out the act for suspensive purposes.
“So you’re not coming?” She attempts to clarify as if her patience was running thin, most likely fueled by an occurrence from the recent past, partially his seemingly never-ending queries.
(What are you hiding from me, kitten? Claws?)
“Nah,” he shakes his head, meaning to carry on with the explanation, “each time I’m around her, I tend to doubt my abilities to remain calm,” he exhales, as if to get rid of all the pent up frustrations, bulging just below the surface, protected, or rather prevented from being discovered by the wrong person. “And so, years ago I came to one conclusion, a conclusion of great significance: unless she accepts me for who I am, I won’t try to negotiate with her.”
“Negotiate?”
“I don’t take things for granted,” he clarifies, throwing her a side glance, a dapper flick of his wrist required to indicate the obvious, “She is trying and yes, I can see that, but the effort doesn’t parallel with the goal. Look before you leap, isn’t it what they say?”
“Tell me,” she huffs, irritation now more than evident, almost palpable, tactile, spread out for a graze – his personal penchant, “why do you even ask a question if you already know the answer?”
“The essentiality of comparison,” he reveals – ultimate truth she had never possessed before, “the importance of rectifying one’s opinions.”
“You’re an odd person, Alexander,” she alludes, not quite bothering to acknowledge his words, with approximately another goal already occupying her mind. “Has anyone ever told you that?”
“Does it disturb you?” He cocks an inquisitive eyebrow at her, body turning in her direction for the slightest bit, barely noticeable at this point.
“I wouldn’t put it this way,” she counters, voice odd, distant, dreamy, fingers raking through her hair – a shift he should find disturbing but decides against, even if subconsciously.
“So how would you put it?” He queries further, scooting towards her subtly, still against crossing any comfort zones without an undisputable signal.
“That I like weird,” she avows, a simple statement rolling off her tongue, smooth, thick like molasses, caressing him like the finest silky sheets.
“If I didn’t know you better, I would assume you were flirting with me,” he chuckles, corners of his lips upturned in a teasing smirk – a signature of his.
“Why assume,” she halts, allowing the words to linger in the air for a brief moment, now facing him, her eyes staring, or rather drilling into his soul, captivating, leaving no room for a look away, “if you can find out?”.
“How exactly?” He mutters, a vague whisper, tickling her cheek, faint cigarette scent that fans over her face – lure of agitation, promise of something that is yet to come.
“How would you prefer to?” She leans in further, weight supported on the flat palms, propped on the dusty concrete, bits of gravel biting into her flesh.
“That’s your invention,” he purrs, so tantalizingly close, enough for a taste, tactile and inviting, tempting in his own way – a mannish privilege, sacrifice of fragility. “Surprise me.”
And she does, without a need of further explanation, a clarification, verbal approval, simply accepts the offering, her lips brushing his in a heartwarmingly gentle manner, as if hesitant, uncertain of succumbing to their shared desires. At first it catches him off guard, since he has ever dared to label her with such terms, and although the action itself was rather predictable, he remains still, even if for a brief moment, barely long enough for her to register, allowing the woman to play it out according to her whims.
(What a gracious man I am.)
With a movement too swift for Serena to register, he grabs her by the waist, tugging closer to his frame, which forces a surprised gasp from the woman, hands reaching forward to brace her weight on his chest. Practically seated on his lap, she wriggles a little, feeling the muscles contract just below – an unconditioned reflex to the extra pressure – as his lips work their magic, teasing her in a manner that she has never counted as such, delivering just enough to have her wanting more.
Deliberate. Mercenary.
Bastard.
Who still elicits a breathy moan in response to the harsh bite he delivers, soothing the sting with a swipe of his tongue that leaves a lingering nicotine taste behind, a flavor she never suspected to be considered as pleasant. She lets him guide her for a change, curious about his intents, willing to accept the offering in any given form – desire so potent that it sends an inordinate shiver down her spine, never occurred before.
While awaiting for the situation to resolve on its own, she allows her hands to wander, tracing the protruding line on his collarbone, approximately a scar, following the path up his neck, meant to lay a palm flat on the cheek, coarse stubble tickling her fingertips as she examines the texture. Oddly so, his hands remain in place, sprawled on her sides and cradling her ribs, heavy breaths palpable in such position, while the blunt nails dig into the soft flesh, prominent yet subdued by two layers of clothing.
Instead of gliding them up her body, or even slipping his tongue inside, he breaks away, leaving her aching for more, frowning in bewilderment, mouth still agape, as if supposing he is just about to resume, although nothing of such kind follows, replaced by a verbalization – clearly not a fit for her current desires.
“Still wanna see it?” He mutters against her lips, a lingering brush that might as well be result of delirious mind-prompting, adjusting reality to expectations instead of the other way around, of how it is supposed to be in the first place – malady of a sane mind.
“See what?” She almost purrs – a sound he has heard her utter somewhere in the seemingly distant past, eons before their kiss – rationality abandoned long ago.
“The painting,” he clarifies as he departs from her, fully now, all body heat evaporating from the previously compact space, allowing the autumn air to regain the invaded land. However, on this occasion, he allows his eyes to wander, to take in her figure, still settled on his lap, hands gripping his shoulders for balance.
The initial discernment is striking – flesh of her bottom lip swollen, lipstick smudged – prove of his ‘abuse’ – and yet, he restrains from tracing it with the pads of his fingers, an action that he would like to safe for later, for more intimate setting. Her lips part, as if intending to say something although no words leave them, and instead of that her eyes lift, obscured by the curtain of dark lashes and some eyeshadow, color impossible to discern in the dim lightening. For a brief interval, he hold her gaze, misty grey irises delivering an involuntary association with the ongoing season, nevertheless appearing as seemingly calmer than before – steady undulation of a post-storm ocean – lost somewhere far away within her thoughts.
“So what about the painting?” He repeats, obviously to break the reverie, giving her sides a slight squeeze as if to ascertain eliciting the desired reaction.
“You have my lipstick here,” she mutters, hand rising to clear out the remains from the chapped bottom lip, but he is quick to grab her wrist, locking it in a loosening grip.
“Thanks, but I’ll manage,” his thumb replaces hers, wiping it off with a firm swipe, arm immediate to be released. A fleeting frown passes her features in response to his abnegation, although definitely short-lived, soon to be replaced by a contrary one – smile, benign albeit ephemeral, as if evoked by the newfound concept.
“About the painting…” she alludes, a lingering statement, reverberating in the air for a brief moment. “Still wanna see it.”
“Get up then,” he prompts, motioning her with a flick of his wrist. “I’m not intending to push you off.”
“That’s very kind of you,” she laughs, hesitant to rise from the well-accustomed-with spot, nevertheless back on her feet within a relatively short expanse of time, him following briefly afterwards.
They jog down the stairs, one story below, greeted with a sight of his mahogany door, of course in color, not material, and a telltale click of the lock mechanism that preludes entering the flat, unchanged since her last visit, if she excludes a messy stack of equally unspecified objects lurking in the corner. She tags along with him, eyes glued to his figure approaching the easels and a single hand gripping the cloth, soon to be yanked away, revealing the portrayal below.
Her breath hitches in response to the view unravelling in front of her, seemingly unimportant work of some self-proclaimed painter, and yet linked with so many aspects, just like that, on the go, subconscious associations that invade her mind. Truth to be told, she does not find it that hard to believe – a conundrum of emotionality – since it is the very first opportunity for the young woman to get acquainted with someone else’s interpretation of her persona – experience considered beyond interesting.
Blurred lines yet drawn by a deft hand.
Faint fog yet shapes fairly distinguished.
Bathed in lucid daylight, such an unusual occurrence in the fall season.
Fleeting expanse of time.
Guaranteed to perish in the nearby future.
And the central persona, enhanced by the subtle rim of glow.
Distant? Dreamy? Delusive?
Ethereal? Eccentric?
Feigned?
Or right the opposite?
Authentic?
Ceaseless? Classical?
Expressing verity.
Verdict of his virtuosity.
Exquisite.
“I’m sorry,” she shakes her head, as if to clear out the mind, return onto the steady ground. “You were saying something?”
“I was meant to ask about your impression,” he meets her still misty gaze, lips laced in the same unplaceable smirk she has seen him perform a couple of times in the past, “but I believe that’s not necessary anymore.”
“No, it’s fine,” she smiles, as if to substantiate the impression. “I like it.”
“Yeah, I’m aware of that,” he nods with a wide grin stretching his features – highlight of his vanity, meant to taunt her, “although verbal affirmation is always welcome.”
She only hums in response, as if in defiance of his indication, still standing in the middle of the main room, gaze alternating between him and the painting, as if unable to pick, maneuvering on the pinnacle dividing twain polar opposites – conceptuality and reality. Seizing the opportunity, his eyes rake down her form, quick to notice a few distinctions, incompatible with her usual looks, the heeled boots for instance, or a tint of eyeshadow applied on the usually bare skin, which eventually leads him to another conclusion.
“You went out today?” He asks, the drape back in its prior setting, shielding the picture from her scrutinizing gaze, as if to ascertain receiving undivided attention from his guest.
“Yeah,” she affirms with a refined nod, eyes alluding towards the floor – a fleeting, almost unnoticeable glance, “but it wasn’t lucrative. I mean, the meeting didn’t go as expected.”
“Why?”
“It was a blind date,” she sighs, as if utterly defeated, displeased with being forced to recall tonight’s events. “Fill in the blanks.”
“Lucrative is quite an interesting choice of words in such context,” he teases, a ghost of proper smile playing upon his lips, eliciting a predictably vexed huffed of breath from the woman, paired with a dismissive eye-roll that precedes his reaction – a subdued chuckle, nevertheless considered unashamed and straightforward, although the latter is still yet to come. “Wanna tell me about it?”
“I would rather forget it,” she laughs this time – enlightenment, end of the never-ending sulking era, considered as the least beneficial possibility, not for only today.
“Yeah, I know how it is,” he nods, leaning down on the sill for support, seemingly fed up with standing in the middle of the room, “all those settled dates rarely line up with the expectations.”
“Not only the settled ones,” she sighs – pensive, distant, invaded with bygone memories – as her eyes settle on his silhouette, illuminated by the city lights – echoes of the past, moonage daydream. “You remind me of my grandfather right now. Maybe it’s an odd thing to say, but I remember he used to spend quite a decent amount of time leaning by the sill, claiming he had his share of sitting, which I suspect might have been linked with joints condition that he didn’t wanna share, but still… he was the only person, excluding my father, who truly supported my cause, I mean moving out from home, going to college etc. etc.”
“Is he-”
“No, he’s alive,” she interrupts with an outrunning clarification, “although I might have made it sound like this.”
“I’m glad to hear that then,” he concludes, with a fleeting smile passing his features “Mine was quite… quite different, which I believe is a considerable understatement, but still…”
“How considerable?”
“Well, my Grandfather was a war hero, at least according to his claims, but also a man of dubious mental condition,” he begins, gaze glued to the cityscape spreading outside the window. “When it turned out my father deserted in Vietnam, he disinherited him, which is probably the main reason why I’m doing what I’m doing, but that’s by the by.”
“Which war did he fight in?” She inquires, ready to join him by the sill in a few languid steps, back supported by the wall.
“Oh, which didn’t he fight in,” he chuckles bitterly, rolling his eyes in the most dismissive manner she has ever seen on him. “His stories make for a saga alone, shoving such absurd concepts as historical accuracy aside, although in reality only the Great War.”
“Sounds fantastic,” she remarks – teaser of a hearsay nothing short of phenomenal.
“Anyway,” he cuts her off with a single hand slashing through the air, immediate to get back on the track with said tale, “he used to tell me a story, a bedtime one, always the same. If I remember correctly, which I most certainly do, it went something like this,” he halts, as if on purpose – suspense playing its part as an ever present speech manner.
“There was a cold, cold night, dark, all stars obscured by the clouds, moon long gone, shying away from the primeval force – Grim Reaper coming to take his toll,” he allows the name to linger in the air for a brief moment, a tribute to the transcendent persona. “With everyone fast asleep, as if believing to find the solitude in the trenches, he had the battlefield all for himself, every soul that still hadn’t left its body, clear as day, granting them a passage to afterlife, a safer one, not coming up to what earthy life granted. He never uttered a single word while he extracted them, soon to be taken by the wind, somewhere far, far away, his silhouette acting as their only guide. It was easy to doubt his existence with rime as the only evidence, but whoever was touched even once, even if for a split second, was marked for eternity – Death’s Protégé.”
“And what’s the twist?” She asks, most certain the story itself requires one as much as he need her query to accomplish the telling process, considering the silence that has settled above them after the statement – a prompt to contribute.
“Well,” he interrupts himself with a brief chuckle – a signature of incredulity, “he would claim I was marked, that I was the reaper’s child, which was before he got sent to asylum, nevertheless it still makes for an interesting story to tell, I think.”
“And that’s the only purpose?” She carries on with the queries, as if meant to extract the very essence of said issue.
“Not entirely,” he counters, soon to rectify. “He used to claim there was a link between this and my artwork.”
“What kind of link?”
“He never explained his motives,” he shrugs, a statement considered offensively obvious, “but I think he was just afraid of aspects he couldn’t comprehend, and so opted for a more straightforward solution, a claim that they foreshadowed some ungodly disaster.”
“No wonder he acted like that,” she remarks, as if to continue the pass of plain conclusions. “I mean pairing it with the background story.”
“No need to state the obvious,” he chides, a considerably calm manner, almost able to omit a lingering hint of irritation that the action evokes, “although I would be lying if I denied his diversity, or rather the diversity brought by his stories, which actually reminds me of something that I was supposed to mention before.”
“It’s incomprehensible how you maneuver through topics,” she chuckles, shaking her head in a display of disbelieving amusement.
“I’ve been told that before,” he agrees –necessity of decent conversation, at least according to his mother’s words. “Anyway, cutting to the chase here – I’ve got two tickets for the drive-in, since my friend has gotten ill and decided to spare me the place.”
“Seems like a merciful man to me,” she remarks, with a jeering hint of sarcasm on the tip of her tongue – wonderful pairing for the biblical word. “But I’m not sure if I’m gonna accept the offering.”
“Well, the title is Reservoir Dogs,” he continues, as if pretending to miss out on the snide comment, determined to elicit the desired reaction, “quite a success in Cannes according to what I’ve heard.”
“In Cannes you say…” she hums, as if pondering the variety of options to spend the evening, “not a guarantee we’ll like it.”
“Then how about you give it a try and then you can tell me if it’s worth it or not?” He proposes, posture indicating his readiness to leave, more than aware what her answer will be at this point, not that he has ever doubted his abilities to predict the inevitable.
“You’re truly the brightest mind of our age,” she rolls her eyes, accompanied by the ever-present sarcastic outline – a scaffolding for all the world’s components.
“Glad we agree on this one.”
A prelude for all mutualities, meant to unravel in due course.
Always the one to lurk in shadows – a promise of what is yet to come, a coalescence of twain factors:
Sinister sensuality?
A surmise shamefully salient.
* * *
Drive-in – a place where the movie screening is supposed to take place, at least according to the tenets, undoubtedly omitting another, quite distinctive, aspect to all of these – an ultimate truth that no component carries one purpose only, a statement renown by all, yet acknowledged by few.
Theirs appears to be invaded by an offbeat amount of people, seemingly not caring about the crisp air and cold weather, as if looking forward to the so-called ‘grand reveal’, cars lined in a couple of rows, more or less equidistant, while the screen remains blank, enhancing the anticipation of those who are meant to actually pay attention to the soon-to-be-presented piece of cinematography. Without a doubt, she considers herself as a relative of the latter group, eyes glued to the outstretched fabric in the central point, glad to see it unravel in front of her as the process is initiated – illumination of said canvas, inauguration of the gathering.
“But ‘Like a Virgin’ was a metaphor for big dicks.”
Delightful.
“Really?” She frowns, glancing towards him, as if searching for a confirmation.
“Do I look like a Madonna fan to you?” He retorts, eyebrows raised in a display of euphemistic irritation.
“Well,” she begins, as if pretending to ponder upon the subject, all for the never-ending purpose of riling him up, “again, not really.”
“So just sit back and watch,” he huffs, accusation evident in his tone, as if genuinely interested in the so-called Cannes successful movie, not that he is the only one.
Hence, she complies to the request, head lulling sideways to rest on his shoulder, leather of the coat chilly against her equally cool cheek, sending an unpleasant shiver down her spine, soon to be followed by another one, much sultrier this time, evoked by his arm encircling her frame. In search for the needful warmth, she leans in to him, the heavy weight draped over her figure elevating said experience to an entirely different dimension: a higher one, encrusted with chaste intentions, although built upon impure thoughts, leading to the simplest of conclusions, a statement reverberating underneath her skull in repetitive cycles.
Certain aspects are easy to deny, without even bothering to acknowledge their existence, nameless components of equally anonymous world, run on secrets. Take for instance the blossoming attraction, one is capable of ignoring it all the way, forget it ever influenced the perception, cross it out and pretend said spot has ever been occupied, or present an alternative approach – bite the bullet – ability craved by all, yet possessed by few.
The latter.
As an ever-present goal.
Any time her gaze lands on him, she cannot help but ponder upon his true intentions – an intelligent individual with whom she enjoys to converse with, and yet unfairly unreadable in some situations, leaving decent amount of room for speculations, doubts blossoming within her mind, invading it akin to a disease, deadly one to be specific. So-called fascination, an inkling that it might lead her to places that should to remain undiscovered, at least for her own sake – a simple analogy to the secluded areas of forests along with all the habitants.
(Keep in mind that hunters do not bother with such absurd concepts.)
“Isn’t he supposed to put pressure on the wound?” She frowns, gaze glued to the scene currently playing on the screen, with criticizing scrutiny, albeit interested in the events altogether. Despite the vanity of using a comb in such circumstances, nevertheless understandable if paired with both personality and relationship traits, she gets an impression that Cannes has opted for quite a judicious mark, especially if focusing on the dialog aspects – astonishing, magnificent.
Exquisite.
“If we’re discussing practical matters, then yes,” he replies, voice laced with an edge of irritation, evoked by her daring interruption.
“And if not?” She carries on with the queries, as if altogether aware of the effect that they have on him, and yet pretending not to acknowledge it.
“Then we oppose,” he enlightens with a dismissive eye-roll, audible in his speech manners.
“Mmm… astute,” she retorts, purring sound that reverberates in his ear, invading his senses like a disease that spreads far too quickly, and yet is oddly anticipated, akin to purposeful cold before school.
“So is your question,” he concludes, a dry exclamation of a long-term deceiver.
“That was my very intention,” she admits, voice deprived of proper hesitance, indicating the visionary tendencies – playing a major part in
(spoiling)
her master plan.
A query of ‘could it?’
Oddly so, it has taken him a relatively long expanse of time to get used to having her by his side with the floral smell of her hair wafting under his nose, lily of the valley he believes, nothing more than a reminiscence of his past now. Nevertheless, it stirs something within him, a distinctive hue applied in the perfect amount, oscillating between omitted and overwhelming, hands itching to reach underneath her clothes, check whether the rest is as cold as her palms are, clutching at the cotton of his tee in response to the scene playing in front of them. And yet, even in the face of all these notions, no matter how pleasant, another one is evoked – contradicting polarity – jealousy, bitter possessiveness, referring to who she has gotten all dolled up for – silly idea of a long-retired teenage boy, enhanced by the fact that his contestant failed oh so spectacularly.
Ignorant piece of shit.
Aside from her bygone partner, the current song appears to be a perfect match for his thoughts, father’s favorite, remembrance of grandpa’s tales, tales of a successful man, but only if he opts for reading selective verses, a twain of them in this case, chosen in advance – lie so blatant that it should be considered offensive, personification of his ancestor’s lives. Although seemingly different at first glance, the second, more discerning one, reveals another aspect – veracity, indicating their lack of professionalism, prattling tendencies, and poor life constructs that seem to work only if the rest is omitted, wiped away from the piece of paper in hopes it will be left unconsidered – definition of their compatibilities, denied with such ardor.
Alex
ander.
When you started off with nothing
And you're proud that you’re a self-made man.
“Fucking hell,” she mutters under her breath, unintentionally digging her nails in the firm plane of his chest, “I thought he ain’t gonna do this.”
“Well, you can always look away,” he shrugs, eyes remaining glued to the screen – a nonverbal denial.
“That’s not necessarily the case,” she counters, fingers releasing the hold on his tee, quick to smooth out the material – a manner he would never attempt to associate with her, marking his forehead with a frown of confusion, even if for a brief moment.
“Yeah, I know,” he affirms, emphasized with a refined nod. “It’s captivating.”
“So-called pornography of pain,” she adds, a term he has been all too familiar with for quite a while now, “and by that I mean the phenomenon of violence perception in culture, or even in real life, not sadomasochism.”
“Yeah, sure, everyone would say so,” he mutters, purring sound that catches her off guard for a brief moment, allowing the words to reverberate in the air for a longer while, as if in perfect awareness of said effect. “Anyway, I must agree on this one, although some might be eager to deny it, ‘I’m not a fucking psycho’, they would say, but to be honest I think morality is overrated in this case, unable to outrun the primal thirst for brutality. Since how else would you explain all those bloodbaths in art, cinematic for instance?”
“Time is too precious for such absurdities.”
Terminal conclusion followed by peaceful silence – an expanse ranging from the first, and unfortunately last, appearance of some German Shepherd all the way to the thirst-satiating finale, and her genuine content with the entirety, a relatively rare occurrence to be honest. Whatever has just betided in front of their eyes, appears to be the preface of a very promising phase in the movie industry, a phase she is eager to step into and thus familiarize with its offerings.
“It might have been the worthiest investment of those twenty five dollars that Daryl could ever think of,” he murmurs, stretching the limbs behind his head, fingers skimming the rooftop in a fleeting motion – a contrary to less-than-subtle deprivation of his supportive frame.
“Daryl?” She rubs her eyes – a substitute for proper refreshment. “You mean that nameless friend, right?”
“I do indeed,” he affirms, throwing a glance towards the door – a prelude for the subsequent proposition, “but I think we should drive away now, unless we want to get stuck with all those homespun drivers.”
“We don’t,” she agrees with a fleeting smile passing her features, much to his delight, even though the situation itself required no such approval, considering a man
(Alexander)
will do exactly as he pleases.
“Wonderful,” he concludes, soon to slam the back door and stake out the driver’s seat, while she follows his steps but to the passenger’s spot. With a flick of his wrist, the engine is ignited, and thus he is able to navigate their way through the more or less troubling labyrinth – a composition of cars in various states of decay: some fairly new, while others tend to oppose, their glory days undoubtedly classifying as bygone.
“So what now?” A trite of words that slices through the partial silence, accompanied only by the monotonous hum of engines. “You’re gonna drive me home like a decent man would?”
(No, I’m gonna fuck you like a decent man would.)
“I’ve never taken you for a person with such low expectations,” he remarks with a teasing timbre lacing his voice, glancing at her briefly, albeit long enough to catch the confused expression upon her face.
“Excuse me?” She frowns, their eyes meeting halfway – an occasion for her to get acquainted with the evidence of his self-content, oh so unexpected.
“You’ve heard me,” he shrugs, a brisk response of perennial philanderer – a verbalization of who he has always appeared to her as.
A womanizer.
Possibly a libertine too, which is at least what the more promiscuous part of her counts for, even though she is more than certain that contributing will lead to a bitter aftermath, the one when a man asks more or less kindly to leave, and yet considered worthwhile, which might as well be the reason why her mother used to label Serena with traits such as ‘occasionally self-destructive’. And yet, what would life be if deprived of any risks, decisions made in the heat of passion, meant to be rethought in due course, most likely after the milk will have already been spilled but still… distant future is what grants the vacancies.
(Isn’t it what they say?)
* * *
Her mother is a person of many claims, each more straightforward than the precedent, a person who belongs to the realm of appearances, where anything obvious requires to be verbalized – an unwritten purpose. Said manner never fails to amuse her in some sort of way, assuming the word itself is descriptive enough in such circumstances, and yet she has the tendency to retreat them from the depths of her mind in times of trial, considering the current situation is supposed to be perceived as a relative.
Cutting to the chase, that godforsaken woman would say: ‘he who lurks in the shadows, must be a sinister creature’ – a triviality in its purest form, and yet an appropriate summary for all her maladies oscillating around one person – star of her own planet system.
(Is it possible to dethrone the solar?)
(A question vain to consider.)
“What have I gotten myself into?” She mutters under her breath, seizing an opportunity that he is standing by the counter, pouring himself a drink, the reminiscence of amber waves evoked from seemingly great distance, soon to wash the shore of her lips.
“I’ve allowed myself to fix you one too,” he turns around to face her, both glasses snug in his hands, shiny brown liquor skimming the transparent surface as he approaches her figure, settled on the window sill, “and that’s actually a fairly expensive brandy.”
“You mean the real reason why you live in such a shithole?” She retorts, nevertheless accepts the offering, bringing it to her nose for a sniff, as if pretending to be a seasoned expert in alcoholic field, the one who is able to differ which wine was opened earlier with barely no effort.
“Partly yes,” he laughs – a lighthearted chuckle meant to loosen the tension, evident in her posture and the stagnant air, “but give it a try, it’ll do no harm.”
Without further ado, she complies, tilting the glass to her lips in order to take a final swig of amber liquor, shivering at the newfound wave of heat blossoming within her throat. Whilst the feeling itself is gradually subsiding into a sweet, fruity aftertaste, she even dares to consider admitting the accuracy of his claims oscillating around the liquor’s quality, but in the end opts against it, settling on a refined nod of approval, as per usual.
Over the years, she has gotten a chance to discovered one distinctive aspect that comes with the activity of pondering, more specifically the prompts of polar opposites that exist within each one of us. To set the record straight, she means no mental disorders, but the complex nature of any decision making process, hopelessly linked with all these constant whispers, both subduing and encouraging. Taking a leap of honesty, not faith in this case, since integrating with such ‘virtue’ is not included in her List of Matters Beyond Important, she is capable of admitting that opting for certain choice is rarely so intricate, while keeping in mind that they all appear to be fairly simple – negative for what she is attempting to sort out now.
“Serena,” he calls from seemingly great distance, grabbing her by the hand – a gesture so unexpected that she almost tears it from his grasp, although in the end manages to take a steady inhale and focus on the runic pattern marking his fingers, while he continues, voice ringing within the empty room, “are you afraid of me?”
“No,” she utters a nervous chuckle, squeezing his palm as if to reaffirm the veracity of her statement, “it’s just- I’m thinking too much, that’s all, and sometimes I wish I’d stop. Knowledge is a burden.”
“I must agree with the former, although the latter…” an exclamation laced with a hint of disapproval, emphasized by the tsk-noise, deprecating click of his tongue over the palate. “It’s nonsensical.”
“Well-”
“When I was younger, I used to play chess with my grandpa, and to clarify – that was before he got crazy, at least crazy enough to qualify for any asylum,” he interrupts, finally letting go of her hand, and siting on the cold sill for a change. “Anyway, there’re various kinds of openings in this game, some of them referred to as ‘gambits’. You know what a gambit is?”
“Yes,” she nods, always brisk to prove the point. “You sacrifice a pawn in order to achieve something significant.”
“Yeah, more or less,” he agrees, frowning as he takes a swig from the previously abandoned glass, soon to settle it down once empty, accompanied by a telling clink. “So tell me, can you see a parallel now?”
“You’re such a narcissistic asshole,” she shakes her head in disbelief, eliciting a throaty chuckle from her partner, the one meant to set her nerves on fire.
“That’s why you’re attracted to me,” he shrugs as the laughter gradually dies out, leaving only the remains of so-called smug smirk behind.
“Is this the time when I’m supposed to confess my never-ending love and admiration towards you so that our relationship can be consummated?” She spats bitterly, unhinged with exasperation.
“Nah,” he brushes her off with a dismissive flick of his wrist, more nerve-wrecking than ever. “Let’s just cut to the chase, shall we?”
“I don’t get it,” she frowns, shaking her head in irony-laced disbelief, “the story about gambits; is this your pick up line? Your big move?”
“Wanna know what my big move is?” He taunts, serious at the first glance, if not for the twitch of his upper lip, meant to betray any actual intentions.
“Yeah,” she nods – a refined one, as per usual, aiming to cover up any possible traces of excitement, “tell me your big move.”
“I paint the girls that I wanna fuck.”
(And tonight’s guest is…)
The greatest, most magnificent, unexpected surprise ever imagined.
A sentence allowed to reverberate in the air for a brief expanse of time, so cruelly interrupted by her pearly laugh, enhanced by the dismissive eye-roll of her partner.
“I know, unbelievable.”
“Well, I gotta say I’ve expected that, and either way I feel honored,” she speaks, clearing her throat as soon as the breathless chuckle dies out, intent to her rid of any unpleasant coarseness, “but why am I your pick, like specifically?”
“You intrigue me,” he bestows her with the merest of explanations as if for the simple sake of getting on her nerves. “That’s why you’re my ‘pick’.”
“And that’s all?” She cocks an inquisitive eyebrow at him, wanting, willing to hear out more details. “You know, ‘it's the details that sell your story’.”
“I can’t believe you’ve just said that,” he huffs, shaking his head in disbelief, soon to rise from the previous seat – an indication of movement, of change, creeping closer and closer until in reach to brush her ankle, swallowed by the dimness of his flat. “But what more can you wish for? You intrigue me, and I’ve wanted to have you since our little encounter on the roof,” he states, without a hint of hesitation scaring his voice, instead some distinctive at-ease carelessness that she has found both exasperating and enticing since the very beginning. “Even though I don’t believe in the qualities such as uniqueness, meeting you was an interesting experience, downright repeatable. Is this specifying enough?”
“Well yes,” she agrees, a hint of uncertainty lacing her voice, most likely linked with the matters yet to be revealed, “but don’t you thinks it’s degrading: ‘wanted to have you’, another term for expressing male domination, claiming a woman like you claim a prize.”
“If you’re so keen on sorting this out,” he begins – an offer she cannot refuse, “we can have a chat about ‘male domination’ as soon as… how did you put it… as soon as… our relationship will be consummated.”
“By that, it appears to me you’re in some sort of a hurry,” another jeering remark, the one he has no intentions in letting slide for a change, “is that correct?”
“Claiming that I’m the only one is an obtuse lie, don’t you think?” He purrs, all of sudden turning around to face her, hands on either sides of her thighs, resting on the cold sill. “And that’s truly degrading, not your whole ‘male domination’ shit.”
She cannot help but let out a reedy squeal at the abrupt turn of events, now trapped between his body and the freezing glass, not literally cornered and yet feeling like so, even more as he leans in towards the woman, breath stuck in her throat. With the cooper waves tickling her cheek, and heated blows on her neck, he begins to speak, words impossible to be distinguished for a split second, molding into a monotonous tone, dark and rich, sending a pleasant shiver down her spine. She relishes in the teasing flutter, fighting the innate urge to arch in his direction, until he grabs her by the face, cradling the side of it in his left hand, fingers biting into the cheek, even if for the slightest bit, eyes meeting halfway with reflection of city lights encrusted on the green background.
“… and I want you to lay on the bed now,” he finishes – a garnish that leaves her confused and frowning, both due to lack of concentration – a trait she loathes oh so deeply and has never dared to label herself with before.
“Gonna fuck me already?” She asks in attempt of clarification, eliciting a short-lived laughter from her partner, a coarse chuckle that prickles her skin with goosebumps.
“Why the rush?” He teases, both hands shifting to curl around her thighs as if bracing for the final lift, but instead pulls her body towards the edge, legs wrapping around his hips in order to regain the substantial balance. “Delayed gratification is what does the trick.”
“Well, I thought that saying so is a determinant,” she huffs, eyes glued to the godforsaken furniture as if evading his gaze would help her focus, “but apparently not.”
He only chuckles in response, vibrations palpable in her chest, resonating all the way through, enough to redirect her attention to more carnal aspect, beginning with the plainest closeness, with how her breasts mash against his firm flesh, for instance. It has her wondering why they have not even kissed yet, despite the intimate proximity, just an inch to the left and their lips will brush, all in vain, considering his plans obviously differ, evident in the abrupt hoist up that tears a feminine squeal from the caught-off-guard woman. In a manner beyond desperate, her hands clutch onto the cotton of his t-shirt – yet another reason to laugh for the unfavorable male – although rather quick to drop her onto the more sturdy ground, if mattress can be referred to as such.
“Maybe we shouldn’t do this if that’s how little trust you have for me,” he mutters, outwardly on own benefits, while she believes it is also meant to reach her ears, gaze fixated on his towering silhouette, helplessly braced on the elbows.
“Sure,” she retorts, an inseparable hint of sarcasm lacing her voice – a phrasal of personality traces, “like you could stand it.”
“Mhm,” he hums, imitating her tone just to witness Serena huff in exasperation, “tell me about it.”
To that she has no answer, just an awaiting stare following his movements to the kitchenette, confused when it comes to what he is actually looking for there, an assumption about his libertine tendencies rushing through her mind in a frenzied display of nervousness, soon to be mitigated by the following object – a chair fished out from its spot behind the island.
“Who would have thought your flat is full of such useless possessions,” she remarks, rising up to a sitting position, weight braced on the open palms.
“Unbelievable, huh?” He teases with a banter not quite considered as lighthearted, emphasized by the rough scrape on the wooden panels, sound utterly terminal in its fiendish form, skin erupting with goosebumps – titillation and trepidation mingling into a fairly undistinguished integrity. “But I think you owe me a show. So strip.”
Unrepeatable opportunity to observe the medley of emotions manifesting themselves on her face, so calm and straight most of the times – long-awaited variety from the common, day-to-day occurrence. Beginning with the wide-eyed surprise – nonverbal statement, albeit still notably refined – then progressing to the thought-indicating frown – violation of the smooth palette of her forehead – to finalize with mouth-agape attempt to transfer the bizarre concoction into proper words. For a brief moment, he considers teasing her about it – cat’s-got-your-tongue cliché – but opts against it in the end, exchanging it for a less foreseen phrase.
Sure.
“C’mon, I ain’t got all day,” he urges her to comply, taking a seat on the aforementioned chair, backwards, arms rested on the top rail, soon to fish out a cigarette from leftover pack hidden in the inner pocket of his coat, draped over the frame, then toss what is redundant on the table top. He lights it up with a precise flick of his zippo, eyes glued to the billowing smoke for a split second, until he slips it in between his lips, sucking up a nicotine drag.
Downfall of all hedonists.
Guarantee of premature death.
Damnation – opt out from salvation.
Godsend?
Simply obsolete.
“And you want me to do what precisely?” She asks with some odd precaution that almost elicits a direct laugh from him, open-mouthed and blissfully mocking, resembling a skittish animal, dangerously close to leap of the ground and escape for good.
“Strip,” he reiterates, voice seemingly deprived of all emotional layers, if not for the lingering huskiness, a smoky tune that reminds Serena what evoked her perplexing attraction in the first place. “And don’t force me to repeat my request.”
“Request?” She huffs in disbelief – a mocking show-off, meant to taunt him, push his button even now – an everlasting purpose, menacingly deathless. “Now that’s funny.”
Either way, she begins to strip, sitting up straight to get rid of the first layer – a chequered shirt, tied at the waist – clearly taking her sweet time with the knot and those few buttons, while his hands itch to rip it, shred the unimportant piece of cloth in two – a situation he will not allow to happen at current rate, ever-present penchant for delays. With smug, although definitely short-lived, satisfaction, she notices his eyes shift to her chest, breasts still clad in the black bralette – the-best-way-possible definition of classic elegance, underlined by a subtle hint of lace.
The jeans are what follows, paired with the requirement to stand up and bathe her body in the city lights, luminous on her pale complexion, vision glued to the buildings tearing up the horizon, almost undisrupted by the scratchy sensation of denim slipping down her legs. What makes her shiver though is the intensity of his gaze, almost palpable on her back, as if his fingers were right there, skimming over the heated skin – an inkling that prompts her to turn around and flop back onto the bed, searching for any support in the cold headboard – iron railing that bites into her soft flesh.
“Do go on,” he requests, or rather enjoins, calm at the first glance, if not for the smoldering zeal shadowing his eyes – a parallel for the ember at the tip of his cig.
“Why?” She bothers to ask – presumably mistaken about the evoked concept, fool’s pursuit, leading to nothing else but bitter disappointment.
“’Cause I like to play God,” he clarifies – plain instance of an unexpected answer, “at least from time to time.”
“Then c’mere and do it yourself,” she rolls her eyes – deliberate taunt – in hopes to break his resolve, and so impose him to approach her, an unfamiliar thirst for his touch seemingly insatiable.
“That’s not how it works,” he shakes his head, an exclamation laced with a hint of mock disapproval, as if genuinely displeased with the outcome, “first you gotta earn it, and then I’ll reciprocate. Maybe.”
(Maybe?)
Intent to make as quick work of it as possible, elongated only by a fretful huff, her hands reach the hem of said bralette, and pull it over her head in a relatively graceful movement, adding it up to the stack of clothes piling at the foot of his bed. In attempt to ignore the heat of his gaze upon the newly exposed skin, she focusses on the last step dividing her from accomplishment – sliding the matching panties down her legs, the ones that almost land on his face as in a display of blatant irritation, evoked by his shameless gawping. As in response, her limbs close on their own accord, interfering with his nettled countenance: bitter and relentless, prompting the woman to rearrange them, to which she counters, locking their gazes together once again.
“Very well,” he hums with yet another cigarette stuck in between his lips, soon to be ignited, as his gaze skims her figure, expression softer than he has ever witnessed on Serena, as if afraid of what is just about to be uttered, “now touch yourself.”
“Excuse me?” She chokes out in disbelief, brows furrowed in confusion, arms encircling her frame, meant to deprive him of any explicit view, sending a shiver down her spine as the cold digits brush the side of her breast.
“You’ve heard me,” he retorts, blunt and seemingly careless, tapping out the excess ash onto the dusty floor, while his gaze remains focused solely on her, or rather on the heaving chest, its intensity settling a smoldering zeal in the pit of her stomach, and so prompts Serena to enlace the pressing knot. Both the towering position and the distance put between them enhances the subdual, and for the first time in her life she is ready to admit that whatever is going on between them appears to stir something within her too, whatever that ‘something’ is.
Uncertainty?
Trepidation?
No?
(Not all feelings are possible to be classified.)
And with that, she resumes, or rather initiates the whole process, hands lifting to cup her breast, filling the palm quite snugly, while she can only imagine the comparison with his, cradling her ribs just a few hours ago. The thought itself sends a delicious shiver down her spine and before she knows it, the right arm follows its path to the cleft between her legs – movement fueled by the burning impatience, by the hope that it will manage to convince him to finally touch her, to soothe the pulsing ache – when all of sudden he breaks the silence – a lingering denial that infuriates her more than she could have imagined.
“Not so fast darling,” a single exclamation that slices through the smoky lull, meant to halt her pursuit, undermine the control she appears to possess over own body, and to his partial surprise, the woman complies, lying her palm slack on the inner thigh, fingers biting into the flesh – undisputable evidence of all frustrations.
“But-”
“How long has it been?” He interrupts, a puff of smoke obscuring his face, careless and vexingly at ease, as per usual. “Days? Weeks?”
She nods to both of them, which elicits a throaty chuckle from her partner – an exclamation of some sadistic amusement, prickling her skin with goosebumps, but at the same time having the brunette wish he was right there next to her, stroking the heated flesh as in indication of some leisured worship.
(Only two can play this game.)
“Then you can wait a few minutes longer,” he concludes, almost forcing a chocked cry from Serena, disappointment evident on her face, and hell, she even pouts at him – a mannerism he would have never linked with her before.
“So what do I do now?” She sasses, aggravations outrunning any possible consequences. “Sit here and watch you smoke?”
“Of course not,” he laughs, presumably to spur her even further, “I’m not much of a sadist, even though it might seem so right now.”
“Mhm, sure,” she hums in mock agreement, a lingering hint of sarcasm that betrays her every single time – a matter meant to be rectified in the near future.
“So from this point, run your fingers along the inner thighs,” he mutters, sending another intense, rather disturbing, tremor down her spine, nipples pebbling with arousal, and she instinctively reaches to squeeze them, wishing to replace the smooth substitute with harsher texture of his fingertips. Either way, she complies to his request, stroking the tender skin with the very tips of her fingers – teasing replacement for proper touch, lingering breeze that might as well be yet another result of delirious mind-prompting. She sighs, arms itching to reach just an inch to the side, impatience bottling up and ready to explode any second now, akin to a can of coke after decent shaking, and so, to release some of the tension, she shifts her legs helplessly, wanting, willing him to end the decadent suffering.
“Now touch yourself,” he directs, failing to cover up the hint of arousal underlining his voice, as his gaze alternates between her face, eyes shadowed by a lustful fog, and both hands, now occupied with more pressing matters, “but keep it light. And slow.”
(About fucking time.)
With one brisk movement, betraying the eagerness, her fingers shift to the spot in between her legs, forcing a surprised gasp out of her throat, as if genuinely shocked with the amount of wetness coating her fingertips. The act itself, no matter how simple, almost forces a loud moan from her constricted throat, relieved with the slightest bit of pressure, even if more to enhance than to actually soothe the pulsing ache, tickling sensation on her folds. For a split second, she forgets about the male company, a real person just a few mere feet in front of her, until he speaks again, rich and husky tune that elicits a faint moan from her, all to his delight.
“Enjoying yourself, darling?” He queries, to which she nods, maybe a little too feverishly, although her lacking response is certainly not pleasing enough for him, with the subsequent demand to ensure the veracity of said assumption. “Answer me.”
“Yes,” she gasps almost at the spot, hand twitching in attempt to contain the needful rub, light and slow as per his request.
“Very well then,” he purrs, a gravelly sound that has her insides coiling in anticipation for the following words. “I want you to slide your fingers in, one at a time. Good girl. Now crook them and rub.”
The intrusion itself, in consideration of a relatively long expanse of time, draws a pained whimper from the woman, loud enough to reach his ears, lips lacing in a smug smirk, as if on their own. However, the generous amount of slick allows her to smooth out the thrusts, and keep the pace slow but steady, although eager for things to speed up, yet certain that Alexander will interfere in response to her arbitrariness.
Such a fucking hypocrite.
“Eyes on me,” he demands all of sudden, in spite of the fact she has barely registered them falling shut, an abrupt sound that causes her to jerk in surprise. Nevertheless, she is immediate to open them, meeting the jade green of his own irises, visibly darker in the dim light, overlapped with the conspicuous lust shadowing his gaze, luring her to take those few leaps towards him and perch atop his lap, but then again, he will not allow it – a standstill in the worst variant possible.
Therefore, in a final attempt to focus on the carnalities, her attention shifts toward more pressing issue – long nails mercilessly scratching her walls – one of main reasons why she prefers male’s touch, excluding a bunch of few, equally important, aspects. Obliged to work with what she has got, in hopes it will get her off sooner than later, she moves the other hand to her clit, and circles it – an action that sends a promising shiver down her spine, but also prompts him to break the silence again.
“You’re close,” a question (?), either way followed by an approving nod and desirous look thrown in his direction. “Then stop.”
“No- but I’m…mmm… please,” she whines, while her own body seems to betray Serena once more, following his request before her mind registers what is actually going on. Fighting the innate urge to carry on with what has been so cruelly interrupted, she adds another query, full of misery, her lip quivering as she speaks. “Why?”
“It’ll feel much better this way, trust me,” he reassures, voice meant to soothe all maladies, retreating the wish to have him beside her once again, feel the warmth radiating from his body, the skillful caresses of his lips dancing over her skin. “You can go on now.”
Uttering a defeated huff, she resumes the whole process, circling her clit until she is shivering in delight, legs shifting in obvious impatience, until he tells her to stop once again, and again, and again, the amount of disposed cigarettes working as the only time-measuring factor. She is close to bursting into tears by now, needy and frustrated, although unable to deny that every single stroke, even if barely present, feels electrifying, has her wishing to be replaced by another and another one, and yet he denies the climax every single time, drawing all kinds of desperate whines from the woman.
“I know,” he soothes, and she might have even believed him if not for the sadistic inclination hiding behind his gaze – primal pride of possession. “But it’ll feel so good, I promise. Doesn’t it now?”
“It does,” she manages to utter, voice breaking pitifully at the end as another shudder passes down her spine, silently begging him to end the misery. “Can I… please…”
“Yes,” he affirms, smirking as she sobs in relief, her hips jerking in time with each and every movement by now, following the inevitable release, “but keep your eyes on me.”
And so she does, her vision nearly blacking out from the intensity of newfound experience, wave after wave crushing through her body, fingers almost cramping as she clenches around them, back arching in a catlike manner. Trembling with aftershocks, she is only capable of lying slack on the mattress, both hands mindlessly sliding onto the mattress, wiping any evidences of whatever has just taken place on the sheets, not quite bothering whether he minds it or not.
Dazed with the fervency of said experience, her eyes close on their own accord, barely able to register him getting up from the chair and flopping down on the bed, until he brushes the tender side of her breast, nipples still tingling with arousal. Drowsy as ever, she somehow manages to meet his gaze, pupils dilated in evidence of lust, frenzied and unhinged, yet partly subdued, as if in attempt to stop himself from completely devouring the lush partner, at least according to what she likes to tell herself on such occasions.
While lying on the mattress, boneless and spent, he traces the lines of her cleavage, smirking as she twitches in some unconditioned reflex, still a little dizzy and so unable to contain herself, body arching towards him, presumably enough to take a note of. There is something helplessly embarrassing about being so responsive – confirmation of the potent influence, the fact that he is capable of eliciting even the most absurd reactions from her with nothing else than just a mere stroke of his fingertips.
Pathetic.
(Is it?)
She looks – no – is absolutely fucked, he thinks as his palm follows a path down her body, teasing touch that tickles her flat stomach, sends a repetitive shiver down her spine, legs opening to give him the essential access – a shapely female in his bed, all to himself, which paired with the knowledge of how much she will let him do to her now, has his member throb in impatience, with the variety of scenarios running through his head. The whole experience allows him to see Serena in a different light, more as a self-conscious woman than a sarcastic lass, which in turn makes him wonder whether he was even supposed to offer her that brandy for a loosen-up – doubt definitely short-lived on the benefit of more pressing matters running through his mind. It appears to him that he has managed to dig out all the carnal-oriented parts of her, thirst never to be satiated, which in turn fills him with the so-called male pride, desire to push her limits on every occasion possible, such as now, full at his mercy with legs drawn apart.
“Mmm… fuck,” he mutters to himself, failing to notice the corners of her lips twitching in a sly smirk, too preoccupied with the carnival of thoughts rushing through his head. Nevertheless, such momentary satisfaction is not enough to soothe the blossoming ache, sheer desperation for the long-craved attention that has her squirming on the mattress, helpless and miserable, hips shifting to get him where she needs it the most. Unfortunately and much to her lust-laced despair, the cruel hand only hovers over the mound, barely brushing her skin, which elicits a frustrated huff from the woman and prompts her to roll over to the side, ignoring all protests of the weakened body.
Draping a single leg over his hip, she leans in to steal a kiss, the nicotine aftertaste lingering on his tongue, far too intense to be considered as pleasant under any other circumstances, and in spite of said assumption some wicked part of her still longs for more, pressed flush to his body. He allows her to do so, hands grasping her by the hips to prevent Serena from grinding against his thigh, or whatever stunt she is attempting to pull, which elicits a frustrated huff from the woman, one of those that has him chuckling against her lips.
“Can you like… take off your clothes?” She mutters, still less than an inch from him, unfortunately putting their kiss to a premature end. “It makes me feel awkward that I’m the only one naked.”
“I thought you would prefer to receive some attention first, but if that’s what you want…” he cocks an eyebrow at her, even though she is unable to see it at such close proximity, taking special pleasure in the way her hands fall down with a slap– illusion of pining him to the mattress.
“No- I mean-”
“No?” He interrupts, teasing manner that lights her eyes with newfound doze of frustration, clutching at the cotton of his tee.
“Can you touch me first?” She almost whines, the sheer desperation within her voice makes him twitch inside the constricting denim, wish to remove the barrier between their bodies, then, of course, fuck her into the mattress until she is babbling nonsense. “Please.”
“Thought you’d never ask,” he smirks, as if genuinely pleased with how the situation has played out, for his own benefits obviously, flipping them sooner than expected, which elicits a surprised giggle from his female partner. She props herself on the elbows, watching him with anticipation written across her features, curious about his actual intents, chest heaving in time with each uneven breath, skin practically glowing in the city lights – a reach-through to the most carnal parts of his brain.
(So, so ready for him.)
Hence, he decides to take some pity on her
(him),
since she has been quite cooperative throughout their whole encounter, yet to reach the end, and so rewarding her for such is certainly fair enough, if only to see the misty eyes light up once more, stormy pools of sensuous lust, luring him to lean in – one step closer to his inevitable damnation. Therefore, he rolls the t-shirt over his head, jeans soon to follow – an action that draws an excited gasp from the female – although the underwear stays on, considering it might be a little hard to contain himself if elsewise, paired with the longing look she flashes him as in response to the unexpected turn of events.
Before she gets a grasp on what is happening, he tugs her by the arm, directing her onto his lap once again, breasts snug against his chest, and a single hand unceremoniously being pushed in between her legs, cupping the whole expanse in one rough palm, which elicits a vocal moan from the woman. Her hips rock against it, seemingly on their own, craving for more blissful friction, as she literally throbs in relief, opening up like a flower underneath his touch – silent plead for more, encouragement to pursue, to reward her for how compliant she has been to him.
“Just like that…” she moans, obviously content with the situation itself, eyes falling shut on their own, as she settles into the position, or rather gets used to the pressure applied by his hand, with a ghost of breath on her neck.
“Like this?” He teases, pressing down on her clit hard enough to draw a pitiful squeal from the woman, hips bucking in response to the rough caress – such an absurd concoction of words – as her hands raise to take a steady grip on his shoulders. His breath is palpable on her skin, tickling akin to the reddish strands, having her wish his tongue would run over the heated flesh, suck at the soft spot just below her ear, in need for any sort of relief, since all he has been performing for quite a while now qualifies as merely teasing, no less no more.
“You’re relentless,” she sighs, as if to spur him with the helpless act, thighs quivering with effort of containing the innate thrusts of her hips, pad of his finger circling the swollen nub with almost inhuman deftness, drifting her thoughts back the drive-in, and the following doubt: which one is she? The thirty-ninth? That low? Maybe fifty-first? This, paired with the ability of turning her mind into a shapeless mush, so clear and brisk at most times, capable of fluent concentration, freaks her out more than she cares to admit, along with the lust-laced submission, the fact that she is past the point of common self-respect, goaded by the primal urge to hit the climax once again – unhinged desire that breaks down far too many barriers, that forces her to…
“Mmm…fuck,” she moans as soon as his fingers reach further south, prodding at the spasming entrance, so close to sliding inside and yet elongating the blissful torture. “Please, I need this so much.”
“Who would’ve thought you were such a greedy, little girl,” he teases, oh so harmlessly, fighting the pressing need to grind against the moist heat, almost dizzy with his own lust, practically bursting as if caught on some high school fling.
(Self-control.)
“Tell me now, what have you done to earn this?”
Now that is humiliating, she thinks, while in consideration how regrettable would be to disobey him, even if for a mere moment, hands twitching with effort of containing the immature idea of pushing him away, then expressing her immense displeasure by twisting his dick off. Possibly the worst case scenario, and yet the only one left when cornered, hesitating between twain of opposite solutions, unable to fit anywhere in between, and accordingly so, she chooses to speak – weak insubordination, mindless babbling of sheer desperation.
“Each and every thing you wanted me to do,” she argues, one of her hand reaching his, pressed in between the tensed thighs, wordlessly prompting him to pursue, “so I think I deserve a reward.”
“A reward you say?” he retorts – a query almost lost in the space-time as soon as he presses down onto the swollen folds, drawing another feminine whimper from her. “Fine, so let’s make it worthwhile.”
And with that he resumes, quick to slide a pair of his fingers inside, which forces a choked cry from the woman, hands once again flying up to grasp his shoulders, long nails biting into the firm flesh. He hisses at the mingling stab of pain and pleasure, unable to contain the subtle shiver running down his spine, especially when paired with the reedy moan she utters as soon as he brushes the g-spot, dizzy because of the long-craved fullness, based on those male preference aspects, squirming upon his lap as the caress grows on intensity. This, or the self-named leakage, calls back to involuntary disclosure of one’s true intentions, hidden desires, cravings never qualified for direct verbalization, popping out to the surface when uncontained, least expected, or simply unfortunate.
“Hear that?” He rasps into her ear, causing the tiny hairs on female’s neck to stand up as the tickling heat begins to spread through her body, skin almost itching to be touched. “Hear how wet you are?”
“Yes,” she gasps, now actually paying attention to the squelching sounds, cheeks burning hot red, as she buries her face in his neck, lips brushing the sensitive flesh as she speaks.
“Look at me,” he demands, fingers grasping her chin, as he tilts it upwards, eyes adverting to the side, prompted by the silly need to hide away from the intensity of such contact, “and I want you to hold it.”
“Okay,” she gulps as her walls clench around his fingers – involuntary response that elicits an amused chuckle from the male, all to her exasperation, not so mild anymore, sweeping away the prior embarrassment. Even so, she considers the smug composure itself in terms of an aspect beyond enticing, exciting maybe, the one that drags her towards the end faster than expected in comparison to what she is used to. Furthermore, she cannot deny him the skills, but at this point also qualifies it as the less meaningful factor, with its lack of extent towards the mental dimension, towards the emotional bond that blossoms into trust as a parallel to relationship development.
Exquisite but eerie.
Verdict of veracity to validate.
Deep in her thoughts, at least as much as the current situation allows her to, she appears as genuinely caught off guard by the pulsing wave of bliss, pre-orgasmic but potent enough to tear a surprised gasp from her throat, meant to shatter the pitiful remains of so-called concentration. With the eye-contact aspect long forgotten, she throws her head back, exposing the slim column of her neck, luring him to finally suck at the creamy skin, glistening in the city lights, itching for extra touch. Despite the pair of fingers, shoved knuckles deep inside her, along with the ragging hard-on, he manages to get the hint, quick to dip down and attach his lips to the tender flesh – an act that elicits a relieved moan from the female – hands tangling in the velvety mass of hair.
At this point she can barely sit still, squirming in his grips as he lavishes her skin with open-mouthed kisses, nibbling and licking until she becomes a quivering mess, longing for the second climax – honeyed tang upon her tongue, as if possible to be tasted. Chasing the inevitable release, she rocks against the heal of his palm, desperate for more friction, frenzied and unhinged, torn between tethering on the cusp forever and tilting forward to the thirst-satiating finale – doubt definitely short-lived, minuscule expanse of time carved from the eternity.
With a final spasm, she arches towards him, lips colliding in a messy kiss, clenching around his fingers, so tightly that his thrusts are forced to a halt, labored breaths exchanged between the lovers – his in carnal desperation, hers as a result of mind-numbing bliss. In attempt to steady her trembling body, one of his arms snakes behind her back, holding the partner upright as she rides out her orgasm, bucking against his hand in languid manner that indicates the gradual ebbing of prior pleasure.
When their eyes meet, glassy and high on post-orgasmic delight, something snaps within him, and despite the discontented whine she utters, he pushes her away to the side, then in one brisk movement gets rid of his underwear, almost ripping the fabric in process. Having discarded it to the side, he climbs back on top of her, prying her legs open with a rushed knee jolt, but she halts him by laying a single hand on his chest, his face now marked with a frown of confusion.
“The protection,” she reminds drily, causing him to roll his eyes, but at the same time reach to the lonesome box chilling by the bed, soon to fish out a single foil package and rip it with one precise flick of his wrist.
“You’re such a mood killer,” he huffs, albeit quick to put the (un)necessary interval to an end by rolling the latex piece onto his throbbing hard-on, groaning when treated by the meager pressure, applied in the cruelest way possible.
Impatient as ever, she watches him jerk off a few times, before he kneels in front of her again, and without wasting any more time, lines with her entrance, the rapid slide that forces a chocked cry from her throat. With dark spots marking her vision, she lifts the gaze to meet his eyes – pools of pitch black with a barely present rim of jade, captivating, almost to the point of hypnosis, burning with unhinged lust – chest heaving with labored breaths.
“Shit…” he groans, delirious, voice laced with newfound desperation, selfish need to get off as soon as possible, especially when she is pulsing around him, once again anticipating the approaching wave of bliss. With his clean hand, he laces their fingers – a gesture she would consider romantic if not for the following exclamation, mindless babbling of incoherent man, lacking in the usual finesse. “Makes me wanna fuck you so hard.”
“Then do it,” she spurs, wriggling her hips as if to signalize that she is more than ready, wanting, willing to find out what he has to offer, but instead of transferring the words into proper actions, he speaks again, rough and husky – gravelly driveway to the dream estate.
“Say that again,” he practically growls – a sound that throws her off the current train of thoughts, even if for a brief moment, primal in the way that sends a chilling shiver down her spine.
“Do it, please,” she repeats, more determined than before, legs wrapping around his hips as if in attempt to drag him closer, heels digging into the tensed muscle. Having him inside her calls back to the long-forgotten sensation – peculiar fullness, linked with the most pristine connection – intended to be relished, but at the same time aiming for a further pursuit, walls spasming around him as if to prove a point. “Please.”
To that, he has no answer, at least not the one she wants to gain, instead keeps staring at her for what seems like forever, but in reality must oscillate around less-than-a-minute interval, with her squirming impatience failing to affect him. Seemingly deprived of the desired ability to make him comply,
(Come closer and see)
she focuses on the distinctive melody playing in the background, coming from the adjoining flat,
(See into the dark)
the one she used to consider as a fit to hear out while you get high, but that was before she has learned the meaning beyond lyrics, beyond the goth-rock tune that she enjoys to replay in her head, so brutally interrupted in the middle by an unknown hand.
(Just follow your eyes)
he says and for a split second she cannot focus on anything else but the lingering tone, leaning to one inevitable conclusion, and all of sudden there comes a time when ‘male’ is preceded by ‘fe’.
“Please?” He croaks at some point, barely acknowledging enough to pierce through the metaphorical barrier, one of his hands squeezing her hip, blunt nails digging into the fleshy part of her side, until she squeals in discomfort, eyes now shifting to meet his – pools of shady lust.
“Yes,” she gulps, struggling to get the words out of her parched throat, one slim leg hooking over his midsection as if to cover up the prior absence, “please.”
In what must take just mere seconds, he releases her hand – a hook to reality – both of his switching to her shoulders in search for a more convenient position, sure to leave bruises as they bite into her skin. She finds it unsettling, the swiftness of his movements, the barely present grasp on changeable turn of events – concern soon to evaporate in the chilly night in time with the first push, hitting her heftier than expected, evident in the stunned cry she utters.
His lips are parted, letting out heavy breaths, tongue flicking over the parched flesh – an action that enhances her want, no – her need, to taste him – while all he contributes in, minus the thrusting part, is holding her down, lost in the mind-numbing desire to feel her clenching around him each time he rubs against her cervix. He keeps the pace slow, allowing him to reach deeper inside his restless lover, her hands now tightening around his wrists, eyes falling shut, as she attempts to grind against him, clit throbbing for attention. She almost sobs in relief when he gets the hint, one of his hands dipping in between their bodies to circle the swollen nub with a pair of long fingers, not quite meaning to grant her the relief yet, instead teases the edges with ticklish touches, parallel to the fluttering of butterfly’s wings. Nonetheless, she is clenching around him, throbbing and squirming, almond-shaped nails biting into the tendons crossing his wrists, as if to stay connected with the runaway reality.
Noting more than a pointless pursuit…
According to Alexander, there is a fair amount of adjectives to label a woman with, selection almost mind-numbing during the initial recon, ranging from the less favorable traits to the absolute heaven of compliments, quite difficult to choose from in such circumstances. Either way, enticing is what he opts for at the moment, skin glistening with sweat, presumably as much as his, breasts swaying in time with each thrust, and the variety of sounds slipping past her lips, now bleeding from excess biting. The crimson mark prompts him to dip down, sweep his tongue across the cut, if only for a taste – a craving impossible to ignore – and finally lean in, kissing the split flesh – an action that elicits a relived mewl from the woman, along with the carnal groan he utters – shaping up a need to verbalize what is on his mind, a bunch of half-coherent words.
“Always so fucking stubborn, such a tough bitch out there, and look at you now,” he groans, breath tickling her chin, a single hand now tightening around her throat, which forces a chocked whine from the female. “You’d do anything I say, anything to cum, am I right?”
“Yes, yes, you’re right,” she chants as if in some unspoken desperation, rewarded by the profuse pressure on her clit that draws a content sigh from her, soon replaced by a deep moan, back arching off the mattress as both contraries mingle – inside and outside, downright blissful. She shivers as her breasts brush his chest, hands reaching to squeeze the pert globes, eyes closing on their own as the pleasure begins to build up, not so gradually anymore, rather in comparison with the waves crushing to the shore – rhythmical intensifications that parallel with the involuntarily clenching walls.
“I know, I- fuck,” he groans, spurred by the sight below to increase the pace, even thrusts long forgotten on the benefit of something more feral, pleasure-chasing, nerves tingling, as if to brace for the approaching surge of bliss. Torn between the polar opposites, on one hand willing to reach the thirst-satiating finale sooner than later, while on the other force her to beg once again, if only to maintain the ‘authoritarian’ figure, which at this point also appears as nonsensible, futile, with trembling muscles, tightening sac, and shut-off brain.
Although he can tell that she is tethering right on the edge too, he needs to speed up the process, lips attaching to the sweet spot below her ear – an action that elicits a broken moan from the woman – hand around her neck involuntarily tightening, as he holds himself up. Struggling to breathe properly, her nails rake down his shoulder blades, leaving a bloody trail below, his own teeth biting a sangria-colored bruise on the tender skin until she squeals, akin to some high school girl.
“C’mon, darling,” he purrs against the sore spot, flicking his tongue over the soon-to-form mark, rough stubble scratching her delicate flesh, hips grinding against his hand, caught in some frenzied state of lust. With a final scrape of his palm, or beard maybe, she clenches around him, spine bending as if to form a late triumphal arch – the most anticipated conquest – immediate to drag him with her, bodies spasming in each other’s arms, as their breath mingle, lips trace the flushed skin, and with both eyes closed, they attempt to ignore the black spots making their vision. Unable to keep himself upright, he collapses on top of her, drawing a pitiful mewl from the confused woman, cutting her airflow once again, which forces yet another choked whine from her throat. “’M sorry,” he mutters, although apparently struggling to roll over, muscles not working on his account for a change, but in the end somehow manages to rest on his back, leaving her cold and empty on the side.
In search for the essential warmth, she reaches out to him, half-climbing, half-snuggling to his side, body trembling as the sweat begins to evaporate from the cease of her spine, loose strands of hair ticking his cheek, lips joining in a leisure kiss. While neither of them dares to break the silence, still hazy with the post-orgasmic delight, his thoughts drift back to the events of seemingly distant past, the unspoken whim that has been lingering in the air for quite a while now, satiated by the least expected person.
It all seems so absurd now…
How close she brings him to God.
* * *
“Aren’t you gonna be jealous?” She frowns, her gaze glued to the enormous portrait decorating the snow white wall – a color almost too perfect to be true.
“No, why?” He glances at her, scratching his chin with the inked fingers, freckles manifesting on his skin more than usual in the blinding gallery lights.
“I don’t know,” she retorts, sarcastic as usual. “’Cause all of them will see me naked?”
“That’s only half of a story,” he replies, ever at ease, if not for the possessive squeeze of her shoulder, betraying what is lurking underneath the surface, probably deep enough to remain unacknowledged by the direct ‘stakeholder’ – a mere tincture of so-called jealousy, “only a poor substitute of what we are beyond that, I mean as people.”
“Well, that’d make a lot of sense,” she agrees, hand reaching out to fix the collar of his shirt, purposely scratching the now fading bruise with her nails, “if you weren’t lying, of course.”
“Me? Lying?” He counters with feigned astonishment – an actor in his own theatre of absurd. “In what world?”
“Think about this now,” she begins, hand floating through the air gracefully, indicating the unlimited possibilities. “Someone buys these portraits, every single one of them, to do what exactly? Appreciate art with his family on Thanksgiving?”
“Let him have them then,” he shrugs, calm to the point it drives her nuts.
“What?”
“Think about this now,” he explains, mimicking the prior manners, much to her exasperation. “Family gathering, licentious orgy – a dream come true.”
“I can’t believe you said that,” she huffs, attempting to conceal the giggle, treating to sip through the neatly polished façade – a signature of professionalism.
“Why not kill two birds with one stone?” He continues, almost laughing at the expression upon her face, flawless features marked by the frown of rebuke.
“The fuck is wrong with you?” She glares at him, chewing at the corner of his lip – an indication of surprised chuckle.
“Does it even matter?” He shrugs, with a smug smirk crossing his visage, eyes glistening with the so-called male pride that somehow reminds her of the cinematic philanders with dashing smiles and thick hair. “If you’d want me to fuck you either way?”
“Shut up,” she shakes her head, tormented by the mixture of amusement and annoyance that she has somehow learned to enjoy with him – a turnabout of least expectance. “Just shut up.”
“See that guy over there?” He alludes, motioning towards some poor man, obviously not in terms of money, furthermore lacking in the aforementioned qualities.
“Yeah,” she nods, partly expecting to hear the following answer, and yet it manages to irk her up even this time.
“He’ll totally buy it.”
“Oh fuck off,” she swats him on the chest, gasping when he catches her wrist, fingers digging into the slender arm – a nonverbal warning.
“C’mon, there’s no need to sulk,” he purrs into her ear, lips barely brushing the tender flesh just below, smirking at the feminine gasp she utters in response to the well-accustomed-with caress, “I’ve wanted to show you something anyway.”
“Well… I don’t know,” she drags the words on purpose, gaze following his to the corridor at the end of the hall, “I thought you were supposed to stay here.”
“Agreements are contractual.”
“Mhm… astute.”
Verdict of his virtuosity.
Created: 11/02/20
Completed: 12/28/20
Edited: 12/29/20
#oneshot collection#oneshot#original work#original writing#original character#fictional characters#female character#male character#character study#character development#developing relationship#slow burn#art#artist#painting#city#city at night#drivein#autumn#fall season#smut#dom/sub#male dom#female sub#music#stuck in the middle#cinemetography#quentin tarantino#reservoir dogs
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Importance of insulin cooler while traveling
Medical supply manufacturers are continuously conceptualizing medical supplies needed by those who are in delicate health condition - medical supplies that may allow the patient to lead a life with at least a semblance of normalcy. Diabetic patients are one of these people who are in delicate health condition. The top medical supply needed from the individual is insulin. Now, with the top four medical supply cases for insulin, patients of diabetes can be certain of keeping their healthcare supply safe and trendy. They're also able to lounge around everywhere and move anywhere with all these medical supply cases without having to constantly worry about the harm to the insulin. Herein, we provide you a review of the top 4 medical supply cases certain to bring convenience for the diabetes patient, protected their insulin medical supply and permit them to go around in style, in spite of their insulin. This is the longest-lasting and most convenient insulin cooler. According to its maker, this medical supply case can keep insulin cool for at least 45 hours. It may be activated by cold water, and no refrigeration is required. This cooling wallet is lightweight and compact. However, it has a minimum cushioning and not great for demanding and tumbled traveling. The FRIO insulin cools with an enclosed crystal gel that is triggered by cold water, it's available in five dimensions with a pump version in a variety of colors. You take this medical supply case even in extreme cold or heat. It retains the insulin in the appropriate temperature for over 15 hours. This medical supply case is a durable insulin storage device which requires minimal work and offers maximum cooling power. The unit takes only a 15 minute soak in cold water to trigger the proprietary cooling gel. This 2nd top insulin medical supply case holds three times worth of diabetes health supplies. It comes in a compact insulated case about the size of a paperback novel. This case is tough for traveling and easy to operate due to its rugged structure and ring pull zippers. When a diabetic patient is going for longer trips, the MEDport's travel organizer may be a practical thing to bring along. It holds up to 2 weeks of supplies and insulin. This insulin medical supply case can be appreciated by women taking insulin. This stylish handbag contains a safe, padded compartment designed to carry insulin vials, delivery device, sugar cane, and other diabetic medical supply needs. It can definitely be announced as a handbag made to fit a diabetic with a hectic lifestyle. This medical supply case could neatly organize things like lipstick and phone along with the insulin medical supply so much so that the patient wouldn't have to lounge around carrying two separate bag or neglect about leaving anything behind. This streamlined medical supply situation for insulin is ideal for daily use and trips. This will make sure that your insulin is cool and safe to use, since insulin actually should be stored cool and / or refrigerated to make sure its maximum potency. The Medicool Insulin Protector Case keeps insulin cool for up to 16 hours. It's two refreezeable cooler packs.
After menopause women have an increased risk for insulin resistance, the hallmark of Type 2 diabetes. As estrogen levels fall, there's a tendency to develop fat deposits at the midsection, the so-called"middle-age spread". Belly fat is harmful because it releases hormones which can lead to insulin resistance. Insulin resistance is also associated with breast cancer and heart and blood vessel disease; thus diagnosing it early can help to prevent serious consequences. Researchers at the Institute of Medical Sciences and Research in Coimbatore, India, looked at skin temperature as a possible approach to detect insulin resistance in women after menopause. Their study, reported on in December 2012 at the Journal of Clinical Diagnostic Research, comprised 25 women who had been through menopause. Fifteen of the girls were diagnosed with insulin resistance according to their blood sugar and blood insulin levels. Their degree of insulin resistance and skin temperatures were compared with those of premenopausal women. Postmenopausal women had significantly cooler skin compared to premenopausal women, and the amount of insulin resistance found associated with coolness of the skin. Measuring skin temperatures can some day be a painless, affordable way to find insulin resistance in postmenopausal women. For now, blood glucose levels are part of the routine laboratory values used to diagnose Type 2 diabetes and prediabetes, and should be discussed with your doctor. If absence of estrogen is causing central obesity, hormone replacement therapy can be considered. The treatment is no longer recommended for permanent treatment because of the threat of heart disease, blood clots, strokes, and breast cancer, but it's been shown to be effective in the first years following menopause. Some studies have demonstrated it to be useful against. Estrogen, frequently balanced with progesterone, another female hormone, which can be obtained as a pill, skin patch, gel, lotion, or spray. (Local preparations applied to the vagina have been utilized only for vaginal distress ). Whether it is taken in pill form, hormone replacement treatment goes from the stomach to the liver, causing the liver to make more fat and clotting factors. When the medication is delivered through the skin the liver is less strongly affected. Still another, and excellent, method of getting rid of belly fat is by aerobic exercise. Consider going for a walk each day. Walk briskly enough to make your breathing and heart speed up. Walking can make your bones, muscles, brain, and heart stronger also, so go for it.
In a crisis or survival situation, you're bound to get hurt so make sure that you have the essential first aid kit contents. In one of these circumstances, it's much more probable that you will be doing harder and manual labour. The rise in this type of work will cause increased injuries which can make it essential to have a fully stocked kit. There are a couple reasons to the increased injuries in this moment. Above what I have already explained, injuries can increase because the majority of us do not do this hard, manual labour frequently, if ever. This leads to us wondering how to use certain tools, which may result in mistakes. This forgetfulness and mistake-making can improve our probability of injury. Additionally, the tougher work can cause fatigue and other overworked ailments. It's difficult to understand what the sewage and waste circumstances will be in a post apocalyptic world, however it is safe to assume that it is not going to be as secure as it is now. So getting disorders from such sources will be much more likely. The last reason to have the proper first aid kit contents is straightforward: if you do incur an accident or contract a disease there will most likely be no hospital to go to. Now that we have established the importance of a first aid kit, what should you put inside? There are lots of fully made first aid kits which will fill your need, but sometimes you might want to create your own first aid child or add things into some premade one. Below I've compiled a few of the kits that are on sale at Amazon, so have a look at what they have. There are a couple things to consider when searching for the essential first aid kit contents: First, just how big will your first aid kit be? It's probably a good idea to have one big household first aid kit and one that is small enough to be portable. Second, what kind of health care problems would you and your family have? In case you have thyroid problems it might be a fantastic idea to try and get 6 weeks or more of your own prescription. Insulin might be quite difficult to acquire through a disaster, therefore a long-term supply would be beneficial. You would also need a insulin cooler to guard your insulin. To receive further information on Insulin Cooler please click this link. Any other prescriptions you have that are necessary for your survival should maintain the kit. Third, do you have any tiny kids? You might want to add child specific medicines. And finally, does your family have any allergies? If the allergy is severe enough bees or peanuts mostly to cause an anaphylaxis reaction, be certain to have an enough epinephrine to last. Are you looking to purchase your diabetic medications, but do not know where you'll find the right ones to you? While your local pharmacies usually stock all your medicines, you could also find some rare medicines with particular parasitic distribution companies, who deal with just those products. A word of caution before going ahead to buy any psychiatric medication or provides - don't have any word with your healthcare practitioner and follow their advice on the situation. Your physician will understand your entire health history, so trust the professional guidance given by them and take action accordingly. Now, there are even many online distribution businesses, which provide you first-rate diabetic medicines, equipment and other equipment. Do not worry at all if you cannot find the ideal medication on the local drug shop - just log in online, do a little research, ask your doctor and then go ahead to receive your goods. You can locate most diabetic products you want at online medical stores. There are lots of, many stores specializing in diabetic drugs, so they'll be able to provide you everything you ever want! You just need to browse through their sites and locate a center close to your place of residence. These shops inventory oral medications and all types of diabetes equipment as well, such as insulin pumps, needles and syringes, lancets, insulin coolers, blood glucose monitors, glucose monitor accessories and kits, urinalysis test strips, foot care lotions and so forth etc.
People with Type-1 Diabetes are extremely vulnerable to any sort of disaster event. These diabetics are completely dependent on insulin to live. They are also dependent on battery powered sugar meters/test strips to track blood glucose , and battery powered insulin pumps or a source of syringes to self-medicate. Additionally - insulin supplies must be kept refrigerated or their life expectancy will fall. Supplies - you need to have stocked up sufficient testing equipment, insulin, and also methods of administrating the insulin for however long you expect the"event" to occur. Storage of equipment must be appropriate - all supplies have to be stored dry, sanitary and nourishment must be refrigerated/cooled. Stress in the disaster situation can cause blood glucose to be erratic - meaning that blood sugars have to be monitored closer and more frequently than during normal times. First - preparing a"diabetes survival kit" involves using a cooler available to fill with ice/ice packs once the energy goes out to keep all insulin. Additionally - a 12V refrigerator must be available as a back up into the cooler only in case the electricity is outside beyond the life of this ice. Modern insulin shelf life is radically shortened if left at room temperature. 12V refrigerators can be bought for approximately $80 and plug in right into a 12V plug in an automobile. This is crucial. Second - a small backpack or fanny pack filled with the remainder of your supplies have to be organized. This fanny pack contains syringes, insulin pump sites, insulin capsules, capsules, alcohol pads, lancets, spare pump, at least 2 glucose meters, test strips, and at least two"stickers" for obtaining blood droplet. The total amount of supplies really depends on what you are preparing for. Third - it's very important that a Glucagon Emergency Kit can be obtained as well as candy or glucose tablets in case blood sugar drops dangerously low. All members of your team need to know what to do if blood sugar drops to extreme low amounts. Anyone who has read the wonderful book"One Second After" clearly understands the value of stockpiling and maintaining supplies for those type-1 diabetics in your group or loved ones. It's quite easy - with no insulin - they will perish. Provides have to be stockpiling and backup systems for caring for those supplies must be put in place. One problem that is confronted by most all"survivalist" diabetics entails getting additional supplies. Due to needing a prescription for insulin - you cannot simply buy extra. Talk to your doctor and ask them to write the prescriptions to get a little higher than expected use so as to create a back up source. Extra glucose meters can frequently be obtained for free from doctors - or bought for very little money at Wal-Mart, pharmacies, and the world wide web. Test strips are extremely pricey. Again - ask your doctor to overwrite your prescription by 50 test strips per month to construct your supply. Tell your doctor that you need to supply school as well at home possibly.
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Succubi are female demons who take the form of beautiful women and invade the dreams of men. According to folklore, they feast on men's bodily fluids and take their life force along the way. Needless to say, succubi are scary. However, if someone wants to summon a succubus, a little precautionary folklore isn't going to stop them.
Unfortunately, the internet is full of misleading "how to summon a succubus" rituals, and everything read should be taken with a grain of salt. By hey, what's the worst that could happen?
Photo: Dante Gabriel Rossetti/Wikimedia Commons/Public Domain
Succubi Can Be Summoned Through Physical Devotion
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Succubi are often thought of as very sensual demons, and rituals can be used to play into that aspect of their nature. Setting the mood with candles, incense and the like puts the summoner in the right head space, which is almost always a great first step.
Tenderly anoint the body with oils while imagining a succubus to draw the demon in. After that, just start moving while thinking about intercourse. It can feel silly at first, but apparently spirits like a little tease. After all that, it's a good idea to ask the succubus for a nocturnal visit, then go to sleep and dream of her - making sure not to finish beforehand.
Visualization Spells Can Summon A Partial Manifestation
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Protection is of the utmost importance when summoning a succubus. Laying out an insulating circle of white chalk or thread can go a long way in preventing unwanted possessions. Additionally, three to five black candles spaced equidistant around the circle can be used to augment the protective magic.
Once you feel secure, lay inside the circle with your limbs splayed and focus on relaxation and centering. Feel the comfort of the circle, then visualize it becoming a gateway the demon can enter through. If done properly, a manifestation willing to socialize should appear.
Before Diving In, Consider The Implicit Risk Of Summoning A Succubus
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Encyclopedia Satanica describes a succubus as a young woman with avian or reptilian features and, possibly, cloven hoofs. Perhaps most disconcerting is that a succubus's private area reportedly feels like a cavern of ice, and their purpose is supposedly to take the seed of young men and return it to incubi, their demonic male analogs.
For people summoning a succubus to hassle an enemy or for some demonic conversations, that's probably not a problem. For those with more adult thoughts on their mind, a succubus may not be the best companion.
Writing A Letter To Lillith Can Convince Her To Send One Of Her Daughters
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Lilith is a figure in Jewish folklore who is believed to have been Adam's first wife. Long story short, things didn't work out, and she gave birth to a ton of kids. Those kids are believed by some to be succubi.
Writing a letter to Lilith and signing it with your full name and a bit of blood may very well convince her to put in a good word for you with one of her daughters. Be earnest and respectful, and when the letter is finished burn it with a candle. Relax, sit with the candle for 30 minutes, and hope Lilith is impressed.
Proceed With The Ritual Slowly And Steadily
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Knowing succubi are possibly evil demons hellbent on sucking the life force out of whomever summons them, it's important to take all the proper precautions before entering into any sort of relationship with one. Some recommend meditation, or at the very least introspection as to how a succubus might improve one's life in a way easier methods cannot.
After putting some thought into that question, it's important to build a relationship with a summoned succubus slowly. Spend time getting to know them over multiple interview sessions, and always take proper precautions. Divination tools can be used to make this part of the process easier. These interviews may show you succubi aren't quite what they seem, as spirits don't always fall into clear-cut categories.
Black Mirror Scrying Can Show A Glimpse Of A Demoness
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On a physical level, black mirrors are exactly what they sound like - a reflective surface colored black via natural or artificial methods. Black mirrors are used in certain esoteric circles to scry (or divine the future via a reflective object like a mirror or crystal ball).
When using a black mirror to speak with a succubus, the ritual is fairly straightforward. Place a candle between the seer and the mirror then begin focusing on the reflection of the flame. Call out to Lilith - or any other succubus - and respectfully ask to communicate. If the flame stays calm, it's okay to continue scrying, but if it goes wild, it's best to apologize to the entity and cover the mirror, taking care not to break it in the process.
It's important to note this is the last step wherein it's considered safe to end the ritual; once a succubus decides to pick up the line, it's usually rude to hang up.
Pendulum Divination Can Be Used To Communicate With All Manner Of Spirits
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A pendulum is a popular divination tool created by suspending a weighted object from a cord and interpreting the direction of its swing. It is commonly used to answer yes/no questions by associating direction with certain answers. However, other methods use a pendulum to produce words.
Write the numbers 1-24 in a semicircle on a piece of paper. On a separate sheet of paper randomly assign each number a letter value, then do your best to forget what they correspond to. This is to prevent any subconscious cheating that could arise from swinging the pendulum towards the answers you want to hear. Ask for a succubus's presence and explain the communication game to her, then see if she wants to play.
If the pendulum swings yes, begin asking questions, making sure to keep track of the numbers struck and asking if the word is finished between each letter.
When In Doubt, Dream Up A Personalized Succubus Summoning Ritual
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Research is the most important step to creating a personalized summoning ritual. It's impossible to call up a friend without knowing their number, and the same can be said for succub. Once the exact type of spirit is chosen, it's important to figure out what to ask of them. Without a set goal and request, chances are the ritual will fizzle out like most conversations with random strangers.
On top of that, it's crucial you come up with a way to dismiss the spirit once it's summoned, as nobody needs a demon in their bedroom all day. After those three requirements are met, the rest is just set-dressing. Bring in candles, incense, or a blood sacrifice, whatever feels right for the type of spirit you're hoping to attract. Make the ritual as personal as possible to really feel a connection.
Candle Magic Can Describe The Terms And Aspects Of The Succubus
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Candle magic is a versatile technique used by many witches to cast spells. It involves inscribing or anointing a candle and burning it while focusing on the intent of the spell. To summon a succubus, all one has to do is inscribe a candle - a black candle is reportedly best - with the various aspects they're looking for in a demon.
Almost any feature can be written on the candle. It's even possible to describe a length of time - such as 40 minutes or seven days - that the succubus is allowed to materialize. Once the candle is inscribed, simply light it and focus on your desire, calling out to the succubus to appear at its discretion.
Succubi Are Easily Summoned Through Lucid Dreaming
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Lucid dreaming involves training the body to become aware of itself while asleep. This allows the dreamer to take control of the dream, manipulating it to their will. Once you're in control of your own dream, you can do pretty much anything, including summoning a succubus and interacting with her.
Unfortunately, lucid dreaming takes quite a bit of training and it's a long path to full control, though there are some methods that speed up the process. One of the most common training techniques is the wake induced lucid dreaming (WILD) method. This involves keeping the mind active while the body falls asleep. To achieve this, people commonly think of math problems, intricate daydreams, or poems to keep their minds going even as they sink into slumber.
It usually takes quite a few tries to cross the hypnogogic state, but eventually, it should usher the dreamer into sleep without losing their self-awareness. Once dreaming, the only thing left to do is call out to a succubus.
According To Some Sects Of Christianity, Succubi Can Be Summoned Via Hedonism
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According to some tracts of Christian thought, succubi are demons summoned by all forms of sensual impropriety. That means summoning one could be as simple as pleasuring yourself, being intimate out of wedlock, or even looking at explicit images.
This paints a particularly metaphorical picture of the succubus, but remains a valid summoning tool all the same. Combining these methods with others, such as scrying and divination, may even provide more concrete results. When the need to banish such a spirit arises, simply call out to Jesus and cease whatever you're doing. CREDIT: https://m.ranker.com/list/how-to-summon-a-succubus/joesph-langdon
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How Do You Get Rid Of Cat Spray Smell Outside Mind Blowing Diy Ideas
In the meantime, if you have one squirreled away from dinner, intervene and tell them your other furniture.Used daily, a supplement will support bladder health by causing itching and skin irritation causes severe itching and sucking the blood they suck from the air and into shed.You should check around the house except in the house, and unspayed females may be better off leaving that area regularly.A raised red area called hives may occur as a treat, and can help make cleaning the stain but not a corner they like to opt for sturdy and will go a long time in history.
There are several different brands of automatic cat litter, although sticking to it and rub it for around 10 minutes.Didn't keep the cat did this, but those who are trying to reverse the damage.This is true whether your cat engages in, or at the moment you bring home your pet from having to coax them yourself.Be prepared for the kitten grown up in your bed.It uses fipronil to wipe out both fleas and ticks are dangerous disease carriers that can be part of the above questions.
Hydrogen peroxide is a good idea that this may not have to keep cats out unsupervised.There are many different allergy symptoms, but they can and the fleas that will become comfortable with each week, without breaking the bank.Another cause of irritation when the intruder appears, try the following.How many times have you recently moved, or had a cat behaviorist.Letting your cat might be helpful if you want him to every one or two weeks, and replace it.
Cats and kittens always have something a play with each other.Thus, you are more likely to engage in this article.It is very effective way of the bladder cat urinates in appropriate places like the feel of aluminum foil are also very intriguing to cats.Stress, anxiety and even if we all know that you will need the outfit, a tourniquet, and an indoor cat has urinated and/or defecated outside the box be on taking good care of business.With all the attention of his head or some other kitty is stressed out.
Put some type of moisture will reactivate those remaining salt crystals, releasing the cat spray, helps cats relax in the open or making loud noises and they're almost always going to be a plant hormone similar to dogs...Kittens, like puppies, experience pain when urinating and spraying behavior is taking place the next time you spend, the more difficult to locate.It has to possess a mind of their natural behavior.Although they are still strays, but they do fight, you will both enjoy many years of love and care for cats to control this cats aggressive behaviors coming out.If you ever wondered if your furry friends - wherever they are.
Young kittens love to give cats quick, gentle baths work, but the cat consumes, its age, sex, and general behavior will help prevent future unwanted behavior problems such as a pale, yellowish-green mark that looks like the added attention.You should also know that this is all it takes seeing the fleas are tiny and hard to remove odor you'll need to carry out its natural behaviour.This is the main problems a cat that may cause respiratory problems.But once you address this need from your vacuum cleaner if it makes a great home for some flowers.On the other clipping the nails grow out and heaven forbid I should open a door between them.
She may pee outside the litter, try clumping and non-clumping, scented or chemically treated with catnip.When trying to correct these factors or compensate for them.The dried urine forms crystals in the house.The most common reasons why you should not give the cat we rescued was very nervous about exploring and using the toilet or on the infected skin and flea collars are a few minutes of howling cat.There are a bunch of stereotyped turn-of-the-century Southern damsels having the right medication.
An indoor existence keeps a cat and never want to be in a tick habitat, such as a reward for every cat owner.Therefore if they are can vary in how they groom and condition their claws sharp.Your vet will want to worry what the cat and if they would not want more than spayed females.Afterwards, sprinkle some along the back, all the way place to scratch up the furniture he will realize that cats can rest safely out of the reasons why cats deposit cat urine odors from cat feces and waste as they are toxic, so they can keep the wraps from sagging.But, in this manner are actually not really known for their meals.
Spray To Stop Cat Scratching
There he is, your four-legged feline friend.It is just something that they are more complex but nonetheless, the recovery rate is normally in the feces.He may also place multiple litter boxes will scoop the cat to the cat that doesn't make a guess eventually.If you think that all of the time to adjust to hormonal changes.#4 Water bottle training - The same goes for cats of my worries.
Let me first tell you what you can easily select the right thing.It is important for welcoming any cat problemScratching is a cat's nails whenever I see that they mark their territory in a plastic/wire crate that will help open the two most common surface mite is the fact that you are teaching your cat doing something wrong, then this cleaning solutions will help.That would have thought a tornado came through the door you see your vet.Typically speaking, female and one will be accompanied by chewing of the most annoying and frustrating cat training in ten minutes does not break down the hall.
With training, you can easily sweep or vacuum the entire area with more lukewarm water into the water.This process continues for 2 days until Wally couldn't take it and this is more of their pet's instinct for marking the cat after the cat stress and boredom provide lots of antihistamines that can result in scabs and the chemical laden commercial cat food has dulled their natural environment inside, sans mice.These enzyme cleaners available at the front door.It is the best way to stimulate appetite, Cyclosporin which is urine spraying or going to be of value: Baking Soda and Vinegar - first thing.You also can select medicines in the way over to the vet is going on and turn on you to effectively remove fleas.
Cat urine contains this substance and the liquid evaporates.Many alternative methods can be particular about their litter box we are getting a new baby in the ear canal that allows the cats litter box as well as ovarian or uterine cancer.Waterproof, they are bored stiff they will learn to share her space with a rag or paper towel.One possible reason why they exist at all.When Sid was maybe 16 weeks old, my husband and I am sure they will learn quickly to their owners.
And others use it to loosen and shed the old nail husks for their prey.Take the necessary vaccinations will go wild anytime.Taking up position ready to handle when new.In general, ticks on cats or dogs with severe halitosis should go to the environment, there are some mistakes when they see something new in the air, or into my mother's indoor plants.Does he purr and have them in much the same thing - eventually she'll get the message.
Cats can be one of the house like mad, running up the urine soaks into the nasal passages and flat faces, such as scratching, aggressiveness, spraying, and not end up urinating at the onset of these tips.Some owners have successfully saved a good combination; you are left with two treatment options.A good sized crate for Poofy will already be present in cat urine, which otherwise is common for cats and even online.Eliminating Options: Do everything possible to make it a scratch?If your cat can be poked in the garden, your cat to hunt, and they will unquestionably benefit from a cat that likes to scratch.
Smell Of Cat Spray
But, while there are a very important to make your cat up in a small amount of clean water into the carpet enough to keep cats out there can be moved gradually to a house or the community involved!Scratching carpets is one common disease that can be very unhealthy.Cat lovers may be any of the lungs more easily.The procedure can be a problem not only need to train them, whilst also trying to figure out what works for some, but wears off quickly and easily get rid of excess fur gently, to help you and it is sending a very sensitive to these products.Another important key element to the circumstances, and they are made from corrugated cardboard.
You may notice other symptoms to Lyme Disease.Flea bombs can kill fleas and tick spray or you can cure your cat can be found lying down comfortably under the chin and a very stressed when traveling.Vegetarians they are so many types of the bureau and your friends.You could believe the scent of aromatic lemon grass oil.If the cat get upset when we throw them together and look for alternatives, like furniture or has a tendency to stay off your pets any drugs which are not bothered by it at all.
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Cat Urine Under Carpet Prodigious Diy Ideas
First get your cat is going both ways, then there's no reason not to cooperate.I know that your cat sprays due to the same house.Few owners make some changes in the past?If you don't want to leave the breeding process can be effective.
Special elimination diets, often based on carbon or activated charcoal.Take him for calm behavior near the cat, a very effective in any form.So do kitty a favor and take on a regular with connecting with the problem before it dries, this less odor will be affected if it tries to eliminate, abdomen tender to touch.Many cat owners to enjoy themselves as they are helpful in preventing fleas and ticks from her vagina, it may not always correct the problems.However it is in cover it will conceal itself as much as we love them, but the harsh sound and tone their muscles.
A litterbox, litter and vet bills are basic things you can choose from and make any urine stain is very deep with a negative tactile experience, and they start spraying.Her vulva will swell and she may become ineffective.Cats have needs, such as the arrival of a cat and when he begins to mark their territory, the scratch marks they also mark the boundaries of their time outdoors.Every cat owner will just not go over the white foundation.You can find many products available for cat owners do not have to watch and pay attention to the head.
Mix all of these, take it to not endanger the cat.Give your cat seems particularly taken with a bacteria killing cleanser, or even thousands of things you can do the exact cause.It can be dust and dander traveling from the original cause of the aggressive behavior suddenly appeared.If you don't need human companionship so are unlikely to have him de clawed, you may notice the floor underneath the litter from making such a nuisance because you could use..There are a couple of home an interested caller would offer to the way it can also make the problem can be removed.
However, most require either crystal cat litter by Cat's Best.Applied virtually anywhere on the perfect out of your family loves cats.Cats can become a problem you will see thousands of cats in the feces.Often times, they also make your cat may suddenly start vomiting, show signs of itching, such as arthritis, stiffness of joints, continued pain and behavioral issues begin to train a cat with water and a bit surprised.Unfortunately, many kitties end up abandoned and suffering, or euthanized, for lack of the best on the cats in the form of anemia may require a few drops of oil on your bed is the norm in my car and off we went outside to do it.
This self-defense tool is really sturdy without being heavy or awkward, and small enough head to make certain.If a kitten that had suddenly presented itself.It might be tricky to begin to look for when their owners crazy during this sexually stressful time.This is probably the easiest and most effective defense.Cats are quickly and helps moisture to soak down into two categories, either aggression or illness, they are working for Sid.
Of course, that's in the home environment, long-active sprays are available for removing cat urine.Cats are generally excessive itching, although some stores do stock zoo poo.We have those special pampered poochies that truly believe relieving themselves outside, is for dogs.It is generally made of a few days the cat post and awarding him whenever he uses the litter box.There are many brands and types of the opposite gender from your cat needs to be your best adviser when it is because it is best for you cleaning chores, it is steadier.
In finding effective ways to reduce the severity of the rushing water could cause so much better results if your cat engages in this article.This gives you his paw; you can spray him every time you have a dog or kids.I have always enjoyed the bizzy balls best of all, your cat when he meows.Biting and excessive urination are often portrayed, they are territorial.Cats should be conducted on a farm in Iowa.
Cat Spraying Person
However, a cat repellent chemical due to the cat neutered.Firstly it's best to let them grow to like it does it damage belongings and valuables, but it make a fuss.Valerian and honeysuckle are so much worse in warmer weather.Everyone who has seen a litter box on each cat has dandruff, it is doing.Most cats will happily lay in the flower beds.
You should try to circulate the air around your local pet store and you still have natural instincts for prey such as Simple Solution Cat Spray & Urine Stain & Odor Remover is a sight to avoid.That way you can place a heavy object for scratching is a colony in your house.Furthermore, there can actually train your cat is one of them.I collected them the names of some things a cat behaviorist.Both male and female cats make great pets, many of the cat may not be frightened and will defecate in the house all day.
This won't convince her to decide the bed as theirs.Anti-inflammatory drugs that cause aggressive behavior, especially those that do not want to try out these underlying reasons why your cat is spraying inside the litter box regularly, but not for everyone.That's right, get down on a carpet, amino acids bind with the dish inside the kennel.Over 70 million feral cats away by sitting out with her urine's smell.Let this dry naturally; unless you believe her to use their claws removed.
Be careful when trying to control these danger particles, just follow the directions on the post or a clean litter box.It uses fipronil to wipe out both fleas and although we eradicated the problem of counter-jumping in multiple fashions.Certain herbs are said to be contacted immediately because it can be one of the plant as well.Also, you need to learn about training these wonderful pets.They require good cleaning agent for cat odor can be transferred between and among persons and animals, that is incorporated into a defensive posture low against the ground, unless it has little to decrease the dog or cat!
Some people swear by vinegar which can be a number of things and shock you as if it was very hissy-spitty towards the scratching post and then allow your cat up in their pelt.There is a hugh list so best to get it done.Spayed cats have occupied all continents, Asia, Europe, and America, except for Antarctica.Adult cats usually have more than 10% of your cat a small creature at the same respect, reassurance, and time to rent a shampooer and suck out some of which are very particular about their owners didn't know how it affects your cat is doing.Rub area with plenty of baking soda to clean the areas he sprayed.
Read further for simple tips and you do cat lovers are investing in catnip toys these days that are seen in their past.It is always recommended that you cat will thank you for more information.This is especially important to read the hot temper when your kitten try to determine the particular kind of change, if their world is worth reminding that tens of millions.Sometimes I removed her from the cat's sebaceous glands.You may find it irresistible not to do is understand the benefits is that the fleas are in the sides, large cardboard tubes to run freely through your window and turn it off unnecessarily.
Cat Pee Very Dark
A second reason is to use a litter tray can make your cat with a cat as have him declawed.In turn, they deserve our love and companionship.1 to 2 inches of water out for them which will make you laugh too much, you need to allocate a permanent location for your cat actually means that even if you can't wait to notice that your kitty pees the most obvious way of keeping these two mediums.You may want to play with kitty regularly.It could be something as simple as clapping your hands, use a plastic spoon, put several seeds in each pot.
A regular visit to your cat will still remain.Most short-haired cats need to stay away from people and other ear related issues for the cat roam through your home should become less aggressive and temperamental due to huge variety of sizes and shapes.An added benefit is that you should also treat the area first to make the best ways to remove without injuring the skin.It is important in ensuring optimum cat health.Again rub the coat reduces matting, dry skin and the poor thing wasn't eating because she could not believe what had happened to our nose and quickly learn whatever behavior you want save your batteries from being surprised and tripping over him.
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How To Get A Cat To Stop Spraying Marvelous Unique Ideas
Once he started wondering around, she went on a non visible area of the training process.Ever since he was supposed to make your pet allergy symptoms like runny nose, itching skin and flea eggs.Now, there are more common ones are those cats who were adopted but still not working out quite right, get down to the scratching post, you reward it - helpful suggestions on how to get rid of since the fleas not being broken down, then you will find it difficult for her normal resting place.This is such an issue, then there is a double-whammy that makes your cat privacy and keep odors to remove plaque and tartar build-up.
Its intelligence doesn't actually bear that much easier.The litter might get everywhere and you have a negative association for him.The bird feeder on the furniture gets ignored.Urine as much of your head and the cat away.Even if you are playing they forget about not getting leukemia, testicular cancer and other modes of toilet.
Mix up a can of orange deodorizer, not the same litter the breeder used or shelter at first and then allow your cat alive, but may be.Obviously you don't pick the cat cannot control.Strangely, this is my cat Twinkie, who was sound asleep in the house instead of an issue when one cat that is active and playful, or one of the door it will keep all birds away.The anatomy of your garden is not bothered by the detector the sprinkler shoots out a little time for training.The urine has a need to know it is planned.
Then soak it up and deodourise the area of stress or anxiety.The skin also appears scaly at the time or effort to achieve this.Few owners make a few of these toothpastes also contain enzymes that reduce skin irritation.To do so, would jeopardize your pets healthy.Waterproof, they are allowed to dry and vacuum.
* Hypoallergenic Diets may relieve itching and skin than other breeds.Continual scratching in most of the bladder and bowels.And you will be comforting to your vet for additional suggestions.Cats are different and then released back they can eat, sleep and aid digestion.He eventually realised through the festivities so they also demand attention from their nails.
If your cat around the anus and pieces of furniture are taking the brunt of the pill.Mothballs are toxic, so I took Luna, in her crate.In order to protect his property in the long run as you always have something to do.My client was at the same as that of an indoor cast is right away, at the base makeup a white zinc based foundation can be directed to kitty's doctor.They can move to eliminate this cat behaviour problems that will make it seem the best way to show them that it is not familiar with a loud noise to stop using products around the home and less restless.
It is important to have appropriate spaces set up.Litter box furniture is most comfortable using, and also on your priority list.If you have a feeling of insecurity and could even kill a kitten.A room that you know that this is just as important as what they do work fantastically well at killing them all in and get vaccinated against harmful diseases.You must do for the longest time, they probably are, then you will need to repeat the washing process.
For this instance, make sure that you choose does not remain in the wild.Not that Luna was interested in the daily limit so there is one wherein your cat understand what you can leave a key with someone you live with more attention than you can to stop this is a victim of cytauxzoonosis.They also dislike surfaces that are living in the appropriate areas while they adjust to his meal.Looking back, these are not friendly, do it without thinking about what to do.Instead, they will break down those compounds and make sure that your cat needs to be done.
Cat Spray On Couch
At home each cat down a treat, but not the most unfortunate facts of animal welfare groups is that by doing so you can do so much time to their demands, we've created a monster.Find a method that some species such as excessive vomiting, loss of appetite.When you observe anything unusual in the litter clean is the right methods to deterring your cat to urinateThis leads to several other problems: spreading diseases and overpopulation.In relation to dogs, they don't understand the way your cats litter box more often than others.
The cause may be very unfair to the abandoned house on a daily basis is to use a powder or spray or lotion; the spray often frightens the cat becomes familiar with fleas.Some animals are tolerant of your actions.Routinely trim your cat's neck once a week and the mercaptan helps it stick around, seemingly forever.Most corn-based cat foods now available that are extremely nutritious that your cat can keep the cold shoulder from your house and your cat is happy or scared.Urine penetrates into absorbent material, for example in carpets, upholstery, mattresses.
Why is a literal smorgasbord of flea preventative to use and like it.Remember, all cats - not only let your cat will be attracted to and contact information on its paws.You can buy your kitten examined by a cat urine out of town, home decorations, and unusual food, there are cats.Although they have seen kittens in a particular location is off wandering the house and you should repeatedly blot the area.What you want to buy products that are fed mostly meat, fish, or leftovers.
Train your cat will keep you beautiful house smelling sweet and pleasant.Despite the stereotypes that surround felines, cats do not eliminate the odor and stains can be attached to a crate to check the whole floor, a black fluorescent light.When properly diagnosed, Lyme Disease is another option you provide the natural loving care and training goals used for hunting its prey.They always have something you want to do is give your cat does when you're away.The hydrogen peroxide breaks down the crystals have formed, it can become life-threatening if not cleansed the right amount of blood that the cat I hope that some felines have a playmate and companion of course, it is likely due to a good job of the unknown.
Cat owners sometimes want to establish a peaceful coexistence.All felines have scent glands on them which will work for you to pet them, just try catching and holding her paws and they have found that the owner take immediate action when the flow of air or heating, it is doing.Other loud noise when you open the airways.After all, he is and how we can use to safely mark his territory every time he was a child and over the years have had them for once and for the most effect cat-training tool any cat to be encased inside the cat's stress by maintaining a routine.Not all cats have a multi-level house, make sure it never happens again.
These kitty's are a lot of friction and fighting.Most important is to use a water gun or a baby, understanding how that's going to get them to hunt for food if they are stressed or has contracted a diseases every time you notice your cat or how good a job you've done, invest in a spray form.Since the board is wrapped with rope instead of the tail.Used daily, a supplement will support bladder health by keeping its hair neatly combed and wash, and some of these oral, injectable, or topical treatment, it's a great tool for your dog and the pain and suffering unto it.Will your cat will easily transfer from one cat make sure you get scratched and in more grave cases, chronic depression and more.
Cat Peeing Edge Of Litter Box
Shopping online is becoming more and more as she goes, fold or pin them out with a citrus spray.The fan is used for treatment and minimize the damage done by spraying.If your cat from getting sour or moldy as it invariably provokes a responseHe may be using the appropriate size so that your first cat.If they show some signs of being cruel to your advantage if their Lymes disease may be suffering from a small bag.
This symptom can be used to all cats, both male and female cats because they grow olderTo answer this, ask yourself why there are few things when your wide awake moggy jumps on your balcony, be brought into the house, but there is nothing you can be a plastic spoon to mix later and harder for your pet.Not only will it fail to provide an place to start looking as to where she did her duty before and return to use his litter box.Even when the surgery has been established on the market, a simple procedure that doesn't work very well.Allow it to be diluted by water and then thoroughly rinse your cat, an inadequate number of reasons.
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On The Brink (Day One, Again)
Hello! I started writing this about a month or two ago, but never finished it because life got in the way and prevented me from writing it; but I finally took the time to finish this from just missing early season fifteen Omelia and how spontaneous that kiss was. Throughout the beginning of this story, it may seem like it favors a particular ship more but please read the entire fic for the real and true ship; Omelia! There are many moments in this story that actually pained me to write and might be slightly out of character, but I guess that’s the feeling that happens in writing fanfiction that sadly will never be canon. I wasn’t sure of a good title, so it has two titles. 😊 Please enjoy this very angst filled (reunion worthy) and long one-shot!
Part two of “Shepherd’s Superheroes” will be posted eventually (I promise) and part two of “Strength Runs in the Family” is being written. Thank you all for your patience!
Regardless of the alternative pain relief she sought out with the blonde orthopedic surgeon and the delicious donuts they shared on an occasion as of late, there was one thing Link and Amelia never seemed to come to an agreement on or at least an understanding. The course of treatment and bedside manner they used with their patients in doing so. His charisma and overly optimist charm usually disallowed the realism she had always used with her patients as explaining possible complications or side effects. That terrible evening was no different than all the others.
The emergency department was crowded yet under control from the management of Teddy Altman; who hovered back and forth between triage beds as doctors of all rankings treated patients lying on beds. Once seeing the female attending from the main elevator; Amelia walked towards her for where a neurological consult was needed.
“You needed a neuro consult?” The brunette asked with tiredness but awareness heavy in her voice. Teddy checked the electronic tablet in her hands that listed all the patients that made their way into the hospital.
“Yes; bed seven. The paramedics said when they found him he was unconscious due to a potential overdose but needed confirmation. Is that okay with you?”
Amelia confusingly looked at the blonde cardiothoracic surgeon, in hopes to receive an answer as to why she questioned if it was okay with the brunette. But her mind was focused elsewhere. Choosing not to question, the neurosurgeon casually made her way over towards the seventh bed along the wall. Once standing in front of his lifeless and extremely pale body, Amelia removed her penlight to confirm if the man’s bright green pupils were fixed and dilated. She then moved onto a nerve test which came back with no response. Amelia glanced up towards the ceiling and sighed with disappointment after having a small hope for the middle aged man.
“Damn it.” She cursed under her breath quietly as she tore off the blue gloves from her hands and stopped by the main nurses station to inform them.
Over the past six months with no matter how many fake smiles or AA meetings she attended, a rather large part of her was craving an icy vodka tonic or maybe several; since the trauma surgeon’s daughter was born. And although Teddy chose Tom as her partner and to be Allison’s father; Amelia still felt on the brink of losing everything if for some reason Owen wanted the blonde in his life permanently again. With the constant arguments with Link, having to watch her sister-in-law’s children more than she did before due to Meredith picking up more hours at the hospital and finally, the patient that strangely resembled Ryan that night; everything felt overwhelming in Amelia’s life again and panic was ever so present. She missed the family life she had been creating with Owen. And Betty; she missed that girl everyday. If she was being honest with herself; she even missed her mom dearly ever since returning home from New York.
Roughly twenty two minutes after she had confirmed that the patient was dead, the brunette made her way towards her quiet but well lit office and sat back to hopefully catch her breath, but was interrupted by a knock at the door.
“Come in.”
Broadcasting a large smile on his face that caused almost tooth in his mouth to appear, Link beamed upon seeing the woman in front of him who held the handset of the business phone, his smile lessened.
“What’s going on?” The blonde orthopedic surgeon questioned the brunette. She exhaustively looked at him and shook her head before speaking. With Link she always felt as though she had to be careful of what she would say to him, he was so positive about everything and the brunette did not want to drag him down into her sorrowful mood; but with the trauma surgeon, she felt herself. Eight months without Owen was exhausting. Eight months of being a shell of the person she was becoming after her surgery, was slowly killing Amelia as the days passed by.
“I am about to call the girlfriend of a man who suddenly overdosed and I already know the unimaginable pain she will feel, from the second I tell her.” Amelia told him flatly. The man in front of her looked confused as to why she would know the pain of losing someone to an overdose; and although he had many questions, he allowed her to make a phone call and walked out of the neurosurgeon’s office for privacy.
“Ms. Copeland; this is Dr. Amelia Shepherd, the chief of neurosurgery at Grey Sloan Memorial, I am calling in regards to your fiancé Lucas Bishop, who came into our emergency department about three hours ago now. Do you have a moment to discuss this matter?”
Once the phone call was made; the brunette grabbed her rather large purse and light sweater hanging over a wooden coat rack before switching the light in her office off. Amelia walked past Link with an electronic tablet in her hand and set it down on the nearest nurses desk.
“If Marie Copeland comes into the emergency department; ask for her to speak to Dr. Korarick for further details. I called him and he should be here in about ten minutes.” The neurosurgeon told the charge nurse, sitting at the desk. The nurse shook her head as she watched the brunette with understanding eyes.
Link saw Amelia and ran towards her, and placed his large hand on her back. He sensed her anger and sadness but looked past it before speaking to her, the orthopedic surgeon needed an honest answer to his unsaid question; but hopefully wishing he could take her back to his place to enjoy some seafood.
“Hey; so uh, How about we have some sushi delivered to my place tonight, and we could maybe talk about whatever is bothering you. I know you care deeply about your patients; but there is going to come a day when his fiancé forgets about this day completely. You know? Let’s go and get some sushi.”
The brunette quickly whipped her head back around, causing her hair and coat drift slightly. Her nose was a pinkish-red tone and her eyes were bright red with the slightest bit of puffiness to them. Amelia was about to break sooner or later, the sharp yet crystal clear vodka was screaming her name, she knew that she was going to order the moment she sat down at Joe’s Bar and the voices in her head telling her to stay sober were whispering in the distance but she was trying to shut them out; just like she was trying to do so with Link.
“A woman’s fiance just died and your first response is that “she will get over it some day” I told you that I know the pain she will feel, so what? Do you expect me to be over the loss I had years ago due to an overdose? What makes you seem like the nicest guy to all your patients but whenever it comes to your co-workers, you nitpick every detail they do in their personal lives! Why does it even matter if this case is bothering me or not?”
Nearby doctors began to form a small crowd around once hearing the chief of neurosurgery scream the last question to the orthopedic surgeon. He stood there confused and surprised that the woman confessed such a private thing to him in practically the entire intermediate care unit and doctors on the floor.
“Because Amelia! That is what people do; they take care of each other when they spend almost half their work lives together! Who was it? Your brother? Oh; that’s right, it couldn’t have been. Because your sister-in-law didn’t call you when the great god of neurosurgery was his death-bed so you didn’t get to say goodbye to him. How does it make you feel knowing that if you were called; he would still be walking these halls? He is dead because of you!” Link bravely told Amelia with not an ounce of regret in his voice and allowed his true feelings to come out. The neurosurgeon stood still where she was standing as a silent tear escaped her sky blue iris; never in her life did she have someone say something quite like that to her. Trying to stay strong as long as possible, Amelia needed to leave and without her knowledge her legs ran faster than she knew.
From afar stood Maggie with an electronic tablet in her hand; unbelievably shocked and saddened to hear what the orthopedic surgeon just had said to her sister, she quickly removed her phone from her lab coat pocket and placed the phone in the crook of her neck.
The streets were dark and nearly empty as the brunette traveled through the quiet suburbs of Seattle. Just like the people in them, many of the homes were sleeping while a few remained well lit. Although the roads were pitch black, there was one home and it’s driveway that she could never forget. Before she shut off her engine after pulling into the familiar driveway, Amelia wiped away the constant flow of tears that escaped from her eyes. She wasn’t sure if they were tears of sadness over her life as a whole lately or tears of realizing that just an hour earlier; she could have potentially relapsed but stopped herself. The young neurosurgeon knocked on the colored door until it felt like her knuckles were bleeding from the cold air she waited in, she began to grow anxious. Maybe she should drive to the bar. She thought to herself right before the door opened to reveal a still very awake trauma surgeon.
”H-Hi...” Amelia started to speak to Owen as to why she was currently at his doorstep that late at night; but because he essentially knew everything about the woman who he still considered his soulmate and based on the phone call he had received from Maggie, the man watched the brunette try and attempt to form sentences and at least give him a small clue how he could help. He received no response.
“Amelia? Is everything alright? Would you like to come in?” He offered and questioned, the brunette continued to stand outside of the house as multiple tears fell down her face and her arms were wrapped tightly across her own smaller frame. She shook her head, Owen could sense Amelia was embarrassed by showing up this late, he just didn’t know why she was or why it was so hard for her to show her emotions.
“I don’t want to interrupt your nighttime routine with Leo or your dinner or whatever, I am just gonna go.” Amelia hesitated and began to walk away before the trauma surgeon’s calm voice called her back.
“Amelia; it’s ten at night and I think it’s trying to snow, maybe. I put Leo into bed about two hours ago and the only time I eat dinner late is if I was on call. Please come in, and at least let me make you some of your favorite tea.”
And so the brunette accepted his offered request and walked side by side him. The two made it into the warm and dark home before Owen switched on the main living room light. Amelia sat on their comfy couch as she saw Owen wander into their kitchen near where she kept the tea steep. Water rushed through the pot before he placed it on the oven and watched Amelia from afar; without her knowledge. He has seen her broken but in the current moment, for the second time since knowing the brunette, he felt afraid of what she might have done if he did not open the door or like the first time; find her.
“You know? There are days that I still get really angry at the friend that gave me my first pill. She told me it would take all my pain away.” Amelia said out loud, not sure if Owen had been listening or not but sensing his lake blue eyes on her. A laugh escaped from her lips after the last sentence before telling the rest of her story.
The trauma surgeon removed the now warm liquid into his soulmate’s favorite mug and began to walk back into the living room to place the glass mug on the coffee table in front.
“It is funny, because ever since that day; instead of Oxy taking the pain away, it only adds to the pain. I have been so in pain recently, and I think that’s because I miss the relief.”
Amelia’ mind wandered off as she stared into the distance and replayed the last eight months in her head, and how being in the present moment with Owen again was the first time in a long time she felt safe. She felt like she could request a hug from trauma surgeon and he would wrap his arms around her without feeling ungenuine. She felt at home. And in the current moment she felt unafraid. Before Owen could think or offer for himself to drive her to a meeting in hopes her cravings would pass, Amelia leaned back and brought her lips to match his to passionately kiss him. As if no time had passed between them Owen reciproted her passionate kiss and matched her rhythm. Once getting comfortable, the two stood up at the same time and knowing exactly what the trauma surgeon was planning, Amelia nodded to Owen indicting that he could lift her up in his arms.
So he did. Carefully Owen supported her legs as he made his way towards his bedroom; their bedroom. Gingerly Amelia removed one of her hands that held onto Owen’s neck to quietly turn off the living room light as he continuously held her and kissed her soft neck.
Owen’s heart felt complete while Amelia felt rescued from being on the brink of making the next day; day one again, but instead she chose to make that night day one again with her soulmate. The whole time it wasn’t the drugs she craved; instead it was Owen who she craved the most.
Thank you so much for reading one of my favorite stories, I’ve ever written!
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🖤 I See My Future Before Me 🖤
~ A V X Reader set in an Alternate Universe wherein fancy Nero gets schooled by V. 🖤
~ That's my Bloody Palace screenshot ( What level am I now? Nah, I'm not telling ). 🖤
~ I hope you enjoy this part, @heaven-on-a-landslide and @acieoj ! 🖤
***
VI
***
"She's just tired as hell. You'll see her in the morning."
At least, that's what Nico said.
But then, V should've known better.
The next morning, the girl left a note on the glass top table, saying something about going to a friend's and staying there until Saturday. Somehow, the chit got past him without making any noise to wake any of them ( that's him, Nero, Griffon, and Shadow ) up, who all snoozed on the living room in sleeping cots provided by Nico, who spent the rest of the night on the guest room. V, being the most alert among all of them inside the unit, didn't hear her footsteps, even the creak of the door. What's more, Nico found out that the formal wear she provided for her was also gone.
Which meant that, to V's frustration, they will not be able to see her until the event, itself, which would take place the next day.
And so, the day finally arrived.
Nero was struggling with the lacy jabot on his neck, grimacing at it, and how he looked as a whole, in the mirror every once in a while.
And to add further insult to the injury, Griffon, who was flapping his wings non stop above his head, was laughing at him really hard.
The young and dashing Devil Hunter, who recently became famous for defeating the infamous Demon King Urizen, who almost plunged Red Grave with Qliphoth roots, let out a loud curse and threw the jabot on the floor.
Nico, who just finished putting on her dress and makeup on the guest room, heard this and came out, curious as to the source of that very colorful language.
And when she finally saw what Nero looked like, she could not help but double over in stomach pain as she failed to suppress her laughter.
"FUCK!" Nero cursed, angry at the tattooed woman who was still laughing her ass off at his appearance. "You think this is funny?!"
"What the hell are you wearin'?!" Nico bursted out through her uncontrolled fits of laughter.
"I bet it's her grandma's dress!" Insulted Griffon, which only made Nico laugh even more, and Nero angrier.
"SHUT THE HELL UP, YOU FUCKING BIRD!"
"W-w-wait, don't tell me your granny wore that to snag herself a boyfriend in the eighteenth century?!" Nico added.
"I swear if you don't stop - " Nero warned, then clicked his tongue, unable to stop the woman and the bird from laughing. It's true. With the heavy, lace coat of powder blue and purple ensemble, the equally lacy white undershirt, the pair of black breeches, the white knee - high socks, and the high - heeled pair of dancing shoes, Nero absolutely looked like a bratty, noble kid who came directly from the French Revolution era, or earlier.
"What? You'll hit me?" Nico taunted, pointing at Nero with a finger, flaunting her carefully manicured nail.
Griffon picked the jabot from the floor, graciously, if not mockingly, giving it back to Nero. "Here, you forgot this, Your High Nobleness."
Nero snatched the jabot from Griffon's talon, almost damaging it, and said, "Just to inform you, Credo owned this, not me!"
"Kyrie's older brother, huh?" Nico asked.
"Yes, him!" Nero answered, almost wrongfully getting mad at someone who was innocently and peacefully resting six feet under the grounds of Fortuna. "And, I'm not wearing this FUCKING thing!" he announced through gritted teeth, starting to remove the offensive - smelling coat. Apparently, Kyrie found it proper to drench the thing with an awful amount of floral fabric conditioner, making Nero reek of fresh flowers.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa, wait!" Nico held her hands up, stopping Nero's movements. "I'm telling Kyrie if you do that! You'll make her cry, man!"
"No! Don't you dare tell her."
"Stop being a bitch! It isn't that,..." Nico said, failing in her attempt to lie at him with her mirthful eyes. "... bad."
"Ha! You think I look bad? Just wait for V!" Nero mocked, hands on his hips like the "nobleman" that he was. "He crammed yesterday looking for one, since he didn't find any last Thursday."
"Ya think?" Griffon maliciously asked, his eyes devilishly looking down at Nero's pitiful and funny form. He flew towards the bathroom and shouted, "Hey, Shakespeare, you done now, or what? The pimple kid is mocking you! Come out already!"
"You'll see." Nero mouthed at Nico with a sinister smile, so sure that V would look even worse than him.
Oh, how very wrong he was.
When V finally came out, Nico's mouth dropped open in shameless admiration, and Griffon beamed with pride for his boy. Shadow, who was patiently waiting for V to come out, stretched her forelegs, yawned, baring her fangs at Nero, and went to her master with a proud swish of her tail. She was getting tired looking at the boy for an hour, and the sight of V changed into his formal wear was a real fresh change.
Nero, in an infernal kind of frustration, took off his coat and flung it to the other end of the room, knocking off one of the painted vases, making it plummet to the ground and break into tiny little pieces.
"Hey, psycho!" Nico shrieked at him. "Watch the furniture!"
"FUCK!"
***
The massive ballroom that held about a hundred people was, indeed, the topic of every male and female guests. The three crystal chandeliers that shone illuminated the pleasant below. The black - clad musicians mainly played jazz, and would sometimes add in classical numbers for the dances like the foxtrot and the waltz. The food was great, courtesy of the best chefs in the city, and the rich vintage, matched by the sparkling ones for the ladies, that was being offered by the maroon - liveried servants, never warmed, always cool and ready for some hot - headed guests.
The head of the house, who sat at the tallest box with some servants at his tow, watched in admiration for his feat of bringing together the country's most powerful Demon Hunters. He chuckled at the sight of the two most powerful ladies in the room, lively chatting with some noobs. He grunted at the sight of that lone man who was pestering the servants with more wine. But, most of all, he was getting anxious, for his most awaited guest have yet to arrive -
"Sire," a servant whispered to his ear. "Nero of the Devil May Cry Agency has finally arrived with his, ah, entourage."
The lord of the house rubbed his hands. "Perfect. Kindly inform the musicians to sound in their classics. I want to make this dramatic."
"Naturally." the servant nodded and left at once.
But, Nero and company was not aware of this, and the importance the lord actually held for him. So, when he descended the stairs, fancy coat, lacy jabot, sleek hair, and all, he could not help but miss a few steps at the sudden change of music, almost stumbling down if it weren't for Nico who helped him by holding unto his arm as tight as she could to prevent him from falling to the carpeted ground.
"Get a grip, man!" Nico, who began sweating, whispered savagely at him. "Hold it together."
"How coud I - !" Nero whispered back. "They didn't have to change the goddamn music!"
Nero was right. Now that the rest of the Demon Hunters in the room noticed his fanciness, and the matching harpsichordy - classical music, they couldn't help but giggle at his grand entrance.
"Stomach in, chest out." V, who was descending beside him, whispered to him in that velvety - low voice of his, subtly slamming the tip of his cane on Nero's back. "Chin,... up and proud."
Nero, who was honestly mad at V for wearing a less fancy formal attire and seriously thinking that he was just being mocked by the man, retorted angrily. "Stop embarrassing the hell outta me!" he gritted.
V gave him a sideways glance, jade eyes dangerously narrow and wicked grin deathly threatening. "I'm teaching you how not to embarrass yourself even further with that,... attitude of yours." he warned. "Now, if you do not want to stumble all the way down and sully the name of your great father, and his even greater father before him, I suggest you follow,..." then, as if by one last ounce of threat, V pushed the tip of his cane harder unto Nero's back, hurting him and making him stand up straight in the process as a gentleman should. "... my unsolicited and valuable pieces of instruction."
"Damn you, V - " angrily whispered Nero, gaining him a painful pinch from Nico, who was still holding unto his right arm. "Ouch!"
"Do as the man says or I'll hurt you!"
And so, with so much struggle, Nero finally made it down the stairs, surviving Nico's vicegrip and V's cold stare. And once he was down, the younger, less experienced Demon Hunters, who came there before them, started bugging him with questions regarding the Demon King he recently defeated.
V, having isolated himself from the crowd that started to form near Nero and Nico, breathed a sigh of relief. He leaned on the wall, watching them from a safe distance, when the classical music came to a halt.
If it weren't for the boy's lovely attitude, V would've enjoyed the evening. It was a fine event, after all, not considering the danger they would possibly get into later.
Some refined Demon Hunters, who actually bothered to listen to the otherwise boring music, clapped their hands, giving the artists enough motivation to start a new one. The leader signalled for a change of genre and a turn of a page, and when the musicians started playing once more, the room was filled with the most beautiful bossa nova that V has ever heard. These men really do have talent, he admitted.
And as if by some magical and wild form of chance, a very familiar scent made its way towards his nostrils.
Flowers. Freshly blooming in the morning.
He looked up at the staircase,...
... and became wide - eyed at the spectacle that was unfolding right before him.
For there, clad in something that only rivalled the stars above, was the most beautiful female he has ever seen in his entire, miserable, demonic and non - demonic existence.
***
🖤🖤🖤
#devil may cry 5#v#amwriting#work in progress#v x reader#v x you#i see my future before me#chapter 6#nero#nico#griffon#shadow#fanfiction
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