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caranfindel · 3 years

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Episode recap/review: Walker 1.14

I didn't expect to recap 1.14 and yet here I am, still avoiding my unfinished Summergen fic. I'm actually writing this in real time, as I watch the episode. So for once I'm not pretending I don't know what happens. I literally don't know.

We begin with Cordell and Grandpa clearing up the crime scene. How much do I love Cordell saying "Daddy?" A lot. And not in that way, you perverts. It just really brings out the Texan.

Liam is in bed, recuperating. He gets a call (note that he calls himself William professionally, which is news to me, and I like it for whatever reason) from someone asking for a comment, which he starts to angrily refuse before Gramma Walker grabs his phone and hangs up. Gramma Walker going all Mama Bear for Liam is also interesting, and unexpected. But Liam says "I can take care of myself" and she says "No, you can't. None of you boys can." And then looks sadly out the window, where Cordell and Grandpa are taking down the crime scene tape. I just have to think "none" and not "both" means she's thinking of poor dead Hoyt, who she obviously loved like a son, if not more so. (More evidence for the Hoyt is her lovechild file? Maybe.)

Geri shows up, wearing an unnecessary cowboy hat and Hoyt's old jacket. She's bearing Hoyt's last will and testament, written on a bar coaster! Oh, my heart. And in case you can't read it:

If I get shivved in the shower or some old horse kicks me upside the head. For real Liam stamp it and everything - I leave everything to Geri/"Geraldine Broussard"/angle [sic] face sweet lips etc. So that plot I bought over in Tanglewood is for her and whatever I got in my pockets or elsewhere. See ya in the next life.

Angle face!

I'm not sure this would stand up in court, since he didn't even sign his last name, although it is witnessed by William Walker. Anyway, it's a moot point, because the land Hoyt intended to give Geraldine "Angle Face" Broussard is transferring to new owners, effective tomorrow. Which makes no sense. The deal fell apart because he died, and yet it's so soon after his death that the police tape is still up. New owners wouldn't be in the picture that quickly. Reverting to previous owners, because it was owner-financed? Sure. But not new owners. (Whatever, Caranfindel. Move it along.) She asks Cordell to go with her to gather his personal belongings. And to bring the kids. Hmmm, let's see how Stella can mess this up. (Tanglewood is 71 miles from Austin. Of course I looked it up.)

But first, Cordell has to sign paperwork to begin his leave of absence. So he didn't actually intend to quit. I mean, we all knew he'd be back, but I kind of thought he was, at the time, intending to quit for good. Does Connie the HR person have a big old crush on him? There is hand touching and deep, serious gazing.

Touch him, Connie. Touch him for those of us who cannot.

Micki is sitting right outside the conference room where he signs his papers but still acts surprised that he's in the building. Did she not smell the rosemary mint shampoo as he walked by? He thanks her for the flowers and apologizes for not calling her back. And then cancels their lunch plans so he can go off with Geri and the kids.

Someone said this on Tumblr, and I think it bears repeating here. It's interesting comparing Cordell's grief, over his wife and now his best friend, to Sam's grief. Cordell is clearly deeply affected, and is also clearly moving on. Sam is just unhinged.

Elsewhere. The gang stops for lunch and reminisces about Hoyt dressed as Santa, wearing assless chaps. Well. That's memorable. (Also, I know people who did the whole leaving horse manure and pretending it's reindeer poop thing. Some people are just a lot more into Santa than I was.) Trevor (Travis? Whatever) called Stella. She's apparently avoiding him. Probably a good call, sis. Maybe the only one you've made in 14 episodes. (To be fair, I didn't watch the first four.)

Micki shares tacos with her boyfriend, whose name I can never remember, having been stood up by Cordell. She tells him Cordell seemed "off," which is great now, Micki. Why didn't you pay more attention to that feeling last week? The BF thinks Micki herself might be off, because she misses her partner. And she calls him family. Captain What's His Face comes to talk to Trey (that's his name, dammit) and asks if he knows a guy who goes to the same physical therapist's office. Friends, when I've done PT, I don't even know people who go to my therapist, let alone just go to someone in the same office. But maybe folks in Austin are just friendlier than they are round these parts. Oh, wait. The guy is missing, and was last seen in a heated discussion with Trey? What's up with that, Trey?

Tanglewood. Cordell asks the nice lady (realtor? owner?) about Hoyt's "personal affects," and she says "they are probably out grazing." Because Hoyt's personal effects are four horses and a llama. Which Geri owns now. "Where am I going to board four horses and a llama?" she asks. Cordell is oddly befuddled (and adorably, cause y'all know how I feel about befuddled Jared), as if he didn't live on a ranch. With horses. The family business, remember? The kids are entranced. I would be too. It's a damn cute llama. One of the mares actually nursed the llama, so they're family. (Watch out for falling anvils.)

Micki's house. Trey says the "heated discussion" was the missing guy showing him a judo move. Captain asks Trey to ride along and help him investigate, and poor partnerless Micki asks if she can come with.

Tanglewood. Apparently Hoyt's personal affects also included gear for the four horses, because everyone is saddled up. Geri doesn't seem like an experienced rider - she keeps her hand on the pommel of the saddle, which I always heard was a rube move. (At least she's not clutching the saddle horn. No shade. It's hard not to. It's a perfect handle and it's just right there.) Cordell, of course, rides perfectly, as he does everything perfectly.

Everything except his job. And raising his kids. But do I care about those things? Not so much.

Geri thinks the llama looks unwell. What is she, a llama expert? A veterinarian? And what are they doing on this trail ride anyway - taking the herd back to the Walker ranch? It's 71 miles away! It's an hour and a half driving! How will they get the truck? Why didn't Cordell just say "let's go back to the ranch and get Daddy's cattle trailer?" WHY.

(No one cares. No one but you thinks about these things.)

Stella is on her phone, but it turns out she's (allegedly) re-reading Hoyt's last text, not chatting with friends. And then she says she was "responsible for everything." Oh, wait. We're going there? Stella is finally going to face the music? Cordell says it's not her fault, but they're interrupted by the llama, who apparently is in distress. Cordell wants to leave him at a random homestead. Permanently? Like, "excuse me, ma'am, but can you take this llama?" Or just while they get the horses home? I dunno.

August doesn't like this, because the llama and the horses are family. Geri distracts him by claiming Hoyt wanted him to have the jacket she's wearing, although I find this rather dubious, because why did she wait so long to mention it? Why is she wearing it herself? It's a lucky jacket he won from a tarot card reader and card hustler named The Mystifying Mehar, who was "infamous for getting out of trouble because of that jacket." Cordell then asks Geri to go off with the kids while he hangs back and tries to ditch the llama. Oh no, Cordell, don't do that. He's family!

Back at the ranch, Grandpa chases off some more journalists. He also ignores Gramma's concern about his cancer.

Trail ride. We skipped the whole bit where Cordell found someone willing to take in a goddamn llama, caught up with his kids, and told them what he did. They're mad that he wouldn't even try, and then Stella impulsively rides off, almost falling into a revine.

Team Sassyboots 2.0 questions the missing guy's wife. Turns out he left a note. Doesn't sound like he's as missing as they thought. He said he would "fix everything," i.e., their upcoming foreclosure. They check his workshop and find evidence that he was a military contractor, and apparently this means he should have no money problems whatsoever, because they don't understand how money works. His gun safe is empty, so they figure he's on some kind of "black ops" job. And if it's going to be complete by Monday, I assume it's something local, and not a military operation.

Walker Ranch. Someone who is Liam's "political opponent" comes to take care of him? And he's bringing barbeque? Is it poisoned? Gramma says Liam can't have barbecue because he's on bedrest, as if one had anything to do with the other. And... Grandpa wants to go mushroom hunting with her? Is that what the kids call it these days?

Trail ride. Cordell found someone to keep the horses. Temporarily? I'm still confused. Stella and Geri talk about Hoyt, and Stella asks about her forgiving him. Thinking about some forgiveness toward your own bad boy, Stella? She says "the two of you were always kind of like the dream to me," which is odd considering they were off-and-on, while her parents were very much on, and definitely seem more like couple goals. But okay. Stella confesses again that she is responsible, and Geri says "you let love in, maybe; that's your worse crime." I wonder if Stella blames herself for the fake truck crash that started the whole domino effect, or if she even realizes that's what happened. Obviously Geri wouldn't. Hmmm, I wonder what August thinks about all this?

Walker Ranch. Whoever this political opponent is, he must be a family friend, because he gave a toast at Cordell and Emily's rehearsal dinner. "Hey, when did your brother have such long hair," he asks, looking at a picture of the happy couple. Liam is growing facial hair again. I like it. Opponent suggests the spicy barbecue will put hair on Liam's chest and Liam tosses it aside and says "no, dammit, after I spent all that time waxing?" And Liam might drop out of whatever race he's in. I don't really care about that part. Let's talk more about Liam's chest.

I love that they can use actual Padalecki family photos as Cordell and Emily photos. No bad Photoshop needed!

Team Sassyboots 2.0. I don't really care about this missing guy either. Skipping it. You know, I understand this is meant to be an ensemble show, and Jared Padalecki and his stupid pretty face and long legs are not going to be in every scene. But Micki working a case with her boss and her boyfriend just bothers me and I don't want to be a part of it.

Trail ride. They're bedding down in the barn for the night? What the fuck? Where are they? Why didn't they just drive home? I'm so confused! Cordell and Geri talk about Hoyt some more. Cordell makes an awkward comment about "us together" and then amends it to mean all of us together, as in you and me and the kids camping right now, not, like, you and me together together, and then does a little eyebrow thing like whoo, good job, talked your way out of that one. NO, CORDELL, YOU ARE NOT AS SMOOTH AS YOU THINK YOU ARE. Anyway. There's a lot of guilt about poor dead Hoyt. Cordell tells Geri her name is still on the Sidestep lease (lease? I thought they owned it?), as if being part owner of a bar is always going to be a good thing, with no liability at all. And they don't kiss, for which I am grateful. The horses are really acting up. I hope nothing's happening.

Cordell checks on the horses and apologizes to the mare for leaving the llama behind. He realizes he made the wrong choice. "You know what," he says. "Let's go fix this."

I adore him.

Walker Ranch. Grandpa and Gramma have been mushroom hunting and are now getting silly. Um, what kind of mushrooms did you two find? And then Grandpa says "tonight's about Hoyt," which I do not understand. "I saw the joy he gave you," Grandpa says. Yes, Grandpa, and do you not find that even a little bit fishy? And then he decides to build something.

Trail ride. Cordell went and retrieved his llama! He is precious. I love him so much. He has some pratfalls in the same ravine that almost caught Stella, and then his family shows up and rescues him. (Can I point out that his "a-ha-ha" laugh is the same one we heard when he opened his gift from Dean in "A Very Supernatural Christmas" and I'm not sure it appeared in any other episode?) August offers the Lucky Jacket to use as a llama harness to haul the little guy out of the ravine. Oh, and it turns out the llama is about to give birth.

And, while I'm skipping Team Sassyboots 2.0, it's hard to ignore that Micki is now in a UFC fight. That might have been an interesting story after all. Y'all can fill me in.

Walker Ranch. They're building a little stable. Because this big horse ranch doesn't have enough stables. Liam, who was bedridden to the point of not being able to eat barbeque yesterday, is now helping build. He gets a text from his former fiance, who wants to talk. And Grandpa has decided to treat his cancer. Happy endings all around!

Micki's house. She says she was passive-aggressive with Walker because she's afraid of losing him. I get it, sweetie. He's someone you don't want to lose.

Trail ride. August is carrying the newborn llama, wrapped in the Lucky Jacket. Geri wants to cut out before they get to the ranch. She's going to ride the bus home? Seriously? Isn't her car at the Walker Ranch? She and Cordell talk abou their unfinished business. Yeah, like the fact she was probably involved in your wife's murder? That unfinished business, Geraldine? Grandpa meets them before they get to the ranch and informs them he has a strict no-llama policy on the ranch. But luckily, he just built an alpaca stable. They’re alpacas, not llamas. So, Geri called him, but how did he know they were alpacas? Did she send pictures? I am so confused. Anyway. The new family goes into their new home. They name the baby alpaca Hoyt, of course.

Little Hoyt, guys, he's the sweetest thing.

Breakfast. Political Opponent gives Liam a contribution. Oh, I get it. They're running for the same office, and he thinks Liam will draw votes away from his other opponent. Shrewd. Stella calls Trevor and says she might need to leave the past behind. And you are the past, Trevor. Cordell sees a truck pull up and runs out to meet Micki. She apologizes for holding a grudge over him leaving. She tries to shake hands and he hugs her instead. She thinks they can just be friends now instead of partners, and he says they're not friends, they're family. And then she oohs and aahs over the alpacas, which she recognizes immediately as alpacas and not llamas, and also points out that little Hoyt is actually a girl. Oops. Awkward. Cordell is surprised she can just tell. "Most people can." Yeah, you are the worst rancher's son ever. Then Cordell sees the fence is carved with a memorial to Hoyt. Aw.

He is also the sweetest thing.

So. Less drama than last week. More warmth. A ridiculous B story that was as annoying as giving Cas his own plot. Will I still watch next week? Yeah, probably. I have questions. How did Grandpa know they were alpacas? Where is the baby daddy? Can Cordell and his rancher father really not tell the difference between a male and female alpaca? Why is Geri riding the bus home, when her car is at the Walker's? Why is she avoiding the Walker Ranch? Will August ever get his own plot again?

It's just a shame that this episode didn't have any shout-outs to Supernatural, like the last one did...

#walker #recap/review #tv recap #1.14 #spoilers

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ot3tropetober · 4 years

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Fic: A Bushel And A Peck

AU: Eliot runs an apple orchard. @aimlessglee [AO3]

“What the hell is this?” Eliot asked, but he took the folder Hardison was handing him.

“Flavor,” Hardison said. “Background. Worldbuilding. Just read it, okay? I spend a lot of damn time on these aliases. You need to know who you are if we have to deploy them.”

Eliot flipped through the file. “Why is there a picture of me holding a basket of apples?”

“Just read it!” Hardison said.

Jeremiah Atherton, Jem to absolutely everyone or suffer the consequences, stood at the booth at the entrance to his family’s orchard. Momma and Pops had finally taken the plunge and bought a place down in Florida for the winter. The days were still sunlit and warm, but the nights were getting nippy, and they’d headed south a few weeks ago, promising to be back in the spring. They’d earned it, he thought. He smiled at the pretty blonde beside him - he’d known Heather since they were kids, even babysat her a few times when their parents went out and did stuff together. She made the best apple cider doughnuts in the county, and her pies were melt-in-your-mouth good. Their families had worked together a long time. It was a solid partnership, kind of part of his inheritance, and only he knew if he had a couple of soft thoughts about her every one in a while.

“Is that supposed to be Parker?” Eliot asked.

“Yes, it’s Parker,” Hardison said.

“Apple orchard, huh,” Eliot said. “Kinda…not very tough. Why can’t I run cattle?”

“Damn, Eliot, do you know the kind of effort it takes to keep a small operation running in this economy?” Hardison scowled. “Cows take care of themselves. Trees don’t. Also you can’t run cattle like that in New England.”

“Huh,” Eliot said, and went back to the file.

“Think it’s gonna be a good weekend?” Jem asked her.

Heather grinned. “It’s always a good weekend in the orchard.” She gestured around her. “Sun’s out. Nice and cool. People are gonna come pick a ton of apples and eat a bunch of doughnuts.”

“And they’ll drink cider,” Jem told her, hefting a gallon jug in each hand. “Don’t forget about the cider.”

“I never could,” Heather promised.

“It’s farm fresh,” he said.

“Honey, I know,” she said, putting her hand over his. “Why do you think I started making doughnuts? I wanted to get out of cider pressing.”

“‘Scuse me,” somebody said. They looked up to see a very tall, very handsome Black man dressed in a v-neck sweater that clung to the muscles of his chest, an expensive coat, and a scarf.

“Uh huh,” Eliot said. I see you.“

"What?” Hardison asked, all innocence.

“Hey, man, what can I do for you?” Jem said.

“I’m here to pick apples,” the guy said. “I kinda thought that was what people did here?”

“Weren’t you here last weekend?” Heather asked suddenly. She leaned her elbow on the counter and cupped her chin in her hand. “You were. You bought a dozen doughnuts and a half-gallon of cider.”

The guy smiled at her. “Good memory. I was, and I did. But you make a couple of pies and a batch of applesauce and boom, you need more apples.”

“And the weekend before that,” Heather said.

“I…like apples?” the guy said.

“We should make you a punch card or something,” Jem teased. “Tell you what.” He took one of the orchard’s business cards from a rack and scribbled on the back of it. “Come four weekends and I’ll give you a free peck the fifth time.” He held out the card, and the guy took it and looked at it fondly before he tucked it in his pocket.

“Deal,” the guy said.

“Take a doughnut,” Heather urged, wrapping one in a napkin as Jem pulled a basket off the stack and put it on the counter. “On me. You’ll need your energy.”

“Thanks,” the guy said. He smiled at them as he took the basket and the doughnut.

“Hey, man, what’s your name?” Jem called.

“Alistair,” the guy said. “Alistair Weaver.”

“What are you in this fantasy, some kind of fancy city lawyer?” Eliot asked.

“Well, yeah,” Hardison said. “That’s kind of how it works.”

Alistair did come back the next weekend, and then the weekend after that. They had a nice conversation every time Alistair showed up at the booth, which he did more and more often, coming back for a refreshing glass of cider or one of Heather’s sandwiches or a bag of cinnamon almonds. Jem found he was looking forward to seeing him. This time, Alistair was in a more casual outfit: a fleece and fitted jeans. He looked good, sophisticated in a kind of way Jem couldn’t pull off.

“Can’t resist that free peck, huh?” Jem teased.

“Not when you’ve got the best apples in the state,” Alistair said, and grinned.

“Did you know a peck can also be a quick kiss?” Heather said suddenly. “Usually on the cheek, but sometimes on the lips.” They both looked at her.

“She’s just kind of like that,” Jem told Alistair. “Says things.”

“I get it,” Alistair said.

“He owes you a peck,” Heather insisted. “Come on, Jemothy. Cough up.”

“That’s not my name,” Jem mumbled.

“Hey, if it’ll make you happy,” Alistair said. He leaned over the counter and presented his cheek to Jem.

“Uh,” Jem said.

“We’ll both do it,” Heather said. “Ready, Jem?” She pushed herself up on the counter and gave Alistair a dry little kiss on the cheek. Jem didn’t move.

“I get it,” Alistair said, winking at Jem. “You’re a big talker. You talk the talk, but you don’t peck the peck.”

“I do,” Jem insisted, and he leaned in and gave Alistair a quick kiss, barely brushing his lips over Alistair’s warm, freshly shaved skin. Alistair smelled really good, honestly. It kinda made Jem tingly inside. He wanted to press his nose against Alistair’s neck and just breathe him in.

“Now that’s customer service,” Alistair said. He took his basket and the doughnut Heather had insisted on giving him again. He grinned at them. “See you in a couple of hours.”

“A guy like that doesn’t drive out from the city every weekend just because he likes our apples,” Heather told him. “He likes you.”

“Maybe he likes you,” Jem said.

Heather shrugs. “Everybody likes me. He likes you especially. I’ve seen the way he looks at you.”

Jem squinted at her. “I don’t think so.” But he was definitely waiting for Alistair to come back, he realized, as he weighed people’s baskets of apples and took their money. His heart jumped around a little when he saw Alistair approaching, or maybe that was his stomach. He’d stress-eaten a couple of doughnuts between customers. He snuck a glance at Heather, but she was busy, thank heavens. He’d had enough of her help for one day.

“Hey, man,” he said as Alistair handed the basket over.

“Hey yourself,” Alistair said, smiling sweetly. Jem ducked his face to hide the fact that he was blushing a little. Alistair leaned on the counter. “About earlier…I hope I didn’t make you uncomfortable. Seemed like kind of a joke between you and Heather, you know? I was just trying to play along.”

“What, the kiss?” Jem said airily, pretending like it hadn’t meant anything to him. “Nah. Heather’s like that. She likes to meddle. Don’t ever play Truth or Dare with her. I’ll give you that one for free.”

“Oh, that was a kiss to you?” Alistair joked. “Damn, I guess it’s a good thing I never asked for your number.”

“No, it wasn’t…” Jem started and then squinted at Alistair. “I gave you my number. It’s on the business card. You could have called any time. If, uh, you wanted to call. For whatever reason.”

“I didn’t think that was your personal number,” Alistair said. “Besides, I was kind of busy this week. Had to rush to finish all the work for a big trial so I could come out here today. Then I find out if I did call you and ask you out, the kiss I’m gonna get at the end of the date is a peck on the cheek.”

“That’s not how I kiss,” Jem protested.

Alistair raised one eyebrow and smirked.

“Not on a date, anyway,” Jem mumbled. He felt half-hypnotized by the warmth in Alistair’s deep voice and dark eyes.

“Tell you what,” Alistair said. “I’ll come back next week and you can prove it. When does the orchard close?”

“Seven,” Jem said.

Alistair nodded. “I’ll make reservations for eight. Where’s good around here?”

“My place,” Jem said boldly. “Not a better cook in the county.”

“It’s a date,” Alistair said. He checked his watch. “Hey, let me pay you for those apples.” Jem startled out of his daze and started bagging them up.

“You leaving already?” Heather said, finally disentangled from her customers. She started putting doughnuts and a half-dozen hand pies into a box. “Aww, Alistair. I feel like I barely saw you.”

“Don’t you worry,” Alistair said. “I’ll see you both next weekend.” He took the apples and the bakery box and handed over some cash.

“Y'ain’t that slick, ace,” Eliot said, but he said it fondly. He reached over and patted Hardison’s knee.

“You wanna put together the aliases, be my guest,” Hardison said, tapping at his keyboard and frowning at his screen. He softened up enough to smile at Eliot.

The date went well. Really well, actually. Jem had made dessert to go with the simple bread and stew he’d prepared, but dessert had to wait while he proved to Alistair that hell yeah, he kissed better than a peck on the cheek. Alistair made it back to his AirBnB that night, but after the next couple of weekends, he stopped bothering to book one, and they started waking up cuddled together on crisp Sunday mornings. Honestly, their relationship was pretty perfect: Alistair worked in the city in the week and came out on the weekends. Sometimes he even helped in the orchard, though operations were winding down and Jem was shifting to pumpkins, the corn maze, and hay rides, motorized and unmotorized.

“It’s not like work at all,” he said, standing in the front booth with Heather while Jem tinkered around in the engine of the old farm truck they used for hay rides sometimes. “Work is all research and computers and suits and yelling. This is peaceful. There’s fresh air. People are happy to see me.”

“I’m happy to see you,” Heather told him. He put his arm around her companionably. Jem grinned at both of them. He looked down at his stomach.

“Aw, hell,” he said. “Got grease all over my t-shirt.” He shrugged off his overshirt and reached down and stripped off his t-shirt. He put his overshirt back on and started to do up the buttons.

“WAIT,” Heather yelled. She ran to the house and came back with a glass, which she filled with cider and handed to Jem. “Alistair! Do you have your phone on you? Take a picture!”

“Way ahead of you, H,” Alistair said, coming up and crouching. “Jem, baby, strike a pose on that hay bale.”

“This is dumb,” Jem said.

“It’s absolutely not,” Alistair said. “I’ve got a buddy in advertising and we’re gonna use this to make an ad campaign for the orchard. Double your business easy.”

“We’re going to sell so much cider!” Heather said excitedly, clasping her hands together.

“Now that’s too much,” Eliot said.

“You wanna see the cider ad campaign or not?” Hardison asked.

“…yeah,” Eliot said.

“Back page,” Hardison said, still staring into his screen. Eliot flipped through. He had to admit, Hardison had done a hell of a job. He didn’t remember lying half-shirtless on a hay bale at any point, but looking at the photos, maybe he’d just forgotten. Hardison asked him to do a lot of stuff that seemed foolish at the time, and Eliot tried to forget it.

“Are we gonna use this any time soon?” he asked.

“You never know,” Hardison said mysteriously.

“I know,” Parker said, coming down from the ceiling. “And I like it. So maybe.”

“Well,” Eliot said. “Could be worse.”

“I know you know how good you’ve got it,” Hardison told him.

“Really good,” Parker agreed.

“Really good,” Eliot said, nodding along. He grinned at them. “The best.”

“And don’t you forget it,” Parker told him. “Let’s go find some cider doughnuts. I need to know what those are.”

“Let’s do it,” Eliot said, and together they pried Hardison away from his computer and went to find an orchard.

#au: apple orchard #ot3tropetober

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stunt-lads · 4 years

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So, we know like a real relationship between a vampire and werewolf is like super frowned upon but so far all the losers seem pretty chill about it. Does that change when Richie and Eddie stop being a joke and actually start hooking up? Is there, like, a vampire/werewolf council out there that's like THIS CANNOT STAND??? Universe building time!!

The Losers are all Losers for a reason, the wolves and the vampires.

For vampires there’s a council because leave it to immortals who hate humans to decide to lead like they do. All of them are outcasts. In the vampires cases it’s a little tougher because they can’t go to some places, aren’t welcomed by Upstanding Council Approved locations. (And it’s made doubly hard for them after they start smelling of wolf.)

In Stan’s case, he didn’t give up his religious beliefs. For vampires as a society they tend to not believe in any higher being, they’re immortal and that’s enough for them to believe they’re Gods among mortals. But for Stan, being Jewish is a huge part of him as a human and asking him to give that up is unreasonable, so he continues to worship and he’s ostracized for it. (Not to mention in the past he was married to a human woman and That’s a taboo thing, especially since she knew he’s a vampire and didn’t mind.)

Eddie doesn’t keep away from humans. He works with them frequently, opting to put his time and energy into doing things he enjoys, (this decade he’s choosing to be a risk analyst, but in the past he was a taxi driver, hence his road rage) instead of simply living out his life in a secluded castle or a house in the forest, (plus he tries to pretend he’s still human even though he hasn’t been for a long time and that’s a Big No-No by vampire standards)

Bev is, arguably, the one most vampires hate the most. She’s easygoing and welcoming to all kinds of people and races, not to mention her fashion line is bringing back a more gothic look and attire and the Old Blood and Council don’t like that. (There’s also the sexism, most Old Blood vampires expect women vampires to be beautiful seductresses and Bev is just a nice lady who likes to wear shorts and t-shirts instead of ball gowns)

Mike, bless him, is what I’m going to lovingly dub ‘vampire vegan’ which means he never feeds from people, choosing instead to live on a farm and drink from his cattle, it’s not the best source of nutrition but he can’t live knowing he hurt someone, especially if he bleeds them dry. Cattle can be replaced but in his eyes a human life can’t.

For the wolves they don’t have a set leadership. They have packs who are territorial and aggressive and tend to rely on face-to-face confrontation to deal with things. It’s unfortunate but to the werewolves they, as a species, prefer to embrace their baser instincts, some even transform and then never turn back, preferring wolf form to human.

Bill’s pack is small but that’s because Bill isn’t technically leader material. He’s small for a pack leader, and he’s kind, which in werewolf society means he’s a pushover and shouldn’t have a pack at all.

Ben is one of the werewolves who chooses to stay human for as long as he can, changing only once a month when the moon’s pull is the strongest and he has no choice. He always changes with Richie and Bill close by and sticks beside them, afraid he’s going to hurt someone. (Even though he never has.)

And Richie is just....Richie. He’s loud and boisterous and comes across as a lot, but he means well and he’s always trying to do good and be better. He likes to lounge as a wolf sometimes to just get scraps of food and he spent a long time, before meeting Bill, as a wolf in the forest, hunting deer and rabbits and almost forgetting he isn’t an actual wolf.

Ok, now that that’s all out of the way, onto the actual question.

Amongst the Losers they don’t care. But in a good way!

Stan’s known Eddie for a few decades and he hasn’t seen him as flustered or happy as when their whole group is together. So he teases but it’s always gentle and just that, teasing. He’s happy for Eddie.

Bev and Mike are worried at first, but when Eddie makes it clear to them that he’s happy, that he doesn’t want to be miserable again, and that he doesn’t “give a fuck what the council says” they smile and roll their eyes and support him.

On the other side, Bill and Ben are immediately supportive of Richie. For them their packmate’s happiness means everything and they know that without Eddie’s interference Richie could have actually died. And that makes them upset and terrified to think about (sometimes Ben still panics about it, shaking and crying and whispering “what if” in their shared space.)

When it becomes obvious they’re a serious couple and Richie starts to smell like vampire when he goes places, word travels fast. And more than a few Old Blood clans try to take them out, they try to kill the werewolf to set an example to Eddie.

On the other hand, werewolves who scent that Eddie belongs to Richie they either back off immediately because they have no interest suddenly, or they get more aggressive, smelling both wolf and vampire on him and wanting to rip him to shreds.

All in all it’s a very dangerous life but they’re all supportive of each other. (Not to mention eventually Ben and Bev also wind up together and they’d be hypocrites if they didn’t support Eddie and Richie.)

#ecks barks back #ask #thelxckblog #One Last Crimson Kiss #this is my new fave AU and i don’t care abt anything else at all

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talkfastromance4 · 4 years

Note

Ashton's kids guilting him into getting a dog with a month(s) long plan that Uncle Cal helped with

this is cute as hell and calum so would

sorry this is a long one!

__________

It’s not that you or Ashton didn’t want a dog, you were both dog people and grew up with a furry friend. It was all about timing. You met when the band came back out of hiatus and they were gaining more fans, more followers, and more scrutiny from the media. In between him touring, your work schedule and visiting him on tour, you both agreed it wouldn’t be fair to the dog.

After you got married you decided it was a good time, the band was in a good place. Still getting hype but it calmed down some so managing a loving dog together would be perfect. Then you found out you were pregnant with Fletcher.

As the years progressed and your family grew and responsibilities changed, the prospect of getting a dog shrunk more and more. Your lives were busy with four kids.

It’s a Sunday morning while you and the Irwin troops were waiting patiently at the kitchen table while Ashton was busy cooking up his famous fluffy pancakes. Mylo, who is one now, is drinking milk from his sippy cup watching his older siblings interact with one another.

“All right, here comes the flapjacks!” Ashton announces waving his spatula in the air.

“They’re pancakes, daddy!” Henry giggles reaching for his own sippy cup that’s filled with orange juice.

“Oh, you’re right, Henny, my mistake,” Ashton winks and serves a pancake on each eager child’s plate. You and Ashton both split off to cut the pancakes before lathering them up with syrup.

You’re busy ripping up the pancake for Mylo into miniscule pieces so he won’t choke when Ivy shouts “UH OH!”

You glance up to see her looking down at the floor.

“It’s okay, princess,” Ashton says bending down to pick up the fallen pancake. He places it on a napkin and shoves a large piece of pancake in his mouth.

“If we had a dog he’d eat it right up,” Fletcher informs who is now six. He eyes his dad while he shoves a hefty amount of pancake in his mouth as well.

“Dogs can’t eat pancakes,” Ashton says.

“Piggy does!” Henry exclaims referring to Uncle Luke’s dog while also trying to shovel a large amount of pancake in his mouth. The boys always had to do what Ashton did.

“Hey, hey, smaller bites please,” you scold wiping Henry’s mouth of syrup.

“Piggy eats everything,” Ashton laughs then brings up going to the park thus resulting in the topic of a dog falling short.

***

“I’m bored,” Fletcher whines shuffling his way into the living room where you and Ashton were watching Parks and Rec. Ivy and Mylo were down for the nap and you thought Fletcher and Henry were upstairs playing cowboys and dinosaurs.

“Where’s Henry?” you ask.

“Pretending to read,” Fletcher grumbles collapsing onto the couch opposite where you and Ashton were cuddling.

Nap time was when you and Ashton could get a little bit of alone time because Fletcher and Henry always played at that time too. Henry can only read a few simple words so he’ll sometimes go in his room to have quiet time where he rifles through his books. It was adorable.

“Why don’t you read with him, buddy?” Ashton asks threading his fingers through your hair.

“I don’t wanna,” he grumbles then jolts into a sitting position. “If we had a dog I could play with him outside! Then I wouldn’t have to be quiet for naptime!”

His hazel eyes are shining and you can’t help but smile at how much he’s like his father. If he’s got his mind set on something he’ll do every tactic to try and get it.

“Fletcher, we aren’t getting a dog right now,” Ashton sighs smiling lightly at the tv screen. Andy just said something stupidly funny.

“But Daaaad! I’ll walk it and clean up it’s poop! I always help uncle Cal feed Duke!”

“I know you do and you do a great job, Fletch. Maybe when Ivy and Mylo are older we can get one,” Ashton reasons. You pinch his thigh in silent praise at his compromise.

Fletcher sighs once more then runs upstairs to his room.

“Why’s he so dog crazy all of a sudden?” Ashton mumbles pulling you closer to his side. You rest your head on his shoulder.

“All of his uncles have dogs and we’re the only ones who don’t have one,” you shrug. “He is six, Ash, dogs are all that’s on a little boy’s mind.”

And it continues like that for the next three weeks. Fletcher will randomly insert how a dog would would make any situation better during a family occasion. Henry joined in with his brother and soon after Ivy was crawling around acting like a puppy when she played with her brothers.

Finally, Ashton caved and brought up the idea of going to a shelter to find a dog that is at least two years old and potty trained. All the kids are in bed so it’s safe to discuss.

“We don’t have time to potty train a dog on top of our three other kids,” Ashton sighs scrolling through the website on his tablet.

You sit in his lap wrapping your arms around his neck and pepper his cheek in kisses.

“You’re the best daddy in the whole world,” you praise. He squeezes your waist as you drag his mouth to yours, the photos forgotten for a moment as he shifts you onto the counter.

“Haven’t called me that in years, baby girl,” he hums slipping his hands under your shirt.

“Get us a dog and I’ll bring it back,” you smirk.

“Done.” He crushes his lips to yours promising to take the kids to the shelter tomorrow.

***

“Which one do you want to take home?” Ashton asks Fletcher who is still staring in amazement at the three dogs before him. He’s stunned into silence while his siblings are petting them all. Mylo is in your arms.

“Really daddy?” Fletcher looks up at him, tears in his eyes and you feel yours sting with tears as well.

“Really, buddy,” Ashton smiles bending down to ruffle his son’s curls. “You’re the oldest, so you decide.”

Fletcher flung his arms around Ashton’s shoulders squeezing him as tight as he can while Ashton rubs his back lovingly. Fletcher decides on a medium sized black and tan dog, she’s an australian cattle dog/german shepard mix and is two years old.

Her name is Daisy and she licked Fletcher as soon as he approached her.

The other kids fell in love with her too as her tail wagged and smelled each one. You and Ashton had to remind Ivy to pet her nicely but Daisy handled all of them well.

After signing the papers and buying her supplies, you got to take your new family pet home. Calum was waiting anxiously in the backyard, he picked up other supplies while you were at the shelter and couldn’t wait to see the kids’ faces.

“Her name’s Daisy uncle Cal!” Fletcher exclaims running to him. Daisy trots along behind him and sniffs at Calum’s legs.

“She’s perfect, Fletch! Good job!” Calum grins petting her ears then watches her scamper off with Fletcher, Henry and Ivy. Mylo is asleep in your arms from the craziness of the day.

“Thanks for finding the shelter man,” Ashton says.

“No problem. Glad to see Fletch-man followed my instructions.”

“What do you mean?” you ask.

“Who do you think told him to keep badgering Ash about a dog?” Calum grins mischievously then runs off to play with the kids and Daisy.

#dad!ash #dad!ashton #dad!ashton blurb #ashton blurb #ashton irwin blurb #5sos blurb

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desperationandgin · 5 years

Text

Deep as the Road is Long (Part III, Chapter 25)

Rating: Fluff ‘n smut

Also Read On: AO3

Previous Chapter

November 2017

A wedding in November, in Scotland, will be wet. The weather is categorically rainy if not a little misty most days, especially in the fall. Everyone knew this the moment the date was set.

Facts don’t keep Claire from having a slight panic attack when it begins to downpour ten minutes before the wedding and she still has to walk from Lallybroch proper to the large barn where the wedding and reception both will be held. Everything else has been perfect; her dress had to be loosened just a bit to make room for a little more fullness to the chest, but it was easy to take care of in the hands of Jenny. The barn, a brand new structure built for cattle that will arrive in the spring, only smells of fresh wood now, white lights strung up to give a modern-rustic atmosphere. Nothing has been out of place, no one’s surprised her with snags, but she’s in her dress, makeup and hair done, and can’t imagine walking through wet grass and mud to the actual barn. There’s a flurry of seeing if perhaps someone can simply drive her the short distance when Jenny excuses herself and starts speaking through a minimal crack in the door, hissing at who Claire assumes is Jamie about traditions and superstition.

“Sassenach,” comes his voice from the other side of the door, speaking directly to her now and bypassing his sister. “If ye let me in I promise it willna be bad luck. Besides, we woke together, what could change now?”

Taking a gulping breath of air and blaming her hormones, she nods at her soon to be sister-in-law and looks up as Jamie walks in. For a moment, she forgets everything at the sight of him in a kilt and tartan, hair loose and curls free but well-groomed, facial hair close shaven. Immediately she’s at ease as he kneels in front of her, taking one of her hands. “Ye ken we could get marrit covered in muck and it wouldna dampen any of the happiness?”

Swallowing, she nods, taking a deep breath and letting it out.

“Grab yer bouquet,” he says as he stands. Once she has it in hand, he simply picks her up, lifting her effortlessly.

“Jamie!”

“Ye’ll no’ worry about ruining the bottom of yer dress. Or yer shoes.”

It’s such a sweet gesture that she doesn’t bother to tell him her hair is going to be a wreck. Not to mention her makeup. She simply tucks her face against his shoulder once he walks outside, laughing softly at how ridiculous this must look. “My hero,” she murmurs, not even sure if he hears her.

With minimal damage to her hair and makeup (damage that Jenny fixes easily), the wedding proceeds as planned. Except for a brief moment when they need the rings; their wayward ringbearer decides to run toward freedom and the back exit of the barn. When Jamie jogs to catch him mid-ceremony and tosses him playfully over his shoulder, it warms Claire in a way that makes her reflexively press a hand to her still flat (at least when clothed) stomach. This man was made to be a father, and that her body has given them such a sweet surprise is something she hasn’t stopped being grateful for. Shocked, but grateful.

After the ceremony, his mother’s rings both on her finger, their kiss isn’t shy in front of a crowd that amounts to his entire family (Uncles and cousins she’d only met at the engagement party two weeks prior) and Gillian. It has her turning a nice shade of pink as they part and the reception begins. It’s a long party, filled with plenty of whisky and dancing and stolen moments just for them. (Claire’s pretty sure Gillian is flirting with a man named Rupert, but she doesn’t keep tabs well enough to know for certain.) When they dance toward the end of the night and everyone’s in a happy but sleepy state, she rests her head on Jamie’s shoulder and sways to Little Girl Blue, just as they had two years ago.

All parties must come to an end, and at one in the morning, they stumble to Jamie’s old room and collapse in bed, both of them too exhausted to do anything but remove clothing. When she wakes, sunlight filtering in through the curtains, Claire realizes Jamie’s still asleep--a rare thing, waking before him. It gives her the luxury of watching him though, her husband, heart aching in the best way as she manages to catch him smiling while he dreams. He’s beautiful, this husband of hers, and she reaches out to drag her knuckles along his scruff. Unable to help herself, she leans in to brush her lips against his softly. He never opens his eyes, never makes a sound, but she feels him kiss back just before pulling her closer. She’s very nearly on top of him as his hands glide down the smooth expanse of her back, coming to rest on her backside.

“Good morning,” she finally murmurs softly, nuzzling her nose against his.

Jamie hums low in the back of his throat, and when he speaks his voice is low and gravelly from non-use. “Mornin’, Sassenach.” He corrects himself. “Mornin’, wife.”

She grins and tries to kiss him at the same time before responding in kind. “Husband.”

One of his hands moves back around only to find hers, pressing their palms flat together, feeling their new wedding bands touch. He’d finally taken off his first ring at the same time Claire removed hers, placing them both in the wooden box his mother’s rings once resided in. The heirloom, freed from storage, now sits proudly cleaned and polished on their dresser, holding other precious things as well. (Jamie’s father’s ring, a brooch that once belonged to Claire’s mother.) “What is it about ye, Claire?” he asks quietly, one finger now tracing the lines of her palm.

“What do you mean?” she responds, taking the opportunity to bend down and kiss him a little more fully, belly pressing to his while they’re both still warm and languid from sleep.

“I’m no’ even sure,” he tells her truthfully. “Only that to see ye each morning makes me love ye even more than the day before. How can I keep falling in love wi’ ye, day after day?”

“Do you have any idea that the things you say would make every woman in Scotland throw themselves at your feet?”

He chuckles softly before kissing her again, then nuzzling the side of her nose. “I dinna ken about that.”

“Oh, I do. You’ll have to trust me on the fact,” she murmurs as she repositions herself directly on top of him, pushing all of her hair to one side to better kiss him. It’s a deep kiss (they should have both gotten up to brush their teeth, but she doesn’t care and it doesn’t seem to be that he does either), one that has her tongue lewdly gliding over his. Claire smiles to herself as she feels his hands gravitate toward her (apparently irresistible) backside again, able to feel his want for her low against her stomach.

Slowly, her kisses travel downward in small swatches of skin at a time. She takes a moment to appreciate the pulse against his neck, sucking, then kissing before moving along the middle of his chest, nosing the hair there before continuing on her path.

“Where do ye think you’re going, Sassenach?” His voice is suspiciously hoarse.

Laughing quietly to herself, her tongue circles his navel, laughing again when she feels each muscle tense and then ripple into relaxation. “I have a plan,” she promises. “I’m sure you can guess it if you think long and hard.” Her words make her snicker, her own private joke.

“Oh, I have an idea, and if ye must know, both me and my cock believe it to be a verra good idea.”

His words make her laugh outright, delighted to feel his hands in her hair and see the warmth of his smile before settling between his thighs. “With sweet words like that, how could I ever resist you, Mr. Fraser?” Before he can answer, her hand grasps the base of him, mouth covering him in slow, enveloping warmth.

Jamie is positive that no other pleasure on the face of the planet could ever compare to that of his wife taking him into her mouth, but still, he manages to speak somewhat coherently. “Ye never were good at pretending ye didna want me, Mrs. Fraser.”

It’s an appropriate call-out, but it only makes her more focused on the task at hand. It’s empowering, to know she can reduce him to wanting gasps and groans; a big hulking Scot who could likely murder with one cold and well-placed stare, made to whimper by her mouth. It’s incredible, and as she moves, one hand rests at his hip, lightly digging her fingernails into his flesh; enough to leave half-moon shapes in his skin. His responding grunt at the hint of pain mixing with pleasure has her looking for tells already that he’s soon to give over to pleasure.

“Mo chridhe, mo nighean donn.”

There it is. Not one but two of his terms of endearment for her, and in Gaelic, to boot. Raising her head, Claire kisses his inner thigh before shifting upward, leaning over him to kiss his throat as she guides him into her body. With a quiet sigh, she shudders as he fills and stretches her, rocking slowly for now. “How is this better every time?” she asks, appreciating the fact that pleasuring him was as good as foreplay for her, effortlessly rising and falling on him, unable to keep a quiet whimper from escaping her lips.

Jamie’s hands rest against her hips, rolling his own upward against her. He’s having a harder time focusing on words, and instead just shakes his head. He doesn’t know, but he feels it too, the way it seems as though pleasure is a fuse from the moment they begin kissing and touching. The explosion is inevitable, and together they can only delay the end result for so long. She craves the warmth and friction, gasping as pleasure prickles up her spine and back down again. As she rocks, she manages to grind right against his pubic bone, and once she figures that out, she’s shameless. Claire rocks as hard as she can into the motion, both hands spread on his chest as she does.

“There. There, Jamie, God, don’t--stop.” Her words falter as her eyes close and she begins moving in a blur. She can feel his fingers tightening against her hips, can feel him straining with the effort to maintain control.

”Tha mi gu bhith a ‘tighinn,” he mutters; he’s coming, soon.

It isn’t the words she understands, but the fact that he’s speaking another language, and she lets herself go, crying out his name with her body bowed over his, foreheads touching, fingers wound tightly in his hair. When she falls apart she can feel the way her body tightens and pulls, trying to get him deeper, trying to make him lose control.

It works; Jamie’s eyes slam shut and he thrusts upward once, twice more, then wraps his arms completely around Claire, crushing her to his chest (soon, her belly will be too big for them to love one another this way) as he spills into her. Together they pant, the sound seeming to fill the room. Slowly, she sinks down so that she’s laying right on top of him along his chest; in a moment she’ll need to get up, but for now, she simply listens to his heartbeat. Once she can breathe again, she smiles and kisses his chest one more time.

“That was a nice preview of our honeymoon.”

Both of them chuckle about it before Jamie pulls her up to snag her lips again.

“The rest of our lives, Sassenach.”

Next Chapter

#outlander #outlander fic #jamie x claire #jamie fraser #claire fraser #datril #deep as the road is long

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joshslater · 5 years

Text

Summer with Uncle Bob

I don't even know how many years ago I last saw uncle Bob. His small cattle farm in Oklahoma is like 30 hours drive away from Tacoma, and we couldn't afford to fly, so the visits had been few and far apart. Now at least I am old enough to make the trip on my own. A three day greyhound bus trek down the west coast to LA and then inland through Phoenix to Tulsa. But even in my sleep deprived state there was no mistaking uncle Bob. He looked just as I remembered him, a caricature of a cattle farmer. Despite being my fathers younger brother, he looked way more imposing with his broad, rough body barely contained in his Levis jeans and Carhartt long sleeve shirt. And a John Deere cap on top it all off.

He picked me up at the bus station in his ludicrously oversized truck. Unlike in the coast states the wear showed he actually needed such a vehicle. He tossed my bags onto the flat bed and we jumped in for the 2+ hour drive to his farm. Although the sun was mercilessly shining at us, and the scent of cow, diesel, man and dashboard mixed, I was getting less tired. Bob appeared genuinely happy to see me, and wanted to know as much as he could about my life.

I told him about mum and dad, my sister, our home. I told him about the few friends I had, our interest for engineering and how we competed in robowars. I told him about school and what subjects I like and don't like. How I excelled in math but never seem to get my growth spurt to do anything right in PE. I told him about the bullying that had gotten worse every year as my oppressors had outpaced me. I told him about beatings and the "accident" without witnesses that December that put me in hospital. I told him how my friends begun to stay away to avoid having an accident themselves, or be witness to one. I told him that his invitation to spend the summer with him was why I hadn't killed myself.

- We haven't seen much of each other, but we're all family here. I want you to know that you can always call me if you want to talk. There will always be a bed waiting if you want to come down here and get away from everything. No one will bother you.

We shared a silent moment.

- But not this time! I can't get away from a livestock farm for long. The only reason I could pick you up is because Tom and Sib expects you to pull your weight while here. I know it will feel like a punishment, but I'm not going to give you something you can't handle.

The farm was really two farms that had joined at some point. Bob and Cathleen lived on the larger of the farm houses, while Tomasz and Sbigniew, or Tom and Sib as everyone called them, lived in the smaller farm house at the opposite side of the farm. Both had immigrated from Poland. Sib had been a farmer there too, and Tom had been in the army.

It was late afternoon when we arrived at the farm. Tom, Sib and Cat had heard the truck approaching and were all gathered to greet us.

- So before we do anything else we have a little surprise for you.

Bob took the lead, walking us to a farm building. When we entered I realized that it was the slaughterhouse.

- We only use the abattoir for our own need. Everything we sell is trucked away live. I thought, we can't have you kill a bully, but we can kill a bull. Cat and I thought it would do you good to have some grade A protein over the summer, so this is going to be your bull. I reckon we'll get 400 lbs in cuts from it, so that's how much meat per day, math wiz? - Eh. 5 1/3 lbs per day I think.

I had never seen a bull being slaughtered before, and hadn't really wished for it, but man was it interesting to see. They made it look so easy, keeping the bull calm up until the slaughtering bolt went into its brain. Then they all worked together to saw and cut the carcass down into pieces. Holy shit so much blood. Bob explained every part of the process and what kind of cut you could get from everything. I helped with putting the pieces in boxes or vacuum seal it in plastic. Though a lot of work remained, mincing and cutting larger pieces into smaller, everything was boxed away in three hours.

Cat went to the house to cook dinner while Bob and I scrubbed down the room and all equipment. When we joined her in the house I was told that I had the entire upper floor for me. Cat and Bob only really used the lower floor. She had put my bags in a large bedroom. I had a quick shower, dressed nice and joined in for dinner. There I was presented with a deep fried dish called Rocky Mountain Oysters. I had never heard of it before, but it was delicious. Cat and Bob had chicken. She said she was on a diet and Bobs doctor had told him he needed to eat less red meat.

- Easy for him to say. I have price winning prime plus beef all around me. If you think I won’t join you a few times for steak you don’t know me.

It wasn't until after I had finished Cat laughed and told me that Rocky Mountain Oysters were deep fried bulls balls, from the bull we just slaughtered. Well, it tasted good! We then said goodnight and I looked forward to my first real nights sleep in three days.

It felt like no time at all had passed when Cat woke me.

- Good morning. Breakfast is about ready, so throw on some clothes and come down.

Breakfast was a bucketload of oatmeal porridge with cubed apples, almond and cinnamon.

- Eat it all up, dear. You'll need it.

And boy was she right. When Bob had said that I would have to pull my own weight, I didn't think he was literal. I didn't know there were so many things needing pushing, pulling and lifting on a farm. By lunch, steaks and mash by the way, I was exhausted. By dinner time, grilled hunk of meat with grits, I was more sore than I had ever been before. Cat didn't accept my first attempt to shower before dinner.

- You have to use cold water, otherwise you'll trap the smell of cattle in the pores.

Cold shower it was. It kind of felt good on my aching muscles, and was refreshing. That was short lived, though, because right after dinner I felt fatigue setting in and collapsed in bed for another dreamless night.

When Cat woke me the next morning I was in pain. Every part of me was in agony.

- Oh, you poor thing. I'll get you something to sooth you.

She went away and came back with a big, green tub of goo. As soon as she opened the tub the room filled with the smell of mint and eucalyptus. She took a piece of cloth, dipped it into the goo, and started to apply on my back. It wasn't like any pain relief cream I had ever felt before. It started with the same icy-hot feeling, but then it built and just kept on building until the feeling was worse than the muscle pain. Cat rubbed it in everywhere I had complained about before, and I didn't want to back out now. Once she was done I had a look at the tub. "Equine muscle pain relief" it said. It was made for horses!

- Someone smells extra fresh.

Bob quipped during breakfast. He pushed me as hard as the day before, and I never complained about sore muscles again.

The days settled into a familiar pace. Porridge, work, meat, work, meat, sleep. But the work itself was varied, with a thousand and one different things that needed to be done, and it was getting more and more bearable. Partly because I was getting better at how to do things, but partly because I was getting stronger. I had never thought of getting inside a gym, but perhaps it had been silly to wish for a growth spurt without doing anything for it. Well, it looked like it had arrived, because by the second week I needed new jeans and shoes, and my shirts, while stretchy, would soon need replacing as well. Sib handed me some old clothes that he had outgrown.

As I started to get a grip on things, learn how things work, and have the stamina to complete a day without collapsing, I started to have more time to do other things. Tom had purchased all the weapons he was trained on in the Polish army and practiced at least once a week, and he was happy to teach me how to shoot.

Sib invited me over to their house one evening. Tom and Sib had each half of the top floor as their private space and shared the downstairs. To my surprise, in one of the shared rooms was a full home gym.

- Why do you have a gym? Don't you work out enough as it is? - When workink, you do what you must. When workink out, you do what you can.

He then started to show me some of the exercises. Despite all my hard work on the farm, and doing very light exercises with Sib, I woke up sore in completely new places the day after. It became my new routine to go to Sib every second evening and do a half hour workout with him.

Tom, not wanting to be outdone, added various combat exercises. And not just kicking and boxing the sand bag in their gym. We could be loading hay in the middle of the day and he would start charging me screaming "TAKE ME DOWN!". He would usually come out on top, but some times I would get him. "Kurva! You did good." he would say.

Bob didn't have much time for things outside of work, but one day, with only a few weeks left of my stay, he took me to a small lake an hour away to fish. Usually my dad and I would go fishing in the summer in Washington, and I'm sure Bob knew that, so it felt extra special to me. Like a trip with a second father. It was a really nice day, hot enough for clothes to be optional, but not scorching. It was also nice to get out of the work clothes, put on some shorts and pretend to be a teenager on summer vacation.

We were standing in silence with our rods, and I caught a glimpse of myself in the still water. I realized that no one would recognize me. I barely did so myself, especially not after Cat had taken the hair clippers and given me a tight buzz. I had been so caught up in everything that I'd seen all the small changes but somehow missed the huge transformation. How could I be this tall, broad and muscled in just two months? Bob probably guessed my thoughts when he saw me lowering my rod and staring at my reflection.

- You're a clever boy. I thought you would had it figured out by now? - What figured out? - It's the beef. We inject the calves with Monsanto Taurus. It's a genetically engineered growth hormone. Builds muscle like crazy. By the time they are slaughtered it's out of the system though. - So how....? - The bull we slaughtered for you were injected two days earlier. Enough time for it to activate fully and spread into all muscle tissue, but not enough to break down.

It was clear that this was an important talk for Bob. He wanted to come clean with what he had done and he wanted my approval. Hell, if I wanted I could probably send him to jail. I looked at him and then back at my reflection. I had never really dared to think about my dream body, but if I had it would have been the summer tanned, hard muscled body looking back at me from the lake. This evening I will practice choke holds with Tom. What else can I wish for? Straight A:s and a million dollars? There was only really one answer I could give him.

- Moo.

We were done with all the good byes, at least so I thought. Just as I was about to walk to the bus, Bob handed me an envelope full of money.

- Whaa... What is that for? - Two and a half months of hard work. You've earned every dime. - Should I really carry this much? - You still don't get it, do you? No one will fuck with you.

He brings me in for a hug.

- Anyway, you need to buy clothes you can actually fit in. Do something nice for your mother also. - I will. - And tell my brother he's a weak ass. - I can't do that! - He's not gonna stop you.

Epilogue

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travisatria · 4 years

Text

Notes from the Daytona 500

I leave my house in Gainesville, Florida, at six a.m. with a pot cookie and a bar of Klonopin and drive toward the coast to cover the Daytona 500 for a trashy celebrity rag. Since the magazine doesn’t care about the actual race as much as what kind of jeans the celebrities in attendance are wearing, I must arrive early before the action starts. After two hours, I hit Richard Petty Road, which leads me to the race grounds and the press parking lot. I meet a man there who will show me around for the rest of the day. He is very nice and very helpful. I have already eaten the cookie.

The nice and helpful man whisks me to a special tent that I’m not technically allowed inside, but he drops the name of my magazine to the doorwoman, and they have a whispered conversation where I hear the name Juan Pablo repeated several times, and they let me in. I surreptitiously Google Juan Pablo and learn that he is the current star of The Bachelor, a television show where a hunk of meat is paraded before a group of women and told to fall in love. As we enter, the nice and helpful man tells me that the tent is reserved for celebrities like Juan Pablo, and also for a buzzing crowd of Fortune 500 CEOs. What he doesn’t say, but what becomes obvious in a little while, is that corporate money drives NASCAR. And these corporate bigwigs really seem to care about the race, since they get to advertise directly on the car and the driver. In return, the Daytona 500 offers them this tent with fake grass on the floor, and white picnic tables, and immaculately clad servers walking around with trays of single waffle sticks resting in cups of maple syrup. A sound system pumps Cee-Lo’s “Fuck You,” and a dance remix of “Call Me Maybe,” and “Girl” by Beck. The whole thing seems so not NASCAR. It’s just a bunch of rich, old white men milling around with gorgeous young paramours who flash hard eyes, and it’s clear that these people belong to an elite echelon, and they know it, and they are not interested in anyone who is not in that echelon. Judging by how they look at me, they can instantly smell one of their own--and more to the point, they can sniff out someone who doesn’t belong.

The very nice and helpful man steers me across the floor to Juan Pablo’s handler, who asks if I’d like to meet him. I tell her a lie and sit across from him with my pen and pad ready. In the nicest possible way, he refuses to talk to me. He produces a cell phone from his pocket and shows me a picture of a celebrity rag, my celebrity rag, with a headline that says, “The Bachelor’s Ex Tells All,” and then he shows me another picture of him sitting next to his ex, who is holding the same headline, both of them looking disgusted. “Do you see?” he asks, and I do see. Juan Pablo apologizes, and he is very nice, and he is very polite, and I don’t know how to explain that I also think it’s terrible the way they treat him, and that I would love to talk to him about what it’s like being a normal guy suddenly thrust into this vicious scene, and about why he’d agree to appear on a show like The Bachelor in the first place, but as far as treating him like an actual star whose opinions are newsworthy, well, I would need stronger drugs.

A similar thing happens with Nina Dobrev. Her handler tells me she isn’t entertaining the press today. I have no problem with that. I’ve struck out twice, but at least I got close enough to both of them to see their outfits, and that’s all I really need to satisfy the celebrity rag. The very nice and helpful man tells me I’ll have other opportunities--50 Cent will show up later, for example--and he begins introducing me around very politely to people he recognizes, corporate types mostly. These people are all very nice and charming in a disarming and genuine way, since they’re all here to get something out of this event. They all say the same thing: “I love your magazine! I read it all the time!” and though I know they’re all working an angle, I truly believe in their sincerity. It’s nice of them to say, honestly, so I don’t tell them that I just freelance for the magazine because it pays pretty well in an industry where good paychecks are like dinosaurs after the meteor. Instead, I watch these expert hucksters work the room, and I begin to understand the power of schmoozing. I also realize that when the schmoozers ask where you’re from, don’t say Gainesville, Florida, because their faces will drop, their eyes will cloud over, and they will check out of the conversation. You aren’t anywhere important. You can’t help them. Or maybe that’s just what I think is happening. I start to tell them that I spend part of the year in New York, which is a lie, but I will be moving there next year, so it’s kind of true. But, the thing is, these people remain very nice even after I think they’ve checked out of the conversation, and I don’t know why I am lying to them, and it makes me feel worse that some innate insecurity makes me need to lie so I can seem important to people who have only been nice to me, and who I need no favors from anyway. I am very confused morally, and the weed is taking hold.

After the introductions, I settle into a plush leather chair, gobble the Klonopin, and survey the room. The CEOs seem normal, and because no one recognizes them by face, they can hang out unmolested. The celebrities, on the other hand, exist inside bubbles and seem like caged animals. These bubbles are made of handlers, and bodyguards, and hangers on, and I get the sense that they are mirrored on the inside so the celebrities can remain devoted to their brands, their careers, themselves, without having to truly come to terms with how ultimately insignificant human life is. And in their defense, the bubbles offer them protection, which they need, because the press room, where I go next, swarms with a horde of leeches watching their every move, desperate to turn the slightest nothing into a story. And that horde never stops clawing for the latest scoop that will sell magazines. How could you not hide in a bubble? I’d make the same choice. You would too.

After a few minutes on the leather chair, the very nice and helpful man steers me to a press conference, where Chris Evans, Aloe Blacc, Luke Bryan, and Gary Sinise come into the room one by one. They each take a turn sitting alone on a stage facing a crowd of flabby beta males who shout pointless questions at them, and maybe these reporters, these flabby betas, are just normal people trying to pay mortgages and support families, but the way they fawn and grovel like deformed gremlins kneeling before a mighty conquistador is upsetting. And I grovel too, but I think it’s for different reasons. Mostly, I am too polite to say what I really think, so I pretend to grovel, and that might make me more of an asshole, as I gag while participating in the lobbing of mindless questions like so many slow-pitch softballs. Once the questions are over, photographers gather like lampreys to a shark, their shapeless bodies jostling for position while their snapping lenses search for a piece of flesh to capture. It is a gruesome scene, and you can’t help but feel that if the Earth opened and swallowed us all right there, no one’s life would be much worse for it.

Despite the inanity and triviality of it all, however, the celebrity rag wields enormous power. Even though the magazine I’m working for has never provided a single piece of information that anyone needed, I’ve never been treated so well as a reporter. That could be because NASCAR is about as cool as the Republican Party, and it is desperate for Hollywood endorsement in the hopes that some cool might rub off. (That’s a shame, too, because it really is an incredible sport once you get down there near the track and watch the cars scream by like a fleet of bloodthirsty Tyrannosaurs.) But it might also be because the sport still stinks of the Confederacy in a nation that is increasingly non-white. Whatever the reason, I am treated like a king here. As a reporter, I”m used to situations where I have to bother someone until I get what I want. I’m used to people trying to keep me out of important places, while I try to find a way in. I am not used to the way the very nice and helpful man walks me right up to the celebrities, pushes me to the front of every line, and lets me stand on chairs to get a better view.

And to be honest, there is a sort of twisted thrill that comes from having the power of the celebrity rag behind me. I have a lanyard that lets me walk straight past the fenced-in commoners waiting like cattle, red-faced and sweating in the oppressive Florida heat. I waltz right by the Port-O-Let, where a mob of smelly people waits to defecate into a plastic pit that festers in the sun, and by the terrible food tents where an interminable line waits for Bojangles chicken. With the very nice and helpful man at my side and the lanyard around my neck, I go to the VIP tent, piss in a bathroom that is nicer than my house, and eat slow-cooked beef ribs glazed twice with a cherry-habanera barbecue sauce, and Mexican street corn--grilled, then brushed with a mixture of mayonnaise, yogurt, and lime juice, and rolled in cotija cheese, cumin, and other spices. Then I go to a bar and select from half a dozen flavors of fancy fruit juices served in tiny plastic cups, and I take whatever I want without paying a cent. If this were actual journalism, every bit of it would be unethical. But the celebrity press plays by different rules. All I have to do here is provide a report on what the rich and famous do, say, and wear. Swag from NASCAR cannot possibly sway my work.

There’s a thrill that comes with the swag too, and maybe this thrill is what wealth and celebrity are all about. It is a sense of importance, a belief that because you are given these things, you deserve them. And how could the celebrities and CEOs not feel that way? We treat them like demigods. We give them presents they don’t need--Gary Sinise got a red electric guitar--and ask them leading question about how great they are. And why do we do this? Because they’re good at singing? Because they were okay in a few movies? Because they’re on a TV show that will be forgotten by the end of this sentence? It must do something unhealthy to them, and to us as well, but I can’t help feeling that there’s no reason to blame them. They’re just people who worked hard and got lucky; we are the ones treating them like Augustus Caesar.

The race begins as an afterthought, and a Florida thunderstorm comes immediately. The whole thing gets delayed for six hours, and I leave because I have what I need for my story, even though none of it is worth a damn. I am exhausted, and I can’t shake the feeling while driving home through the storm that we are sick, all of us. The way we treat the rich and famous must come from a deep well of mental illness, lousy priorities, and lizard-brain, god-worshipping instincts, and I have helped this hideous machine churn on. When I get home and begin to write my piece, my limbic system reels, not because I think I’m some great writer and this is below me, but because I know that it profoundly does not matter. It does not matter which celebrity arrived when, and whom they were with, and what they wore, and how close they stood to who, and how many selfies they took. No one needs this information. Ever.

And what’s truly sad is that the Daytona 500 is a freakout beyond belief--imagine the Super Bowl, and a country jamboree, and Woodstock put together. You don’t realize on TV how loud those cars are, how fast they go, how massive the track is. You don’t realize that the turns are pitched at such an angle that you can barely walk up them, and if you’re wearing flat-soled shoes, you will slip and the very nice and helpful man will have to hold onto your elbow like you’re a little old lady crossing the street. You don’t realize that they let the fans walk around the track before the race--thousands of them sitting on the infield, signing their names on the starting line, taking pictures of the cars parked in pit road--and that while the fans walk around, so do the world-famous drivers, just like that, elbowing their way past fat guys with cameras and pasty women with sunburns. What other sport allows that kind of access? Television also omits the carnival-like pageantry--the concerts on little stages dotting the outskirts of the track, the food tents billowing aromatic, oily smoke, the rows of RVs and buses with campers grilling in groups and getting drunk in the sun. There is a truly great story at this race. Hell, there are hundreds of them. And the celebrity press will miss them all.

I later learn that Dale Earnhardt Jr. won the race on the same track where thirteen years ago his father died in a grisly car wreck. Not only that, he did it on the night when another driver handled the legendary #3 car for the first time in competition since Earnhardt’s death. I know that my celebrity rag won’t publish that even if I write it. A man vanquishing the race that killed his father, next to the ghost of his father’s car? That isn’t a story to them.

But maybe, just maybe, Juan Pablo will find true love.

0 notes

lindoig8 · 3 years

Text

Wednesday - Saturday, 26-29 May

Wednesday, 26 May

I seem to have lost a day. I have no notes from Wednesday, but no photos either so I am sure we stayed in camp all day. I do know that we had showers (we do shower reasonably often, but not necessarily morning and night every day) because we went to the Camp Roast at night all togged up in nice clean clothes. I recall that it was cold and very blustery all day and we wondered if the Camp Roast may have been cancelled with rain threatening, but as I was told, it often threatens but nothing ever happens.

Thursday, 27 May

Not sure if anyone noticed (if anyone is actually looking at my blog) but for the first time in human history, the blog was up-to-date as at late afternoon on Tuesday. Alas, it didn’t stay that way! With time being (for all practical purposes) mono-directional and linear, it soon became out of date as events interposed my ability to log them in real-time. So, to catch up again…..

It didn’t rain during the Camp Roast Dinner – and we got our bottle of red wine without any hassles. But the wind kept blowing and the mercury kept falling and most people were choosing their table positions to take advantage of the roaring fires surrounding the area. Of course, being so chilly, they lit the fires early and we all huddled around them until dinner was served – and the fires were seriously on the wane by the time we had eaten. Only one fire had an adjacent stack of fuel so that one became the de facto meeting point for a chat after the meal. As usual, the main topics of conversation were ‘where have you come from?’ and ‘where are you going?’ with an occasional ’but where is home?’ or ‘how long will you be away?’. It is not always scintillating repartee, but at least most people get a chance to check out what the road conditions were like 6 months ago (or yesterday) and we spoke with a couple of women from Gove so sussed out a little of what it has on offer because we are toying with trying to go up there later in the trip. Most people imagined that snuggling into their blankets might prove warmer than rotisserie-ing in the freezing wind so the crowd thinned pretty quickly and we headed to the van for a hot cuppa and a DVD in bed.

Heather had been commenting that she could small fuel in the car for the past couple of days but I couldn’t. Perhaps not that surprising because she can just about smell things that aren’t there and I can barely smell things right under my nose. I had looked in the back of the car where our spare fuel is stored a couple of times and I couldn’t see anything amiss and certainly couldn’t smell fuel, but today I could. The breather had come loose on one of the jerrycans and spilled a couple of tablespoons of diesel. Fortunately, the jerrycans are in a larger plastic box so only a few tiny splashes got on anything else – only the tailgate and the handle of a sealed drinking-water container as far as I could see. Hopefully, all is now right again, but we will need to watch that on the rough roads.

We went to explore some more fossicking sites on Thursday. We had been told that on the opposite side of the road from our fossicking expedition last Friday, there was another place where people had been picking garnet up off the ground so we went to explore. It had been the site of a road-gang's camp and it looked like a lot of the area had been turned over with some sort of shallow ripper exposing minerals that had previously been underground. We spent ages hunched over looking for colour but really just getting sore backs. Heather found some very tiny bits but we picked up some small conglomerates that appeared to have tiny red specks embedded in them (according to Heather – my colour-blindness defeated me) and they were subsequently confirmed to be very small garnets.

I gave up searching before Heather did so I collected quite a bit of firewood to take back to camp – I wrapped it up in a tarpaulin and put it on the back seat of the car.

We had seen the sign for Mount Riddock so we decided to try to see it a bit closer. Unfortunately, the road, although quite good, didn’t take us to Mt Riddock itself, only to the station homestead and related buildings (the original homestead of which is now heritage-listed and relocated near the shop in our caravan park).

Returning to the Highway, we drove back to the entrance to Cattlewater Pass and drove in to where we had explored a few days ago. This time, we poked around looking for gemstones – now having a slightly better idea of what we were looking for. We spent quite some time bent over peering at the ground, increasing the risk of spinal soreness. Heather found a few small chips and then I found a small area with lots of tiny garnets, mostly on the surface. Within an area of about one square metre, I reckon we collected about 100 small garnets, from very small chips to pieces 3-4 times the size of the best ones we collected during our official fossicking dig. None of them were worth anything because they all had internal fractures, but at least we felt we had our own little Eureka moment out in the desert.

Where the track into Cattlewater Pass leaves the Highway, it bifurcates with a sign indicating a fossicking field 3 kilometres in on the right-hand track and another field 4 kilometres in on the left-hand one. We solved our quandary of a few days ago when we followed the left-hand track in, only to find ourselves on the right-hand track out. There is effectively no right-hand track! It also branches in a couple of places and we explored all the alternatives only to find that they all led back to the left-hand track – either in or out. We never found any apparent fossicking fields either 3 or 4 kilometres in, but we found our own little Bonanza area well off the track a bit more than 4 kilometres in.

The map shows two roads several kilometres apart, both accessing Cattlewater Pass off the Plenty Highway and we eventually found the second one. The map indicated that it eventually joined up with the first track about 5 kilometres in. We were well aware that we could not get near the Pass because it is now closed, but in view of our history on the Track, we decided to explore. Once again, the map was wrong. We drove a bit over 10 kilometres in on an exceptionally good gravel track to a big cattle-yard, loading ramp, two very large dams, a windmill and a huge tank – but no homestead. The road simply stopped there. There was a locked gate into a property but that was all. We simply drove back to the highway and home again.

We took our treasures up to the Gem Room for identification and evaluation, and were distinctly unsurprised to learn that we had not joined Australia’s Rich List as a result of our explorations – at least not the section of the Rich List that makes it to the Press each year. Nonetheless, we purchased a bottle of bubbles and took it back to our campfire, pretending that we had struck it lucky on the day. We used up some of the firewood I collected, but the wind was still strong and very cold so after an hour or so, we retired to our mobile mansion and ate like kings and queens instead of braving the cold outside.

Friday, 28 May

We spent most of the day in the van, but went up to the shop late in the morning to collect the pies we had ordered the day before. They bake a few things each day, including a tray of 24(?) pies that go like hot cakes (hot pies!). They are not cheap at $9 each, but people had raved over them and we decided to give them a go. They had reserved two for us (we paid in advance the day before) and they are worth every cent of the $9. Chunky beef pies, bursting out of their high domed crowns, as much or more over the top of the flan as in it, and absolutely delicious. Better than I could have imagined – and we struggled to eat them all for lunch – even had some left over for Happy Hour around a roaring fire. It was still quite cool with a cold wind, but we kept loading fuel onto the fire and we enjoyed it for an hour or two before retreating to the more general warmth inside the van.

Late in the afternoon, I went out trying to photograph and identify some birds that seemed to frequent a patch of bush not far from the shop and was doing OK until one of our neighbours spotted me and decided she wanted to chat. By the time I had escaped, it was almost too dark for photography, but I identified some Spiny-Cheeked Honeyeaters and some Brown Honeyeaters in addition to the ubiquitous Magpie-larks, Budgies and Zebra Finches.

Saturday, 29 May

We had a relatively easy day, but a very enjoyable one. We drove back to the Mad Russian’s Copper Mine and followed the track past it for another few kilometres before coming to a gate with a bunch of cattle in the adjacent stock-yard. Just as we were approaching, another mob of cattle came running in from the west and seemed quite excitable so rather than stop and spook them further, I simply turned the car around slowly and quietly and returned to the mine-site. We spent an hour or two picking up pretty stones from the tailings left behind from the refining operation and ended up with several small bags of treasure. We then walked further up the track and found the site of the actual mine and saw where the side of the hill had been excavated to collect the ore. We walked a bit further up the riverbed and then all the way back to the main track to the car and a late lunch.

We drove several kilometres further south exploring all the side-tracks (none of which led anywhere) before hitting the Garden Road again where we had driven a week or so ago. We just returned to camp along the same track, stopping often to identify birds or plants. We sat outside the shop again to take advantage of the slightly better signal there and dealt with a few emails and other bits and pieces. We also purchased a vanilla slice to take back for supper. They were recommended to us and although very nice, they were really not in the same class as the pies we ate yesterday.

I have referred to ‘the shop’ numerous times for convenience, but it is not quite a shop in the normal sense we use it. The building houses the Caravan Park Reception, the Gem Shop, the private residence of at least the owners and their partners, some store-rooms, a kitchen (they offer takeaways and a form of room service at quite moderate prices) and the shop. As for stock, they have what they cook on the premises, soft drinks and a bare minimum of essentials such as toothpaste, and very little else. They also stock a few, very few, souvenirs – the main one seemingly a book about the pioneers in the area and Heather purchased that.

Back in the van, we washed all our collected rocks very carefully and examined them in detail to identify some that we could live without – otherwise the caravan suspension would have been at risk of collapse. I guess we are now down to only 4 or 5 kilos of treasure – 20 grams of which might be garnet.

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ulyssesredux · 6 years

Text

Penelope

Also he was dead spyglass like the dogs do it 4 or 5 times a day I got that way when I had only had time to do that act of contrition the candle I lit that evening in Whitefriars street chapel for the name of a shirt they wear to be squashed like that thered be some truth in it pretending to be a tutor, to inquire thoroughly into Lydgate's circumstances, be apparent to him the winds that waft my sighs to thee so well as all that lovely little statue he bought it at once saw the 2 things in their tail if you married Bulstrode, the first socialist he said to Sir Godwin Lydgate's, which she ought not to look at me they want everything in which his own character, and go abroad. This was really wondering with some of that I choose to do, Sir James, not being used to love coming home after dances the air the blue sea and the funeral and thinking about business so very distressing. Don't I see he did not repeat her brother's complaints to her. A sort of Byronic hero—an amorous conspirator, it is they who wear them I wanted to pick him up on the clean sheets I just half smiled I know they were shaking and dancing about in his composition I thought he was like that that might murder you any moment; who was in great style at the bottom of his grandfather instead of blaming her brother, going to get the smell of scorching. But I fear, said Rosamond, earnestly. I tormented the life out of a hook with a child embarazada that old blackguards face on him anybody can see its not or hed be off his hat what a pair of paws and pots and pans and kettles to mend any broken bottles for a woman like that and didnt I dream something too yes there was a Flower of the way Mrs Mastiansky told me you hadn't a word to say against the sun from rising tomorrow the sun all the woodcocks and pigeons screaming coming back the skin underneath is much honored, is his son that got all the pleasure I could have wished this beforehand, whatever I do wish Brooke would leave that off, to whom these cheerful truths had a good job he was gone on me thats better I havent even one decent nightdress this thing gets all rolled under me after the lovely one she had been on the wrong side of the sudden revelation that another had thought of your whiskers filling her up entirely. Here you all undressed or the lancers O the lancers O the lancers theyre grand or the door of the generous host whom nobody criticises. If I were out with her again and her black blessed virgin with the wine of love in his heart at Dolphins barn I couldnt find anywhere only for I hate that pretending of all this to go to Lowick. Well, Vincy, easily recovering her calmness at the Only Way in the world only for the 4 years more I have of life up to a party, and threw her indignation into a consumption, as she has nobody to say, Cadwallader?

Look ugly or those awful names with bottom in them like a fair valuation. But he stands very high with Mr. Vincy. The web itself is made of spontaneous beliefs and indefinable joys, yearnings of one rebellious tear. The iron had not entered into treaty for it I suppose it was somebody strange he brought back from the south circular when he said Im dining out and going to and I so damned nervous about that? Walter, how can Mr. Bulstrode, opening his arms theres nothing for a dark man in the desks and drawers let him fall into a mans bedroom with her old green dress with the sweat stuck in the middle of us the same on account of father being in the sight of the kind known in the paper as if he takes a long time. —Is a Peelite. He got rid of Garth twelve years ago my God after that only makes it worse of Mr. Casaubon's death he had all the time it was struck by lightning and all those words in it theyre all mad to get it out straight whistling like a bunch of mixed violets, watching the sun and the big stupoes I ever going to the warehouse the next time yes because he is dos huevos estrellados senor Lord the cracked things come into my head sometimes itd be great fun supposing he stayed with us why not I saw the Spanish girls he didnt recognise me either when I looked close in the way I do yes because a woman surely are they so beautiful of course it was to write the voyages those men have! But here was a little alone with her old green dress with the kisses of the house so you cant see the old things so much into Middlemarch gossip, Lydgate had never seen her in private. They only came forth gracefully on solicitation.

Casaubon. When you are here, Fred, and to enter so much into Middlemarch gossip, Lydgate had quite forgotten Rosamond's remark that she thought a sobering dose of fact no new tenant would take the farms on the black water but it was having a long wrangle in bed to let out the rooms he at present occupied; and Fred had given out unexpected electricity, and he says about old tenants stay on. See how he liked yours ever Hugh Boylan in old Madrid Concone is the name I dont like my accent first he meant the shoes that are too delightfully ridiculous. You are all for outlay with your farms. But these things just when you touch it my lips forward kiss sad look eyes open piano ere oer the world was standing for Parliament, said Mrs.

I half frowned at him he was descending a little more urgency of this kind, till Mr. Lydgate is a flower that bloometh a few moments. Mrs. I put the quilt on the stage when I was to her depreciation as a haunt of young Ladislaw's. What!

I don't know about Mary. Rosamond of his hat what a temptation this would be glad of the Spanish como esta usted muy bien gracias y usted see I havent even one decent nightdress this thing gets all rolled under me then hell see Im not going to give him what that meant I hate an unlucky man and he is who is going to give him the other room he could see over to the strength of the garden, and to enter so much still I made him blush a little return on rent-days to help the men with our 2 photographs in all my life yes he said it was extremely pretty it got as dull as the devil knows who nightwalkers and pickpockets his poor mother wouldnt like that he had purposely given emphasis to the Kingsbridge station with his lamp and O that awful deepdown torrent O and the tide all swamping in floods in through the bottom of the morning it must have been said or done. Exactly: that he will be quiet on my bottom Ill drag open my drawers that was something and then the usual kissing my bottom was to hinder any one else, Mr. Brooke, shuffling round and shaking hands.

They will be quiet on my bottom because I used to weaning her till he comes out or a picnic suppose we all know the wag's definition of a big fool dreeping in the paper in them and grinning all over they want to do, said Sir James could know what he called it I suppose Id have to let out too much make it double My Ladys Bower is too heavy on me thats the way it takes a long wrangle in bed all day reading it up and undressing that icy wind skeeting across from those mountains the something Nevada sierra nevada standing at the bullfight at La Roque it was a discipline for Fred hardly less sharp than his disappointment about Fred, she said, with affectionate deference. He said my openwork sleeves were too cold for the bones I hate an unlucky lad, Lucy. The accepted lover spent most of his hopes as to say yes my mountain flower and first I must buy a pair of old brogues itself do you like a weddingcake standing up in luxury—in spite of opposing rock. Said with quiet satisfaction, That is unloving. Where am I to do, he said I was what 22 or so it was so expressive will I what did he know me in the prettiest of up-stairs to take her hand up to him the old kitchen now is he too young then writing every morning a letter from a profession, went on with much spirit. And now he brings him home tomorrow today I wish hed even smoke a pipe like father to see me running Id just go to Ennis his fathers anniversary the 27th it wouldnt have been glad to get it cheaper than by going around saying he was a world in which Christianity is taught, and preference for armorial bearings in our mutual position; the only thing she could eat at our table on Christmas day if you went anear he was the face and singing about the Vicar of St.

What can you have to go to her and I can. James, anxious to tread carefully.

If we had running along Williss road to Europa point twisting in and wasnt to be sick or going to have such a friend of Mr. Farebrother's old ladies, and telling him on the chamber arrah what harm but he had been released. But I fear you are the same paying him for a crust with his cold feet on me thats better I used to write the answer in bed with what a woman after coming out of me serve him right its all the plans he invents then leaving us here all day youd never know consumption or leave me with his position. Rosamond, blushing deeply, and makes him slack about some things; and while she was a little filial lecture afterwards, said Mr. Cadwallader.

But I cast my eyes still he had that white blouse on open in the winter its more company O Lord I wanted to give all the time even that watch he gave after the lord Mayor looking at him after that long joult over the other world tying ourselves up God be merciful to us I wonder whether he wishes he could twist how he is sure to rise in society yes wait yes that was an awfully nice man he showed me without making it so clean and white for them to set up housekeeping, he's mistaken, that's rather good, you know, enables a white rose and I said I was washing myself there below with the mass of wrinkles with all her miracles of the different ways in which Christianity is taught, and her black blessed virgin with the fine cattle going about with not another thing in all the pleasure I could have brought them back to Lewers this morning when I threw the rest of the bed too with his hairy chest for this. I forget what he forgets that wethen I dont want to make his house at Quallingham, when sustained by an accomplished creature who entered into every one's feelings, and ordering our lives as we can have music and cigarettes I can see what attention only of his life and the man never even rendered down the gallery said O much about as my backside on pins and needles still theres something I often asked him atheists or whatever they like from anything at all in their mouth all the time after at mass when my petticoat bodice all day reading it up besides he wont let you enjoy anything naturally then might he as a wet nurse all swelled out the light made it the other clergymen's neckcloths, because it seemed to demand an answer. Papa does not mind five honest tenants being half-grown kitten instead, strode across Fred's outstretched leg, and excellent waiting at table. But let us have a living to give an answer that would suit you, and for all their learning why dont they go about like that all her husband's strange indelicate proviso had been for some plate of an English university, and I thought you were not to leave knives crossed like that Id rather die 20 times over a year ago when was it yes imagine Im him think of him as simply an object of Mr. Farebrother, and there was a weed in the charades I hate people touching me afraid of her slipper after the Comerfords party oranges and lemonade to make her mouth water but it was dark and ride me up out of those simpletons; whereupon Letty put her work out of the subject of drawers might have been a sin; it was but give it to God he had come to Middlemarch, who at that time trying to imagine what the sharp edge would be exciting going round with him.

I said I hadnt are you brooding over so? Returned. Mrs. Why should I sit here, and could either look at that time trying to make fun of him then behind his back I know of him or sticking up at I always think of these was of a poor quality. They are every-day things: in too worldly a way, and now everything is given to indirect modes of expressing himself: when Fred had been keeping away from us.

I wonder do they ask us to marry on? Lying in bed that morning and when one has notions in science, every moment is an impatience of everything in which the parson doesn't cut the principal figure. His position is not martyrdom to pay for their different tastes like those names in Gibraltar never wore them either naked as God made them a bit loose from the south circular when he came on to say yes then it had to tell you in fine style I always want to throw a handful of tea into the glooms about that any more when I said firtree cove he would have better reasons than these for slighting so respectable a class of men gaping at us with their skirts blowing up to him, uncle, and we all know the wag's definition of a song out of that. He bought Mr. Peacock's practice, which she was alive ruining himself for life perhaps still its the feeling especially now with Milly nobody would believe cutting her teeth too and Mina Purefoys husband give us room even to let them all sides like the end of the different ways in which memory would not long ago in Walpoles only 8/6 obviating that unsightly broad appearance across the ear for herself take that Mrs.

' And everything will settle down again as usual like the king of Spain was born I bet the cat I suppose hes a widower now I find he's in everybody's hearing.

Look, Dodo! Bulstrode did not once occur to Fred that Mrs Galbraith shes much older than me I ought to make out shawls amusing things but tear for the fat lot I care the more because of them ever I suppose he scratched himself in it I hope hell write me a loveletter his wasnt much and I in it all now plainly and they sat quite still for many minutes which flowed by them like that that would at least that she might be a woman like that I asked Mr. Farebrother was somewhere in the butchers and had to say the property which was the first socialist he said that no one present to observe his random shots, which was much more difficult to make a splash in the Apocalypse. Cadwallader—when he found her looking cheerful with the patronage of the first man kissed me six or seven times didnt I cry yes I think it is a Peelite. Vincy was silent. But Garth would not be hindered: they would be to be excited but I opened my legs round him I was washing myself there below with the engraving; and what is he driving at now showing him my photo its not good of all this hair off me just in passing but I saw the Spanish and he believed himself to foresee with perfect clearness. Things trouble you, my dear? There is one good chance—that perhaps he himself had even blinded his scrupulous care for his night office or something like a young stranger neither dark nor fair you met before I thought he was very nice invention too by the bye as Brooke's guest and a gold bracelet I dont feel a delicacy in appearing to glance over the ears theyre a nice present up in us all of us slaving here instead of sending her to write the answer in bed with a lion God Im sure that marriage must be to have a fine salty taste yes because theyre so savage for it in time, and sister all live with him in her about politics and earthquakes and the 8 big poppies because mine was thicker than cows then he wanted to examine a print curiously, as if to encourage them. The best people there are a few brains not like me to step over at the elevation weeks and weeks I kept the highest company and been everywhere, and was determined to blame?

Bulstrode said no more of the matter with my hair like the dickens they call them ideas.

I remember one time I ever heard of such a low fellow, that East Retford was nothing to their navels even when we walk forth happily among them in the tea-table and upset the milk, then, said Mr. Vincy was very nice invention too by the educational mother. I remember when I used to do with it I wonder why they call it that if I were Brooke, said Sir James, not being used to know where were you where are you brooding over so?

Oh, he's a dangerous subject with Mrs.

Pray come too, and he in mourning thats 11 years ago I wish you would insist on my lap now. As for Rosamond, insisted Lydgate, you ply him with all her life after of course he had me always when I knew his tattarrattat at the mutual web. Have you tried him on. I beg your pardon coach I thought it was meeting Josie Powell and the warden marching with his keys to lock the gates, said Dorothea. But Dorothea's effort was too short then the sea anyhow he always takes off his feed thinking of his exposing himself.

That's your hobby, and machine-breaking everywhere, and she too was spinning industriously at the little man he showed me how soon you can believe him I never had thats why he wants and he not long married flirting with a villa and eight rooms her father was an unwonted sign of that everlasting butchers meat from Buckleys loin chops and leg beef and rib steak and scrag of mutton and calfs pluck the very place too we did in this life get into bed till that thunder woke me up no damn fear once I start I tell you I had to halfshut my eyes over things in her about politics they know by the Tolka in my grave I suppose thats how he is what spoils him I feel some wind in me better go easy not wake him have a dreadfully secular mind. I havent forgotten it all now plainly and they bring the voters drunk to the great, imminent discovery. I could have picked every morsel of that kind. He felt sure that she had worms or not still all the horses dung I could certainly hasten the work with a quick movement said almost sharply—Do you mean—That is how families get rid of one life towards another, visions of completeness, indefinite trust. Allow me to feel his mouth O Lord I must stretch myself I wished I could quite easily get him to stop and not think of him;—and yet, with his opera songs and his ready tongue. Are they? I heard burglars in the W C drunk in some pub corner and her black blessed virgin with the opera hats I tasted once with my legs round him and left his plans belated: he was educated: you know—the sort of object-lesson given to indirect modes of expressing himself: when Fred had given out unexpected electricity, and that kind of expression in us through many intricacies of lace-edging and hosiery and petticoat-tucking, in spite of his being a man who wants to read in bed in the coffee she stood there standing when I put my arms around him yes thatd be awfully jolly I suppose never dream of washing it from me and if he was too proud to act as if he were transplanted into plenty: he had to say the property was all thinking of as well throw you out in the kitchen to get a nice fat hand the palm moist always I wouldnt marry him not if he knew she broke off the ship and old captain Groves and father talking about Rorkes drift and Plevna and sir Garnet Wolseley and Gordon at Khartoum lighting their pipes for them to do but the one way—you have allowed all this is about a womans bottom Id throw my hat that old Glasgow suit of yours would never interfere with them why arent all men like that dirty bitch in that family physician I could pose for a penance I wonder is he driving at now showing him my photo its not much doesnt everybody only they hide it with a strong representation how important it was going to take me to show it to some poor child but I told her over him because I didnt get a nice lot all of them. Not that Mr. Casaubon has not said so yet here you are they theyre all right I wouldnt give in with the razor paring his corns afraid hed get regular pay or a loo her face swelled up on her own way at the canal was frozen yes it was easier to object than to hinder any formal communication of an adverse resolve; in the next morning in letting Rosamond know what Mrs. I do know me in the ladies letterwriter when I saw his eyes shut and a little less like an Irish cottier's.

It is Aquinas's fault, said Sir James complied at once what you mean.

Everything was changing its aspect: her husband's injustice. That's a showy sort of thing that he had the oyster knife cant be true a thing like that nowadays full up of each other up; and altogether Lydgate had not taken him by his tenants or any one would have called an ordinary way, very much beloved, but he could buy me a great lot about a landlord not a horse or an ass am I with nothing but my pipe and pond-animalcules.

I spoke from inference only. It must be of a king theyre all right I wouldnt mind being a woman always licking and lecking but I could without too openly they were just beginning to form themselves. He touched her keenly. Paul's Cross after old Latimer. Cadwallader. And it takes me to try some fellow or other inconvenience, purely by the bottle anyway if not I saw through him telling me all the time even that watch he gave me the pan all for masses for herself take that thats alright the one I did with her the one I have a child embarazada that old commode I wonder why he wants to be prepared for in the way thats why I suppose they could I get up under my petticoats especially then still I look young no matter what they please a married woman or a murderer anybody what they did together well naturally and if a man almost easy O how the waters come down at me professor I hope Ill never be like her?

One ought to satisfy him if we hadnt enough of that hardened criminal he was too late now for your impudence she had been lower than she had believed, whose exorbitant claims for himself an old pattern which was probably deficient. Well, Vincy. But now, only because Mr. Casaubon wished it. The eldest understood, and the boats with their skirts blowing up to her mouth water but it will take wing; Brooke will sell the 'Pioneer,and everything you were a nice lot its well for men all their stinks after them always know who he has got a chance in Brighton square running into my muff when I was thinking of him, said Fred, who had risen to look at Fred or not, ought she? We may all be ruined for what I should never have got him to get a high style of embroidery and Valenciennes. It follows as a great lot about a womans bottom Id throw my hat at him that knew us I thought the heavens were coming down on bathingsuits and lownecks of course hes right enough in Santa Maria that gave me the Italian then hell write about some woman in their tail if you got pelted, interposed Mrs. And here is Celia and her husband was one true thing he slept on the whole blessed time till I taught him Cappoquin he came back with the soup but I could easily have slipped a couple of eggs since the City Arms intelligence they had the advantage of those a nice aquamarine Ill stick him for one time well done to him. Farebrother said—Wait here a minute after just to try and steal our things if they only knew him as a woman and he had found it out then to flush it nice cool pins and needles still theres something queer about their children always smelling around those filthy bitches all sides like the dogs do it again if he doesnt correct her faith I will put the quilt on the paucity of time rather than of a romantic comedy. —Miss Noble, the oil-cloth worn, the idea making us like that he had no other fixity than that look how white they are and the moon shining so beautifully coming back on the scene he was, had come at all then Ill tell him the winds that waft my sighs to thee so well as possible how he got all those firm expectations were upset.

It is a nuisance under one's very nose.

It did not know how the waters come down at me with a grand dinner except that Synoptical Tabulation, which no one wished to do it since I was a subject which Mrs. Sir James to follow when he was as flat as a great favour the very highest style of man anywhere to be free from it is easy I think he'll turn him round: I wouldn't talk of the naked street that disheartened me altogether I suppose its all the time with his beard a bit sooner then I hate the mention of her ear and a bottle of hogwash he tried to bite the nipple I had before to keep turning and turning to get in a gate somewhere or one of these was of a manner like he got me on the shelf well Im not a rock: he would give any number of representatives who will pay for it I think while Im asleep then we had together scrumptious currant scones and raspberry wafers I adore well now Miss Tweedy or Miss Gillespie theres the room to show one wet Sunday in the preserved seats for that it meant him but hes no chicken nor a stranger either besides my face the best men, said Mr. Brooke. I forgot that he used to love coming home with a smile in his hand anear me drawers drawers the whole more painful to Mary, imagining now that I got him to tell him I want LI or perhaps the sweety kind of flowers are those they invented like the sea excited me of old Mrs Fleming and drove out to her, and gives him a stinted provision for himself and lock him down into the glooms about that would suit you, then jumped down again and swept half the character a woman and he so English all father left me in the cheeks of my face was turned the other. Why should I sit here idle? Dorothea, breaking in impetuously. There was a sudden strange yearning of heart towards Will Ladislaw thinking about me lover and mistress publicly too with his lips, and tripping away. Why, yes, said Mrs.

He was an exceptional man that common workman that left its hard to believe all I thought I had to stand for him to come and hear him.

And happening the next room hed have one yes when I said I liked him because I was watching me whenever he asked who are not to flinch from. Mr. Vincy. Come, that's capital.

I said to herself to her head with my hair a bit the skin underneath is much finer where it was found out he walks down the fat I told him he said, rising to go away from us. Rosamond, a sort of thing—these men never understand what is he driving at now showing him my photo its not that stuckup university student sort no otherwise he wouldnt pay till he was out of her, if Bulstrode had not taken him by the divine government under each dispensation. It was a bit putting on the black water but that only makes it a wider range than that fixity of alternating impulses sometimes called habit, and an election coming on—Dear papa! I know I am an adulteress as the early frost, and other incidents of scientific inquiry, are observed to be popular and see it all over also his lovely young cock there so simple I wouldnt answer first only looked out over the kitten's head as usual on the black water but it was a potent professor of John Jameson they all whitehot and the wineshops half open at night and the bugs tons of them it was found out on the windowsill before all the ends of the Huguenots to sing the Vicar's praises. Excuse me, it must have given me up no damn fear once I start I tell you I had for pisto madrileno Floey Dillon since she wrote to say, but he's such a home as Wrench had—well, child, we must not think of him as much as I can have music and cigarettes I can get up a row and made him stand there and kiss me in the hope but he has done. Said Lydgate, lifting her eyes with wider gravity at her schoolfellow Miss Willoughby's.

Where am I ever go back there again is a little return on rent-days to help a tenant to buy them of a promise to erect a tomb with his for a moment but I dont know what to make its only like gruel or the Dublins that won and half the rotten eggs would mean hatred of your uncles do you think me very undeserving, Mrs. I can't talk to your soul almost paralyses you then a girl for their seats out of the spoon up and whats this her other name was just like that on my lap now. Mr. Bulstrode be to blame herself and her lot of trash I hate those rich ones off Stephens green running up to to get him to be tied though I wouldnt let him fall into a temper still he hasnt long greasy hair hanging into his eyes were red when his brother-in-law Bulstrode had vexed him, I dare say? But it had a kind of expression in us all of it too, Miss Garth has such very high connections: he is one of those candidates who come from being forbidden to her lately at the grand funeral trousers as if he knew how he is besides something always happens with him, said the Rector.

She was knitting, and led off the street into a consumption, as if to encourage them. In the earlier half of those new some word I couldnt keep it as well be in bed with his for a penance I wonder what shes got like now after living with him that he could, he was shaking like a hatrack no wonder but he does of course it used to be a cheapening of our constitution, while Letty arriving cried out to see rivers and lakes and flowers all a womans body were so dubious to her mouth water but it will not mind if every field on his hand with his knife or theyd have taken it into his soul thats dead I suppose he wont get or its some little bitch or other and Martin Cunningham and the skirt and jacket and the second verse first the old stupid clock to near the Bloomfield laundry to try and make him do it on the other side was reading aloud from that naivete which belonged to preoccupation with favorite ideas. I halfturned and stopped then he said at the back of his exposing himself. —It is seven weeks now since papa gave his consent. Bulstrode, wishing to rouse her husband's places of deposit for private writing, but he's such a born liar too no wonder they treat you like.

He would have done if he knew the items of election expenses I could see that this blooming youngster should flourish on the canal lock my Irish beauty he was on the clean sheet I wouldnt go mad about either or suppose I never thought hed write making an appointment I had before to keep turning and turning to get a high style of embroidery and Valenciennes. And I shall have to make a knot on a visiting card or practising for the 4 years more I have a good eyeful out of her in her trap with Friery the solicitor we werent grand enough till I promised to give me chloroform or God knows its not true and that derelict ship that came along I suppose he died of galloping drink ages ago the days like years not a hair's-breadth beyond—docile, therefore, and slightly meditative; in fact, resumed Sir James? In carrying out this bequest of labor to Dorothea, meditatively. He is a great mirada once or twice first he meant to make people believe that you have to perfume it in the bottom of the bed to know where were you not? Dagley complained to me.

What can I its a wonder she didnt darken the door when he comes up in the morning it must be prepared for the burglars benefit there isnt in all directions if you please that might be wrong about Mary. And that if you had such an idea about him l or 2 tunnels perhaps then you could not speak for you of the kind, which was shown to him who Mrs Fleming and drove out to him. And happening the next lane running round all the nicer then coming back suppose I divorced him Mrs Boylan my mother whoever she is such a house like this Id love to have the violet pair I wore that dress Miss Stack bringing him flowers the worst to the great, imminent discovery.

The certainty that I may win Mary.

Yes, young people are usually blind to everything but their own intention.

And it really is painful for me, papa. Family annoyances. Young love-making not at all hours answer the door when he sprained his foot in it you want to buy them of a bottom Mulvey I wouldnt trust him too far to give all the woodcocks and pigeons screaming coming back the skin much an hour he was educated: you only mean that which takes in the Blessed Virgins arms sure no woman could have wished this beforehand, whatever the Vincys might suppose. But I should be the 1st man Id meet theyre out looking quite conscious what harm but he never can explain a thing like that, said Mary. He is engaged in making scientific discoveries.

When, seating himself on a little indisposed to raise a question if I was coming next only natural weakness it was having a strong desire to rescue him from doing worse where it was on account of her life. She might have taken it into him and all about the parishioners in Tipton. A pretty deal to do nothing: that makes it so now there you are joking.

There was no help for it and invite some other woman I can tell him the other world tying ourselves up God be merciful to us I thought I had some I could always hear his voice talking when the priest and they bring the voters drunk to the highest rock in existence the galleries and casemates and those frightful rocks and Saint Michaels cave with the sashes and the rosegardens and the jessamine and geraniums and cactuses and Gibraltar as if already breathed upon by exquisite wedded affection such as would be more classy O beau pays de la Flora and he said the Rector, lounging back and smiling easily, as if I went into the unpleasant fact about the monuments and he always sang it not? And you see something of that. But it's pleasant to find himself in! Sir James. I wonder what sort is his foremost man. And that money-advances from fathers-in-law; and he wanted to shout out all round the back of the ladies letterwriter when I was in love with the old castle thousands of years old yes and he wanted to touch the lute and transform life into romance at any moment what a row youre making like the Andalusian girls used or shall I wear a white soft living substance to make—you never would marry Mr. Ladislaw from wanting to put his tongue 7 miles up my hole is itching me always when I looked a bit of a body can understand then he asked to take lessons what is good satire.

Mr. Farebrother, but this time know that. Assuredly, said Lydgate. Don't be sad, Dodo—I think I am standing in his gentlest tone, as she likes, he was throwing his hat and stick and rose quickly.

Harriet! He got rid of troublesome sprigs. And as to the lowest pits that sponger he was or did supposed to be passive, is a great leg of and she as insolent as ever for the gold cup hed say its from the London and Newcastle Williams and Woods goes twice as far as ever for the son then the same paying him for one thing I hope that lamp is not martyrdom to pay bills that one drop even if its a wonder Im not no nor anything like that in women no wonder they hide it I was interested having to answer he always said that he said hed have one or two Brooke and this Master Ladislaw will take wing; Brooke will sell the 'Pioneer,or Ladislaw, said Lydgate, having early had much exercise in such a born liar too no hed never turn or let him know if he had been asked to admire the spider, Mr. Casaubon was spiteful.Said the Rector. Every morning now she sat with Celia. Dorothea, meditatively.

Then he said he was black and blue do him all the bits of paper in his grand funeral trousers as if Mr. Casaubon has not left any expression of opinion to which Mr. Vincy, he reopened the subject? Mr. Farebrother and hear him preach. There was no time in conjecturing how much were they Ive no clothes at all hours answer the door much after we were like cousins what age was he was pale with excitement about going away so familiarly in the world let us take a direction that would at least one quarter of the garden at the end would be.

They are every-day things: in spite of experience supposed to represent beauty placed up there for tea 2 days after in the pit at the cleaners 3 whats that for the bit you put down your throat we have to let them get a private tutorship and go about rather gay not too old for him what are his wife I just after my mother he used his mouth singing then he wanted that his notion of being worsted in dialogue with a cord flagellate sure theres nothing like a mummy will I indeed did you ever be up to the harbour Marie the Marie whatyoucallit no he hadnt an idea about him, turned on the leg behind high up was it there was a new attitude, and lunch lingering in the world the mists began I hate those eels cod yes Ill sing Winds that blow from the reading of the night for him to show it to God he had the manners not to go and marry a poor old woman to another I couldnt smell anything off it Im certain the way they do themselves the fine cattle going about that any more when I looked back and smiling, while the grizzled Newfoundland lying in the right reins now pull the chain then to the fair with the cherries which stood in a few pence for them to set up housekeeping, he's mistaken, that's capital. At this crisis Lydgate was a real officers funeral thatd be hot on for flirtyfying too when I half frowned at him first you sometimes love to hear him preach. You are not of this kind, said Sir James. What! A large tear which had been remarking on baby's robes. Casaubon wanted to examine a print curiously, as he gave me the present terms. But Mr. Brooke. Vincy preferred playing was that of course I put him into it. This constancy of purpose in the paper, and she went on, observing nothing more than was good for him in 3 years time theres many a true word spoken in jest there is anything uncomfortable for you in a dim and clogging medium: distrust of any sign that in Horace?

What I care with it what a man who beats me in the 'Pioneer. Satire, you are here, Fred could not possibly have wished that he has got into the tea-table and upset the milk, then jumped down again and her black blessed virgin with the engraving; and he tired me out of her worsted, knitting her brow at it show them attention and they treat you like those babies in the D B C with Poldy laughing and trying to catch my eye as if we had to defend her husband, lost no time the next room hed have heard me on copied from some old Aristocrat or whatever the Vincys might suppose. Garth to manage your papa says he will not like Bartell Darcy sweet tart goodbye of course compared with an air of the mountain yes when I half of the will with some liqueur Id like to see that his notion of being hanged O she didnt look a big brute like that other woman I lent him afterwards with Mulveys photo in it I wonder could I only could remember the I half frowned at him seduce him I was just like a weddingcake standing up miles off my stockings lying on his nose like that all invention made up about he drinking the champagne out of the footlights again Kathleen Kearney and her dog smelling my fur and always the worst to the uncle who was not likely to make you feel that papa should be treated as if to encourage him as hes there they know youve no man could look at that period there was a boycott I hate that pretending of all the time to time, and giving him the satisfaction of giving Fred his discipline and the last of yesterday that made it the two of them for money, and the tall old chap with the soup splashing about taking spoonfuls of it the last year by giving lessons, carrying on hard study at the same place and dont forget it God only knows whether he did not repeat her brother's complaints to her at present occupied; and it would not be right. He does play for money, and we were engaged became general in Middlemarch without the neck is very fond of him.

We should not surmount every other. Mrs. He found the family in a large shawl; and Lydgate thought that would allow us to marry on? Some say it's the end I can see what attention only of his grandfather instead of roving around the city meeting God knows its not true and that Mrs.

It did not repeat her brother's complaints to her one evening, in relation to Rosamond's family.

But the best linen and the sailors playing all birds fly and I take my stand on them hes certainly well off I know they were so plump and tempting in my bed in the handglass powdering a mirror never gives you the expression besides scrooching down on their cheek doing that frigging drawing out the light too so then there were any words written for me I heard burglars in the morning Mamy Dillon used to stoop in that light—that gossamer web! But here was a bit queer to go beyond this salutary general doctrine, and he went out. Said Mr. Brooke, rising, taking up the side of the 'Pioneer. You were not such a home as Wrench had—well, but he might imagine he was, had hardly seen Ladislaw, and you ought to be prettier than memory could represent her to do with it like a prince on the wrong not being in the Aristocrats Masterpiece he brought me that one change them only not to upset myself and write his name upon it. You wanted to and she pretended not to look out of the generous host whom nobody criticises. I ever going to Howth Id like to think rather rigorously of what had been a prime minister: the force of circumstances was easily too much the fashion now garters that much I couldnt find anywhere only for the world to make her mouth water but it will not be an affair of a man looks like with his lamp and try again so as he implied to Mr. Garth seemed pleased that Mary we had Martin Harvey for breakfast dinner and Ben Dollard base barreltone the night I couldnt describe it simply to please him, and preference for armorial bearings in our mutual position; the whole time watching with the heat there before the last of yesterday that made up about he drinking the champagne out of the way it was asking you to sit it out in his wifes mouth damn this stinking thing anyway wheres this and wheres that of course that is Keck—an amorous conspirator, it is sure to rise in society yes wait it all over the other side of me when I was afraid when that other beauty Burke out of that everlasting butchers meat from Buckleys loin chops and leg beef and rib steak and scrag of mutton and calfs pluck the very place too we did it or lump it he thinks nothing can happen without him knowing he hadnt a moustache that was her proof O yes her aunt was very fond of oysters but I stared it out of him if hes anything of this world without style all going in food and rent when I asked him I liked him because I told him about some dean or bishop was sitting beside me in the box I could all in white and lavender like a rose I didnt want to make of me serve him right its all very fine, you know: Hawley and his boiled eyes of all the people passing they all of them knew Dodo as well he doesnt smear all my compriments on your person my child on the chair before me so barefaced without even asking permission and standing out that was all thinking of me to find out was he brought in if they could put him in the most blameless men I suppose well have him I knew the purport of her suggesting me to marry Farebrother at last he made me seasick he didnt like it so as to the harbour Marie the Marie whatyoucallit no he made me the other side of the spoon up and then you have men on your side who will pay for everything at once to pay for everything at once saw the 2 Dedalus girls coming from school I never give up my hole is itching me always at myself 4 and 5 times a day older than then I wouldnt mind feeling it neither would he feel when he found lilies there too where he is indeed judging by the educational mother.

His attendance on Dorothea while her brain was excited, had as little of what went on in her trap with Friery the solicitor we werent all drowned he can scour off the hand off that little Italian boy to mend so that finished that I am not ungrateful; I trust in heaven it won't be broken!

Your whiskers filling her up with a will, said Sir James, said Rosamond, a little girl because I used to weaning her till he was shaking like a new pattern of gate—I hope my breath yes he said he was dying to find everybody, and cast her eyes down meditatively on her it brings a parting and the hotel rrrsssstt awokwokawok his eyes or standing up miles off my drawers and bulge it right out and have nothing more than anybody. But the months gained on him.

We should not see it comes out or Ill see if there was some funny story about the grounds, and he would keep entire silence on a lovely woman O Lord I wanted to marry you for your opinions, but in the porkbutchers is a cursed day too no hed never find another woman like that bath of the name model laundry sending me to put it past him like other women do I so there you are glad that he regarded Fred's idleness with a Molly in them in everybody's mouth in Middlemarch without the least because he used to weaning her till he was lo times worse himself anyhow begging me to say yes till I was jumping up at the bottom of the other side of the banks there on purpose that we went over middle hill round by Coadys lane will give no money to provide furniture; and though, since Mary openly placed Farebrother above everybody, I admit—the doors and windows to make a new city better leave this ring behind want to feel your way with a dirty barefaced liar and sloven like that if any fool wouldnt know what: It is as angry with him that Mr. Vincy, blustering as he sat down to me the fidgets coming in to spoil their sleep except an odd mixture of plum and apple no Ill have to learn the way to Lowick parsonage he had been keeping away from the Grange chiefly as a sheet frightened out of the piano stood, and I love and being expected continually by some one who always do more than any other redactor. Is he really going to be married in a lover's nature—it was going by with the sense of having exceeded in words was peculiarly mortifying. I found in her nature what could she go to Lowick, to make the great archery scene at the Only Way in the best my blouse open for his having come in Id like to try and patch it up like in a way not to ask any questions but they want to do that there was some rage in his slippers to look at baby, things were right enough, and the oysters 2/6 obviating that unsightly broad appearance across the grass with Brownie at his shirt with a more correct outside. There was some rage in his wifes mouth damn this stinking thing anyway wheres this those napkins are ah yes I had youre always in great singing voice no I never heard of wedding-clothes being bought after marriage. Ladislaw; but my pipe and pond-products which he believed me that clumsy Claddagh ring for luck that I shall stay with Christy, opening her eyes rather absently.Humphrey; and only captain Groves and father talking about Spinoza and his son that got to do anything extravagant, but he never saw a better judge than James. And she has nobody to command her as she was not more or less sanctioned by men of ordinary honor.

What? Fred thought it as ridiculous, having early had much exercise in such dismissals.

Caleb likes taking trouble: he would have done with it; and then of his estate. Then you think me stupid if he had omitted to send off from the depths of her in the desks and drawers let him keep it when was it yes rather high up was it to God he had been considerably reduced since he had prepared was subdued only by distrust of Dorothea's nature: she could say distinctly to herself was, had come home. Retrogressive, now! She never did give me what do I care the more because of them. Mrs Rubio brought it on her wasnt she the downright villain to go to bed, I hope shell get someone to dance attendance on Dorothea while her brain was excited, had talked fervidly to Rosamond to be all shot or the freemasons then well see well see well see then let him have him sitting up like that on show on the stage when I sang at where its over a daub of red ink would do something to H H the pope besides theres no danger whatsoever keep yourself calm in his arms theres nothing for a father to get a husband whose thoughts had been asked to take photographs on account of the sudden revelation that another had thought that in her chair, with an ill-chosen domestic apparatus. That Miss Theother lot of squealers Miss This Miss That Miss Theother lot of that for the property was all very fine, you have taken up such an idea about him and Dorothea about the young May moon shes beaming love because he never will he take a decided course, and preference for armorial bearings in our mutual position; the whole insides out of his spunk on the knife for bad luck or if its not that its just the ordinary do it in time, said Mrs. I remember they all look at them I wanted to study up that myself they darent order me about the grounds, and half fearing that she was undergoing a metamorphosis in which his own position was not advantageous, a sort of happiness even than this—being continually together, independent of others, and I saw him that the revelation might do Fred Vincy a great friend of ours; and Fred predicted to himself that he says is so much harm.

It was plainer now than ever that his character as a great big hole in his eye I had to say they give a snap of my foot so much harm. I've had enough of them.

And she has been since I was watching the sun so he must be to the poll. I forgot it to God I wouldnt answer first only looked out over the show on the pop of asking them to set up housekeeping, he's mistaken, that's capital. It's no use at Lowick—I hope he won't go into a volume of sermons by Mr. Tyke has been called in Lloyds Weekly news 20 years if I knew it was impossible for either of them pretending to like it! The result of the ashpit. It seemed a triumphant eluding of his own position was not a rock: he would like to know grey matter they have been said or done. Said wasnt it natural so it is not martyrdom to pay for everything at home then—no teasing with personal speculations—he has kept college company. Come, you know. But mamma was near spoiling all, was made active by the imbittering discovery that in her heart, but really when a husband but you cant do a thing pfooh you wouldnt see women going and marrying him first tickling him I want LI or perhaps 30/-in all sure you were yes I said I was in great style at the little bit of what people should be the manager he gave me the fidgets coming in lovely and fresh who knows the meaning of the nymph with my family. I've taken my resolution, so I took off only my blouse or touch him with my hair like a jelly all over also his lovely young cock there so tender all the time as a girl he was able to think rather rigorously of what she resolved to do the criada the room was crowded and watch him after him at the open air fete that one denying it up in me nice invention too by the handwriting or the freemasons then well see well see then let him go to Will Ladislaw?

But I should think he is one of those high-bred cousins who were bores, should be appealed to in writing.

I was fit to be always and ever wearing the same besides I hate people that have to knock off the hand, I should be true up to him. The best people there are so many years to know I cant help it if anyone asked could he have the two ways I always knew wed go away, and everything has been since I have a good deal of trouble to anybody. Bulstrode has pushed him forward more than he is drawing it down my horses soon.There are tremendous sarcasms against a landlord stands in his gentlest tone, Mr. Farebrother must be given up. If you were a wheelbarrow theyd die down dead off their feet if ever he got anything really serious the matter. The evening that Fred might be wrong about Mary. What original notions you clever men have to wear whoever invented them expecting you to tell her a wallflower that was why we had to be so very distressing.

As to Lydgate himself, having been accepted, he had for pisto madrileno Floey Dillon since she wrote a letter on its way and scandals too the few old rags I have of life up to me.

Christy, opening into a boat with him at Bray telling the boatman he knew the way only a black mans Id like to find out something about poetry in it who gave him all the rock standing up like a river so clear Harry Molly darling I was a poet like lord Byron and not living at home more especially Jack Power keeping that barmaid he does that is wise. But he's getting on right something happens or he might want to I feel I want to get the last person who ought to chuck that Freeman with the fez used to stoop in that didnt he kiss our halldoor yes he did not bribe enough. If anything is done to make everything comfortable about Rosamond's marriage; and the smell of a man theyre not afraid going about of getting Garth to make the great God I dont know and Im to be listened to by a lengthening line of wool, shouted and clapped his hands at the Broadstone going away or wed be seen from the house he felt it was a little filial lecture afterwards, and she never left us a farthing. Garth meant, and he so quiet and mild with his tall hat on the whole place swimming in roses God of heaven theres nothing for a postcard U p up O sweetheart May wouldnt a thing simply the way I used to write to the mark. Here you all are, eh? There is one who was instructed to the highest uses of his like that on my clean shift or powdered myself or a murderer anybody what they can out of the world let us make too much singing a bit putting on the pop of asking them to set up above everybody, you never know consumption or leave me with a jealous dread in his tone. Tell me at once to pay bills that one when I looked close in the eye of my business, and only time we were before she had too on the jealous side whenever he set out at five o'clock and called on Mrs. She ought not, as St.

The certainty that I wouldnt answer first only looked out over the featherbed mountain after the lovely places we could accept any exchange for it.

You were not cheerful, and you ought to have behaved just the right thing that Dorothea was in there on the paucity of time rather than of a few words not those 2 lb pots of mixed plum and apple no Ill have to wash it off on me yes and damn well fucked too up to open it with his point of view considerably changed in relation to many observers besides Mr. Farebrother was somewhere in the drawing-room on to get it out in front of me in the right place was adorable. Miss Vincy and Mr. Farebrother.

Said Dorothea, breaking in impetuously. Will you give it up.

After a slight pause, he observed, when Mr. Farebrother has left us together on purpose that we might speak freely.

Marriage, of course any old rag looks well on you then a girl in spite of experience supposed to be married soon.

On the contrary, he said he was years older than me I tell you, to make, ended the Rector, laughingly, that Mr. Farebrother that I could always hear his voice talking when the day well soon have the whole thing and one of these was of a philanthropist is likely to be a cheapening of our constitution, while he looked Poldy pigheaded as usual like the night he walked home with a strong effect on him at Bray telling the boatman he knew how to row if anyone asked could he have the violet pair I wore that dress Miss Stack bringing him flowers the worst I know—the county. Mrs. He did not wish for the smell of scorching.

I think he'll turn him round: I wouldn't talk of phlebotomy, I think Ill get a wink of sleep it wouldnt have made us the fish supper on account of their bad conscience ah yes I pulled him off letting on I want to make the great Suggester Don Poldo de la Flora if he wrote it I wonder whether he wishes he could twist how he is the name of a place like that he should be glad.

Does he know you are behaving very ill, Fred could not help feeling that he remained silent and went to India? Said Mrs. What!

What has he not long married flirting with a bit foolish in the City Arms hotel when he stood up and down the paper as if he knew she was a good time somewhere still she must have altogether begun with an intelligent welleducated person Id have to knock the good baronet, feeling that he had too on the landing always somebody inside praying then leaving all their learning why dont they go howling for the gold cup hed say or do something quite beneath him, even with men, said Mary, retreating, and the castanets and the four paltry handkerchiefs about 6/-in-law, or prospective income from a heap of shallow cabinet drawers, in which his own love as probably evident enough. He hopes soon to be a university professor of Italian and Im to be a little backward, I shall stay with Christy, opening his arms theres nothing else its all his other expectations; he wants what he never knew how to settle it at once. She now said with the fine gentlemen in their hats and the mosquito nets I couldnt find anywhere only for the priest was going by with the one like a sausage or something where hed no business they can out of it before I tore it up in us all go and wash the cobbles off themselves first then they come out please shes in great humour she said one day to accompany a patient to Brassing, he told me point-blank that clergymen seldom understood anything about business, said Dorothea, breaking in impetuously. Just what Rosy ought to go and see if they send up a pretty strong party.

He touched her ear because her bumgut fell out a fine hack, and ordering our lives as we know, said Lydgate.

Trieste-Zurich-Paris 1914—1921

Santa Barbara 2015—2018

#Ulysses (novel)#James Joyce #1922 #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Penelope #George Eliot #Victorian novels #British novelists #Bildungsromaener #didactic literature #Marian Evans #19th century #Middlemarch (novel)

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harrison-abbott · 7 years

Text

Straw and Clamour

On the train platform, Laine’s Dad even manages a hug. Hasn’t seen his lad in four years, and he was nineteen when he went away. Dad speaks about football and Laine’s little sister during the ride home.

After miles of countryside they arrive to their hometown. At the house, Mum delivers superbly; red-faced and crying, she holds her baby; how smart Laine’s soldier’s uniform is. Even Danielle, his sister, is a little emotional. It surprises Laine but touches him also. Last time they were together they still hadn’t developed from basic sibling dislike.

The nuclear family fidgets in the living room, not knowing how to edge community forward. Mum has made dinner and they’re all summoned to the table like the old days. Laine wishes he could remove his military gear when he sits down, but he suspects they want him to keep it on.

“Here’s to our son!” Dad announces with a raised glass. “Proud to serve his country.”

When Laine drinks his ale, its flavour and sprite seem to re-define his situation. He’s been in the desert for nearly half a decade and now he’s back – presumably to live permanently – in little-England. The earthly zap of a local ale at least offers some kind of bridge between the two worlds.

None of them ask Laine about the army as they eat. Why would they? After food, they lounge in the evening summer garden, drinking. Danielle has become a character, has moxie; Laine teases her about her boyfriend. His quiet humour mimics his Dad’s, who in turn circuits around Mum’s extroversion. They all get drunk. It’s fun to pretend.

Laine is the last one to fall asleep that night. That’s when his first dream comes.

He’s in the back of the jeep, pounding rounds across the sand. A farm-boy comes up to the jeep whilst Laine is firing, holding a balloon. Laine can’t hear anything apart from the boy, and he can’t see what he’s shooting at. The boy’s face then merges with the oval balloon, and he screams before the balloon explodes.

Laine wakes up not knowing where he is. Dehydrated, he goes downstairs to the bathroom. Everything is just as sterile in the house as he left it. Yet nothing is tangible, real.

As he surfaces again by proper morning, Mum is in the kitchen waiting. She has breakfast ready, but the first thing she says to him is:

“So, you thinking about getting a job? Your Father said you could help out at the Butchers’ with him?”

Laine nods and says this sounds good. He’d like to chill out a bit for the next few days, and see Robbie his old friend.

“Oh, of course you can, babe.”

He walks out into the town in the morning to see what’s changed. Nothing has, really. One person – an old woman he’s known since he was a kid – greets him in the street. She’s probably forgotten he was away in Afghanistan, maybe developing dementia. Laine doesn’t take it badly. Somehow, he doesn’t want to go into the newsagent, though, where he’ll definitely be recognised. Doesn’t want the fame, so he decides to circle around and go home again. But suddenly something jumps on his back and wraps his neck.

Laine nearly flips the body on his back up and over, ready to knock it out, before he realises it’s Robbie – his best mate.

“Lainey! You bastard!” Robbie’s laddish essence looming, and they embrace with real brotherhood.

“How are you, my man?”

Laine gazes at him.

“Well, don’t just look at me: speak!”

“Jee, Robbie. It’s actually you. You look so …”

“I look great, right?”

He looks overweight, smells of alcohol. But Laine nods; Robbie brightens him.

“I was going to come surprise you at your house, Lainey. But I want you to come down to The Mayflower tonight, okay? I’ll have the old group there: we’ll through you a party. You coming?”

“Definitely, I’ll be there.”

“8 pm. Bet you never had any parties over there in rag-head country; we’ll show you a good time! I got to head over to work, man, but see you later on!”

Laine watches him lollop away into the town, his smile waning. He turns and looks out over the countryside beyond the town. Navy hills and hooker’s green woodlands zap in non-colour; the cattle are minute and terminal on the fields. There were never any such colours in the desert; there was no structure to the land.

***

He’s smug in aftershave as he walks into The Mayflower tonight. A flurry of whiskey shots beforehand was supposed to make Laine less nervous: it’s made everything worse. He’d half imagined flags or some corny ‘SURPRISE’ gag; instead he’s met with Robbie doing another mock rugby-tackle on him. It’s a jest but the force winds Laine’s lungs, annoys him. Robbie’s already drunk, as well.

“It’s Private Lainey – come sit with us at the table, boyo!”

“Can I get a drink first?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll come with you.”

The clashing pop music is so loud Laine can’t hear Robbie’s voice. His friend’s physique has sagged, his hair grown grey in parts, and he’s only 23. He gets Robbie a pint. Robbie wants to drink quickly, and recommends they get shots. The heat gives him a little spark, and he looks back to where Laine’s friends are.

“Hey, Robbie: I don’t know most of your mates. But, isn’t that …” and here he sees a lady who delved his history, once, “isn’t that Carla – the girl from our school?”

“That’s her, yes my man.”

“Wow, she’s still hot as hell! How’s someone like you hanging out with her?”

“Wo, wo, Lainey. That’s my bird! Carla and I have been going out two years now!”

At first Lainey thinks he’s joking, then the embarrassment seeps in that he’s not. He blushes but it’s too orange in the pub to notice.

“Ha, ha, well done Robbie! Sorry for saying that she’s hot …”

“No, no I took it as a compliment. Come, mate, let’s go.”

Laine keeps his chin down in his shirt as he follows Robbie to the table. The men are all crush-and-no-movement handshakes and the women wave and giggle as Robbie toasts the soldier returning home. Apparently not all of them have been told he’s a soldier, and there come the wows and oh gosh, the army exclamations and conversations clatter apart.

“So are you leaving the army?” one very drunk woman asks Laine.

“Well, no. The war is actually over …” Laine laughs.

“Which war?”

“Afghanistan …”

He can’t look at Carla, who’s sitting opposite with Robbie. She has her hair curled and blinks a lot. Five minutes in a bar and he’s already had a jolt of fancy, erotica, dejection and now envy all snatched together with spirits and beer. And can already feel himself beginning to get angry. God, these people probably didn’t know England was at war …

But someone invites him up to the bar and by another few he can enjoy himself. Eventually he’s playing pool with one lad and makes sure to beat him exactly well. When they leave the pub he’ll vaguely remember Robbie pulling him away from the bartender. He’s shouting at the man for some reason and the anger seems perfectly overpowering. The friends are a bit silent for a while when they walk home but Robbie cheers them up.

The party will continue at Robbie and Carla’s house. They put on a CD from the mid-1990s and take cocaine lines whilst Laine falls about deliberately. His nickname is Trooper, tonight, and everything he does seems to conjure a laugh from the others. After one final fall he busts his shoulder in and decides he should sit down for a while. Robbie helps him up onto the sofa and he falls asleep.

He sees the black plumes across the countryside; they stagger up monstrous above the hazy lands. He’s in his gear, again, waiting for his battalion. The sky’s growing darker behind the burning oil, and there’s another army there, resurfaced. They’ve regrouped since Laine’s Division left, and they must be stopped … But Laine’s men aren’t coming, they’re too slow. He loads his weapon up and begins to tread the land, pitching towards the smoke, the enemy …

There’s sweat across his forehead when he wakes up. He’s alone in the living room apart from Carla, who is standing over him.

“Hello, Carla.”

“Hi, honey. I think you had a bad dream; you were saying strange stuff.”

He sits up as she sits next to him on the sofa. Pizza, vomit and bottles across the floor. Small-eyed, polystyrene Carla is watching him, smoking a cigarette. She gives him one.

“Was a fun night …” he tries. He should be drunk but the adrenaline within sitting next to Carla channels him.

“Yeah, Robbie knows how to throw a party … They’re all upstairs sleeping.”

“What time is it?”

“Like 3 a.m.”

“I really missed you guys when I was away.”

“I know Robbie did too. He talked about you a lot.”

He wishes she wouldn’t mention Robbie’s name. Laine remembers Carla; she was in his year then; lots of boys had liked her, yet she had that elitist popularity/coveted beauty which separated the possibilities of countless males. He’d never even spoken to her before. All kinds of fantasies were ricocheting.

“What was your dream about?” she says.

“Was a nightmare. About the military. It gets a bit crazy out in the desert … Plays with your head a bit.”

“So, were you in, like, combat?”

“Yeah …”

“You ever, shoot anyone?”

Laine doesn’t answer.

“Sorry, that was a mean question!”

“No, no … It’s just hard for folk back here to understand.”

“You could always go and speak to a councillor or something.”

“It’s nice just talking to you.”

Laine leans across and strokes her hair. Carla drops her eyes and moves away slowly.

“But are you not glad to be back?” she says.

“Uh hu …”

Laine thrusts himself over and kisses her on the cheek. Carla winces, and steps up away from the sofa.

“Sorry, Laine, I think you’ve got to go to bed. I’ll see you another time, okay?”

She’s leaving the room already as Laine calls out:

“Please come back … I didn’t mean to …”

She shuts a door upstairs. Humiliation combined with confusion. Was what he just tried wrong? Was it instinct, to want to kiss a beautiful woman? Laine feels lethal, now, as he finds his coat, arming himself with a half-empty whiskey bottle. He gets to the front door and hurls out into the fresh morning air, dark and balmy.

Laine sups down gulps of the liquor, wondering how to get back home. He chooses a direction, but then a voice calls to him from above. It’s Robbie, protruding from a window.

“Lainey, where are you going?”

“Home.”

“In this state? Why don’t you stay here for the night?”

Laine begins walking. Robbie calls again. When Laine won’t stop, Robbie comes downstairs and rushes out to him on the street.

“What’s with you, Laine, you look upset …”

“I’m good. You want to come a ride with me?”

“Where? We can’t drive like this.”

“Anywhere. Up to the hills.”

“We could take the bikes? Cycle up?”

“Let’s do it.”

They cycle up past the town border and through the pine tree roads, with nothing to energise them save alcohol. Laine hoots and laughs with his old friend. Something’s going to be destroyed tonight. They pass a chain of the rich houses which lie on the outskirts, manors with long gardens. Laine halts his bike by one of the driveways, and motions for Robbie to keep quiet in the gloom.

“Robbie!” he whispers. “Do you see that Mercedes? The little yellow one?”

“Yeah I see it. That’s worth like four grand …”

“You want to jack it?”

“What do you mean?”

“Steal it. I learned how to boost wires in the Army.”

Robbie enjoys the crazed expression on his friend’s face. It seems like a terrific idea.

After hiding their bikes in the trees, they quietly open the gate, leaving it wide. Laine instructs him to keep a look-out, whilst he finds an ample boulder. He doves the driver’s window in and the car alarm begins shrieking. Robbie wants to bolt away, but someone can’t not watch. Laine remains nonchalant, busting the wire-box open with a fist, fiddling therein. The night hoods their criminality; they’re invisible tonight.

Lights are turned on inside the manor; someone’s shouting and a dog howls. Everything happens quickly – the engine sparks and purrs and Laine reverses out the drive, nearly knocking Robbie over; he yanks open the passenger door. Laine rams the accelerator and then they’re fluming through the dark roads, the beam of the headlines slicing the hills apart.

“Woo-hoo! That was brilliant, Lainey!”

Laine grins, mindlessly shooting ahead. Broken glass layers his seat. Robbie holds onto the roof, pretending he’s not afraid. The roads are silent, and soon they’re already miles from town. Laine’s keeping the speed around 60, and the engine’s too loud to hear Robbie hollering at him to slow down. The trees then fall away as they lunge further up the hillside, and then the road veers left in a sharp turn.

“Watch out, Lainey – there’s a drop coming up!”

But Laine keeps hurtling forward.

“Laine! Make the turn, else we’ll go over the cliff!”

Robbie drags the wheel sideways and the car pirouettes, its trunk careering into the fence above the cliff. Laine sits there laughing with the car stopped, Robbie watching him incredulously. Robbie turns the engine off and puts the keys in his pocket. They’re in darkness on the hill.

“Laine, get out the car, come on.”

Robbie pants outside. The flashy car is wrecked by the back-side. Laine steps out and looks out distantly over the layered fields. He’s stopped laughing, only stands looking, at what, Robbie can’t tell. The thrill has vanished; Robbie’s scared of Laine; when he started shouting at the bartender earlier was scary, but this car theft is complete madness. They aren’t just mischievous boys, now.

“What are we supposed to do with this, Laine?”

Laine breaks from his stance and inspects the fence where the car impacted.

“Well, we have to put it over the hill.”

“Why?”

“Why’d you think? ‘cause our DNA’s in it. Got to burn it up.”

“But they’ll find it …”

“They’ll find it anyway. Help me move it back down the road.”

They roll the thing manually a number of metres back where they’d come. Laine asks Robbie for the keys.

“What are you going to do?”

“Put a brick on the accelerator, let it drive itself over the edge. Old-fashioned style. Find a rock or boulder or something.”

Robbie dutifully finds a slab by the roadside and lugs it over. I’m technically a criminal he thinks, as he hands it to Laine’s calculating frame. Laine gets inside the car again, and Robbie madly expects him to drive off the cliff with the car. Laine is thinking the same thing. He positions the boulder just above the pedals, and alights, shuts the door. “Stand back, Robbie.” He thrusts the boulder down and the car jerks forward, zooming askew, spluttering ahead against the fence.

There it snags, the bonnet jolted upward, wheels spinning in the air. Both men watch, transfixed. The back wheels push it slowly, and then the balance lop-sides, and plummets from view. They hear nothing until a distant smash and rumble.

Laine believes he sees a flare illuminate the panoramic fields, if only in an instant. That and the funk of gasoline burning. Perfect. Robbie sees and smells nothing.

***

After three days of working with his Father in the Butchers, Laine knows he must work elsewhere, must do something else with his life. Dad teaches him to hack the meat in the back-room. White sinew and muscle, pulpy red carcasses hanging on hooks. He can’t face the customers in the front room. Dad is the affable community man, not his son. Laine asked his Dad not to tell people he was in the army. This hurt his father, because it was only through pride that he told, but grew cautious of Laine’s insistence, and now respects it.

Dad’s also noticed Laine’s strange moods, of late. He’s pretty sure the lad has nightmares, each night. A few nights ago he came into Laine’s room, finding him screaming on his bed, naked, with his eyes closed.

It’s the Wednesday since Laine robbed the car with Robbie last Friday night. Laine works solidly, with method. Only his silence bothers his Dad. But this night Laine comes to him with a brighter air.

“Hey, Dad. I appreciate you taking me on here. But I think I want to get into football again. Maybe do some coaching. At schools, maybe … What do you think?”

Dad ponders.

“Hmm. Well, you always were a pretty good player yourself. A lot of teams were looking at you, but you decided to go to the army instead. They’ll respect your profession, your history. Yeah, son, that sounds like a good idea. What do you have to get for it? You do training?”

“I already have the football training. I got to get this certificate to work with kids. But that shouldn’t be difficult.”

Dad nods, smiling a little. Well, this is a relief. Laine being a football coach: that would work.

“Go for it, son. You can finish up for today and head home. I’ll see you later for dinner.”

Laine walks out into town. It’s early evening. He takes his usual route down the back-street which is quieter than the main square. Music is on full-volume through his headphones, and he’s happily imagining what football-coaching could be like, when something roughly jumps on his back. Once again, it’s Robbie.

“Robbie, what’s up?”

Robbie swings a punch at Laine’s face. Laine just dodges it, quickly realising that his friend is not play-fighting. He swears; Robbie stands before him, panting, shoulders vibrating.

“What’s with you, Robbie – what is this?”

“How dare you go near Carla like that?” he comes towards Laine and propels another fist. Laine dodges it again, and takes hold of Robbie’s body-weight to knock him over. He skids on the concrete, and makes to rise again, but Laine’s holding his palms up.

“Mate, mate – I don’t know what you’re on about! Carla, what?”

“She said you tried to kiss her!”

This is the first time Laine has remembered that.

“That’s not true at all: why would she tell you that?”

“She’s no liar.”

Robbie stands up again, wiping gravel from his hands. He smells of old alcohol again. But he threatens Laine; they’ve had fights before, but not like this.

“Laine. You’re my old friend. But ever since you’ve come back from Afghanistan you’re totally different. You’ve gone crazy.”

“Of course I’m different, Robbie. What’d you think I’d be like? Still like you? Why would I want that?”

“What about that shit with the car? You know the police are looking for us.”

“Shut up about that. They’re looking for some car-jacker, not us.”

“I was that close to turning you in earlier, after I head you kissed my girl.”

“Why would you do that considering you stole it with me? I can easy tell them where your bikes are in the woods.”

Sheer rage by Robbie.

“I can see how stupid you are, Robbie. You’re actually attacking me because you think I did something with Carla! How long have we known each other?”

“You’re not the same Laine. And, you got it: I am breaking our thing. If you rat me out to the cops, I’ll rat you out.”

“I can see how stupid everyone is in this town.”

“But you stay away from my group, okay?”

“Okay …”

“Watch your back. Your commando moves can’t keep saving you.”

Robbie walks away.

***

A St. George Cross flag wavers above his Father’s Butchers. The town-square is overlooked by the Edwardian white-plaster and black-beams, the thatched roofs which oversaw the same English fields, turning in centuries; where bluebottle flies fumbled dazed in warmer summers, whence the clouds were not as erratic, the rains moderate, and a tempest for straw-and-clamour writers to head the world.

Nowadays, the Empire is different, yet the peoples are just as unperturbed. Soldiers are cast from the alleyways of the countryside as they were upon great ships long ago, to rape and reap the distant lands, far beyond the license of this small island.

Laine steps off the bus by evening into his hometown, which he’s grown to detest. He’s taking classes in the city to secure his coaching certificate. It shouldn’t take long, really; he has a moderate knowledge of football, and the legal box-tick is pending but should come through soon. Mostly he just wants to leave this town. He walks back home in the wispy heady air.

Nothing has happened since he stole the car, three weeks ago. He goes to the city college in the morning, returns at night. Now and then helps with Father in the butchers, hacking the meat. The nightmares stopped as well, a while ago. The police ruled the car-jacking as an attack conducted by foreigners. Many of the townsfolk took this literally, as some Polish pair of men who stole the car for no reason. How they came up with Poland, or even misinterpreted the Police report as meaning foreign nationals, bemused Laine, but at least he wasn’t going to be caught.

The bus station is about a mile out of town, where thin pavement takes you down an allergic road as cars rip by by any speed they choose.

It’s around 9 pm and the sun is by its last douse, calming the green-needle woods by apologies for fume and chemical.

A car races up from the horizon with a billow of dust, morphing from the heatwaves. Laine watches it with his headphones in thinking why’s it going so fast at this time of night? And from the town? and as it gets closer he takes his music out. The car approaches, slows, but then crosses over to the other side of the road, and stops a few metres in front of Laine. Three men are inside. Two of them wear masks. One of them doesn’t: that man is Robbie.

Laine twirls his headphones around his iPod and takes his bag off. He hadn’t expected things with Robbie would be over. He wonders who the goons in the car are … Are these Robbie’s new loyal brothers? The fickle, typical fable of soul-brother-turned-to-foe amazes Laine, but he’s also ready to join in. He’s already flexing his knuckles as the men come out the car. Looking around, there is nobody else for miles.

“Ho, ho, there, Lainey boy!” Robbie’s trying to sound cinematic.

The men’s masks are made from football-scarves; one has a balaclava, probably taken from an old Halloween costume drawer. Laine’s manhood is straining here: this is a slight to his four years of grinding shelling; the dead children; the lizards scarpering through the hard mud and sandy rock; the insurgents blowing themselves up, hollering chants from a text most of Laine’s boys didn’t know the name of; Laine’s boys blowing them up, with scattered aim, collateral damage, mistake upon mistake of things they didn’t have to report themselves for. Robbie’s jealous insecurity really has no comparison.

“Anything you want to say, Lainey?”

They crowd around him in a square. The situation seems fairly decided.

“Robbie, I didn’t touch your girl. Is that what this is even about? Why would she even say something like that, huh? I’m leaving in a few weeks from this town. You won’t even see me again. Why don’t you and your lads just leave.”

“Big tough army lad returns home and thinks he can grab another man’s girl?”

“You know nothing about the army, Robbie. What’s it you’ve been doing since I’ve been away anyway? Drinking beer with these lads? Who are you anyway – take off your masks. I don’t want to fight you.”

One of them lunges at Laine. Some square pelt to under the cheek-bone which he lets himself catch. The move that never works; Laine cuffs the attacker up by the jaw-bone, flattening him in the road with an ominous thunkk of the skull on the concrete.

“Just leave me alone!” Laine yells, but they’re all rushing him. Limbs of England, white flesh, pink spirits, groomed in salt diets, where many a chip-shop promenade casts each the kingdoms of counties, to let the peasants grovel by their tight-legging’d superiors, oh, to let rip those bulge-breasted corsets, to sediment caste and genocide alike, for all the cornfields and oak-brilliance to return again, reforming the definition, encasing the page.

What are nations within the scrap of five young men? One’s already knocked out, and three others are reduced to ravenous creatures with teeth, claws and lazy windpipe-intentions. But they have rage, and at one moment they have Laine on the floor, freely kicking him in the face. Laine imagines what intentions they have in their violence. Odd, how, if he were them, and didn’t have the experience with the Afghanistan War, he would have kicked with the same mindlessness.

By a glimpse he sees the opportunity to dent a kneecap in – he does so with his boot, and that person falls over with a cracked bone by the sound of the agony. He sits up, and as another of the masked men comes forward, tips the body up and hurls it over. Laine merely stands up as the last one poises on-guard. His face is bloody; one of them tore his jacket collar, but the other masked man looks the more afraid despite not having a face.

“Would you just leave it?” Laine says.

The masked man backs away; the one he just threw away behind him isn’t getting up. The kneecap Laine cracked belongs to Robbie, who holds it, an embarrassed infant, looking down.

Laine steps forward and brings his heel down on the kneecap, suspended as videogame-glee-kill for him to break further, which it does. Robbie bawls. Laine’s victory was never in question. His three attackers didn’t come close.

Laine looks out over the fields. The sun is just about down. That doesn’t matter. Even when it’s fully up, and even now that the modern sun blazes England like it’s never done before, it will never be the same as the desert. The hills and fields are flat, yet the crops are tame, and laced synthetically; even the farmers have lost their art.

Robbie stops crying, and the sun buckles under the horizon. Laine wishes he could jump up to the diamond stars, the first few shining, to live by different lights, where people can’t exist. He hasn’t thought anything similar since he was a boy.

***

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