#return to boggy creek
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Return to Boggy Creek (1977)
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Return to Boggy Creek! This week on @seddybimco!
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Halloween 2022 - Day 6 - The Mothman Prophecies (2002)
Na na na na na na na na Mothman!
Today brings us the second half of our traditional ‘The...’ double bill but both this and Boggy Creek are linked in that sort of cryptozoology world. At least, I guess I’d call the Mothman cryptozoology, I’ve heard people refer to it as a demonic entity which would be something entirely different. But I’m happy to say I enjoyed this one infinitely more than Boggy Creek. I know this was down to a podcast as well that I had listened to last year talking about the Mothman mythos, I don’t remember much from it other than the idea of the Mothman being seen as this harbinger of doom, with sightings of it linked to disasters taking place nearby.
Which is shown early on, perhaps not immediately obviously so, when husband and wife John and Mary Klein get into a car accident whilst returning home from a house viewing. An accident seemingly caused when Mary gets a vision of a huge moth life creature flying directly at the car. During her treatment, the doctors discover a brain tumour that ultimately takes her life but before she passes, Mary begins to draw strange images of what she saw that fateful night.
I would like to take a moment to mention that I love how during that house viewing they break off to go fuck in a closet and when the realtor comes to find him, he doesn’t bat an eyelid and just continues his up sell without breaking a sweat. What a pro. John and Mary incidentally are played by Richard Gere and Debra Messing, which struck me as something of an odd pair, both in terms of the age gap and their usual acting roles, at least in my head. I mean, thoughts of Richard Gere normally turn to his pairings with Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman or Runaway Bride. And Debra Messing obviously is notable for Will and Grace which would have been in full swing around this time. I completely forgot that show came back again in the late 2010’s. I suppose there’s more to their respective filmmographies than comedy though, they do both have biblical credits after all, Messing playing a very different Mary in hers...
The idea that Mary wouldn’t have known about the tumour had it not been for that accident does raise the question of just what motive does this Mothman have. Certainly the movie would want you to believe that there are dark forces are work here but was this just a warning of sorts?
Two years later, John is driving through the night to an interview he is due to conduct as part of his job at the Washington Post, only to find himself way off track in West Virginia with absolutely no idea how he got there. When his car breaks down, he goes looking for help only to be dragged into a house with a shotgun pointed at him with questions as to why he’s been snooping around their house for the last 3 nights, knocking on their down and asking to use the phone at 2.30am. There’s definitely something strange going on in Point Pleasant.
From there the movies weaves it’s path through a series of strange events that kept me intrigued to see what would happen next and to what extreme this could reach. There was this real feeling of dread building up, that something disastrous could happen so any shot of a crowd full of people felt like this could be the big moment.
Like Boggy Creek, sights of this ‘creature’ are kept to a minimum but it feels like these events have so much more weight and impact to them to see how shaken each witness is, how people seem to be driven crazy from seeing this entity. It’s one thing to catch a glimpse of Bigfoot, sure he might be 7 feet tall but your mind can kind of process that, maybe it’s just a trick of the mind or it’s just an unusually tall person just hanging around in the woods for some unexplained reason. But to see this monstrous image of a humanoid creature with a ten foot wing span, to start having visions and to hear eerie predictions of death and destruction that end up coming true forces you to confront something other worldly and question something greater than your own existence. How do you live with the crushing knowledge that so many people will perish and yet you can do absolutely nothing to save them? Worse yet, any attempts you do make will either make you look crazy or implicate you in whatever does go wrong.
There’s one really lowkey amazing moment that hit me when, in amongst all the weirdness and tragedy that had befallen Point Pleasant since he arrived, John is in town and gets these looks from some of the locals. It’s only for a second or two and it’s not really touched upon further but it really struck me as he was no longer chasing the Mothman; he had become him. He was now this human embodiment of this prophecy of catastrophe. Whatever agency was unleashing this upon the world, fate or happenstance, it was like John was the catalyst for it all.
I really dug the atmosphere the movie had going for it, be it’s cold colour palette underlined the macabre sense of death lingering in the air throughout, or just this overbearing sense of forces conspiring to keep John in Point Pleasant. Even when he gets out he’s compelled to go back.
And cold is an apt word because, hey, this is a Christmas movie after all.
It’s cool as well when you realize the way things are starting to play out with little plot points established early then paying off. I’m not sure how well the movie would stand up to repeat viewings once you know how it all goes down but I suppose it could be neat to see if there are any things like that scattered throughout. At least that first time you’re still wondering what bad thing is going to happen, it’s like when you’re watching Casualty and you try and guess who’s going to mutilate themselves and how. I’ll take the farmer accidentally sticking his arm in the wheat thresher for a thousand, Alex.
My one quibble about the movie would be the strange transitions it has, more so in the first half of the movie, where it suddenly do a flyover of a forest before going over a power line and the camera inverts on itself. Just comes across as something you’d get in a cheap B movie.
I’m curious as to what the writers/directors were aiming at in terms of symbolism and what not because coping with loss seems to be the most glaring one, one that you hardly need to be a master psychologist to see, the sense of loss on a grand scale with these disasters serving as a backdrop to John’s own personal loss and the way he overcomes it. It’s shown early on that he’s not ready to reintroduce himself into the dating pool and by the end he’s pushed through all these hurdles, literally rejecting the idea of reconnecting with his wife, in order to pursue this other romantic opportunity. Although, this film must have a body count of like 500 people or something so whoever is responsible for all these craziness, there’s probably easier ways to get this guy to move on with his life that don’t involve the grisly death of countless men, women and children.
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Spooky hoofs
The story sort of ends there, although according to the beast’s Wikipedia entry, a few odd sightings followed. Like any other big & tall-store-shopping bigfoot. The creature itself was never found, but it did leave behind some footprints, which, it will not surprise you to learn, were big. Ford’s husband, Bobby, and his brother, Don were returning from a hunting trip and were able to chase it away - but it later came back to attack Bobby. Though sightings (and smellings) had been reported before, the Fouke Monster fever pitch really hit its height in 1971 when the ape overstepped its bounds and reached through a screen door to attack Elizabeth Ford. So bad it’s been lumped in with other Forteana stink monsters under the umbrella of the Skunk Ape. Story: For those who haven’t seen the classic Legend of Boggy Creek (that’s the trailer above), let’s fill you in on some background: The Fouke Monster is a purported hominid cryptid living near the Texas-Arkansas-Oklahoma border (Texarkana) who has red eyes and smells really, really bad. The gist: Being a 7-foot-tall sasquatch who smells really, really, really bad. As with many regional Bigfoot franchises and affiliates, there is a group dedicated to finding the Mogollon Monster - good luck to them! Also, reports of an “eerie silence” often precede encounters. Anyway, Arizona’s particular Bigfoot, just like a bunch of other Bigfeet, is said to smell pretty terrible. Have you ever heard of them?” Congenial but dull. That’s cool, right?” which is kind of like someone saying, “The Beatles are my favorite band. But it seems that when sending a contestant to the America Monster Pageant, many states default to the safe line of “Well, we have a sasquatch here. I find the sasquatch as deathly dull as you do. Story: Okay, so this and the next monster are both Bigfootish, and I apologize in advance for the lack of thrills there. The gist: A seven-foot-tall Bigfoot-like creature with bad B.O. Photo courtesy of Coconino National Forest Service. Now, can your prehistoric bear-dog do that? If a Kushtaka decides to save you it will transform you into one of its own so that you can now, a supernatural otter yourself, swim to safety. The creature can mimic human voices while in otter form and thus, for good or ill, can lull the drowning by imitating the voices of their loved ones. Depending on its mood, a Kushtaka might aid a sailor - or drown him. A supernatural otter! Are you afraid yet? If you’re a sailor in distress you maybe should be. Orrrrrrrrr you can have a person who shapeshifts into an otter. I mean, sure, you can enjoy legend of prehistoric wolf creatures if you wish. Story: While stories of the Waheela - giant wolves that might be descendants of a species of prehistoric “bear-dogs” - persist in the mythos of Alaska, those of us who were bored to within an inch of our life by the Liam Neeson-movie The Grey might let out a slow, steady yawn. As in, a person who transforms into an otter. Oh, and the pig itself may have started out as a farm pig before being sold to a game preserve. a half-ton pig may (or may not!) have been shot in Alabama in 2007, and 2. So to sum up, there are two terrifying things at play here: 1. Not to be outdone, an 11-year-old boy in Alabama is reported to have killed a 1,051-lb. Georgia had the maybe-made-up tale of Hogzilla (no relation to Truckzilla), which weighed in at just over 1,000 lbs. Story: Tales of gigantic wild boars remain a big thing in those parts of the South where wild pigs still roam free. The gist: Weighs upwards of 1,000 pounds, is wild boar. So read on to see what your home state has to offer the world in terms of things that go bump in the night. My credentials: enormous amounts of time spent as a kid in the library, ingesting every book about UFOs, the paranormal, cryptozoology, haunted houses and every other piece of “X-Files” plot fodder I could lay hands on. Some states have an embarrassment of monsters to choose from (and in the case of Florida… well!), but, with a couple exceptions, I tried to confine this guide to just one monster per state. In fact, there be monsters in just about every state, except for Delaware and Kansas (maybe). Because here there be monsters - and over there, too. Here you will find a field-guide to the werewolves, lake monsters, vampires, swamp people, and space brains that populate these 50 states.
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One day I'll beat you kids at fishin'! One day I'll beat you good! You and your sthecret formula.....
Sylvester
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Old Man Crenshaw
[ @bowelfly was disappointed when my “dagnabbit porn bots” post wasn’t an actual monster, so I figured I’d stat up the character I used for the header image. Boggy Creek 2: And the Legend Continues is not a good movie by any means. Like so many creature features, it spends a lot of its runtime walking around the woods, and it has a leering misogyny towards its female characters. The movie picks up in the last fifteen minutes when we meet Crenshaw here, a swamp rat who accidentally caught hisself a little Bigfoot. Jimmy Clem was something of a luck charm for director Charles B. Pierce, having appeared in almost all of his movies, and you can see why. He’s got a lot of charisma playing a gross weirdo, and he steals the show.
This version leans a bit more into the fantasy setting of Pathfinder, but assumes that something like the events of Boggy Creek 2 have already happened in the flavor text. Even if you don’t want swamp sasquatches in your game, these statistics should do a good job for a variety of backwoods gun-toting types.]
Old Man Crenshaw
CR 2 CN Humanoid (dwarf)
This large, fat man has a ragged beard, a balding head and a scowling expression. He wears simple clothes and a strange headband, and carries a gun.
Old Man Crenshaw is a backwoods hunter, trapper and distiller. He has naval training, but jumped ship and headed up river, living in a shack tucked away near the river bottoms. Crenshaw is tall for a dwarf, and many people mistake him for human; his “old man” sobriquet is due to the fact that he’s been around for several (human) generations. He occasionally works as a guide for explorers, but he makes a living sells moonshine, pelts or alchemical remedies. Crenshaw distrusts city folk, government officials, or anyone with pretensions.
Old Man Crenshaw’s life became much more exciting recently, when he accidentally caught a sasquatch child in one of his traps. Crenshaw took the youth home, fixed up his broken leg as well he could, and spent several weeks under siege by its father, who was attempting to rescue the boy. The young sasquatch would have died if not for the aid of a traveling scholar and his students, who treated the humanoid’s infected wounds and returned him to his family. Following this close call, Crenshaw has a newfound respect for the more monstrous denizens of his swamp, and works to protect them from intruders.
Old Man Crenshaw CR 2
XP 600
Dwarf gunslinger 2/rogue 1 (river rat)
Init +2; Senses darkvision 60 ft., Perception +7
Defense
AC 15, touch 13, flat-footed 12 (+2 Dex, +2 armor, +1 dodge)
hp 29 (2d10+1d8+9)
Fort +6, Ref +7, Will +2; +2 vs. poison, spells, spell-like abilities
Defensive Abilities hardy, nimble +1
Offense
Speed 20 ft.; slow and steady
Melee masterwork battleaxe +4 (1d8+1/x3)
Ranged masterwork blunderbuss +5 (1d8)
Special Attacks deeds (deadeye, gunslinger’s dodge, quick clear), grit (2 points), sneak attack +1d6
Statistics
Str 12, Dex 15, Con 16, Int 8, Wis 15, Cha 8
Base Atk +2; CMB +3; CMD 15 (19 vs. bull rush or trip)
Feats Gunsmithing (B), Rapid Reload (blunderbuss), Skill Focus (Craft: alchemy)
Skills Appraise -1 (+1 for treasure found below water), Craft (alchemy) +8, Disable Device +7, Knowledge (nature) +4, Perception +7, Profession (sailor) +8, Stealth +7, Survival +7 (+9 on water), Swim +7; Racial Modifiers +2 Appraise for aquatic treasure, +2 Profession (sailor), +2 Survival on water
Languages Common, Dwarven
SQ saltbeard, swamper
Gear masterwork blunderbuss, masterwork leather armor, masterwork battleaxe, alchemist’s lab, powder horn, 10 doses black powder, 5 handfuls pellets, 5 bullets, 5 alchemical cartridges (pellets), 5 alchemical cartridges (bullets), 2 potions cure light wounds, 2 bear traps, healer’s kit, rowboat, 4 gallons moonshine, 2 antitoxin, 4 alchemist fire, 25 gp
Special Abilities
Saltbeard (Ex) Dwarves occasionally found iron cities along rugged seacoasts, and natives of such cities gain a +2 bonus on Profession (sailor) and Survival checks while at sea. They gain a +1 racial bonus on attack rolls and a +2 dodge bonus to AC against creatures with the aquatic or water subtype. Their greed racial trait applies only to treasure found in or under the water, but applies to all such treasure regardless of whether or not it contains metal or gemstones. This racial trait replaces defensive training, hatred, and stonecunning.
Swamper (Ex) At 1st level, a river rat gains a bonus equal to half her rogue level on Swim checks (minimum +1). A river rat ignores difficult terrain caused by light undergrowth and shallow bogs, and it costs her only 2 squares of movement to enter a square of deep bog or heavy undergrowth, rather than 4 squares of movement. She takes no penalty on Acrobatics or Stealth checks for being in bogs and undergrowth. All of these abilities apply only when she is wearing light or no armor and carrying no more than a light load. This replaces trapfinding.
#npc#pathfinder 1e#pathfinder rpg#boggy creek 2#old man crenshaw#mst3k#Mystery Science Theater 3000#dwarf#feedback
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Moon Rise: Chapter 48
It was just after sunhigh when Swiftcloud and her patrol returned back to Grassclan's camp. Their jaws were full of prey from a successful hunt; their catches plumper than they'd been in moons. Each cat took their turn depositing their contribution to the fresh-kill pile. Then with a few mews of farewell they separated, ready to share tongues with family and friends around the clearing. Swiftcloud decided that she wanted to take the prized shrew she had caught to the elder's den. She made it about a quarter of the way to the gorse bush before stopping, a pang of sadness squeezing her heart. There weren't any elders around to feed anymore. They'd all died during the height of Leafbare. Like so many others in the clan.
Unsure of what to do, Swiftcloud instead decided to claim the shrew for herself, padding over to lounge in the shade of the warrior's den. She'd be dining alone today, both of her mates busy with their own duties at the moment. Swiftcloud dropped the prey at her paws, laying down before it with her head bowed. She whispered a silent prayer to Starclan then began tucking into her meal. Her stomach growled in appreciation, thankful to be filled after so long. The juicy meat of the shrew was just what she needed after that long walk through the meadow. Swiftcloud let out a satisfied purr once her meal was nothing more than fur and bone. She began to groom herself, continually trying to relax and forget about the upsetting events from earlier in the day. The hunt had helped her immensely with her stiffness and pain. But the activity could not quell the upset that had singed her heart when Whitestar had rejected her evidence. Swiftcloud understood why Whitestar would make the decision that she had. But it hadn't made the rejection any easier to bare. Swiftcloud decided that after relaxing for a little while more, she'd try and present her case to Dewstone instead. Perhaps she would receive a better result that way. Even though Snowfrost was Dewstone's aunt, Swiftcloud doubted the Code Keeper would allow her kinship with the guilty medicine cat to cloud her judgement. She was a very logical minded molly. She'd surely choose to believe evidence over her knowledge of her aunt's behavior and personality.
As Swiftcloud lounged, soaking in the beauty of the day, something odd caught her attention. The scent of a familiar yet highly unwelcomed patrol made its way into into nose. Alarmed, she let out a yowl, jumping up and racing to the bramble tunnel. Swiftcloud was the first alert, and the first cat whoever may be coming would get to see.
At her call, her clanmates began to gather around. Guards pushed their way to the front of the crowd, holding their heads high and puffing out their chests. Nosy apprentices weaved past awaiting warriors. Ashwhisker shooed the other camp-bound queens and kits into the nursery while he blocked the entrance, ready to defend his denmates without question. The last of the clan to present themself was Whitestar, who gracefully slipped past her cats to stand beside Swiftcloud.
"Do you smell that?" Swiftcloud asked her leader. "It smells like... the river?" There was something else entangled between the scents of the approaching Treeclan patrol and the boggy musk of the river as well. It was bitter, and too recognizable for Swiftcloud's liking. Her ears folded back against her head, her legs beginning to tremble. Something was terribly wrong. Before she even saw what it was, Swiftcloud already knew what sight was about to behold her.
Finally the visiting cats showed themselves, crawling through the bramble tunnel one by one. The first to appear was Cardinaltail, Treeclan's Code Keeper. His mostly white fur prickled with anxiety as he skulked past Swiftcloud to stand at Whitestar's side and turn. Whitestar gave the harmless tom a look which bore unspoken questions. Cardinaltail simply directed her towards his companions with a glance as they came into view.
The next cat to appear from the brambles was Embersong, Scarletpaw's mother. The dilute calico entered the clearing backwards, clearly dragging something along with her. She did not divert from her task, though her eyes did wander onto the enemy clan surrounding her. The fur on the back of her neck rose at the sight, her attention snapping back onto what she held in her jaws.
The third cat to enter the clearing did not do so by their own accord. The sopping wet body of a sleek silver tabby was hauled into the open with quite a bit of effort. The whole of Grassclan seemed to tense at the sight. Sharp gasps rose from the crowd and cats began to bristle, wide eyed with distraught. Swiftcloud too found herself in such a state as she recognized who this drenched cat was. Jaybird. Her body hung limply in the jaws of the Treeclan warriors who dragged her into the camp. Her eyes were shut tight, jaws parted as if in a silent cry for help. The scent of the river and death swirled around her in a thick musky cloud that made some cats in the front lines look as though they were ready to vomit. As more of the clan caught on to what had become of the beautiful queen, whines and wails of sorrow began to break the silence.
"Jaybird!" Cricketsong's wail came out the loudest of all. The light brown tabby queen shoved past her clanmates, practically bowling one of her daughters out of the way to make it to her best friend's side. The final Treeclan warrior to enter the camp, Smokecloud, gently placed Jaybird's back end on the ground as Cricketsong raced over. He took a pace back to stand beside Swiftcloud, looking on with soft, sympathetic eyes. Swiftcloud looked back at him, blinking a silent thank you before returning her sights onto the still form of the deceased queen.
With Jaybird returned, Grassclan began to file in to inspect and grieve around her soaking wet body. Dewstone, Rabbitstorm, Frostfeather, and Mistyleaf were allowed to push their way to the front. The littermates immediately brought themselves to cling to Cricketsong's side, burying their noses into their mother's flank. Dewstone posted herself by Jaybird's head, pressing their foreheads together to create a loving yet mournful pose. Cricketsong pushed her muzzle into Mistyleaf's fluffy neck fur, muffling her loud, harsh sobs. Swiftcloud abandoned her place by the brambles to flank Mistyleaf's other side, pressing her smaller body against her mate's comfortingly. Goldensong came to join her, putting herself beside her apprentice and Cricketsong. She purred softly in an attempt to soothe the grieving cats around her. Frostfeather started to groom Jaybird as if she were doing nothing more than sharing tongues; though the grief stricken look on her face was unmistakable. Quailbelly managed to squeeze between her and her brother to assist, the mates' cheeks pressed together supportively.
Rabbitstorm nuzzled fiercely against Jaybird's belly, trying to rouse the stiff bodied queen from her permanent slumber. If one strained they could hear him muttering to her, begging her to wake up; her kits needed her, the clan needed her.
"Mama, please!" Rabbitstorm blubbered, pushing himself deeper into the molly's belly. His large fluffy body shook violently as he too began to wail with great sorrow. The sounds of his crying summoned Snowfrost from the throng of cats around them. Swiftcloud noticed Snowfrost winced slightly at the sight of her dead sister, before her attention diverted completely onto Rabbitstorm. The lynx point molly curled her body around Rabbitstorm, her tongue gently rasping over his ear. She whispered to him, softly, soothingly. Yet Rabbitstorm hardly noticed her presence.
Swiftcloud growled at the display. How could Snowfrost choose to give her attention to Rabbitstorm in this moment when her sister was laying dead in front of her? She wasn't even crying. Swiftcloud knew medicine cats were used to occurrences such as injury and death. But even Goldensong wept when her mother had passed. Snowfrost didn't show even the slightest signs of mourning. Others might've believed she was maintaining composure for the sake of her kin. But Swiftcloud knew better. She recalled Jaybird arguing with her sister in the morning. Could it be possible that Snowfrost drowned Jaybird? She wondered. Swiftcloud was aware that the medicine cat was not beyond killing without reason. But her method was passive. Was Snowfrost really capable of something so violent, especially against her own littermate? Swiftcloud couldn't be sure. And though she'd like to jump to that conclusion--especially to give Jaybird's spirit closure--there could be better explanations for Jaybird dying in the river's currents. She could have slipped while hunting along the riverbank. Or a vengeful Treeclan warrior could have snuck into the territory to teach Grassclan a lesson. There was no way to be sure. Swiftcloud shook her head a little, dismissing her turbulent thoughts for the time being.
"Wait- Who's going to care for the kits?" Mistyleaf piped out of nowhere, glancing from her deceased mother over to the nursery. After a short period of silence, Rabbitstorm perked up.
"I'll take care of them," he volunteered, voice cracking. "I wanted to be a queen before, when Heatherwing was alive and expecting... I'd still like to. Besides, it's what Jaybird would want. She'd be happiest if kin looked out for them. And... We've lost both of our mothers... the kits will need more support now than ever before."
"I'll help raise them too," Tabitha offered, making her way closer to Jaybird's corpse.
Rabbitstorm's focus fell upon Whitestar, seeking her approval. Whitestar nodded in agreement without hesitation.
"So be it," she declared, wrapping her plumed tail neatly around her paws as she sat down. Her head turned to give Cardinaltail her attention. "What happened to her?"
Cardinaltail cleared his throat, tail-tip swaying slightly. "One of our warriors spotted Jaybird washed up on the creek shore," he began, eyes darkened.
Rabbitstorm's head jerk upward at the sound of the tom's voice. His ears tilted forward, showing his eagerness to listen in on the conversation. Swiftcloud wondered if it was such a good idea for him to find out, but maybe hearing would help bring closure in a way. And she couldn't deny that she was curious too."She was already dead when they found her. I believe she may have fallen into the river on your territory and was carried downstream into ours."
"Fallen into the river?" Whitestar echoed. "How could she have done such a thing? Jaybird was always such a careful cat. She would not have drawn so close to the water's edge that she could have slipped."
"Actually," Snowfrost raised her voice. "I did see Jaybird when I was out gathering herbs earlier. She was at the riverbank on the outskirts of the Forest Patch, having a drink. It could be entirely possible that she slipped..." The lynx point molly hung her head at the statement.
Whispers traveled between Swiftcloud's clanmates, accusations and guesses of the cause of Jaybird's demise being passed around like prey. Swiftcloud dipped her head to give Jaybird a few licks on the shoulder. Her heart now pounded with emotion. Tears flowed down the white and black patched molly's cheeks. Her eyes lay low, examining the silver tabby queen. As she looked, a small white something caught the young molly's attention. She perked up, bringing her nose down to inspect it. There was something trapped between Jaybird's claws. Swiftcloud peeled the she-cat's front toes apart, revealing a small white chunk of fur stuck between them. Swiftcloud let out a small gasp, earning Rabbitstorm's attention beside her. The fluffy tom leaned in to take a look at what Swiftcloud found. A low, deep growl rose from Rabbitstorm's throat, his eyes narrowing to icy slits which eerily resembled Snowfrost's. A shiver ran down Swiftcloud's spine and she had to resist the urge to jolt.
In a flash, Rabbitstorm sprang away from Jaybird's side. He let out a mighty yowl, unsheathing his claws as he bowled Cardinaltail over. The mostly white and ginger tom let out a shriek of surprise, collapsing under the almost equally massive tom's weight. He wriggled in the younger cat's grasp, trying to slip away as Rabbitstorm pummeled him. Alarm sparked between Embersong and Smokecloud, their instincts making them leap into action. Embersong landed on Rabbitstorm's back while Smokecloud reached for Cardinaltail's scruff to drag him from the frey. Rabbitstorm twisted to reach the offending molly, pulling tufts of fur from her pelt as he swiped his claws at her wildly. Gingerstrike launched himself out of the crowd into the brawl, lending his claws as he batted at Smokecloud who yowled out in shock. Rabbitstorm seemed to blink up at him thankfully, the pair teaming up to attack the enemy warriors.
"Fox-hearts! Murderers!" Rabbitstorm spat, long fur fluffed to double his size, a paw raising to deliver another blow.
"Enough!" Whitestar demanded, jumping into the scuffle if only to put the fighting cats in their place. The pretty siamese she-cat smacked Gingerstrike away, then forced Rabbitstorm onto his side where she held him down. She growled down at him, tail lashing, before turning her head to address the Treeclan cats.
"Back away, please," she requested her voice never losing its calmness. Her focus then turned back to Gingerstrike and Rabbitstorm. Disappointment shone strong in her expression, making the warriors lower their heads in shame.
"You two, away to your den, and do not emerge until I allow you to." Whitestar's tone turned serious, but sounded as if she were chiding her own kits moreso than scolding two full grown warriors. Gingerstrike and Rabbitstorm exchanged a glance, turning tail to tuck themselves away as demanded. Satisfied with their departure, Whitestar walked herself over to Swiftcloud's side. Swiftcloud remained crouched, feeling a little intimidated by the leader's eyes which now rested upon her. Though she figured Whitestar was not here to chide her as well. Instead, Swiftcloud decided to show her the discovery, which could have been the cause of Rabbitstorm's sudden outburst. Whitestar's eyes widened as she got a glimpse of the fur in Jaybird's claws. Once again, the Grassclan leader's attention was given back to the Treeclan cats. The three cats in question were battered and prickly, remaining poised for another fight. Whitestar marched over to them.
"Why is there fur between Jaybird's claws?" She challenged. "If she had simply fallen into the river, she would have mud in her pawpads. Not fur. Especially not white fur." The slightest hint of agitation was twisted within Whitestar's tone, her tail-tip twitching a bit. The Treeclan warriors seemed to stiffen more, exchanging glances.
"H..how dare your cats attack our Code Keeper!" Embersong hissed, tail lashing violently. A good chunk of her cheek fur had been ripped out, and it seemed a small drop of blood was trickling down her chin. Worry was clouding her eyes, and perhaps something else. Was that guilt? Fear? Did Embersong know something?
Whitestar took another step towards them. "Do not change the subject," She growled. "Answer my question."
Embersong gave no response. Instead she whipped around, gently headbutting Cardinaltail. Cardinaltail got the message, turning and crawling out of camp without question.
"Treeclan has done nothing wrong. Blazestar will hear about this!" Embersong threatened, following the tom out. Smokecloud shook his head slowly, remaining stationary.
"We will investigate the matter further, Whitestar. We are just happy to return Jaybird home. Now..goodbye." With that the smokey grey tom slipped through the bramble tunnel to pursue his clanmates. At his departure, the clan erupted into discussion. Swiftcloud had to hold herself back from joining in while she collected her thoughts. For now, she listened in on the conversations around her.
"What odd behavior," Tigerfang commented a foxlength away, licking a paw then running it over his ear.
"Do you think Treeclan could have done this?" Pollenpaw asked her mentor, voice shaky.
"I wouldn't put it past those tree-lickers," growled Snailear, tail lashing. "It isn't the first time a cat of ours has ended up dead on Treeclan territory recently."
"Then why are we letting them get away?!" hissed Nectarpaw who's short tabby and white fur was bristling.
"Because Rabbitstorm and Gingerstrike did enough damage to them already," Cowpatch chimed in calmly. He brought himself to his daughter's side. "And we have no evidence that one of their clan is guilty."
"But Jaybird was found dead on Treeclan territory. And Swiftcloud found fur between her claws," Slugsnout pointed out.
"That sounds like just cause to retaliate, in my opinion." Ladybugbite nodded, smoothing down her shoulder fur.
"Yeah, and they could have killed Jaybird to get revenge on us for taking so much of the Forest Patch," Pollenpaw theorized.
"Treeclan would be petty enough to hold onto a grudge like that...Especially with that flea-brained Blazestar at the helm," croaked Ashwhisker.
"If that's the case, then they took things too far. Jaybird did not need to die." That was Sheeptail's loud meow; his voice cracked slightly with grief.
"Poor, sweet Jaybird." Cricketsong moved to sit by the other queen's head. Dewstone stood to give the queen some space. "I will miss you greatly. No other cat could hold a conversation quite like you could." The light brown tabby's mew drew the attention of her clanmates around her. It seemed collectively they had realized now was a time of mourning. They could become riled up about Treeclan later. Moving as one unit, the clan came to settle around Jaybird's body. Swiftcloud lifted her head to look upon the grieving faces around her. She had never seen so many cats mourning another for so long.
She recalled when Poppycloud had died. There had been a similar vigil held for her, though it seemed mostly young cats had stayed by her side most of the night. Another cat quickly entered Swiftcloud's thoughts. Ambereye. The amber she-cat's vigil had only managed to keep those who were close to her there throughout her final night with the clan. Most others had only paused to leave parting words before leaving to go about their business. Swiftcloud's mind then shifted to Waspwing. His vigil had been of few attendance. Every cat had come to say goodbye, but most had only done so briefly with the exception of his kin and Bumblethroat. Butterflytail's last day with the clan had been similar.
Perhaps it had something to do with the impact the cats had on one another. Those who were popular received more attention in their passing. With this theory in mind, Swiftcloud figured this meant that Jaybird had been well loved. And for good reason, too.
All the queens had managed to make it past the rest of the clan now, settling at the sides of Jaybird and her kits. Collectively, they groomed Jaybird dry as they whispered prayers of safe travels to Starclan. Other clanmates joined them in this prayer. Eventually some began to get up and leave, heading to their dens to rest up for the next hunt or patrol. Others who hadn't the chance to see Jaybird before got to do so now that the crowd had thinned. The apprentices all curled around Jaybird's stiff body; Cricketsong's litter kept close to one another as the sisters cried for their lost ex-denmate while Pansypaw helped groom Jaybird. Whitestar fetched Rabbitstorm and Gingerstrike so they could return and mourn once more before taking herself to her den. Lightpaw and Thornpaw came out of the apprentice's den not long after, joining Cinderkit and Bunnykit who had just been summoned from their den to say goodbye. Jaybird's youngest litter nudged and mewled at their mother, asking the surrounding Grassclan cats why the queen would not get up. Quailbelly stood, sweeping her tail around them to guide them towards Frostfeather. Together the two she-cats did their best to explain the situation, and to teach the kits about death.
Swiftcloud found herself getting up to leave the vigil, heart too heavy to hang around and grieve any longer. Thoughts swarmed in her head like angry bees as she took one final look at the lost she-cat, Jaybird. This shouldn't have happened... She thought, turning tail to stalk away. Swiftcloud hadn't realized how much the loss of the queen would affect her. But rather than sad, now she found herself full of rage. She shouldn't be out here anymore among her clanmates. If another cat should say something about Treeclan again, she doubted she could bite back her tongue this time. Treeclan had to pay for this, but would do so in due time. It was Whitestar's call, what they would do. For now, Swiftcloud would sleep off her anger. She slipped into the warrior's den, curling up in her nest with a heavy sigh. A few heartbeats after settling, a warmth pressed into her side. Swiftcloud lifted her head to see Shadowfang laying beside her now, eyes clouded with grief. Swiftcloud rasped her tongue against his forehead soothingly while he returned the gesture, grooming her scarred shoulder. Swiftcloud shuffled in their nest a little more to become more comfortable, tucking her nose beneath Shadowfang's chin. Soon, sleep blanketed over them.
#warrior cats#warrior cats ocs#wcs#wcs ocs#Signs of the Moon: Moon Rise#Moon Rise#Chapter 48#would anyone believe me if I said I've had the main body of this chapter prewritten for 2 years? gxvjhc#I've been looking forward to publishing it for ages#it was actually meant to come up earlier but I decided to save it for near the finale because Im so proud of it#n I feel like it really fits for kicking off the climax of the story
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Curse of the Swamp Creature
Zontar, the Thing from Venus looks like it ought to be perfect fodder for this blog – it was, after all, directed by Larry Buchanan of Attack of the The Eye Creatures, and stars John Agar. I decided early on, however, that I would not use it because it was a remake of It Conquered the World, which MST3K already tackled. But fear not, MSTies, Zontar isn’t the only film these two bad movie titans made together! I give you Curse of the Swamp Creature, which disappointingly has only one the in the title.
Geologist Barry Rogers arrives in some fly-bitten middle of nowhere to meet a man named Driscoll West, with whom he plans to look for oil. Instead, he finds a woman claiming to be Mrs. West and a couple of her employees – she tells Rogers that her husband had something else come up, but that she’s fully capable of helping him with his prospecting. The party ventures into a swamp that looks like a perfect home for either the Giant Leeches or the Boggy Creek Creature, but find neither. Instead, they meet Dr. Simon Trent, a mad scientist who keeps his wife locked in a closet and stock alligator footage in his backyard pool. He’s planning to conquer the world with indestructible fish people, and he thinks Mrs. West is the perfect subject for his experiments!
Wait… this sounds weirdly familiar. Mad scientist with a captive wife making monsters, who eventually decides a female criminal is just what he needs? Is… is this a remake of Voodoo Woman? Why the hell would anybody remake Voodoo Woman?! Especially when Voodoo Woman was itself just a (*ahem*) 're-imagining' of The She-Creature, which Buchanan himself already re-made as Creature of Destruction! Not to mention that The She-Creature was just a cash-in on In Search of Bridey Murphy with a monster added to differentiate it from The Undead, and…
Hold on, I think I need a flow chart here. Gimme a minute.
Clear now?
The idea of this being a remake of Voodoo Woman actually makes sense of a couple of weird subplots that have no other reason to exist. I have complained in the past that some of these movies seem to be put together by people who know that a film should have certain things in it, but don’t understand how those components come together into a story. Curse of the Swamp Creature is a particularly illuminating example. Almost everything that was in Voodoo Woman is also in this movie, but in many places, Buchanan has failed to understand the role these ideas play in the plot.
In Voodoo Woman, Marylin and her cronies were pretending to be Ted’s contacts because they believed they were going to find the gold that supposedly belonged to the tribe, and her story culminates in learning that no such treasure exists. Her greed and violence are also what brings her to Dr. Gerhart’s attention as a possible subject, since he wants his creature to be capable of killing. In Curse of the Swamp Creature, ‘Mrs. West’ is likewise an imposter, who murdered Mr. West and dumped his body in the swamp so that Rogers would lead her to the oil. This has nothing to do with anything else in the story. To be an equivalent of the gold from Voodoo Woman, the oil would have to be something located near or belonging to Dr. Trent. Instead, it just falls out of the story, and it’s not anything Mrs. West says or does that makes the doctor choose her. She seems to be selected at random.
There’s also a thing in which one of the prospectors witnesses a ‘snake dance’ performed by the world’s most unenthusiastic voodoo cult, and follows the dancer home intending to rape her. She tricks him into drowning in quicksand and then we return to the main plot as if nothing happened. In Voodoo Woman, the attack on Zuranda was the first time the growing racial tensions in the film erupted into actual violence, when the local people decided they could no longer tolerate the presence of Dr. Gerhart. The equivalent scene in Curse of the Swamp Creature does nothing except pay off the quicksand people have been talking about for the entire movie, in an entirely unsatisfying way.
Curse of the Swamp Creature’s equivalent to the native village from Voodoo Woman is a population of poor black people living in small houses and trailers in the swamp. In Voodoo Woman Dr. Gerhart needed a relationship with the locals, because he was trying to incorporate their magic into his work. Dr. Trent, meanwhile, sees them only as a convenient victim pool. They try to place some kind of curse on him and maybe the ending plays out the way it does because of that, but then, maybe it doesn’t – we don’t see anything in the movie that suggests they have any real magical powers. The only reason the ceremony seems to be in the movie is to justify the attempted rape… and that was only in the movie because it was in Voodoo Woman, so the whole thing is useless. The constant ‘voodoo drumming’ throughout the film gets really obnoxious, too.
I guess I should at least give Curse of the Swamp Creature points for not trying to pretend it’s set in Africa. On the other hand, the humid swamp they’re shooting it looks a whole hell of a lot more like Africa than anything in The Leech Woman, so they probably could have gotten away with it. I don’t know about you guys but I sure can’t tell the difference between crocodiles and alligators.
At the end of Curse of the Swamp Creature you can kind of tell what they’re going for but they were so busy copying scenes from Voodoo Woman that they didn’t bother to set up any of the things that would have made it meaningful. Dr. Trent successfully transforms Mrs. West into a monster and, as her master, orders her to kill. Trent’s wife Pat, however, begs her not to listen to him. The two of them yell at her for a minute and then Mrs. West throws Trent into the alligator pool. She jumps in after him because I guess that’s better than living out her life as a swamp monster.
Several things would have been necessary to make this work. First of all, we would have needed to see one of Dr. Trent’s previous creations obey him and kill somebody. We saw one walk across the room when he told it to, but that’s not exactly the same thing… we would need a demonstration that Trent’s control is able to overrule the victim’s personality. Second, we would need to see some kind of bond form between Pat and Mrs. West, so that Pat would have a reason to believe the monster would listen to her. In fact, the two characters barely speak to each other. Finally, one of the things Pat calls out is, “look at yourself, you used to be beautiful!” If this were going to be a factor in Mrs. West’s suicide, we really ought to have seen some earlier evidence of vanity.
In sum total, the plot of this movie is an irreparable mess. Larry Buchanan and his collaborators had obviously seen Voodoo Woman but they didn’t understand any of the levels on which that movie worked – and compared to Curse of the Swamp Creature, it actually worked very well.
On top of that, Curse of the Swamp Creature is so hopelessly cheap that it’s alternately hilarious and depressing. It’s filmed it somebody’s suburban house, standing in for a secret laboratory deep in the swamp. The lab equipment in Trent’s basement appears to have been scrounged from half a dozen garage sales. And when I mentioned him having stock alligator footage in his pool… it’s literally a chlorinated swimming pool in a greenhouse-looking structure, intercut with stock footage of alligators doing their thing in a muddy pond. Trent stands on the diving board when tossing his failed experiments in for them to eat. I can’t tell if we’re supposed to pretend it’s something else, or if Trent is literally keeping gators in his backyard pool!
Now I guess it’s time to talk about John Agar. Fortunately, it won’t take long because he never does anything. I’m getting really fed up with movies whose designated heroes never do anything. I don’t remember exactly what, if anything, Touch Connors did in Voodoo Woman, but that was a movie in which the villains, Dr. Gerhart and Marylin, were interesting enough that you didn’t notice. In Curse of the Swamp Creature, John Agar is dull and Dr. Trent and Mrs. West are duller. He shows up wearing a pair of cat-eye sunglasses right out of Crow’s collection in Danger!! Death Ray, and spends the whole movie squinting at things.
If Curse of the Swamp Creature has anything to prove, I think it’s proving that no matter how bad something was, Larry Buchanan could always make it worse. Voodoo Woman was a crummy rehash of The She-Creature but managed to be worth watching by making some points about colonialism… even if those were still probably accidental. Curse of the Swamp Creature is a crummy rehash of a crummy rehash, stripping its source material for whatever coherence and meaning it might have originally possessed. God, imagine if Buchanan had tried to remake something that was already completely incoherent… like Blood Feast or Robot Monster. I shudder to think.
#mst3k#reviews#curse of the swamp creature#episodes that never were#tw: suicide#oh shit it's john agar#it's beginning to look a lot like fishmen#larry buchanan just doesn’t care#60s#what are you doing in my swamp?
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Monsters in the Bog
James Willis tells the following two stories, one stranger than the other, of the creature that may lurk in the murky world of Ohio’s bogs.
In 1942, the Ohio historical Society officially listed Cedar Bog as a nature preserve, the first of its kind in the state. Today, approximately one quarter of all the plant species in Ohio call Cedar Bog home, along with over a hundred species of birds and many rare reptiles and fish. And if the stories are to be believed, the bog also has one other notable rseident-Bigfoot.
Shortly after the Cedar Bog Preserve (which is actually a fen) opened, locals began whispering about spotting a huge apelike creature walking on Woodburn Road, which parallels the bog. Some claimed it was Bigfoot himself, while others said it was an albino relative. One thing they all agreed on, though, was that this creature was too big to be a man and was unlike anything they had ever seen before.
Not long after, a long metal fence topped with barbed wire was erected along both sides of the Woodburn Road. Most people assumed it was meant to protect the bog by keeping people out. But there are some who believe, even today, that the fence was placed there to keep Bigfoot in the bog. Regardless of which is true, we invite you to take a trip down Woodburn Road some dark night and see for yourself if you don’t feel like anything is standing on the other side of the fence, just beyond the reach of the car’s headlights, watching you.
And This Boggy Creek Tale . . .
According to legend, a group of teenagers from Kettering decided to venture outside the city on an impromptu camping trip. The spot they chose to camp at was alongside a creek at the far end of a large field. It was not a good decision.
The following morning, when the teenagers hadn’t returned, their parents went looking for them. They came across the remains of a small campsite, the fire still smoking but no sign of the teenagers. It is said they were all attacked and killed during the night by a hideous creature nicknamed the Boggy Creek Monster. True or not, the teenagers were never seen or heard from again.
Skeptics claim that there is no Boggy Creek Monster and points to the fact that the name comes from a fictional monster for a low-budget early 1970s horror movie called The Boggy Creek Monster. However, it should be noted that the movie was based on an actual creature, known as the Fouke Monster, which was said to have terrorized the residents of Fouke, Arkansas, in the 1960s. So perhaps-just perhaps-more than one of these creatures exists, and one of them has chosen to make its home along a creek on the outskirts of Kettering.
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Boathole Reserve to Falls, Ruffy
Boathole Reserve to Falls, Ruffy
Location: Boggy Creek – Boat Hole Public Recreation Reserve, Boathole Rd., Ruffy 3666
Time 2 – 3 hours. Length 6km return. Difficulty intermediate.
The Boat Hole is a waterhole within a waterside Reserve. Boggy and Hughes Creeks meet here. There is a waterhole for swimming / boating/ fishing and a beautiful walk downstream to tumbling falls.
A walk beside water of many moods.
Options
1. The…
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@primaryconclusion
We'll actually need to do some differentiating here, as films classified as "Southern Gothic" by itself are not horror. Most tend to be serious dramas with thriller elements. They are also entirely separate from "Gothic Horror" (which we won't be covering here, as the focus is on the southern aspect). For the sake of completion, I'll list a few southern gothic films, regardless of being horror or not. NOTE: Tubi TV requires signing up, but is still totally free, and available on all portable devices (though not all links are for Tubi TV).
Southern Gothic:
Swamp Water (1941)
A Streetcar Named Desire (1951)
Written on the Wind (1956)
Suddenly Last Summer (1959)
The Fugitive Kind (1960)
The Young One (1960)
Sweet Bird of Youth (1962)
Cape Fear (1962)
The Intruder (1962)
To Kill a Mockingbird (1962)
Toys in the Attic (1963)
Hush… Hush, Sweet Charlotte (1964)
Reflections in a Golden Eye (1967)
The Heart is a Lonely Hunter (1968)
The Beguiled (1971)
Macon County Line (1974)
Wise Blood (1979)
Southern Comfort (1981)
Sister, Sister (1987)
The Apostle (1997)
Undertow (2004)
Shotgun Stories (2007)
Winter’s Bone (2010)
Killer Joe (2011)
Child of God (2013)
Stoker (2013)
Southern Gothic Horror:
Night of the Hunter (1955)
Deliverance (1972)
Return to Boggy Creek (1977)
The Beyond (1981)
Madhouse (1981)
Cat People (1982)
American Gothic (1987)
Angel Heart (1987)
The Reflecting Skin (1990)
Cape Fear (1991)
Candyman: Farewell to the Flesh (1995)
Interview with the Vampire (1994)
Beloved (1998)
The Gift (2000)
Frailty (2001)
House of Wax (2005)
The Skeleton Key (2005)
Venom (2005)
Southern Gothic (2007)
The Bleeding House (2011)
Jug Face (2013)
The Perfect Host: A Southern Gothic Tale (2018)
Matriarch (2018)
Get Gone (2019)
Villains (2019)
Antebellum (2020)
Honeydew (2020)
Southern Horror:
Two Thousand Maniacs (1964)
Blood Freak (1972)
Frogs (1972)
The Texas Chainsaw Massacre (1974)
Satan's Children (1975)
Squirm (1976)
The Town that Dreaded Sundown (1976)
Eaten Alive (1976)
The Hills Have Eyes (1977)
Motel Hell (1980)
Mother's Day (1980)
Dark Night of the Scarecrow (1981) (alternate link)
Just Before Dawn (1981)
Madman (1981)
Children of the Corn (1984)
Critters (1986)
Ozone! Attack of the Redneck Mutants (1986)
House II: The Second Story (1987)
Redneck Zombies (1987)
Splatter Farm (1987)
Ghost Town (1988)
Pumpkinhead (1988)
Blood Salvage (1990)
Skeeter (1993)
From Dusk 'Till Dawn (1996)
House of 1,000 Corpses (2003)
The Texas Chainsaw Massacre (2003)
Dead & Breakfast (2004)
Death Valley: The Revenge of Bloody Bill (2004)
The Devil's Rejects (2005)
2001 Maniacs (2005)
Hatchet (2006)
Backwoods (2008)
Trailer Park of Terror (2008)
Hatchet II (2010)
Savage County (2010)
Tucker and Dale vs Evil (2010)
2001 Maniacs: Field of Screams (2010)
Inbred (2011)
Hatchet III (2013)
Rockabilly Zombie Weekend (2013) (alternative link)
Bubba the Redneck Werewolf (2014)
Hillbilly Horror Show (2014)
Jessabelle (2014)
Lasso (2017)
Attack of the Southern Fried Zombies (2018)
Dead Don't Die in Dallas (2019)
Gothic Harvest (2019)
Horror Western:
Near Dark (1987)
Sundown: The Vampire in Retreat (1989)
Grim Prairie Tales (1990)
Ravenous (1999)
Dead Birds (2004)
The Quick and the Undead (2006)
The Burrowers (2008)
A Vampire's Tale (2008)
Gallowwalkers (2012)
Blood Moon (2014)
Bone Tomahawk (2015)
West of Hell (2018)
Someone in a reddit thread dropped a massive list that's just too big to include in this post, but you can find it here.
I hope this list covers what you were looking for!
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DAWN WELLS (1938-Died December 30th 2020,at 82.Chinese Flu). American actress who became known for her role as Mary Ann Summers on the CBS sitcom Gilligan's Island..She had guest roles in various American tv shows and films through the 60′s to 80′s,including the tv shows The Love Boat,Laverne & Shirley,F.B.I Files,Wagon Train,Burke’s Law,and The Wild Wild West,and the cult horror films The Town That Dreaded Sundown,and Return to Boggy Creek.https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dawn_Wells
#Dawn Wells#Gilligans Island#American Actresses#Notable Deaths in 2020#Notable Deaths in December 2020#Actors
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Halloween Countdown 2019, Day 10
Halloween time is cryptid time!
(Photos by AHS.)
During the 2013 Halloween Countdown, I mentioned the Boggy Creek Monster, or Fouke Monster, sightings of which center primarily around the Boggy Creek area on the borders between Arkansas, Oklahoma, and Texas. The creature was made famous beyond the region thanks to the 1972 docudrama The Legend of Boggy Creek (which was an annual viewing tradition in my Oklahoma family) and the films it inspired, such as Return to Boggy Creek (1977) and Boggy Creek II: The Legend Continues (1984).
A couple of recent documentaries have looked into the phenomenon: Southern Fried Bigfoot (2007) and Boggy Creek Monster: The Truth Behind the Legend (2016).
In 2017, two of my daring Halloween Countdown undercover operatives (also known as my parents) made a bold journey to Fouke, Arkansas, saw the monster-related sights firsthand, and sent photos of their journey. Last year, I posted more Bigfoot goodness from my parents’ home.
This year marked the very first large-scale Bigfoot-related event in my neck of the woods, so of course I had to be there.
The programming, merchandise, and attendees covered the entire Mulder-to-Scully spectrum, and it was fascinating just to see who and what was there. I was most impressed with speaker Matt Pruitt from the North American Wood Ape Conservancy.
(You can see videos of news coverage of the convention here and here.)
Whether or not you do (or want) to believe, or you enjoy the folklore aspect of the phenomenon, I think you’ll agree this quote (which also appears on the NAWAC website) has something to say about the spooky-but-wondrous spirit of the season.
"Once we believe in ourselves, we can risk curiosity, wonder, spontaneous delight, or any experience that reveals the human spirit." - E.E. Cummings
And on a less serious note...
“I think Bigfoot is blurry, that's the problem. It's not the photographer's fault. Bigfoot is blurry, and that's extra scary to me. There's a large, out-of-focus monster roaming the countryside.” - Mitch Hedberg in Strategic Grill Locations
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Dueling Hearts - 6
Chapter Summary:
The Moment arrives
Chapters: 6/7
Word Count: 4300 (34489 total)
Read Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five
A/N:
in which your suffering (and mine) hopefully comes to an end
Read below (or read on ao3):
King Thurar grants Pidge three “boons” the morning of the duel:
She can wear whatever she likes so long as it “befits” a lady of the Barsinian royal court.
She can sit with her teammates during the duel as her “future betrothed” will be participating.
And she can meet with the competitors at the pitch, presumably to bless the one she prefers and to curse the one she disdains.
Or something like that.
Pidge revels in the freedom anyway, because a part of her fears it’s the last real freedom she’ll ever taste.
(Not that it would stop her, but she’s realistic enough to understand that nothing is without consequence.)
The guards that shadow her, for one, aren’t ideal.
“If you’re worried about me getting lost,” Pidge grumbles without glancing at her spear-wielding escorts, “you could’ve just given me directions to the pitch.”
“His Majesty would hold us accountable for your loss, Green Paladin,” one of the guards says.
“Of course…” Pidge rolls her eyes and mutters, “Wouldn’t want that.”
A wooden bridge trembles beneath them as they cross over a reed-choked creek, and finally, as the path rises and others converge onto this low hill, Pidge spots the stands that ring the pitch.
In size, it’s not unlike where the tournament was held on their first quintant on Barsina, but at this high of an elevation, water doesn’t flood the ground.
The soft marshy peat still gives underfoot, an unpleasant squish to it that Pidge will never get used to. Mud flecks her sneakers, staining the white fabric, and she’s glad her dress’s pleated skirt only brushes her shins.
The crowd only grows denser the closer to the stadium they draw (and where does everyone park their hovercraft?), the bulk of it funneling in through a few gates that lead up into the stands. But her two shadows guide her around towards a smaller door that, judging from the armed guards standing there and the fact that Minister Lirnem herself waits there, is some sort of VIP entrance.
“Are you ready, Green Paladin?” she wonders.
Pidge’s hands fist in her skirt, her heart pounding and heavy at the same time, but she replies, “Ready? I’m not the one competing.”
Minister Lirnem frowns almost skeptically. “If I may advise you, tell both men competing for your heart where they stand with you.”
Pidge squirms, uncomfortable with her scrutiny while shame sits in her abdomen. It’s almost as if she knows about Lance’s evening visit, about how she couldn’t sleep after she pushed him out while cycling through everything they said to each other and wishing she could make it better.
Had she really all but confessed to him? His presence barely felt real, his visit so fleeting she wonders if she imagined it.
Although surely if it’s a product of her imagination it would’ve ended a different way…
“I-I was planning to,” she tells Minister Lirnem.
“Which do you wish to meet first?”
Pidge doesn’t want to see King Thurar at all, but she knows Minister Lirnem has a point…although much good telling him exactly how she feels has done before. And Lance—
Well, Lance will need all the encouragement and confidence from her he can get, not to mention both the guilt and ache in her chest demanding she speak to him.
“I’ll talk to His Majesty first,” she decides.
The guards, rather than Minister Lirnem, escort her through the door and onto the strip of soft ground outside the fencing surrounding the small dueling pitch. They lead her to the closer end of the pitch, where King Thurar stands holding a sword pointed down and dressed in a simple white shirt and breeches.
Pidge represses an unpleasant shiver when his yellow slitted eyes fall on her, his thin lips quirking up into a tight smile. But she pushes back every hint of fear and ignores the anxiety churning in her gut, overtaking her guards to march up to him.
Her short cape billows behind her, invigorating her with the strength of an avenging angel or a superhero, and it’s enough for her to plant her feet firmly and tell King Thurar, “I hope you lose.”
His lip twitches, but his smile doesn’t falter. “And I hope you will find it in your heart to forgive what you perceive as wrongdoing on my part.”
“Unlikely,” she says through gritted teeth.
“And when I win?” the king demands.
“I still owe you nothing,” Pidge pronounces. “You separated me from my team and the man I really love, and I know you wouldn’t think twice to keep me from my family too, so why I should I give you anything?”
“Then hope for his victory,” King Thurar sneers, his face flushing green. “I will not suffer a violation of the duel’s terms lightly.”
“Terms I was never given the chance to agree to,” Pidge retorts bitterly. But she remembers that, for all the righteous fury making her limbs stiffen and pulse rush, he has no qualms against harming Lance. “You can call it scientific curiosity, but I want to know what color Barsinians bleed.”
Her cape whips around her when she spins on her heel and stalks away, heart racing in both fear and anticipation.
Lance waits for her on the opposite end of the pitch.
Like the king he’s dressed simply, in a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants. A spear of sorts sticks out of the boggy ground beside him, but he clutches his bayard in both hands, eyes closed and brow furrowed.
His gaze snaps to hers before she can say a word. “Pidge,” he breathes, and she hates the disbelief thick in his tone.
“H-hi,” she says, raising a hand in greeting and trying not to feel self-conscious in front of the crowded stands or the guards keeping a respectful distance away. She swallows and wipes her sweaty palms on her dress as she approaches Lance.
His jaw drops. “Y-you look…”
“Not as ridiculous as at the ball, right?” Pidge says, a hopeful smile pushing at her lips.
“…a little overdressed,” Lance observes. But color fills his cheeks, and he awkwardly scratches at the back of his neck and adds, “You look amazing.”
Her face warms, and she clears her throat to say, “Thank you; it’s the one I wanted to wear to the ball, actually. And you look”—she bites her lip, searching for a suitable word—”vulnerable.”
“Oh, well,” he says, smiling, “the duel is to first blood so if we wore armor it would last a really long time, right?”
“Right…” Pidge hates how awkward this is, hates that she can’t say half the things she wants to. Instead she scrutinizes Lance, noting his tense shoulders and the way he steals glances at her.
She opens her mouth to tell him that she meant what she said last night - everything, especially about him doing great - but he reaches into a pocket in his pants and pulls out her necklace.
“Do you…want this back?” he wonders. “It would go great with the blue in your dress.”
Pidge blinks, startled, but smiles and says, “Yes.”
When she extends a hand, palm open, Lance side-steps her, standing behind her. Her skin heats when he pushes her hair away from her neck and loops the chain around.
The glittering green Rover pendant settles atop her collarbone just over the wide collar of her dress. Her hair brushes her shoulders when Lance lets it go, but neither of them moves.
Pidge breathes shallowly - is Lance really wearing cologne to a duel or is that just his deodorant? - and lets her surroundings, both sight and the noise of an excited crowd, dissolve. She opens her mouth to finally tell him something but—
“I’m sorry.”
Her skirt flares up as she spins around to face him, eyes wide in surprise. “You’re—”
Lance doesn’t quite meet her eyes as he explains, “You were right last night. I…this is my fault.” He shifts his feet, grip on his bayard tightening. “The thing is, Pidge, I did notice you before.” He laughs without much humor and looks at her. “Maybe if I’d told you how I feel earlier I wouldn’t have felt the need to accept that stupid challenge. I’m sorry; I’m an idiot.”
Pidge’s heart races, her eyes threatening to pop out of her skull, but she finds the courage to take his hand and interlace their fingers. “You’re not an idiot, Lance,” she says with a slight smile, “but you are kind of a goofball and…” She sighs, eyes lowering to their feet so close together before she looks back up at him, to his steady gaze and face drifting towards hers. “I’m s—”
Lance kisses her.
A stunned gasp escapes her, and a part of her wants to be annoyed he interrupted her apology when she waited for him to make it through his. But the dominant part wants to kiss him back.
So Pidge does. Her chest feels lighter than hydrogen - and just as flammable - when she returns the soft press of lips, when she flings her arms around his neck and his wind around her waist and her feet lift from the ground.
And it doesn’t matter that they could’ve done this sooner so long as they’re in each other’s arms now.
But Pidge remembers where they stand - or where Lance stands and practically carries her - when they part breathlessly.
“Th-that was just a good luck kiss,” Lance stutters as he sets her on the ground…although he doesn’t let go.
“Y-you know you could’ve asked, right?” Pidge tells him. But a grin splits her face, offsetting the trepidation that returns to her now her feet sink into peat again. She cups his cheek and leans up to kiss his chin - the closest part of his face she can reach - and smiles even wider when he blushes darker. “And you won’t need luck, goofball.”
Lance laughs sardonically. He drops his forehead onto her shoulder, his arms shifting around her so that his bayard pokes her leg. “Really?” he grumbles, voice muffled in her skin and his warm breath shooting heat all the way to her toes. “All I have is a clumsy spear Hunk helped me put together last night because I still don’t have my own sword.”
His bayard prods her again, hard enough she winces. But a smirk stretches her lips, and she says, “Oh yeah? Is that a sword in your hand, Lance, or are you just that happy to see me?”
“Holy crow.” The Altean broadsword slices through the wooden fence surrounding the core pitch like it’s butter, cleaving a plank cleanly in two.
Lance grins, and between the sword’s sudden appearance and the memory and haunting sensation of Pidge’s lips on his, his confidence surges. He flashes a glance towards the stands where his teammates sit, watching Pidge greet and hug them all in turn, and when he catches Keith’s gaze he pumps a fist.
Keith offers him a thumb up, his eyes still as wide as they were when Lance’s bayard first materialized in that form.
“Quit your vandalism,” a nearby armed guard chides him. “Turn your sword against your opponent, not the fencing.”
Lance flashes him a smirk, utterly undeterred by the scolding. His chest is light and full of warmth, his feet barely touch the ground as he walks to the center of the pitch to meet the king, his limbs limber and loose from stretching, his hopes set on victory.
And armed not only with a sword but with the knowledge that Pidge wants him.
He can’t help a little swagger in his step as he approaches King Thurar, can’t help a satisfied smirk that only grows wider when the king’s gaze falls on him and turns into a glower.
“Good morning, Your Majesty!” Lance greets him brightly. “How are you this fine day?”
“I am prepared to see your claim to the Green Paladin’s heart as dead as Emperor Zarkon.”
The slightest hint of irritation prickles Lance - what if he refuses to give up even after Lance wins? - but he keeps the smirk plastered on his face and says, “That’s unfortunate seeing as Pidge actually likes me.”
“Enough talk,” King Thurar says, eyes flashing yellow as he raises a sword that sparkles in the sunlight. “Now we fight.”
Lance’s stomach flips. He backs a few paces away from the king, a young Barsinian woman crossing to the center of the pitch with a longbow and a single knocked arrow with the tip blinking. She angles it up, pulling back the string and loosing it.
He only got a crash course in duel etiquette from Coran and his research along with a few last-dobosh tips from Minister Lirnem, so it still makes his heart skip a beat when the arrow trails steam and whistles through the air.
It explodes, silencing the bustling crowd as red and green sparks rain down from the sky.
King Thurar raises his sword.
Lance mirrors him, setting his feet and conscious of how easily the ground gives beneath them. But when the king charges, he’s ready.
He jerks his sword up to block the first blow, and the shock of it travels up his arms. But he holds steady, pushing back and, when the king pulls back and readjusts, Lance shifts his grip.
“Why do you think you deserve Pidge anyway?” he demands as he dances just out of King Thurar’s reach. “What have you done for her except lock her in a tower?”
The king scowls as Lance swings for his arm. “Now is not the time for—”
“It’s the perfect time!” Lance retorts. His focus narrows, blood rushing past his ears and washing away the noise of the crowd, leaving only him and a man that holds no real respect for Pidge.
“Will you play video games with her when she’s bored?” he wonders through teeth gritted with anger and determination. “Will you hold her sweaty hand when she’s anxious and bring her peanut butter cookies when she’s homesick and carry her to bed when she falls asleep working?”
Every cut and parry steels his nerves and pumps him full of adrenaline. For every blow King Thurar rains on him, for every blow he blocks, Lance retaliates just the same.
Sweat runs down his brow and mud sucks at his shoes, and every breath he takes makes his lungs ache. But he still says, “Does she make you want to learn more about how the universe and her brain work, or do you just want someone you only think thinks like you?”
King Thurar’s lips twist. He drives forward, sword raised and slashing. “Enough!”
With every word, Lance’s confidence surges. He smirks and says, “You don’t love her; you don’t even think you love her!”
The king yells in wordless rage, skin tinting green. Lance gasps when his blade passes so close to his face air whips against his cheek. The king isn’t more skilled than Keith, he reminds himself.
“Quit chatting and stick him with the pointy end!”
Speak of the devil…
Keith’s shout of what’s probably meant to be encouragement pierces his focus. He grimaces, ignoring it and jumping away from his opponent.
“Don’t let him hit—!”
“Shut your quiznak!” Lance shouts…right as King Thurar’s sword slices through the air towards his neck. He raises his sword, grip slipping, but he only just parries the blow.
The falter costs him. He steps backwards, a gasp escaping it while his heart pounds a frantic beat, and the king, sensing weakness, plows ahead while his lips twist into an ugly smirk.
It takes all his strength and speed to dodge and shield against cuts meant for his head, cuts that, if Lance doesn’t know any better, are intended to kill him.
Realization hits; that’s exactly what King Thurar wants.
But Pidge depends on Lance, depends on him to finish this with a victory for himself. And if he must lose, well, she’ll depend on him (and the rest of the team) to protect her from a fate she doesn’t want.
Lance won’t die here.
But he’ll fall.
He doesn’t notice the point of King Thurar’s sword tearing through his sweatpants and slicing his thigh, doesn’t notice anything until he stumbles and something warm soaks into the fabric and sticks to his skin.
Lance lands on his knees, holding himself upright with his bayard’s tip pressing into the ground. A long sliver of his skin burns, and he winces.
“Quiznak,” he hisses.
“Lance!”
He looks in the direction of his name in time to see Pidge in a lower level in the stands, shooting to her feet with wide eyes and her fingers clutching at the barrier separating her and their friends from the pitch. The others look as alarmed as she is, but all Lance can wonder is if she’ll forgive him for failing her.
He’s lost the duel.
King Thurar stands over him, a smug grin stretching his mouth and Lance’s blood dripping from the tip of his sword. “Do you concede defeat?”
He glowers up at him, the throbbing in his wounded leg nothing to the fury that fills him. His grip on his bayard tightens, and he pushes himself to his feet, leaning heavily against it…only to slip and for his knees to land in the mud with a jolt that aggravates his injury and gets a pained yelp from him.
Lance’s eyes widen in alarm when the end of a sword slides under his jaw, forcing his head up to meet King Thurar’s eyes. His own blood stains his chin, but he refuses to show anything less than defiance to a man that abused his position to mistreat Pidge.
The first fracture in his victory shows when King Thurar’s smirk disappears. “It is customary to surrender when one loses a duel.”
Lance’s heart pounds in his ears as the spectators in the stands seem to collectively hold their breaths. He can only just see his teammates from his periphery, can see all of them now on their feet though he can’t make out their expressions. Even Minister Lirnem stands beside them, but his head spins, and he can’t figure out if that means anything.
But Pidge…
Quiznak the rules of the duel!
Lance’s bayard shifts, melting away in a flare of blue light and reforming into his preferred rifle. And before King Thurar can so much as take an alarmed step backwards, he raises it and aims right for his forehead.
From such close range, a sharpshooter can’t miss.
“Never.”
Pidge vaults over the railing, landing in the strip of marsh between the stands and the fence. She ignores the shouting of her guards, ignores the alarmed calls of her friends, ignores that voice in her head that sounds like her mother scolding her for romping around in inappropriate clothing.
All that matters is racing to an injured Lance before he does something even more stupid than accept that first challenge.
Pidge clambers over the fence, panting and nearly slipping on a slick patch of moss. But she recovers her footing quickly and darts forward.
“Lance!” she gasps. “Put your bayard away!” She slides into place beside him, heedless of King Thurar’s glare turning onto her, and grabs Lance’s arm. “Y-your leg—”
“I’m fine,” Lance says through gritted teeth. His eyes are fixed on the king, but they soften as they fall on her. “What’re you doing here, Pidge?”
But she turns to King Thurar, her heart pounding both from her mad dash and out of fear, and says, “If you don’t put your sword away, you’ll have worse than his blaster to worry about.”
The king’s eyes narrow, but he lowers his sword. “It is no matter if you do not surrender, Red Paladin,” he pronounces. “A loss for you is a win for me.”
Pidge presses her lips together; she’s so fed up with King Thurar that his words are little more than a buzzing in her ear. Instead she leans down, taking Lance’s arm and flinging it around her shoulders.
“Are you okay to stand with my help?” she mutters into his ear.
Lance’s cheeks redden, but he nods, and she exhales a sigh of relief when he dismisses his bayard. “What now, Pidge?” he asks, his face falling. “I-I lost…”
Pidge straightens, waiting for Lance to stand with her. He leans heavily into her side, a grimace crossing his paling face, and his blood - did King Thurar’s sword cut a major artery? - soaking into her dress.
Her chest tightens with worry, but she cups his face and reassures him, “I-it’ll be fine, Lance. We’ll think of something else.”
“What else is there?” King Thurar says. His eyes narrow to slits. “You and I will still be married by the end of the movement.”
Pidge’s eyes pinch shut, but her temper won’t be reined in. “All this and you still think I’ll marry you?” she snaps. “Well, I’m going to marry him.” She points at Lance, for once not resenting how easily she blushes.
“…what?” Lance says, and she can hear his unsteadiness. “Pidge, y-you’re getting…married?”
Pidge winces, her heart sinking. How much blood has he already lost? He needs a healing pod, or at the very least medical attention. She turns back towards the stands, hobbling towards where Keith already approaches from the fence ready to help support Lance.
But King Thurar isn’t done with her.
His hand lands on her shoulder, stopping her in her tracks, and when she smacks his arm away, he demands, “You would reject me for him? I am king of a great planet more technologically advanced than your own, a scientist in my own right, and what is he?” He sneers and spits, “He may be a Paladin, but would you really choose someone so unintelligent for a partner?”
“What do you know about partnership?” Pidge retorts. Her arm around Lance’s waist tightens, finding strength from from his presence as much as from her anger. “Your intelligence means nothing to me next to him! Lance is clever in his own way, and affectionate and curious and kind even if he’s sometimes petty.” She swallows around a sudden lump in her throat - she’s never been so open about what, exactly, she sees in Lance - and adds, “A-and he makes me laugh and understands me. So what if he’s a goofball?”
“Pidge…” Lance murmurs, her name so soft when his lips brush her ear. “Do you really…think all that about me?”
“And if that’s not enough for you,” Pidge grits out through her teeth, “I’m not bleeding, so if you like I’ll get my bayard and fight you for myself.”
But a gasp escapes her, her arm shaking with the strain of holding Lance upright. Keith is at her side to help, Allura and Hunk right behind him.
“I’ve got him, Pidge,” he reassures her, supporting him from the other side.
King Thurar is green in the face, looking about ready to explode, when Allura cuts in.
“I think we’ve put up with enough nonsense from you,” she almost spits. “Barsina is not so valuable an ally, despite your improbability engine and despite your dirty threat of warring with us.” She crosses her arms and raises an eyebrow. “Need I remind you, Your Majesty, that Barsina needs the Coalition far more than the Coalition needs Barsina?”
“A-Allura?” Pidge says. “Are you—”
“If their king cannot respect the Green Paladin’s autonomy,” Allura continues, looking almost as angry as Pidge has ever seen her, “why should the Coalition respect Barsina’s?”
Pidge’s eyes widen, her chest warming even while her stomach flips, the future still uncertain.
Lance snorts, a wry and satisfied smile turning up his lips. “Check and…quiznak.”
All tension leaves his body when he finally passes out.
“Lance!” Pidge says. She glances past him at Keith, and without a word he scoops Lance up.
Pidge follows him and Hunk away from the pitch, the cacophony of the crowded stands little more than the buzzing of a beehive to her. She pays no mind to the guards that assail them, no mind to King Thurar’s and Allura’s impromptu and tense negotiations on the pitch.
They find Minister Lirnem herself outside, standing beside an unmanned hovercraft.
Keith stiffens, and Hunk steps between them and her, but Pidge’s chest seizes with a wild hope. “Can we trust you?” she asks.
Minister Lirnem smiles ever so slightly as she gestures to the hovercraft. “It is already running,” she tells them. “My grandson loaned it to me, so see that you bring it back intact. I would also appreciate you cleaning out the bloodstains.”
“Thank you,” Pidge says, realizing they had an ally on Barsina all along.
Keith and Hunk waste no time in settling Lance into the hovercraft’s backseat before climbing into the front. Pidge climbs into the back, sitting cross-legged and pillowing Lance’s head on her lap while her heart pounds. She feels for the pulse at his neck still thrumming strongly under his skin before tearing off her cape and tying it in a makeshift tourniquet around his upper thigh. She takes his hand in her sweaty palm and squeezes.
She wonders if she imagines his fingers grasping hers back.
Keith and Hunk squabble briefly over who gets to drive, but Keith wins by virtue of seniority and skill. He flashes a quick smirk over his shoulder that quickly sobers when his eyes fall on Lance’s injury.
“He’ll be okay, Pidge,” he tells her.
Pidge leans down and brushes her lips to Lance’s forehead. His breath stutters where it spreads over her cheek. She smiles and knows she’s not lying when she says, “I know.”
Continue to the Epilogue
#plance#pidgance#lidge#flirtyrobot#ajsdf;sd this fic has such a simple plot but#sometimes you just gotta write/read something to satisfy your id#voltron#reem writes fic#either way i hope you like it!!
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