#source : half decade hangover // will wood | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

boxoftheskyking · 3 years

Text

Pick Up Every Piece - Part One

Ok things to know: -this does not take place in China. It does not take place in the US. It is the year 2000 in a fictional country that I control (this project is a challenge called Let’s Do Exposition). Just go with it. -It’s all talking. That’s what I do, you know this. -Warnings for stuff, I dunno I haven’t written it all yet. When it’s shiny it’ll go on AO3 but for now here’s what I got so far. -There is a lot of alcohol in this fic -Like all fic writers I live on positive reinforcement and this shit is a lot of work. -The title may change, yes it is from NMH

---

There are bodies in the creek bed. Enough bodies to stop the flow of the water. Thirty at least, a dam of them. An old woman and a child. Clothes and hair sodden, darkened and wet. Clouds of darkness hovering in the air around them, seeping into dead flesh. An old woman and a child and others. Others in that middle age, the age that passes comment. Is it wrong that these two bodies stand out to him? After all, if he were among the bodies, if he was lying in this creek bed, thirty, skinny, and unremarkable, he would hardly notice himself. He’d blend into the pile, only serving to make the word a plural. Body becomes Bodies. Alters the language. Murder becomes Massacre. There are thirty bodies and hundreds, thousands of flies. Crawling on the back of the little boy’s hand. A smell like—not burning, not quite. Death. Not rot, fresh death. The sand under his feet is nearly dry. The creek bed is dry.

Wei Ying blinks. The creek burbles on alongside him, one duck lazily riding the current under a fallen branch and along to somewhere more interesting. It’s October, and beautiful, and there’s the smallest twilight bite in the air pricking at his nostrils on every inhale. He blows out a long breath and finds himself scratching at his arms, the backs of his hands, where the old scars are. They’re ugly, blotchy and dark like land masses on a faded old map, and they still itch sometimes. He rubs at them hard with the heel of his palm—it’s a weird half-feeling, the layers of dead tissue. It’s not dead, Wen Qing would correct him. It’s not necrotic, it’s just scarring.

He steps around the gnarled roots that reach up from the banks, trying to get to the road but not ever making it. There’s a few muddy stuffed bears tucked among them, plastic wrap snagged on the bark from cheap drugstore bunches of flowers that have rotted away. A couple of carefully hand-painted wooden signs nailed to the trunks, trying to convince the place that people still remember.

He shakes himself and turns away from the woods, hopping the fence onto the road that leads to the bar. He’s late, but Li Chen is always late in the mornings so he deserves to work an extra fifteen minutes. It’s not like there’s a manager to yell at him.

The bar is across the street from an old gas station, one that got firebombed during the war and then left. That’s the thing about Yiling. Everywhere else, even up in Gusu, the cities have gotten rid of as much evidence as possible. Well, they’ve gotten rid of most and turned the rest into memorials to the victorious dead, nice and shiny and flying the Sunshot flag. Nobody really cares about appearances around Yiling—maybe the city council does, but they don’t have anywhere near the budget to run cleanup. Too much actual infrastructure got hit during the worst of the fighting, and they’ll be years behind the rest of the country for the next decade or so. Memorials here are all handmade, and none of them last long.

There’s a flag, though, spray painted on what’s left of the concrete wall of the gas station. A golden hand covering most of a red sun, partly covered by black—one finger for each of the four leading clans and a thumb for everyone else. Typical. He’s not sure who’d have painted a Sunshot here. No one local, he’d put money on it. He supposes they know about spray paint in Lanling—governments must adapt.

It’s probably intentional, anyway, the lack of cleanup. The lack of progress. Nightless City can be repurposed by the Jin government, but the site of the Massacre should stay ugly and busted for a few more years. So no one forgets what it looks like to lose.

Wei Ying likes it in Yiling. “It’s my kind of town,” he always tells Jiang Cheng, who usually throws something at his head. “You want to be a bartender in a town like this. In a town like this, people need a bartender. It’s nice to be needed, you know.”

It’s a shitty bar by any other place’s standards, but for Yiling it’s cozy. The owner, who everyone just calls Granny, still orders sawdust for the floors like it’s 1860 or something, to soak up spills and puke and, occasionally, blood.

Jiang Cheng always says it’s only a matter of time before they have murder in the bar. “Manslaughter, at least,” he’ll say. “It’s just got that look.” Wei Ying says everyone in Yiling’s too tired. Mostly he and Wen Ning just roll drunks out onto the sidewalk and into a cab if someone can afford it.

Jiang Cheng himself comes in around eight. It’s as much of a rush as they ever get, so he has to wait for a few old men to get their cheap lager and gin before sliding up to the bar on his usual stool. Wen Ning gives him a cheerful salute as he comes in, and Jiang Cheng nods awkwardly back at him.

“You’re back early,” Wei Ying says, drawing him a pint of something bitter. Jiang Cheng still lives in Yunmeng, in the old family home, but he has a sublet in Yiling now that he’s working for the intelligence department. Jin Zixuan calls it “cutting his teeth” monitoring old Wen strongholds. Jiang Cheng calls it “shoveling shit.”

It turns out cleaning up a civil war is a pain in the ass, even five years later.

“We should do lunch with Wen Qing on Saturday. She’ll want to see you.”

Jiang Cheng pulls out his annoying little planner, full of his cramped handwriting and meetings with this informant and that police sergeant. “Have to be brunch, I’ve got a twelve-thirty on Saturday.”

Wei Ying snorts at him. “Brunch, in Yiling. Good luck.”

“Hangover breakfast, then.”

“That we can do.”

Jiang Cheng takes a long pull of his beer and Wei Ying can see the relief run down him from the crown of his head down over his shoulders like something hot and slippery. Oil maybe, or homemade noodles. He groans and drops his head down behind his glass.

“Hey, Wei Ying!” An arthritic hand waves at him from the other end of the bar.

“Gotcha, Riseung,” he calls and starts fishing for the kahlua and cream. It’s always at the back of the cooler; no one else ever orders it. “You’re gonna work yourself into an early grave,” he tosses back at Jiang Cheng.

“Not if you keep giving me beer.”

“Hey, Wei Ying, I saw that story last week. Hell of a thing.” Li Riseung has a little cream mustache, but Wei Ying’s not going to mention it.

“The gas thing?” Wei Ying grins at him. “Yeah, I’m telling you, it’s all connected. You watch the prices when Lanling tries to pass another referendum. It’s all supposed to soften you up. You got something for me today?”

“Still writing your conspiracy theories?” Jiang Cheng calls to him. “Some guys just don’t know when to quit.”

(Someone else comes up, he pulls a pint of stout.)

Riseung bristles. “Wei Ying is the only real journalist left in this country. You’ll see.”

Wei Ying props his chin on his folded hands and waits. Riseung takes another long sip. “Yu Xiuying’s got her popcorn maker up and running. She’s starting to sell what she can, make enough to get the theater back in order.”

“Really? That would be something. I’m sick of taking the train every time I want to see a movie.”

“You should report on that, get her some customers.”

Wei Ying drums his fingers on his chin. “Maybe we can work out an ad situation. I need more ads, you know. Papers ain’t cheap.”

Riseung finishes his drink, sets the glass down on the bar. He half-reaches for his pocket. “So, do I owe you, or . . .”

Wei Ying stifles a sigh. Technically it’s nothing he can use. He’s not about to publish an expose on popcorn. Still, he waves a hand. “Your money’s no good here. Go on, keep up the good work.”

The man grins up at him, flashing a row of silver fillings, and heads over to bother someone else.

(Another customer—rum and Coke.)

“You’re just letting people drink for free, huh?” Jiang Cheng says. Wei Ying wanders back over to him, taking a sip of his own drink (coffee, plus whiskey, just enough to get through the shift).

“Reporting is all about cultivating sources, Jiang Cheng, even you should know that. Li Riseung is a source.”

“A source,” Jiang Cheng mutters. “He’s a drunk.”

“So’s everyone. This whole country’s full of drunks. Drunks make the world go around.”

Jiang Cheng rolls his eyes. “This city is fucking depressing.”

“Oh, and all of Lanling’s sober, is it? Yunmeng? Everybody’s living like Lans? You’d be much more pleasant with a few more of these in you.” Wei Ying grabs his pint glass and dumps the end of it out, refilling in the same smooth movement. It’s just out of spite. He shouldn’t be wasting a good few ounces of genuinely nice beer. But he can’t help it; Jiang Cheng brings it out in him. He spins and shimmies a bit to the bad pop song coming from the busted speaker above him and grabs a bin of limes to chop.

“When are you going to come home?”

Wei Ying doesn’t slip and cut himself, but it’s close.

“I live in Yiling, Jiang Cheng.”

“Yeah, for now.”

Wei Ying sighs. “I like it here, okay? You think they’d let me back in Yunmeng, after everything?”

“I’ve got influence now. They wouldn’t say anything.”

(Two lagers, shot of tequila.)

He hasn’t lived in Yunmeng in years. Almost a decade now. He was in Yunmeng at the start of everything, when Wen Ruohan was forced out of office and half the military went with him. He visits now, but there’s still that sense of before when he’s there, like the majority of his life hasn’t happened yet. But Jiang Cheng is never going to get that, he’s a linear person.

“Not saying anything isn’t the same as allowing. I’m not going to make you fight all day just so I can work at some bougie wine bar somewhere.”

“You wouldn’t have to work at a bar. You could—”

“What? Write? You think anyone anywhere is going to hire me at a paper again? Despite all the rumors, you’re not that dumb.”

“Fuck off. You could work with me.”

“Intelligence. Really? How do you think that would work out? ‘Yes, Jin Zixuan, whatever you say, Jin Zixuan—’”

“Fuck off.”

Wei Ying shakes his head and scrapes a pile of lime wedges back in the bin. “I like where I am. I’ve got the paper—”

“It’s not a paper.”

Wei Ying doesn’t slam the knife down, but it’s a close thing. “Jiang Cheng—”

“You’re such a fucking martyr. What, you lose your dream job so you go to the ass crack of the world and set yourself up as king of nowhere?”

“I’m not king of anything, I’m just writing.”

(Three glasses of white wine.)

“Yiling Laozu.” Jiang Cheng clicks his tongue. “I know you can’t use your real name, but that’s embarrassing. Laozu. You and your sources.”

Wei Ying takes a breath and unclenches his jaw. “If Wen Qing were here you wouldn’t be calling us embarrassing.”

“You’re embarrassing. She’s not embarrassing.”

“It’s our paper.”

“Wen Qing has dignity. You have none.”

Wei Ying gathers up his knife and cutting board to run them back to the dish pit. “Ah, Jiang Cheng, you love me. I know you do.”

It’s always a good way to end a conversation, their own private code. If you keep pushing here you’re going to break something. A warning. You love me. I know you do. Jiang Cheng doesn't ever deny it, but he never agrees either. He doesn't need to. Wei Ying has proof. The scars on the back of his hands, curling around his wrists and up his arms—burn scars, chemical burns—are proof. Jiang Cheng doesn't like to look at his hands. That's proof too.

When he comes back out, Jiang Cheng isn’t alone. The general noise of the bar has fallen to a murmur, and the rowdy game of dominoes is paused in the corner.

Xue Yang is sprawled over two stools, dressed in shiny black leather and grinning a few inches away from Jiang Cheng’s face.

“How’s it going, Captain Jiang?”

Jiang Cheng leans away. “I don’t see you. You are not here.”

“Course not. Good boy.”

Jiang Cheng’s hand tightens around his glass, and Wei Ying picks up the pace slightly.

“Leave him alone, Xue Yang,” he says, carefully mild.

The grin turns on him, and Xue Yang waves, his weird little black prosthesis sticking out like a lighting-struck tree. “You telling me what to do, Wei Ying?”

“I would never. Here, have a drink. If you want.” He pours him a double from his own secret bottle, the one Granny gave him on a good night in the summer. It’s painfully ironic—Xue Yang would be the only person in Yiling who could afford it if he ever actually paid for it.

Wei Ying nods to him and slides the glass across the bar, along with the usual brown envelope. Jiang Cheng sighs and spins around on his stool, looking away.

“Feels light,” Xue Yang says, like always.

“It’s not,” Wei Ying says, also like always.

Xue Yang grins around the little white stick hanging out of his mouth, and Wei Ying grins back. “Eight percent extra on anything you’re short next time.”

“It’s not short. And it’s five percent, don’t try to fuck with me.” Wei Ying smiles wider and does not blink.

“Maybe it’s changed.”

“Granny would tell me, and she wouldn’t hear it from you.”

“Maybe it’s changing today.” Xue Yang leans across the bar, not quite getting in his face, but close enough. Wei Ying meets Wen Ning’s eye over his shoulder. Wen Ning takes a few steps away from the door, but Wei Ying shakes his head just a fraction and he goes still.

“You don’t have the authority.” Wei Ying lets his grin go a little unnatural at the corners, a little bit of a snarl. “And it’s not short, so it doesn’t matter.”

Xue Yang laughs and tucks the envelope into his jacket, then takes a long swig. Wei Ying breathes, finally, quiet and careful.

“Xue Yang,” he says as he starts to wipe down the bar again. “You know you wound me.”

Xue Yang wipes his mouth on his sleeve. “Oh do I?”

“You know it hurts me, deep down in the soul parts of my body, to see you drink top shelf scotch with a fucking sucker in your mouth.”

Xue Yang sticks out his tongue so Wei Ying can see the little yellow nub of it. “It’s pineapple.”

“Great. Thank you. I’m going to go drink bleach now.”

Jiang Cheng half turns to glare at him. “That’s not fucking funny.”

Xue Yang chugs the rest of the scotch and tosses the empty glass at Wei Ying. He hates that it makes him flinch before he catches it. “Tell Granny I say hi.”

“Fuck off.”

“Hey, where’s the little one? Haven’t seen her in a minute.”

Wei Ying stiffens. “You’ll stay away from her if you cherish the rest of those fingers.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Xue Yang gives him a mocking salute and saunters back out towards the door. He’s nearly out when he knocks into an empty chair, sending it to the floor with a crack like a gunshot. No one hits the deck completely, but the held-breath silence turns into a gasp as all eyes snap to the sound, shoulders up and hands braced on tabletops, thighs tensed and ready to run.

Even Xue Yang is frozen at the door for a second. He laughs, though his jaw is tight. “Just a chair, ladies and gentlemen. Clean this shit up, Wen Ning.” And he’s gone.

Wei Ying deflates, adding some of the good scotch to his own cup. Jiang Cheng makes a face.

“How’s that coffee?”

“Shut up.”

“You should let me talk to Zixuan.”

“You talk to him every day.”

“You know what I mean. How long have you been paying—”

Wei Ying sighs and flicks his rag at his brother. “Thing one: I don’t pay, Granny pays. Thing two: Xue Yang is just a low level street thug with connections, he’s as in charge of the operation as I am in charge of Yiling. Thing three: it all kicks up to the Jins at the end of the day, so what are they gonna do about it?”

“Zixuan isn’t—”

“Yeah, I know your best pal is the paragon of morality.”

(Scotch and soda, root beer, gin and tonic, and three pints.)

“He’s our brother-in-law.”

“And your brother-in-arms, I know, I’d never dare disparage the mighty—”

“He’s a nicer brother than you are.”

Wei Ying mimes a faint. “I’m going to call Shijie, tell her you’re being mean to me.”

Jiang Cheng goes quiet, looks down at his beer. Wei Ying reaches out for it, an offering.

“Another?”

Jiang Cheng shakes his head. “I shouldn’t.” A chunk of his hair comes loose from its tie, feathers across his forehead.

“When are you gonna cut that hair, huh?” Wei Ying flicks it back over his ear. Jiang Cheng swipes at his hand lazily.

“I like it like this.”

“You and Zixuan are twins now, huh? You cultivators. Does Lan Zhan still keep his long, do you think?”

“Dunno. Haven’t seen him in a long time. Stop it, leave it, I have it how I want it.”

Wei Ying laughs at him. “Looks good. Dignified. Hey, did you ever ask for Zidian back?”

Jiang Cheng’s face does something complicated, a little bitter. “Not gonna happen. No spiritual weapons are gonna be authorized any time soon.”

“Yeah, but it’s yours.”

“It’s not mine. It’s the government’s.”

“But it responds to you. What good does it do locked away in—”

“Leave it, Wei Ying. I know you’ve got opinions about cultivation, but I’m fucking tired and it’s not going to change anything.”

“Well, when you’re in charge. Then you’ll show ‘em.”

That does make Jiang Cheng laugh, which is satisfying.

(Two gin and tonics.)

“Hey, you’re not allowed—” Wen Ning calls from the door, followed by the tap-tap of a metal cane. Wei Ying sighs and reaches for the grenadine.

“Wei Ying, you son of a bitch.” The voice is high, reedy, and cackling. “How the hell are ya?”

“A-Qing,” Wei Ying calls mildly. “You can’t be here.”

“Where is here?” she yells, as always. “How am I supposed to know that? Can’t you tell I’m blind?”

“Get out of my bar.”

“Discrimination!” She makes her way across the room, purposely bumping into every occupied table on her way over, just to slosh beer onto the floor.

“You’re fourteen.” He has her cherry soda on the bar by the time she hops up on the stool next to Jiang Cheng, ignoring him entirely.

“And how do you know that, creepy old man?”

“You made me get you a cake for your birthday, you goblin.”

“Who’s this guy?” She takes a long slurping suck from her straw.

“My didi.”

“You—!” Jiang Cheng hates it, which is the only reason Wei Ying says it.

“Ooh, the famous Jiang Cheng. I bet he looks real grumpy.”

“Yep.”

Jiang Cheng flips him off. He grins and goes back to wiping down the drain.

“He just flipped you off, didn’t he?”

“Yep.”

“Nice.” She finishes her drink and slams the glass down. “Double vodka please.”

“Nope.”

“I drink vodka all the time.”

“Don’t care. I’m not getting fired over your sorry ass. Go drink at home.”

“I’m not allowed vodka at the home.”

“And you’re not allowed here either.” He drops the rag back into the sanitizer and leans his elbows on the bar. “Now, are you here with something interesting or just to pester me?”

Jiang Cheng looks like he’s about to interject, but Wei Ying waves him off.

“I can multitask,” A-Qing says before pushing her glass back across the bar. “More sugar first.”

“Diabetes on the rocks, yes madam.”

She takes a long slurping pull, and he folds his arms, waiting.

“Got a new TV at the home. Real big one.”

“A-Qing, I’m waiting.”

Jiang Cheng squints at her. “How do you know how big the TV is?”

“I just know, okay. Anyway. One of the older kids got it. Bought it himself.”

“Yeah, right,” Wei Ying says. He needs to challenge her if she’s going to give him the whole story. If he seems too interested she’ll draw it out just to fuck with him.

“He did. Wen Changming.”

“A Wen?” Jiang Cheng asks.

Wei Ying rolls his eyes. “Lots of Wens in the children’s home. I wonder why.”

Jiang Cheng makes a sour face at him.

“He’s got cash to burn, suddenly. Pockets full.”

“Gee, I wonder how you found that out.”

A-Qing grins at him. “He’s not gonna miss it. He’s in the club now.”

“The club?”

“You know, the club. What do you call it? Do crimes, get money.”

“Mob? Syndicate? Criminal organization?” Jiang Cheng offers.

“So they’re recruiting at the home, that’s what you’re telling me? Is it Xue Yang?”

A-Qing blows bubbles in her soda. “I don’t know, maybe.”

“Must be desperate.”

“You do the same thing.”

“I do not.”

She holds out a hand. He sighs and passes over a couple of bills.

“You staying there tonight?” he asks, all casual.

“Maybe. The girls are annoying. Should be nice outside.”

“Starting to get cold.”

“Not really. Only if you’re a pussy.”

“You call me if you need to crash. Here.” He drops a couple of coins in front of her. “I’ll be home after midnight.”

“Sure thing, boss,” she says, pocketing the change. She gives a little salute and hops off her stool. “So long, Wen Ning!” she shouts, walking right at him and making him hop out of the way.

She’s not really blind, of course. Wei Ying’s never brought it up—he knows, but he’s not sure she knows that he knows. One of the nights she crashed at his apartment, months ago, he caught her reading through one of his binders of old clippings—‘91, back before the start of the war, when he was still in Gusu. It kind of kills him, because he wants to ask her what she thought of them. What she remembers from back then, if there’s anything. But they don’t talk about anything serious, not if they can help it.

“Please tell me you don’t have a teenage girl staying at your place,” Jiang Cheng says. Wei Ying gives him a great sigh and grabs his rag again.

“Only when she's got no other place to go. Oh, I have a futon now! You’d see it if you ever came over.”

“Wow, great, you're thirty years old and you have a secondhand futon. Mother would be so proud.”

“I didn't say it was secondhand.”

“Wei Ying, trust me, you do not need to.”

(Four pints.)

Wei Ying makes a face at him. “So mean.”

“It’s weird that she stays with you.”

Wei Wuxian sighs again. “Jiang Cheng.”

“It is. It’s weird.”

“If it’s a bad night at the home then she sleeps outside. I don’t like her sleeping outside, so she stays with me. When she’s not being ornery.”

“She’s a teenage girl.”

“She’s a baby.”

“Not your baby. Why would she sleep outside anyway? Yiling sucks.”

“The home sucks. Look, it’s an orphan thing. You wouldn’t understand.”

Jiang Cheng pouts. “Hey, I’m an orphan.”

“No you’re not, you’re a grown up.”

(Whiskey, neat.)

“You’re a grownup. My parents are dead; I’m an orphan.”

“Then everyone’s a fucking orphan in this country. The word’s lost all meaning. From now on, if your parents were alive when you were ten, you’re not an orphan. Find a new word, leave ours alone.”

“You’re such a jackass.”

“Jackass! Yes, that’s a good word.”

Jiang Cheng sighs and gets off his stool. He tosses cash down on the bar, though Wei Ying tries to wave him off.

“Oh, you’re going to want to get a flag up in here,” he says, off-hand as he turns to go.

Wei Ying freezes. “Excuse me?”

“Coming down from on high, it’s going to be a new ordinance. To keep the liquor license.”

“The fuck does a flag have to do with our liquor license?”

Jiang Cheng holds up his hands. “I’m just the messenger.”

“I’m not letting the Sunshot flag through these doors.”

Jiang Cheng turns back to him, serious. “Look, I know you have your own . . . feelings—”

“Feelings?” he almost spits, spreading his hands out on the bar.

Jiang Cheng winces and does not look at them. “You have your reasons, I’m not arguing that. But Yiling’s a part of the Republic and people need to get used to it. You don’t have to like it, but your district rep is going to announce the policy in the next week, and I don’t want to see you— Don’t go out of your way to make life difficult, all right? It’s hard enough already.”

Wei Ying says nothing, just leans back and watches the rag twist and untwist between his hands.

“See you Saturday,” Jiang Cheng offers, hesitates, then leaves.

Wei Ying will close up. They close early, still, kick everyone out before midnight. Old habits. He’ll go home and work on his column, the one corner of the paper Wen Qing leaves for whatever he wants. (Literally, the column is called “Whatever.”) Maybe A-Qing will find a pay phone and call him, if she hasn’t spent or hidden the change, or maybe she’ll just show up and lean on the buzzer until he lets her in. He’ll sleep better, if she’s there. He was never meant to live alone.

And he’ll wake up tomorrow, and try to do it all again.

Part Two

#the untamed #cql #assorted writings #pick up every piece

42 notes · View notes

goodnessgatsby · 5 years

Text

Nightmares Are My Wonderland

((Heavily based on the universe in the movie “Push” with undertones of the anime/manga/game corpse party and my hero academia. TRIGGER WARNING; DOMESTIC ABUSE AND ALCOHOLISM IS HEAVILY IMPLIED WITH UNDERTONES OF SEXUAL ASSUALT AND MENTAL ABUSE))

((Looking for a partner to either ally with my villain and prime her to become something either truly evil or virtuous (meaning you can be a hero that saves her from a dark life if you’d like, I encourage this.) Or you can meet with her a decade after she’s become a villain, being more well-known and feared among the community and either ally her as a villain or fight her as a hero (meaning you would have to fight to defeat her as a hero, saving her soul would no longer be an option unless you’re creative) Please be very clear as to what you quirk is and how you use it))

((If you wish to play a Cannon character than this character is strictly made for a hero/villain environment as long as they belong to the comic book, manga, movie range then you are free to use them))

Sun glistens through the dark murky motel room as Valerie grips her long smooth locks, a soft tan to her skin despite living like a vampire most of her life, as her eyes flutter impatiently about the room. Dad didn't come home again, looks like he'll be home later today. Suddenly the neighbor and his weird cosplay girlfriend begin talking way too fucking loud for 6 a.m. before Valerie pinches the bridge of her nose, whining softly as the hangover settles over her small boxy frame "Fuuuuck! Shut Up!" she screams, throwing a pillow at the wall before sitting up at the edge of the bed. The walls are a dark smoke gray, with brown stains scattered about the room like carefully hung photos and a pitch colored trim between the concrete floor and ceiling “God, could we have picked a cheaper motel…” she huffs as if she hadn’t spent all her savings on a few months in this crappy place, it was easier than trying to find an apartment without a reliable source of income. At this point, she’d only been taking odd jobs in different towns with hopes of someday landing a job and settling down in a real home, but that was entirely impossible with her father’s drunken misdeeds in every town she had attempted to build a nest. Speaking of which, was it possible he sent her a text or tried to call her last night when she was drinking? Like Father, like daughter…Valerie stares at the bottle of 1800 Tequila Silver on the nightstand, it never tasted good but the feeling of floating was something worth chasing “I really ought to let him go drink himself to death far away from me…” but the truth is like the high liquor gives, she continues to chase what her father used to be…before…She dives for the bottle before the thought can bubble to the surface taking a massive swig, filling her mouth entirely before swallowing. She runs her fingers through the length of her hair as the liquor silences any chance of tears before she opens the app on her phone to check for any paying jobs. Please, something that pays more than 35 dollars!!! Browsing the list carefully her eyes flutter over something odd, but for 1,000 dollars…how could she pass this up? Imagine all the food, maybe even a motel upgrade…even for a few weeks would be better than breathing in mold for a day longer. The description reads ‘Social experiment; One-time visit required for payment. We are inviting 7 people to a night of fun and fright!(Each person will receive their own time and date to arrive, only one person will be selected to receive a permanent job and living quarters) You and 6 others will be suited up in gear that will analyze your vitals and brain functions while giving a boost in physical abilities so you can defend against ‘monsters’. This will require all 7 participants in different sessions to work alongside me to complete simulated courses, like a Virtual Reality Video Game! No Danger! No Risk! Just 23 hours of free food, socializing and a whole lot of exercise! Better message quickly or you’ll miss your chance!’ below was an email and phone number with the letters X.O.E signed below. Social experiment, huh? The young maiden smiles nervously at the idea of anything social, but quickly decides the money would clearly be worth it, although it could be a scam…on the off chance it is real “Suppose I just message them and see how it goes…”

Several Days Later; Monday

As the night of the experiment arrives, Valerie finds herself standing outside the most beautiful little house she’d ever seen in her 19-year life, it was white and plain colored with vines covered in tiny blossomed flowers scattered about its length and surrounded by a garden that must’ve come right out of a fairytale. Her brain wept at such beauty, unaware of the man hollowing out her soul with his eyes until the final time his eyes rushed over her, Valerie gasps gripping onto her sides with her arms across her abdomen

“Y-you must be Xavier Everts…” she blurts out, trying not to appear terrified to no avail “I...I’m Valerie Bonna-velt…I’m here for the…social…experiment…” she was beginning to wonder if there was such a thing, now that she stood in his unblinking presence. Had anyone messaged this man? “Excuse me…Could you please tell me what’s going on…I’m really confused” the man moves closer, and without a word takes her wrist dragging the trembling teen through the gate and into a poorly lit kitchen.

The man’s frail old voice booms “Master Everts!” Valerie stares numbly at the floor, her brain rushing over every possible scenario in which she’d never see the light of day again. Suddenly a warm voice coos back, in the sweetest most soothing manner an anxiety-stricken woman could hope for “Ah yes, back here Ms. Bonna-velt, I’ve awaited your arrival” she eagerly grips onto the velvet sheets draped over the door frame replacing a door, pulling them apart as she stepped into a large open Victorian style living room. She grips her chest as her brows dip and pull together in rhythm with the melting of her soul, the walls were deep pitch with roses painted all over that were framed two-fourths of the way down with a light brown border. This appeared to have an almost red glaze deepening in opacity as it met the floor unlike the lusterless tan trim. This matched the drapes and couches perfectly; Valerie could not help but stand in awe as her honey colored eyes polished the place over. From the floral-patterned wood below her feet to the glowing candle chandelier above her head it was truly a picture taken right from her dreams. A soft chuckle ripples through the air before her eyes meet with the tall thin man with paper white skin and long raven colored hair

“I see you appreciate the beauty in times far before you and I, but I’m afraid we haven’t the time to give you a tour.” His apologetic smile, spreads energy through her body like a surge of electricity as she nods, rushing to close the distance between herself and the much taller employer

“It is alright, really I’m sure we could do that another time”

In response to this he laughs “Confident one, aren’t we?”

His features were strong and well pronounced, it was like talking to a portrait in an art museum only this one was responding. He explained the way that the suits would have small needles placed in various areas to properly study Valerie’s vitals and chemical balances in response to the simulations around her. Truth be told she didn’t understand half of it, but the way his arms wrapped around her front and hands fumbled with the attachments kept her calm, unable to focus on the suspicious liquids behind each needle or the metallic scent coming from his clothing. The only thing on her mind was the way his lips would part for each breath as if breathing through his nose was not good enough, and the squinted glances he’d gift her with a calm cold grin

“My, you really enjoy being in my presence, don’t you?” Valerie felt her shoulders pull back as her spine straightened and she nodded softly, there was something…about this place, this man that felt too close to her heart…as if plucked right from her mind. She bites her lower lip, leaning into him to take in the rough metal odor as he roughly grips her waist with his right hand and slammed down onto a large orange button with his left

“I hope you continue to feel this way after your first trial.” His voice quickly escaping her mind as 5 needles inject strange liquids into various parts of her body simultaneously. Had her gut instinct been correct? Had no one else messaged this man? Did she sign up to be a lab rat? His fingers squeeze her skin roughly before releasing

“Don’t worry, it’s the power boost you were promised in the post, I hope you did not forget the terms of our agreement dear girl” all her muscles tense in response to the liquids.

This triggers the beginning of the first simulation titled “Of All the Things You Love” the words stretched across a beautiful Japanese garden, cherry blossoms swaying over the bold white words that slowly began to fade as Mr. Everts booms through the headphones covering her ears

“Now, you should be able to move normally about the world, you will need to find a clue in this world to escape. If you perform well enough, we will discuss having you over for the next trial. For now, all you need to know is your brain controls and develops this game as you play, I have zero control of what you see or what the clues are. I can only give you directions on where to find these clues, beyond that it will be up to you whether you escape or not.”

Valerie was stumped by this, her mind trying desperately to find a solution “My brain created this place? From a memory? Or a dream?” she thought, wrapping her arms around herself as always. Nothing felt different, her arms and legs were the same appendages she used every day. Truthfully it had appeared the only difference was a scenery and climate change. She takes in the warmth of the sun’s rays before he speaks again, somehow watching her stretch and twirl in the summer’s heat

“I see you prefer warmer climates, are you ready to begin?” his soft words felt as though they were placed there for a reason, as though they were meant to calm her uneasy state. “The clue is at the center of this garden, but beware, although your mind has created a calming environment that your cognizance can handle, there are still threats guarding each clue.” He sounded quite sure of himself, but the idea that her mind could have created something harmful in a place like this, it felt impossible. Nevertheless, Valerie forced herself forward deeper into the garden, trying to focus on the flowers, the sun and the warm floral smells that were fashioned by the two intertwining

“Are you sure there are fiends in this game? I know I watch a lot of horror movies, but it doesn’t seem like there could be anything like that… here…” even she sounded unsure of her conclusion, worried it was her brain trying to cope with the idea of treading unknown terrain. “What do I do if there is something trying to attack me anyway?” these seemed like questions she should have asked before starting the simulation, but it seemed she was purposefully placed in this place without knowledge of what was to come. This would force her to rely on the help of Mr. Everts or her own reflexes, making this far more challenging than she had first envisioned.

“Onee-chan!!!” A familiar tiny voice calls towards her from somewhere far ahead, followed by soft weak sobs “Onee-Chan!” the voice cries once again causing my feet to move towards it.

“This is such a bad idea, what if it isn’t really a little girl!” Valerie would scream at her body, but it continued to sprint towards a small terrified scream, until that scream had a face. Before her stood a little girl, not much older than 4 years old with soft black hair that framed her warm rosy skin “Hello there…little one…Do you need help?” Valerie whimpers, keeping her distance from this small child as the girl began to appear more and more familiar the longer, she stared.

“Onee-chan” Yuka cried, looking over her shoulder with the one side of her face that still had an eye, immediately being recognized by the Valerie as one of the victims in her favorite anime.

“No. No no no, this is impossible. You’re not real!” she cried, taking a step back from the child before it revealed its entire face. Blood dripping from the hollow socket that used to house Yuka’s eye as the ghoulish kid closed the distance between herself and Valerie. It was like lightspeed one second Yuka was staring at her and the next she was crying to be saved with tiny hands wrapped tightly around her throat.

“You have to fight, if you want to survive you must fight” Everts calls, reminding her this was merely a simulation. Valerie groans loudly, slamming her elbow into the child’s skull and with a loud crack the girl’s skull fragments spray about the smooth dirt path leading to the center. The corpse began to shrivel like a salted snail until there was nothing left of the falsified child. Needing to remind herself this was just a game, despite the years that torture scene had terrorized her memory.

“It’s Okay Bonna-velt, you can do this. You can do this! You need to breathe and remember your goal” this seemed to do the trick, as Valerie got to her feet once more and began on the path to the center of the world which appeared to have a large pine tree more massive than a skyscraper, the point nearly pierced the sky. “Looks as though my awareness was kind enough to give me a marker. Better return the favor and move swiftly” with this the young girl closed the distance between herself and the wooded forest housing her first clue. The wind whistled an alluring tune as she cautiously stepped into the shaded lot, each tree huddled closely together to deny the rays of sunlight any access while below was an unkept brush that slicked over towards the center, all signs pointed forward. What lied behind this damp cloaked brush? Valerie ties back her long brown hair in a loose poorly constructed bun before entering with a nervous whine, as she passed the threshold the world around her began to change. Although the foliage remained trees, the leaves had grown much larger and pronounced than pines with long limbs that stretched out to the similar trees surrounding it. The terrain matching that of a rainforest, with the sounds of life flooding the air.

“What did you do!?” Everts chimes suddenly, making her body jolt and tense. “How did you change your surroundings? None of the other subjects were able to change their environment without finding a clue” his tone sounded agitated, but for what reason? Had she done something wrong?

“I’m not sure, I just thought I was done with that world…Did I do something wrong?” her voice sounding so terribly unsure of her accidental decision to change the world, unaware that was even something she was able to do.

“No, my apologies. I was merely annoyed with myself for having my attention elsewhere…. You are a wonderful specimen Valerie. I’ve never found a human who’s suited my fancy so immensely, please continue” He chirped, suddenly she feels him grip her waist with both hands and squeeze roughly forcing a moan from her trembling lips. It was embarrassing, but he achieved his goal as she decided not to ask any more questions before getting closer to the first clue. All along her path we’re dried and torn snake skins that grew larger the closer she managed to get, as though there was a large snake that had been shedding in this area over the span of its life. This Idea alone was not enough to scare her, but thinking back she remembered one snake that made her skin crawl. Kaa from the jungle book, no beast should have the ability to manipulate living beings’ minds. A shiver ran up her spine

“Oh god Bonna-velt…tell me you didn’t do that to us…tell me you were thinking snakes on a plane or something harmless like that” but there was no undoing what had already been done, hissing suddenly filled the air.

HISSSSSSS

HISSSSSSSSS

HISSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

She screamed, running forward frantically, unaware that she was headed towards the snake instead of away from it until her body slams against a large, thick and scaly body before falling onto her behind “No no no no! Close your eyes, close your eyes!” Valerie screams afraid of anything sentient invading her mind as her heels dig into the dirt in front of her, pushing her body away as quickly as her behind will scoot. Woefully she does not scoot fast enough, as soon she can feel that same meaty, scaly body slithering around her and crushing her ribs tighter and snugger by the minute. With her eyes closed the maiden begins shouting at the beast through constricted breaths “I’m not looking into your eyes! You’re not real! And You cannot control me!” it felt like her lungs would pop after this declaration, her eyes threatening to evacuate from her skull as a result of so much pressure. It was not only terrifying to see these characters come to life, but to witness them behaving so different than the characters they represented from shows, movies and books. Memory has a funny way of warping reality, although Yuka was no villain in her stunning debut the memories of her revolve around a nightmare that visited young Valerie from time to time. This made Yuka the perfect first trial according to her brain, and this brainwashing beast was no different.

“There is no need for you to fight me now. You’ve given me all I need” the beastress hisses, as her cold scaly body loosens its grip letting the young girl breathe for a moment. “Open those beautiful eyes, and see for yourself” Her eyes fluttering open to see the snake is no where near her body, and yet it felt as though the thick meaty body began to constrict around her again

“Gah! How are you-…you doing this?” she gasps, unable to breathe the tighter this invisible body squeezes around her small frame. What is going on?! Valerie stares at the serpent as it moves in from the brush

“Why would I waste my time crushing you, when you’ll do it for me?” Kaa smugly hisses towards her, leaving the young girl choking and confused before it eases up allowing her to breathe again “Why waste my time on something as helpless as you? Or Someone so selfish?” the sound of the viper’s harsh words makes each gasped breath that much more painful.

“SHUT UP! YOU DON’T KNOW WHAT YOU ARE TALKING ABOUT!” Valerie cries out, feeling a sharp pinch in her left lung before erupting into a fit of coughs, blood oozing from her chest and out her mouth along with mucus from smoking habitually. Her eyes closed tightly as it pools all over directly below Valerie’s trembling body, it felt like lava was pouring from her lungs and out her throat

“Poor thing, it’s really eating you up inside isn’t it?” the serpent cackles, closing the distance between the young human and herself, quickly jerking the young girls chin upward with the end of it’s tail “You should have spoken out, before you could no longer speak at all”. Suddenly Valerie feels the large scaly body starting to coil around her again “Oh dear, I’d never imagined you’d make yourself suffer so much” The young girl spits the last bit of blood onto the floor before looking up at the temptress and yelling

“Don’t get so smug, thinking you’ve won!” the roar of her voice makes the snake stumble and the hypnosis break, knocking the terrified girl to the ground as her surroundings are returned to that garden from the beginning of the game. Kaa had control of her since the moment she stepped into the forest, warping her surroundings to toy with the scared girl. “What?! Why are we here? What did you do?!” these questions swirl around the thick cold air for seconds before Valerie launches at the small snake, gripping the back of its head and the third fourth of it’s body. ‘You have to kill it, it will take over your mind again if you don’t kill it’ her mind screams as she pulls the beast apart in once swift motion, spraying its blood all over herself and the surrounding trees as her knuckles clack together behind her.

“Mhhhm, what a good look for you.” He groans, finally releasing her hips from his hands, wait…Was He holding onto her this entire time? No, his hands started at her waist, now they’re on the sides of her hips. Has he been petting her this whole time?! A blush overcomes her face as an item within the world suddenly begins to glow “That is the clue for the next trial Ms. Bonna-velt…Take it and read its contents carefully, for it can only be deciphered by you.”

The small slab was glistening so brightly it’s shape could not be interpreted from this distance, and as the young adventuress closed the distance she had to use her arms to cover her eyes “I always wondered what the highlighted items looked like inside the game, but this is insane” she whimpered in regards to the blinding light emitting off the clay slab, as her hands gripped the bottom end it ceased floating and glowing, resting in her tiny palms as a normal chiseled slab “What you’ve found is what you fear, but what you seek is gone my dear” the words flowing from her lips like unsteady breaths “What you’ve found is what you fear…Do they mean Yuka and Kaa? But what you seek is gone my dear? Gone? Like disappeared or like dead?” she puzzled over this for a moment before the words became clear. The young maiden held the slab tightly to her chest, it was all so clear. Yuka was mother, begging to be saved by a simple phone call to the police department and Kaa was the guilt crushing her insides for leaving her mother in the hands of her father, she had only wanted to get away from the fighting for a few hours, a day at most, but the family she’d left behind that day was no longer there upon her arrival. As tears rolled down her heated cheeks like water off a melting icicle, she hugged herself tightly and cried out “The Clue is Mother” before the device suddenly releases her from the simulation.

“Welcome back Young Bonna-velt…” Everts cooed, catching her body as gravity gave way to her tired limbs. Despite physically never moving, her body felt heavy and exhausted as though she’d been running marathons all night “Do not worry, the serum will heal all your aches by the morning. As well as reform some of your least performing organ systems to a new undamaged state.” Almost certain he meant her liver and lungs, but would not directly say these as to not pry too deep into her personal life. Suppose he’s seen too much already? Her eyes begin to grow heavy against his warm frame until the world around her fades into darkness.

The Morning of Mourning

The following morning, Valerie wakes to the dark dank hotel she’d left her unconscious father resting in, wait…How did she get here?! She rubs her temples, sitting up at the middle of the same lumpy mattress she’s slept on for nearly a month now. A sharp pain jolts up her spine, followed by the need to vomit with her head spinning like a dreidel as she plops back down across the mattress watching the small warped ceiling fan weakly wobble in a circle. “uhhh” she groans, this was like a hangover, morning sickness and fever chills had a baby leaving it in the young girl’s skull “Small price to pay for a healthy body, right?” wanting to believe that the strange man from the internet was telling her the truth. Should she see a doctor? A better question is…Does she have the money to visit a doctor? Oh right, the thousand dollars. Rolling onto her side, Valerie looks around both sides of the bed to see if her wallet was on the nightstand, but instead of the torn, leather wallet her mother had gifted Valerie…there was a wave of deep crimson covering the night stand, wall and right half of her bed. Her eyes widen ‘Mr. Everts no!’ her mind sobbed as she pushed herself onto her belly, kicking herself forward to find Victor Dean Bonna-velt with the upper half of his skull removed, as though whomever did this cut from the middle of the eye sockets around. She gagged, pushing herself upward in a rush to get away, but her palm slips on the blood covered wood slamming her body forward and into the corpse where her skull would bounce off the concrete a couple times with the weight of her body sliding her under the second bed with ease. The entire front half of her body smothered in hot, sticky blood as her breathing grows heavier “Someone, please help me…” she whispers, before fading out of consciousness

Hours later the young girl stirs from beneath her father’s bed, unaware of her surroundings beyond a foul smell and the suffocating, cramped space she finds herself crammed in.

Buzz Buzz,

Buzz Buzz!

Valerie’s phone erupts with life, vibrating on the nightstand closest to the door, she scrambles forward kicking at the guts behind her with loud disgusting squishing sounds as she squirms from under the bed’s grip. She whines softly, trying to rub the filth from her face as her eyes adjust to the darkness

“Dad? Can you get that!” she groans, wiping her hands on her shirt before rubbing the sleep from her eyes. The phone once again springs to life and danced about the nightstand, glossing over the bedroom with a bright blue light as Valerie is reminded of the scene that coated her in…blood…This is blood…A soft chuckle leaves her cowering lips as the phone erupts with a call, the letters X.O.E displayed in bold letters on the tiny screen, slowly she inches past the bed as she tries desperately to keep her from seeing her disemboweled parent again “Block it out Valerie, you have to stay focused, try to remember” she whispers softly. This seemed to ease her nerves as she answered the phone with a monotone “Hello.”

“MS. BONNA-VELT! My gracious dove, how are you this fine eve?” He booms, a cheery whimsy to his words as though he was utterly pleased to speak to the young girl once again. She takes a deep breath before trying to speak again, so much had happened, so much that she needed to know about the events leading up to…to…She swallows hard, holding herself loosely with one arm as the other helps her hand hold up the phone

“N-not very good Mr. Everts… I’m having trouble remembering…some things…” to this he responded with a deep sigh that melted into a groan, she could feel his smile fade with her words, but he had needed to know. “Please Mr. Everts, I don’t mean to annoy you, I had only hoped you’d fill in some gaps…” an insecurity to her tone, feeling the tension slowly start to dissolve before he replies again with a soft hearty laugh

“I see young girl; your brain must be suppressing some things in an attempt to protect you. Could I come get you from your motel and take you elsewhere to clear your mind? I’m sure the smell is getting to you” Somehow his words made it sound like he knew her father’s corpse was only feet away from her beginning to pucker and bloat. How long had she been out? How long had the body been there? It had to have been a few days for the smell and appearance to be this bad, right?

“Yes please, please come get me!” she cries, not wanting to think about how old the blood on her body was or how she’d come to be covered in it to begin with. Today was beginning to be much worse than she’d ever planned when suddenly there’s a knocking at the door

“Then come outside my love, daddy’s here” he hums through the phone, making her pause and stare at the door…He…He did this…Is he…Is he going to kill her too? “Don’t be shy my sweet flower, come say hello” he coos once more, trying to lure her from her nest, but Valerie is unable to move despite standing only a few feet from the unlocked door. She watches as the handle turns left all the way “Hello?! Are you alright?!” his tone drowning with worry as the handle twists all the way to the right “Say something” he once again cries, throwing the door open to the vision of his beautiful little girl, the fruit of his labor and the love of his life. Their eyes lock, making him visibly swoon “You look so beautiful all painted up for daddy” He closes the distance between them, taking hold of her sides as his thumbs softly rub her love-handles and he washes her over with his gaze once more “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone more beautiful” he whispers before his lips press to her jawline, making her body tremble “Valerie, it’s okay. I stayed by your side for these last 4 days, but I didn’t want to scare you…I couldn’t be here when you woke, I’m so terribly sorry…” what had he meant by that? He’s been here with her? What had she done with him on those days and why could she not remember…?

“What are you talking about!” she screams, shoving him to the ground before plopping down onto the bed with an ugly sob “What would you have been doing here for the last four days if I wasn’t awake! Why are you doing this to me!” she wails, slamming her fists into her own stomach a few times “Or am I right to believe I was involved somehow?”

“Involved?” he repeats, as though the word is foreign to him before he erupts with laughter “Such a shame, we’ll have to fix that broken memory of yours right away” with this he pushed himself upward and onto his feet in one swift motion, who the hell is this dude? “But first, I will need you to listen little girl. Come here” he snips, curling his finger in towards himself to direct her.

‘Do I have a choice? What will happen if I don’t? And why didn’t he answer my question’ these were the thoughts that plagued her mind as she obediently hoisted herself upward to her feet and under the arm of the man that obviously murdered her father.

“Atta Girl” He chirps, walking her out the deep green door towards a short maroon 2004 Mercury Marauder with smoky gray leather seats and interior, upon closer inspection she finds the windshield cracked and the radio removed. He let go of her long enough to toss the door open and shove her into the vehicle, but rather than go around the car he scoots along the front of the seats to the driver’s side, pulling the passenger door closed behind him. He starts the car as his eyes lock with hers intently “Please smile little one, you’re going to remember everything soon” somehow, she knew this was meant to calm her, but those words had an effect neither of them could have predicted. As the car backs up, jolting her body forward she grips the car door and the dash as a flash of the days that lead to these events fills her head.

An image of Valerie covered with blood, wearing a crazed grin as a camera films “My, my, such a beautiful girl painted up for daddy…Do you enjoy this? Does it feel good when you remember how it feels to be happy? Such a gorgeous smile you have little one” the man behind it booms, that strange familiar voice. Who is that? It felt as though she was looking through a smudged lens at the world surrounding her “I will be the protector of your memories my love, never again will you feel isolated or trapped. Never again will I allow anything to harm you, my sweet dove. That sick bastard didn’t deserve a daughter as perfect as you, therefore I will take you myself. And through experimentation you will be reborn as my daughter” the camera moves as he draws closer to my face, Everts!!!! He cups her cheek softly, why does his voice sound so melodic right now compared to real life and what does this memory mean? Valerie snaps back to reality as suddenly as she had left it, staring down at the rubber mat place below her feet

“Where are we going?” she mumbles, feeling her palms and hairline begin to sweat “And how much longer? I’m…I’m tired…” a soft tremble to her words, showing that same insecurity that drew him towards her to begin with. He quickly takes her hand in his, resting the two on her thigh as he spoke

“Back to our nest my little dove, it will be quite a while I’m afraid. If you wish to sleep, you can lean on daddy. I promise you’ll be safe” he softly coos, something that once was so comforting felt like a death sentence

“That’s okay…I’ll be alright…daddy” the word felt like vomit leaving her mouth, nothing could be more revolting, but a smile rested comfortably on his face after she had knighted him with his self-proclaimed title “Could you tell me more about our nest?” she hums softly, looking out her window onto the horizon as she buckles herself in the seat more securely not wanting to look towards him.

“It’s out of state I’m afraid, so that beautiful home you wished to tour will be left to collect dust. I have many homes I’ve strategically purchased around the united states and a few in Italy, but we won’t be leaving the country anytime soon. It is in a small town just outside of Bozeman, Montana. It is a very beautiful place, you can see the mountains so that’s a plus, but there’s also a lot of eyes, it is a heavily populated town and for good reason. The home itself is rather cheery and wooden, far from the town for good reason and it overlooks a lake.” The way he spoke made him almost seem normal to her, like he felt panicked for being ‘put on the spot’ and was trying to push past the feeling. Why did he feel so eerie before? She leans closer to the window, feeling the vibration of the car rock her into a deep sleep with an uncertainty towards the days to come.

Sunlight pours in through the windows like an estuary the rays penetrated the glass with ease as it lacked any form of tinting, the light was blinding to sleep covered eyes making life just a little harder for the teen girl “Mhhh!” she groaned, stretching as she sat up off the lap of her captor, it felt so good to sleep after processing so much, but immediately she is reminded of her situation

“Did you sleep well my little dove?” He coos, eyes focused on the road as he awaits her response. It had taken a moment for her to realize, but Valerie remembered falling asleep on the door against the window…Although she had avoided it before her eyes locked on the face that she once found so charming

“Did you…move me?” Irritation tainted each syllable of this question as her eyes burned holes into his soul as she waited for him to confirm what she already knew; it was a way of telling herself she wasn’t crazy.

“Yes, you looked so uncomfortable away from daddy…” he pouted, pushing his lower lip out as though it would influence her response at all. Why did he need to move her onto his lap?! So close to his…Her face turns bright red as she looks away from him, no telling what he could have done to her whilst she slept. Valerie was known to be able to sleep through a hurricane, her mother used to have to carry her sleeping body to the shower and drench her just to get her to school on time because standing her up stopped working after she’d gotten used to it. “I’ve seen that look before; you needn’t worry… I would never taint your purity without permission. I may have my warts, but things of that nature don’t suit my fancy…” meaning he did want her, but is it possible he expects her to want him in time? Rubbing her eyes, the girl yawns softly

“Well good…I don’t think I’d handle something like that very well…” there was truth to her words, but the way she phrased it was incorrect. She was relieved to find out he was not a self-proclaimed rapist, but this brought another question to her attention. He has his warts, but not of that nature…What nature does suit his fancy? She’d hoped it was her paranoia telling her what he fancied was far worse, and turned to her captor sleepily “Just…don’t touch me when I’m sleeping” she huffs, why was this something that needed to be said? It felt like common sense to Valerie, but not all monsters are cut from the same tattered cloth. “How close are we?” her soft quaking voice whispered as the young girl pulled her knees towards her chest and wrapped her slightly muscular arms around them before resting her chin on her knees.

“Only a few miles now. Did you want to stop and get something to eat? Stretch? Use the Bathroom? You know…Normal Human Road-trip activities…”It was clear he felt a little less comfortable with her after being reprimanded “Suppose I can hardly remember what other humans do anymore” he nervously chuckles, slowing the car a bit as his eyes wash Valerie over “I know…I can be a bit much, but I only have your best intentions in mind. I hate to admit I’ve been insensitive…I had time to think on this whilst you slept. I was not sure, but it felt like you were scared of me yesterday…and well, you’ve confirmed that today… with your response to something I’d hoped to be a kind gesture, I will admit I have not had much interaction with other people since college.” He pauses and looks away from her, back to the road, returning to normal speed in one smooth motion. Taking a deep breath Xavier continues in an unsteady tone “What I am hoping to convey is that, I am no threat to you Valerie Amerai Bonna-velt. I may be terrible with social skills and it’s possible my attempts at affection are more…creepy…than…romantic.”

“But?” She hums, leaning back in her chair so her spine is straight as her eyes look expectantly at him. She’d only had him in her life for a few days and already she expected so much of him. Was she starting to care? “But you killed my father?” suddenly the car screeches to a halt skidding towards the side of the road before he turns to face Valerie; the nineteen-year-old Mongolian American whose forehead is resting on the dash thanks to such an abrupt stop.

“I am not the one who killed that man Valerie, you are” the words clap against her ear drums like a gunshot, echoing all the way down her spine as he gripped her wrists “I was hoping to show you the video…but you went and made me spoil the cinematic reveal” he giggles, sounding pleased with himself as Xavier jerks the young girl closer, he was in his late sixties despite not looking a day over twenty-two and much stronger than Valerie despite his nerdy weakling façade “I know this is a lot, and although I love to watch a mind deteriorate…” He pauses, dragging his tongue over his upper lip as though thinking about changing his mind “…I want you to ease into these memories…You had to know the truth, but sometimes these things can be easier if you don’t try to rush it and force my hand. You could have remembered on your own in a few weeks, days or hours, but I wanted to at least wait until you were able to isolate yourself in a room away from me.” What was that? Did his personality start to act up, but he brought it back down to a normal level? What is this guy’s deal? “Suppose now that you know it’s inside the car, I’ll have to ask you to be patience an-”

“That’s okay… I’d rather put off…knowing all the details for now…If what you say is true, then this is probably my last happy day…funny because yesterday was probably one of the worst days of my life…” Valerie forces a laugh, wanting to conceal the shattering pieces leftover from her crumbling sanity. “Food does sound nice…” she whimpers softly, wanting to sway the conversation elsewhere as quickly as possible, to this Xavier swoons letting out a deep hum towards her

“This is why I love you, you really get me” he lets go of her, turning to start the car back up with little trouble “We should learn to focus on the good and a full tummy sounds brilliant!” he coos, pulling away from the shoulder and back onto the highway “What sorts of foods suit your fancy?” he hums, using that phrase again

But things of that nature don’t suit my fancy

What sorts of foods suit your fancy?

“I prefer something salty or savory, sweet things don’t suit my fancy” She hums, being nonspecific as always “I will admit I am being vague because I don’t want to displease you, it’s such a pain to deal with going back and forth over and over….” Her father had a funny way of convincing her to pick whilst rejecting every option she chose until she suggested what he originally wanted to begin with. The entire mess was frustrating for Valerie, she could hardly imagine a person who could stand a situation like that, but she was never a girl of patience.

“Aw how cute, you used my favorite phrasing! Hmmm…Salty or Savory? What a shame you don’t like sweets, there are lots of bakeries on the map. Well what about pizza?” he chimes, trying to cover everything she’s said to him, to prove his willingness to listen “It’s only sweet depending on your toppings and cheese is normally pretty sodium heavy”

“Fantastic idea!” She booms, leaning against the door as she watches him juggle driver and navigating. Something about this struggle was amusing to her, it was in no where near the suffering she’d endured as well as apparently creating it. Her smug grin fades, what an odd thing to find amusing…

The Arrival; Life’s gift

The cabin was a warm sandy tan, the outside looking as though full logs were stacked on top of each other to form the walls despite having such large full windows and crystal doors that slide open like a window laying on it’s side. What a beautiful home! Valerie forces a sweet smile as she rushes to the entrance running her fingers over the smooth glass of the door as her eyes wash over the pitch steel borders that kept the crystal in place. On either side of the door are golden dragons carved into the light wood, she can hardly stop herself from running her fingers over the glistening design “How much does a place like go for anyway?” she slurs, her eyes bouncing from her new shelter to Xavier

“To be perfectly candid, I do not remember. It may have been a gift from one of my admirers or one of the homes purchased by my parents…The décor will most certainly remind me where this cabin came from.” He closes the distance between himself and the young girl before nudging her with his hip “Open the door for me, my sweet dove” the sounds of pleasure rippling in throughout his voice as he watched a shiver jolt up the young girl’s spine.

“What did I tell you? That makes me so uncomfortable…” Valerie groans, sliding the door open for the lengthy man as he stumbled inside holding several boxes and bags, he had clearly prepared for this trip. Had he known they’d need to flee Premont, Texas? She felt deep inside herself that those videos contained a truth beyond that of her father’s demise. Valerie rubs her arms softly before entering the home, inside was dozens of family photos, anchors, and sea shells as if the entire home had been decorated with an ocean side theme “So? Parents? Or lovers?” she calls into the house. Quickly she follows behind her voice deeper into the cabin, where her feet meet the animal skin rugs stacked on top of one another about the room, nearly covering all the cherry-wood that made up the floor. The room was small compared to the rest of the house, with a large “L” shaped couch in the center of the room with many colorful pillows with words like “Live, Laugh, Love” written in cursive “God it’s so cozy I can literally feel the sea of big fluffy blankets and fuzzy socks beginning to smother me” she calls, fake dying as her body plops onto the plush coffee sofa

“Oh, don’t complain, we won’t be staying here long.” He huffs, sitting down near the young maiden’s feet as he leans deep into the couch as a sigh of relief blooms from his pouty lips “You could have assisted me in moving our luggage”

“Assist my kidnapper in moving his luggage and my stolen stuff? Do you ever listen to yourself when you speak?” she snips back quickly, hearing the smile on his face as he sits up, hunching over as his elbows rest on his knees and his finger intertwine

“I hardly kidnapped you, you walked with me to the car with no resistance and you didn’t try to run at Luigi’s Haunted Pizza, so I could very easily disagree with you. The same as any jury would, evidence makes a case young Bonna-velt and I’m afraid the proof is not on your side” Valerie could not stand his smugness, although this was only the case because Xavier was exposing the truth, although her terror served as a mental block she’d shown no sign of trying to escape this man’s clutches. Why was that? Was it the information he had about the four nights escaping her memory? Or the fear of starting over fresh with an unfamiliar face? She’d spent so many years living with her father, with no friends or family members to lean on her father was truly all she had left in this world and the moment he was gone, she latched onto this parasite as though it was a host. “Are you ready for tonight’s examination?” he hums, looking her over with an intense gaze “There’s been no resurface of your abilities during our trip, this leads me to believe you have a specific trigger that allows you to use those gifts” did he mean the body enhancers he injected into me the first night we met?

“Not now…I want to nap first, it’s been a long day of really bad news…I really just want to sleep…” suddenly the couch depresses, like something is crawling over her body, she feels warm thighs pushing her knees into her stomach by raising her thighs. She looks up to see him pressing his manhood to her crotch as he leans over her small frame, beginning to kiss her neck and collar bone as his arm slides under the back of her left shoulder. He cups the nape of her neck, looking deep into her eyes with a burning desire

“Tell me you’ll let me hold you whilst you sleep?” He whimpers, resting his chin on the tops of her breasts “It would be an honor to protect you throughout the night” she felt there was more to this than what he gave away, but whether she wanted to or not he quickly flipped the two so his body was below her on the opposite side of the couch “Cuddle into me and christen me yours forever” these words were so intense, what had he wanted her to say? Gripping onto his shirt, she stares down at him like a deer in the headlights very obviously afraid of such a sudden advance towards her.

“I don’t think so…You really ought to go…” She whispers, climbing of his body with great struggle as he tries to hold her close to him, Valerie disliked this pressure and although she wanted so badly to be held until all her problems could melt into the sound of two hearts beating. “Goodnight Everts…” She hums, wandering off into the home to find a bed to sleep in, when the sound of a vhs tape playing floods the air as a light flickered through a cracked door at the end of the hall. Valerie held her breath as she heard her own voice whine “I don’t wanna do this, I wanna sleep!” it was very clearly her, but it sounded much more intoxicated than she was.

“Val? What are you doing?! Who is this guy?! Val?! VALERIE!”

Daddy! Her eyes swarm with tears as she runs to the room, knocking the door open with such great force that the metal door makes a depression where it met the wall as her eyes meet with a flickering light. When her eyes finally adjust to the monitor’s blinding blue light, Valerie recognizes herself standing next to a liquified blur of reds, pinks, browns and grays, what on earth is that? She leans into the screen trying to take a better look at blob when suddenly it solidifies reforming the man she called father gasping for air, suppose lungs don’t work in liquid form.

“Valerie…Valerie please”

Tears swell in the young girl’s eyes as she watches her father plead with a dead-eyed version of herself, the mindless woman one screen crouches down looking him deep into his eyes “Solid, Gaseous, Liquid…Let us see if we can do all at once” the girl whispers forcing his mouth open as her fingers glow a bright white, making the saliva in his mouth and throat a solid. As her father chokes, trying to pull the brittle saliva from his throat as the beastress cackles

“Such a beautiful girl, are you enjoying your new powers? Show me more, show daddy what you can do” a voice off camera cheers, as Valerie’s father looks at the man behind the voice with terror as the dead eyed Valerie grips his body at a couple different areas and with a flash of light she changes his body into a mess of liquids, colored gases and hardened flesh.

“Just like ice” the girl cries slamming her fist into the upper half of his skull, watching the ice-like matter shatter and scatter about the room like red shards of glass. Valerie looks away from the screen, unable to watch herself rage like a brat being denied of something it wants as she vomits into the hall “h-how could I do this?” she trembles through rough gags, the world around her beginning to twirl like a ballerina. You did it Valerie, you did it without hesitation and you put this on mom. “YOU MONSTER! HOW COULD YOU?” Valerie cries at herself, feeling the ground quake below her, as her brain swells with memories of abuse, years of mental and physical abuse. NO, IT’S NOT HIS FAULT! HE WAS TOO DRUNK TO UNDERSTAND! IT WAS NOT FAIR! NO! He did this! He did this to me… She slams her fists into the sides of her skull as tears stream down her face, why did he do this to her? What has she become? These feelings bring upon an unknown feeling that boils up inside her bringing forward the quirk named Matter Manipulation; the name is suddenly all she can think about, but where had it come from?

“Valerie! Valerie!” Xavier cries, rounding the corner as the world around him suddenly begins to mold and change “Valerie no!” He cries as his body freezes in place, standing frozen like stone as he stared into her eyes. His legs beginning to change color and collapse below him as the blood in his legs solidifies “Please! STOP IT VALERIE! PLEASE I LOVE YOU!” he sobs in terror, but his wails fall upon deaf ears as Valerie closes the distance between the two of them and grip his neck tightly turning it into a floating blur of flesh colored liquids. The sounds of the tape rewinding replacing a theme song, the vhs tape beginning once again as her hands grip his shoulders

“Wait Gorgeous! I have something to tell you, darling. That dress is so snug, it really suits my fancy” Xavier calls through the screen, putting more emphasis on his favorite phrase when it suddenly becomes clear to Valerie. She’d noticed every time he used that phrasing her brain became fuzzy and she felt more inclined to listen to him, it was clear he’d kept her under this state when the effects of his serum were most potent.

“Your ability…what is it?” she snips, reforming his throat to its solid form. He stumbles forward gripping onto her, his head spinning as she watches him gasp and choke on the very air he has been deprived of. How cute! Look at him struggle! A smile plays on her lips as she steps back watching him fall onto his hands and knees

“My sweet dove, please, I’ve done nothing to deserve this treatment and being tortured doesn’t suit my fancy” He whines, trying once again to strain her consciousness to no avail, she pushes her power hard against him once more watching him squirm in agony before gasping for air once again “Fine…It’s called Deception; it’s the ability to change what a person feels or sees, I can only maintain this ability for 6 days and my strength over a person’s mind varies on the amount of trust I have between myself and that person….the less a person trusts me the harder it is to maintain the false reality… and your power is a chemical mixture of my own ability and several others….those samples were extracted through forcible autopsy…”Forcible autopsy? Does that mean he’s made a name for himself? He’d never been direct with her before, but she knew immediately this was the standard, a form of expectation for future acquaintances. A smile spreads across her face as she grips his throat from behind pushing him deep into the wood as she twirls planting her behind onto the arch of his back before her palms glow sliding from his neck down his spine liquifying his essence

The Heroes’ Arrival; Save Me

Had either of them thought this through?! Had she even considered repercussions for her actions? Although she’d hardly had time to adapt to these new memories, there was no time to watch the puppeteer draw his last breath. She releases him from her hold, exposing herself for the monster she is as the thick black smoke that makes us her body is wavered by someone busting in the front door, the glass shattering and bouncing off various areas around the entrance.

“Doctor Everts” a strong woman’s voice calls, as the sound of footsteps advancing towards the pair fills the silence. Damn it! Unable to hold him and continuously restructure the liquid formation of his throat as her time limit was 30 seconds without contact, but luckily his throat would likely reform with some sort of mutation as she didn’t maintain it’s shape up until it’s reforming. She leaps up from his body, rushing for a window in the back room behind the stack of screens and vhs players, Valerie tosses the rack holding the monitors down onto the door jamming it shut. She pushes off the toppled metal rack she grips onto the windowsill pulling herself through the window and onto slick dew-covered grass that leads into a forest of some kind, pushing off the ground with her hands she takes off into full sprint, no sense in trying to save energy if she has no idea how to control this stupid ability! She tries snapping her fingers and focusing as she builds the distance between herself and the heroes who would never understand the ever-growing hollowness inside her, she’d become a murder, there was no other path for her.

((This is where the road forks, for those of you who wish to save this pitiful hate-birthed beast then this is where your character will enter as either a hero or villain, either way you must play an ally))

((For those of you who wish to have a more matured/seasoned villain you will continue from here and reply to the end of this post))

A Decade to Fester; They Do Not Dare Defy Me

Many years have past since the day Matter Manipulation was gifted to young Valerie, a decade to be quite precise and as the temptress neared her thirties a broiling need to be acknowledged by the world grew in its wake. She’d wasted enough time training, scheming, and waiting for a day when the world would be forced to face pain beyond their feeble little dreams.

“Aqua Regia!” Darius booms, entering her chambers with a concerned expression rest on his glowing ocean eyes as they lock onto the voluptuous Valerie, he was her second in command and most trusted ally, the one who saved her from the cruelty of those who held the title of Heroes. Those who would brand her very soul with a bible of law; a law book sewn together by the suffering and consumption of it’s own people, written in the blood of every less than fair pigment or disobedient civilian by sadists and hypocrites. “Val, please we must speak of the mission to come. If either you or I were to misstep we would lose the very foundation of all that we have built, quickly dear girl we mustn’t waste time” with this he waved me towards the door as his soft poetic mannerisms lull her senses into a calm

“Yes, Of course, but please Avalon do not fret, you are the key to my throne and with you I will forge a Camelot that would put Tartarus to shame” Aqua Regia coos, slipping from her solid form into a smoke like cloud to enhance her speed as she moves towards the villain Elusion with the quirk Escape Artist or the ability to find an escape plan for any situation, the back lash is sometimes there really is no escape although he has yet to stumble upon this problem. Valerie is able to return to solid form by keeping hands, heart and lungs solid inside the smoke form otherwise her body would remain gaseous until reaching the limited amount of time. This time gap started at thirty seconds, but after nearly a decade of training she can hold most things in any of the three forms for a whole hour, sadly no human can hold their breath for an hour so the gift has become rather tricky to maneuver without sparing a few insignificant lives. As her body slowly reforms Darius takes this time to go over some of our earlier successes

“Indeed, Queen Arthur” He would start, wanting to begin on her good side “The first two steps of our plan have come to fruition with very minor mishaps, the pot has been stirred as you say. Drug Families are at each other’s throats trying to find the rat amongst them, unaware it was the clients who sold them to the pros. Secondly, all of the bombs went off without a hitch, except the last hospital apparently a hero arrived in time to stop both with seconds to spare.” His face remained calm and hard like a statue, he knew this would make her erupt furious that anyone was able to catch onto her scheme “But we’ve reached the results you hoped for Ms. Regia, the pros have all eyes on you for the show tonight.” Despite the second step having a few misfires everything was going according to plan.

“Well…At least things are still moving forward, are the boys reaching out to the head of each family as we speak?” She groans, clearly annoyed with the lack of security in her strategy, nothing is guaranteed and yet she’d hoped this would as close to guaranteed as physically possible. The two descend the stairs her warm honey eyes scan the crumbling lot for any sign of you, surely you knew she would be here awaiting your arrival, her lower lip presses out in a pout as she looks to her partner “Suppose they didn’t understand the clues that we left with each body?”

“Nonsense Mistress, you were very careful to be as obvious as possible” He assures her as she pauses, lingering at the window from the second floor. She was much taller now due to the various hormones and chemical injected into her body all those years ago, her hair was a long chocolate stream of shiny wavy locks and her once ashen tan skin soon became a warm mocha. Her once boxy frame had smoothed over into a more feminine look, being replaced with an hourglass figure. “Forgive my sentiment, but you’ve come too far Valerie to ever be made a fool of again.” Her heart sang at his sweet words, a smile resting comfortably on her lips.

“Thank you” she whispers, reaching for the illusion of her dear friend when the door flies off it’s hinges into the stairs. It would appear that they’ve arrived and so abruptly. Valerie growls under her breath, trying to maintain her composure as the hero/villain enters “I’m relieved you decided to show your face, this will feel all the sweeter” her palms glowing a golden color as she stands in an offensive position

((Comment Alpha1 if you want to save her as a child and change her fate as a hero or comment Alpha2 if you want to be a villain that assists her as a child. If you wanted to fight older Valerie as a hero comment Beta1 or if you want to be a villain that recruits older Valerie comment Beta2))

Name: Valerie Amerai Bonna-Velt

Villain name; Aqua Regia

Age: 19 or 29

Ability: Matter Manipulation; the ability to change and mold the shape/state of matter for limited amounts of time (Overuse of this ability results in a loss of free will; becoming an obedient zombie)

Appearance; Valerie is a 5’2 tall girl who weighs one-hundred-twenty-five pounds, she has a large behind and C cup breasts with warm thick thighs that meet at a waist that appears to be smaller due to wide hips and broad shoulders. When she was 19 her hair was a raven black, but now it resembles a dark chocolate brown with a healthy shine that she’s most definitely proud of! Her eyes are slanted, narrow and a light honey colored with short lashes that thick around the outer corner of her eyes on the top and bottom. Her eyebrows are thick and well groomed, but sparse with a very high arch. (Very bottom-heavy frame!)

Blood type: O negative

Height; 5’2

Weight; 125 lbs.

Weaknesses; Valerie’s powers cannot break the law of conservation (matter cannot be created or destroyed. Therefore, there must be the same number of atoms of each element on each side of a chemical equation.) She is also unable to hold an object in a state foreign to its nature for longer than her time limit (Starts at 30 seconds and ends with 1 hour) The heart, lungs and hands are exposed in gaseous form. Her circulatory system slowly shuts down in solid form and she runs the risk of losing limbs if she over uses it, not to mention solid form is as fragile as ice. Finally, in liquid form she cannot reform herself and must wait for the time limit to pass (She doesn’t really use it)

#@sweeetwilliams

11 notes · View notes

themachiavellianpig · 5 years

Text

The Walking Dead, Episode 6: Being the New Guy Sucks

Episode 6 of The Walking Dead; Negan tries to make some new friends, Alexandria’s doctors struggle to keep their feet, Eugene starts up a new AV club, and Carol takes Daryl on the World’s Worst Walk Through the Woods.

As always, spoilers below.

This week, we received a story in four parts, two of which directly lead on from previous episodes and two of which seem to be setting the stage for future shenanigans.

Firstly, Siddiq and Dante are struggling to keep Alexandria steady in the face of a rapidly-spreading stomach bug; as with Ezekiel’s thyroid cancer, this would not be a huge problem in the World Before, but it’s a significant threat to the new communities - especially if they can’t isolate the source.

And the source has to be the contaminated water supply, to my way of thinking. Alpha explicitly pointed out the creek as one of the three ways she was going to weaken the communities, and we got to see Gamma dumping walker bodies in it, guts cut open to make the water nice and infected. Should this turn out to be the case, that would mean, among other things, that Aaron failed to notice the significance of a Whisperer killing one of their beloved ‘Guardians’ in a water source. And possibly that people stopped boiling their drinking water at some point, which doesn’t seem like best practice.

Biological warfare would an interesting line for Alpha to take; we’ve seen the Walkers themselves used as weapons before, by the Governor back in Season 3, by Carol against the Terminus Cannibals, by the Alexandrians against the Saviours, and dozens of often-nameless bad guys casually thrown into the path/teeth of passing Walkers, but we haven’t seen much in the way of explicit biological warfare - except for the short-lived subplot of the Kingdom supplying the Saviours with pigs who had fed on Walkers, which was sadly dropped as soon as it was raised, or the Saviours switching to contaminated weapons when fighting against Hilltop.

Deliberating contaminating water sources is, for the record, a war crime; Alpha going to such lengths definitely shows that she is a deeply dangerous and unstable individual, but it may also be a hint that she is generally threatened by the communities. Her tactics - limiting their hunting grounds, the water supply, and the waves of Walkers to Hilltops - all work to wear down the opposition while keeping her people out of harm’s way. An essential tactic, given that the Whisperers certainly do not have the living numbers to stand against the communities in open combat.

Of course, dead numbers are a completely different matter, which takes us neatly to Carol and Daryl, on the hunt for Alpha’s horde. This season has given their relationship a whole new lease of life, but all of their scenes recently have been undercut with tension; Daryl seems to know that Carol isn’t telling him the whole truth at literally any point in the entire episode - that she’s not looking for Negan, that she’s not just there to watch for a horde, that she didn’t just happen to capture a Whisperer for questioning.

His willingness to go along with Carol’s plan at every stage, despite his obvious concerns, is a great testament to his loyalty, but I am constantly worried that this loyalty will either be tested to destruction or lead to someone’s death. This may just be a hangover from the previous seasons in which we only got nice meaningful scenes right before something awful and unnecessary happened, but Carol’s reckless behaviour seems likely to lead us to some sort of comeuppance before too much longer.

(There was little explicit Walker Killing this week, so the award for best kill goes to Daryl for breaking a Walker’s neck to keep it ‘safe’ while splitting it open and covering himself in its guts. Ew.)

Back in Hilltop, Eugene has set to work fixing up the radio for greater distance broadcasts - Nabila’s “Cool! Have fun!”, like a mum who has no idea what their kid is talking about and mostly needs to get on with their own stuff, was delightful and, quite possibly, the most concrete development she’s had for years.

The radio is briefly used to reconnect Rosita and Eugene, who are still family despite Eugene’s crisis of faith following some clear boundary setting, but the main bulk of the airtime is devoted to a strange new woman who bonds with Eugene over their shared experiences in pre-Apocalypse ice cream parlours.

Her reluctance to give any personal information to Eugene made perfect sense; her refusal to accept any personal information from Eugene was sweet, as neither of them truly knows if the other is a threat. Her final request, however, was the most worrying - her request for Eugene to keep their conversations “between us”.

Look, I’ve been conditioned by decades of English-speaking media - and I can’t remember a single occurrence when “let’s keep this between us” was a cover for anything good. Here’s looking forward to Eugene formulating a secret relationship with a radio girlfriend who ends up betraying him.

Finally, we get to see one of the funniest things imaginable - Negan auditioning for the Whisperers. As Carol and Daryl say on their hunt, “I can’t see him putting on a mask”/”Or staying quiet for long” - and it turns out that they’re both right for the moment. We don’t see Negan put on a mask and we certainly don’t see him staying quiet.

Eight years in a cell seems to have deprived Negan of many of his survival instincts, given his insatiable need to needle a man twice his size who’s wearing a dead man’s face, but it’s fun to watch all the same. His offer to sell out the Alexandrians and his eight years worth of experience with them seems to intrigue Alpha - at least enough to give Negan an audition.

Beta is understandably and immediately against the very idea of Negan and he just gets steadily more and more annoyed as the episode progresses. Interestingly, in this episode, Beta explicitly rejects the suggestion that he should replace Alpha, instead choosing to kneel at her feet and follow her orders to test Negan.

At least until he’s had enough of the wise-cracking Saviour and just abandons him in the middle of a hungry herd of Walkers, which, you know, took him about half an hour longer than I’d expected.

It’s also interesting that Beta doesn’t just kill Negan outright, though - his intent was clearly to kill Negan or, perhaps more accurately, to leave him in a situation where he would fail to save himself, which may be another indication of the complicated balancing act which Beta is engaged in, his desire to follow Alpha’s instructions (“test Negan”) warring with his own ideas about how best to protect her (“kill Negan”).

And, of course, Negan survives and comes swaggering back into the Whisperer camp with blood all over him and a makeshift blunt instrument over his shoulder.

Finally, at the end of the episode, after he has spent every scene with the Whisperers reminiscing about his glory days as the Leader of the Saviours, Negan puts aside all apparent ego, kneels in front of Alpha and promises his loyalty.

“I’m all in, whatever you want, whatever I’ve got, it’s yours.”

I’m still not buying Negan’s defection to the Whisperers as anything other than a con, but the joy of watching him interact with people who are so diametrically opposed to him? Well, that’s just quality entertainment at this point.

Next week, it looks like we’ll be spending some more time with Siddiq and his poor mental health, while Daryl revisits his role as reluctant torturer from Season 2 and Carol takes Lydia out for an adventure.

Previous Season 10 reviews here.

#the walking dead #twd #walking dead #season 10 spoilers #norman reedus #melissa mcbride #jeffrey dean morgan #tv review #episode review #episode recap #themachiavellianpig watches

1 note · View note

therhythminwriting-blog · 5 years

Text

Nightmares Are My Wonderland

Several Days Later; Monday

“It is alright, really I’m sure we could do that another time”

In response to this he laughs “Confident one, aren’t we?”

“Don’t worry, it’s the power boost you were promised in the post, I hope you did not forget the terms of our agreement dear girl” all her muscles tense in response to the liquids.

“Onee-chan!!!” A familiar tiny voice calls towards her from somewhere far ahead, followed by soft weak sobs “Onee-Chan!” the voice cries once again causing my feet to move towards it.

“Onee-chan” Yuka cried, looking over her shoulder with the one side of her face that still had an eye, immediately being recognized by the Valerie as one of the victims in her favorite anime.

HISSSSSSS

HISSSSSSSSS

HISSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

The Morning of Mourning

Hours later the young girl stirs from beneath her father’s bed, unaware of her surroundings beyond a foul smell and the suffocating, cramped space she finds herself crammed in.

Buzz Buzz,

Buzz Buzz!

But things of that nature don’t suit my fancy

What sorts of foods suit your fancy?

The Arrival; Life’s gift

“Val? What are you doing?! Who is this guy?! Val?! VALERIE!”

“Valerie…Valerie please”

The Heroes’ Arrival; Save Me

((For those of you who wish to have a more matured/seasoned villain you will continue from here and reply to the end of this post))

A Decade to Fester; They Do Not Dare Defy Me

Name: Valerie Amerai Bonna-Velt

Villain name; Aqua Regia

Age: 19 or 29

Blood type: O negative

Height; 5’2

Weight; 125 lbs.

#roleplay #open rp #oc rp #rp #Helpmedevelopemystory #writers #my writing #writers on tumblr #writer's block #writer's blog #villian

2 notes · View notes

gp-synergism-blog · 6 years

Text

Gothic Film in the ‘40s: Doomed Romance and Murderous Melodrama

Posted by: Samm Deighan for Diabolique Magazine

Secret Beyond the Door (1947)

In many respects, the ‘40s were a strange time for horror films. With a few notable exceptions, like Le main du diable (1943) or Dead of Night (1945), the British and European nations avoided the genre thanks to the preoccupation of war. But that wasn’t the case with American cinema, which continued to churn out cheap, escapist fare in droves, ranging from comedies and musicals to horror films. In general though, genre efforts were comic or overtly campy; Universal, the country’s biggest producer of horror films, resorted primarily to sequels, remakes, and monster mash ups during the decade, or ludicrous low budget films centered on half-cocked mad scientists (roles often hoisted on a fading Bela Lugosi).

There are some exceptions: the emergence of grim-toned serial killer thrillers helmed by European emigres like Hitchcock’s Shadow of a Doubt (1943), Ulmer’s Bluebeard(1944), Siodmak’s The Spiral Staircase (1945), or John Brahm’s Hangover Square(1945); the series of expressionistic moody horror film produced by auteur Val Lewton, such as Cat People (1942) and I Walked with a Zombie (1943); and a handful of strange outliers like the eerie She-Wolf of London (1946) or the totally off-the-rails Peter Lorre vehicle, The Beast with Five Fingers (1946).

Thanks to the emergence of film noir and a new emphasis on psychological themes within suspense films, horror’s sibling — arguably even its precursor — the Gothic, was also a prominent cinematic force during the decade. One of the biggest producers of Gothic cinema came from the literary genre’s parent country, England. Initially this was a way to present some horror tropes and darker subject matter at a time when genre films were embargoed by a country at war, but Hollywood was undoubtedly attempting to compete with Britain’s strong trend of Gothic cinema: classic films like Thorold Dickinson’s original Gaslight (1940); a series of brooding Gothic romances starring a homicidal-looking James Mason, like The Night Has Eyes (1942), The Man in Grey(1943), The Seventh Veil (1945), and Fanny by Gaslight (1944); David Lean’s two best films and possibly the greatest Dickens adaptations ever made, Great Expectations(1946) and Oliver Twist (1948); and other excellent, yet forgotten literary adaptations like Uncle Silas (1947) and Queen of Spades (1949).

The American films, which not only responded to their British counterparts but helped shape the Gothic genre in their own right, tended towards three themes in particular (often combining them): doomed romance, dark family inheritances often connected to greed and madness, and the supernatural melodrama. Certainly, these film borrowed horror tropes, like the fear of the dark, nightmares, haunted houses, thick cobwebs, and fog-drenched cemeteries. The home was often set as the central location, a site of both domesticity and terror — speaking to the genre’s overall themes of social order, repressed sexuality, and death — and this location was of course of equal importance to horror films and the “woman’s film” of the ‘40s and ‘50s. Like the latter, these Gothic films often featured female protagonists and plots that revolved around a troubled romantic relationship or domestic turmoil.

Wuthering Heights (1939)

Two of the earliest examples, and certainly two films that kicked off the wave of Gothic romance films in America, are also two of the genre’s most enduring classics: William Wyler’s Wuthering Heights (1939) and Hitchcock’s Rebecca (1940). Based on Emily Brontë’s novel of the same name (one of my favorites), Wyler and celebrated screenwriter Ben Hecht (with script input from director and writer John Huston) transformed Wuthering Heights from a tale of multigenerational doom and bitterness set on the unforgiving moors into a more streamlined romantic tragedy about the love affair between Cathy (Merle Oberon) and Heathcliffe (Laurence Olivier) that completely removes the conclusion that focuses on their children. In the film, the couple are effectively separated by social constraints, poverty, a harsh upbringing, and the fact that Cathy is forced to choose between her wild, adopted brother Heathcliffe and her debonair neighbor, Edgar Linton (David Niven).

Wuthering Heights is actually less Gothic than the films it inspired, primarily because of the fact that Hollywood neutered many of Brontë’s themes. In The History of British Literature on Film, 1895-2015, Greg Semenza and Bob Hasenfratz wrote, “Hecht and Wyler together manage to transfer the narrative from its original literary genre (Gothic romance) and embed it in a film genre (the Hollywood romance, which would evolve into the so-called ‘women’s films’ of the 1940s)… [To accomplish this,] Hecht and Wyler needed to remove or tone down elements of the macabre, the novel’s suggestions of necrophilia in chapter 29, and its portrayal of Heathcliffe as a kind of Miltonic Satan” (185).

This results in sort of watered down versions of Cathy — who is selfish and cruel as a general rule in the novel — and, in particular, Heathcliffe, whose brutish behavior includes physical violence, spousal abuse, and a drawn out, well-plotted revenge that becomes his sole reason for living. It is thus in a somewhat different — and arguably both more terrifying and more romantic — context that the novel’s Heathcliffe declares to a dying Cathy, “Catherine Earnshaw, may you not rest as long as I am living. You said I killed you–haunt me then. The murdered do haunt their murderers. I believe–I know that ghosts have wandered the earth. Be with me always–take any form–drive me mad. Only do not leave me in this abyss, where I cannot find you! Oh, God! It is unutterable! I cannot live without my life! I cannot live without my soul!” (145).

Despite Hollywood’s intervention, the novel’s Gothic flavor was not scrubbed entirely and Wuthering Heights still includes themes of ghosts, haunting, and just the faintest touch of damnation, though it ends with a spectral reunion for Cathy and Heathcliffe, whose spirits set off together across the snow-covered moors. These elements of a studio meddling with a film’s source novel, doomed romance, and supernatural tones also appeared in the following year’s Rebecca, possibly the single most influential Gothic film from the period. This was actually Hitchcock’s first film on American shores after his emigration due to WWII, and his first major battle with a producer in the form of David O. Selznick.

Rebecca (1940)

Based on Daphne du Maurier’s novel of the same name, Rebecca marks the return of Laurence Olivier as brooding romantic hero Maxim de Winter, the love interest of an innocent young woman (Joan Fontaine) traveling through Europe as a paid companion. She and de Winter meet, fall in love, and are quickly married, though things take a dark turn when they move to his ancestral home in England, Manderlay, which is everywhere marked with the overwhelming presence of his former wife, Rebecca. The hostile housekeeper (Judith Anderson) is still obviously obsessed with her former mistress, Maxim begins to act strangely and has a few violent outbursts, and the new Mrs. de Winter begins to suspect that Rebecca’s death was the result of a homicidal act…

The wanton or mad wife was a feature not only of Rebecca, but of earlier Gothic fiction from Wuthering Heights and Jane Eyre to “The Yellow Wallpaper.” In the same way that Cathy of Wuthering Heights is an example of the feminine resistance to a claustrophobic social structure, Rebecca is a similar figure, made monstrous by her refusal to conform. The dark secret that Maxim’s new wife learns is that Rebecca was privately promiscuous, agreeing only to appear to be the perfect wife in public after de Winter already married her. She pretends she is pregnant with another man’s child and tries to goad her husband into murdering her, seemingly out of sheer spite, but it is revealed that she was dying of cancer.

A surprisingly faithful adaptation of the novel, Rebecca presents the titular character’s death as a suicide, rather than a murder, thanks to the Production Code’s insistence that murderers had to be punished, contrary to the film’s apparent happy ending, and restricted the (now somewhat obvious) housekeeper’s lesbian infatuation for Rebecca. Despite these restrictions, Hitchcock managed to introduce some of the bold, controversial themes that would carry him through films like Marnie (1964). For Criterion, Robin Wood wrote, “it is in Rebecca that his unifying theme receives its first definitive statement: the masculinist drive to dominate, control, and (if necessary) punish women; the corresponding dread of powerful women, and especially of women who assert their sexual freedom, for what, above all, the male (in his position of dominant vulnerability, or vulnerable dominance) cannot tolerate is the sense that another male might be “better” than he was. Rebecca is killed because she defies the patriarchal order, the prohibition of infidelity.”

Wood also got to the crux of many of these early Gothic films (and the Romantic/romantic novels that inspired them) when he wrote, “The antagonism toward Maxim we feel today (in the aftermath of the Women’s Movement) is due at least in part to the casting of Olivier; without that antagonism something of the film’s continuing force and fascination would be weakened.” Heathcliffe and de Winter are similarly contradictory figures: romantic, but also repulsive, objects of love and fear in equal measures, they mirror the character type popularized in England by a young, brooding James Mason — an antagonistic, almost villainous (and sometimes actually so) male romantic lead — that would appear in a number of other titles throughout the decade.

Rebecca (1940)

In “‘At Last I Can Tell It to Someone!’: Feminine Point of View and Subjectivity in the Gothic Romance Film of the 1940s” for Cinema Journal, Diane Waldman wrote, “The plots of films like Rebecca, Suspicion, Gaslight, and their lesser-known counterparts like Undercurrent and Sleep My Love fall under the rubric of the Gothic designation: a young inexperienced woman meets a handsome older man to whom she is alternately attracted and repelled. After a whirlwind courtship (72 hours in Lang’s Secret Beyond the Door, two weeks is more typical), she marries him. After returning to the ancestral mansion of one of the pair, the heroine experiences a series of bizarre and uncanny incidents, open to ambiguous interpretation, revolving around the question of whether or not the Gothic male really loves her. She begins to suspect that he may be a murderer” (29-30).

As Waldman suggests, there are many films from the decade that fit into this type: notable examples include Hitchcock’s Suspicion (1941), where Joan Fontaine again stars as an innocent, wealthy young woman who marries an unscrupulous gambler (Cary Grant) who may be trying to kill her for her fortune; Robert Stevenson’s Jane Eyre (1943) yet again starred Fontaine as the innocent titular governess, who falls in love with her gloomy, yet charismatic employer, Mr. Rochester (Orson Welles); George Cukor’s remake of Gaslight (1944) starred Ingrid Bergman as a young singer driven slowly insane by her seemingly charming husband (Charles Boyer), who is only out to conceal a past crime; and so on.

Another interesting, somewhat unusual interpretations of this subgenre is Experiment Perilous (1944), helmed by a director also responsible for key film noir and horror titles such as Out of the Past, Cat People, and Curse of the Demon: Jacques Tourneur. Based on a novel by Margaret Carpenter and set in turn of the century New York, Experiment Perilous is a cross between Gothic melodrama and film noir and expands upon the loose plot of Gaslight, where a controlling husband (here played by Paul Lukas) is trying to drive his younger wife (the gorgeous Hedy Lamarr) insane. The film bucks the Gothic tradition of the ‘40s in the sense that the wife, Allida, is not the protagonist, but rather it is a psychiatrist, Dr. Bailey (George Brent). He encounters the couple because he befriended the husband’s sister (Olive Blakeney) on a train and when she passes away, he goes to pay his respects. While there, he he falls in love with Allida and refuses to believe her husband’s assertions that she is insane and must be kept prisoner in their home.

In some ways evocative of Hitchcock (a fateful train ride, a psychiatrist who falls in love with a patient and refuses to believe he or she is insane), Experiment Perilous is a neglected, curious film, and it’s interesting to imagine what it would have been if Cary Grant starred, as intended. It does mimic the elements of female paranoia found in films like Rebecca and Gaslight, in the sense that Allida believes she has a mysterious admirer and, as with the later Secret Beyond the Door, she’s tormented by the presence of a disturbed child; though Lamarr never plays to the level of hysteria usually found in this type of role and her performance is both understated and underrated.

Experiment Perilous (1944)

Tourneur was an expert at playing with moral ambiguities, a quality certainly expressed in Experiment Perilous, and the decision to follow the psychiatrist, rather than the wife, makes this a compelling mystery. Like Laura, The Woman in the Window, Vertigo, and other films, the mesmerizing portrait of a beautiful woman is responsible for the protagonist becoming morally compromised, and for most of the running time it’s not quite clear if Bailey is acting from a rational, medical premise, or a wholly irrational one motivated by sexual desire. Rife with strange diary entries, disturbing letters, stories of madness, death, and psychological decay, and a torrid family history are at the heart of the delightfully titled Experiment Perilous. Like many films in the genre, it concludes with a spectacular sequence where the house itself is in a state of chaos, the most striking symbol of which is a series of exploding fish tanks.

But arguably the most Gothic of all these films — and certainly my favorite — is Fritz Lang’s The Secret Beyond the Door (1947). On an adventure in Mexico, Celia (Joan Bennett), a young heiress, meets Mark Lamphere (Michael Redgrave), a dashing architect. They have a whirlwind romance before marrying, but on their honeymoon, Mark is frustrated by Celia’s locked bedroom door and takes off in the middle of the night, allegedly for business. Things worsen when they move to his mansion in New England, where she is horrified to learn that she is his second wife, his first died mysteriously, and he has a very strange family, including an odd secretary who covers her face with a scarf after it was disfigured in a fire; he also has serious financial problems. During a welcoming party, Mark shows their friends his hobby, personally designed rooms in the house that mimic the settings of famous murders. Repulsed, Celia also learns that there is one locked room that Mark keeps secret. As his behavior becomes increasingly cold and disturbed she comes to fear that he killed the first Mrs. Lamphere and is planning to kill her, too.

A blend of “Bluebeard,” Rebecca, and Jane Eyre, Secret Beyond the Door is quite an odd film. Though it relies on some frustrating Freudian plot devices and has a number of script issues, there is something truly magical and eerie about it and it deserves as far more elevated reputation. Though this falls in with the “woman’s films” popular at the time, Bennett’s Celia is far removed from the sort of innocent, earnest, and vulnerable characters played by Fontaine. Lang, and his one-time protege, screenwriter Silvia Richards, acknowledge that she has flaws of her own, as well as the strength, perseverance, and sheer sexual desire to pursue Mark, despite his potential psychosis.

This was Joan Bennett’s fourth film with Fritz Lang – after titles like Man Hunt (1941), The Woman in the Window (1944), and Scarlet Street (1945) — and it was to be her last with the director. While her earlier characters were prostitutes, gold diggers, or arch-manipulators, Celia is more complex; she is essentially a spoiled heiress and socialite bored with her life of pleasure and looking to settle down, but used to getting her own way and not conforming to the needs of any particular man. (Gloria Grahame would go on to play slightly similar characters for Lang in films like The Big Heat and Human Desire.) In one of Celia’s introductory scenes, she’s witness to a deadly knife fight in a Mexican market. Instead of running in terror, she is clearly invigorated, if not openly aroused by the scene, despite the fact that a stray knife lands mere inches from her.

Secret Beyond the Door (1947)

Like some of Lang’s other films with Bennett, much of this film is spent in or near beds and the bedroom. The hidden bedroom also provides a rich symbolic subtext, one tied in to Mark’s murder-themed rooms, the titular secret room (where his first wife died), and the burning of the house at the film’s conclusion. Due to the involvement of the Production Code, sex is only implied, but modern audiences may miss this. It is at least relatively clear that Mark and Celia’s powerful attraction is a blend of sex and violence, affection and neurosis. As with Rebecca and Jane Eyre, it is implied that the fire — the act of burning down the house and the memory of the former love (or in Jane Eyre’scase, the actual woman) — has cleansing properties that restore Mark to sanity. It is revealed that though he did not commit an actual murder, the guilt of his first wife’s death, brought on by a broken heart, has driven him to madness and obsession.

This really is a marvelous film, thanks Lang’s return to German expressionism blended with Gothic literary themes. There is some absolutely lovely cinematography from Stanley Cortez that prefigured his similar work on Charles Laughton’s The Night of the Hunter. In particular, a woodland set – where Celia runs when she thinks Mark is going to murder her – is breathtaking, eerie, and nightmarish, and puts a marked emphasis on the fairy-tale influence. But the house is where the film really shines with lighting sources often reduced to candlelight, reflections in ornate mirrors, or the beam of a single flashlight. The camera absolutely worships Bennett, who is framed by long, dark hallways, foreboding corridors, and that staple of film noir, the winding staircase.

2 notes · View notes