#the waterfall is Not at smith rock. its on the way
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some waterfalls.... some juniper....
#first camping trip in a long long time#i get to sleep outside too! i have tent trauma anyway LMAO#also babys first time going climbing!#we're at smith rock!!!!!#the waterfall is Not at smith rock. its on the way#but its hidden in the middle of so much high desert its wild!!!#vin.txt#photography#juniper#waterfalls#rivers
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Happy WBW! Are there any fun or interesting physical geographic features in your setting that you'd like to tell us about?
-moonluringfrost
Hi Frost, thank you💜
Of course I put something fun in the setting of The Fulcrum, who do you take me for?😉
Lornai, the Fulcrum, the sacred city, lies within the Fracture. Outside the Fracture is a uniform plateau, with its Southern cliffs diving into the sea. However, a perfectly circular section of it looks like it has sunk to the sea level. That's the Fracture - a wall of cliffs that encircles the land surrounding the city, almost impossible to scale. It's opened up access to copper and tin deposits, but at the same time it makes land access to the area very difficult.
The Fracture intersects a river - Lornai is located at the mouth of this river. And while yes, there's a waterfall as one might expect (and a lift powered by a waterwheel), there's also a curious feature known as the Shattered Skies.
Here's a description of the view from the top of the waterfall:
… stands over the precipice. Her talons curl over the edge, gripping the clumps of grass there. She closes her eyes, lifts her head, opens them again. She looks straight ahead, towards the horizon. It is a crisp line, past the parasol forest, past Lornai, past the mouth of the Radiant Bay. Past eerily flat, smooth sea, smoother than the stones of the highway. She has never looked so far, and she now considers it underwhelming.
It isn’t much different from the view from the higher levels of the ziggurats or the sight she was treated to on the way up to the Shattered Skies. In fairness, she enjoys it more when she can see the intricacies of the patterns on the upsides of the parasol caps, and the details of the ever-moving waves on the water. From so high up, the details blur, blend together. It certainly is grand, but at the same time intangible.
So she turns around. More forests part to make way for the river - the same one that plunges down from below the Shattered Skies to feed the Radiant Bay. The forests are familiar - the same parasol mushrooms grow up here as down below. Similarly, the river is no different. … cranes her neck, looks upstream, only to see more forests in the distance, blanketing the flatlands.
She then looks up, at the sky, and her knees go weak. Overhead, lumps of rock that form the Shattered Skies, loom, hover, unreal and terrifying. She flinches, struck by a panicked thought that they will come crashing down, squashing her, and the Peacemakers, and the Land Treader with her raptor. The rocks’ undersides are dark, the descending sun illuminates their sides, casting their shadows far towards the East. The rocks are angled, pointing to the top of the waterfall. No, not towards, but away from it. They look like a spray of sparks from a smith’s hammer, suspended in time and space.
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Young Maiden
Gift: @robininthelabyrinth
Based off the queer fusion of Feminine Mystique + Strange Definitions of Success
TMW you art-student/theatre kid yourself to queerness
Summary: Wen Ruohan should have burnt it to ash, grounded these memories to dust, yet they come again and again. His teacher had told him all those decades ago, that only a true artist can never let go of their craft. He put the brush down and pulled out the wine.
CW: Not exactly a happy end, for now. Mentions of leering. He/Him Pronouns
Author’s Notes: Art is one of the six scholarly arts a young master learns. It is as masculine as carrying around a sword. It is the same here. Though I am not heavily editing this, this short fic holds a personal touch due to my own queerness/genderfluidity and love for art.
AO3
Wen Ruohan hadn’t lifted a brush to paint in decades.
The urge remained, however. Every time he signed a document or noted a budget sheet, his fingers would slide against the smooth wood of the brush into position. Characters would mold into mountains of pitch-black ink, with the echoes of indigo and malachite speckled down the peaks until they became vibrant rivers.
The image of the last painting he ever made. Unfinished, half-burnt, and hidden away, deep in his private chambers. He should have kept it in the bonfire; stomped those memories to dust. Yet they come again and again, like ugly ink stains under his eyelids.
His teacher had told him forever ago that only a true artist can never let go of their craft.
He placed the brush down and pulled out the wine.
Wen Ruohan always had a taste for beauty. A true artist, and a true wealthy man. Why else would he fill his room with carefully selected pottery, inlaid colored glass, and paintings? Why else do the ornaments that hung from his belt and his guans be inlaid with gold and precious stones twisted with only the skill of a true master smith. Only the beautiful things, the good things, in the world he deserved.
He reached for them since when he was young, with whatever memories that remained from over a century ago. Buried his hands into his mother’s jewelry box, stuffed his hair with as many pins as he could, because they all glittered in a way that appealed to a child. Servants would chide, snatching the pins from his hair. He, then, could not understand why it was so bad to wear something pretty.
Even today, when only the immortals that hid away were older than he, Wen Ruohan felt that the jewelry allowed for a man of his station…lacked. That little itch reared its head when he prepared for banquets and conferences or dressed for a forgetful day of paperwork and cultivation.
~~~~~~~~~~
It was during one of those latter days when he happened upon his principal wife painting her face in the garden. Her hand still with every stroke, with a precise grace that architects would envy. Her colorful palette meant to only subtly underscore her features.
Wen Ruohan painted people before. Their complex forms and finicky features are as difficult as inking around cracks in rock and depicting gaping ravines surrounded by waterfalls. But instead of painting on rice paper, Madame Wen painted on her face. Like an artist.
Late one night, he pulled out a brush and paint and applied it to his face.
~~~~~~~~~~
Since then, Wen Ruohan played around with face-painting until dawn. Except now with proper make-up instead of the toxic paint that stained the skin. He thumbed the edge of his jaw, the line softened by powdering right to its outer edges. An illusion of soft facial features created by masking the shadows with a powder that absorbed light rather than reflected.
He pulled back his collar to brush off some particles, his pinkie catching on the padding slipped under his outer robes. Wen Ruohan snorted through his nose.
It wasn’t much different than the sleight-of-hand Clan Leaders played with their appearances really. Wen Ruohan’s true body type leaned more into skinny, even with cultivation lining his bones with muscle. With some shoulder padding and hidden heels, however, he could construct a striking silhouette that unnerved even men twice his size.
Wen Ruohan held out his brush, watching the powder glitter in the candlelight.
Suddenly, he remembered one of his mother’s pins. Since she rarely wore it, it made its way to the very bottom of her jewelry box. The deep blue stone glittered in the latent sun rays when he held it up for inspection, pale gold chain tassels clicking against his fingernails. Until it was snatched away and the box finally hidden from him for good.
Wen Ruohan thumbed the polished wood. Why not? He could easily disguise the purchases with gifts to his wife and concubine.
~~~~~~~~~~~
A few months passed with his late-night artistic experiments. Something…shifted. Some days, Wen Ruohan reached for his kit hidden in a locked drawer in his bedroom, only to remember it was morning. He would find himself avoiding reflective surfaces, a stubborn knot in his chest that refused to budge.
Some days, he wore his robes with pride and mirrors posed no thread. The makeup kit as if forgotten.
It was one of those busier evenings. The conference was right on the horizon by the month’s end, even if QishanWen wasn’t hosting this year. A whirlwind of documents and paperwork – updated intelligence from his spies, the state of his Sect, which disciples were to accompany him, and the likes.
He hadn’t remembered whether it was one of those days where he couldn’t stand the mirror. With the sudden ache to leave his rooms, an impulsive indulged, he left Nightless City to the evening market within Qishan.
A store clerk, a young woman, waved at him.
“Is this Maiden in the search for jewelry?”
Maiden? Wen Ruohan brushed his cheek with a finger. Powder.
The reflection in the miniature bronze mirror on the stand revealed the very tips of the pins in his hair.
Oh. It must have been one of those days.
He muffled his “no thank you” with a sleeve to his mouth.
The knot fluttered in his chest, like it grew wings. In a haze, Wen Ruohan continued wandering the market.
“Your servant wields such skill! Your huadian is beautiful.” A young maiden said to him.
He could not remember what he did, but the plum blossoms bloomed and Chao-er stuck branches into the grate on his window that morning.
An older madam, hair long since grey, paused from her stand to scold, “Why are you alone! Where is your escort?”
He gestured at his sword, name hidden in a silk scarf, by his side. She frowned and shook her head, gesturing behind him.
Wen Ruohan was used to being gawked at. Fear and envy flashed in the eyes of fellow cultivators. With the occasional interested party – a certain saber-wielding sect leader came to mind.
The gazes sent his way now were far different. No longer nervousness in their eyes. He looked like a rich young maiden, perhaps unmarried and foolishly walking by her lonesome. Glances of indifference, like he was no different than the stranger beside him. Some gazes however made him tighten his grip on his sword. Like how some leered like they were undressing him with their eyes. Slipping his sword in their direction and meeting their eyes with a glare seemed to bat them away.
Some took his softer appearance as approachable, with offers of a sample of this snack, or this tea, always with ‘will this Maiden indulge-“, especially from clerks who barely could hide their blush.
Sleep potions and poisons didn’t work on him anyway, so what’s the harm in an indulgence.
In the later hours, Wen Ruohan stepped into a restaurant rich enough to have a full-length reflective glass. Xu-er mentioned this particular place had excellent wine. When he peered his head in to see if he could spot a clerk, he glimpsed his own reflection. Make-up, hair pins, and light robes all in a glance. Something inside clicked into place.
Sometimes, he didn’t want to be a man.
Wen Ruohan’s lowlight trance, warmth, and elation plunged into a bone-deep freeze. He stared wide-eyed into the reflection, into an artificially softened face. Sharp-edged body hidden under rolling fabric and the cover of darkness.
The server was talking to him, calling him Young Maiden.
He turned on his heels and walked off. Of course, he didn’t run away. (He ran).
He burned the robes, presented the pins as late presents to his wife and concubine, and threw the makeup deep into a drawer far away from his bedroom.
What nonsense.
#wen ruohan#queerness#genderfluid character#Peeps out the closet and then hightails back in#A sort of letter to gender questioning#crossdressing#not exactly a HAPPY end#trans character but WRH didn't get the memo yet#Using he/him pronouns because WRH is POV#leering mention#TMW you art-student/theatre kid yourself to queerness
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Hello 🌸 for the quick fic game, as title I'm sending you Gem of the waterfall
Hope you have fun!
Thank you so much! :)
Okay, this one needs to be a Thorin fic.
Prince Thorin dives into a pool by a waterfall and finds a beautiful, brightgem at the bottom. He doesn't tell anyone about this and keeps it with him, around his neck, every day. The gem is one of a kind and Thorin seems to hear a faint melody coming from within it sometimes. No one else can hear it.
It is that sweet, pure music that fills his heart and helps him survive the dark days and fight off the dragon sickness during the Quest. When he joins the Battle of Five Armies, he faces his orc enemy and survives - the orc weapon hits the gem instead of Thorin. He survives, kills his opponent and the battle is soon won.
Only then does Thorin realize that the gem is cracked, matted and dark. Now it looks more like a grey piece of rock than anything else.
Days, months and years pass, Erebor is rebuilt, and the gem slowly cracks completely to pieces, crumbling away. Thorin does not hear the melody any longer. He hums to himself sometimes, holding on to its memory, hoping it would fill the emptiness he feels. King Thorin never marries and confirms Fili as his direct heir and future king. He takes part in the War of the Ring, stopping the enemy's sudden attack on Rhovanion. Dale, Erebor and the Woodland Realm are saved.
When the old king Thorin II Oakenshield dies at the age of 315 years, he goes to the Halls of Waiting. Then Thorin faces his maker. He asks Mahal (Aule) about the stone. The Smith of Valar looks at his child and tells him that this was Thorin's Second Half. Aule decided that Thorin had an important role to play in the events to come. Then Mandos and Vairë appear and explain that this interference in the ways of the world required a sacrifice. Thorin did not meet his One in his life, he did not know love, but the gem made from the same piece of rock as him helped him fulfil his destiny.
FLUFF ENDING OPTION: Mahal and other Valar reward Thorin by introducing him to his One in the afterlife - to the person his One would have been if they had lived. They exist happily ever after in the Halls of Waiting together with Thorin's family until the end of days.
Wednesday Word Play
#wednesday word play#fotfics#thorin oakenshield#the hobbit#lotr#fic ideas#thorin#angst#thorin fic#dwarven ones
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Wow! Against all odds, I finally got around to actually writing the follow-up to I'm Gonna Be The Anti-Hero that's existed exclusively in my head for months! Well uh here it is :3
---
The secret underground room beneath Plymouth rock was dark and silent as always, save for the faint dripping of water through a crack in the ceiling. It figured that, after living there for countless centuries, the structural integrity would finally begin to erode. That dripping sound, although highly irritating when it first started a month or so ago, had now settled into background noise which John Smith paid no attention to. He was a pilgrim, not a witch; it wasn't like the water could hurt him.
Then again, he realized a few moments too late one rainy spring day, perhaps he should have reevaluated that statement. He was minding his own business sitting in his chair and reminiscing about the very old days (that was the only thing he could really do anymore, slowly decaying as his body was) when the soft and steady dripping suddenly escalated at an exponential rate into what sounded like a small waterfall. He turned his head to see a semi-transparent humanoid figure taking shape out of the water pooling in the corner--strangely tinted red, as though the water were mixed with blood. As the old pilgrim watched, jaw agape, the figure strode purposefully toward him, taking on a more solid form as it did so.
"What are you doing here, intruder?" John Smith demanded, one hand tightening around the hilt of his sword while his other hand reached behind his back to fumble for his musket.
"This secret underground room isn't government sanctioned," the stranger hissed. (Although... was he a stranger? John Smith somehow felt that he'd seen this youngster once before, but he couldn't quite place where or when.) "And you have no official identification registering you as a legal citizen. Not to mention, you haven't been paying taxes... disgraceful."
Before John Smith had the chance to concoct a retort or draw either of his weapons, the masked man's hands were around his throat and crushing his windpipe with a force that could only be driven by an inhuman amount of bloodlust. And within seconds, the life of a pilgrim that had been extended for centuries past its expiration date was finally put to an end.
*
"I can't believe they want us to make a clown movie at a time like this."
"I can believe it," Neil replied without looking up from the shopping list in his hand. "The studio wants a lot from us, remember? They're not going to care how sad we are. Anyway, it's been four months--" The emotions bubbling up within him refused to let his voice stay level, so he gritted his teeth and hissed out the rest of his sentence rather than let himself start crying in the middle of the dollar store. "We should be over it by now."
"Neil..." Kevin began in the way he'd often addressed Neil over the past few months--brow furrowed, voice edged with an obvious and vaguely patronizing concern--only to trail off and shake his head with a sigh. Apparently he'd finally given up on trying to make Neil feel better, which was just fine by him, because things are never gonna go back to the way they were before and it's my fault and I don't deserve to feel good about it.
"Anyway, we've got what we came for," Neil muttered, waving his hand in the general direction of Kevin's shopping basket without looking him in the eyes. "Let's go."
At the checkout counter, the cashier frowned and shook her head when Neil offered her a five-dollar bill. "Sorry," she told them, "But all this is going to cost $29.99."
"What? But we don't have that kind of money!" Neil lamented. "And we got this stuff from the clearance section... plus this is the dollar store, so shouldn't everything just cost a dollar?"
For a visual aid as he spoke, he grabbed one of the items they were ringing up--a bargain pack of multicoloured clown wigs--and shook it in the cashier's face. Apparently unmoved by his bargaining, she pursed her lips and crossed her arms.
"Maybe you should have checked the price tags first, sir."
"Huh? But, but..." Neil trailed off when he looked down at the price tag on the item in his hands. The bright orange tag had the original price, $7.50, crossed out and replaced with $2.35... but then below that, scribbled in tiny and barely legible font, it read "just kidding, it's actually eleven dollars now." "Aw, man," he groaned, tossing the pack down on the conveyor belt and sticking his hands in his pockets. "Just our luck."
Kevin had a thoughtful look in his eyes while he drove them home empty-handed. When he pulled up outside the clubhouse a few minutes later and they climbed out of the truck, he suddenly laid a hand on Neil's shoulder.
"Say, Neil, let's not get discouraged," he said. "I've got another idea for how we could get our hands on some props."
"Really?" Neil asked, perking up despite himself. "How?"
"Well, I think--" Kevin broke off as unexpectedly as he'd started, encouraging smile briefly dipping into a grimace. "...You know what, I'll take care of it myself. You can hold down the fort here, okay? I won't be long."
Neil's brow furrowed. "Okay, but what are you...?"
Without explaining himself any further, Kevin clapped him firmly on the back, hopped back into his truck, and drove off. Neil watched him recede down the road with bewilderment. Being all secretive like that wasn't like Kevin... Unless he's trying to protect me from something, he realized with a twinge of bitterness. That would be just like him, the way things had been recently. Ever since the past winter, and what had happened with Ryan, Kevin's latent big-brother-ish tendencies had escalated; now he watched over Neil like a hawk and freaked out every time he so much as stubbed his toe. Under different circumstances Neil would have relished being fussed over, but now it was more annoying than anything else. The thing was, he didn't deserve it. If anything... his fingers strayed up to absentmindedly fidget with the four-leaf clover pinned to his shirt. I deserve to have bad luck. I deserve to suffer, after what I did to Ryan.
Still, there wasn't much he could do about it now, and he wasn't going to say no to having the clubhouse to himself for a while. With a sigh, he disentangled his fingers from the clover's leaves, ran a hand through his overgrown bangs, and turned to head inside. Maybe he could play cards or something to pass the time.
*
A thick layer of dust had settled over everything in Ryan's house. That made sense, of course. It had been four months--no, five, since Ryan hadn't come home once while he was being a vigilante--since anyone had set foot there. Even so, Kevin was unprepared for the full-scale assault on his lungs when he opened the door, and promptly broke into a coughing fit.
"Man, good thing Neil stayed home," he thought aloud as he batted thick, swirling clouds of dust and spiderwebs out of his face. "The way things have been going for him lately..."
He'd probably choke to death on all this dust, he thought but didn't say aloud, and then felt bad for thinking it in the first place. Kevin didn't understand what had happened to Neil in the course of the past few days, but ever since picking up that clover, he seemed to be having a run of uncharacteristically bad luck. Whether it was random chance or something more suspicious was afoot, it sure wasn't doing much for his already thoroughly frayed nerves.
"Alright, calm down, James," he muttered to himself, shaking his head to clear his thoughts and ideally dispel the rest of the dust. "Focus. Concentrate. What are you here for? Props for your webisode. Right."
Keeping that objective in mind, he made his way past the front entrance and into the living room. There, a few objects were strewn around that caught his eye: a mannequin bust wearing a colourful wig; an eccentrically patterned jacket draped over a chair; a brush dipped into a rusted metal container filled with what he hoped was red paint. After looking around a little more he found a large cardboard box filled with mutilated stuffed animals, which he mostly emptied out and started filling with the useful items he came across.
All the while, a persistent feeling of unease stirred in his gut, becoming increasingly hard to ignore with each belonging of Ryan's he packed away. This is wrong. I shouldn't steal from him. Kevin paused and looked down at the box in his arms with a frown. One of the items sticking out the top, a blank-faced doll head, seemed to stare accusingly back at him. For a moment he saw it not as a plastic figure, but as a human form encased in ice and then broken apart. He blinked and the illusion quickly vanished, but an unsettling feeling remained in its wake. Neil was right; it had been months already. So why did going through Ryan's things make him feel so dirty? Ryan didn't need any of this stuff anymore. He was gone. Wasn't he?
With a weary sigh that, had anyone been around to ask, he would have accredited to the physical exertion of carrying heavy stuff around, Kevin set the box down and stepped back to survey the room he was in now. If he remembered right, this kind of room was called a study--there was an armchair with a few suspicious stains lurking beneath the dust, a desk strewn with papers all scrawled full of nonsense like the ravings of a mad scientist, and an ornate bookshelf. He wandered over to the latter furniture piece and ran his hands along the spines of the books, letting their leathery texture ground him in the present. He noticed several unusual bibles and other ancient texts, and a stash of calendars, some of which he was pretty sure had originally belonged to him or Neil; the up-to-date calendars and one of the more normal-looking bibles went into the box, while he decided everything else was better left where it was.
There was one other set of books he recognized: a teen fantasy series that Neil had often gushed about. Thinking back to the previous fall and all the events he normally tried not to think about, he experimentally lifted one of the fantasy books off the shelf. At once, just as he remembered from when Neil showed him, the bookshelf rumbled to the side and revealed a narrow staircase descending into the basement.
If anyone asked him, Kevin couldn't really say what compelled him to go down those stairs. The secret chamber was as empty as he remembered, with nothing down there that could possibly be of use for the webisode. And without a lantern, he could barely even see the only things that were there to speak of: the paintings of Ryan's ancestors.
"Ryan..." The name manifested on Kevin's lips unexpectedly as he stared, squinting through the dust and darkness, at the row of portraits grinning lopsidedly back at him. He knew the paintings couldn't hear him--hell, they weren't even paintings of Ryan himself, just his relatives. But their faces were practically identical to him, that face he hadn't seen in person for nearly half a year, and that alone was enough to clog up his throat with unbearable emotions.
The thought of It's a good thing Neil isn't here for this surfaced again, and this time Kevin had to agree with himself. Losing a close friend was... well, there was no way not to take it hard. But Neil seemed to have taken it particularly hard, even blaming himself, to the point where any mention of Ryan would immediately send him straight back into a depressive spiral no matter how happy he'd been a moment earlier. That was why Kevin had kept this idea a secret from his friend in the first place--that, and he wasn't sure if it was going to pan out and didn't want to get Neil's hopes up. He figured that if Neil asked where he got all the stuff he'd found, he'd just say it was from a garage sale.
Now, looking into the achingly familiar manic blue eyes of those portraits mounted on the wall, Kevin thought of those news reports about the mysterious killings that had been going on around town. If that really was Ryan, and he was somehow still alive...
"Why?" he whispered. Without really thinking, he reached out and pressed his hand against the painting as if to cup its cheek. "Why haven't you come home, Ryan? Where are you?"
*
The target was at home, alone in her bedroom playing video games. Casual, unbothered by any harm her actions may have caused. Shameful. In an icy swirl of perhaps not-so-righteous fury, the vigilante took form in the corner of her room and crept up behind her. With an average build and no weapons at the ready, she would be no trouble to dispose of.
"Playing dead in order to toy with an innocent man's feelings," he growled. "Some people would call it ghosting. I call it a crime punishable by death."
"Jesus christ, what the fuck?!" Wendy yelped as she spun to face the vigilante. "How'd you get in here?"
"You shouldn't worry about that," he told her, gloved hands already flexing in anticipation of tightening around her neck. Or perhaps this time he'd thrust his hand straight through her chest and rip out her heart--an appropriate punishment for her crimes. "You'll have plenty of time to figure it out once I send you to hell."
"Okay, seriously? What is happening here?" Eyes narrowed, Wendy put her game on pause and got to her feet to stare the vigilante down. "You said something about me playing dead..." Her eyes suddenly widened with recognition, and the vigilante waited for the fear to set in along with it, but instead she shook her head and laughed. A pitying laugh. "Wait, you're not friends with that, uh, that filmmaker guy, are you? Geez, I seriously must have dodged a bullet there."
"Filmmaker..." the vigilante murmured as the word echoed in his mind. Yes, that's right. The man she stood up was a filmmaker... of a sort. (How did he know that? How did he even know who this woman was? Those questions weren't worth dwelling on, he decided.) "You may have thought you dodged a bullet back then, but I'm here to see that the bullet circles back around and destroys you like you deserve."
Wendy crossed her arms and arched an eyebrow, any trace of fear on her face outmatched by her sad, pitying smile. "Sure, keep the edgy sayings coming, Mr. Hot Topic. And what's with the getup, anyway?" she added with a nod to the vigilante's predominantly dark outfit. "Must be kinda warm."
Warm? The vigilante snorted derisively. No, of course he wasn't too warm. His blood, as it always had for as far back as he could clearly remember, ran cold like that of a snake. He couldn't remember a time when he'd been warm. And he certainly couldn't remember a time when he'd worn anything other than his current ensemble. Rather than waste time telling this insufferable woman as much, though, he simply took a few purposeful strides to close the distance between them, hands extended and more than ready to kill.
"Ugh, get away from me, creep!"
In a startlingly swift motion, Wendy's leg shot out and connected with the vigilante's ankles, sending him toppling to the floor. He hissed in irration, though not in pain--when his sensations were already perpetually numb, it would take a lot more than that to hurt him--and got to his feet, dusting himself off with a scowl. In the few seconds this took, Wendy grabbed a baseball bat from the corner of the room. Now she stood brandishing it in perfect athletic form with a battle-ready glint in her eye.
"Not another step, you hear me?" When the vigilante didn't dignify her with a response, she gritted her teeth and gave the bat a twirl--attempting to show off, it seemed, but her hands shook slightly and she nearly dropped the bat, only barely managing to regain her grip on it. "My mom is in the other room right now, and... well, she hasn't done anything wrong, so you don't want to punish her, right? And if anything happens to me..."
He stiffened at Wendy's mention of her mother. An innocent citizen? That was the type of person a vigilante was meant to protect at all costs; otherwise vigilante justice was no better than the police. But no one is innocent in this city. Even so, he understood the implicit threat--not that Wendy's mother would bring him down herself, but that either woman could very well call the police. And the last thing he wanted was to get law enforcement involved.
"...Fine," he snarled at last, turning on his heel with a twirl of his vigilante cape. "You can live a while longer. But I'll be back, and then you'll regret your sins."
He heard her gasp but didn't bother sparing her another glance as he let his form dissolve into a splash of red-tinted ice, sinking through her floorboards and off to thwart another criminal.
*
Slowly and carefully as a technician deactivating a bomb, Neil set the three of spades down across the top of the three other cards he'd lined up on the table. The humble beginnings of a tower stood for a moment, and he held his breath eagerly as he reached for another card to place on top, only for it to suddenly shudder and collapse like an anime girl who'd stood in the rain for too long.
"Dang it!" Neil threw his hands in the air in exasperation. When he did, a droplet of his own blood landed on his glasses, and he realized with a start that his hand was bleeding--just a paper cut, but still, he'd better wash up.
As he ran his hand under cold water, transfixed by the sight of the blood swirling down the drain, a sudden cracking noise rang out just above him. His head snapped up to stare at the spontaneously cracked bathroom mirror. His reflection stared back, stricken and gaunt, as shards of shattered glass rained down into the sink, where they mixed with the water and the blood. Neil shivered, his breath quickening.
Icy water... ice, blood, broken mirrors. All mixed together. Shattered. Blood, guts, ice, mixed together, down the drain. My fault my fault my fault my fault--
"No," he whimpered, squeezing his eyes shut and digging his nails into his scalp as hard as he could. "No! I didn't do it, I didn't... I didn't mean to..."
Deep breaths, a voice in the back of his head reminded him. It sounded like Kevin's voice, worried to the point of being slightly patronizing. Neil grimaced, annoyed at his own brain for manifesting its self-preservation in such a way, but he complied nonetheless. Keeping his eyes wrenched shut, he took several deep breaths in and out until his heartbeat slowed to normal--he hadn't even noticed it speeding up--and his hands didn't shake when he lowered them away from his head.
"Hey, you know what'd really make me feel better?" he said aloud to nobody in particular, putting on a broad smile and wiping his hands off on a towel. "A nice hot bath! Yep, that'll counteract my blood running cold, alright..."
He ran his hands up and down his arms as he spoke, although he didn't know who he was trying to fool; the chill that had settled into his bones had nothing to do with the temperature. In fact, he wasn't entirely sure who this whole performance of forced cheerfulness was meant for... the studio, maybe. He wouldn't put it past them to hide cameras everywhere. Either way, even if it wouldn't fix his psychological issues, a bath really would be pretty nice. He put the plug in and started running the tub, with the water temperature set just hot enough that it would scald him a little at first.
He wasn't sure exactly what happened when he sat down on the edge of the tub to take his socks off, whether he slipped on something or leaned too far back or what, but suddenly he lost balance. And by the time he realized he was falling backward, he only had a split-second to curse his rotten luck before his head connected with the wall and he blacked out.
*
In the end, Kevin managed to get a pretty good haul from Ryan's house. In addition to the stuff he and Neil could use for their webisode, he'd retrieved the calendars and a couple other things it looked like Ryan had stolen from them, as well as their old communicator wristwatches. (He wasn't sure if the watches fell into the camp of things Ryan had stolen, or if they'd just brought them over to his place for a sleepover once and forgotten them there. Either way, Kevin figured it could come in handy to start using them again.)
"Hey, Neil," he called as he stepped into the clubhouse with the box in his arms and kicked the door shut behind him. "I'm back."
There was no reply. Frowning, Kevin set the box down with a slight grunt of effort and wandered through the living room and down the hall. There were a few playing cards scattered on the table, suggesting that Neil had been trying to make a house of cards but given up halfway. Kevin couldn't really blame him for that; assembling cards in such a way that they'd actually stay upright was yet another thing that had been more in Ryan's ballpark than in either of theirs. Still, that didn't explain where Neil was now...
"Neil? You there, bud?" Still being met with no answer, Kevin came to a stop outside the bathroom door, which was ajar with water pooling out from inside. "Oh, man, that's not a good sign..."
He gave a tentative knock, and when there was still no response, grabbed the handle and pushed the door open. The sight that met his eyes when he did so immediately made his breath hitch and his blood run cold. The broken mirror over the vanity reflected his slack-jawed expression as he stared at the overflowing bathtub, the pair of still-clothed legs dangling over the rim, and the smudge of blood on the wall leading down to the head of the man those legs belonged to, slumped inside the tub with his head submerged in the water.
"Neil!!"
Kevin sprinted across the room to lift Neil out of the tub. It then took him a few seconds longer to turn off the faucet and pull the plug, as by that point the shock had turned to dread and his hands were shaking. Once the water was slowly starting to drain, he fell to his knees and pulled Neil tight to his chest, one hand clutching at the back of his soaked-through t-shirt while the other fumbled across the back of his head searching for the source of the blood. It didn't take long for him to find the slightly matted patch of damp hair indicating where Neil had banged his head against the wall. Kevin swallowed hard as dread leapt up to claw at his throat. The only question is... how long was he submerged?
"Neil," he whispered, and was almost embarrassed to hear how hoarsely his own voice came out. "Wake up. Please."
No response. Kevin reluctantly pulled back to hold Neil at an arm's length, and shuddered at how limply his friend's body flopped forward. He noticed, with a white-hot jolt of irrational anger, that the four-leaf clover was still in place. Fat lot of good that thing's done for him. He grabbed the clover and crumpled it in his fist, all the while tears pressed against the back of his eyes; he struggled not to let them fall. Damn it... first Ryan, now Neil... What kind of protector was he? What kind of friend?
He slammed his fist, the useless clover still clenched within, against the drenched floor tiles. At that moment, the lightbulb above his head exploded and sent sparking wires raining down around him. As soon as electricity met water, it sent a nasty shock through Kevin's veins; he screamed out of equal parts surprise and pain and scrambled up onto the countertop, which was barely wide enough to support him.
On the floor below, Neil's body convulsed. Then his eyes snapped open and he drew in a gasp that turned into a scream halfway through. Although touching his friend's hand sent the current through his own body for a moment, Kevin was quick to grab him anyway, and he managed to pull Neil safely out of the electrified water and into a fierce embrace. Neil kept shrieking, and he squirmed frantically around, not seeming to recognize his surroundings at first.
"It's alright, Neil," Kevin assured him despite how hard his own heart was pounding. "I've got you."
"Oh..." Neil's body slackened, and he pulled back to blink slowly at Kevin, realization dawning in his eyes. His cheeks coloured with embarrassment and he ducked his head. "Uh, thanks."
Neither of them said anything else, for lack of ability or perhaps willingness to put it into words. After a moment, Kevin realized he was still holding the clover, and he handed it back to Neil, who took it with a dip of his head and a murmur of acknowledgement, and pinned it to his soaking wet t-shirt.
Somehow out of everything in the room, themselves included, that little scrap of plant matter was still intact. And although he wasn't superstitious, that simple fact was what would stick in Kevin's mind for the rest of the day, turning it over until he could only conclude: Yep, there's definitely something weird going on with that thing.
*
Despite the many months he'd prowled the city, this was the vigilante's first time in the hideout of a proper gang. It looked about the way he expected: dimly lit, no windows, weapons hung up on the wall and cigarette butts littering the floor. The gang members, dressed primarily in leather jackets with a few in denim, lounged in chairs leaning too far back, or on top of tables, or on their motorcycles parked right in the middle of the room. Most of them didn't even notice the vigilante as he approached. They were too caught up chattering and cackling amongst themselves like a nest of overgrown crows. The one gang member who did seem to notice the vigilante from the get-go simply looked up at him with raised eyebrows and addressed him once he got close enough to strike.
"Hey, haven't seen you around before. Looking to join the club?"
"Hardly," he snarled. "This whole place is crawling with criminals."
The whole room broke into laughter at that. The vigilante gritted his teeth, fists clenching at his sides. These people were different from the criminals he'd taken down before; between their numbers and all the weapons they had easy access to, they might just pose a serious threat if he wasn't careful.
"You're the ones, aren't you?" he went on once the laughter had died down and the gang members were all watching him with a mix of bemusement and curiosity. No trace of fear amongst them yet, but that would change... "Throwing bricks at innocent people, even seeking to damage their property. Absolutely detestable."
"Woah, hang on," another of the gang members cut in sharply, reaching for a weapon as they stood. "First off, the whole brick throwing thing was months ago. Second of all, we never did that to innocent people, you know!"
"Yeah!" yet another gang member cut in, pumping her fist in the air. "Only to those losers who blew up our boss!"
...Boss?
The vigilante slowly turned, a deeper chill than normal running down his spine, as a strangely familiar smug cackle echoed from behind him. He came face-to-face with a man in a tank top and baseball cap, sneering at him with his arms crossed. Max. Gulping, the vigilante took a step backward. He's their boss?
(How did he know that name? How had he known Wendy's name either, for that matter? Why, out of all the criminals in the city, did a select few ignite disproportionate resentment within him? He'd dealt with some of these people before, he knew, but when he tried to remember when and how it all just turned to slush in his brain.)
"Yep, those losers got what was coming to 'em," Max said. "Except not really, 'cause they didn't suffer enough. But it's okay, we'll get 'em extra hard next time."
"No..." For reasons he couldn't quite explain, the vigilante's voice shook with equal parts fury and sudden fear. "Don't you dare hurt them."
"Huh?" Max tilted his head, already slightly squinted eyes narrowing further. "Heyyy, wait a minute, aren't you one of--?"
Before he could finish that thought, the vigilante was upon him with a karate chop to the windpipe. It was a more reckless attack than he'd planned, and even as Max stumbled backward coughing, he could hear the rest of the gang grabbing their weapons and running up behind him. But it was fine; the vigilante could take them all on and then some. He could kill any number of people if it was for the sake of defending his friends.
(Friends? Did he have friends? Somehow it felt that he must have, once. But that was strange, because the only thing he could clearly remember himself ever being was a cold-blooded vigilante.)
*
"Don't you see? Society's the one to blame! It's society's fault that he had no choice but to become this way!"
As Kevin delivered this speech, waving his arms dramatically toward the focus of the scene, Neil spun the video camera around to point it toward himself. Hopefully the studio would think of the disorienting cinematography for this webisode as a bold artistic choice rather than thinking of it as amateurish and embarrassing. He then leapt back, breaking into maniacal laughter with his prop gun raised in the air. Under ideal circumstances, this role might have been better suited to Ryan, but... well, they couldn't stay hung up on him forever; they had a job to do.
"Eh-heh-heh! Thanks to society, I have the urge to kill!" Neil twirled around to show off his clown costume, while just out of frame, Kevin hastily put on a wig and fake mustache. "And now... I'll kill this innocent man, who's different than the guy who was talking a minute ago!"
(It was fascinating--fascinating and dumb--how a broken mirror and a bit of blood could set him off, but something as heavy as a gun in his hand only brought him the faintest twinge of discomfort, easily ignored for the sake of making a webisode. After all, as Kevin had assured him many times over the past few months, it was the gun and its villainous weilder who were to blame for what had happened to Ryan. On an intellectual level Neil knew that was true--and besides, if he hadn't deflected that bullet, all three of them would have died. But knowing that did nothing to redirect when and why the darkness in his brain manifested.)
Now, much to Neil's surprise as he took aim with his prop gun, Kevin shouted "Cut!" and walked across the abandoned lot they were filming in to turn the camera off.
Neil lowered the gun, confused, as his costar removed his costume with that now all-too-familiar look of concern etched across his face. "What's the matter?"
"I don't know... somehow I've just got a bad feeling about this," Kevin muttered. "Maybe try firing into the air a couple times first."
Neil complied, and was met with the expected result from the prop: a couple of clicks indicating an empty chamber. "You worry too much these days, Kev," he said as he fired one more blank into the sky and then lowered the prop again. "It's not a real gun; it can't--"
As he spoke, his finger accidentally pressed the trigger again, and he broke off with a yelp at the sudden burst of pain in his right foot. He dropped the apparently very real gun with a clatter and clutched at his injured appendage, losing his balance in the process. Kevin swore under his breath and rushed forward to catch him. Before his friend could reach him, Neil's other foot came down on a wide crack in the pavement. A chill ran through him, momentarily distracting him from the throbbing pain, but it passed as quickly as it arose without seeming to trigger any effects.
"By god, what's happening to you?" Kevin exclaimed as he grabbed Neil by the shoulders and held him upright. "You've been so unlucky lately, it... it almost seems like a curse."
"A curse?" Neil stiffened, but quickly forced himself to shrug and morphed his grimace into a dismissive eye-roll. "Pfft, what are you talking about? There's no curse! I've just been, y'know, having an off-day..."
"Neil." There was that concerned look again, that almost parental tone of voice, as Kevin stared him down and tightened his grip on Neil's shoulders. "A couple hours ago you almost died, and now... you can tell something weird is going on, right? And, look--" He sighed, gaze darkening. "I don't exactly know how to fix it, but whatever's happening, I can't just sit back and watch you succumb to it. I can't lose you, too, Neil... not after..."
He trailed off with a faint warble in his voice, lowering his head. Neil gulped, a heavy weight surfacing in his chest. It was true; though he hated to admit it, at this point it was hard to deny that he was cursed. And yet, even as his foot throbbed around the spot where the bullet was lodged and his shoe was slowly stained from within by his own blood, it was hard to convince himself that he should accept help. On some level, didn't he deserve this? Wasn't this a fitting comeuppance for getting one of his friends killed?
Yet here was his other friend, clutching at him ever tighter to the point where his grip on Neil's shoulders was nearly as painful as hitting his head or getting mildly electrocuted or shooting himself in the foot. I'm not the only one who lost Ryan, he reminded himself--another thing he knew perfectly well on an intellectual level, but easy to forget in practice. Kevin is hurting too. I shouldn't make him hurt any more.
"Fine, I admit it," he sighed, letting his tensed-up shoulders slump. "I'm unlucky, okay? And if you think it's possible--" He tore the clover off his shirt and glared down at it-- "then we're going to beat this thing."
*
For as tough as the gang presented themselves, it must have been most of these people's first time in an actual fight. The vigilante swerved to avoid weak punches, clumsy kicks, poor attempts at stabbing. It all blended together after a while, and he stopped thinking of the gang members as individuals; they were just an indistinguishable swarm of insects whose attacks were easily dodged. Unimportant, save for their leader.
The vigilante had Max pinned to the floor now, holding his thrashing form in place with one arm while he brought his other fist down on the ruffian's face, over and over, as hard as he could. Not every blow connected cleanly, and Max had managed to bite him several times already, but that was irrelevant. Criminals must be brought to justice. That was why the vigilante hated these people, wasn't it? Because they were criminals. Yes, what other reason could he have, when this was all he'd ever been?
And then, just as he managed to land a blow to Max's jaw that left him defiantly spitting out blood and a couple of teeth, the vigilante's spine snapped.
It took a moment for him to register what had happened. He just heard a loud crack, and a sharp pain shot through him, and suddenly he couldn't hold his legs in place and collapsed. Max wasted no time taking advantage; he delivered a kick to the vigilante's gut that sent him flying back across the room, where he hit a wall and slumped to the ground, gasping in breathless agony. At once the other gang members closed in on him. Grimacing, the vigilante drew himself up onto his hands and knees, then braced himself against the wall and, with a far greater strain of effort than expected, dragged himself upright. By the time he'd managed to get to his feet, dozens of knives were inches away from him.
Then, to his surprise, Max pushed through to the front of the crowd and held his arms out to hold back his underlings. "Nuh-uh, this one's mine," he told them, sneering as though oblivious to the blood dribbling from between his lips. "I said I'd get him twice tomorrow, and I meant it."
The vigilante flinched as Max took a swipe at him. But rather than a fist connecting with his face, he was met only with the shock of exposure as the bully grabbed his mask and triumphantly yanked it off his face. He was left dumbfounded, blinking, as his vision readjusted to the light.
Wait a minute, I remember--
And then came the punch, square in the nose. Ryan yelped, pressing his gloved hand over his nose to stop the bleeding. When he dodged another punch, his body failed to cooperate and he crashed to the ground again, back aching furiously and heart pounding against his ribcage.
How and why his back had broken, he couldn't say, but one thing was clear: he was horrendously outmatched. Max was saying something now, gloating as he advanced on Ryan with a dagger in his hands, but Ryan couldn't make out the words over the blood rushing in his head. Why on earth had he gotten into a fight like this in the first place? What was he doing? He had to get out of there!
With that thought, yet another thing happened that Ryan didn't entirely understand. (Ryan didn't understand, but the vigilante did. It was one of the few things the vigilante knew: dissolve, reform, enact ruthless vengeance, dissolve again.) His body shuddered, and suddenly he found his solid flesh and bone giving way to a slurry of blood and ice that slipped through the cracks in the floor and disappeared. Then he was formless, freefalling through the dark, or at least that was what it felt like. When he took shape again it felt like dragging himself out of quicksand. Yet when he raised his slowly resolidifying head and looked around, he found himself in the basement of his own home, staring up at the portraits of his ancestors that had started it all.
No. Not started it all. "I had a life before this," he whispered, voice raw with the shock of memory and too many months spent speaking in an inhuman growl. "My name is Ryan, I have a life and a job and friends, I..."
Yes, that's right. Friends. Where were they? He closed his eyes and tried to remember. Each recent memory that took form in his mind was accompanied by a crashing wave of guilt and regret, and soon his body shook and tears pricked at his wrenched-shut eyes. That's right... I became a vigilante, and I teamed up with such a horrible person, let him manipulate me, all because I was too afraid to go back and apologize. And then...
The last thing he remembered, just after the flash of light and shock of paralyzing cold, was the sound of a gunshot, something shattering, and Neil screaming.
"Oh, dear god," Ryan whispered. He raised his head, opening his eyes and lowering his hands from his newly tear-stained face, and sat back on his heels as though worshipping the paintings before him. "What have I become?"
*
The ropes were just slightly too tight around Neil's limbs to be comfortable; he couldn't resist squirming a little as Kevin laid out the open bible on the end table next to his proton pack and began reading from it.
"Okay, um, let's see... ex-or-ciz-amus te, omnis immunde spiritus..." He squinted at the yellowed, faded pages, biting his lip. "Omni satanica pot-es-tas, omnis incurs--incursio infernalis adversarii... uh..."
"You're doing great," Neil called from his position tied to the bed frame; Kevin gave him a weary smile and thumbs up.
As Kevin continued reciting the verse, occasionally stumbling over a particularly tricky Latin word, the room's temperature eventually dropped a few degrees. Neil shivered, but his heartbeat picked up in excitement. He could feel something stirring in his blood like ripples on a lake, and when the furniture in the room began to quiver, so too did his body in eager anticipation.
"...Crux sacra sit mihi lux! Nunquam draco sit mihi dux..." A chill wind swept through the room; Kevin gritted his teeth, one hand pressing down on the bible to hold its pages in place while he grabbed his proton pack with the other. "Vade retro Satana! Nun-quam-suade mihi vana!"
The furniture rumbled louder. Neil's eyes widened as an entire bookcase lifted off the ground. "Kevin, watch out!"
"Hang on, Neil, I'm almost done. Uh, where was I... sunt mala quae libas..."
"No, Kevin, the--"
"Just one more line, okay? Ipse ven--"
"KEVIN!"
That last terrified yell was what it took for Kevin to finally turn, just in time to see the six-foot block of polished oak fly directly into him. Neil shrieked and thrashed against his bindings with all his might, but even if he weren't tied up, there was nothing he could have done. The bookcase came crashing down, its contents spilling out onto the floor around it in a flurry of paper. And when the dust settled, Kevin was pinned beneath it, unmoving.
"N... no..." Neil whimpered. Dread tightened like a noose around his throat as the horrible thought seeped into his mind: This is because of me. Now I've gotten them both killed.
"Oh, yes, what a tragedy... just your luck, isn't it?"
Neil's blood ran cold. He raised his head to see the translucent, smoke-shrouded figure of a giant clover looming over him. Its four leaves, dark green tipped with crimson and speckled with barnacles, opened down the middle to reveal a row of needle-sharp fangs. For a second, "Where did you come from?" was on the tip of Neil's tongue. But it was just as well that he was too terrified to speak, because no sooner than the question appeared in his mind, he realized the obvious answer. Oh, right. This is the demon that cursed me.
"Don't worry, your friend is alive... for now," the demon jeered. "But that could change. It's so easy for accidents to happen, you know?"
As if to demonstrate, the demon's leaves fluttered and suddenly a fire sprang up dangerously close to the scattered pile of books on the floor. When Neil screamed in protest, the demon laughed, and part of the ceiling gave in, sending down a controlled shower of debris to put out the fire before anything flammable could catch.
"Okay, okay, I get it!" Neil exclaimed with a shake of his head; he'd be almost exasperated if he weren't so terrified. "You're really powerful and want to hurt people, geez, not exactly a challenging concept. So, what do I have to do?"
That question seemed to give the demon pause. "...Do?"
"You know, to appease you or whatever. If you're threatening me with Kevin's life, then there must be something you want from me, right?" An idea occurred to Neil just then, and his already hammering heart beat even harder, to the point where he hoped the demon couldn't hear it and tell how freaked out he was. "Hey, it must suck having to be a clover. What if a lawnmower or forest fire had gotten to you before I did? And if you like hurting people so much..." He paused, smirking as the demon leaned toward him with obvious interest. "Wouldn't it be easier just to possess my whole body instead of wasting time messing with my luck?"
"That's..." The demon hesitated, its leaves curling up in what looked like excitement. "Ah. Ah-ha-ha! You're a clever little mortal, aren't you?"
"But don't get it twisted," he put in, glaring defiantly up at the demon despite hardly being in a position to threaten anyone. "You have to promise not to hurt anyone else. Especially not Kevin."
"It's a deal!"
Before Neil could stop and reconsider whether this was really a good idea, the demon dove toward him, row of fangs wide open as though it were going to bite his head off. He flinched a split-second before something cold and stinging like nettles clamped around him.
When he opened his eyes again, the world was tinted dark green as if viewed through a dingy screen, his head felt hazy... and he couldn't move, at least not of his own volition. Even opening his eyes just then wasn't his decision. He heard himself cackle, felt his arms and legs flex far harder than he'd known he was physically capable of flexing, breaking the ropes that bound him to the bed frame and setting his body free to do whatever the demon wanted.
"Hah..." the demon muttered in his voice as it made him walk over to where Kevin lay, still trapped and unconscious. The demon knelt down and poked experimentally at Kevin's shoulder and forearm. "This one has more muscle. It might have been a better choice for possession, if it wasn't so damaged already..."
For one petrifying moment, the demon grabbed Kevin's head and stared intently at him, stretching Neil's face into a grin so wide it made his whole face ache, and Neil's mind raced with horrible thoughts of things the demon might make his own hands inflict upon his poor helpless friend. But the demon simply laughed and dropped Kevin, who let out a low groan as his head lolled to the side--an indication that at least he really was still alive. But all of a sudden Neil had trouble believing that small mercy was really worth it.
"Ah, well, this body will do," the demon decided. "Let's take it out on the town and see how long it lasts!"
*
This time when the vigilante materialized in Wendy's room, she did little more than roll her eyes and move to grab her baseball bat. However, rather than try to attack her or even growl out any threats, the vigilante took two shaky steps and then collapsed, catching himself against her dresser. Wendy's eyes widened as she took a closer look at his face. His mask was off now, revealing a pair of striking blue eyes glistening with obvious distress, cheeks flushed with exertion, and a streak of half-dried blood running from his bruised nose. And when he spoke, it wasn't in the gravelly tone she'd heard from him before, but in a quiet higher-pitched voice--almost a whimper.
"Please... tell me..."
Wendy hung back, caught between a sharp tug of sympathy in her heart and a very rational wariness based on their previous encounter. The vigilante tried to walk again, and again nearly fell; his face wrenched up and he let out a pained hiss. At that, sympathy won out over rationality. Wendy edged toward him with her baseball bat in hand, and when she was close enough, held it out to him.
"Hey, uh... here. It's not exactly medically sanctioned, but maybe you could use this like a cane?"
"Oh... good idea, thank you!" He broke into a grin, and Wendy shivered; somehow he was far scarier when his eyes were bright and cheerful. "Terribly sorry for how I treated you last time, by the way. I really wasn't myself."
"Uh-huh?" While the vigilante tested out the makeshift cane, Wendy sat down on her bed, arms crossed. "And who are you, anyway?"
"I'm Ryan... or at least I think I still am." His smile faltered, and he looked away, anxiously running a hand through his hair. It was starting to come unpinned, and his hat was askew; evidently he'd been through a lot in the few hours it had been since their first encounter. "It's been... strange, lately. I don't think I'm entirely human anymore, if I ever was. But I came back here because there's something I want to understand."
"You want to know why I ghosted your friend?" It was just a guess, but Ryan nodded; Wendy smiled privately to herself for having figured it out. "Alright, I can tell you..."
She uncrossed her arms and leaned back on her bed, thinking back to the disastrous date she'd gone on several months prior. It was a story she'd recited many times to friends, relatives, other first dates as sort of a half-joking warning ("So, as long as you don't blow it as much as that guy did, we should be good...") and the more she told it, the more warped and exaggerated it became within her memory. But when she really thought back on it now, it hadn't been so disastrous at all--pretty damn awkward, sure, but not even close to the worst date she'd been on.
"Kevin actually seemed really sweet," she recalled, smiling despite herself at the memory of his big dorky grin. "I would have gone on a second date with him. But then, first thing the next morning, I read in the news that some guy got arrested right outside the restaurant while we were on our date. And the criminal's name? Neil. Same name as the 'friend' Kevin had said was helping him out." She shrugged, lips twisting into a frown. "I just got kinda freaked out, you know? Like, 'oh geez, did I go on a date with a drug dealer or serial killer or something?' Of course it probably wasn't anything that serious, and pretending to be dead was probably an overreaction, but... well, what's done is done."
Wendy was so caught up in her own memories as she explained all this that she wasn't really observing Ryan's reactions. Once she concluded her story, she glanced over to find him sitting on the floor with his legs tucked up awkwardly beneath him, the baseball bat in his lap; he was staring at the floor, expression unreadable. He stayed like that for a long moment, not seeming to notice that Wendy had stopped talking, until she cleared her throat. Then he jumped to attention, eyes flashing like those of a woodland cryptid in headlights.
"Ah! Yes, of course... well, I still don't entirely understand, but I think I resent you less now." Ryan tilted his head and shot her another shiver-inducing grin. (Whether it was supposed to be threatening or not, she had no idea.) "And you're right; I almost forgot--we're all criminals too, Neil and probably even Kevin and especially myself! So how can I be a vigilante?" He answered his own rhetorical question with a shake of his head, manic grin softening into a melancholy smile. "It's ridiculous. I've been so foolish."
With that, his body began to ripple, losing a little of its solidity. But before he could break apart and dissolve through the floorboards like last time, a chirpy little beep-beep-beedle-beep noise rang out. Ryan's eyebrows shot up, and he glanced down at an accessory around his wrist... Wait, is that one of those communicator watches like the one Kevin had?
If it was, Ryan wasn't quick to answer it. He simply stared, wide-eyed and slack-jawed, at the beeping device in silence. Although she knew even less about Ryan than she knew about his apparently only slightly more normal friends, and she didn't normally care to get too involved in the personal affairs of strangers, he was still in the middle of Wendy's bedroom. And the longer that little jingle repeated, the more annoying it got. So she cleared her throat again and asked, in as polite a tone as she could manage given the circumstances,
"So, are you gonna answer that, or what?"
*
It was a stupid, pointless idea. Not an idea at all, really. Just the last scraps of... not even hope, that was pretty much deplenished at the moment, but effort. The effort not to let everything fall apart even further than it already had.
Kevin had woken with a throbbing pain throughout pretty much his whole body. Judging by the crushing weight pressing down on his torso, he was lucky to have woken up at all. The only parts of him not pinned down were his head and right arm, and even those hurt to move, though at least the spinning in his head put some degree of separation between himself and his broken body. Forget about trying to wriggle free when it hurt just to breathe.
So there he was, stuck, the shelf slowly crushing the air out of him, and Neil was gone. Where to, he didn't know. When he craned his neck he could see the empty bed frame, and the ropes broken and discarded at the foot of it. The bible he'd gotten from Ryan's house was facedown beside the tipped-over end table, next to a crushed and twisted lump of metal and plastic that he was horrified to recognize as his beloved proton pack. So wherever Neil was now, he must have still been cursed... or worse. And there was nothing Kevin could do about it.
Unless. Grimacing at the way his joints twinged, he raised his unpinned arm above his head. There on his wrist, perfectly intact despite everything he'd been through, was his communicator wristwatch. In all the hubbub of that day, he'd never gotten around to mentioning them to Neil, so his friend wouldn't be wearing his. But what if...?
It was stupid. It was pointless. There was no way in hell. But it was the only thing he could do. In a display so lacking in dignity that he was grateful nobody was around to see it, Kevin used his teeth and tongue for lack of a free hand to dial in the frequency and send off a signal. The watch's screen flashed in affirmation; he let his head flop against the floor with a weary sigh. Now all he could do was wait.
When he was at Ryan's house going through his things, and he found those communicator wristwatches, he'd only found two of them. And although that could have meant a dozen different things, there was just one wild, far-fetched possibility that any last semblance of hope now rested upon: that the third watch was missing because Ryan was alive, and he was still wearing his.
He didn't expect to get a response. By the time he did, he was struggling to stay awake--funny thing, trying to breathe with fifty pounds of wood pressed directly on your chest really takes it out of you. But he snapped to attention, or the closest he could get when his head was swimming and his body was beginning to go numb from lack of circulation, the moment he heard that voice crackling through the speaker.
"H-hello? Kevin?"
The relief that coursed through his veins was so overwhelming, especially on top of everything else, that he could only laugh--only for it to quickly turn into hacking as his ribs offered a sharp jab of protest. He raised his sleeve to wipe away a streak of blood that dribbled from his lips before speaking into the watch.
"Ryan. Where are you?" He regretted wasting time with that question the moment he asked it; he could tell from the way his organs felt like they were curling in on themselves as he spoke that he didn't have the energy for a full conversation. So before Ryan could stammer out a proper response, Kevin continued: "Neil is in trouble. You've gotta help him."
"What?" The shrill uptick of anxiety in Ryan's voice was palpable, and even just hearing that voice in and of itself stirred up a whole miasma of feelings that there was no time to properly react to. "What's going on? Are you okay? You sound--"
"I'm fine," Kevin lied through gritted teeth. "And... I don't know exactly where Neil is, but I know he's in trouble." A choking mix of emotions and his own blood swelled in his throat as his slowly blurring gaze wandered to the facedown bible. "I've tried to do some stuff today that I couldn't do without you. I-- we need you, Ryan. So, please... help."
With that final plea, something broke within him like a dam that he hadn't even realized was cracking. His arm flopped to the ground, wrist landing near his ear, where the communicator watch kept emitting Ryan's voice as it slowly rose in pitch until he was almost shouting. But even as his friend called frantically out to him, Kevin found it harder to make out the words. He groaned, letting his head loll to the side and his eyes fall shut. The last sensation he was aware of as darkness closed around him was that there was something wet on his face.
*
"Kevin, are you still there? Hello? Kevin!"
He wasn't responding. Why wouldn't he be responding, if the situation was so urgent? Maybe because he couldn't respond. Because he was--
"What are you going to do?" Wendy's voice cut into the swirl of panic Ryan was rapidly descending into. She hovered over his shoulder, peering down at the watch with wide, anxious eyes. The watch's screen had gone dark. No signal. Yes, indeed, what to do?
"What else? I have to save Neil."
If Kevin didn't know where Neil was, then there was no way that Ryan should have been able to instantly find him. But when he closed his eyes and let his vigilante instincts take over, he found that he didn't have to know where someone was. Whatever dark magic was infused in him now, letting him exist in this not-quite-human state even after what should by all accounts have been his death, it was hardwired for vengeance. And saving Neil meant exacting vigilante justice on whoever or whatever was harming him. With that in mind, the vigilante dissolved in a flurry of blood-tinted ice and reformed seconds later in the place it somehow knew it needed to be.
The first thing Ryan noticed when he appeared on the rooftop was the storm brewing overhead. He raised his eyebrows at that; earlier that day there hadn't been a cloud in the sky--and for that matter, when he looked around, it appeared that most of the sky was still perfectly clear, with the storm clouds being localized around this building. The second thing he noticed, upon peering over the edge of the roof, was that he wasn't on just any rooftop, but a skyscraper that towered above every other building in the vicinity. Lastly, he noticed a flagpole at the far corner of the rooftop, several feet away from him. And that was when his gaze fell upon Neil.
Neil was laughing as he swayed back and forth, clad in a brightly patterned jacket that wasn't his usual style at all, his arms and legs wrapped tight around the tall metal pole. Above him, the dark clouds lit up in a flash, followed almost instantly by a rumble of thunder. Although these particular stormclouds didn't come with rain, Ryan shivered. An incredulous exclamation was on the tip of his tongue (What on earth are you doing, stop it, you'll be killed!) when Neil locked eyes with Ryan, and he realized with a jolt of horror that this wasn't Neil at all--his body, yes, but someone or something else was controlling it. His mouth was stretched into a grin far wider than what a human face could normally achieve, and rather than their usual brown, his eyes glowed a sickly shade of green.
"Why, if it isn't my dear friend Ryan!" Neil--or whatever was piloting him--called, raising one arm off the pole in an exaggerated wave. "Oh boy, the guy I got this body from is sure surprised to see you alive! And as much as I'd love to send you plummeting off the edge of this building, I did promise not to hurt anyone else, so..." He waved his hand in a circle, unnaturally glowing eyes crinkling with amusement. "How about instead I pull you in a little closer so you can get a nice good look when your friend's body fries?"
With that, a sudden gust of wind blew into Ryan from behind, sending him stumbling forward. When he attempted to regain his footing, his broken spine betrayed him once again and he flopped to the ground with an undignified oof just a few feet away from the base of the flagpole. Grimacing, he pushed himself up and crawled the remaining short distance to grab Neil's ankle. As he did so, he noticed there was a bloodstained hole in his friend's shoe, and that his pant leg was slightly damp and already bore a few singe marks. Between that and whatever had happened to Kevin... he shuddered at the thought of what his friends had gone through in his absence.
"Nice try, vigilante," the thing in Neil's body jeered. "But I've gotta say, you don't pose much of a threat since I broke your spine."
He stomped his other foot down on Ryan's hand; Ryan yelped and instinctively released his grip. And at the very instant he let go, in such perfectly unlucky timing that only a supernatural entity could orchestrate, the stormclouds above them opened up with a searing, crackling, blindingly bright lighting strike.
Neil tilted his head back and laughed at the top of his lungs as countless volts of electricity tore through him. That horrendous laughter drowned out Ryan's screams of protest, not that there was anything he could do anyway in his current state, when he couldn't so much as get to his feet. All he could do was lay there and gape in horror as Neil's body shuddered and his flesh began to sizzle and burn.
Though it felt like an eternity of torture, the lightning strike couldn't have lasted for more than a few seconds. When it ended, Neil dropped like a ragdoll into Ryan's arms. Ryan, too stricken to even check for a pulse, simply stared blankly into his friend's glazed-over eyes. Then Neil blinked, and his eyes were glowing green again, and he laughed, the sound rougher now that it was being produced by a charred set of lungs.
"Ah-ha-ha-ha! I wasn't expecting this body to survive that! Can you believe Neil is still kicking in here?" He tapped a finger against his head, then sat up with a playful kick of his legs. "...Or is he? It would be just like a demon to lie, wouldn't it?" He grabbed Ryan's chin with his burnt and blackened fingernails and forcefully tilted his head up so their gazes met. "You can't tell, can you, vigilante? So, how hard are you willing to throw your broken body around to try and save someone who might already be toast? Maybe you should just give up and go on with your day, hmm?"
While the demon taunted him, Ryan's mind raced to concoct a plan. Some miraculous last-minute solution that would fix everything... Neil would be able to think of one. Perhaps he already had. But that wouldn't do them any good when Neil was trapped and helpless within his own mind. If this really was a demon, and a powerful one at that, the only thing that might work was an impromptu exorcism.
"Crux sacra sit mihi lux! Nunquam draco sit mihi dux! Vade retro Satana!" Reciting the passage from memory as rapidly as he could without tripping over his tongue, Ryan grabbed Neil by the wrists and held him tight while he hissed and tried to jerk away. "Nunquamsuade mihi vana! Sunt mala quae libas. Ipse venena bibas!"
An ungodly noise somewhere between a shriek and a roar erupted from Neil as he tossed his head back and convulsed. It was far too visually similar for comfort to his electrocution less than a minute prior, and Ryan wondered if the demon was doing it that way on purpose in an attempt to scare him into stopping. If so, it wouldn't work. Even if this process was as painful for Neil as it was for the demon possessing him, it had to be done.
Sure enough, as the final line of the chant echoed across the rooftop, Neil shuddered and slumped to the ground next to Ryan. When their gazes met this time, the demonic glow was gone, but Neil was breathing fast and shallow and his eyes were wide with lingering terror.
"Ryan," he whispered. "You're... alive."
"I think so," he replied with a tentative smile. "It's all a little confusing. But we're going to be okay now, Neil."
However, no sooner had those words left his mouth than Neil stiffened up again, eyes momentarily flashing green. "No," he gasped, squeezing his eyes shut and shaking his head as if to dispel the demon's grasp. "Not yet. Still gotta... get rid of it..." He grabbed Ryan's hands and held them desperately tight, like a scared child clinging to their parent or older sibling. His eyes flashed once more, and this time when the glow faded, his face bore a strained smile. "I've got an idea. Ryan, don't freak out."
And with that, before Ryan could process what was happening and reach out to stop him, Neil sprung to his feet and took a running leap off the edge of the building.
*
For a while now, Neil had been having unusually vivid dreams. They weren't always nightmares, but they often were. Dreams about different worlds, different realities, different lives. Ones where him and Kevin and Ryan weren't all friends. Or worse, ones where they still were, but that wasn't enough to save them. One of those recent dreams, which began as an exciting fantasy only to devolve into a nightmare, was about some kind of flying vehicle. Ever since having that dream, Neil had made two vows to himself. Firstly, that as soon as he gathered the funds to afford it, he'd go back to school and complete his aeronautical engineering degree. Secondly, to always carry a parachute, just in case.
But the demon possessing him had no way of knowing that, now did it? And it wouldn't want to still be trapped inside a host body that was splattered all over the pavement. That was what Neil was banking on, at least. Otherwise he might really be in trouble.
As he fell, a stinging sensation rippled through his body. He shuddered, yet there was a smile on his face--no longer a grin stretched unnaturally wide, but an expression of his own volition--and his heart pounded not with terror but with exhilaration and boundless relief. Sure enough, the demon leapt forth from him and departed in a swirl of green smoke. And with it gone, he wasted no time in engaging the parachute--just in time to slow his acceleration enough that the fall wouldn't kill him.
Admittedly, he didn't exactly come down gracefully. He landed in a tangle of limbs and fabric that he had to shrug off the borrowed jacket, parachute and all, in order to escape, and the landing was just rough enough to deliver a painful reminder of the electrical burns covering the better part of his body. Still, Neil couldn't stop grinning as he gingerly picked himself up and dusted himself off. He was alive and no longer possessed; that was a win in his book.
When he craned his neck to look up at the roof, he thought he saw Ryan still sitting there. Neil grimaced as he recalled what the demon had said about breaking Ryan's back; hopefully that injury was undone with the demon being vanquished, but since Neil's injuries were still there, maybe that wasn't so. Either way, he couldn't just leave his friend up there alone.
As quickly as he could run with a bullet wound in his foot, he entered the building and took the closest elevator to the rooftop. But by the time the elevator chimed and its doors slid open, the rooftop was abandoned, with no sign of Ryan save for an abandoned hat, cape, and gloves, and a slowly fading dark red stain.
*
If Kevin hadn't already been surprised to wake up alive the first time, he sure as hell was now. The only reason he knew he was alive at all was the deep, persistent ache that wracked practically his entire body. That, and the warmth of the hand laid atop his own.
Forcing his eyes open with a pained groan, he turned his head to see the man sitting at his bedside. Ryan squeezed his hand and flashed him a sad smile when their eyes met. His vigilante costume was gone, traded for a simple dress shirt and tie, and his hair fell unpinned around his visibly tired face; the chair he sat in, upon closer inspection, was an old-fashioned wheelchair.
With some effort, Kevin pushed himself into a sitting position. Looking around, he found that he was laying on the couch in the living room with his chest bandaged. How Ryan had managed to pull him out from beneath the bookcase, he had no idea, but he sure wasn't going to complain about it.
"Ryan, you... you're hurt?" It was a stupid question--why else would he be in a wheelchair? "Did the demon...?"
"It's gone now," Ryan responded. "But..." His gaze lowered, and he dropped his hands into his lap to fidget with the blanket draped over his legs. "It was a costly victory, I'm afraid. In order to defeat the demon, Neil--"
His tearful speech was interrupted by the distant bang of the front door being thrown open.
"Geez, you could've told me you were going straight home!" Neil's indignant voice rang out down the hall. "I wandered all over town looking for you."
Ryan's head snapped up, and he and Kevin turned in unison to see their friend running toward them with a slightly crooked gait. With a cry of joyous disbelief, Ryan opened his arms, and Neil tackled him in an embrace that nearly sent him toppling over; Kevin had to lean forward to grab the back of Ryan's chair to keep him upright as he and Neil clung to each other.
"Neil, you're alive! I-I thought..."
"It's okay, Ryan," said Neil. Then, pulling back and glancing at Kevin with a melancholy smile: "I think we're all going to be okay."
*
"So, what do you think?"
As the ending credits rolled on their latest webisode, Neil and Kevin turned to face Ryan with matching expectant grins.
"Well..." Ryan drummed his fingers against the keys of the laptop and tried to think of something positive to say. "The costumes you used were a lot more fashionable than usual--wait, hold on. Weren't those my clothes?"
They were in Kevin's truck parked outside the studio's headquarters, with Neil in the passenger seat and Ryan in the back. It had taken a little over a week for them to recover to the point where they could comfortably climb inside a vehicle, let alone Kevin being able to actually drive, and the studio had already sent them several notes warning them that their pay would be docked for submitting their webisode behind schedule.
"Ah, yeah, sorry about that," Kevin muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.
"To be fair, if he hadn't broken into your house and stolen a bunch of stuff from you, he couldn't have called you on your communicator watch," Neil interjected cheerfully. "Or tried to do an exorcism... but I guess that didn't really work out for him anyway."
"Hey, c'mon, it wasn't stealing!" Kevin gave Neil a gentle shove, prompting him to briefly wince but laugh anyway. "If we'd known you were still alive, we wouldn't have taken your stuff, Ryan, honest."
"Ah, I'll have to remember that for next time," Ryan quipped. He closed the laptop and handed it back to Neil, who tucked it away inside an oversized shoulder bag. "Well, that may not have been the best webisode we've made, but I can tell you two did your best."
"Yeah, it'll be way better once we get back to making them as a trio," Neil said.
It was still amazing to Ryan that his friends were so quick to accept him back after all he'd done. If anything, it made him feel worse about his prolonged absence, because he knew now that he could have come back at any point and they would have been glad to have him. It was easy to fall into regret when thinking of all that had gone wrong, and all that could easily have gone even worse. But the fact was, they were together again now--altered by what they'd gone through, and not entirely for the better, but still themselves.
And despite it all, the preceding events and the possibility that another horrible thing could happen to them in the future, he found himself agreeing with Neil's hopeful statement.
"Indeed..." Ryan reached out and took Neil and Kevin's hands in his own. They smiled back at him with the same residual traces of relief in their eyes that Ryan had felt every so often over the past week--relief that they were still there to smile at each other. "Gentlemen, I look forward to working with you again."
¤--END--¤
#epic gamer protip: plot something out and then mentally tweak it for the whole summer and then when autumn rolls around#write the whole thing in the span of like three days. works like a charm#hey did you know that i write stuff sometimes?
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Woke up earlier than I want because I had a half-nightmare about the internet. What’s going on in comic books?? I haven’t checked in on that in a while.
Joshua Dysart is describing a financial issue with Valiant Comics over here. Talk about “soft language” in contracts though and unfortunately, this sentence happens “I believe that if they our not legally bound to give back to the creators then they are morally bound.” Price is Right horn. Here’s my favorite Steve Martin clip again. I don’t know-- if my legal rights were being impacted to my financial detriment, I’d talk to a lawyer instead of tweet through it...? I don’t really understand what’s happening but I just woke up.
After I woke up groggy, I was lying there and suddenly, I thought “hey, whatever happened to Gabrielle Bell?” (Because of the weirder details of the half-nightmare-- it’s hard to explain). I used to like her comics, but I’ve just fallen off as a reader, and all (and now, I’m just a fun jock who reads manga, so). Anyways: it sounds like (and hopefully I didn’t misunderstand) that she’s still making them to great acclaim, she has a podcast, and she teaches a 6-day comic class at a Pyreneese Mountain all-inclusive. That was a nice answer.
Speaking of manga, I’m about 15-16 chapters into Demon Slayer--don’t really get the appeal, yet. It’s a lot of arrows in that comic (like the “this way for the moustache rides” arrows, not “shot from a bow at a renaissance faire while some random dude tries to tell you how much he loves titty why are renaissance faire’s so horny???” arrows). And a guy yelling about waterfalls when he cuts things. The lady who makes it can draw, sure, but I don’t believe you should chase waterfalls, I think you should just stick to the rivers and lakes that you’re used to. I’m different that way.
Spawn is going to be a cowboy now.
Anyways, the Dysart comment triggered a response about that comic the Scumbag, that it turns out people bought-- they didn’t pay the artist there, either, is what it sounds like. Isn’t that the Andrew Robinson thing? People didn’t avoid that comic after Andrew Robinson end up being pro-Kyle Rittenhouse, huh? Anyways, it turns out there’s some financial irregularities on the Image comic staffed by people defending white-supremacist-violence, so... hahaha. Hahahahaha, oh god. Hahahahaha....
But yeah: Scumbag joins the list of American comics where the creators have mistreated each other, which brings the total to... *runs to abacus, scribbles equations on a sheet of paper, drives out to the desert and watches sunset, uses two keyboards at the same time until I look up from a dot matrix printout* all of them? Oh okay all of them.
Fred Perry’s Gold Digger which started in 1991 is ending after 300 issues.
(It’s weird with comic conventions coming back soon, in theory, seeing people give “hey be cool to editors who are drinking at BarCon you’re there to entertain them not try to talk about work” advice like 2020 never happened. Kind of fun weird, kind of a fun little romp for me, a person that people got angry at for writing about 2020 instead of writing good, responsible advice about how you should drunkenly entertain editors at bars with your flesh if you want a career in comics, thanks for the lectures, sorry 4 u that u read jokes. I don’t know-- that delta variant’s some quirky shit though, huh? So who knows how people do what).
The top headline at Bleeding Cool is that Saga might come back, after a three year hiatus. So, if you were a Saga reader who was 36 years old when Saga went on hiatus, you’re one year away from losing your virginity. That joke didn’t work because there’s no such thing as mandatory sex when you’re 40, but I just woke up and also: never funny but obnoxiously don’t let that stop me la la la la la la.
I hope it’s still nice for retailers if Saga comes back-- I hope it hasn’t lost too much of a step. Three years ago, I was a different person, though. I was your dad. I was so disappointed in you I changed my name, race and geographical location. Can you blame me?
Superman quit the Justice League.
The top headline at Multiversity Comics is that there is a Nightwing comic.
The Comics Journal has reviewed the Beef Bros comic book for a second time, after interviewing the creator of Beef Bros. The Comics Journal really, really love Beef Bros...? If they launch a sister site that’s just all Beef Bro content (the Beef Bro Revue--? throwing that out there), I want to write the contrarian take-down that gets alt-comics Beef Bro fans angry. I haven’t read Beef Bros but calling dibs. Also, Tim Callahan reviewed Dan McDaid’s Dega-- I read that comic. Nice drawing of Robocop.
The Eisner Awards are tonight, a meaningful night, for parents of people who win the Eisner Awards.
Nice essay about Maison Ikkoku.
The top headline at Comicbookresources is that Kevin Smith’s He-Man television show is being “review-bombed” despite its “nearly perfect Tomatometer score.” 14 children have died so far, but in Israel’s defense, they were holding rocks.
“Loki director explains why THAT kiss wasn’t really incestuous.” Well. That woke me up.
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Sawtooth
We woke up on the morning of our fourth day in the Sawtooth wilderness feeling spry. It can take a day, or two, or three before the rhythm of backpacking— wake up, wolf down some instant oatmeal, slurp up some instant coffee, shoulder a 35 pound pack and start the day’s climb—begins to feel right. This was our morning.
A miracle: the skies had truly cleared of wildfire smoke for the first time since setting off from Grandjean. Good timing, too: our day ahead would be perhaps the best of the trip — up and over Cramer Pass, beneath “The Temple,” down past the Cramer Lakes and up again to Alpine Lake, reputedly a gem. We hit the trail with bounce in our step.
Three, four, five miles into our hike we were still having fun, even as we began to wonder — was it possible that Hidden Lake was, in fact, so hidden that we wouldn’t see it from the trail? When would we hit the killer climb up to Cramer Pass? Slogging through overgrown brush and clambering over deadfall — all of which felt oddly familiar — we encountered a group of five friendly outdoorsmen from Seattle.
“Morning.”
“Afternoon.”
“Am I right that we’ve got a climb ahead?”
“Oh no, it’s all downhill from here.”
“Hmm.”
“Where are you trying to get to?”
“Well we were aiming for Cramer Lakes…”
“Oh you’re a long way from there. This trail goes down to Grandjean.”
“Oh my god.”
Jaime caught up.
“We took a wrong turn.”
“I thought so.”
“It’s a bad one.”
“How bad?”
“The good news is that we’ve been making great time. Covered a lot of miles.”
“And?”
“That lake was Elk Lake. This is the trail we hiked in on our first day.”
“How…”
“Five miles ago. Missed a turn.”
“God damn it.”
“Actually more like five and a half.”
Oh yes, there were signs. Including literal signs made of actual wood. Two of which we somehow blew blindly past, and a third: seen but egregiously misinterpreted. Also the creek we had crossed thrice, which, had we been paying close attention, we might have noticed was flowing in the wrong direction. Or beautiful Smith Falls, which we had passed two days before. Or the 2.4 miles of the South Fork of the Payette Trail we had hiked on day one — the most grueling and unattractive stretch of trail we had yet encountered — you would think we might have realized something was amiss. And yet.
“We could just hike out.”
“It would be eleven more miles.”
“So we backtrack.”
“Five and a half. Uphill.”
“We’re spending an extra night out here, aren’t we?”
“I think so.”
“Do we have extra food?”
“We have enough food.”
“I hate this.”
So we backtracked. An eleven mile detour, all told, with 1500 feet of elevation lost and then gained agin, for no reason, on unremarkable, overgrown, valley trails with views of nothing but dense forest, overgrown with scrubby mountain brush. The last few miles, a steady and grueling climb, brought us back to where we had missed our first sign, six hours before. We collapsed at the intersection, refilled our bottles, and snacked on salami — the promise of which was all that had gotten us up the hill. Mosquitoes and black flies swarmed, and the sky, which had begun the day clear, turned a pinkish gray as wildfire smoke began to dim the sun again.
“Why do we do this?”
“Good question.”
Onward to Hidden Lake, not so hidden after all. After dragging ourselves over 14 miles — 3 miles of forward progress from our last camp — we collapsed on a grassy shoreline, and rinsed our scratched and bruised bodies in the glassy frigid water. The lake sat beneath two pointed cliffs, side by side — one of red stone, the other gray— and the sun set early in the narrow valley. Trout jumped, snatching flies from the water’s surface, and pair of mergansers jetted around the lake, snatching the fish in turn. Exhausted, we fell asleep listening to hermit thrushes whistling their fluting ethereal song over the quiet rush of cascades tumbling down the cliffs, filling the lake.
We woke up, wolfed down some instant oatmeal, slurped up some instant coffee, and began the day’s climb. Up and over Cramer Pass, beneath “The Temple,” a tower of red sandstone capped with a knobby monolith that might well have been the icon of some desert religion. We descended again to the three Cramer Lakes, each one cascading to the next, down further to cross a rushing stream of snowmelt and spring water. We dipped our hats and bandannas in the almost-freezing water to drip down our necks and backs in the hot afternoon. Then we’re climbing again, this time twice as high, twice as far, to Alpine Lake, a pristine tarn carved into the side of the slope, a fine place for a salami break. Then higher, sweating our way up to the day’s second pass. We looked down on the Baron Lakes, where we would camp for the night, and across the lakes to Warbonnet Peak and Monte Verita, grey and purple in the late afternoon shadows.
“This is why we do this.”
“Yeah.”
One reason, anyway. The most obvious reason. If you did a survey of the people who somehow ended up at the top of the pass above Baron Lakes, this would be the number one reason cited for braving the insects and the varmints, dealing with the aches and the rashes, and slogging up a mountain with a heavy pack: the views, the vistas, the landscapes, the panoramas. The drama of the mountains. It’s like cooking your own meal — it tastes better when you’ve worked for it, earned it, done it yourself. The view from the pass is more beautiful for the sweat and exertion dragging your body and your pack up the climb.
We got more the following day as we descended from the Baron Lakes, our final day on the trail. An oceanic valley opened up beneath us, ringed by steep cliffs and rockslides of red and grey and purple, Baron Creek turning into a 30 foot waterfall. You can’t find this outside the mountains, this sense of three-dimensional space. Of looking down a valley two miles wide as it falls away from your feet, three thousand feet down. Like standing in the greatest of civilization’s cathedrals, but one with enough open space to park a carrier group, with more room for a fleet of attack submarines below.
After five nights and six days, we have become the land. Smeared with the dust of an arid country, we blend in with the rock and dirt. And despite our daily dips in the alpine lakes of the Sawtooth, we smell like it too. That first shower will feel great. The first meal — Jaime’s been fantasizing about a tuna melt and French fries, Sam has been inexplicably craving pancakes — even better. This is also why we backpack. It feels awfully good to have done it.
More than just the relief and indulgence of returning to civilization, a week in the mountains offers a welcome reset on city life. I am a city person. I like living in a density of people, living within a stroll of most everything I need, nearby neighbors and friends. But I crave the balance offered by nature, by a week in the woods, a month in the mountains. We’ll return feeling refreshed, glad to be back, awed by the commonplace luxuries of modern urban living: a world’s worth of cuisines, at my doorstep in 20 minutes; humanity’s complete works of recorded music, in my pocket. We’ll be very glad to have done it, for all its ups and downs. And, more immediately, we’re glad to be done.
“I’m sore.”
“Me too.”
“My blister just popped.”
“Ew.”
“I feel great.”
“Me too.”
Leaning on the car, we ease off our boots. The horseflies are back at this lower elevation, and their buzzing takes us back to last week when we tightened our laces and adjusted the straps on our pack in preparation for starting our trip. We had arrived at Grandjean just a few hours behind the first wave of wildfire smoke. Hiking in July, we thought we’d beat the wildfires to the punch; no such luck. So we started our hike in a haze - literal and figurative - wondering if we’d be walking up mountains for 54 miles with the reward of smoggy vistas waiting at the passes and peaks.
The first day’s hike didn’t lift that haze. The trail was overgrown, not often used, with deadfall lying across our path requiring us to clamber over dead trunks or bushwhack through brush to get around. Horseflies dogged us, buzzing and biting. As we climbed, sweating, copses of trembling aspen yielded to a forest of ponderosa pine, white spruce, douglas fir, and horseflies yielded to mosquitoes. Six miles up the trail, we encountered two fellow hikers, who informed us that the first good campsite was another eight miles ahead, and that they were churning out 20 miles in a day to get out of this godforsaken wilderness pronto. Terrific.
Fortunately, they were wrong, and we soon found a very fine place to pitch a tent next to a small waterfall. The Payette River’s headwaters split and cascaded down on either side of a great red rock, and every few seconds, the waters surged and a shower of snowmelt would surge over the rock itself, spraying into the air.
A western tanager — electric yellow body, reddish head, and jet black wings — flitted through the campsite. So did chipmunks, rushing around frantically to spread the good news that a pair of slovenly campers had finally arrived, and the summer’s harvest was here at last.
“Look at the cheeks on that little guy.”
“He’s just dying to fill them up with our trail mix.”
Joke’s on us. His cheeks were already full. We turn around, and our bag of trail mix has been chewed open, our week’s supply of almonds, cashews, chocolate, and cranberries pawed through and looted.
“Oh no!”
“Tou thieving little bastard! You bandit! Son of a bitch!”
He was long gone, and presumably the life of the party in whatever chipmunk den he had retreated to. Not wanting to contract whatever rodent virus the chipmunks might have left on our nuts — and not wanting to reward their banditry — I fed our entire supply of trail mix to the fish, swearing profusely as each morsel washed downstream. We have enough food without it, I think.
Our second morning, we awoke to what appeared as a fine morning mist; the pines in the middle distance enveloped in a grey cloud; the ridgeline hazy. But central Idaho is a dry country, this time of year. There is no mist. The wildfire smoke has thickened, and an image of peace transforms to a vague and grim picture of threat and foreboding. We shoulder our packs and resume the climb; eleven more miles on the trail, plus half a mile vertically.
As we walk we get our first glimpses of sawtooth silhouette. Steep rocky cliffs capped with jagged ridgelines, hazy and dark in the smoke against the grey sky. We cross a cold stream, boots off, sandals on, almost knee deep in the rushing icy water. We stop to rest — our first salami break of the trip! — beside Smith Falls, a roaring cascade.
“Do you have the hand sanitizer?”
“I thought you had it.”
“Nope.”
“Where’s the soap?”
“Packed with the hand sanitizer.”
“We’re disgusting.”
The day has gotten hot, and our final mile is a savage climb, switchbacking up the rough talus slope of Mt. Everly. Closing in on 9000’ feet of elevation, we stop to catch our breath every few steps and soak in the panorama behind us: smoky and grey, but astounding nonetheless, with miles of views into wilderness valleys ringed by sawtooth ridges.
Finally, we climb high enough that a lake reveals itself as a sliver of blue, and then it’s at our feet. Everly Lake is a sapphire droplet, water clear to the bottom, the gently rippling surface sparkling azure in the late afternoon sun. It sits beneath the east face of Mt. Everly, a scree cliff dropping a thousand feet to the water’s edge, across from where we set up camp. We haven’t seen another soul all day, and we have this lake very much to ourselves.
Why do we do this? An interesting question because, in case it’s not obvious, backpacking trips involve a considerable quantity of suffering. We do it for the satisfaction and rejuvenation of completing a trip, certainly. And obviously the views — even when they’re gray and hazy. But this — this is really why we hump heavy packs up rocky cliffs, put up with clouds of insects and wildfire smoke, endure blisters and aches and altitude sickness. There is freedom in solitude (dual solitude, in our case), and real solitude is a hard thing to come by. Hot and sweaty and ragged from the climb, I splash into the glass-clear snowmelt of Everly Lake, naked as a wild animal.
When telling people about our big trip west, our route through Wyoming, Idaho, Montana, the most frequent first response was “ah, you’re doing the parks.” Meaning the National Parks, those natural American wonders with scenic byways leading drivers to the parks’ iconic sights, visitors’ centers full of gifts and amenities and fun facts, and influencers dangling their immaculate bodies over sheer cliffs to rack up the likes. Not so. We are, in fact, avoiding the Parks at all costs, instead seeking solitude in forests and wilderness — the likes of the Sawtooth.
In March, we took a trip to Great Smoky Mountain National Park, hoping to hike and revel in some of the finest scenery you’ll find east of the Mississippi. The joke was very much on us. Day one, we spent two hours in the car, inching toward a trailhead, in a miles-long snake of cars and trucks and RVs. In July and August, Yellowstone National Park transmutes from the largest national park in the lower 48 into the biggest parking lot on the North American continent. People sleep in their cars on the road to Zion, in the hopes of snagging a shot at a sunrise selfie.
It’s been fifty years since Edward Abbey wrote Desert Solitaire, which I’ve been reading on the trail. The book is an account of his summers as a ranger in the park that would eventually become Arches. He lamented road-building in National Parks, and proposed banning cars altogether, a fine idea. Many of our Parks did alright for decades, even with their roads and scenic byways; today’s plauge, clogging those roads and viewpoints and even some of the trails, is known as Instagram. The secret is out about the natural beauty of the American west, and the hoards have flocked.
Of course, not everyone out here in nature is seeking solitude. That’s fine. Certainly, every person has a right to see and experience earth’s great wonders. But even for the casual nature tourist, I would posit that the Grand Canyon would be better enjoyed with enough room to swing one’s arms. What to do about it? Who knows. The French are de-marketing their national parks, advertising the flaws and shortcomings of the country’s great natural sites; another fine idea, maybe there are others. At any rate, Abbey is lucky to be dead; the sight of hoards of selfie-snappers crowding for the perfect pic at Mesa Arch would kill him over again.
For those who do seek something approaching solitude, it’s harder and harder to find. We’ve avoided the National Parks, but even many of the forest campgrounds are full beyond the brim. We’ve spent evenings driving around the backwoods, trying in vain to find a good place to camp that isn’t already clogged with RVs. And I’m not here to tell anyone how to enjoy nature, but I am here to tell you that the RV is a blight upon American wilderness. Pulling into a campground in a forgotten corner of the Black Hills, and listening to a fleet of generators run for hours is, shall we say, irritating. If your idea of exploring America’s natural beauty involves parking a bus that costs as much as Lamborghini in the woods and running a generator 16 hours a day to keep your A/C running and your TV on, why not save yourself the trouble — and do the rest of us a favor — and stay home?
As one friend likes to say, gazing up at a spectacular mountain view and taking a contented sigh: “We mean nothing.” In the city, it’s hard to see yourself outside the contemporary, the immediate, the urgent. Put yourself in nature, in the shadow of a great peak or at the bottom of a colossal canyon, and it becomes possible to see your ego and your consciousness in a more accurate perspective: transient, insignificant. There’s freedom in that. And peace.
The chipmunks of Everly Lake share the thieving attitude of their cousins down the mountain. As we sat absorbing the last of the orange sun’s rays, we heard a rustling behind us, and caught one in the act trying to seize our sesame crisps. Rather than chewing through the bag and filling his fat cheeks with whatever they could carry, this greedy fellow had his tiny arms wrapped around the entire ziploc bag, attempting to make off with the whole kit and kaboodle. Not today, chipmunk. We learned our lesson. Our food bag didn’t leave our sight the rest of the trip.
We awoke the next morning to the smell of a campfire burning outside our tent. Poking my head out into the grey predawn light — no campfire, just a thick cloud of wildfire smoke. The far shore was shrouded in haze, and our sparkling blue lake had turned dull; a grim sense of foreboding gripped us as we wolfed down our instant oatmeal, slurped up our instant coffee, and shouldered our packs to descend from Everly.
We hop from lake to lake through the southern Sawtooth, and, mercifully, the cloud of smoke thins as we go. Not a soul on the trail, as we dip our toes in lakes with wonderful names — Ingeborg, Spangle, Ardeth— and some quotidian names — Rock Slide, Vernon, Benedict. I regret leaving my binoculars in the car, we try to ID our avian companions anyway. Most will end up in our books as LBBs (little brown birds), curious peepers and cheepers. We do grow fond of the white-capped sparrow, which looks like it’s wearing a bike helmet and sings a song that sounds like the opening refrain of Baby Shark. Funny little fellow.
We arrive at Lake Edna, our camp for the night, and the skies have cleared. We are treated to sunset over a glassy indigo surface. We watch the sun fall behind the same mountain that it has set behind for hundreds, thousands of summer evenings previous. It’s harder and harder to find pristine nature like this, unaltered by humanity. If some other person had felt compelled to make the same hike, climb the same hill 500 or 5000 Julys ago, they would have seen the same thing, heard the same birds, enjoyed the shade of the same trees. There is magic in that.
We woke up on the morning of our fourth day in the Sawtooth wilderness feeling spry.
This essay borrows liberally and consciously in structure and style from Messrs. Edward Abbey & John McPhee.
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9 Top-Rated Attractions & Things to Do in Roanoke, VA
Roanoke is a popular tourist destination, whether you're a culture vulture seeking out unique museums and attractions or an active vacationer seeking out outdoor adventures. The city is a four-season destination for avid hikers, rock climbers, recreational boaters, and sportfishing enthusiasts, and is located in the picturesque Roanoke Valley in southwestern Virginia. In-town greenways, cultural diversions, diverse dining, and unique shopping discoveries await urban explorers. Whatever your vacation style, keep our list of Roanoke's top attractions and things to do handy.
1. Mill Mountain Park & the Roanoke Star
Mill Mountain Park, which is home to the famous Roanoke Star (also known as the Mill Mountain Star), has more than 10 miles of multi-use trails (hiking, walking, and biking) where visitors can experience the region's all-season natural beauty.
Take the Mill Mountain Star Trail, a 3.5-mile round-trip from the base trail, to the summit of Mill Mountain, the city's highest point at 1,703 feet, for a moderately challenging hike. Hikers are rewarded with two scenic overlooks atop the mountain after climbing 838 feet in elevation. The Star Trail parking lot, located just off Riverland Road SE at the Star/Wood Thrush Connector, has plenty of free parking and clear signage.
Connect with the short Watchtower Trail for the best panoramic views and photos right at the base of the Roanoke Star, one of Virginia's most famous landmarks. The National Register of Historic Landmarks has listed this unusual landmark, which was built in 1949 as a temporary Christmas decoration by the local merchants association. The giant star, at 89 feet in height, is America's largest star. It is visible from up to 60 miles away and is lit every evening until midnight.
Hikers are welcome to bring their leashed dogs, and there are picnic tables, restrooms, and water along the Mill Mountain Spur Trail en route to the Discovery Center, a naturalist centre with exhibits on the park, local wildlife, and trail maps. Mill Mountain Zoo, a small but lively enclave with local critters such as the Indian crested porcupine, red wolf, and yellow-spotted side-necked turtle, will appeal to children of all ages.
2. Carvins Cove Natural Reserve
Carvins Cove Natural Reserve, with more than 60 miles of trails surrounding an 800-acre reservoir, is known among locals as a haven for off-road mountain biking. The reserve, which is the second largest municipal park in the United States, spans nearly 13,000 acres, the majority of which is protected by the state of Virginia's largest conservation easement.
Trail maps are available for purchase, and bikers can get local advice on which trails are best suited for their experience level at Just The Right Gear, a cycling shop near the Bennett Springs parking lot (one of three reserve entrances — the others are Marina and Timber View). There are also rentals of high-end bikes and gear.
On the Easy Street, Kit & Kaboodle, The Skillet, and Enchanted Forest trails, beginners will find a gentler rise and more flats. On the Comet, Gauntlet, Hoe Trail, and Clownshead, riders seeking more difficult challenges will get exactly what they want. On the most difficult trails, expect to gain up to 2,400 feet in elevation.
Along these well-kept trails, riders will encounter packed dirt, loose gravel, and tamped soil. Canoeing (equipment rentals and instruction are available) and fishing are also popular activities at Carvins Cove.
3. Smith Mountain Lake
Smith Mountain Lake, one of Virginia's most popular — and the state's largest — has nearly 500 miles of shoreline, earning it the title of "Jewel of the Blue Ridge Mountains." Because state fisheries keep the lake well stocked, SML, as it's known by locals, has an especially impressive striped bass population. Anglers can book half- or full-day charters with a number of licenced guides who have plenty of experience traversing the 21,000-acre lake. They'll provide bait, equipment, and all of the necessary expertise to ensure that those fishing have a safe and enjoyable time on the water.
Crappies, bluegills, largemouth and smallmouth bass, as well as stripers, are among the tasty fish that make freshwater fishing at SML a popular tourist destination.
Waterskiing and wakeboarding, boating and sailing, and jet skiing are all fun activities to do on the lake. Swimming is also available at a family-friendly beach, and there are several golf courses nearby.
4. Roanoke Valley Greenways
The interconnected Roanoke Valley Greenway allows visitors to walk or bike along miles of trails in the area, which are safe, well-populated, and well-maintained. A popular trail in and around Roanoke is right along the Roanoke River, where deer, herons, geese, and other wildlife can be seen even in the city. Vic Thomas Park, just off Memorial Drive south of the river, is a great place to start your exploration. From there, you can easily join the Roanoke River Greenway.
A short distance away is the well-known Black Dog Salvage. Every visit to this nationally recognised purveyor of reclaimed architectural, commercial, and industrial fixtures and elements yields a fascinating, one-of-a-kind inventory. Visitors come from all 50 states to see Black Dog, which specialises in doors, windows, wrought iron, period lighting, garden statuary, and other specialty home components.
Head southeast on the Roanoke River Greenway towards Wasena Park after visiting Black Dog. At the Wasena Skate Park, kids can be seen hanging ten on their longboards. The park is always bustling with activity, and the locals' fancy footwork on their skateboards and blades is entertaining to watch.
On your way to the Tinker Creek Greenway, continue on the greenway and cross the Mill Mountain Greenway. Follow that road north for less than a mile and reward yourself with a picnic at Fallon Park's picnic area.
5. Taubman Museum of Art
The Taubman Museum of Art, one of the city's newest attractions (it opened in 2008), is a must-see for art lovers and casual culture consumers alike. The museum's permanent collection of 2,000 unique pieces is spread across 11 different galleries, including works by Thomas Cowperthwaite Eakins, Purvis Young, and John Cage, and is housed in a stunning modern design by renowned architect Randall Stout.
Visiting exhibits featuring work by some of America's best artists, including John James Audubon and Norman Rockwell, to name a few, are common. Photographic, folk art, and design-related exhibits are among the other highlights.
If you're travelling with children, look into children's programmes, such as hands-on workshops and interactive displays. On-site amenities include a café.
6. McAfee Knob
McAfee Knob is one of the most photographed places on the Appalachian Trail, thanks to its incredible vistas and spectacular rock overhang perch. The 3.5 miles of intermediate-to-difficult trails that lead up to the knob from the Virginia 311 parking lot are popular with hikers.
Climbers know it for the more than 70 gnarly sandstone and slick quartzite boulders that make for days of mini-summits. The majority of boulders are between 10 and 20 feet tall, with many crimps, jugs, pockets, and edges. Bring pads, lunch, and a buddy; it's never a good idea to go rock climbing alone, and McAfee is often deserted.
Another popular recreational area in Roanoke is the recently re-opened Explore Park, which is located just off the Blue Ridge Parkway. The park features 1,100 acres of breathtaking scenery, numerous walking and hiking trails, as well as thrilling ziplines and a treetop adventure course that is appropriate for families with younger children. It also has a visitor centre and a gift shop, as well as camping and rustic cabins.
7. Bottom Creek Gorge Preserve
Bottom Creek Gorge Preserve is a popular destination for birders, nature lovers, and photographers. Bottom Creek, located less than 20 miles south of Roanoke, is one of the most important headwaters for the Roanoke River, and it offers visitors several well-marked trails to enjoy the vast hardwood forest, unspoiled landscape, and Virginia's second highest waterfall.
For the best vantage point to photograph the 200-foot cascading waterfall, the second tallest in Virginia, photographers should take the Red Trail (the longest trail here, at five miles round-trip). Bring a long/telephoto lens because the overlook at the end of the trail offers a clear, open shot, but the falls are a long way away. A side path off the Yellow Trail leads to other viewpoints of the falls.
8. Roanoke City Market
The historic City Market, also known as the Farmers' Market by locals, is open all year and offers boutique shopping, local produce, flowers, meat and cheese, local dining favourites, and some of Virginia's best people-watching. Pay close attention to the market's four mosaic tiled entrances, each of which contains over 2,000 pounds of porcelain tiles that reveal a little bit of the history of this storied public space.
9. Roanoke Pinball Museum
We’ve recently started a new family hobby – vintage record collecting! In keeping with this new found connection over the beloved old, we were delighted to take our girls to the Roanoke Pinball Museum and show them how we entertained ourselves long before the internet.
From the 1932 styles to the slightly more modern Munster’s machine which had a baby pinball inside the bigger one to play, you could get lost in here playing over 65 machines for hours.
Prime Home Buyers is a real estate brokerage firm based in Roanoke, United States. We are known for offering an easy and quick house-selling experience to our clients.
We offer upfront selling solutions to our clients, satisfying their requirements. We have been serving as real estate investors for over a decade and know all the tricks of this trade. Prime Home Buyers can provide you with the best real estate offerings and prices. We are the experts you are looking for if you want to sell your house fast and at the best price. Besides our expertise in buying houses, we also provide commercial property investment.
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(Another writing club snippet for Disgrace; this time the prompt was "Danger". Join us, my dear readers, as Toffee tries for the first time to follow the Call of Magic, only to see there's something much more malicious hiding behind the wonder and delight of this Realm.)
Jester bolted upright. He payed no mind to the splash of water next to him, as Juno weirdly payed no mind to having her head thrown off his shoulder so suddenly. That sound again. He thought it had disappeared the moment he'd set foot in this realm. Now here it was, no longer a ringing in his head, but a call from a distance...one he could finally follow with his ears alone.
Across the flat expanse, he spotted a single unicorn. He could just barely make out dark purple fur against the shallow gold waters, growing smaller toward the horizon. That song went with it, a singular subtle melody now instead of a medley of screeches, though still chaotic and indecipherable as usual. Jester refused to take his eyes off the unicorn lest it fade into the background. He shook Juno by the shoulder, who had snuggled into the sand and gladly let the waters rise and recede around her.
"Look. Over there. I think we need to follow."
"Nuh uh. I'm comfy."
Jester sighed. "Ugh fine. Don't go anywhere."
"Mm'kay."
Jester gave a reassuring pat on her shoulder, then waded through the waters toward the figure ahead, going deeper and deeper the quicker he caught up to it. By the time the water had reached his chest it became clear that the unicorn could walk it like solid land; he would have to swim after it. Just as he was about to start paddling,
he heard a snort off to the side, followed by a growl. An enormous gray unicorn, with a cracked horn and many stitches across his body from what seemed old battle wounds, leered into the distance at the dark one. It didn't seem to take notice of Jester, but the quick Septarian dove underwater to be sure to avoid its malice, as it trotted on in a huff.
He followed their silhouettes as best he could, keeping below the surface as the waters grew deeper, deeper, too deep now to see the bottom. The only indication of which way was up or down were the crystal reefs and landmasses surrounding him. The war-torn horse made a sniffing motion then whipped its head down and submerged it. Jester kicked backward and swam behind a reef. The motions scared a swarm of horned sea horses (Jester would've rolled his eyes playfully at the notion of "sea unicorns"), which luckily provided just enough cover- or at least distraction -to not be noticed. Once the unicorn had its back turned and was far enough away, Jester kicked gently off the reef and lifted his head above water to take a breath.
Meanwhile the creatures spoke.
"Why do you keep coming back here? You're lamenting for something no one knows or even cares about," demanded a stern, gruff voice.
"I care about it." The dark purple unicorn rang with a soothing, majestic agender voice.
"Our roots are here. Our purpose is here. You can't just pretend you have no duty to fulfill."
"That place-" they motioned their head toward a location just barely obstructed from Jester's view from the surface of the water "-is all that's left of what we once were, if we ever were anything. We don't belong here. And even if we do, who decided that for us? Isn't there more to our world than this? Than magic?"
"Magic is what controls this universe," the stern voice raised, almost booming now despite its maintained composure. "And until that changes, all who oppose it have no place in this world."
The dark horse sighed bitterly. "You're just like your counterpart." The white stars that sparkled across their fur began to glow.
"And you're starting to sound just like yours."
"Maybe that's a good thing!"
Their horns began to glow in tandem with the stars as the unicorns bore them at each other.
"Do I need to teach you our place? Or would you rather end up like the one who was supposed to take yours?"
The dark one lifted their head fully, standing ground against their counterpart who leaned forward with aggression. "You don't have power over me while I run this wand. You have no control over what I want for my life."
Around them, the golden waters became a deep violet, slowly spreading outwards. The grey horse staggered backwards desperately, disgusted by the mere sight. The dark magic reached the water around Jester from behind the rock he hid, and he inhaled sharply as a wave of energy rushed throughout his body. Not just invigorating, but familiar. Embracing. Like a lost friend he'd always known and loved turned out to be beside him all along.
Eclipsa...
The aggressive one turned its head toward the sound of Jester's gasp and immediately charged. The swift Septarian dove again and kicked off the reef, swimming for his life. The moment he dared to look back, though, he realized the trail of dark magic he'd left in his wake had thwarted off his pursuer. Jester didn't want to relax, though. He kept swimming, down, down, further down.
Until he noticed a current picking up. It felt to be all around him, all around the area; one enormous circle where all the water pulled gradually to a singularity. Curious, he followed the current to a place where all the water seemed to shoot straight down; a waterfall underwater? And just like a waterfall rages, he couldn't see past it. He only noticed too late that the current had grown too strong, pulling him forward and down towards the unknown once again... only this time he was fully aware.
Jester clung onto the nearest crystal pillar. He tried climbing back to the surface, desperate for a breath, but every time he let go for even a second the riptide threatened to take him. Then he felt a splash from above. The dark unicorn galloped down through the water. They circled, motioning their head up to come with. He quickly grabbed onto their mane and rode up to the surface with them.
Jester gulped in air and climbed onto the unicorn's back as it trotted across the surface. While catching his breath he looked around for the other one. He was nowhere to be found. In his disappearance and in the returning silence, Jester noticed a subtle new sound. The longer he listened, a new sound would come one after another. Whinnying of other horses; hooves against soft, dry ground; tinkling almost like bells; snapping and crackling. But above them all: anvils.
Jester turned toward it, toward the place the two unicorns had been blocking from his sight. At the surface the water continued to pull in its direction, and without him asking, the dark horse walked forward for a better look. They both looked down into the place where the water fell, and he tried his best to comprehend what he saw.
The short and simple answer would be an enormous chasm, a gaping hole in the world in which all the surrounding water would fall in. Yet it didn't simply fade from his sight after falling too far: it disappeared altogether, blinking out of existence behind a black void. Just before disappearing, though, any water touching the walls would start to swirl around the void as if in a whirpool. Upon doing so it would shift from its normal gold color to blue, to violet, to red, then to nothing.
Jester leaned forward just a bit more to better listen, wondering if perhaps this was what he was called to. He closed his eyes to absorb the sensation, and the slightest smell brushed his nostrils: Soot. Soot, coal, burning metal, fire and brimstone. He gave a little smile upon being reminded of the smithing shop he'd worked for. But the whinnying noises began to sound distressed, almost suffering, and those pleasant memories of the forge shifted and distorted into Mewman soldiers dancing crazed around a bonfire.
His eyes snapped open and he desperately tried to shake the memories out of his head. The purple unicorn carried him away in response; he climbed down off them atop a flat crystal mass, and they brushed their face along his in reassuring comfort.
"So..." He began, unsure where to start. "You spoke of your roots, didn't you? Is that where unicorns are from? Eclipsa told me you were all born from the magic." He gasped and turned to face them. "I do know you from somewhere, don't I? Eclipsa: you're her millhorse."
They nodded. "She calls me Orion the Brindle."
"Can you tell me...do you know where she left to?"
"She's safe. And happy. That's all that matters.
Jester huffed. "Hm. Well. Good for her."
Orion stepped forward, regarding him with a curious and anticipating gaze. "I've tried confronting you in dreams before. It's nice to finally meet you, Jester."
His eyes widened. "I knew those visions were real. So, you're the one who's been calling me?"
"Many of us have. But our songs can only reach those who need or wish to be called."
Jester glared. "'Wish?' All I want is for this to stop."
"Perhaps it's a need, then. We have a purpose, and so must you if you have the power to walk through this place without losing yourself. Someone like you must be the key to our salvation."
"Salvation? You're a prisoner?"
Orion sighed. "There's so much I want to explain, and so few ways I know to describe it. I barely understand myself."
"I ..." He thought about Juno waiting for him, wondering why she hadn't come in the first place, after all her adamancy about braving this ordeal with him. "...don't think I have time for the full story."
"You would under different circumstances. I never would've called you had I known you'd bring ... company."
Jester tilted his head. "Why's it important for me to be alone? What kind of trap is this?"
"One orchestrated by the Magic, not by us. It happens to everyone. We unicorns have been here for so many generations we've forgotten our own roots." Orion looked off into the distance longingly, almost in regret. "So too does anyone who stays too long. They have endless fun, then never want to leave. They forget their roots, their purpose, their lives, and eventually lose everything."
They turned back to Jester expectantly. "Except for you, apparently."
The weight of their words took a moment to settle, not because of his own mysterious calling, but because of her.
"And Juno? What's going to happen to her?"
Orion shook their head, their tone growing darker and more serious. "Your friend is in danger. She'll lose herself here...and not just to the magic."
No.
"...I have to go back. Now." Jester took a step backward, ready to bolt.
"Wait! I haven't told you everything!"
Jester snapped. "I can't help you! Whatever your 'salvation' is, I have more important things to worry about right now!"
He turned tail and ran. Luckily Orion had brought him to an area where the path from there to where he'd left Juno was all mostly flat ground and shallow water. He wasn't sure how much stock to put in the unicorn's words, but if what they said would happen to Juno was anything like the way he'd lose himself in those visions and sleep spells, then he couldn't risk not trusting their warning.
This place. All the wonder mysticism of this realm, of magic itself. He'd wanted to believe it could be different from ways he's been wronged by magic in the past. But if Orion's words were true, then it was all true. And, deep down, he felt he'd known it all his life. Magic and all its delight. It wasn't just a lie: it was a trap.
#one pace from disgrace (au)#disgraced archives (writing snippets)#jester cross (toffee)#the disgraced (juno)#the curse that calls (realm of magic)#the jester arc (arc 0)
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Money Can’t Buy
Chapter 2/2
Part 1 [in case you haven’t read it]
Notes: Smut, Slight Spanking, Romance, Fingering, Creampie, Pregnancy Kink, Long Imagine, Charles Smith + Female Reader
Wordcount: 2,360
You were softly awakened by the aroma of freshly brewed coffee wafting through your nostrils, along with the joyous laughter of small children radiating from the slightly ajar window across your bedroom. The blankets still clutching at your tired silhouette gave you reassurance of the day ahead, but soon your thoughts drifted to the cold, vacant space behind you and the lack of Charles’ warmth pressed against your back. Groaning as you prop yourself up upon your elbow, you wiped at your sleepy eyes and stretched out your restful limbs.
The heavy door creaked open suddenly and you were welcomed with the warming presence of Charles at the door frame, a hollow tray rest upon his palms occupying two metal cups of hot coffee and a small bowl of peaches and strawberries collectively. He was still in his sleepwear, an old pear of beige fabric trousers and, as usual, his broad dark chest was uncovered, and sun kissed by the light rays streaming in from the slit between the swaying curtains. His hair was splayed down his back in a cascade of black ink, almost like an endless waterfall.
“Good morning, my love.” He spoke the words softly as he lay the tray on your lap, calmly crawling his way to the vacant space beside you. “I thought we could enjoy the morning with fresh coffee, I’m collecting timber for the cabins this afternoon with the men, so we have a while to be together.” This made your heart flutter, it was rare these days you were able to stay in bed together, the past few months had been very busy for Charles, yourself, Arthur and Mai. The thought of spending your morning in bed with your husband, without a worry, was a pure luxur- Arthur and Mai!
“Oh, Charles, I promised the children we would go the fields near by and pick flowers, I slept in too long, are they – “ Your eyes met his, disappointed in the possibility you might’ve let your children down.
“They left with some of the other children this morning, they’ll be fine, women from the reservation went, too.” Charles reassured as he rests himself against the bed frame with his large fingers gently intertwining with yours. His other hand picked a strawberry from the bowl at your lap and raised it up to your plush parted lips. With a sigh of relief, you parted them and bit down on the sweet fruit. The rest of your breakfast consisted of you telling Charles’ about the day before, how Mai had helped you make broth for dinner, washing and handing the vegetables to you, and Arthur had read to you snippets from a book Charles had bought him about birds – expertly reciting the names and habitats of each species. You both cooed at how intelligent your children are and smiled in unison.
“I guess we aren’t doing such a terrible job, ‘eh” you giggled whilst lifting the steaming mug to your lips, Charles’ joined in, his chuckle echoed throughout the room, leaving a pleasant atmosphere. His dark eyes drifted to meet yours, a hint of pride visible in his gaze. Charles’ was a reserved man, not with you, but sometimes it was more peaceful to sit in comfortable silence. You brought the last strawberry to your red-tinted lips and in your peripheral you could see his gaze drag your mouth, watching as you slowly licked at the sweet juice from around your finger. Was this making him hard? The quiet was broken by Charles’ low words. “You know, some of the other cabins have three bedrooms.” His tone turned serious, although there was a hint of something else there. Lifting himself in a sitting position with the covers pooling at his lap, he looked down at you, his hair falling in smooth strands around his neck and upper chest.
“That so?”
“Yeah. So, if we ever…well, you know.” You met his gaze with bright eyes after setting your empty cup on the tray placing it on the nightstand. You had talked about more children, but the past few months had been so hectic that it got pushed to the backs of your mind. Although, your children were quick to remind you both of other kids at the reservation and how they had baby brothers and sisters, and how the stork would could with a baby soon.
This abrupt sentence coming from Charles’ mouth was the only ‘go’ you needed to celebrate a childless house, and the possibility of a third baby, so you quickly lifted yourself up and straddled yourself on his lap, his smirking face aligning with yours. Charles’ eyes became dark and lustful, his arms hitching your nightdress to your hips and gripping at your exposed thick thighs. A small hum escaped your mouth at this, and you felt yourself get wet at his large hands and how they grabbed at you as if you belonged to him. The thought of being Charles’ property was something that secretly you fantasised about him acting out.
Bringing your hands to rest against his glorious wide chest, one resting at the base of his large bicep, you pulled yourself closer to his soft pouting lips, whispering just inches away from where he wanted you to meet “Give me another child, Charles.” With this you crashed your mouth against his, your words clearly having a huge effect on him as you felt a stiff tent grow beneath your smooth, soaked pussy and the irritable covers that separated you. His hands gripped at your night dress, pulling the flimsy fabric over your head in one swift, desperate motion. Your bare body was displayed to him, the breeze from outside catching your sensitive skin and only adding to the pure craving you felt for his touch. Your nipples grew into soft peaks against his broad chest, begging for his callous attention.
“There’s no one else home. I’m going to make you scream, ___” he growled lowly from his throat, the warm hardness throbbing for you beneath the covers now at its peak. A hand rested upon one of your heavy breasts, a thumb flicking over your hardened soft nipple causing you to slightly jolt upwards at the torturous contact. You landed harshly back down on the bulge beneath you a surprised moan irrupted from both of your throats. Charles’ other hand landed hard down on your ass, causing a sharp slap to resonate throughout the room. The slight pain from the smack paired with the immense lust you felt for this man had you at his total mercy, begging for more with the soft rocks your hips made against his.
“Again, Charles. Please, again…Oh!” Your voice trailed off into a loud and breathy moan at the second contact. After a few more slaps at your reddening ass cheek you brought yourself out of your trance to acknowledge of the hardness resting below you, The covers were pulled down and his cock flung upwards towards his stomach, reaching his belly button. The thick head was an angry red and the long base was painted with dark veins just aching for friction – precum leaking from the top and spreading in long trails down to the base. Lifting your heavy-lidded eyes to meet Charles’ you brought a finger to each bead of precum, raising it to your soft lips and moaning at the creamy, salty liquid. Each lap of his arousal brought a deep and erotic gasp from his mouth. Kissing on his chest and down the path towards his hard cock you left little bites and licks.
“Charles, you’re so perfect.” You moaned as you inched towards his hard cock. Raising your ass into the air and arching your back to look up at him, you moaned at the cold contact the fresh air from the open window blew against your greedy, plush pussy, but this was about him right now.
Licking a small stripe up his cock you made sure to keep your eyes fixated on Charles’, his eyes growing heavy and his mouth exhaling deep and gruff breaths out of his slightly opened lips. When you brought your mouth down around him his eyes rolled back in total ecstasy at your warm wet mouth. You couldn’t take him whole around your lips, and that had always slightly disappointed you, but you had always made sure to take him whole in your pussy instead. Bobbing your head up and down on him a few times, you moaned against his thick cock, the vibrations sending him higher, and laying your tongue flat against the small slit at his base you could feel his thighs beneath you begin to shake.
“Shit, ___.” He grabbed your hair in a tight knot, pulling your mouth upwards to meet his, his thick cock leaving your mouth with a satisfying pop. “I won’t last much longer if you keep doing that with your mouth, my love.” The words left him in a tumble of breaths and grunts, and he gripped at your round hips, twisting you both so that you lay beneath him, your hair surrounding your face in loose tendrils against the pillows.
His large rough hand came up on rest against your flustered cheeks, his thumb against your lips, begging for entry. You opened them hungrily and began sucking at his thumb, kissing and nipping against the pad. His other hand trailed down to where his cock nudged against the inside of your thigh, rubbing it a few times before stroking it against your soaked pussy lips, when the head nudged against your aching clit you let out a choked moan against his thumb.
“Charles, please.” You begged into his thumb, melting under his lusty gaze.
“I want you to be soaking for me ___ so that you can accept all of my warm cum for you… I need you to beg for me…” He whispered against the skin of your other cheek, pressing sloppy kisses between sentences.
“Charles, please, plea-“ Your eyes slammed close at the immense pleasure of his cock completely filling you, the stretch just as perfect as its always been. Knowing his size was above average, he always gave you a few seconds to adjust to the intrusion. Apart from this time he didn’t, he followed straight away with another calloused pump into you, and then another, and another. Leaving you a screaming pathetic mess beneath him, just clutched at the large arms framing your head and pressing your lips against his sensitive neck, nipping and sucking at the skin.
Your moans melded together in a beautiful symphony that echoed throughout the room, thankfully the children outside had quietened down, so you hoped they had began playing farther from your cabin as you knew your sex wasn’t exactly ever discreet. His thick hips began grinding in small circles against yours, and your mind filled with a state of nirvana as the man above you fucked you into the mattress. Your clit was suffocated between your bodies and the friction was only reaching you higher towards your inevitable climax.
Charles could sense the rapid tensing of your pussy around him, but wanted to make you wait a while longer, he wanted to savour this and make it special for you. After a particularly deep pump into you he lifts his heavy hips, resting against the backs of his muscly thighs. A smug grin plastered his face and you whimpered into the back of your palm at the loss of him inside you. Charles enjoyed watching you helpless and needy for him, so after a moment of watching you collect yourself, he pressed the pads of his index and middle finger against your aching, swollen clit. The pressure only brought you closer and as soon as the pleasure began it was finished, at this another whimper escaped past your lips into the back of your palm.
“I know, sweetheart.” He whispered in response, pulling the hand from your mouth and intertwining it with his above your head. His cock returned to your pussy in one harsh, quick pump and the torture continued. You felt an intense fire build in your abdomen and soon you were screaming for him again.
“Charles, I – I’m so cl- Please make me-“ You whimpered into his shoulder, scratching against his tensing biceps for release.
“N-not yet, sweetheart. Wait for me.” Your husband was fucking you so well, how could you ever disobey? His pumps became noticeably rapid and desperate, and you felt his lips hungrily search for yours. Your tongues danced together, just like your bodies, warm, wet and welcoming. “G’na cum so hard inside you.” He rasped against your swollen lips. The ball of heat building between your legs became unbearable to hold back, and when Charles broke the kiss to press his forehead against yours: your eyes staring in ecstasy at one another, his simple “Now, my love” had your entire body shaking, a moan got caught in your throat and your vision turned a bright white, hearing yourself cursing and screaming, but not exactly knowing what you were saying you felt a rush of warm liquid shoot deep inside of you. Looking up at the beautiful man above you, his long black hair plastered to his slick, toned body and his eyes closed tightly shut while the last spurts of cum were emptied inside of your sensitive, satisfied pussy – completely filling you.
Charles lifting you up in his strong arms and placed you on top of him, his back now against the mattress and his twitching cock still nudged inside you. You could feel his rapid heart beats against your bare chest and his thumb lazily stroking at your heated cheek, his shallow breaths hitching in his lungs.
“How do you do that to me, woman?” He groaned in his comedown, causing you both to let out heavy chuckles. You propped yourself up against his chest, lifting to meet his lips in a sweet embrace, he pulled away and lifted your chin to his level “I love you, so much.”
You whispered against the damp muscles that plastered his perfect body “I love you too, Charles Smith.”
End of Chapter 2
I hope those of you that read this enjoyed it, feel free to request, I don’t just write for Charles, I swear.
#red dead#red dead 2#red dead imagines#charles smith#charles smith imagines#red dead redemption#red dead redemption 2#i love charles imagine#rdr2#rdr2 imagines
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Reviews 195: Smith & Mudd feat. Quinn Lamont Luke
The Distance is the newest 12″ single from Smith & Mudd and marks one of the only times the duo have released music outside of Claremont 56. This time around, their laid back vibes of balearic psychedelia land on Adventures in Paradise and feature the ever incredible Quinn Lamont Luke, who Mudd has collaborated with to great effect before through their Paqua project. But in contrast to the stoner funk and solar prog of Akaliko, “The Distance” has its head floating in cosmic clouds of AOR, with smooth rhythms backgrounding aching guitar layers, gorgeous piano cascades, blistering fuzz solos, and soulful voice serenades (and thus forming a kinship with Stubb’s “Love Not Sex” featuring Huw Costin and Rachel Foster). In addition to an instrumental version of the track, Adventures in Paradise have also wisely included Ron Basejam and his take is typically transformative, preserving the romantic melancholia of the original while creating a paradise disco epic in the process, replete with dashing orchestrations, enhanced vocal powers, and a reworked rhythm and bass section that seems to glide on waves of sunshine funk energy.
Smith & Mudd feat. Quinn Lamont Luke - The Distance (Adventures in Paradise, 2019)
“The Distance” starts with warm and lightly distorted Rhodes chords and cosmic laser pads, as tambourines jangle and flashes of Smith’s bluesy guitar diffuse through the ether. Swelling string vapors, psychoactive dub fx, and banging pianos build emotional anticipation while cymbal taps and splashes bring in a sensual Rhodes riff and vibes of twilight magic, all while deep and physical basslines hold down the beatless groove. And then, as further palm-muted riff layers dance on glowing clouds, the smooth disco beats finally drop, with thudding kicks, soft snares, and shuffling hi-hats gliding on oceanic currents. 70’s style string orchestrations dash all around as drunk synth arps float in the sky and eventually the rhythms drop away, leaving the acoustic and electric pianos to dance alone through a balearic dreamscape. The guitar layers slowly work back in over sumptuous bassline pulsations and finally, Quinn descends upon the mix with an aura of shadowy light and heavenly songs of soul and grace. It’s so breathtaking…so magical…as this emotional angel sings out powerfully above a wonderland of AOR and slow motion disco. And if that wasn’t enough, the track eventually erupts as B.J. Smith lets loose a guitar solo that ascends to Floydian heights of emotive space rock perfection. And towards the end, as the six-string fuzz waves wail away, so does Quinn, blasting out a melodious “I NEED IT” refrains as the tender grooves ride towards a sunset horizon.
The original and instrumental mixes of “The Distance” are more or less the same until the extended rhythmic drop out, for without the entrance of Quinn’s vocals here, the the second half of the song works instead as a build towards the explosive guitar solo and its waves of classic rock majesty flowing down from the heavens. Then in Ron Basejam’s remix, the heat and humidity are turned up considerably as fantastical dreamscapes of symphonic strings surround e-piano descents, strands of chiming silver, and interstellar satellite communications. We then drop down into a smashing disco beat anchored by chugging basslines, with Quinn’s powerful voice flashing in right away. Bubbling Rhodes riffs support the vocal flows and their stories of hardship and togetherness while orchestral stabs of classical disco brilliance occasionally float above the fantasy groove. The “I NEED IT” vocal climax from the original is here repurposed as an epic chorus that is supported by funky palm muted riffs and ecstatic strings rushes before giving way to B.J.’s ripping fuzz solo, hitting as hard as ever as it rides on the romantic rhythms and hypnotic Rhodes riffscapes. As the beats pull away, massive piano waterfalls merge with thrilling string melodies and heady echo riffs before it all climaxes with a blinding fusion-style synth solo that lets loose vibes of sunset beauty and luscious jazz majesty…climbing higher and higher through crystal cloudrealms. And before the track fades away on ambient currents of wonderment, Ron cuts back to the verse for one last taste of Quinn’s intoxicating spells of unity and love.
(images from my personal copy)
#smith & mudd#b.j. smith#paul mudd murphy#mudd#adventures in paradise#claremont 56#ron basejam#aor#psychedelia#cosmic#smooth#balearic#quinn lamont luke#paradise disco#emotional vocals#the distance#remix#pink#tropical#laid back#bing ji ling#album reviews#vinyl reviews#music reviews#vinyl#2019#sun lounge#octagon eyes
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Exploring Daylesford
By Maree Smith
Need some time to chill out from work? Value just stopping for a moment to feel like you can breathe again? Daylesford, Victoria is the perfect place to recharge the batteries.
Daylesford is situated an hour from Melbourne in the foothills of the Great Dividing Range and was initially a settlement for the gold rush workers. It eventually became more well known for its natural mineral springs, rolling mountains, forests, lakes and gardens. Today, in addition to these, it is a place people come to enjoy spiritual wellness, spa treatments, massages and local produce.
There are so many things to do and see in Daylesford, depending on what your tastes and budgets are. You can visit Daylesford and spend very little or you can really indulge.
There are some great local shops and eateries around, however the food is pricey, so if you aren’t visiting Daylesford for its food, then a packed picnic may be a good idea.
Here is a list of our favourite free and paid things to do whilst in Daylesford.
Boathouse Daylesford and Lake Daylesford (Free)
Situated on Lake Daylesford, it is the perfect setting for a bite to eat at the award wining restaurant. Their breakfast menu is to die for! After your meal, you can take a nice walk around the picturesque Lake.
Wombat Hill Botanical Gardens (Free)
Is built on top of an extinct volcano and has a magnificent view of the Daylesford township. You can walk around the gardens or drive around the perimeter which is also a great experience. You can walk up the steep stairs of the Pioneer's Memorial Tower, then sit down in the Cafe on the grounds or if you want a free experience, eat a picnic lunch.
Lavandula Swiss Italian Farm
Lavandula is a beautifully serene lavender farm to explore, with its own licensed cafe - La Trattoria, it is great for a light lunch or afternoon tea with lavender scones or a cheeky glass of lavender wine!
Daylesford Cider Company
Daylesford Cider is a must to visit, they produce a range of ciders using the 17 varieties of English-heritage listed apples grown organically on the farm just outside Daylesford. The ciders range from traditional with an almost-bone dry palate, through to sweeter styles.
The tavern is set on beautiful gardens with an old English feel, where you can enjoy the sun outside or the warmth of the cosy fire inside.
On certain days you can pick yourself up some food as you try the range of ciders. Don’t forget to purchase the produce to take away - you won’t regret it!
Markets (Free)
The Sunday markets in Daylesford are great to experience. A wide variety of stalls sell everything from fresh local produce, homemade candles, clothing, collectables, toys, books and more. The best jams and amazing candle scents have been purchased here.
Day Spas
Daylesford is also known for its indulgent day spas, where you can have spa treatments and massage therapies. Look around at what suits you and your budget.
Wineries
There are some wineries scattered throughout the region, you can do some wine tasting by either driving around yourself (with a designated driver of course) or book into a wine tour so you can all enjoy!
Daylesford Chocolate Mill
A cafe for chocoholics, selling the finest Belgian Fair Trade chocolate surrounded in gorgeous bushland. You can view the staff hand making onsite, whilst listening to the native birds singing around you.
Mineral Springs (Free)
The Daylesford/Hepburn region is well known for its mineral springs and holds eighty percent of all the mineral springs located in Victoria. There are some great walks to venture on and collect mineral spring water, they are easy to find and if you pop into the local visitor centre, you can pick yourself up a map of the region to help you along the way.
Trentham Falls (Free)
Trentham Falls is one of the longest single drop waterfalls in Victoria, plunging 32 metres. In winter this beautiful waterfall is at its strongest flow. There is a safe viewing platform to observe the waterfall, but for the daring ones people do walk down underneath the waterfall at their own risk.
There are picnic facilities to enjoy after climbing the stairs to the top of the car park, and toilets to use if you crapped yourself from walking down to the waterfall ;)
Blow Hole (Free)
The Blowhole is a small circular tunnel cut through the side of the hill on Sailors Creek near Hepburn Springs, that blows out over the rock face when the river levels are high. With great walking tracks surrounding it and picnic areas, it is a great spot to explore.
Walking Tracks (Free)
There is an abundance of walking tracks to explore around the region and are well worth adventuring upon to immerse yourself in the breathtaking natural scenery.
Daylesford is one of those places that once you visit, its beauty jumps inside your soul and stays with you forever. If you are interested in soaking up as much of Daylesford as you can, check out our favourite accommodation in the area.
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Everything You Need to Know to Build the Perfect Backyard Pond
All About Ponds
Photo by Jerry Pavia
There’s something about water in motion that soothes the soul. Watching light play off the ripples or listening to the splash of a fountain—these are universally calming pastimes. It’s no surprise, then, that one of the most popular landscaping projects for This Old House readers is installing a pond.
Happily, you don’t need deep pockets or lots of land to enjoy your own water feature. You can install a fully equipped, landscaped, fish-filled pond for around $500, provided that you do your own digging. Creating a lush habitat like the one at right requires rubbery liners, powerful pumps, effective filters, and, without question, a commitment to care for them. But when you’re finished, whether it’s tucked into a corner of the yard or next to a deck or patio, your pond will provide an endless source of fascination for family and visitors alike.
You're reading: Everything You Need to Know to Build the Perfect Backyard Pond
Pictured: Built close to the house, this pond creates a refreshing, relaxing backdrop just out the back door. The rock waterfall makes a pleasing sound as it oxygenates the water. Plants soften the stone edges and provide cover for fish.
Anatomy of a Pond
Illustration by Rodica Prato
A clean, healthy pond requires a few key elements to keep water contained, fresh, and filtered.
Water agitator
Keeps water oxygenated. Fountains, waterfalls, and bubblers are all agitators.
Filter
Cleans the water coming from the pump.
Liner
Prevents water from leaking into the ground.
Underlayment
Protects the liner from punctures and stretching during installation.
Pump
Circulates water through the filter and up to the waterfall or fountain.
Covered GFCI outlet
Feeds power to the pump. Trips automatically to prevent lethal shocks.
Vitals
Photo by Kolin Smith
What’s it cost?
Home-center kits start at $70 for a simple 9-square-foot, 84-gallon pond. A more typical 176-square-footer installed by a pro starts at $5,000, while more grandiose versions can easily exceed $50,000.
DIY or hire a pro?
Ponds longer than 6 feet on a side and deeper than 18 inches require so much digging and other heavy work that they are best left to pros. Smaller ponds are good DIY projects, but let pros handle the plumbing and electrical work.
How long do they last?
It all depends on the liner. The best ones have a 20-year warranty and 30- to 40-year life span.
How much maintenance?
The electricity to run a pump for a typical 176-square-foot pond costs about $260 a year. Filters need frequent cleaning. A pond-maintenance firm starts at about $1,000 a year.
Type: Natural
Photo by Jerry Pavia
Meant to blend in like an integral part of the landscape, this kind of pond has free-form edges that don’t
follow a straight or predictable course, and incorporates stones and plants native to the area.
Type: Seminatural
Photo by David Massengill/Cornerhouse Stock
Taking cues from the existing hardscape around a home, this most popular pond type has free-form edges set next to a brick, concrete, or stone patio. The plants can be native or not.
Type: Formal
Photo by Tim Street-Porter
Defined by geometric shapes, this style of pond is often edged in expensive mortared stone or poured concrete. Perfect for a reflecting pool in a formal garden, it also makes a fine showcase for fish. Plantings are sparse or nonexistent.
Where to Put It?
Photo by Kolin Smith
The location of a pond determines its health and your ability to enjoy it.
How much sun?
Ideally, ponds should receive sunlight in the morning and shade in the afternoon. This keeps the water cooler, discouraging algae blooms.
Read more: Timber Garden Edging [Ideas, Tips and Pictures] – Garden Tabs
What about overhanging trees?
A tree’s afternoon shade is welcome, but a pond directly under a tree’s branches will quickly clog with leaves, seeds, or needles unless given constant maintenance. If a nearby tree is young, factor in its mature spread before settling on the pond’s location.
How far from the house?
Ponds that are out of sight tend to get neglected. And if they’re farther than 20 feet from your patio, you likely won’t hear the gurgling of a waterfall or fountain.
What do the codes say?
Ask your local building department about how far a pond has to be set back from property lines.
Where are the utility lines? Dial 811 to have their location marked. This is a free service.
Materials: Liner
Use these formulas to calculate how much material you’ll need (all dimensions in feet):
Liner length=pond length+(2 x depth)+2.
Liner width=pond width+(2 x depth) +2.
Multiply liner length by liner width to get total square footage.
Synthetic rubber
The best choice for most ponds, 45-mil-thick EPDM comes in sheets up to 50 by 200 feet. Durable, UV resistant, and flexible to -40 degrees F. Not to be confused with roofing EPDM, which has additives that kill fish.
About 67 cents per sq. ft.; GrayStone Creations
Plastic
Liners made of polyethylene (PE) and reinforced polypropylene (RPP) are thinner, lighter, and less expensive than EPDM but stiffer and harder to work with. Sizes up to 40,000 sq. ft. Like EPDM, they carry a 20-year warranty. Avoid PVC liners; they have a short life span when exposed to sunlight.
20-mil PE, about 30 cents per sq. ft., and 36-mil RPP, about 45 cents per sq. ft.; Pond Liner
Equipment: Pump
At minimum, the gallons per hour (GPH) rating should match the volume of your pond. A pump will need additional GPH to supply a waterfall or fountain, and enough “head” to push water to the top of that waterfall or fountain. Look for the unit with the lowest wattage; it will cost the least to run.
Direct drive
These heavy-duty units, which were the first pond pumps, are able to move lots of water. They also use the most power, and if their seals fail, they can spill oil.
GPH: 1,500–16,000.
Head: up to 52 feet.
Watts: 150–1,500.
Warranty: one to two years.
Cost: $200—$1,400. PondScapeOnline
Magnetic drive
Much cheaper to buy and operate than direct drives but without nearly as much oomph.
GPH: 65–3,000.
Head: up to 15 feet.
Watts: 25–350.
Warranty: six months to three years.
Cost: $45—$300. Danner Manufacturing, Inc.
Hybrid drive
Combines the power of a direct drive with the energy efficiency of a magnetic drive. Won’t spill oil.
GPH: 1,200—10,000.
Head: up to 25 feet.
Watts: 110—500.
Warranty: two years.
Cost: $185—$500. Atlantic Water Gardens
Equipment: Filter
One type keeps water free of debris so that the pump won’t clog. The other removes chemicals that harm fish. To sustain fish, you’ll need both types or a product that puts both in one package.
Mechanical
Traps debris before it reaches the pump. Clean weekly in spring and fall, every other week in summer, monthly in winter. A filter in a waterfall or a surface skimmer will be easier to reach than one on a pump at the bottom.
$60—$800. PondScapeOnline
Biological
A must for ponds with fish. Bacteria living on a porous medium digest toxic nitrites and ammonia. Wait six to eight weeks for them to become established, or buy a starter colony. No cleaning needed.
$140—$500.
Equipment: Water Agitators
A pond will become a stagnant, algae-filled eyesore if you don’t keep its water moving and aerated. Here are three ways to stir the pot:
Fountain
Water shooting up from the surface of the pond or flowing from a man-made ornament is visually compelling and nice to listen to. Available in a variety of sizes and shapes, each linked to a particular pump capacity.
Waterfall
To create the show you want, measure its width in inches at the point water spills out. Multiply by 50 if you want a trickle of water, by 100 for a sheet of water, and by 200 for Niagara Falls. The result is how many GPH your pump needs for the falls alone, not counting the pond.
Read more: Starting a new vegetable patch
Bubbler
An air pump, a separate device from a pond pump, produces bubbles that subtly ripple the pond’s surface.
DIY Kits
Most online retailers bundle the pond essentials. Or you can buy a prepackaged kit from a home center that includes a rigid plastic tub, flexible tubing, and a properly sized pump. These kits are small and manageable enough to install in a weekend, but they don’t include the biological filter you need for fish. Though you could add such a filter, they’re really intended to be low-maintenance water features for people who want the pleasant sound of trickling water near a deck or patio, not a full-fledged ecosystem.
Shown: Beckett 65-Gallon pond kit, About $150; The Home Depot
Prep for Installation Day
Photo by Kolin Smith
Do you want fish? If so, build your pond at least 24 inches deep. That depth keeps the pond from freezing in winter or overheating in summer. In extreme northern areas, the minimum depth should be 3 feet.
Will you need a fence? In some areas, local codes mandate that yards with ponds deeper than 18 inches be surrounded by a fence with a locking gate to keep out unsupervised children.
How will it be refilled? Ponds must be topped off periodically to replace water lost through evaporation or splashing. You can do the job manually with a garden hose or have an auto-fill valve connected to a buried water line. When using city water, protect your fish by adding a dechlorinator directly to the pond.
What about the leftover dirt? Digging even a small pond will create a large pile of soil. A hired installer should get rid of it for you, but if you dig your own hole, use the soil to raise the grade around the pond or to build a waterfall.
Where’s the power? A weatherproof GFCI outlet to power the pump should be located at least 10 feet from the pond. The electrical cable leading to that outlet needs to be buried at least 18 inches deep.
Pro advice
Rather than slope the sides of a pond right down to the bottom, make a shelf about 18 inches wide and 18 inches below the water’s surface all around the pond’s edge. This shelf serves as a platform for plants and a convenient step for anyone who falls in.
—Demi Fortuna, August Moon Designs, Stony Brook, N.Y.
Pond Plants: Cattail
Photo by Mark Harmel/Getty Images
(Typha latifolia)
Zones 3—10
Grows along pond edges, in moist soil or shallow water. Hollow stems carry oxygen to the root zone, and to fish, year-round. Perennial; spear-like foliage grows up to 10 feet tall.
Pond Plants: Lotus
Photo by Wildlife GMBH/Alamy
(Nelumbo sp.)
Zones 4—10
Planted in containers up to 2 feet deep, it blooms on a stalk high above the water’s surface. Perennial; leaves up to 20 inches in diameter sway on stems that grow up to 6 feet tall.
Pond Plants: Iris
Photo by Deni Brown/Getty Images
(Iris versicolor)
Zones 3—9
Plant in pots in 3 inches of water. Bears 5-inch-wide flowers in shades of blue or purple on 24-inch stems. Tolerates partial shade. Perennial; arching leaves grow up to 30 inches tall.
Pond Plants: Water Hyacinth
Photo by Hiroshi Tonoshiro/Getty Images
(Eichhornia crassipes)
Zones 9—11
A free-floating plant, it sends a 9-inch spike of lavender flowers up from a rosette of leathery, glossy green leaves. Perennial in Zones 911; often grown in colder climates as an annual.
Pond Fish: Goldfish
Photo by Robert Van Der Hilst/Getty Images
(Carassius auratus)
The ultimate in low-maintenance, goldfish can get by eating the plants, algae, and larvae they find. They’ll live about 10 years and often grow up to 12 inches long.
Pond Fish: Koi
Photo by Kaz Chiba/Getty Images
(Cyprinus carpio)
Koi often live for 40 years or more and grow up to 3 feet long, depending on the pond’s size. They must be fed regularly; you can even train them to eat from your hand. They’ll survive winters as far north as Maine.
Solutions to Common Pond Problems
Photo by Olson Photographic
Algae:
You can kill this green slime with chemicals or UV lights, but it will still come back. You’ll get better results by adding plants, barley straw, or biomat filters, and not overfeeding the fish.
Mosquitoes:
Keep the biters at bay by stocking larvae-eating fish, such as goldfish, mosquito fish, or bitterlings. Tossing in mosquito dunks with Bacillus thuringiensis (Bt) also kills the larvae without harming plants or animals.
Pests:
Deter raccoons with a straight drop of at least 18 inches from the pond’s edge. Nylon netting stretched over
the surface discourages fish-eating birds. Motion-activated sprinklers may scare off other interlopers.
Leaves:
In the summer, sift out debris before it reaches the pump with a skimmer (about $116; Aquatic Ponds). Come fall, scoop out the bigger batches of leaves and needles with a pond net (about $22; Amazon).
Ice:
Place an air bubbler (about $40; Pond Biz Pond Supplies) or a floating pond heater (about $47; Gold Crest Distributing) into the corner of the pond to keep a portion ice-free and maintain a proper balance of oxygen and carbon dioxide.
Source: https://livingcorner.com.au
Category: Garden
source https://livingcorner.com.au/everything-you-need-to-know-to-build-the-perfect-backyard-pond/
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Where To Find Minneapolis City Parking Near Popular Attractions
You cannot say ‘American Midwest’ without the ‘Twin Cities’ of Minneapolis and St. Paul coming to mind. Straddling the mighty Mississippi, both of them together make for one of the most bustling hubs in the Midwest region. ‘Mill City’ or Minneapolis is today a vibrant mix of culture, cuisine, and music. Having nurtured talents like rock icon Prince, folk and country legend Bob Dylan, and hip-hop star Lizzo, there’s a lot going on for Minneapolis!
Unfortunately, being a ‘happening’ place also comes with a catch -finding affordable Minneapolis parking spots is quite a hassle. Forget visitors; even residents have to settle with Minneapolis city parking spots several miles away from their destinations.
But fret not! There’s an easy way out – we’ve done the heavy lifting for you and compiled a list of famous attractions and where you can find cheap Minneapolis city parking near them.
Minneapolis Sculpture Garden
As far as urban sculpture gardens go, there’s no beating this one. At once a recreational space and a permanent art exhibition, the Minneapolis Sculpture Garden showcases how art is at the center of civic life in the city. The most famous of these installations is Spoonbridge and Cherry, a sculpture shaped like – you guessed it – a spoon forming a bridge across a pond, with a cherry on top! If you feel your aesthetic sensibilities tingling, you can also walk right over to the Walker Art Centre nearby.
Weisman Art Museum
Located on the University of Minnesota campus, the Weisman Art Museum looks unlike anything you’ve seen – it doesn’t have the Victorian or art deco façade commonly ascribed to other museums. Instead, its surface is made of steel sheets bent and curved into an abstract design. Conceptualized by renowned architect Frank Gehry, you could say that the museum is itself a work of art! Dedicated to the late art collector Frederick Weisman, the museum has exhibits on American Modernism, traditional Korean furniture, and ancient Mimbres pottery from the American Southwest.
You can park your vehicle nearby on South 4th and 5th streets and nearby Park Ave.
Guthrie Theatre
Theatre fanatics can have a gala time at this famed performance center. Founded by English theatre director Tyrone Guthrie, it is one of the beating hearts of the city’s flourishing theatre scene. Witness the best upcoming acting talents as they get cracking on entertaining plays, or even join an acting class if you want to learn the basics of stagecraft yourself.
Parking can be found on South 4th and 5th streets and nearby Park Ave.
Minnehaha Park
It would be a shame if you were in Minneapolis and did visit the Grand Rounds Scenic Byway system, a set of connected parks built around thirteen lakes. Minnehaha Park is one of the most scenic stops on the Grand Rounds - a walk through it will take you back to the 19th Century. It has well-maintained architectural attractions such as Minnehaha Depot (a train station built in 1875), Longfellow House, and John Harrington Stevens House (known as the ‘birthplace of Minneapolis’). Of course, the crown jewel is Minnehaha Falls, a 53-foot waterfall that is picture-perfect!
Parking can be found at spots with parking meters and designated parking zones near Minnehaha Park.
South 8th street, south 9th Street, and 2nd Ave South are where parking can be found to visit the garden.
U.S. Bank Stadium
What’s a city without a stadium to pack in the fans? Minneapolis boasts the sparkling U.S. Bank Stadium, home to the Minnesota Vikings NFL team and the pride of the city. As an enclosed, multi-facility stadium, it has hosted everything from NFL games to motocross events! When restrictions are lifted, fans can even go on guided tours backstage to visit off-limits levels like the team locker rooms, press levels, and premium suites. The stadium is also the first to receive a Bike Friendly Business certification.
Prince’s Purple Rain House
This is a must-see for fans of rock icon Prince, arguably Minneapolis’ most famous musical offspring. Though a small and unassuming house on the outside, it was one of the locations where the singer’s 1984 hit film Purple Rain was shot, serving as the main character’s home. The sentimental value and memories of the film are what draw fans to this plot. Die-hard fans will also be happy to know that just before he died in 2016, Prince bought the house, cementing its place in his legacy.
Before visiting the house, you can find parking on Bloomington Ave and Park Ave.
Mill City Museum
Minneapolis was known as the flour milling capital of the world during the 19th Century. The city has not forgotten its humble beginnings, preserving several iconic mills as part of the Mill City Museum Complex. Listed on the National Register of Historic Places, the museum has exhibits showcasing the milling and baking process that was integral to Minneapolis’s prosperity during its early days. Visitors also enjoy the Flour Tower, where a guided elevator tour will take you to different floors of an old flour mill.
Find parking on south 4th and 5th streets or nearby Park Ave before heading to Mill City Museum.
Nicollet Mall
If you feel like window-shopping or going on ‘retail therapy,’ Nicollet Mall will make you jump with joy. One of the first transit malls in the country, it serves as the commercial hub of downtown Minneapolis, with twelve pedestrian-friendly blocks lined with shops. Head on over to have a fine dining experience, get the latest gadgets, or even attend the famous ‘Holidazzle Parade’ in the winter!
Loft Literary Centre
Bibliophiles and literary nerds can make a beeline for the Loft, one of the country’s most prominent literary avenues. It has hosted several esteemed litterateurs over the years, like Beat Generation poet Allen Ginsberg, acclaimed slam poet Patricia Smith, and Booker Prize winners Margaret Atwood and Michael Ondaatje. Besides, you can even check yourself into the many writing workshops, enroll in a poetry-out-loud competition, or even banter with the many illustrious fellows and writers-in-residence if you’re in luck.
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Only a brief rain moving in soon, but it makes us thankful for what it does to move the crystal clear waters of #bankheadnationalforest through gorgeous springs, streams, branches waterfalls, and finally Sipsey Fork before finding its way to Smith Lake. We are so lucky to have such a magnificently beautiful area all around us to explore. 〰️〰️💦〰️〰️ “Sipsey Fork near ship rock and needles eye.” - 📷 @matt_matt75 〰️〰️💦〰️〰️ #sipseywilderness #williambankheadnationalforest #landofathousandwaterfalls #sipseyfork #clearwater #hiking #getoutdoors #smithlakearea #smithlakethingstodo #smithlakebackroads #alabama #alabamalakes #alabamalife #smithlakecommunity #smithlakesocial #lakeliving #lakeside #lewissmithlake #lifeonthelake #livinglakelife #livelifelakeside #visitsmithlake #smithlake #smithlakeal #smithlakepix #smithlakelife #smithlakemagazine #thelakesidelifemagazine #thelakesidelife (at Lewis Smith Lake) https://www.instagram.com/p/COQwPfmrmC_/?igshid=136upiiyvkc66
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Going to the Woods: A Look At Live Music in a COVID World
Laurel Cove.
Simply hearing a name so lovely elicits visions of grandeur; however, gazing your eyes upon this venue in person is more breathtaking than any figment of the imagination. Full of mystique and tucked deep in the lush woods of the Appalachian Mountains in Pine Mountain State Resort Park, Laurel Cove is an enchanted location perfect for a musical escape—and that’s exactly what Bell County Tourism director Jon Grace has made his mission throughout the latter part of 2020 amidst the COVID-19 pandemic. As a part of the “Laurel Cove Socially Distant Mini Series,” Jon has brought several fabulous acts to the stage in one of the most picturesque hollers in the state. Pineville, Kentucky is on the road to become one of the top music destinations in the area and for perfect reason: the dedication to not only the tunes and visitors’ enjoyment, but also exceptional attention to safety during a pandemic, has certainly put the area on the map for other establishments and venues to follow as a model in these uncertain times, as the music industry struggles to find its footing among capacity restrictions, lack of funding, and unfortunate shutdowns. When asked how the miniseries came to fruition, Jon remarked:
"We’ve been wanting to utilize Laurel Cove for a few years now and every time, have had bad luck strike. Last year with our first Laurel Cove Music Festival, we got rained out and had to move it inside. This year, COVID-19 prevented us from doing a full-scale festival. However, when we reviewed the Kentucky Safe at Home mandates for Events and Venues, we found that Laurel Cove could be a perfect spot for us to host some reduced capacity, socially distanced events. We created a detailed safety protocol plan that was approved by the Kentucky Parks Department and have been able to host a handful of shows over the late summer and fall. It's been extremely rewarding on a few fronts...first and foremost to see that people appreciate and have positive reviews of our safety plan and that they follow it so well. Our compliance has been absolutely amazing. Also, just being able to finally showcase this beautiful venue to everyone. Having events during a pandemic are WAY more detailed and more difficult to plan, but it was worth it and then some. We appreciate everyone who has come out this year.”
The first show in the sequence of events featured a jaw-dropping lineup comprised of Arlo McKinley, John R. Miller and the Engine Lights, and Dave Shoemaker, with an appearance by John Clay. It was the album release show for Arlo’s first record with Oh Boy Records, and it was the perfect evening of tunes and fellowship. Despite the forecasted rain, spirits were high and the excitement to be in the presence of live music again was permeable, oozing from attendees to performers in an almost emotional osmosis and filtering down to everyone involved behind the scenes. I made the trek from Alabama to be on location for the monumental occasion, and it was at this moment surrounded by friends and fellow music lovers engrossed in the magic of the forest that I became enamored with the area and its atmosphere. Show-opener Dave Shoemaker echoed my sentiments:
“It was an honor to be standing in front of a crowd again, let alone a sold-out crowd for Arlo’s album release of Die Midwestern. I felt really fortunate to have so many friends and family in attendance for such a big night, in what I believe is the most beautiful and natural venue in the state. Everyone was very respectful of the social distancing guidelines, and I think everyone in attendance had a wonderful night of music. Kudos to Brother Jon Grace and Jacob Roan for taking the chance and bringing live music to Southeast KY during these trying times.”
Rather than dancing on “Hardwood Floors” like many did pre-COVID, concert goers once again grooved outdoors to the sweet, lonesome sounds of Lost Dog Street Band, Matt Heckler, and Charles Wesley Godwin for the second concert in the miniseries set at Laurel Cove. When I believe its impossible for Jon to concoct yet another stellar lineup, he somehow blows my mind once again—and this show was no exception. Unfortunately, I was unable to attend this event; however, when attendee Stephanie Meg shared her thoughts with me I felt as if I had experienced the evening alongside her:
“Walking into Laurel Cove for the Charles Wesley Godwin, Matt Heckler and Lost Dog Street Band show was quite literally a breath of fresh air during all of the restrictions that have pummeled the music industry during the last 6 months. It was a beautiful, early fall evening, and I was surrounded by trees, mountains, and like minded music folk who were there for the same reason as I was, to fill our souls that had been deprived of the live music scene that truly gives us energy. The spaces were blocked off so that groups could sit together while being distanced from other groups. Masks were required when entering and while walking through the venue, but as soon as you were in your spot, they could be removed to enjoy the fresh mountain air. The acoustics were amplified through the wilderness while three of my favorite Appalachian artists took the stage, and I sang along and danced in my spot from the first note to the last. I couldn't have asked for a better experience (under the existing regulations), and I hope to return to soon!”
Following the phenomenal lineup of the second concert in the series was the inaugural event for Black Mountain Management, a Kentucky-based management agency featuring a roster of astronomical talent including DeeOhGee, Nicholas Jamerson, and Eric Bolander. Deemed “Going to the Woods,” the concert was a showcase full of adventure as a kickoff for their artists and new operation. Unfortunately, prior to showtime, Nicholas Jamerson became ill and was unable to perform; however, members of his backing band, the Morning Jays, are also members of the incredible group Brother Smith, and they happily stepped up to bring their easy-listening brand of tunes to echo throughout the forest. Unlike at the first show in the series, the rain did not hold off, though attendees danced in the downpour and sang their hearts out—the mountains were positively alive with the sound of music and reverberating with joy. When asked why Laurel Cove was chosen as the prime location for their first event, co-founder of Black Mountain Management Tiffany Finley said:
“Black Mountain Management’s mission is to highlight top-notch regional talent and hosting the launch event at an amazing (and possibly overlooked or undiscovered) KY venue seemed perfect. We felt like once folks discovered a place like Laurel Cove - they would fall in love. The same is true for the artists we represent.”
The final concert in the “Laurel Cove Socially Distant Mini Series” will surely rock the venue like never before, as The Steel Woods, 49 Winchester, and Dalton Mills take the stage on October 17th for an evening of some of the best southern rock and folk tunes Appalachia has ever heard. Hearts will be touched and faces will surely be melted with that level of talent all in the same place, and while I am deeply saddened to miss it—I vehemently urge readers to grab your tickets and experience those three sensational acts in one of the most lovely venues in all of America. It is surely an unforgettable experience and you will long for the chance to return. Eric Bolander summed up the mutual feelings shared by attendees, performers, and staff alike:
“Jon Grace's efforts are clearly driven by his deeply ingrained passion for genuine live music. This is only matched by his work ethic. Jon, and his amazing crew, did everything they could to make a safe socially distant event that made folks feel comfortable and safe. I'm honored and humbled to be able to call him, and many others in that region, friend! #blackcherrymafia”
After my time spent in the area and speaking with attendees and artists, it is quite clear to me that all are unanimous in their their appreciation of Jon Grace’s dedication to live music and their admiration of the venue’s allure. I personally have been rendered spellbound a time or two immersed in the aura, perched on a bench amongst the trees, gazing upon the reflections of the acts in the pond as they shared their gifts with those in their presence. Words simply cannot do it justice.
Recently, sitting by a waterfall in Alabama restless with a heart full of wanderlust, I penned the following lyrics:
“Like an uncut agate in an untamed stream
You were the jewel of the mountain in an Appalachian dream
More beautiful than all the hollers and the hills
Nothing could compare to the way you made me feel”
Perhaps rather than writing about a person, I was writing about my beloved Laurel Cove. Go visit her sometime—you’ll see what I mean.
Peace, love, & music,
Lyssa
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*This is an independent review. The Hillbilly Hippie Music Review was not compensated for this review.
*The opinions expressed are solely that of the author(s).
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