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zombriekid · 5 years

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Medium [Alucard/Gender Neutral Reader]

Series: Hellsing

Summary: “…could I request where the reader uses their medium powers on a mission and Alucard begins to believe them?” victory usually tastes so sweet but not at the expense of the innocent

warning: vague mentions of violence against children

Mediumship is nowhere near as glamorous as the entertainment industry loves to portray; it’s not all traipsing (see: trespassing) on ancient burial grounds and hurling invasive questions into the air in the hopes of something Otherworldly™ responding. You don’t often see apparitions- full body or otherwise- and it’s rare to hear much more than a single whisper, in fact the vast majority of the time your dealings with the dearly departed amounts to little more than just random surges or depletions of energy.

This is not to say that your spirituality is weak, it’s just that… that’s what “ghosts” are- energy left behind by the living like an imprint of history, and this energy can be influenced by events, past or present, and passionate emotions, negative or positive, thus rendering any argument that they exist a hollow shot in the dark. Because you can’t prove what you (often) can’t see, not to others, especially in this day and age of technology with photo/video manipulation. And the fact that mediumship has a bad rep due to prior exploiters and frauds.

But you purposefully leave that last bit out of the conversation cause even though He’s acting like He’s not interested, you know that Alucard is tuning in.

Not that you can blame Him though. What else is there to do?

From the moment your little menagerie of hunters stepped out of the Hellsing jet, absolutely nothing has happened. Nothing, zilch, nada. This might be ideal in other situations but you were promised a paycheck upon the eradication of a vampire who’s “more monster than man” and the subsequent purification of his/her hunting grounds, and goddammit you can’t let this mission stain your record! That and Mr. Tall Dark and Frightening is assigned as one of your partners.

Well… more like you’re the one that’s assigned but yadda yadda fine details and all that.

“So in other words…” Seras pauses with a drawn out vowel, “you feel ghosts rather than see or hear them?”

You shrug in response before catching your boot over a pile of broken glass. It’s inevitable that you’ll trek through some before the mission’s end- hell before the night’s over because of friggin course a bloodsucker sets up shop in an old, forgotten hospital- however the less shards you have to pluck out of the soles later the better.

“Depends. I hear Pip just fine, and on occasion he visually manifests himself for me, but that’s only cause of his connection with you. Uses your energy.”

This seems to satisfy the young vampire for she gives you a quiet hum in acknowledgment with nothing else to follow. Silence hangs over your small group as the three of you inch down the hall, briefly turning your attention into every passing doorway and you specifically avoiding stepping on to jagged scraps of splintered wood and dusty glass; these two might be immune to pathogens but that doesn’t mean you are.

“So you sensing energy… you mean that literally?” She asks.

“Yes ma’am.”

“Then riddle me this, revenant,” Alucard’s voice disrupts the conversation, chases away any semblance of peace and echoes into every dark corner of the walls around you. The fine hairs all up and down your skin suddenly stand to attention with the intrusive introduction of His baritone. It’s not as if you forgot that He’s there, or even that He’s eavesdropping, you just didn’t expect Him to vocalize His opinion. Should’ve known better, it’s friggin Alucard after all. “Do you ‘sense the energy’ of our target?”

That’s the thing.

You don’t.

You can pick up both of your companion’s energies easily- Alucard’s is oppressive and dark and just plain inhuman while Seras’s is warm and jovial, but scarred, reticent, as if she has a blanket of secrets weighing down her back until she aches. That’s the best way you can describe it at least.

But there’s no other energy nearby.

Now you’ll always be the first to admit that there are certain limitations to your spiritual sensitivity- for instance you wouldn’t be able to sense someone in the parking lot from this deep in the complex- and there are many factors outside of your control that contributes, with species acting as a major contender. After all, man eating monsters tend to amass a surplus of energy with every soul they devour, human or otherwise.

So why can’t you feel the target’s energy? Sir Integra herself described them as “a gluttonous, beastial affront against the Lord with a deplorable appetite for children”; loss of humanity, depraved morality, the murder of kids… merely one of these would be sufficient enough for you, let alone all three, so this should have ease akin to your breathing offending Alucard in some way.

Then why…?

“I’m callin’ it,” Seras huffs before her boots cease their trek, which (shockingly) causes your other vampiric squadmate to pause as well. No need to single yourself out, strength in numbers as the saying goes, so you do the same. “They’re not here.”

“I agree, but why not ask Hellsing’s residential medium? After all they’re supposed to be able to sense this thing’s energy.”

The walls quickly sprint by in your vision as you snap your attention to the right, and you channel every poisonous thought and cutting emotion into the glare you fix the back of His head with. Alucard feels the weight, you know He does, just as you don’t need to see it in order to know that there’s a self satisfied grin stretching across His face.

God, He’s such a petty bitch.

Then again so are you.

“Oh I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you could use the energy of your soul to sense someone else’s!” You spit out through a clenched jaw, but you’re not yet done. Now for the zinger. “Wait! That’s right. You can’t cause you don’t have o-”

Cold.

A plume of icy chill kisses your pebbling skin. Fine hairs rise. Your spine straightens. Instincts, or a sort of magnetic pull to your right. Not Alucard though. Further.

Over your shoulder.

A winding stairwell.

Energy. Young. Scared. On the same floor. Your floor. The first stair.

There’s a-

“Murray?” You hear someone ask but you quickly shush them.

Because there’s a ghost at the base of the stairwell in the little passage off to the group’s right; it’s not strong enough to create a perfect visual, or rather much of a visual at all, instead you’re graced with an opaque silhouette vaguely humanoid in shape. You can make out where the head and shoulders are supposed to be, though the legs dissipate below (presumably) the knees, and judging by the relatively small size you can almost safely assume that this spirit comes from a child.

An assumption that dries out the roof of your mouth, tightens the muscles in your throat until it hurts to swallow; child ghosts have always proven to be the most harrowing in terms of purification, if nothing else because of the implications of their demise. No one cherishes the idea of dead children, after all.

It’s in the nature of your job, unfortunately, and it’s time to get to work so first thing’s first: is this ghost related to the mission?

“Do either of y’all know any history about this place?” You ask in a voice that practically toes on screechy, and yes you’re aware that your drawl is a touch thick right now. “A children’s hospital, maybe?”

Seras stumbles over her words, likely a result from your behavior considering this is the first she’s bore witness to this side of your role, but she quickly regains her faculties with a throat-clearing cough.

“N-no, it’s umm.. was just a general hospital. Mostly used during one of the World Wars.”

Your kneecaps ache- cold, sharp, it bites at the crevices between your joints and it slinks down both shins until your toes start to feel chilly. A sort of rolling, hollow loftiness churns the pit of your stomach, and your head seems far too heavy to be sitting on such a stiff neck, and a dusting of salty tears sting the fleshy corners of your eyes. A scream tears at your jaw.

But you don’t panic, there’s no need to because this reaction is not yours. The pain in your legs, the woozy light headedness that’s sapping your energy, the involuntary urge to sob and shriek until the lining of your throat feels like sandpaper? None of this belongs to you. This is your body reacting to the stimuli from the child’s ghost.

Or as you like to call it: minor possession.

“Why do you ask..?”

A vampire with a preference for younger victims.

“Murray?”

The shade of a terrified kid, silhouette incomplete, and everything from your knees down plagued with an icy burn.

…there’s no denying it, what you’re currently staring at, subsequently what’s burrowing into your bones and siphoning your energy, is a casualty of this mission’s target.

You hear someone call your name, more specifically your first name, but with so much metaphorical cotton stuffed in your ears you can’t really determine who so you instead lift a pointer finger towards the spirit; perhaps crawling through mud would be easier. God you feel so weak.

Seras is the first to respond.

“Wha’ is it? I don’t see anything.”

Through your teeth you manage to bite out: “g-ghost.” And that is perhaps the worst thing you could’ve said or done because the shrill gasp that she unleashes is nothing short of jarring, and she bounces from one foot over to the next and back again as her red eyes widen and glimmer with what you could only call excitement.

“Where?! Where is it, where do you see it?!”

These questions gush out of her like a broken spout with many more to follow, but you can’t help but to tune them out cause this? What she’s doing right now? Yeah this is the exact reason why you prefer to tend to spirits by yourself; the fascination that borderlines fetishization that most carry with their individual worldviews often leads to disrespecting those who have long since passed. Hence your profession boggled down with money-grubbing charlatans, and entire programs dedicated to ghost hunting- ah, your apologies, you mean “paranormal investigating”. It’s distasteful, it’s tacky, and it’s downright insulting, and it etches itself deep into the lines between your brows and the downward tug of your frown.

This… must convey your message perfectly for the young vampire’s delight gradually bleeds into something more somber.

Maybe if you weren’t so tired you’d find it in yourself to let it go? “That’s one of our target’s victims, Victoria. Try to show some respect?”

At least she has the decency to look ashamed, unlike her master whom you can feel the glare He levels you with behind the orange tint of His glasses. Any other time and the weight of His ire would intimidate you, but you honestly don’t care right now.

The child’s spirit rises and bobs up the stairs, as if it’s simulating the act of walking, and with it goes the sensation of ice and pain and fear out of your joints. From beside you, on your right, you can barely make out Seras quietly saying “I think I see something.” It rounds the sharp bend in the stairwell before it continues its ascension until you can’t see- or sense- it anymore.

And then something dawns on you.

“I think he/she wants us to follow.”

Alucard scoffs from somewhere behind you. “Is it going to lead us to the target?”

A nod is all that you give Him. He in turn allows a single barking laugh to rip from His throat out of derision, judging by the sound in the way it’s meant to curl around your cheeks until they feel hot, however you’re rather confident in your assessment. In fact you’re very nearly absolutely certain that that is what’s going to happen: follow the ghost and you’ll find the target.

Which brings you to your final conclusion, one that Seras seems to be grasping at herself. “Wait. If this ghost genuinely is a victim, then it really shouldn’t… exist per say, yeah?”

“Yep. Man eating monsters, especially vampires, essentially absorb souls as a means to substitute what they’ve lost.” You glance at her in your peripheral. “Which means one of two things. Either my hunch is wrong and this spirit truly is an echo from the past, or…

“My hunch is right, the spirit is a casualty, and our target’s already dead.”

Silence picks up where your sentence ends; the nothingness of the quiet permeates through one ear and out the other, and it presses down on the bones of your shoulders until your spine shivers. There’s a tension in the air not unlike a rubber band being stretched from both ends, you can feel it in the cavity of ribcage, and though you could easily attribute the stress to the hospital’s atmosphere or the very real possibility of your estimate holding true, your instincts- built from some odd months worth of experience and adversity- place the blame on something else.

Or rather someone else.

Alucard.

Because His opinion of you, and of your work, is coated in an acidic venom, and He’s very open about this with every sharp word and barbed look that He deems worthy of His time. Yet He hasn’t said anything else, hasn’t done anything else since His last outburst of sarcasm, and it makes you hyper aware of Him. As if He’s going to attack at any moment, physically or otherwise. Does He disagree? Is He biding for time until the finale where He can deliver yet another calamitous blow to your already scarred ego? … Is He actually considering that you may be right about this?

Not possible. His pride is greater than His hatred for your existence.

And on this dismal thought, you decide to not dedicate any more energy in to solving the enigma that is Alucard and you take a few strides towards the stairs before you mumble out a “only one way to find out.” You don’t bother waiting for your companions.

Not twenty minutes later the three of you are provided with a definite answer to your theory.

But you don’t gloat, there’s not even a hint of desire to. Because, after all, no one cherishes the idea of dead children.

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a/u: had ta repost this bitch cause i done messed up a-aron, which in turn meant tumblr pissed in my coffee and not showed it in ANY tags sooo... presto here we are again! once more with feeling: thank you to the anon who requested this, and thank you to everyone who reads <3 if ya liked my scheisse then please tickle the heart, leave a comment, and reblog it so other peeps can enjoy it too -3-

#hellsing #hellsing alucard #hellsing alucard x reader #hellsing alucard x you #alucard x reader #alucard x you #alucard #seras victoria #hellsing ultimate #hellsing fanfiction #hellsing fanfic #writing #hunter murray #ya ghoul has to repost this cause tumblr ain't wantin ta show it

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shannonwantstohugyoutwo · 6 years

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Halloween Production Log

To start off, I drew rough sketches of the image I wanted to create. I used different colours for each character so I could easily determine who was which person. This is actually my second rough draw, as the first one was shapes and general placements of the characters so I could get the shape of them much easier.

I then started the line art for the characters. I drew the pumpkin head character first, as I feel as though he is the main focus of the image and I cannot draw the werewolf character without having the correct placement of his head.

I then drew the werewolf, making sure that the axe looked like it was going into the pumpkin man’s pumpkin. I am happy with how these two look so far.

I then drew the vampire character. Originally, I was going to do a simple straight bottomed cape, however decided to try and make it look like bat wings. I also made the fangs bigger as originally they were too small and couldn’t be seen from far away. I like how this character turned out too.

I drew the broom next, but left gaps for where the characters would go. I can always extend or erase the lines if I need to. I struggled with drawing the broom end and looked up some reference images. I am happy with how this turned out, even though it took a bit longer to draw because I needed to look for a reference.

I drew the cat before I drew the witch, so I could draw the back character in more detail. I overdrew the stripes on his arms and then erased the over drawn part, as this way they looked more uniform and natural. Because of the stripes, I didn’t want to add too much detail to the rest of his character or it would look too messy.

I when drawing the witch I changed the direction her eyes were going a couple of times, as I wanted her to be looking at the vampire girl but the positioning was awkward. I like how it turned out in the end though.

The pumpkins were relatively easy to draw considering I’ve drawn many pumpkins for other projects. I made them look like the typical pumpkins you usually see on Halloween.

I used a mid-toned orange for the pumpkins, and decided that the fake pumpkins that the characters are carrying would also be orange. I made the stems a bright green colour that I personally think stands out against the orange which I really like. I made the eyes and mouth of the pumpkin yellow so it looks like there is a light inside them.

I decided to make the pumpkin character pink as in the rough drawing I did his outline in pink. I feel as though it just suits the character, so I made all his clothes some shade of pink. I chose brown for the boots as I wanted to give the impression that they’re leather.

For the werewolf, I decided on making his hair and tail brown and made his jumper red. I like how bright the red looks with the dark hair and I am happy with this choice. I made his trousers grey, as I didn’t want to use a bright colour that would take away from the red jumper. I chose a dark brown, almost black, for the boots to make them look like dark leather.

I made the vampire main colours purple and black as on the rough sketch I made her purple. I made sure the colours weren’t the same as the pumpkin man’s colours as I didn’t want them to look too similar. I decided on making her boots brown too, as I feel as though purple boots would be too much of the same colour.

For the cat, I decided on making his colour theme orange. Although there is a lot of orange on the image already, I don’t think this really matters considering it’s a Halloween themed concept. I like how it looks and think the red and black tights and sleeves look good against the bright orange clothes. I chose a light brown or dirty blonde hair colour, as it seemed to fit best with the characters design. I also made his fangs bigger, as before they were too small.

For the witch, I made her colour theme green and black. I like how this turned out, and think that the colours suit a witch well. I chose blonde hair as I feel it goes well with the dark outfit. I also chose green eyes to match her clothes. I decided on changing some of the other characters clothes, this being the pumpkin man’s sleeves and trousers and the vampire’s trousers. I felt they were too pink and purple and I am much happier with how they look now. I also changed the size of the vampires arm, as it is too large in the original.

For the broom, choosing colours was easy as I wanted to portray the typical witch’s broom. The straw ends are typically yellow, or a dark yellow and the broom stick is usually a dark brown. I feel as though I chose the colours well, as it does look like a broom. This was one of the easiest pieces of the image as the colours are so simple.

For the background I originally wanted to draw coloured lines and then blend them, however I am not very familiar with the blending tool, and so I decided to use the gradient tool. I altered the placing a couple of times in order to get the gradient I wanted and I’m happy with how it turned out.

I then started working on the background, deciding to do it in layers. I drew the outline for some hills and then coloured it a dark red. I like how this contrasts with the different colours in the gradient, and really makes it stand out.

I drew the silhouette of trees and houses in front of the mountains layer to give a better feel of where the image is based. I like the effect this gives to the overall image.

I decided to add a darker layer in front of the previous one, to yet again give it more dimension. I’m really happy with the overall look of the background, and like how it makes the characters stand out.

I decided to add orange windows to the house at the back, as the background looked slightly too flat. I think this really finishes of the silhouettes well.

I decided to add stars to the sky, as it looked very plain. I think this does improve it, however there still seems to be a lot of space on the right and left of the image.

I decided to draw ghosts on the right and left, and a smaller one in the middle underneath the witch. I feel as though this really pulls the whole image together and I’m very happy with how it looks. I added a glow to the ghosts as an afterthought, to stop from making them too plain and to make them stand out slightly.

I then started with shading. At first I was going to do all the shading in a mid-grey and then change the opacity, however when I did this it didn’t look very good, so I decided to use darker shades of the base colours. I like how this looks and will continue to do this throughout the shading process.

For the pumpkins, I decided to use a burgundy colour, as this looked better than another shade of orange. I may change the opacity in the future as I think it looks too dark and harsh against the orange but if I do, the opacity change will only be by 25%.

I then did the shading for the pumpkin man. I used a darker grey for the trousers and a dark purple for the shirt. I also used a dark brown for the boots. This character was relatively easy to shade as I had already shaded his head when I was shading the pumpkins.

I then did the shading on the werewolf character. I did the shading as normal on the trousers, hair and face, but for the jumper I also added a thin line of shade where the seam of the jumper would have been. I also added a seam on the trousers, and decided that I was going to add a seam to the pumpkin man’s trousers too. I like how this looks and will use this in the future when I draw pieces. It adds extra detail and is very easy to do.

I then shaded the broom. I used a darker yellow for the end of the broom, and then used a light brown for the rest of the broom as the base colour was very dark already. I like how this looks and I’m happy with what this looks like.

I then shaded the cat boy. When I was shading, I used a dark brown for the suit and the leggings. I also coloured the hair, ears and tail with a dark brown. I then set this whole layer to 50% opacity as I felt like it was too dark. I also used a light grey to add highlights to the leggings instead of using a dark colour, as the stripes were already black. I also decided that the hat was too large and made it smaller. This was a small inconvenience and I’m happy with how it looks now.

I then shaded the witch, which was the same process as the others.

Overall I’m very happy with how this piece turned out. I like how I shaded each part and how I layered the background. I’m really happy with the gradient in the sky too. This is one of my favourite concept pieces so far as I usually struggle with shading and I feel as though I executed it well.

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tumblrwrites · 7 years

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Portraits of Silhouettes

Low-angle sunlight arrived tap dancing along trails of reflected shimmer, describing the chaotic topography of a seasonal creek. My alarmingly orange vest smelled vaguely of urine: this I knew to be true. However this objective certainty (derived from having witnessed Mach the doggy piss all over it a day prior) produced only the peripheral discomfort a funeral goer may experience at the fleeting awareness that they stand, mourning, at approximately their own height above many anonymous corpses, each its own putrid rainbow of decay: I smelled nothing. Responsibility for a recent arbor-theft* was boastfully taken, and received with no more than entirely non-disingenuous (by at least two of our three, as it were) chuckles and grins: Adam would only grin deviously when asked How?! and then mirthfully when asked Why?!, so Paul and I had learned not to ask. Dark planes hovered beneath beneath fluffy anvils of cumulus, conspiring placidly before a deep eastern horizon. Crows cawed, somewhere. All seemed in order. *(Paul’s general condition is based upon a particular sort of wildly unsubstantiated self-assuredness that’s equal-parts amusingly absurd and troublingly sincere, and he really just rides out human interaction from someplace very distant from the others involved, whereas Adam resides in a place murky and dim with congruously unsubstantiated self-doubt; yet, somewhat incongruously, he is the brother who steals trees.) “You think Native’s caught on yet?” I said. After a pause, “Not impossible…” began Adam, his spine arched convexly and elbows locked tense between shoulder and pocket: his posture’s profile impersonating either a sail operating on heavy tailwinds or a sideways grin; “…definitely plausible, considering.” We chuckled and grinned. Paul pointed emphatically at a patch of moss on a rock who’s shape he’d found to resemble that of said rock and was enthused: “Dude we could totally write a song about that dude. Adam could play drums so I could play ‘keys. We can’t find Adam’s bass amp so we’ve just been jammin’ Stevie tunes on drums and ‘keys. We got mad good at it so far, you know if there’s an open mic tonight?” “Nah I doubt it man. What happened to the amp though?” Paul’s answer was unironic: “What amp?” But his face really sold it, so I too fell perplexed and said nothing. “Caw,” announced a crow. “Nah yo, let’s at least run through the set with The Gends a couple times. At least you know… get like, the hits and shit… together. Work out the various like, particulars, before we play out.” I accepted Adam’s deflection regarding the unknown whereabouts of his borrowed equipment, as it aligned with my own position w/r/t an open mic.I reminisce upon these times and feel many things, complex melancholy their sum. Impetus to reconcile and return emerges and recedes like an ominous toothache; a floater’s ghostly presence within the eye itself.The bedrock was fairly close to ground level on Mount Signitt, so snowmelt endeavored downward toward both The Glen and Native Garden Solutions in puny radial trickles not long after a thaw began, and the thin smear of pebbly soil gave way to saturation. Paul grinning madly beside me, I’d cocked my head like a dog, looking lazy or intrigued, perhaps, being severely impaired-–dare I say transfixed–-at least in part by the chatter of several of these frantically dispersing creeks. The season prior, our own anecdotal observations of The Glen’s stream’s northwest bank had established that there’d been fewer tributary-trickles than there were radial-trickles, meaning the many seasonal creeks must have either converged at some collection of hillside points, or that some of the streams’ warbling flows had been inexplicably halted en route–-or–-as I’d later opine both aloud and to only myself in downward transit from the Signitts’ (“Mount Signitt”) on more than one occasion–that about their own paths of least resistance, the least fortunate of The Mount’s descendants had fallen stagnant, caught up by forces beyond–though not excluding–gravity and the their own momentum, in one of those shallow ruts that run alongside County Roads and unpaved driveways.A small thing scuttled somewhere, surely oblivious to the scuttle’s ramifications. “Yo yo, yo, Paul, keep that down a sec.” “Dude we’re good, me and Adam blaze here all the time.” “I definitely just heard footsteps just now. And did you hear that low like rumbling before? I think I heard a car, dude.” “Dude, trust me aright, nobody but us would come down here, man. And yo, besides, if they do they totally must burn dude, or at least are chill, otherwise who else would even come here?” “You hear it Adam?” “Probly nothin’.” “Yeah you’re probably right. We’d have heard something else by now, probably.” Adam stared stonily at the ambient space to my left, nodded slightly in a silent gesture of agreement, then stood still and considered the ground before him with great intent. There are at least two things to consider in the event that one categorically finds the voice of reason to be the voice they hear the least, I thought.A sudden fog. “A spruce this time, was it?” “Still is, last I checked.”The doob (“cannon”) hissed and shimmered beneath the cheekbones of Paul, who’s entire upper-spinal region would periodically find itself canted forward, in the manner of a wilting houseplant, by the weight of I guess his head. Dark nights and crackling white cones accentuated his face’s bony contours with a dull orange glow; today’s immaculate Fall-turning-Winter sunlight does the face no such favors. Another sudden fog; an exhalation’s whisper from the north-northeast. Paul Signitt, as observed by Aaron D. Gendler, ~2:30 PM EST, 12/03/2012, appeared to resemble a street-fair caricature of himself in terms of both physique and conversational demeanor: you could’ve almost pictured his head line-drawn on taut canvas, its shape so exaggerated as to resemble that of a stretched eggshell and its bucktoothed smile ghoulishly distended, portraying a manner of enthusiasm equidistant from that of Newman’s Own’s Paul Newman, Kool-Aid’s (The) Kool-Aid Man, and your any-given spree-killer: an extravagant face drawn in eccentric curves of opaque ink, two-dimensional and inanimate. “Yo Gends so I’ve been learning mad Petty songs lately and dude, he is a fuckin’ genius at lyrics man, like, his music just isn’t fake like all the stuff that’s out there now that’s just bullshit dude…” I briefly considered how a moment’s image of my own face’s fraudulent good-cheer could have resembled the climax of a viscerally compelling advertisement for High-Strength aspirin, whilst it nodded reflexively with the spastic vigor of a paddle-ball on a very short string like an aggressive parody of common politeness. Paul’s left hand met Adam’s right, then both hands receded, and I nodded. Paul continued, “…but yo, they’ll never be able to really know that again because he won’t even be there to tell them how, dude, like, nobody will ever be as good as Tom Petty again, man, they can’t be.” Seemed I’d missed something: “Yeah dude, I hear tha–” Paul continued: “Like, yo, I mean we’ll never really know what happened with the Egyptians,–” “Extraterrestrial Assistance, perhaps,” Adam interjected, looming at a cedar’s attention behind his own dissipating cloud. Paul said “Exactly dude its impossible! And I mean like Taylor Swift and Fergie and all them, they’ll never even know what real music is, cause we’ll never know who made the Pyramids.”An interval occurred. Its onset was abrupt and unpleasant, and seemed to span it’s duration entirely. Not unlike that bounded by a fall and it’s landing, the interval between Paul’s speech’s halt and its echoes’ total evacuation from the given airspace. The exchange’s backdrop of vacuous silence bloomed blackly as a sudden sinkhole, and certain norms demanded it be plugged by somebody or other. Who this was, however, was always unclear: Paul, in conversation, offered none of the linguistic or even subconscious body-language-type cues one looks for to distinguish a true invitation to reply from a brief rhetorical pause, thus I was guided less by intuitive reasoning than a sort of Fight-or-Flight-or-Don’t instinct in determining if and how I should fashion my response toward (‘in the direction of’) him. A hair’s-width of time passed, and no crows cawed. Gears began to whir. Adam inhaled–-that’s Two: another factor to consider: In no more than fifteen seconds… the Doob, it’s milky veil–-crackling light damn it, for this dark ground urgently approaching… each all my own; and Twice, no less. “Hhhhahhuhaahh…” breathed Adam, no more than nine seconds later, then: “Yo, Gends… ’s yours.”Branches nodded and leaves quivered, sparse and autumnally brown; roots held their ground, as roots do; trunks’ curvatures varied complexly from tree to tree at the wind’s behest as my eager right hand began the southeastward ascent toward its rendezvous with Adam’s hovering left-. “-or-Don’t it is, I guess…” I shrugged internally, wearing the same clever smirk I would’ve had I said the words aloud. Nobody appears to smell the day-old piss, or at least no one comments. I produced an ‘O.K.’ signal with my right thumb and -forefinger, raised my head to a cannon’s angle, and kissed my fingertips; my eye’s own middle-distance angled toward the clouds’ wafted edge, but concerned only with the space between, and the distance vanishing upon its ends.

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