#Cadence corne
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Something kinda small I really like about side order is the amount of scene-specific dialogue voice clips there is. This is absolutely corn plate level stuff but this is my tumblr so I’ll yap about tiny things like this as I please
In octo expansion, outside of a small handful of scenes, majority of the talking sounds are just the same as they are on the news, slightly changing with expression depending on what’s being said as they normally do. If you go and replay/rewatch parts of octo expansion Pearl and Marina’s dialogue gibberish won’t always sound the exact same in the same places as it’s just grabbing randomly from their voice strings with slight variation depending on expression.
There’s a bit more of these scene-specific voice clips in return of the mammalians, though similar to octo expansion they’re still pretty limited to one-time intro or ending type stuff such as Frye’s shouts when deep cut appears in early and late alterna. Side order however’s got a buuunch of these, still mainly in cutscenes but not as limited to just high-action parts of scenes. Majority of the cutscenes in side order will sound the same every time when it comes to the characters talking in them.
(I would’ve put this scene in video here as an example but there’s another video below and tumblr doesn’t like more than one video on posts 💔)
I really like that they did this cause the characters’ voices sound a lot more appropriately expressive for the situations they’re in. Even though they’re saying “sbdbjwsnsbjd” you can still clearly pinpoint a tone of voice, and sometimes the clips will even kinda match with the cadence of the phrase being said/dialogue speed which I think is Pretty Neat
(There’s way more examples of this but again tumblr hates multiple videos)
Also double appreciation here shoutout to every Pearl drone animation ever but this is a post abt voice clips so I’ll relate these things to each other. The scene when Eight and Pearl first find Marina agitando I really like cause along with the scene-specific worried Pearl voice clips they do a great job conveying her distress in her animations even though she’s literally just a sphere with eyebrows and wings
Anyways I don’t know why I wrote this long of a post on the expressiveness of “wsjdncgsgsh” talking sounds but nobody stopped me soooo enjoy the ramblings of someone who likes this game a normal amount
#I could be drawing but here I am talking about the way the fish people sound#there were like 5 video examples I wanted to include but noooooo#i love splatoon !!!!!!!#i’m normal#splatoon#splatoon 3#side order
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Smiling Daycare AU
OKAY SMILING DAYCARE AU DETES SO YOU THE PEOPLE CAN ALSO USE IT!!! Idc what ages y’all make them but I’m making them around the same ish age for now because I am uncreative and the fandom wiki doesn’t wanna give me their ages and my internet is being dumb so I hope this posts. So they all work in a daycare and it’s fluffy and full of shenanigans. Personally I’m probably gonna write about them teaching but going off to their passions. Yes other poppy playtime characters are in this au like baby long legs and poppy going to the daycare, kissy and huggy adopting poppy, and others. I really just want the smiling critters to be happy. Yes Ik bubba isn’t drawn yet I’m sorry
More about the au under the cut!
Do not steal my art and please credit me if you use my au (or feel free to tell me about other aus like this one!!) I also do not like mob entertainment as an entity i just like the story of poppy playtime and the actual game.
So Doug has a cane bc of the game and I really wanted them to be diverse and show off a bunch of stuff people should love about themselves. I am open and willing to hear ideas to make it better but also also LET HIM LET THE KIDS PUT STICKERS ON HIS CANE!! Of course where he says they can.
Dogday = Doug Day
Catnap = Caton Nap
Craftycorn = Cadence Corne
Pickypiggy = Peggy Picky
Kickinchicken = Kevin Kickin
BobbyBearhug = Bobby Bears
Hoppyhopscotch= Hoppy skotch
Bubbabubaphant = Berry Bluphant
Caton and Doug are both assistants then actual teachers (idk what a daycare worker is called so) because they’re the youngest two. Crafty teaches the 6 year olds, and loves it. Bobby takes care of the infants, and Hoppy is just as energetic as her band of 2-3 year olds. The 4 year olds are taken care of by Peggy, who lets them have any snack they want. Kevin usually wears a partial track suit but my little sister wants him to be a cop lmao idk where to put him XD. Berry is so smart I think he’d be the oldest and he is the principal? Idk what to call who’s in charge also I’m sorry.
For now the ages are
Caton: 20
Doug: 21
Kevin: 24
Hoppy: 24
(No kev and hops arent twins just the same year b days)
Cadence: 25
Bobby: 26
Peggy: 27
Berry: 30
THERES MORE TO COME I JUST HAVENT MADE MORE YET!!!
#my art#my post#my artz#my art stuff#my artwork#fanart#gay#dogday#picky piggy#bobby bearhug#hoppy hopscotch#poppys playtime#poppy playtime#catnap#sleepyday#human au#Smiling Daycare Au#my au#Peggy picky#Doug day#Caton Nap#Hoppy scotch#Berry bluphant#Bobby Bears#Kevin kickin#Cadence corne#catnap x dogday#dogday x catnap#au made for ships#kicken chicken
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bigger and better things
an exploration of the bad kids as children and what it means to be destined for greatness
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ii. kristen applebees
kristen applebees is born ordinary, a healthy child with a rosy glow about her.
they name her with the hope that she will be devout, that she will walk in the light of sol through helio's cornfields.
pastor amelia anoints kristen's forehead with blessed corn syrup as she chants blessings for kristen's life and afterlife in soft cadence and waits for the word of helio. she watches as a soft glow shines from kristen, innocent and peaceful as the congregation rejoices, knowing helio has chosen this child.
"this child is meant for great things. she will bask in the light and is destined to join helio in the great fields of heaven. she will be a shepherd to the flock of believers, a force of goodness and godliness."
(she is shepherd to a flock of one, renewing her devotion through doubt and an understanding of the mysteries of the universe)
when she is young there is no doubt that she is the chosen of helio; she reads her holy book every day, reverent and pious. she prays for the good of her family, for her younger brothers, for her friends from church camp, that they all might be safe and protected in helio's loving arms.
kristen looks up to pastor amelia, listening to sermons with an open mind and heart, singing hymns with every ounce of her being. she attends the harvest festival, bright and loving, even as others fall to temptation beside her, and face the punishment of their teachers. she inspires with her recitation of the holy word.
she learns the meaning of the archaic elvish from each psalm she reads and feels a sliver of doubt enter her heart.
if kristen is chosen for the great cornfields above, why then are not all believers? there are many stories of sol's wrath against sinners--is it fair that they cannot repent in the light of helio's mercy?
what defines those others as sinners? what condemns those who worship other gods to an eternity of pain and suffering? if one can do good all their life and yet still be punished for a single moment of temptation, but others are simply promised a place beside helio, what makes them different?
she listens to her mother and father speak words of hatred against nonhumans, against nonbelievers, and thinks, are we not all meant to do as what has been done unto us? to love one another and share in bountiful harvest? to seek the growth of the flock in every moment?
if helio ascended for the sake of humanity, why guard his blessings so closely? why not cherish every being who steps forth into his light?
she speaks to him in daily prayers, wishing and pleading for answers.
she receives a feeling of warmth, a confirmation of divine presence but little else.
(there will come a day when kristen speaks to deities as an equal, each seeking her worship and counsel in a moment between death and resurrection)
#dimension 20#dimension 20 spoilers#fantasy high#the bad kids#kristen applebees#saint kristen applebees#bigger and better things#d20 helio
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"Liaisons" is such a good, funky episode.
Not only do you have Data absolutely obliterating Worf with his small talk in the first five minutes,
the A plot is about these two rascally alien ambassadors in their uncomfortably revealing one piece leotards trying to explore things like "pleasure" and "antagonism" because they are as bland as their clothing suggests (also, this has haunted me since I was a child, the tall skinny dude has like... the weirdest bendy legs)
and it's all cutesy, "haha worf is getting antagonized and that guy likes chocolates!" the whole time
but the entire B plot is Picard getting kidnapped, gaslighted, fake injured, and manipulated by this lady of the corn in ways that would make Stephen King proud.
She puts this little thingy on him to make him think his ribs are broken and and it zaps him if he tries to take it off and she won't let him leave her crashed spaceship hovel. Suspicious, suspicious.
And she keeps screwing up all their chances of communication, which Picard finds very vexing
but he looks fine as hell with his 5 o'clock shadow the whole time. Vexed and rugged, a good look.
And in the end, it's revealed that Corn Lady is yet ANOTHER ALIEN AMBASSADOR, the shuttle pilot who used a thingy to disguise himself. He reveals that he was assigned to learn about "love".
And Picard is like "What you've done would be considered a crime."
And this little dude is like "What is... crime?" in his little alien cadence and you can see in Picard's eyes that he would like to demonstrate, specifically the crime of murder.
And, as a bonus, the Blu-ray remasters reveal that Picard's continuity scruff in this final scene is FAKE. Take that old 90's cameras, you thought we'd never notice.
Amazing. What a ride.
I put this episode in the category of "zero thoughts, only silly plots" and that is one of my favorite categories of Star Trek episodes.
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Cadence Castle (she/her) for @squea !!
i dont have the greatest screenshots because im lazy and have yet to check out this new relight thing so... but erm. yeah!!
i already went in and cheated her skills and career :)
her traits are: childish, geek, and freegan
i like her lots i think she's prety <3 i would love to see her be a potential love interest for Corn and probably get her heart broken
i think she has an obsession with vampires *cough* twilight fan *cough* and loves stupid romance novels
CC and download under the cut since i don't want this to be massive!
hair 1 2 / glasses / lip piercing (no heart) / top / skirt / legwarmers / shoes / dress
body preset / body blush / cleavage overlay / tattoo / belly overlay (v2) / nose overlay /
sliders - nose / boobs / butt / legs / hips 1 2 / eyebrow / mouth / shoulder
skin details - mouth corners / hand overlay / lip & eye mask / cheek and chin mask / skinblend / lashes (fine color) / eyebrows (#76)
thank you so much to the cc creators and thank u squea for allowing corn-lovers to send it sims to be subjected to his antics ♥
download Cadence HERE (mediafire)
lmk if anything's wrong/missing from the download and have fun letting her run around corn's world!!!!
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"Big as the god of these hills! Sharp as the winter's coldest wind, and with a laugh that could same-wise cleave your heart into six pieces!"
I proclaim, loudly, raising my convenience shop slushy icy drink as a wand, a conductor, in frantic telling of my barest escape!
"Katrina van Tassel! Witch of woods 'round the Hollow! Arisen! A vampire! She's returned! She is seeking!"
"What, what is she seeking?!" asks the cashier with the participatory cadence of a fellow no-talent, much-practiced, no-stage thespian.
"Snacks! Tonight she hungers! For bits of corn to celebrate the death of summer and the rise of autumn! A harvest of delicious curiosities!"
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Snippet *Sunday
Or, well. Technically snippet Monday now. Tagged by @bleumanouche, thank you Bleu!
No pressure tags: @druidgroves @hotwifeluigi @bigfan-fanfic
Grabbed this snippet from a scene in which Wes and Avery are 19 & 18 and in the aftermath of a falling out with each other. Both of them cope with their emotions poorly at this age. Avery does it more violently. Wes is the patron saint of repression. I have a lot of fun writing scenes while these two are younger because it really shows how much they've grown by the time they're 30.
And as always Wes belongs to @hotwifeluigi
And so Avery gets himself a shot. And another, and another, and another.
The more Avery drinks the louder he gets, the louder he gets the more other bar patrons want to drink with him. It’s all jovial celebration but it’s a thinly veiled vicious cycle, smiles and laughter encourage poisoning the well. A cheap excuse to justify the means of self-medication, still, to everyone but Avery he’s having a lovely night. And who could blame them? It’s New Years, ain’t no threat in having a good time.
The momentum carries up to a finite point; Avery exists in a state of perpetually teetering over a ledge. All it takes is one nudge and he’ll tumble, push finds its shove when a man built like a bull decides faggot is a good way to describe the way Avery talks.
One black eye, a busted lip and two sets of bloodied knuckles later, Avery finds himself on the curb outside. His saving grace was the firm belief that fighting dirty is fair game if an opponent really deserves it, dropping slurs in a bar meets that qualifier. They both got kicked out of the bar when it really came down to it, but Avery’s content with knowing that motherfucker took a boot heel to the balls.
Avery spits to his side, saliva marbled with blood colors a small spot in the dirt. He grunts, sighs from behind his teeth and lifts a cigarette to his lips. The orange glow briefly fills the dark night air, Avery perks up when he hears the door open behind him.
“What the hell were you thinkin’ pullin’ a stunt like that?” Even while drunker than a cow on a diet of fermented corn he’d recognize Wes’s voice. Oh, so now he can tolerate being near Avery.
“Dude had it comin’,” Avery says with all the nonchalance in the world.
Wes stands over him with his hands on his hips. Avery tilts his head up and back to stare at him, he can’t help but smirk a little when he gets a good look at that pursed-lip, low-browed expression. He carries a similar cadence to a horse with his ears all pinned back. Careful, he might kick.
“How d’you figure he had it comin’? I watched the whole damn thing from the other side’a the bar, far as I know he mighta just looked atcha wrong and you took a swing,” Wes uses one hand to make frustrated, vague gestures as he talks, “Which, if I’m bein’ quite honest, Mr. Moreno, I wouldn’t put such a thing past you.”
Avery takes another slow inhale off his cigarette. Flicks the ashes into the dirt, mixing with his spit like gold flakes in resin. “Call me a faggot, get your teeth busted out. It’s as simple as that.”
“Oh,” Wes breathes as his expression cools to something a grade calmer. He stands there statuesque for a short spell, evidently unsure just what to say. He clears his throat and adds, “I guess it’s for the best then that you uh, you stood up for yourself.”
Standing over Avery while he’s sat there on the curb, Avery decides he should invite Wes to do anything other than loom. “Want a smoke?” He says as he pulls one from the pack he has in his coat pocket.
“No, that’s a’right,” Wes declines and Avery isn’t sure if the feeling cropping up in his chest immolates or if it’s so cold that it burns, somewhere in the back of his head he’d hoped Wes would sit with him out here. “I had somebody waitin’ for me back inside. Just wanted to see what’d happened with you.”
Avery finds that he has nothing to say, silence lingers between them until Wes opens his mouth again.
“You plan on comin’ back in anytime?” Wes asks.
“Nope,” Avery responds simply, cigarette held up to his mouth.
“A’right. You make it back to the room safe then, okay?” Wes’s voice sounds so strained that Avery could almost mistake his tone for guilt. He makes it a few feet closer to the door before he pauses— again— hesitating seems to be a skill he’s gotten good at. “Want me to walk back with you?”
“Nope,” he lies through his teeth.
#ive been going through editing and came across this scene again yesterday#ah... 19 year olds and their poor emotional regulation skills...#avery#wesley
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⛽️🐀🔔🦅
answered⛽️ here, 🐀 here, 🔔 here ! but i will do another rat bc. we love to giggle here
🐀 What is the funniest thing you’ve ever heard a hockey player say?
honorable mentions to the classics (go dye your hair, everything segs says, etc) and the non specific (anything harls says with that weird ass cadence of his). but i really do love robo's "when he goes down on me I wanna score more". what was that even.
🦅 For Americans & Non-Americans alike, what’s the most *American* thing you’ve ever done?
i am american but was not raised super patriotic so like? is eating 2 corn dogs that were over a foot long and almost throwing up going on the zipper ride afterwards at a fair super american. that feels american
#new age american: helped my dad pass his citizenship test like 5yrs ago. raaaa eagle emoji rahhh#ask game
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Get to know your blogger
Thank you for tagging me @esolean <3
Share your wallpaper: I'm only using my phone at the moment where I got this mystical forest
Last song you listened to: The Masterplan - Oasis
Currently reading: The Cadence of Part time Poets 💜
Last movie: Austenland
Last show: South Park, Bridgerton
Craving: cookie dough ice cream
What are you wearing right now: a wild combination - pyjama top with teddy bears all over it + culottes + cardigan
How tall are you: 5'5 (165cm)
Piercings: ears, nose, bellybutton, nipple (got this one yesterday hehe)
Tattoos: in order I got them - the golden snitch (rips), 3 triangles (sibling tattoo, left wrist), lion (right thigh), flowers (left thigh), a woman reading with a cat on her lap (right forearm), sunflower (right arm, over elbow)
Glases? Contacts? Glasses all day everyday because I'm blind af
Last drink: white wine
Last thing you ate: corn 🌽
Favorite color: pink + purple
Current obsession: hogwarts legacy
Any pets: 2 cats!!! Say hi to Kasimir and Wanda :)
Favorite fictional character: ufff that's hard. Remus Lupin + Sirius Black are top on the list but I also lovelovelove Ian O'Shea (The Host by Stephenie Meyer) and Bryce Quinlan
The last place you travelled: Egypt
Tagging: @shiinzhon @zyuyea @holisticpearliegeek @ceridwenannywl @extracrunchymilk @ominisgauntlet (and everybody who wants to do it or not haha)
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i know that for most snakes, larger, infrequent meals are healthiest, but for snakes with kinked spines, are smaller, more frequent meals a better idea? i think my kinky little noodle might be having some trouble passing waste after i recently bumped him up to the next size of feeder, so i'm thinking of dropping him back down to the smaller size for a while but feeding more frequently than i have been
Hey friend!
I might advise having a vet check your little buddy if you think they're having trouble passing waste and you can also ask the vet about an appropriate feeding and supplement cadence to ensure healthy growth.
In general, I'd say that smaller meals more often (5-7 days for a juvenile, 7-10 days for an adult) or multiple smaller prey rather than one large prey item per meal are probably preferable for kinked or otherwise disabled snakes, but it's worth considering that smaller prey tend to be lower in calcium and higher in fat. Pinky mice, for example, are mostly cartilage with not a lot of bone. If you're going to drop down a prey size, it might be a good idea to add a calcium supplement to offset the lower nutritive content.
Other good options might be a product like Reptilinks that are whole prey ground up and sausaged into a smaller size. Just be careful with the brand you choose (if not Reptilinks proper) and make sure it's actually the entire prey, not just select cuts, that the meat is being ethically sourced, and I don't recommend 100% quail for corn snakes as they're very high in fat. They're great for an occasional treat but quail is way too rich for a dietary staple.
I hope that your vet is able to give you some peace of mind and more individualized guidance to keep your kinked pal healthy for their entire long, happy life!
#snake#snakes#reptile#reptiles#reptiblr#corn snake#corn snakes#answers to questions#text post#snake keeping#snake husbandry#snake care#snake feeding#special needs snake#long post
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MLP inspired Neopronouns (under the cut)
General
Pony/Ponys/Ponyself, Lil/Lil/Lilself, Cutie/Cuties/Cutieself, Mark/Marks/Markself, Cutie/Mark/Talentself, Tal/Tale/Talentself, Magi/Magic/Magicself, Frie/Friend/Friendself, Hope/Hopes/Hopeself, Pega/Pegasus/Pegasusself, Uni/Corn/Unicornself, Ali/Corn/Alicornself, Sing/Sings/Singself
Mane 6
Rain/Bow/Dashself, Speed/Speeds/Speedself, Rain/Boom/Boomself, Awe/Awesome/Awesomeself, Gui/Tar/Guitarself, Race/Races/Raceself, Bolt/Bolts/Boltself, Loy/Loya/Loyalself
Twi/Light/Twiself, Book/Books/Bookself, Letter/Letters/Letterself, Scroll/Scrolls/Scrollself, Les/Lesson/Lessonself, Lib/Library/Libraryself, Kno/Knowl/Knowlegeself, Nerd/Nerds/Nerdself, Star/Stars/Starself
Pink/Pinkie/Pinkself, Party/Partys/Partyself, Ca/Cann/Cannonself, Woo/Woos/Wooself, Fun/Funs/Funself (Enby people only iirc), Lau/Laugh/Laughself, !!/!!s/!!self, Bal/Ballo/Balloonself, Cup/Cake/Cupcakeself, Cake/Cakes/Cakeself, Swe/Sweet/Sweetself, Bake/Bakes/Bakeself, Bir/Birh/Birthdayself, Cel/Cele/Celebrateself, Joy/Joys/Joyself, Smi/Smile/Smileself
Flu/Flutter/Flutterself, Flut/Flutter/Flutterself, Shy/Shys/Shyself, Ani/Animal/Animalself, Bun/Buns/Bunself, Tree/Trees/Treeself, Squee/Squees/Squeeself, Hide/Hides/Hideself, Cot/Cottage/Cottageself, Kind/Kinds/Kindnesself
Apple/Apples/Appleself, Jack/Jacks/Jackself, Apple/Jack/Applejackself, Cider/Ciders/Ciderself, Buck/Bucks/Buckself, Orch/Orchird/Orchirdself, Acre/Acres/Acreself, Fam/Fami/Familyself, Hon/Hones/Honestself, Yee/Haw/Yeehawself, Hat/Hats/Hatself, Mud/Muds/Mudself
Rar/Rari/Rarityself, Gem/Gems/Gemself, Dia/Mond/Diamondself, Crys/Crystal/Crystalself, Fas/Fash/Fashionself, Dres/Dress/Dresself, Gene/Gener/Generosityself, Darl/Darling/Darlingself, Ice/Cream/Icecreamself, Del/Delic/Delicateself, Lady/Ladys/Ladyself
Other Ponies
Celes/Celestia/Celestiaself, Cel/Celes/Celestself, Sun/Suns/Sunself, Sun/Rise/Sunriseself, Sun/Set/Sunsetself, Prin/Princess/Princesself, Rule/Ruler/Rulerself, Teach/Teaches/Teacherself, Pheo/Pheonix/Pheonixself
Luna/Luna/Lunaself, Lun/Luna/Lunaself, Moon/Moons/Moonself, Star/Stars/Starself, Dark/Darks/Darkself, Night/Nights/Nightself, Dream/Dreams/Dreamself, Noct/Noctur/Nocturnal, Dusk/Dusks/Duskself, Space/Space/Spaceself, Lula/Lullaby/Lullabyself
Cade/Cadence/Cadenceself, Hope/Hopes/Hopeself, Lov/Loves/Loveself, Crys/Crystal/Crystalself, Pink/Pinks/Pinkself, Aria/Arias/Ariaself
Chrys/Chrysalis/Chrysaliself, Bug/Bugs/Bugself, Wing/Wings/Wingself, Fake/Fakes/Fakeself, Impos/Imposter/Imposterself, Dis/Guise/Disguiseself, Change/Changeling/Changelingself
Ditz/Ditzy/Hooveself, Muffin/Muffins/Muffinself, Bub/Bubs/Bubbleself, Bubble/Bubbles/Bubbleself, Pop/Pops/Popself, Deliv/Deliver/Deliverself, Mail/Mails/Mailself
Star/Light/Glimmerself, Equa/Equal/Equalself, Town/Towns/Townself, Staff/Staffs/Staffself
Places
Cloud/Clouds/Coudself, Clouds/Dale/Cloudsdaleself, Rain/Rains/Rainself, Rain/Bows/Rainbowself, Wonder/Bolts/Wonderboltself, Fac/Factory/Factoryself
Canter/Canterlot/Canterlotself, Royal/Royals/Royalself, Class/Classes/Clasself
Equestria Girls
Sun/Set/Shimmerself, Sunset/Shimmer/Shimemrself, Ref/Reform/Reformself, Bac/Bacon/Baconself (sorry), Red/Reds/Redself, Blaze/Blazes/Blazeself, Hope/Hopes/Hopeself, Punk/Punks/Punkself, Change/Changes/Changeself, Trus/Trust/Trustself
Wonder/Colt/Wondercoltself, Wonder/Colt/Highself
Rainbow Rocks
Battle/Battles/Battleself, Band/Bands/Bandself, Music/Musics/Musicself, Muse/Muses/Museself, Rock/Rocks/Rockself, Rain/Bow/Rockself, Rainbow/Rocks/Rockself, Win/Wins/Winself, Fight/Fights/Fightself
Dazzle/Dazzlings/Dazzleself, Siren/Sirens/Sirenself, Spell/Spells/Spellself, Adagio/Adagios/Adagioself, Aria/Arias/Ariaself, Sonat/Sonata/Sonataself, Taco/Tacos/Tacoself, Contr/Control/Controlself
Friendship Games
Un/Unlea/Unleashself, Sci/Twi/Twiself, Curi/Curious/Curiousself, Game/Games/Gameself, Race/Races/Raceself, Roller/Skate/Skateself, Arch/Archery/Archeryself, Scie/Science/Scienceself, Disc/Discover/Discoverself, Bake/Off/Bakeoffself, Com/Compi/Compititionself, Rival/Rivals/Rivalself, Shadow/Bolts/Shadowbolts, Shad/Shadow/Boltself
Everfree
Cam/Camp/Campself, Camp/Camps/Campself, Ever/Free/Everfreeself, Prot/Protect/Protectself, Tree/Trees/Treeself, Natur/Nature/Naturself, Grow/Grows/Growself, Plant/Plants/Plantself, Leaf/Leaves/Leafself, Hope/Hopes/Hopeself, Trap/Trapped/Trappedself, Canoe/Canoes/Canoeself, Boat/Boats/Boatself, Tent/Tents/Tentself, Dance/Dances/Danceself
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The Day Pa Crow Met Death
Chapter 1
THE MAN IN BLACK
The beginning was Death.
It was not the Beginning: the creation of religion and its variant births, of dust and ashes, of emerging from caverns, godly creations, or ground corn, broken bones, dewdrops or blood rivers, hatching eggs or resurrection. Nor was it that Big Bang, of all things that the scientists believed in, that precise method of atoms changing into matter and light and universes, those tiny strands of DNA forming roughly (yet so beautifully) into worms, then fish, then men.
This was not the beginning.
It was not even the beginning of his life in particular when he, Pa Crow, had been born, baptized appropriately according to his sour-faced parents, then left to his own devices until he was old enough to help with the sowing, growing, and harvesting.
It was, what Pa considered, quite correctly, to be the first day of the rest of his life. Or, more specifically, the last day of his life.
Whichever sounds nicer.
The day started out quite nice itself, in Pa’s opinion. The old man, and he was an old man, woke shortly before the sun cleared the horizon. On the border between hearty and frail, his steps were as heavy as his arms were spotted, his face leathered and his hair white. His clothes were warm and soft, the complete opposite of his limbs. His stride was relatively smooth, though he stopped and started like a baby calf, all jerking movement and long legs. That day in particular he took to carrying a shotgun on a strap, bouncing across his back.
He went by the name Pa, though he was no father to anyone. Neighborhood children would flock to him, eager to hear his him tell stories. Wonderful tales of magic and myth and science and wonder and hope and friends and family and lizards—anything to keep the boredom at bay. When the ice cream truck rolled by he would treat them, and they would listen, enraptured by his slow, warm cadence, and somehow so distracted that the ice creams were mostly melted by the time the children remembered they were holding them. Now Pa’s children were grown and bought him ice cream. They bought him lunch and books and clothes. One even bought him a plant, a beautiful little thing with shining leaves and absolutely zero flowers.
“It doesn’t replace the tree, I know.” One of Pa’s children said, rubbing his arm self-consciously, recalling the behemoth of a botanical specimen that used to dominate Pa’s yard. “But I’d like you to have it anyway.”
“Thank you.” Pa said. He never knew how to say no.
That was years ago. The plant remained just as it always had, green and budding and flowerless. The only thing missing was a name. So, Pa tossed a couple around. A “Good morning, Linda,” or an “Evening, Ricardo,” or even a “You look like you might be blooming soon, Scipio the Steadfast, what do you think?” While he was partial to all of these (and even considered each one seriously for some time), Geraldine, Pa decided, was perfect.
Each summer brought new children, all bright- eyed and waiting for the magic their parents told them of. They always wanted to stay past dinnertime, but even Pa conceded that their parents would like to see them eventually. Each summer seemed hotter than the last, burning the soles of bare feet and torching the once green grass into a not quite flaming yellow.
It was when Pa brought the group their lemonade that he realized, with a jolt, that there were fewer children than before. At first, Pa wondered if they were sick, but then another vanished. And then another. And then another, leaving no sign that they had ever existed at all. It didn’t seem to affect Pa’s older children, the ones who had grown into such lovely adults, but instead took the youngest, stealing away each childish laugh as it pleased.
It wasn’t the weather, he determined, or sickness, or some parallel universe (as far as he could tell); it was just children disappearing, their parents and guardians unworried. Pa was the only one who saw them before they were gone.
The day the last child disappeared was the worst day of all. There was no laughter outside his window, no sticky fingers ringing the bell or rattling his doorknob. Instead, there was silence, only broken by birds in the day and crickets at night. Once in a while, there was a scream, either of thousands of bugs or a lone animal, and though they were gone as soon as they came, he didn’t feel quite so alone anymore.
He made trips to the basement, fetching his stereo and television and then went to the store, collecting the cables and batteries necessary to run such old things in his warm, worn living room. What few of Pa’s adult children still lived in the dying town took him out to eat and offered him an ear. “Maybe next summer there’ll be more kids,” they’d say. Or, “Just give it time, the others will be back before you know it.”
But Pa didn’t have time. He was almost ninety-six and, in his eyes, had very little to show for it. The farm had been his parents’, the produce their legacy. Acres of land long sought after by businessmen, offering amounts Pa could barely conceive of. Pa said no to all of them. It wasn’t his land to sell.
In the end, Pa was glad the children were gone, glad they weren’t there to see what he was doing.
Pa set himself up outside, just as he always had, in his large rocking chair. The gun was cool against his fingertips as he lay it between his knees, loading the chamber with bullets, his hands far steadier than his gait. Pa whistled a tune as he finished, setting the shotgun on his lap, one hand on the butt, his fingers near the trigger as he waited. A very important visitor was supposed to drop by, one Pa hadn’t seen in quite some time.
He was waiting for the Man in Black.
The Man in Black first showed up on a bright and sunny Tuesday morning. Coincidentally, that was the day Pa Crow met Death.
The Man in Black made his way up the porch steps and was about to ring the doorbell when he stopped, turned, and smiled. Sitting in his chair, eyes half- lidded in the summer warmth, was Pa Crow.
“Pa Crow.” The Man in Black said, Pa’s form reflected in his dark sunglasses. There was almost nothing he did not know. Almost. Pa’s eyes fluttered open.
“You know my name,” he said, “could I know yours?”
The Man in Black smiled, teeth remarkably straight, though not remarkably white. “You could.” He said, and left it at that.
“Are you with the government?”
“Shouldn’t I be asking the questions, Pa Crow?”
“Should you?” Pa stretched lazily, one hand above his head, the other reaching behind.
“I wouldn’t reach for your gun if I were you, Pa Crow.” The Man in Black’s smile was implacable.
“I wasn’t.” Pa said, which was true. He had, in fact, been reaching for the crowbar he kept hidden behind his chair. His shotgun was in the house, tucked under his bed, much too far away. If the Man in Black had a gun, Pa didn’t see it.
“We’ve been keeping tabs on you for quite some time, Pa Crow.” The Man in Black stood above, ignoring the perfectly empty chair beside Pa’s. “Do you know why?” Pa wondered if this was a trick question. He didn’t know why the Man in Black was watching him, nor did he know the Man in Black’s reasoning, or why he insisted on using Pa’s full name with each sentence. The Man in Black continued. “Do you?” Pa remained silent.
Then he said, “You want my farm, I assume?”
“You assume?” Something in the Man in Black’s smile sharpened. “One can assume many things, Pa Crow. For example, you assume I am a government agent; I, in turn, can assume you are a farmer. You assume I wish to purchase your farm; I assume you must’ve had offers. What other assumptions can we make?” Pa shrugged. “You could, for instance, assume that crop circles are made by bored teenagers; I could assume the culprits are extraterrestrials.”
“Shouldn’t that be the other way around?”
“That,” said the Man in Black, “is an assumption.”
“So,” Pa thought for a moment, settling more comfortably in his chair. “I can assume you aren’t here on business. I can assume you are telling the truth, though I have yet to meet an alien that prefers hanging out in crop circles rather than at the local arcade. I assume you aren’t actually a government agent, though I must be perfectly frank, Mr. Man in Black, you don’t come across as particularly trustworthy.” The Man in Black was silent.
“You would do better if you listened to me, Pa Crow.”
“But you haven’t said anything.”
“I have.” Said the Man in Black, turning to leave. “You just haven’t been listening.” He looked back, his expression unreadable. “You’ve had ample warning, Pa Crow. Time’s up.” With that, the Man in Black walked down the steps and disappeared. Pa blinked, confused, and went inside.
Where there should be noise, there was silence. The radio, always running a low murmur in the background, had died. The clocks, both on the wall and beside the couch, had ceased ticking. The fan above him, pushing warm, dusty air around the room, had stopped spinning.
“Huh.” Pa Crow said and walked back out the door. He got in his truck, which took a moment to start before turning over with a soft rumble.
The drive to town held empty roads with very few cars out and about. Not even fifteen minutes into the trip, the truck began to shudder and cough in warning. Pa frowned, checking the dash. It had been full last night, since he had filled the tank after giving one of his kids a lift to their PTA meeting. Pa knew he should have more gas than this but focused instead on finding someplace to safely pull over. His surroundings were all fields, ditches, and gravel. The truck died just as he made it to the gas station.
Pa grunted as he dropped from the truck, his knees rolling at the impact. Reaching for the pump, he found a loud, pink note taped to it, scribbled in thick marker. PAY INSIDE.
The bell above the door rang as Pa entered the store. The cashier, buried in a magazine titled, Drought: Is It Aliens or Aardvarks? rung him up for gas, as well as a few candy bars. Following the monotonous “Have a nice day”, Pa stopped, one foot from the threshold. His skin prickled and he looked around. Aside from himself and the cashier, the store was empty. Pa exhaled, pushed the feeling aside, and left the station, the bell dinging a goodbye behind him. He was barely five steps from the door when a shadow blocked his path.
“Do you have a five? I need a pack of cigarettes.” Pa sighed, slipped a bill from his beat-up wallet, and handed it over. The man went inside, bought his cigarettes, and returned, looking at Pa expectantly. “You need to learn to say no.” He said.
Pa blinked. “What business is it of yours?” He hoped he didn’t sound rude. He did just buy the man his cigarettes after all.
“None at all.” The man said amicably. He flicked his lighter once, then twice. The tip glowed against the cigarette before he said, “You didn’t happen to want change back, did you?”
‘Yes.’ Pa thought but decided to try something different. “No.”
The man hummed. “D’you happen to be a Capricorn?”
“No.” Pa said, wondering why he thought of those brown cones bursting with produce that decorated Thanksgiving tables in pictures. “I don’t believe so.”
Pa Crow was born on a certain day of a certain year, under a certain astrological sign that may or may not have fit him personality- wise. He didn’t actually know when he was born, and, in short, didn’t believe in astrology, nor did he much care to learn.
“A Virgo, then.” The man stated.
“No.”
“Leo?”
Pa smiled.
“Want a cigarette?” The man held the pack out to him, inviting. His nails were short, his fingers squat, and Pa figured, by the small yet numerous scars dotting discolored skin, that the man most likely worked with his hands.
“I don’t smoke.”
“Of course, you don’t, Mr. Crow.” The man shoved the box into his pocket. “You are Mr. Crow, aren’t you?”
“Pa.” He replied simply, jamming his hands into his own pockets, feeling for his keys.
“Pa,” the man said with a smile, “Let me treat you to lunch.”
The diner Pa drove them to was very small and very quaint. The vinyl acted much like glue, or perhaps a sort of fly tape, cementing a person to their seat until the meal was done. Their waiter, Chuck, was one of Pa’s earlier children. He greeted them with a curious smile and a comfortable booth.
The man inhaled his burger while Pa had his usual of pancakes, coffee, and fresh fruit. He asked Pa questions about his life, most of which Pa answered, some of which he didn’t. Chuck eventually came by with the check and the man waved him off, sopping up the salty grease on his plate with his last few fries, proclaiming that he needed a slice of pie before any business was to be done, and that he would pay for everything. Pa, grateful he didn’t have to pay, and feeling rather adventurous, decided to spring for a Coke. His companion asked for two slices of banana cream, one for there and one to go. Chuck returned a moment later, bottle in one hand, pie in the other and apologized, saying that they only had one slice of banana cream left and asked if he would perhaps like something else.
The man shrugged. “I’ll take the check.”
“Please,.” Pa added. Chuck nodded.
Trouble returned when the man tried to pay with plastic.
“That’s odd.” The man frowned. “My employer told me that credit—er, debit—whatever cards work almost everywhere.
“Not here, I’m afraid.” Chuck apologized once more. “We only take cash.”
“Damn.” The man looked at Pa, eyes pleading. Pa sighed and pulled out his wallet, which was beginning to feel light.
“I have just enough for the bill, not enough to tip. Can I bring it to you later this week, Chuck?”
“If you were anyone else…” Chuck warned, before a smile split his face. “Nah, you’re good, Pa.” He gave Pa a tight hug and the man beside him a quick wave. “See you soon.”
The ride was silent;, despite the man’s fiddling with Pa’s stereo, all he received was static. His fingers tapped the console, then moved to roll the window down. He flicked ash from his cigarette and rolled the handle back up once he had finished. Pa kept his window down, relishing every bit of fresh air he breathed in.
“I got it!” The man said, snapping his fingers. “You’re a Cancer, you’ve got to be.”
“And why is that?” Pa asked, hand over hand, turning left. What met them was a highway, long and empty, lined with wheat and the occasional tree.
“Er—I dunno. It just feels right.” The man interlocked his fingers, popping them with ease. “You know,” he said conversationally, lighting another cigarette and pulling a bag out from under his seat that Pa never remembered being there, “my boss was right.”
“About what?” Pa smiled. “Not the card. Nowhere here takes them.”
“Truly?” The man sighed, unzipping his bag and pulling out a gun far smaller, sleeker, and nicer than Pa’s gun at home. He then pulled out a small cylinder and began screwing it to the end.
“What’s that?” Pa’s foot didn’t so much as waver from the gas pedal.
“A silencer.” The man said. “Also called a suppressor. My boss suggested I use it, though I doubt anyone can hear us out here anyway.”
“Your boss being the Man in Black, I assume?”
The man smiled. “Yes.” He said. “He said you’d assume too.”
Pa shrugged lightly, flexing his fingers to keep from gripping the wheel too tight. He pressed down on the gas, pushing the needle a bit at a time, moving it ever so slowly past sixty. “What else can I do but assume? I don’t have the answers he thinks I do.” Pa said. “Hey,” he asked suddenly, the needle hitting seventy, “you wouldn’t happen to know his name, would you?”
Now it was the man’s turn to shrug, his silencer-suppressor now connected to his gun. “I don’t get paid to ask questions, Pa. Do you understand?”
‘No.’ Pa thought. “Yes.” He said.
“You want to do any pleading?”
“No.”
“Have any regrets?” Pa wondered but did not answer. The man sighed again. “Might as well get this over with.” He said, unbuckling his seatbelt and lifting his gun. “For what it’s worth, I really did enjoy lunch with you today, Pa Crow.”
Pa swallowed the lump in his throat, eyes flickering to the speedometer, still climbing upward, now touching eighty, soon ninety. “So did I.”
The safety clicked, the silencer a cold forewarning against his temple, slightly warm from the short time ago when the man had screwed it to the end. Pa inhaled, exhaled, and closed his eyes. The needle hit ninety, reaching for one hundred—
He wrenched the wheel to the left.
A twisting.
A crunch.
A gunshot.
A gasp.
Then darkness.
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Cronus taps the end of the quill against his chin, subconsciously matching the cadence of the crackling fireplace.
His lips split into a teeth-bearing grin as he touches the tip of the quill to his tongue, then dips it in into the inkwell.
“Dear Saint Nicholas.”
“As per all our prior correspondence, I hope this letter finds you well. I’m afraid I’ve not been kept abreast on matters of the unseelie court, and in that regard I deeply apologize. As you are well aware, the yearly celebration is soon upon us, and in accordance to the old traditions, I am very pleased to report my generosity and spirit of good will toward man has remained unfettered this year. I will confess to a few isolated incidents involving my temper, and for those trespasses I have included an indulgence of three packets of magic feed corn, for your sacred mounts. That bit of business concluded, I would like to provide a small inventory of things that would make my holiday truly complete; as customary recompense for my benevolence. By your leave, I would very much enjoy;
1. A Basketful of Alligator Pears
2. A solid gold signet ring, inlaid with rubies, garnet and topez. Trilliant cut, if possible but I am not greedy.
3. A sable muff and matching collar and cloak..
4. A vashuna wool nightgown with ermine collar for the winter months. Red, Black, or Gold, preferably.
5. Five gold anklet and bicchiya set from then Indies.
6. A Christmas Ham with baked apples and black currants.
7. Gingerbreads and figs
8. Scented Beard Oils from the orient,
9. A steadfast horse that does not offend the senses, does not fear me and can carry my weight.
10. A new pink ivory writing desk.
11. A worry stone
12. A book on creating fireworks.
With regards from your dearest friend,
Cronus Saturnus Vesuvius.
p.s. I trust you’ll find the assorted cookies and goats milk to your liking, this years batch has apricot jam in the center!
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Birthday Week Stream Schedule 11/28/22
TUES @ 6pm ET - 🤖Doraemon Story of Seasons
THURS @ 6pm ET - 🀄️Mahjong Soul
FRI @ 7:30pm ET - 🥳Birthday Stream
SAT @ 10am ET - 🐔Stardew Valley Expanded
SUN @ 1pm ET - 🔮Witchy Life Story
Streaming at twitch.tv/razaldia
More info about games & events below ⬇️
A bit of a longer week this week since my birthday fell on a Friday which is not one of our normal streaming slots!
Doraemon Story of Seasons continues with Noby experiencing autumn with the West & East Natura friends. Last time we gave the Sprite Summoner to Vera which is 1 of 4 gadgets we need to return to her to be un-isekai'd. We lost the Summer Harvest Festival with an ear of corn the size of our torso, but have higher hopes for the Autumn Harvest Festival now that we've gotten some high quality fertilizer! We finished out by witnessing the yearly Goddess Festival where our friend Sue played a pivotal role as one of the dancers.
Mahjong Night will find us once again enjoying the Saki Collab game mode Duel of Divination before the event ends next week. We'll be playing some friendlies and taking advantage of the casual modes to try and get ourselves some additional event points. If you've ever wanted to learn how to play mahjong - our weekly mahjong nights are a great place to start!
My Birthday Stream will start a bit later than our usual time at 7:30pm ET and will run long until midnight! After a surprise or two, we've got a full lineup of fun events including mahjong, a livestock tier list, and a marathon of a variety of farming sims including Dinkum, Slime Rancher, & APICO! Please note that my birthday stream is NOT a donothon or a subathon - gifts are most certainly not needed or expected!
Stardew Valley Expanded saw us completing the Community Center last time! We've still got a bit more time until Grandpa comes around to rate our farm, but we're getting into a good cadence with our livestock & crops. We'll probably start transitioning more towards an orchard & flower farm model rather than traditional produce. Join us for some lovely autumn adventures!
Witchy Life Story left us in our cottage the morning before our planned big ritual. We've been getting closer to a number of Flora's residents including fellow visitor, Devin. We encountered a strange paranormal disturbance in Niesha's art studio which we're hoping to solve, but first we've got a ritual to complete!
Hope to see you all live, but if you can't make it - everything but Mahjong Night gets moved over to Youtube within a few days!
#vtuber uprising#envtuber#vtuber schedule#small streamer#doraemon story of seasons#mahjong soul#stardew valley#witchy life story
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TIMING: Current
PARTIES: @fearhims3lf @genienotinabottle
SUMMARY: Mateo goes out for a job and it turns out to be Baz’s latest late night hookup.
WARNINGS: Brief homophobia
All in all, it wasn’t the worst hookup Baz had ever had. The man who they’d come home from the bar with tonight was handsome enough, though his personality left some things to be desired. He’d been decent in bed, but far from the best. It would certainly only be a ‘one night’ sort of thing, there was no denying that. Even the selection in his fridge was subpar. Baz clicked their tongue as they pulled out a bottle of wine, making a face. “A businessman who can’t be bothered to spend more than $15 on a bottle?” They murmured to themself, looking vaguely disgusted. “I need to get out of here.”
They set the bottle back in the fridge and turned around, making to grab their things so they could do just that. The homeowner was sprawled across the bed the next room over, snoring loudly enough to be heard from the kitchen. Which, of course, meant the shadow moving subtly by the window did not belong to him. Baz tensed, brows furrowing together. “If you’re here to rob the place,” they called cheerfully, “I’d prefer it if you let me go home and establish an alibi first. Interrogation rooms are so bland. They wash me out terribly.”
In the dark, Mateo could see everything, peer around every corner with ease without being detected. Which meant he was able to capture people during their most vulnerable, or even most annoying moments. He scoffed silently and rolled his eyes at Baz’s reaction to a cheap bottle of wine. Never understanding the notes of flavors in a wine, he didn’t really see the point in spending over ten dollars on a bottle of wine. There was no difference to Mateo, and as long as it got the job done, he didn’t care about the taste. He almost wished the man at the fridge was his target, but alas, his eyes needed to be set on the disgustingly loud man upstairs. So, he left Baz to their devices, seeing that they were leaving anyway.
Perfect, he thought, jumping from shadow to shadow until he was finally above the victim. Richard Spraggens, in-debt businessman who was behind on his payments thanks to his love of gambling, sex workers, and drugs. Mateo didn’t like to judge people on their vices, but a job was a job, and it was due to Richard’s own stupidity that he was dying. What a Dick, he chuckled, raising his hand to place it on his target’s head until Baz reappeared.
“What the fuck?” He whispered harshly, looking displeased and confused all at once. Red orbs flashed toward Baz, triggering the effects of his terror gaze. Mateo could feel himself morphing into everything Baz could fear, and he smiled. A two for one was hard to come by, and it looked like it was his lucky night. “I’d leave if I were you.” His voice took on a demonic cadence, deepening and turning into a cavernous structure that contained millions of voices that combined into one.
When the scene cleared a little more, it became obvious that this was no robbery. Baz regretted returning to the bedroom at all. It wasn’t as if they cared what happened to the man on the bed — was his name Robert? Romeo? Ricky? It really hadn’t seemed important at the time! — but they did care a fair amount about what happened to them. And being a witness never served anyone particularly well when the crime in question was one with serious consequences. Like, for example, a murder.
Red eyes turned towards them and, on some level, Baz knew what this was. You didn’t live as many centuries as they had without ever running into a mara. That didn’t make the experience a pleasant one. As red eyes met brown, the room shifted from Robert-Romeo-Ricky’s tacky bedroom decor to one far older, one that hadn’t existed in some centuries. His father’s bedroom was a place Baz visited often in nightmares, even if he’d never admit to as much. The mara shifted, too, from a shadowy figure to one with much more familiarity, until Cornelio Cabrera’s cold eyes were staring Baz down.
They took an unsteady step back, heart in their throat. Seeing your violently homophobic father for the first time in centuries was a jarring thing, as it turned out, even if you knew it wasn’t actually him. Fumbling in their pocket, Baz retrieved their phone and switched on the flashlight, shining the bright light directly at the mara and closing their eyes. “I would appreciate it,” they said, sounding angry in a way they rarely allowed themself to, “if you wouldn’t do that. If you’d like me to leave, you can just ask. I don’t care what you’re planning to do with him.” They waved a dismissive hand in Robert-Romeo-Ricky’s general direction.
Now that was new. The flash of light forced Mateo to shut his eyes and stumble backwards with a frustrated groan. Most didn’t know about his kind’s sensitivity to light, but the more Baz spoke, the more the mara discovered that the person in front of them wasn’t most. That earned a laugh, one that was a little too excited by the prospect of meeting someone who could give Mateo a run for his money. He loved challenges, even if he knew he’d be the one to come out on top. It was night. Nothing could really touch him then.
“Okay, okay. Sale vale, cabrón. You’re the one interrupting my work. Only did what was natural. Can you blame me for being natural?” Mateo dug through his pockets and retrieved his sunglasses, quickly putting them on and looking back up Baz with a disarming smile. “Do you really have to leave though? If you don’t care, I’d love to give you a little show. Then you can tell me all about how you knew how to stop my little looky at you.” He tilted his head, requesting an answer silently as he hovered a hand over his target’s forehead. “All it’ll take is a little touch from me.”
The mara stumbled backwards, and Baz nearly made a run for it right then and there. They had never been particularly courageous; not as a human, too afraid to do more than make up stories about their imagined ability to defeat the proverbial monster under their bed, and not even as a fury with the power to actually do so. Baz’s first instinct was, above all else, towards self-preservation. They doubted they would have made it to their seven-hundreds without it. But… the mara was digging in his pockets, retrieving a pair of glasses, relenting at least to some extent. It was enough to keep Baz from running, even if it was clear that they were only moments from it.
“I can when you’re turning it towards me,” they replied with a scoff, clearly offended. “I’ve done nothing to deserve that.” Debatable. “It’s not as if you announced you were on the clock. I thought you were a normal burglar. The boring kind who’d get caught and get me into trouble by association. I don’t know how familiar you are with police, but they love arresting people like me!” It was clearly the beginnings of an impassioned rant, complete with waving hand gestures and wide eyes. They broke off, though, at Mateo’s offer. They did love to watch. “If you promise not to turn your little looky my way again, I’d love to make this a spectator sport.”
How animated Baz was greatly amused the mara, and he couldn’t help but laugh. Quickly, Mateo stifled it as best he could to not wake up the human. His job was done best when his victims were asleep. It made the whole process easier—quicker. “That’s not a very good reason. You ain’t special. Would’ve done it to anyone that surprised me. Besides…” Walking out of the darkness, Mateo revealed his face, arching a brow. “I’m pretty familiar with the police considering my mug.” He tilted his head up, silently greeting Baz officially and showing his neck tattoo for a few beats before returning to his errand. He had a show to provide.
“I don’t make promises, but I won’t be terrorizing you again. This guy here,” Mateo gestured to Richard with a wave of his hand, placing it swiftly onto his forehead with an audible slap. “He’ll be getting the terror,” His voice was filled with delight, experiencing a kind of euphoria that came with melting a mind with pure fear. Witnessing the worst of nightmares until they crescendoed with such force that the sleeping body reacted. Richard shook uncontrollably, screaming bloody murder while Mateo’s laughter mixed in with it. It felt entirely too good and too short when he began to inhale deeply, becoming filled with the most satisfying power imaginable. He could’ve easily stayed there forever, but Richard’s life came to an end, and so did the mara’s fun.
The mara seemed entertained, at least, by the fury’s antics, and Baz relaxed a little more. They were good at endearing themself to people; it was how they’d stayed alive as long as they had in spite of their aversion to violence. When you had enough powerful people in your corner, you got a kind of power all your own. “It’s a great reason. You’re just a hard ass.” They tilted their head as the mara stepped out into the dull light of the bedroom, raising a brow. “Hey, do I know you?” They squinted a little before shrugging. “You ought to be more sympathetic, then. I’ve done nothing to earn a pair of cuffs that I didn’t consent to. The police never make it any fun.”
They watched with mild interest as the mara returned to the sleeping man, shrugging at the clarity behind the intention. “He certainly deserves it,” they said dismissively. “He was mediocre in bed at best. And his wine collection is simply depressing. You’d likely be doing him a favor, finishing him off before he has the chance to drink whatever the Walmart special on red wine was last week.” Wincing a little as the sleeping man began to scream, Baz made a show of bringing his hands to his ears, wrinkling his nose in distaste. Screaming was only fun when they were the one causing it, really. The rest of the time, it was just… loud. They allowed themself to enjoy the chaos of the moment, the way the man had no idea what was happening until his heart gave out and his body stilled. When it was over, they brought their hands down from their ears and offered a silent clap, throwing in a cheer for good measure. “Very impressive. Say, can you grab my pants from the corner? I’ve never been a fan of corpses.”
“You like to consent to cuffs? My kinda fun.” Mateo winked, having a bit of fun before everything began to settle. The climax was bittersweet—as always—and the mara wanted to push away the fall as long as possible. “Don’t knock a person for their taste in alcohols. Some peeps just wanna get gone asap. As for being mediocre in bed though…” He shrugged, chuckling dryly, “Def knock. Can’t say I can relate, so I’m more than happy to get rid of someone who can’t even do that right.” There was something implied there, to everything Richard had fallen short with and the reason why he’d even been targeted in the first place. “He’s gone now though, so that’s that.”
As fun and delicious as the jobs were without fail, there was always something left to be desired. Everything was too short lived and it always left Mateo feeling disappointed despite how lively he buzzed just beneath the surface. Nothing made him feel as powerful, nothing quenched his thirst quite the same. It made him quiet and detached as he sauntered over to Baz’s pants, grabbing them and handing them over with a dejected smile on his face. “Don’t worry about DNA or anything. Cops suck when it comes to these jobs. No foul play and no force of entry. He’s gonna be booked as a heart attack. Piece of cake considering his habits.”
“Only when the mood strikes me,” Baz replied, as if they’d ever say no to that kind of fun. Perhaps they should have put less cards on the table with someone they’d just witnessed murdering their hookup, but the mara was good looking. And Baz had enough big, bad people on their side to swoop to their rescue if things went wrong. “Oh, I’ll knock it. Do you know how much money he made? And he certainly wasn’t spending it on his closet. Look at his shoes. The apartment decor is abhorrent, too. What’s the point of being well-paid if all you spend it on is silly things?” They rolled their eyes at the man — now a corpse on the bed. “Good riddance, I’ll say. The world’s better off.”
Taking the pants, Baz pulled them back on with a hum. They were hardly opposed to another hookup, but they weren’t looking to do it here. Not with a corpse on the bed. Such things might appeal to some people — Leviathan came to mind with some fondness — but not to Baz. “Ah, the old heart attack routine. I’m sure the police will think nothing of it. They never do.” Police in White Crest were too tied up with the bloody deaths to spend time looking farther into the ones that appeared natural. “Do you do this sort of thing often? You seem very knowledgeable.”
“Eh.” Mateo shrugged amusedly and shook his head. “Never really cared for all the pousty shit. I like my life the way it is. Simple.” Adjusting his beanie, he walked around to ensure he didn’t leave anything behind, making sure to soak in every detail. Sloppiness wasn’t forgiven in his field of work, and he prided himself in being the best. As he did, Mateo opened and closed his mouth several times to say something, but Baz didn’t really sound like the type to really listen or care about anything they deemed below him. And based on his attire, the mara was positive they would judge him by that and nothing else, so he moved on.
“This is my job. I get rid of basura and once the death hits the news, I get my moola. You’re checking out the best of the best.” Mateo grinned, scratching his cheek as he approached Baz once his checklist was done with. “And to respond to your obvious interest in my pretty mug, yes, I do think you’re beautiful. If you wanna get outta here, we can have some fun at my place.” He paused, chuckling and stepping just a little closer. “Don’t worry about my performance. Got references if you need ‘em.”
“Simple’s never suited me.” Not that they’d ever really tried it on for size. The closest Baz had come to living a ‘simple’ life were the years after they left their father’s house, when they’d been cut off from the wealth they’d grown accustomed to. Even then, one could hardly say they’d lived in squalor. They were good at cozying up to the right people, even then. They’d always had a talent for convincing people to take care of them. It was an art all its own, like what they did with a paintbrush or a quill.
An assassin, then. Baz had met a few over the centuries. One had even been dispatched for them once, when they’d slept with the wrong woman in the late 1800s. It was a crude profession, but the mara made it look artistic, in his way. The look of terror that had been etched on the dead man’s face in the moments before he became a corpse was one that would make a hell of a painting. Baz grinned as the mara confirmed the obvious — that they were beautiful, and that the interest they’d expressed towards the mara was returned. “No references necessary,” they replied. “I prefer to make my own judgment. I’ll let you do the same. I think you’ll be very happy with the results. Is your place nearby?”
Mateo’s brow bounced in amusement, not at all surprised that Baz took him up on his offer. He was good looking and he knew it given that he rarely got a no. “Yeah, my place is close. You ready for some fun?” He chuckled with more energy now that he’d feasted on a life, which would keep him feeling amazing for the next week. Then, it was onto the next victim. Until that, Mateo would have fun. Get lost in Baz so he could escape and create his own little getaway.
“Let’s go.”
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Archita Mittra Reviews Pomegranates by Priya Sharma
April 4, 2023 Archita Mittra
Priya Sharma’s latest novella, Pomegranates, is a lovely, layered, and luscious retelling of the story of Persephone and Demeter, unfolding against the backdrop of climate change and patriarchal violence. While Greek mythology has been in vogue at least since the success of Rick Riordan’s bestselling Percy Jackson books, Sharma’s novella sits closer to books like Margaret Atwood’s The Penelopiad, Madeline Miller’s Circe, or Natsuo Kirino’s The Goddess Chronicle, all of which employ a detached, feminine voice in rewriting myth and registering tragedy.
Pomegranates has a lilting, poetic cadence to it, and is suffused with a few moments of quiet horror. These are tricks that we previously glimpsed in Sharma’s short story collection All the Fabulous Beasts, in which she wove darkly evocative stories through small vignettes. Incidentally, All the Fabulous Beasts contains the tale ‘‘Pearls’’, a charming retelling of the story of Medusa and Poseidon that unfolds over the centuries and up to the modern age. Vignettes also provide the structure for Sharma’s novella Ormeshadow, a quiet coming-of-age tale set in the English countryside that gently creeps up on you like a sleeping dragon. Pomegranates is perhaps her most accomplished work yet, focusing on the intertwining stories of three women – Dr. A. Ursa (who is possibly related to Hecate, the Moon Goddess); Demeter, the Corn Mother; and Persephone, queen of the Underworld.
The tale begins with a speech by Dr. Ursa at the Swedish University of Agricultural Sciences, where she urges the audience to build a viable seedbank, foregrounding the novella’s ecological themes. This is followed by a clinical record from the August Institute; we infer that Demeter had been wandering the Earth in search of her daughter and is presently under psychiatric care. There is a nice jab here at the Greek pantheon, which is succinctly described as an ‘‘important family’’ of ‘‘sociopathic rapists, despots, egomaniacs and drunkards.’’ We also learn that Hades has died and Persephone rules instead, full of rage and bitterness but ready to narrate her tale to Ursa, who has stumbled into the underworld after traversing an apocalyptic, tundra-like landscape. Meanwhile, Demeter too slowly opens up to her therapist about the violence of the Gods and her subsequent bargain with Hades to protect her daughter from the machinations of Zeus. Thus, in Sharma’s spin on the legend, Persephone is neither seized by Hades to be his wife and nor does she leave of her own volition (as seen in several contemporary retellings).
At its heart, Pomegranates is a story about women wanting to be heard, whose voices have been effaced or distorted through time. It is not surprising, then, that much of Persephone’s narration to Ursa feels as though she is talking to the reader herself. In another particularly powerful moment, Demeter talks to a lawyer about pressing rape charges against Zeus and Poseidon – it is a clever scene that recounts the details of the violence, not as it happened nor in court, but in a series of back-and-forths between lawyer and client that tells the readers all they need to know about the incident and offers a rundown of the ways patriarchy will strategize to discredit a woman’s narrative. There is also deep anger and revenge here – Demeter curses the trespassing and lascivious King Erysichthon to remain eternally hungry, and Persephone, in her mourning, dooms the planet to a nuclear winter (even COVID-19 is part of her vengeance upon mankind, another nice touch) – and it is these scenes, narrated with so little embellishment, that are bound to linger in the reader’s minds long after the book is closed. In the tradition of ancient Greek plays, a chorus appears between sections, inviting the reader to pause and fill in the gaps, rethink their understandings of history, myth and knowledge, and examine the themes of godliness and humanity, power and agency more closely.
While a part of me wishes that there was more to this world and for the tale to go on, another part of me is astounded by Sharma’s ability to hint at so much with so few words. Deliciously evocative, carefully constructed, and filled with just enough detail to keep the reader turning the pages, Pomegranates is a book which can be finished in a single sitting, but deserves to be savored more slowly. It will appeal not only to fans of feminist retellings of myths and folklore, but to anyone on the lookout for a quiet and beautiful novella.
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