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dreamings-free · 3 months

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‘A dirty nightclub in an arena’ – behind Louis Tomlinson’s Faith In The Future World Tour

Louis Tomlinson and his tight-knit touring crew traverse the world in close to 80 shows, fulfilling a ‘dirty nightclub in an arena’ brief with a dynamic live campaign.

Production Profiles 5 January 2024

Following the success of his record-breaking Live From London livestream, which reportedly raised over £1m for touring and live events personnel and charitable organisations, Louis Tomlinson and his tight-knit crew have toured the world twice over. This time, visiting sold-out arenas in Europe and the UK with a cleverly networked live production with abstract video and lighting and a ‘no frills’ approach to sound, which guaranteed that every ticket holder experienced the same show, regardless of where they stood, sat, or screamed (more on that later). With close to 80 shows under their belt, TPi visited London’s O2 arena ahead of the production’s penultimate date of 2023.

Words: Jacob Waite Photos: Justin De Souza and Oli Crump

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“A team effort is required to get this show off the ground,” explained Technical Manager, Sam ‘Kenny’ Kenyon, who has been a fixture of Louis Tomlinson’s live output since joining as Lighting Crew Chief in 2019. “This has been a complete redesign, and the production has expanded and gotten more complex, which requires different solutions to make it happen.”

Kenny and the team oversaw the deployment of an A and B rig. “We’ve been fortunate for the European stint that the venues we’ve toured have, mostly, been arenas. The main difference between the A and B rig is the addition of IMAG and further lighting header trusses. Aside from that, the A rig fits everywhere. If anything, we’ve run into weight issues, which we can overcome swiftly by removing overhead trusses.”

For the first few shows, Riggers, Ian Bracewell, and Alex Walker incorporated load cells on trusses to get an accurate rate and account of the weight of the load of each truss. In the UK, The Brighton Centre had a particularly low-rate roof with weight limitations. Production Manager, Craig Sherwood and Tour Manager, Tom Allen’s vendors of choice included: Altour (travel), Beat the Street, BPM SFX, CSE Crosscom, Colour Sound Experiment (lighting, rigging, and video), Hangman UK, Boxcat Studio and Two Suns Creative (video content), LED Creative, Ox Event House (custom light housings), Sarah’s Kitchen, Seven 7 Management (artist management), Solotech (audio), Stardes Trucking, and TANCK (production design and video content).

There was no video director, as the show’s visuals were programmed and interspersed with live footage and triggered by a lighting console at FOH, thanks in part to an intricate network setup. “There’s a lot going on in racks that people never see, but it has been stable thanks to the quality of kit supplied by our vendors, who have invested heavily, and the team taking the time to programme the show,” Kenny noted.

Key to the success of the operation was the incorporation of Central Control software, which takes a signal from a lighting console, be it ACN or Art-Net, and translates it to talk to various products – in this case, video. “There is a giant brain that nobody knows exists other than those that have programmed it,” he added.

Additional crew members joined the tour in Europe to aid the video deployment and lead to far more efficient load-in an -outs. “We are close to 80 shows in and on days where we have access to multiple trucks, it comes out very quickly, which for a show of this scale is impressive and credit goes to the team,” enthused Kenny. “The biggest hurdle is when you’ve only got a two-truck dock.”

Prior to the tour, the team had five days of production rehearsals spent in Connecticut’s Mohegan Sun. “When we came to Europe a week later, we had a week of re-prepping with a day of rehearsals at Hamburg’s Barclays Arena, the day before a show,” he described. “It’s been a fun and long run,” added Stage Manager, Torin Arnold. “We’ve visited a good range of venues and countries – especially the Eastern European legs, visiting places you wouldn’t ordinarily tour and experiencing how they operate. This show is designed so it can be accomplished in any part of the world.” Carpenter, Harry Reeves was also on hand to support the build.

The routing, however, was sometimes challenging with some late arrivals and difficult border crossings. “There were a few times in Eastern Europe where we were doing a ferry back-to-back to arrive at 11am, sitting at a difficult border crossing. We usually start with a 7am mark out, so knocking hours off your load-in is tough but everyone pulled together to overcome it,” Arnold explained, noting that touring without staging, and instead, using venue stages (particularly rolling stages), was a blessing during those late arrivals. “As with any tour, as dates progress you build a rhythm while maintaining the safety of the build,” he noted.

Arnold also highlighted the benefit of Lead Truck Driver, Neil Thornton and Truck Drivers, Matt Marlow, Ben Woods, Sarah Goldsmith, Bob Miles, Alam Minshall, Franco DeRosa, and Ollie Thornton who “speed up the process” and maintained a level of consistency.

The transitions between support acts before Louis hit the stage was equally seamless, with ample downstage space for the singer-songwriter to traverse during his performance. “Having a clean frontline means we have space to get the bands on and off,” he added. “Our vendors have also provided everything from an audio package standpoint for support acts, which also speeds up the load-in and -out.”

Highlighting a ‘bucket list’ show at Hollywood Bowl, working closely with US union officials as a “fun” and “interesting” experience, Arnold reflected on the entire tour with crewmembers he now considers close friends. “This is a close team and I’ve made some great memories and stories. It’s been a fun year!”

A DIRTY NIGHTCLUB IN AN ARENA Production Designer, Programmer and Director, Tom Taylor, and Francis Clegg of TANCK have worked with Louis Tomlinson ever since he made the leap to solo artist. “The production design has evolved into an angular, grungy, asymmetrical setup, borne out of the ‘dirty nightclub in an arena setting’ creative brief I was given,” Taylor said, citing the creative influence of Matt Vines and Seven 7 Management. “Louis is a phenomenal performer, and the crowd is captivated the entire time. We started knocking ideas around, speaking to Louis about his inspirations and influences, which we then developed into a creative deck, which I sketched in Blender, and imported into WYSIWYG for visuals, to create stills and pre-visualise.”

Taylor spent 10 days programming the visuals at Colour Sound Experiment, a firm he shares a “longstanding” relationship with. “They are always a call away regardless of the day or time. Their team is easy to get along with and I like their whole ‘production sphere’ – sometimes it’s nice to split lighting and video, but for a show like this, aligning those departments with one line of communication is ideal,” he said, underlining the support of Colour Sound Experiment Account Handler, Haydn Cruickshank.

With production rehearsals under their belt and recordings from Louis Tomlinson World Tour (2020–22), where TANCK piloted Central Control software, the creatives understood how the singer and his band moved on stage, developing a rhythm and consistency of when to implement visual cues and which camera angle fit best. This allowed the team to pre-programme the visual content to timecode.

Video content was made by a combination of TANCK, Two Suns Creative, and Boxcat Studio, with the latter creating 3D models and rendered content, all of which was broadcast across a unique set of video surfaces. “Having the abstract video columns on stage makes it much more interesting than your standard slab of LED at the back of the stage,” Taylor noted.

On stage boxes created by Ox Event House housed GLP JDC Line 1000 strobes with reflective panelling and fabric that were printed to look like heavy concrete slabs, ladened with custom LED Creative solutions. These boxes then moved up and down using Wahlberg Motion Design winches to provide a “low-level, clubby feel” to the set.

“The winches can only carry 50kg and the lights alone are 35kg, so we had to be careful not to overload them, but the result was cool. We also have one single lightbulb on a winch which comes up and down above Louis to create a classic lighting moment,” Taylor said, further highlighting Ayrton Huracán’s prismatic colour wheel as a ‘fan favourite’.

The lighting design saw a wall of GLP impression X4 Bar 20s at the rear of the stage in 12 columns. Further lighting trusses over the stage carried the Wahlberg winches for several automated looks. The DMX winches were utilised for three or four songs, either statically or moving up and down, while JDC Line 1000s provided colour and strobe effects, to achieve varied looks, with a relatively minimal overhead lighting package.

Taylor elaborated: “There are some shutters for one specific track which go directly in-front of some of the GLP X4 Bars to get the aura of the lights, instead of the lenses, which I really like the look of. Lighting and video complement each other during this show – there’s also a section with flickering fluorescent tubes on the video content with the X4 Bar 20s behind the LED screens flickering in a similar way.

Taylor was delighted with the performance of the crew. “Overall, it has been a great run, executed flawlessly,” he commented, citing the support of Lighting Crew Chief, James Box; Dimmer Technician, Rick Carr, and Lighting Technicians, Amy Barnett, and Kieran Hancox.

The wider lighting rig comprised Ayrton Eurus, CHAUVET Professional Strike Array 4, Claypaky Mini-B eLumen8 Endura 1Q120, and Robe BMFL fixtures with robo cameras, all fixed on various HOF MLT3, Litec QH40 and Thomas James Thomas Engineering Superstruss. The lighting riser featured Ayrton Huracan LT and GLP JDC1 fixtures.

Robe Spiider fixtures were situated on the up and downstage video trusses, with the floor package boasting the deployment of further Ayrton Eurus, LEDJ Spectra Flood Q15 and Chroma-Q Color Force 72 units, the latter chosen for key light. Atmospherics came in the shape of Smoke Factory Tour Hazer 2, Martin Professional JEM ZR45 and MDG Atmosphere ATMe hazers with TMB ProFans. “We had some challenging shows, implementing an arena-scale design into sheds in the US, but it’s been good to return to Europe and witness the fans enjoying the show,” added Lighting Crew Chief, James Box, who pinpointed the use of the multicoloured glass gobo in Hurricanes as among his favourite looks.

“There is a lot of effort put in by TANCK to ensure we get the utmost from every fixture on the rig, which is great to see, when the team has gone to the effort of assembling the show each morning. Seeing the looks they achieve from the rig and the extra details, with each advanced cue within the show, is a pleasure.

Almost every pixel on the JDC Line 1000 and X4 impression Bars are being used.”

Video Crew Chief, Dave Mallandain, formerly of Colour Sound Experiment, supervised the video build and the team of Video Technicians, Ed Driver, Frank Wlliams and Tim Curwen.

“Working with Colour Sound Experiment again, in a freelance capacity, certainly has its benefits,” he stated. “You get to know the workflows and personalities of the company. There is an element of trust there and our relationship is stronger because of that.” The 2.5m by 2.5m video screen, made up of Leyard CLM6 LED panels with Colorlight Z6 processing on the back end, was built in an abstract configuration – hung from varying size steel structures fixed on to lighting truss, spanning the entire stage, as opposed to a traditional backwall. “This setup requires us to build it quicker, so the backline can start building their world, but it’s very lightweight and easy to use, so once the local crew are up to speed, it flies up in no time,” he reported.

During the show, there was a lot of camera angles fed into a Blackmagic ATEM switcher, with content then fed into Resolume media servers which was processed and treated with video effects and filters to manipulate the content, monitored by the video team, and pre-programmed by Taylor via an MA Lighting grandMA3 console, operating in MA2 mode.

“The fan camera, which was one of Tom’s ideas, has evolved to the point where Frank and I are on stage during Out Of My System, pointing these cameras fabricated in an old VHS-style shell at Louis’ face in reference to the fisheye-lens inspired music video.”

A mixture of Marshall Electronics and Panasonic PTZ cameras ensured the wider on-stage action was captured. “While the visual content is the same, the shots differ based on the energy of the crowd from night to night,” he explained. “We have an overhead shot for the drums, and another behind Louis, which shoots over his shoulder to the crowd. We also have a PTZ camera on the ground in front of Louis which can rotate to capture crowd scans along with a little ‘bullet camera’ for each musician. It’s been a fantastic tour; everyone on this team has been phenomenal.”

The special effects and pyrotechnics package supplied by BPM SFX included Galaxis PFC 10-way receivers running Galaxis, with a main and a backup controller, which ran through an MA Lighting grandMA2 console, to trigger MagicFX Stadium Shot IIs and a single shot of red streamers. The latter, a “signature of Louis Tomlinson live shows”, according to BPM SFX Technician, Jack Webber – who toured with a new custom control rack, with much of the hardware integrated in one rack.

BPM SFX Account Handler, Matt Heap and SFX Technicians, Blake Harward and Phillip Mathew also provided Webber with support. “The one major change on this tour was putting the Stadium Shot IIs at the downstage edge, and adding lasers for the O2 arena show,” said Webber, who has been involved in past touring campaigns with the camp. “This is the first touring camp to take me to the US, so I feel incredibly privileged.”

Safety was paramount for the BPM SFX team, who implemented the safeguard of warning notices on-stage to ensure the band knew exactly when an effect was triggered. In closing, Webber referenced the ‘rainbow-inspired’ track, She Is Beauty We Are World Class, which demonstrated the strength of the special effects package. “There are about 22 rapid fire chase Comets all going off at the same time with a big lift, which differs in comparison to the other looks with eight units.”

MIXING IN A SEA OF SCREAMS FOH Engineer, John Delf mixed on an Avid S6L 32D console with onboard plug-ins. “I use the onboard plug-ins as much as possible because I want to keep it as simple as possible and know I’ve got a show out of the box without any added extras, which is particularly useful during fly-in gigs, where I have to use a house console or have limited time to set up,” he noted. Delf also toured with some choice pieces of outboard gear including a Rupert Neve Designs 5045 primary source enhancer for vocals, an Empirical Labs Fatso two-channel compressor for drums, and further Distressors for the bass guitar group and vocals.

“The bulk of my mixing is riding the DCA control groups and the vocals, balancing between them, and when there is a lead guitar solo, I’ll jump to that. Most of the mix should stay where it is, and I shouldn’t have to think about it, but every day you make major tweaks and refinements based on how the musicians are performing. Most of the gig is turning the band up and down without affecting the vocals because I have DCAs for drums, bass, guitars, keyboards, main vocal, backing vocals, and an ‘all’ DCA that includes everything but vocals,” he said, explaining his mixing wizardry modestly. “I also run snapshots in which I am changing the sub send amount for different songs, as well as reverb and delay times. If the band changes the set last minute, I have the desk synced to the timecode and that will trigger the snapshots.”

At the beginning of the set, the noise of the crowd can be between 112 to 116dB. “We have a little bit of headroom. When they are loud, I can push the mix, and when they are quieter, I can pull it back for the more introspective moments of the show,” he explained.

“My favourite section to mix is the transition from a cover of Arctic Monkeys’ 505 into Back to You. When that kicks in, I push the “All” DCA up to +10. We’ve built the set up to that point, where I’m able to throw it to the top before the end of the set. The three songs in the encore are also fun songs to mix,” he enthused, accenting the support of Solotech Account Handler, David Shepherd.

“I’ve worked with Dave for years, while he was at BCS Audio (now part of Solotech). He’s been my go-to account handler for a very long time, and Solotech has inherited this gig from them, so there was a natural transition.”

System Engineer and Head of Audio, Oli Crump walked TPi through the PA system: “We’ve been using L-Acoustics, which is our preference, since the start of last year’s tour. The main hang has been K1 with K2 downfill for both tours, however, we are touring with a much larger system this year with K2 on the sides instead of KARA-II. We’re flying subwoofers and carrying delays with us, which is also our preference in big arenas, like the O2 – it provides an even level of coverage across the audience,” the TPi Breakthrough Talent Award alumni said, explaining the thought process behind a larger sound system.

“The PA system is naturally bigger this year because we’re touring larger venues. The crowd is very loud, and we need to be able to compete with that at points of the show. The window of dynamic range we have without it being too loud is compressed because the background level from the crowd is so high, so we need to be able to get our level as consistent as possible from front to back. This setup really helps overcome that.”

Out of ear shot from Crump, Delf extolled the virtues of his partner at FOH: “Oli and I work well together. Every day, regardless of the venue, I know the system is going to sound consistent. We deal with different venue acoustics each day but as soon as I run up my virtual soundcheck, I’ve got the mix back to where I want it because the PA is at the same level every day. I used to walk the room a lot during sound check, but it always sounded consistent, so I’ve stopped doing that because I trust him explicitly.”

The PA generally sat in a standard location for an arena PA, 10.5m off centre and no wider than that, using the same basic system design as Louis Tomlinson’s past touring campaign, which Crump worked on with Kenny to ensure it didn’t impede the production design. “The number of boxes we deploy varies from show to show, based on the venue. The worst-case scenario [visually] is that the PA needs to be a little lower than usual and gets in the way of the IMAG screens slightly,” Crump detailed.

He designed the system using Soundvision, then imported his file into Network Manager, with a DirectOut Technologies PRODIGY.MP chosen for system processing. “I have visited many of the European arenas before so I’ve got fairly accurate plots, however, sometimes you will stumble across an error someone has made in building the models,” he continued. “Madrid’s WiZink Center had different CAD drawings for each layer of the venue and one of the layers was accidentally scaled wrong, so the bottom floors were fine but as you went up everything was out. You get curveballs like that occasionally but that’s why it’s important to verify drawings.”

An audience also changes the acoustics of a room, generally for the better, but sometimes not, so Crump was on hand at FOH to make tweaks when required. “As rooms get larger, they generally get more difficult, reverb time will go up purely as a factor of the room size, regardless of how you treat it. The O2 is quite tall seating-wise, so you end up having to angle the PA up into the roof a lot,” Crump noted.

Over by the stage, Monitor Engineer, Barrie Pitt mixed the five-piece band and frontman using a DiGiCo Quantum 338 console. “Louis and the band are good at verbalising what they want. They’ve been playing a long time, so it’s my job to translate those desires into the mix,” he explained. “DiGiCo has been my ‘go-to’ brand of console for the past 15 years. The 338 is an incredibly powerful console, which can do as much as any other on the market and more in a much less convoluted way. I know it like the back of my hand and how to get the best out of it and do the most complicated things at the push of a button. The Capture features are ridiculously powerful.”

Pitt oversaw 85 channels, 64 directly from stage, with additional channels for shouts, sends, returns, communications, and routing, among others. His outboard rack included a classic Lexicon PCM 91 digital reverberator for vocals. “The way I set up the communications and shout systems are the same across the board. For the layout, a lot of people have instruments on one side and vocal and effects on the other, however, I tend to adjust my banks of faders visually, how you would see it on stage, left to right, as a nod to my analogue mixing days. My second layer is usually tracks and any track content with reverbs next to the vocals, so they’re changed in unison. Sometimes, I’ll do a custom layer of [drum or spill group, two lead guitar channels and vocal] the things I use most, particularly if it’s a busy show input-wise.”

Pitt referred to the basis of his mix as ‘static’ with minor changes. “Louis changes a fair bit between songs I’m running upwards of 60 scenes with a lot of songs having multiple scenes for verse and chorus or specific sections,” he explained. The Monitor Engineer is a big believer in unifying the in-ear monitors, so what he hears is the same as those on stage. “We use Shure PSM1000s, JH Audio Roxanne in-ear monitors for Louis and JH16s for everyone else, except for the drummer, who is using Ultimate Ears IEMs. Louis and the band are solid, and they keep their ears in from start to finish. Louis wants the rock star mix; he likes to feel the weight of the mix. It’s not an overpowering mix but it’s a full mix with his vocal on top with Neve 5045 primary source enhancers on all vocals. Everyone else has a standard band mix at moderate level with their instrument and vocals high. The drummer has the most straightforward mix with his drums and shouts layered on top.”

A further pair of subwoofers stage left, and right were situated under the stage risers, providing the weight of side fills without the top end. “It’s a big rock show with drums and guitars, so the less noise I can have flying about the stage, the better,” he said.

The microphone package included a Shure Axient Digital AD4D two-channel digital wireless receiver, a AD2 vocal microphone with a KSM9 capsule for vocals. Sennheiser MKH 60 and AKG C414 XLS microphones captured the ambient noise of the room. “We track everything, including the two sets of ambient microphones for recording and virtual soundcheck, in case the band decides to do anything with the live content,” he noted.

Having collaborated with Solotech and previously BCS Audio multiple times, Pitt was pleased to see the company on the tour sheet. “They are a solid choice and I know Dave Shepherd well. They fix any problems swiftly, and all their gear is well packaged and maintained,” he said. “The band and crew are lovely. It’s rare to come across a camp so friendly on a show of this size.” Pitt thanked Solotech Monitor and Stage Technician, Matt Coton. “He is fantastic. He takes all the second guessing out of my day and is so meticulous and thorough that I know everything will be as it should be from the get-go. When there are issues, he knows exactly what to do to remedy it. He’s been a joy to work and hang out with.”

Audio Technicians, Matt Coton, Tim Miller, Kim Watson, Elliott Clarke, James Coghlan, Matt Benton; Bassist and Keyboard Technician, Chris Freeman; Guitar Technician, Dan Ely and Playback Technician, Scotty Anderson made up the sound team.

CURATING A HOME AWAY FROM HOME Sarah Nicholas of Sarah’s Kitchen and Caterers, Rebecca Henderson, Helena Robertson, Chris Carter, Matty Pople and Tamsin Manvell provided band and crew catering, ensuring morale stayed high and stomachs were full on the road. Making a name for themselves as One Direction’s caterers, the outfit now cater for each of the band members’ individual tours and private functions, amassing a dedicated online following. “I started catering for Louis and the rest of One Direction during their first theatre gig in Watford and I feel very privileged to have that connection. At dinner time, we perform a plate service, which I think is important – our reputation is not only built on really good food but the entire hospitality package, creating a nourishing environment away from home,” Nicholas said.

Sarah’s Kitchen provided a range of vegan, gluten-free and vegetarian options. “We also provide disposable products and water coolers, and our runner regularly collects fresh, local produce from markets based on where we are in the world,” she explained.

The wider European crew featured Security, Kristian ‘Ches’, Ross Foster, Ben Major, and Gav Kerr; Merchandisers, Jon Ellis and Maddy Stephens; Bus Drivers, Aivaras Arminas, Frederico Antunes, Scott Pickering, Chris Grover; Entourage Bus Driver, Paul Roberts; Merchandise Truck Driver, Warren Dowey; BTS UK Account Handler, Garry Lewis; Stardes Account Handlers, Tyrone Reynolds, and Alam Minshall; CSE Crosscom Account Handler, Hannah Evans and Altour Travel Account Handler, Alexandra Gati.

Having wrapped up the best-selling livestream of 2020 – a lofty achievement given the proliferation of remote productions amid the grounding of live events with in-person crowds – Tomlinson shows no signs of slowing down post-pandemic, making the leap from sold-out theatres to arenas across the globe with his trusty crew in tow. “Live From London was great because the crew and I really needed it,” Delf said. “It gave us some much-needed work amid the lockdown, and all the proceeds went directly to the crew, which was an incredibly honourable thing to do. To come back out on the other side of lockdown was great. It was a dark time back then for everyone, but to be back out on tour surrounded by friends, who feel more like family, it’s special.”

-> read here on Issuu

#louis #fitf tour #fitfwt #lt crew #tpi magazine #05.01.24 #article #touring #thank youu omglarryrabbit ;)#love getting to peek behind the scenes this is great

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fungiscide · 1 year

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𖣊 ⸅ ⠀ Sevika's Childhood ꓹ ⠀a Non - Canonical Concept of the Upbringing of Zaun’s Scary Lady.

DISCLAIMER : ⠀ This is material is strictly based regarding the portrayal of Sevika in the Arcane Series. I have not played League of Legends ꓹ ⠀so my understanding of the in-game lore is not accurate in regards to her character. Take this as you will ꓹ ⠀this is all my interpretation of her and what I have created. If you guys enjoy this concept feel free to reblog and share your thoughts! I appreciate feedback.

Part One : ⠀ The Insight.

Character(s) Mentioned : ⠀ Sevika ꓹ ⠀Sevika's Father (Bacchus) ꓹ Sevika's Mother ( briefly ) ꓹ ⠀Vander ꓹ ⠀etc.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

" Let's just say ꓹ ⠀I didn't always see eye-to-eye with my old man. She'll come to you ꓹ ⠀ when she's ready. "

Unfettered pipework ꓹ ⠀ stained glassware ꓹ ⠀ a miasma of smog and fumes leaking from the tangles of trench-lines. Before the bringing of Zaun and its clandestine independence ꓹ ⠀ the Underground was a dirtied district plundered with criminals, and engineers aside from chembarons and drunkards. During the years when the bridges weren't discreetly secured by prowling enforcers ꓹ ⠀ when there was unity between the two cities rather than untimely separation. At that time ꓹ ⠀ a mere child with a mother out of the picture was brought forth. Born to be her father’s daughter as she would consider it ꓹ ⠀ and she had his face ⠀ — ⠀ oil smeared and all. To be the right-hand woman ꓹ ⠀ a scary lady in an upbringing. This is her story.

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ADOLESCENCE :

The street air was dense ꓹ ⠀ especially during the late hours of the night when factories ignited their steel gears and cinder flecked smoke polluted the air. Large ꓹ ⠀ pilfering architecture derived from stained windows and corroding pipelines sat back along each side of the canal that ran amok throughout the underground. Murky waters soiled by smog and filth were hard to trudge through ꓹ ⠀ and considerably bothersome after a long day.

" Did I ever tell you the story of how I lost my arm ? "

Light from the lamp fixture flickered in his direction ꓹ ⠀ his skin a brim shade of tangerine. Long ꓹ ⠀ dark locks of thick ꓹ ⠀ black hair tied back to avoid the fire. The flame spit its rage as the gusts of wind came through in subtle bursts ꓹ ⠀ his metallic fingers flexed desperately and intertwined around the iron rod he held. It burned ꓹ ⠀ searing brimstone. Heat from the lantern pressed on her skin and failed to cease ꓹ ⠀ it silenced the cold that welcomed in from the draft in the garage they occupied. It was built beside a small laundromat that was resident to a fairly old couple ꓹ ⠀ it was all they could afford at the time. Interior design wasn't a necessity so their furniture consisted of a small couch ꓹ ⠀ a workbench ꓹ ⠀ a mattress without a sheet and a singular blanket ꓹ ⠀ a mini - fridge typically stored with beer bottles and frozen meals ꓹ ⠀ a microwave ꓹ ⠀ and a small television. The neighbors allowed them to use the bathroom and shower in their apartment above the laundromat ꓹ ⠀ fortunately. Sure ꓹ ⠀ it wasn’t a mansion in topside with a veranda and a large garden— but it was certainly home to her.

" No ꓹ ⠀ you didn't— was it scary? " She inquired.

Bacchus chuckled ꓹ ⠀setting the rod down on the workbench in front of him and sifting a cigarette pack out of his pocket. Taking a singular out from the carton ꓹ ⠀ he offered one to her but she shook her head in return which led him to putting them back in his pocket. With the one he had ꓹ ⠀ he ignited it with a rusty lighter and held it tensely on his forefinger before inhaling the toxins. He exhaled shakily ꓹ ⠀ a translucent breath escaping his lips. " Scary beyond all reason ꓹ ⠀ but it was the consequence of my actions. It's a dangerous world out there ꓹ Sev. Promise me ꓹ ⠀ you'll never cross the wrong man — alright ? "

Sevika fell quiet ꓹ ⠀ gazing out towards the city through their opened garage door. " I won't. " Bacchus grinned in response and scuffed up her hair with his fleshed hand ꓹ ⠀ a plume of smoke gust from his nostrils when he laughed.

" That's my girl. "

TEENAGE YEARS :

The district they resided in was fairly quiet ꓹ ⠀ besides the occasional scurrying of common rats and clatter of metal. Bacchus was able to financially support the two by melding and doing repairs on machinery for the manufacturing buildings. A good education for the younger generation in the Undercity was scarce in comparison to the plentiful lot of Piltovian education. Therefore ꓹ ⠀ Sevika had to learn things on her own in order to survive the customs and conditions of the Underground. While her dad hefted large scraps of metal at his job ꓹ ⠀ Sevika spent her days wandering throughout the alleyways and roads of the city. Gathering scraps of her own — preferably coins and items she could sell and bargain with in exchange for money or a pack of smokes. While veering through tendrils of black sewage ꓹ ⠀ she encountered Vander and the two became close during this period of her life and they developed an alliance in order to survive together. Most days they'd meet at the same alley and share a smoke while they pilfered coins from drunks and beat up a few goons in the process. This became a routine for her up until she turned fifteen when Bacchus had discovered the habit she picked up on from him.

" You know these things can kill you ꓹ ⠀ right ? " Bacchus spoke sternly ꓹ ⠀ chucking a box of cigarettes on the work surface. Confrontation wasn't something he was the best at after all ꓹ ⠀ most of the time it turned into an argument between the two.

" Yeah ꓹ ⠀ yet you still smoke which makes you a fucking hypocrite. " Her back was shifted in his direction ꓹ ⠀ her brunette hair curtained over her eyes. Embers burning in her smoldering gaze and anger etched on her face behind the drape of her hair.

A deep breath widened and escaped his chest ꓹ ⠀ " Where is this attitude coming from ꓹ ⠀ eh ? " He inquired with a raised brow ꓹ ⠀ ruffling his fleshed fingers through the scalp of his hair restlessly. Yet ꓹ ⠀ she said nothing in return. " Alright ꓹ ⠀ listen kid. You know I'm trying my best but it's been hard ꓹ ⠀ and you know why I can't be home for you all of the time. " He tried and tried again ꓹ ⠀ but Sevika persisted and gave him the silent treatment.

" Fine ꓹ ⠀ be that way ꓹ ⠀ you damn brat. " Bacchus scowled with bared teeth and the clenching of his fist whitened his bruised knuckles. Dark eyes befell ꓹ ⠀hastily expelling his daughter and his thudding footsteps began to approach the door. Metallic fingers stretched towards the doorhandle ꓹ ⠀ meeting little resistance his gaze swung slightly over his shoulder and in her direction. " Don't expect me to come home ꓹ ⠀ I'll be out for the night and if you want dinner help yourself to leftovers or go buy yourself something. " After that ꓹ ⠀ the door closed and the garage became uneasily quiet.

Sevika felt unease unclog in her veins from the disorientation ꓹ tears pricking at her eyes as she was reminded of the earlier years of their dynamic. Her head cast downwards ꓹ ⠀ as she stood up from the mattress the springs jolted as she arose and walked towards the refrigerator to salvage any leftovers. Sifting through the tupperware of old meals ꓹ ⠀ her stomach grumbled in disappointment after she found nothing to satisfy her to cravings. Fortunately ꓹ ⠀ she had a last resort in case this scenario would occur and it did quite often. Underneath the basin of the sink she kept a small ꓹ ⠀ slightly chipped ginori teacup that held a fair amount of copper she'd managed to collect while strolling through the fissures with full pockets. It was plenty for her to get a single bowl of noodles from the vendor across the street ꓹ ⠀ and luckily the shopkeepers were aware of her situation as a regular customer. With just a few coins she was able to buy herself a steaming mug of seafood stew with a green base ꓹ ⠀ seaweed flavoring and spices with chopped up onions and peppers to add heat. A large tentacle oozed over the very edge of the bowl ꓹ ⠀ the soup trickled into a puddle on top of the counter. Sevika sat hunkering above the bowl as she snarfed down as much as she could ꓹ ⠀ her taste quenched by the flavors. Grease was smeared on every crevice of her face and briefly wiped clean from the cuff of her sleeve with a nonchalant expression. The shopkeeper stood with his mouth slightly agape ꓹ ⠀ in which he felt obligated to inquire ꓹ ⠀ " Would you like another bowl ? I — It’ll be on the house. "

During her years of teenage angst and parental resentment ꓹ ⠀ Sevika hated the way she resembled her father so much. Through photographs and tapes ꓹ ⠀ the very images of her mother appeared as a guise of a stranger — a blur in her thoughts. Most nights when she awaited the return of her father ꓹ ⠀ she laid against the mattress and wondered how life could've turned out differently if her mother hadn't walked out on them. Yet not a tear was shed for she felt nothing towards a woman she couldn't picture ꓹ ⠀ and being so vulnerable would strip her bare in the presence of the underground. For fissure-folk followed the term that emotion bears a frailty that deranges. Each time Bacchus left the house for hours after their arguments ꓹ ⠀ Sevika would lay on the mattress and wait for him to come back before she would go to bed. Every time she'd listen close to hear the grating of the screen door and the drunken faltering of her father’s hunkering figure to know that she'd be alright.

That was until a fateful day came that would change the course of her entire life.

A seething stampede of humanity dressed in the traditional Piltovian attire jostled across the bridge that tied the cities together in complete ꓹ ⠀ harmonious union. Rifles were held and tucked underneath their arms and a first shot was fired on the bridge ꓹ ⠀ a miasma of cinder flecked smoke arose from beyond it and the footsteps grew denser with the crowds retreating back towards the city below. With time ꓹ ⠀ the smoke began to waft further and gradually turn a crimson shade from the bloodshed ꓹ ⠀ flesh and smoke in a pluming mass. Deep cries of agony came from within the hoarse throats of the children and women of the city as they were separated from one another. Children from mothers ꓹ ⠀ husbands from wives ꓹ ⠀ mothers from sons ꓹ ⠀ fathers from daughters. Once the onslaught on the underground was preluding ꓹ ⠀ the bombarding sound of the horn rang and rumbled the ground beneath. Sevika stood beside Vander in an drainage canal whilst sharing a cig ꓹ ⠀ heedless to what was to come up until a rippling of puddles and convulsing floor drew her back to the bridge with smoke that signified an ongoing battle. Embers from her cigarette seared in between her fingers as she became distracted by it ꓹ ⠀ turning to Vander briefly to notice the incensing expression that developed on his etching features.

" Come on ꓹ ⠀ Sev. " Vander brushed past ꓹ ⠀ hitting her shoulder with his which caused her to drop her cigarette into the small puddle below. Watching the embers ricochet off of the concrete ꓹ ⠀ her eyes began to darken with furrowing brows.

" What ? Are you fucking ! — "

He halted to regard her ꓹ ⠀ turning on the ball of his heel and giving her a quick but cold glance ꓹ ⠀ " Come on ꓹ ⠀ keep up. "

For a moment she observed as he ambled along the bend of the passage ꓹ ⠀ sighing and casting her head down she decided to pursue after him. The both of them eventually emerged from the tunnel to meet the discards of what was left of the underground ꓹ ⠀ heaps of bodies and blood besmirched the dirtied pavement with columns of smog. Bullets were littered on the ground in parcels of three ꓹ ⠀ which made it more difficult to sift through.

From the peripherals of her vision ꓹ ⠀ she could distinctively make out the faces of people who were corpses — friends ꓹ ⠀ allies — all children and members of the Undercity ꓹ ⠀ " What the hell happened here ? " For the first time ꓹ ⠀ Sevika sought out unfeigned fear that painted her with wide eyes and tense shoulders.

Vander knelt down with an insentient guise ꓹ ⠀ collecting one of the bullets and studying it transiently ꓹ ⠀ " Enforcers. " His face contorted to a scowl. He loomed above the corpses and averted his gaze hastily towards Sevika ꓹ ⠀ her mouth fell slightly agape in return.

" There has to be something we can do to stop this ꓹ ⠀ they can't keep doing this ! They can't keep killing us ! " She yelled but her voice fell short as the toll of the horn caught her by surprise ꓹ ⠀ taken aback by this she withdrew and began to back up as Vander stood to his feet. It was brief ꓹ ⠀ when the ringing stopped the ground sat still.

" Did you hear that ? " Vander chuckled with sarcasm entangled in his false laughter ꓹ ⠀ " That sound means that they won't stop at any expense no matter what we say ꓹ ⠀ and no matter what we do. " Bruised knuckles idled as he eyed the palm of his bare hand ꓹ ⠀ with the clench of his fist he consumed the flesh of it. " But this time ꓹ ⠀ let's save as many lives as we can from that bridge and not come back empty handed. " There was a flicker of determination and valor behind the glint of his eye ꓹ ⠀ and to Sevika it was easy to recognize what he was implying from that word.

From that point forth ꓹ ⠀ the two separated and went off to scrap together materials and medical aid for the victims — and weaponry of their own that they could use in their defense against the enforcers. Sevika weaved through the obstacles in her path to retreat to the garage that sat untouched by topside. There ꓹ ⠀ she assembled and garnered iron tacks and items from her father's workbench into a small leather bag she had straddled across her chest. Within the bag she gathered linen gauze ꓹ ⠀ a lighter ꓹ ⠀ a small jug of gasoline and other necessities. Just as she stepped back to the door ꓹ ⠀ she met little resistance as her attention was redirected to the brass knuckles that were tucked on the counter. Although they'd belonged to her father ꓹ ⠀Sevika was a believer of the concept of begging for forgiveness then asking for permission.

When she approached the site of the twin bridge the fumes were too condensed to sift through ꓹ ⠀ and her vision became more obscured and the smog thickened with each step further. Gunshots bound and recoiled ꓹ the ear-tearing clamor ricochet off of the buildings that were on the brink of collapse. With each fired shot ꓹ ⠀ the closer it became and the more crimson the plumes discolored to. Silhouettes of men and women handling large ꓹ ⠀ heavy rifles sieved from the onslaught to find and hunt the creatures of the city below. From afar ꓹ ⠀ Sevika regarded the mass of humanity pleading to be spared mercy at the hands of the authorities. In the midst of the plethora ꓹ ⠀ she distinguished the one man she wanted to rescue from the brigade. Bacchus knelt with a threadbare face ꓹ ⠀ his wrists framed in cold metal and knuckles fleshed and raw. Black pupils shifted to meet the girl ꓹ ⠀ his daughter who stood merely a few feet in distance of him. He could discern the fear laced within her features which he once sought to be incapable ꓹ ⠀ and his frame jerked in response to the augmenting infliction on his body from the unbreathable gas. A metallic flavor coated his tongue ꓹ ⠀ which he spat out with distaste and he began to heave dryly with edging breathes. " Don't be afraid ꓹ ⠀ run. " Bacchus mumbled ꓹ ⠀ beginning to succumb to his conditions but overheard the retreating leather boots of enforcement.

There ꓹ ⠀ temporarily he was left lone whilst fettered by cuffs that scathed his wrists. However ꓹ ⠀ as he leaned in to eavesdrop on the enforcers final message for the Underground ꓹ ⠀he grasped that it was not over yet. " We're blowing the bridge ꓹ ⠀ disposing of that evidence and blaming the Undercity for the destruction. We have a minute to leave. " With that ꓹ ⠀ the disembodied voices quieted and diminished to a mechanical whirring.

" Damnit ꓹ ⠀ " Bacchus hastily scrambled to remove the frames that bound him to the earth ꓹ ⠀ reluctantly facing his head upward to Sevika who hadn't been informed of what was to come. " Run ! " From the combusts of his throat he released a scream of agony that shattered the core of the shell. A scintillating light cast a beacon ꓹ ⠀ subtle bursts of spitting pyre gusted in multiple angles. Buildings crumbled and the remains of the brigade collapsed ꓹ ⠀ Sevika had felt her body rise off of the concrete before being thrusted down by a brute force of nature. Her sight was briefly showered by debris ꓹ ⠀ shrapnels and fragments of metal. Glass shards splintered ꓹ ⠀ and a singular fracture tore a line through the skin of her cheek from her eyebrow. After that ꓹ ⠀ she lost consciousness and couldn't collect her bearings properly but from what she could recall was Vander found her before the enforcers did.

That day ꓹ ⠀ Vander liberated the lives of the Underground and for that people owed him an onerous debt — a debt that couldn't be repaid. For him ꓹ ⠀ that day marked the very upbringing of his title as the Hound of the Underground.

As for Sevika ꓹ ⠀ the one man she wanted to save couldn't be saved — or so she had assumed.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

* This is not the end ꓹ ⠀ our story will continue in Part II : ⠀ The Upbringing.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

&, ⠀ Afterword: ⠀ Hi loves ꓹ ⠀ just wanted to stop in and say that I am uncertain when Part II will be complete or started due to personal concerns I am being dealt with at this time. However ꓹ ⠀ in Part II I am certain that most questions will be answered regarding the deeper details of what occurred after the bridge ꓹ ⠀ a background on Bacchus ꓹ ⠀ interactions and how she met Vander & Silco — ⠀ and perhaps ꓹ ⠀ a bit behind Sevika's mother ? Anyways ꓹ ⠀ I hope you guys had a pleasure reading this and please feel free to comment suggestions or what you liked about this !

#sevika #sevika arcane #sevika x female reader #arcane #league of legends #headcanon #childhood #angst #trauma #arcane series #arcane shitpost #arcane lol #arcane women #character lore #vander #arcane vander #villain #character death #character study

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allthebrazilianpolitics · 2 months

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How a run-down Ford launched a music revolution that swept Brazil’s Carnival

Behemoth sound trucks known as electric trios are a fixture of Brazil's Carnival festivities and draw millions to the streets

Sound begins blasting ear drums and rattling bones even before the speakers — hauled by big rigs creeping their way through Brazil’s thronging Carnival crowds — draw near.

The behemoth sound trucks known as electric trios are a Brazilian innovation that amplified music and effectively did away with front-row seats — making Carnival more accessible. In the seven decades since the first one hit Brazil’s streets, they have become a fixture of the country’s annual pre-Lenten festivities and draw millions to the streets. Singer Caetano Veloso’s ode to the earth-shaking vehicles proclaimed that the only people not following them must already be dead.

From Salvador, on Brazil’s northeast coast, trios spread throughout the country and found more disciples; an Instagram account that posts seemingly banal videos of the nation’s rigs has about 150,000 followers, with fans praising each trio’s merits. They’ve grown ever more sophisticated and ever larger — with lights, LED screens, dressing rooms and VIP areas.

Their appeal has never been just the novelty of amplification. Their steady, constant advance meant anyone, rich or poor, could get close enough to the music to feel it throb through their body, said Isaac Edington, who coordinates Salvador’s festivities as president of its tourism agency.

Helen Salgado, a 31-year-old actress, traveled to Salvador from Rio to immerse herself in the oceans of people churning around trios in celebrations ahead of the official start of Carnival on Saturday. She said she was driven to ecstasy without consuming so much as a drop of alcohol.

“It was very loud ... and marvelous!” Salgado said by phone, laughing. “I think that’s why there’s all this frenzy: The sound dominates you and intoxicates you.”

But long before these walls of sound took Brazil by storm, there was a Ford.

#brazil #carnival #history #mod nise da silveira #image description in alt

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folxlorepod · 1 year

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Merkland Street Station - New Lead (!)

Some interesting historical data for you today. Everybody knows the Glasgow Subway has 15 stops, right? Wrong! Famous for being one of the oldest subways in the world, and remaining largely unchanged since its creation, Glasgow’s ‘Clockwork Orange’ hides an odd mystery: the ghost station of Merkland Street. And before I get any more anons saying ‘But Charlie, Merkland Street isn’t a secret, everyone knows about it’, you need to know that's not what I'm getting at. The secret isn’t that it existed, but why it no longer does.

If you put your head out from the platforms of the Partick Street subway, just around the bend towards the Southside, you might be able to catch a glimpse of the Merkland Street stop. Most of the original fixtures, signs, etc. live in the Transport Museum, but some of the picked-clean carcass remains. If you’re on the incoming carriage, you may be able to spot the stop by a change in sound, a softening of the screeching the trains make as they hurtle through the narrow tunnel. If you look out of the window and focus on the darkness just right - for only a split second - it's said you might see a face staring back that's not your own. At least, so I’ve heard.

Some say the reported haunting started during the Second World War, when Merkland Street was bombed accidentally (they were likely aiming for a nearby shipyard). It's also claimed by some that the haunting's increase in frequency and potency led to the station's close, with the city opening the busier, better connected Partick Station right next door. Some of us… think otherwise. That the haunting started well before the war, that it was there before the subway was even built.

My research into Merkland Street started due to a… very personal interest. Which I won't be getting into - again, get out of my inbox 'anons', it's none of your business. It didn't take me long to find some evidence, with these pictures offering insight that even someone who hasn't been touched by the between can appreciate. See below. Right there! I’ve been there before - stood on that platform, felt the trains pass by, felt feathers and talons brush through my coat, watched the glisten of old lights glint on a canine too sharp to be true.

And then I found something that shook me to my core, and it takes a lot to do that these days. Look, I know what you probably think of me - that this is either some long, elaborate joke, or I'm completely obsessed with something that isn't even real. But this is a photo from 1972, taken by George Watson. Look closely. If this is from the Seventies, then why is it that in the background, that husk of a man, more a shadow than a being… How come he looks like me? Stands like me? Hunches his shoulders to the floor like me?

I’m waiting for the subway. I’m waiting.

-Charlie

#Folxlore #Glasgow #Queer Horror #Audio Drama #Fiction

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casyoo · 2 months

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LED street light

LED street lights refer to street lights made from LED lighting fixtures, which have unique advantages such as high efficiency, safety, energy conservation, environmental protection, long service life, fast response speed, and high color rendering index. They are of great significance for energy conservation in urban lighting. Road lighting is an important component of urban lighting, and traditional street lights are often used. High pressure sodium lamps emit light 360 degrees, which results in significant energy waste due to their high light loss. Currently, the global environment is deteriorating day by day, and countries are developing clean energy. With the rapid growth of the national economy, the contradiction between energy supply and demand in China has become increasingly prominent, and there is a serious shortage of electricity supply. Energy conservation is an urgent problem that needs to be solved. Therefore, developing new efficient, energy-saving, long-life, high color rendering index, and environmentally friendly LED street lights is of great significance for urban lighting energy conservation. Road lighting is closely related to people's production and life. With the acceleration of urbanization in China, LED street lights have gradually entered people's vision with advantages such as directional lighting, low power consumption, good driving characteristics, fast response speed, high seismic resistance, long service life, and green environmental protection. They have become the world's most energy-efficient new generation of light sources to replace traditional light sources. Therefore, LED street lights will become the best choice for energy-saving transformation of road lighting.

#led street light #led lights #solar light

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enchanted1waters · 10 months

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{Dancing on blades }

Ellie williams enemies to lovers x f!reader

Warnings: smut in the next chapter 👀, gotta build up that tension fr. VIOLENCE. minorsdn! GORE.

Idfk how many words <3 enjoy

Fog and storm clouds slowly crept in as the sun began to set, leaving only a sliver of light to cascade over and through the leaves of the tall trees and vines. I slowly crept through the brush, spacing out the entire time we walked. I was an offensive general mainly, I owned two katanas. Certified in aim and precision in my blade work. Not a single soldier has had a chance up against my rage. My sister was recently killed, 1 month, 2 weeks, and 1 day. She was my other half, the only symbol of life worth living since our parents passed. Until I heard a twig snap in the tall grass.

Up until this catastrophe of a meet cute, I was a part of a group called the shadow stalkers, now before you go saying oh my god, why the hell would you guys name yourself out of the most creepy creature- well to start off my rant, ehm I DONT FUCKING KNOW ASK THE GODDAMN LEADER, HELAGIN. MAYBE BECAUSE WE'RE HUGE ON STEALTH? WE LITERALLY AREN'T HEARD OF UNTIL WERE SLITTING YOUR THROATS IN YOUR SLEEP? Sorry, I quite hate that question. It's a very frequent question for newcomers. Even the idiotic newbies they continue to put on my assigned missions.

Carrying on my ignorant group I was assigned to consists of 3 poorly trained men, all which I hate expect one. The rest contains 2 women who are pretty educated just not physically. The qualified being posted at base considering the current outbreak of violence following my sisters death. All of these people quite literally never stop talking, hence me not hearing their signaling in my ear piece. Ya see I sent myself off to take my total happy ass up to find a place for my quadrant to sleep tonight, secure it and radio it in to the team. One that was being led by sergeant l Adams, a white, blonde, blue eyed, 5'10 on a good day man. "Better get a move on, General Vilaria." His egotistical voice boomed in my ear piece as I walked up the street scouting. "Watch it Malibu Ken, wouldn't want you to hurt your plastic voice box running your mouth." I retorted back in a mocking matter, causing a lot of them to respond with giggles and chuckles over the line. Which led me to switch it off.

So I then took my sweet time. Walking up to the Seattle hotel, and walking right in, my eyes caught a glimpse of the chandelier. Gears turning in my head, took only two minutes for me to block the entrance, set the traps by the hallways and aim for the chain holding up the gigantic crystal light fixture. My finger squeezing the trigger followed by the bone rattling sound as the masterpiece shattered, alarming everything in the building to come flooding towards me. About 4 or 5 runners instantly blown up on the traps, one clicker left crawling it's way towards me only to then be fed my blade down it's throat.

Hotel cleared, secured, now to scavange, but first I needed to turn my ear piece on to radio in. Then a very strange noise filled my ear as I flipped it on, static. Nothing, this wasn't new. This happened sometimes if our directed quad was out of range, nothing a few flights of stairs and finding a lookout point wouldnt solve. I quickly found a ledge to search from. I saw officers 16, 23, 72, 54, and.....9 was no where to be seen. My eyes showered intensely over the valley attempting to find the number 9 desperately. That's when I saw leaves moving. Yet I couldn't make out what was causing this, so I pulled out my sniper rifle off of my strap back. Focusing in, my eyes sadly didn't find 9 getting up but instead sliced by the neck in one swift motion by a figure. A gasp fell from my mouth, not from horror and the desensitized gore but the sudden attack and not being able to radio it in.

Not wanting to let the intruder know of my awareness, I threw a rock towards a van next to officer 56, Adams. He quickly jumped back, following my line of sight, to which I subtly coaxed my forced companion towards the figures whereabouts. The blonde boy instead just swatted his hand and turned back around. I swore at least 50 times. Looking through my scope in frustration, I hit my knee once more. Fuck, he isn't gonna listen and get the rest of them killed. As I moved my scope slightly over the horizon, I was met with reality hit straight to my face, seeing as all 4 remaining quadrant officers were already face down or slit open. When I attempted to relocate Sergeant Adams, the figure had him in a chokehold. Then only was my vision met with brown, cold, hard eyes.

Fuck.

I had been alone plenty of times, but knowing I had now made eye contact with the successor of the fallen teammates. That sent chills on my fight or flight instincts.

That's when my senses rang a sound from the bottom of the building. Heavy footsteps. My adrenaline suddenly coursing through my veins. As I counted the footsteps and voices. I felt the strategy in the air, quickly throwing my past objective out of the window. I found myself listening for the door to click, and it did.

"You sure it was a girl? We had a male kill 12 of our soldiers." The man's voice grumbled through the air. "Yes. Nora reported a brunette with short hair. Girl that was with the bastard Abby bashed in." My heart pounded, hands starting to slip from my hiding place. That's when I heard the floor creak as the man entered the bathroom. "I can still hear her begging Abby to stop, boo FUCKING hoo." His laugh rang like poison in my lungs. The taste sour on my tongue. The millisecond he stepped beneath me, I let go of the ceiling's inner walls. In the brief falling action, I felt free, yet so spiteful. Every tear spilling into this moment fed a booming monster of grief. Leading to taking to it out on every goddamn being that stands in my waym

As I made contact with the muscular man Imediately began to claw at his eyeballs, causing him to send me flying back sandwiched between his back and a tile wall. My ears ringing at the crunch of tile and a rib of mine. The squash of his eye as my left hand finally dug it's burrow, I seized his moment of agony to grab my dagger attached to my belt. Swinging my right arm across his entire neck, yet just before pulling back I was cut off by a loud. "WAIT!" a woman, finding herself walking in on an intense battle, pointing a gun at me. "Don't you dare you little bitch", she says. My eyes met hers; in moments like these I experience dissociation. Yet for viewer experience, here I was eyes blown wide with blood lust, blood gushing down my hand, as I held a blade to a man's jugular, spitting the words, "or what." This version never met my sister except once. Once when we were still on the ranch. I still remember the fear in her eyes and she pulled my relentless 13 year old self off of the coward of a man. Snapped out of a trance as my eyes met hers. My soft skin now tarnished with blood stains. Yet Kai held me so gently. As if I would break if she held me a smidge firmer. "It's okay, little butterfly. He's not gonna hurt us anymore. We're safe. I promise."

Snapped back to reality, I flung my left hand from his eye and straight to his hand limply holding a smg to which I stocked the woman fill with many bullets. The man screamed In despair, but the butterfly that once would hold this man through his heart break now kicked him over, tied him to a chair, and leaned on the counter. "Tell me where the fuck Abby is." His lip quivered. He shook his head slightly, "don't play dumb, I see your wlf intials." I said firmly crossing my arms. "Why I do such a thing when you spend an entire clip on my WIFE." He called out with tears running out of his wounds. "It was half, ass hat. And you're lucky I made it quick. What did you say?" I lightly tapped my chin, "ah, yes boo. Fucking. Hoo." This sentence brought the grown man to a Hollar as he scream cried. I walked over to him putting a knife into his mouth in between sobs, lightly wedging between teeth. "You tell me now, and I'll kill ya fast. Resist and I'll take each accessory out one by one like a mother FUCKING Polly pocket." My eyes burned into his, a silent promise of my words. Tears streaming down out of his eyes, my gaze adverted, "that's actually disgusting. It's a shame your eyes aren't as sealed as your lips. Maybe if we take them too, hmm? Replace them to take duty as your eyelids?" I say with a growing smile. He quickly shakes his head avoiding puncturing his mouth with the blade.

Ten seconds later, his words are on a sheet of paper and someone's bursting through the door. My instincts spring into action, my boot positioning the still screaming man in front of me as a shield as I throw the dagger towards the figure, landing in the doorframe, cutting a piece of auburn ish hair. Taking my spare knife out to play, I stab the man in the head as the figure ducks behind a couch.

"I'm so sick of people crashing my shit, fuck off would you? Especially if you're with the wlf, then I'm gonna slaughter EVERY SINGLE ONE OF YOU" I say throwing a bottle of liquor onto the couch and throwing my lighter towards it. "I HATE THEM- SHIT , ARE YOU FUCKING CRAZY?" a raspy feminine voice booms from behind the flames. My mind blinks for a second at the fact she isn't one of them.

I'm halfway across the living room running for my blade in the frame, before im tackled to the floor. The impact causes my head to go a little fuzzy, the weight on top of mine, the heat all kick starting a part of me which is completely irrelevant in my current situation. "Halfway there sweetheart." I reply causing the auburnish brunette's kinda beautiful eyes to go wide eyed as we make eye contact, and a little flushed at my use of words. Allowing me to pin her legs against each other, flipping her over. She attempts to sit up, to which I use brute force to slam her back into the hardwood. "Sit. Good girl." I say with a slick smile as I reach for the blade she grabs my hand and pulls it the complete opposite direction. Hurdling me against another wall, slamming me against it.

Her vieny, calloused, tattooed hand wrapping around my throat as I look seriously finally into her eyes. Both now firm and cold. "If you aren't Wlf, who the fuck are you." She says. My eyes try to stay focused on her eyes, yet my gaze slips to her freckles. All spread out waiting to be counted and kis- "fuck you, and FUCK this." I said kneeing her in the stomach and elbowing her back as I grabbed the dagger out of the door frame. Quickly grabbing my strapped bag with all of the weapons and supplies. My cold walls starts to close again, as I'm outback into survival mode once again.

As I take one last look at the figure on the ground gasping for air, pointing my knife I promise her if she follows me. She won't be able to see which limb will be cut off next.

^~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~^

Many days fly by, every night that passes. I lay strapped to a tree limb up high, forced to look at the stars. Every constellation reminding me of the threatening girl I had met and her freckles. I curse myself out of the intrusiveness. Drifting off to sleep once again after looking over my route to the target of my grief. That is until I'm awoken.

The sounds barreling through the corridors, tripping over each other , limbs flying, spores airborne. I look down the street a couple hundred yards to see a total of three people, running, struggling to get a break from the hoard. I try to shift and ignore the sound. But the thought and sounds continue to eat away at my chest.

Cursing myself to hell I hurdle my way towards the warfare. Climbing up a fire escape and through the old ladder bridge I had set a couple days ago, I made it to the church bell, where I had tied a rock to the pendulum in the middle. Grabbing it I swung it causing a distraction long enough for me to get down to the three blind mice. Following closely behind as two of them started to notice why their luck had changed. As one of the girls, a new one with a darker skin tone and pretty dark eyes smiled gently at me as if I was a saint. I felt guilty twang in my chest for I was not worthy of such kindness with the amount of blood I've spilt.

Directing them to a daycare I had found on a supply run, me and a taller handsome man slammed the door shut behind us. "Hurry- shit. Get that desk!" I said in a struggle towards the woman who wouldn't stay off of my mind. She easily pushed it towards me with a few grunts. After a few objects stacked on top of each other, I noticed the windows just a clicker busted through. Throwing its limbs around sporadically at the nice woman I had just met. Before it could lay a hand on her as she backed away, I stabbed right through its skull with my katana.

"Jesus, you KABOBBED that thing. Thank you." The pony tailed woman smiled and laughed, laying a reassuring hand on my shoulder. I nodded in acknowledgement as I looked over at the other twin "help me, hammer up some boards. Now." I cocked my head towards the play pins we would later use as security on this task.

As I hung the wood, secured the strength, and calmed my breathing. Not a single thought didn't include the stupid attractive woman. I'm so fucked.

#ellie williams #the last of us #strong female protagonist #enemies to lovers

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afpwestcoast · 10 months

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The Social, Orlando, FL, 6/18/23

Before the show I ran into Brian on the street and asked him what the new song (which had been dubbed Tom’s New Favorite Song at last night’s show) was actually called. He said it’s called ‘Boyfriend in a Coma’ and was actually written about 19 years ago but had only recently been arranged as a Dresden Dolls song. It’s based on her then-boyfriend Brendan suddenly collapsing during a load-out after a show, developing Guillain–Barré syndrome, and going into a coma for like 6 months, during which time Amanda hardly left his bedside. You can hear a demo of it here. It will always be Tom’s New Favorite Song to me.

When my nephew was 12 or 13 years old he googled Amanda Palmer to find out why his uncle kept jetting around all over the place to see her. Afterwards, due to the number of pictures that came up of Amanda in various stages of undress, he asked, “Is she a porn star?”

When I told Amanda this story she inscribed a copy of ‘Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance’ for him: “To Dylan - I am not a porn star. No really. Love, -Amanda.” I gave him the book for his 18th birthday.

He’s now 26, and he lives in Orlando, so I brought him to the show. When I planted him in the front row against the stage I said, “Just so you understand: there are thousands of people all over the world who would kill to be standing where you are right now.” At the time I’m sure there was some eye rolling, but by the end of the evening I think he understood.

Unfortunately, guest bassist Tilley Komorny had come down with COVID in the past 24 hours, so we were not able to fight for our right (to party!). Despite this the band torched through another stellar set, with only minimal property damage.

Annotated Set List:

Good Day (featuring Brian on guitar to start)

Sex Changes

Gravity

Backstabber - Due to a “band miscommunication” they actually started playing different songs. I kinda think they shoulda just gone with it, but they restarted and both played Backstabber.

Modern Moonlight - Once again Brian led the crowd in the backing-vocal part before diving into the song.

My Alcoholic Friends

There was a pause in the set to introduce the band, tape down the piano pedal, and, of course, say GAY!

Rock and Roll Part 2 (aka The Hey Song - Gary Glitter cover) - Brief excerpt with the shout of “Hey!” replaced with “GAY!”

“If you’re looking for a gay band, look no further!”

Boyfriend in a Coma - By way of introduction Amanda said, “I’ve been sitting here for the last few nights thinking ‘I wouldn’t want to break up with me.’ Just warning you: I’m like the goth Taylor Swift. If you go out with me, and we break up in a bad way, you’re fucked. You’re SO fucked! This song is not quite really like that, but it lives in that dimension.”

Merch commercial

Welcome to the Internet (Bo Burnham cover)

Bad Habit

Missed Me

Amsterdam (Jacques Brel cover) - During her rampage up and down the bar tonight Amanda actually broke one of the lighting fixtures. “We broke that light, which means we’re gonna have to pay for that light. Buy more merch!”

Delilah (featuring Veronica Swift)

After taking a huge swig of wine straight from the bottle, Amanda said, “The truth is I stopped being as much of a lush when I had a child cause it just didn’t work. I don’t know if anybody has ever tried to have a small child and be hungover, but it’s fucking impossible.”

Whakanewha (pronounced Fuckin-A-Fa)

Mrs. O

Twenty Years Ago, Part 2 - Another impromptu composition about a song about climate denialism being more true now than when it was written 20 years ago. Conclusion: That’s fucked up.

They then welcomed to the stage Father Nathan Monk, who told the story of why he left the priesthood. Bottom line: The conservative (read: ignorant, bigoted, and, frankly, unchristian) dictates of his church were incompatible with his progressive world view.

Mandy Goes to Med School

Coin-Operated Boy - At the start of the song instead of singing the lyrics Amanda just sang, “Gay, gaygaygaygaygay” to the tune. Then at the end she changed the line to “Gay and to the point.”

Half Jack

——

War Pigs (Black Sabbath cover)

Girl Anachronism - At this point, at the end of the third night in a row, I was exhausted and could barely stand. In a fit of wishful thinking, I actually thought they were going to close with “Sing,” and I would have a nice, calm denouement - I even took out my earplugs. Instead, I got a face full of Girl A. I managed to power through … and then collapsed on the stage.

Photo Gallery:

Dylan’s final few moments of pre-Dresden Dolls innocence (photo by Laurie Steiger)

Merch commercial; I was too enthralled through the first part of the set to take pix

Welcome to the Internet!

Grrrrrr!

Amsterdam

One of those light fixtures will not survive

Delilah

Let’s see how fast this thing can go!

Brian: You know what you did. Amanda: I know tee-hee!

Father Nathan Monk

The many faces of Brian Viglione

Really dude?

I remain convinced that Amanda’s stare can shatter glass

The end!

I’m not the only one who collapsed on the stage afterwards

#dresden dolls #amanda palmer #thesocial

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affordablelighting1 · 1 year

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What Should be the Ideal Distance Between Two Street Poles?

Have you noticed while walking on the streets how the lighting poles are positioned at a distance from one another?

Did that ever make you question what might be the distance between the two? Or why are they placed in such a specific way?

Well, the placement is quite logical. To properly illuminate the streets, highways, and sidewalks, the location of light poles is highly crucial. If the light fixture is not correctly located, the people around will not get the intended performance. Also, there will be too many dark spots or bright spots on the street if the height of the street light poles is not right either.

Know the Distance Between The Two Street Poles

It is important to understand that there might be dark areas between two poles if the distance between them is too high and in contrast to this if two of the street light stands are closely positioned you can expect too many bright patches.

The light poles should be spaced apart at least three times more compared to the height of the pole.

For example, when you are installing shorter poles, then positioning them at regular intervals is recommended. But that is not the same in the case of light poles with great heights.

However, you must also know that the optimal height and spacing along a corridor will also depend on the density, rate of travel, and type of light source. When it comes to the height of the poles, standard ones that range up to 6 m are suggested for sidewalks. And for residential, commercial, or historical contexts, the suggested height of the poles is up to 10 m. Not to mention, when it comes to wider street light poles, you can always go for the height rate of 10 to 12 m.

Check Your Preference and Get The Fixing Done

Even if you research and study the correct placements, you need the assistance of a skilled technician to fix the light poles. So, discuss and find a reliable technician in your locality and get things done as per your needs. And if still in doubt, go to affordablelighting.com and give us the list of the items and we’ll go over everything that you’ll need in order to get the job done right!

#street light poles #led light poles #lighting fixtures #light poles #parking lot light poles #street light stands #LED light poles

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runesandramblings · 1 year

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"To The Ends of The Earth"

Word Count: TBD / ongoing

Content Warnings: none, follows the events from The Hobbit so there will be the expected violence from the movies

Pairings: KilixOC

Themes: crossover Marvel x Tolkien, romance, fanfic, canon-ish events

Summary:

In the wake of The Blip, the multi-verse has expanded knowledge of the universe in ways no one thought possible. For the first time, journeying between realms and realities is a tangible possibility.

Ex-SHIELD agent and Avenger, Lilith Lenore, is hiding from her past, shunning the life she once led. But when an offer from a wizard of another world is extended, she cannot refuse.

Chapter 4: The Hobbit

My head was spinning as I trailed behind Gandalf. Dragons, mountains full of gold, creatures called orcs, and small people that he referred to as hobbits. And dwarves, who were also small people, yet somehow they differed from hobbits. It was a lot of information to process. I was used to strange creatures by now, but this was an entirely new level of strange.

We had been following a narrow, dirt path for the better part of an hour. As I looked around I realized that the path had begun to widen, and the trees were beginning to thin. It appeared we were coming out of the woods and heading into a town of some kind. Small vegetable stands and carts lined the street, although I did not see anyone nearby behind or around the fixtures. As we continued the carts turned into buildings, smaller than would seem fitting for the average human. I was only five feet even myself, and looking at the door to a tavern titled ‘The Green Dragon’ I felt as though I’d hit my head on the way in. I quickly turned my attention from the changing surroundings to the wizard in front of me. I still had a million questions burning in my mind.

“So, we’re going to see a hobbit,” I started, putting an emphasis on the unfamiliar word.

I could see Gandalf’s head bob in acknowledgement in front of me.

“Yes.”

“To come with us, and some dwarves, to fight a dragon,” I continued.

Gandalf nodded again.

“Yes, that is correct.”

“The dragon is in the mountain where the dwarves used to live. The dwarves need to retake the mountain because…” I trailed off. “Why do the dwarves need the mountain?”

“The mountain is impenetrable.” He began. “Anyone who is able to successfully take the mountain would have a foothold that is not easily challenged. The orcs are always looking to gain an advantage in Middle Earth. If they are able to take the mountain, or worse, if they are able to persuade Smaug to their side, they might become an even deadlier force.”

I nodded, still putting the pieces together in my mind.

“Can a dragon be persuaded?” I asked.

“Not all of them.” Gandalf said. “But Smaug is no ordinary dragon.”

“And the Saran guy-”

“Sauron.” He corrected.

“Sorry, Sauron.” I repeated. “You said this all connects to Sauron somehow? The guy with the rings?”

I saw his head bob up and down again in front of me. He never turned, keeping his gaze and attention focused on the path ahead of us. I heard a light chuckle as he continued.

“More or less. Sauron has been gone for many years, but the orcs that serve him are ruthless, vile creatures. They exist to kill, torture, and destroy. They are always growing in number, and they will never stop ravaging Middle Earth. A hold like Erebor could prove to be deadly in their hands.”

“And why do you think the outcome of this could affect other worlds, like mine?” I asked, still uncertain of how this all connected to me and to my home.

I nearly crashed into Gandalf as he came to a sudden halt in the middle of the road. He turned around to face me finally, and rested his hands on the top of his staff as he spoke.

“A seer in our world has had a vision of Sauron’s return. We do not know how, or when. It seems Sauron's return to power is inevitable. By ensuring the dwarves retake Erebor, it is a crucial step in slowing him down.

"In her vision, she saw a future where the dwarves failed to reclaim the mountain. In that future, Sauron wields the ring and destroys Middle Earth as we know it. He grows to be so powerful that he ventures out of our world and into others. Think of it as a domino effect. We cannot stop the pieces from falling, but we can make certain that they do not fall too quickly.”

I stared at him for a moment, absorbing all of the information.

“I see.” I said simply. It was the only thing I could think to say. “And I thought the infinity stones were complicated.”

Gandalf chuckled again as he turned to continue down the path.

“I am not sure what infinity stones are, but given what you’ve accomplished in your world this should be right up your alley.”

“I hope so.” I said, following behind him, though not as closely this time. “I’ve never dealt with dragons before, though.”

I heard him chuckle again.

“Neither have I, my dear.”

The path we followed narrowed again as it wound around, leading us into a separate part of town. Green, grass covered hills began to appear on either side of the road, and they stretched down the winding trail as far as I could see. Each small hill had a round, colorful door in the center. As I looked closer I saw windows and chimneys. I felt my mouth gaping as I realized they were houses.

“Interesting, isn’t it?” Gandalf asked, as though he had read my mind.

“Very.” I said, looking back and forth between the small hill-homes that dotted the countryside.

As we approached I began to see what I could assume were the hobbits. They darted back and forth, between the homes, within small gardens, and up and down the path beside us. As they passed several gave Gandalf a kind nod, and myself an unwelcoming, wary stare. None of them came close enough for me to be certain, but it appeared they stood no higher than my chest. They were all dressed similarly, in short cropped breeches, jewel colored vests, and, to my surprise, no shoes.

“Hobbits?” I asked quietly, hoping I was not speaking loudly enough for the peculiar little people to hear.

“Yes.” Gandalf answered. “Very kind folk. I have always enjoyed the company of hobbits.”

I followed him in silence for a few more moments before he came to a stop in front of one of the small homes.

“Here we are.” Gandalf said, gesturing to another short, winding path. It led up to one of the strange, round doors set into the side of a hill. At the top of the path, sitting on a bench outside of a green door was another hobbit. He was smoking a pipe as he leaned back against the bench. I had a feeling Gandalf was about to uproot his entire morning.

“Wait here.” He said, gesturing for me to stay. “I will be right back.”

I nodded absentmindedly, scarcely noticing his absence as I continued to take in the sights around me. A few more hobbits passed as I stood awkwardly at the end of the path. I nodded kindly to a few of them. Each one hurried past, not a single one willing to return my greeting.

“Not very friendly, evidently.” I mumbled as another hobbit passed quickly, avoiding my gaze.

Before I had the chance to sit down in the grass, Gandalf reappeared.

“Come along, Lilith. We have much to do before this evening.”

He walked past me, not stopping to see if I was following, and continued back down the road in the same direction we had just come.

“That was it?” I asked, falling in behind him. I looked back at where he’d come from and saw the hobbit he’d been speaking to was gone.

“For now.” He said. His pace quickened and I found myself having to jog to keep up. “We will be back. I have a few errands in the meantime.”

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Intro

#kili #fili #kili fic #kili fanfic #kili fanfiction #kili x oc #kili durin #kili durin fanfic #the hobbit #the hobbit fanfiction #kili romance #the hobbit fanfic #marvel crossover #the hobbit x marvel #the hobbit x oc #lord of the rings fanfic #lord of the rings fanfiction #the hobbit crossover

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vvatchword · 7 months

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Protection

Dr. Lamb selected an office building down in the Neptune’s Bounty Drop, one across from the train station. The building had once been a construction office, meant as a temporary base of operations for the company that had built the Atlantic Express railway. In another world, it would have been condemned. Everything had been taken by industrious scavengers: the shelving in the closets, the light fixtures, even the nails for picture frames. The toilets and sinks had been ripped out, and piles of trash and excrement had built up in the corners. The stench was thick enough to swim through. Dr. Lamb bought it for a pittance from a man who looked at her like she had claimed to be the Queen of Sheba.

It was 7 AM on a Saturday when Dr. Lamb first walked into the building as its rightful owner. The minute she stepped through the door, a few huddled squatters lurched to their feet, lifting bottles and table legs. Three men, five women, two boys, all skin and bone. She noted the shaking hands, the open sores.

“My name is Dr. Sofia Lamb,” she said. “I have purchased this building as part of a social experiment.”

The squatters stared at her blankly.

“I have no intention of ejecting you unless you are the self-perpetuating poor.” She raised her purse. “I am willing to employ every one of you.”

One of the men started to cry silently. One of the women said, “What?”

“I am willing to employ you all, including the children. Your first job will be to help me clean this building,” she said. “And if any of you are electricians or carpenters, I will provide an increase in pay.”

One of the men dropped his bottle. “I’m a plumber.”

“Good. If you will help me fix this building, and if you can suggest the services of any other skilled tradesmen who are out of work, I will increase your pay twofold.”

“I know a carpenter,” said one of the women. She struggled to rise. “I’ll get her.”

“How are we going to clean this place?” asked one of the men. “We don’t have any tools.”

“I have brought supplies,” said Dr. Lamb. “There are brooms, dustpans, and a wheelbarrow outside of this door. Are there more of you here? I am looking to employ all of you.”

The plumber led Dr. Lamb to the second and third floors of the building, calling for strangers in the darkness. Most took up her job offer. The few who didn’t spat and swore. One threw an empty beer bottle at Dr. Lamb before she had finished offering him a paycheck. Dr. Lamb barely frowned before her newly-hired mob raised their improvisational weapons and chased the violent squatters out of the building.

“We shall start with the third floor and work our way down,” Dr. Lamb said.

Dr. Lamb stood by, directing work. At first, the workers piled the trash in an overflowing alleyway adjoining the building. Dr. Lamb quickly decided this would not do. As it was, the trash mounted nearly two stories high and blocked the windows on the first floor. Dr. Lamb thought of rats and cockroaches.

“Take the trash across the street to the other alley,” she said to her workers. “We shall have to clear out the alleys on either side of this building.”

She bought two more wheelbarrows from a nearby pawn shop for a dollar, and soon the plumber and his small family were hard at work pushing them across the street.

A crowd gathered at the front of the building to watch—shifty-eyed children, men in rags carrying paper sacks, painted women with weary eyes. When Dr. Lamb saw the onlookers, she stepped out of the door and said, “I am looking for workers to help me clear this building, as well as skilled tradesmen to help me repair it. I have only a limited amount of money, so I may only employ those who ask first.”

Eyes lit up throughout the crowd. It surged toward her. A drunk man yelled, “Hey, you need a nuclear physicist?”

People popped out of every hole. Dr. Lamb bought hammers, nails, buckets, planks, and tools for the tradesmen from the local pawn shop. Dozens swarmed in and out of the doors and dismantled the towers of junk framing the building.

She had stopped to oversee some children carrying sacks of old newspapers out of the front door when a big man in a brown trenchcoat pushed through the crowd. His face was expressionless and a plug of chewing tobacco jutted from his bottom lip.

“You moving in here?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Need protection?”

“No.”

“You’ll need it, lady. This place is rough.”

“I will not need it.”

“No, you don’t get it.” He leaned closely. “You need protection. Things happen to people who don’t buy it around here.”

Dr. Lamb turned slowly to face him. Her eyes were steely.

“Is that so?” she said.

“Yeah.”

“Then I shall purchase protection. But not from you.” She turned away. “Good day.”

By the end of the day, her crowd had cleaned the trash out of the building and cleared much from the alleyways. She walked through the building and said, “We are done for the day; meet me on the ground floor for your pay.”

She wrote 52 checks. Twenty-one of them went to children.

The plumber turned the check over gingerly, like it might evaporate in his fingers. “How do we know these are good?”

Dr. Lamb snapped her checkbook shut. “Take them to Mulligan bank tomorrow morning.” She turned to the crowd and spoke loudly. “I am looking for men who can protect this building tonight. I will pay well.” Hesitation. Then hands shot into the air.

From across the street, three Sinclairs watched grimly.

~*~*~*~

Dr. Lamb opened the business two weeks later. It had new fixtures, new windows, a sensible sign, fresh paint. Everything that could be bought from the Drop was; Dr. Lamb reluctantly stepped outside of it to buy the sign and the paint.

The streets whispered about her; the pickpockets and vagabonds lingered at the windows. The building glowed among its broken brethren, bright and perfect.

The sign read, “RAPTURE FAMILY CONSULTATION CENTER.”

Her first inkling of trouble was when the squatters realized they’d have to move elsewhere. They gathered at her door, grumbling.

“Please understand. I cannot pay you forever; my funds are finite,” she told them. “But I can help you stand on your feet. I will discover a solution to your problem, but you must give me time. Until then, if you can find something to pay me with, you can live in the rooms on the third floor.”

“What are you, some kinda idiot? I don’t have money,” said one man.

“Then bring me an object or a service,” she said. “I will do whatever I can to help you, but we must not be parasites.”

So people gave her old luggage, jars of jam, music boxes, ratty clothes. She boarded some old women in return for cleaning the building and aid in the kitchen. It was an orphan girl’s job to let people in at all hours should they need to sleep on the sofa in the waiting room or use the showers. The plumber and his two friends guarded the building at night with makeshift clubs, and in return, she gave their families refuge in the attic.

It was difficult at first. She could not fool herself; these were gifts. Sometimes she could not sleep; her conscience gnawed at her ribs.

“You are the enabler,” it whispered. “You are creating dependents. They will suck you dry. Only look at your checkbook, your physical limitations. You are not boundless, madam; you are no god.”

Indeed, she watched her bank account with an eagle eye. The first month, her savings dropped precipitously. So she sold most of her clothes, silverware, and unnecessary furniture. She considered moving to a smaller apartment. But when she came home late at night and saw Eleanor sprawled on her bed and thought of the enemies massing around them, she turned the thought away.

She was almost never home. She rushed in and out, made cursory examinations of Eleanor’s work, and then was gone. One night she rushed in to find that none of Eleanor’s work had been done; Eleanor lay on the floor drawing mustaches on the models in a magazine that smelled like cabbage. She did a double take: Eleanor was covered with cobwebs and her fingernails were black with dirt.

“Eleanor Lamb,” she said sharply.

Eleanor flinched and jumped to her feet.

“Where did you get that?” She pointed at the magazine.

“The mail.”

“I do not recall purchasing a magazine about…” She peered at the cover. “Clothes.”

“I think it’s a free advertisement.”

“Oh.” A pause. “Did you do your work?”

“Yes.”

Dr. Lamb glanced down at the papers on the table. “You are lying to me, Eleanor. And you are filthy. Have you been bathing?”

Eleanor looked at the floor. “No…”

“Go. Take a bath this minute.” Dr. Lamb pointed at the door.

Thereafter, Eleanor was only moderately cleaner, wore mismatched clothes, and would stack old work on top of the new work Dr. Lamb assigned to fool her. Dr. Lamb was much too busy to reprimand her. Her job was one that never ended. Every weekday, she would perform her services as a psychiatrist until five, then go down to the Drop and serve there until nine or ten in the evening. She spent every weekend there, from the early morning hours until the lights dimmed for night. She often forgot to eat and slept as little as four hours a night. Her eyes were red, and the skin was drawn taut over her cheekbones.

She provided several services: vouchers for dry cleaning, a small selection of rentable suits and dresses for job interviews, temporary lodging, low-interest loans, counseling. On her lunch hour, she pored over the business sections in the papers, and took short jaunts into different sections of the city to plot the growth of various companies. If she counseled businessmen, she would ask: “Are you thinking about expanding? What about Pauper’s Drop?”

“Too much risk, not enough profit,” one said.

“Too expensive,” said another. “I’d have to buy policemen, and that’ll run the prices up too high for the people there to buy.”

So she watched, she waited, she thought. Until the poverty’s backbone could be broken, she sent applicants to the businesses with the highest growth. Every hire was like the furtive gasp of a drowning person.

When Stanley Poole from the Rapture Tribune dropped by for an interview, she gave it without reservation.

“This is not charity, this is a business opportunity,” Dr. Lamb said. “Pauper’s Drop can be invigorated by an influx of capital.”

“If you’ll forgive me for being blunt,” said Poole, “this ain’t business as it’s meant to run. This is altruism. You’re not giving loans at competitive rates, you’re giving them laughably low…”

“At the moment, it is not financially viable, it is true. But most fledgling businesses do not make profits in their first months. You must understand that I have a vision. By giving these people jobs, I am removing the parasitic element.”

“But look at what you’re doing. This lot depends entirely on you. Without you, without your money, they’ve got nothing. Altruism.” Poole smiled wryly. “You’re not benefiting the best players. You’re going after the human trash. ‘The great should not be constrained by the small,’ yeah?”

“These are the great. They were invited by Andrew Ryan himself, were they not? Their abilities are going to waste. We all pull on the Great Chain.” She spread her hands. “I am simply… rearming them.”

“And what’s it to you?” he asked. “Why should you care?”

“I believe that in the long run, it is to my best interest that the Drop is shrunk, if not done away with completely.”

“It’s said they pay you in junk.”

“They pay me what they can pay,” she said. “There is a point to this experiment. If I can start a chain reaction of productivity, it should cause a domino effect that will eventually transform the Drop itself. The profits will rise, as well as the standard of living. It will increase profits for me; it will improve conditions for everyone.”

The minute the phrase came out of her, she knew it was wrong. She closed her mouth, beheld the charged diction of the socialist, felt suddenly that she was looking in on a person she could not recognize.

“Everyone, huh?” said Poole, and sucked air under his teeth.

She looked at him without blinking. “No. You have misread my intentions. It is not that I aim to help everyone in the city. That is impossible. I seek the greatest good for the greatest number of people. This does not inherently mean taking advantage of the individual’s rights. Is my aim really that different from Ryan’s?”

The Tribune ran a copy of her resignation letter beside her interview. Soon the city was on fire. Demands for interviews poured in on every side, and soon her face was plastered all over the business section. Citizens hissed about communism. USSR ex-pats grabbed her arm on the metro, hissing, “They were starving us, and we were ‘everyone’!”

Andrew Ryan wrote a blistering Sunday editorial.

“It seems that some have misunderstood the philosophy,” he wrote. “The aim of this city is not to make everyone ‘happy.’ The aim of this city is to elevate the best of humankind. Equal opportunity has been provided; it is up to us to take advantage of it. It is no man’s duty to play nursemaid to his fellows and insulting to believe that one is required.”

The morning after the paper printed, a man in a nicely tailored suit spat on Dr. Lamb’s shoes.

“Parasite,” he said.

She looked at him. It was an acknowledgment that he existed in space and nothing more. Then she walked on as though he had ceased to exist.

But on the streets of Pauper’s Drop, the vagrants whispered about her. Strangers tipped their hats to her on the street. People appeared on the doorstep at all times of the day. These were always different from the masses who shuffled in the dimness. It took Dr. Lamb a few days to realize what made them different: the looks in their eyes, the lifted brows, the trembling lips. They were lit up from the inside.

Then the unthinkable.

The brilliant young entrepreneur who ran Demeter came into her offices for what he called “testing the veracity of this psychiatry mumbo-jumbo.” His name was Chase Milton—young, attractive, mid-twenties. Mid-session, he sat up and took her by the hand, chuckling. She froze.

“All right, all right, I’ve got to drop the charade,” he said. “I don’t need an ounce of counseling.”

She stared at him dumbly.

“Look, I’ve heard about what you’re doing down in the Drop, and I love it. That letter you wrote to the council? You’ve hit the nail on the head. You know, I’ve always thought the biggest problem about this place is that there is no heart in it. Charity with a brain, that’s what I like. Not just throwing money in a hole without aim, not just treating the symptoms, going right after the source. You’re not giving handouts, you’re setting people on their feet so they can take off running. It respects the individual, raises city standards, takes out that godawful eyesore. I like that.” He reached into his pocket.

Dr. Lamb tensed.

Milton pulled a wad of cash out of his pocket and slapped it on her desk.

“Put that into your business,” he said. “I hope you understand that this has got to stay hush-hush at the moment. I want you to know it’s the closest I’ve ever come to giving to a charity in my life.”

As he rose from the couch, Dr. Lamb lunged to her feet.

“I apologize, Mr. Milton, but I can not take this,” she said. “Not in this manner.”

“Sure you can,” he said, and put on his hat. “But if you’d prefer to think of it like a business arrangement, then think of it like this: I want to expand into the Drop, but I can’t sell my goods down there without protection, and that drives the prices too high. I can’t act like you do right now, given some of my connections. My father’s Dick Milton—Farmer’s Market and Milton’s Security, you know? He’d give me hell. So open it up, and I’ll come in, open a little grocery or something.”

He walked out.

She could have chased him. She did not.

It was the first time she had ever let anyone give her money.

Dr. Lamb could hardly look at it. It made the bile rise in her throat. She stacked it neatly and put it in her lockbox, but every time she opened the drawer it was there, staring at her with Andrew Ryan’s eyes. Every time she saw it, she had to think: “This is a business; this is a loan for the use of my business.” But all she did was look.

Some days, she would stand at the top of the stairs looking into the Drop, at her white building, then at the broken structures crumbling all around her and the hunched shades shambling, and she would close her eyes. In her mind, she began cleaning out the trash, and fixing the windows, and dressing the people, and paving the street, until everything was shining and new.

At last, she took the cash and she spent it. She gave it as a low-interest loan to the plumber and a few of his cohorts, all skilled workers. They bought the building across from her own. When Dr. Lamb gave them the money, the plumber took her hand, kissed it, and said nothing.

The two whitewashed buildings sat across from each other like the gates of Babylon. They bled red ink. The papers came down to photograph them, and, laughing, called them “Lambville on Lamb Street.”

Lambs to the slaughter, sang headlines and captions. Lambs to the wolf’s den. Baa, baa, black sheep, have you any wool?

With the plumber busy, Dr. Lamb did not purchase the services of anyone else to protect the building. His protection had devolved to a pinch of information in the background of her mind; she simply didn’t think to renew it.

~*~*~*~

One Saturday morning, as Dr. Lamb marched to meet the train, she bought a newspaper with a big headline screaming, “Fontaine Opens Orphanage in Pauper’s Drop.”

She flipped it open on the car. A big photo on the front page showed a close-up of an ample doorway, a check-in counter with flowers in a vase, and behind the smiling receptionist, a rainbow arching over images of dancing children.

“The Little Sisters Orphanage opened a new location in Pauper’s Drop on Monday. The Drop location is the sixth and newest orphanage constructed by Fontaine Futuristics. Little Sisters Orphanage only accepts girls from infancy to the age of ten. Services provided to the girls include meals, education, and healthcare, as well as questionnaires and counseling for prospective parents. When asked why boys were not accepted, Fontaine Futuristics’ owner, Frank Fontaine, said, ‘I’m going to let someone else corner that market.’

“The new orphanage was brought to the attention of the council on January 6, but following the precedent set by the previous five orphanages, it was allowed. Council members who voted for their approval mentioned concerns about mismanaged children being groomed for entry into criminal elements.

“City founder Andrew Ryan, who has voted against the orphanages in each session, said, ‘Although it is true that children cannot care for themselves, the duty falls upon their family to raise them. To foist them on the arms of an unprepared public is akin to the bloated cuckoo laying its egg in the wren’s nest.’

“‘Does this place look public to you?’ Fontaine said. The rest of his speech is unprintable.

“Some comparison has been made between Mr. Fontaine’s orphanage and Dr. Sofia Lamb’s Rapture Family Consultation Center, also located in Pauper's Drop. Ryan stated that the city council is still determining the nature of Dr. Lamb’s business.”

She looked out of the window. The city streamed past in streaks of light. When had Fontaine started building? She could not remember. She had voted against the orphanages herself. They were obvious charities. They were the claws of the parasite digging in, the amorphous blob squatting, the endless void opening.

She gazed into the eyes of her reflection. Who was this person? Two months ago, she would have been able to say. There was an unspeakable sadness in her, as though she faced her own corpse: a funeral only she could attend. To admit the death would be to rip her own chest wide open. She had never been the sort of person for great displays. She had been raised to be silent, to listen, to perform on cue: one of three quiet, washed-out shapes standing still against a wall, hands crossed on her lap.

How funny, really—that she had run so far from her father only to end up a still, pale shape listening quietly against some new backdrop. Train up a child in the way he should go, and when he is old…

She raised her eyes. The colorless rainbow from the newspaper’s centerpiece arced over her forehead. For a moment, the sight arrested her. Against her will, she thought of Renaissance paintings and Madonnas.

If suffering is holy, she thought, what has that made me?

She closed her eyes, but the image was printed on the backs of her eyelids.

Pain was the price paid for being alive. Suffering was unavoidable except to the dead. If she were holy, oh—imagine the holiness that rolled up from the Drop! God should look down and shudder, that great coward. After all, what kind of suffering could such divine wealth allow?

The train squealed to a slow and steady stop. Around her, dark figures rose, hunched and stinking. She folded her newspaper under her arm. When she stepped out into the Drop, winged by the homeless, she drew up short. Something was wrong.

She took her time walking toward the ticket booth, head cocked, listening. Nothing sounded any different; nothing smelled any different. But the ancient animal within her raised its hackles: it sensed electricity in the air. The urge came to her: Run! Run!

She slowed her gait, breathed through her nose. Control. There was no sign of trouble, after all; there was no reason to listen to a meaningless emotional thrill when she had her reason. She was a god in the body of a beast; take the reins and twist the bit back. One step after another. Heel to toe. Five steps, one breath. In, out, in, out. The beast would listen to her, one way or another. If she had to wrench it down against the earth, she would wrench it.

She strode out of the station, one long step after another. She could not have seen herself that morning, but dark eyes followed her; she had worn white and gray and lavender; she stood out against the basalt and earth, faintly luminous. When she stopped, it was at the station steps, looking down over the Drop.

Her breath caught in her throat.

There was a crowd surrounding her little white building.

Her heart leapt into her throat. But still, she did not run. She walked. One step at a time. Heel to toe. Left, right, left, right: a soldier. A soldier. Suddenly she felt like a giant. She could see herself in her mind’s eye—the black-and-white rainbow—looming, giant-like, seeing everything, feeling everything—was this madness?

She strode through the crowd toward the front door; the crowd parted, and no one met her eyes. Her heart missed a beat: there was a toothy hole in her window and the stench of gasoline. The shakes started in her hands and went up through her shoulders. She felt as though her consciousness welled up through every cell of her body, that she was burning with the unbearable weight of all her life, and all her years, and all her self.

But then she drew short. There, sprawled on the ground in a pool of blood, was a beast of a man in a brown trench coat. His head was staved in. A bloody crowbar lay beside him, as well as a bucket of gasoline. The street was smeared with blood and brain and bits of hair.

A man set his hand on her arm.

“Don’t get your shoes soiled, miss. Walk around, if you please.”

“What happened here?” she said.

“This guy tried to break your window,” said the man. “It’s all right. We took care of him. Don’t bother calling the police or nothing. The Sinclairs will reclaim ‘im.”

“But…”

“No buts, lady. And don’t worry.” He glanced around the crowd. “We ain’t gonna let anyone do nothing to you.”

She walked into her building and sat down in her office. She could not open immediately because she could not seem to speak.

UPRISING: BLACK SCRAPBOOK HUB

#sofia lamb #andrew ryan #bioshock 2 #bioshock #only man #uprising #writing #fanfiction #Fred #vvatchword #one of my goals with this story was to give Dr. Lamb an arc

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nxrdist · 1 year

Text

Remember||True Blood Fic

Story Summary: Different faces, names, and places, but she was the same soul and so was he.

Pairing: Godric/OC

Words: 3847

SAINT LOUIS, MISSOURI

1880

Part One

Godric sat idly on the roof’s edge, looking out at the city and the river splayed below him. Cities were something, he supposed. Perhaps not beautiful, but not precisely ugly either, more a curiosity. In his time as a human, cities of such magnitude as they were today were hardly conceivable, and they only seemed to grow larger as time passed. Humans, for whatever their reasons, were drawn to them, and so too were vampires. One went where the most easily accessible food was, didn’t they?

Of course, the anonymity was a perk as well.

Dropping from the ledge and landing silently on his feet, Godric turned the corner and began strolling down Broadway in no hurry. He’d been in town a few days already, but as he hadn’t hunted in the Area, there was no rush to present himself to the Sheriff. Clarisse knew him from their time spent at the French court several centuries prior. She would not begrudge him for taking his time so long as he violated no laws -the most important of which was no feeding without requesting leave of the Sheriff. All he’d done since arriving was wander.

The Americas were still a novelty. Few of their kind had traveled there from the old world prior to the last century simply due to the inconvenience of doing so—the unpredictability of the ship’s voyage was the main detractor. So there were few truly old vampires in the Americas, which left him essentially free to do as he wished -also to be anonymous. Though without Eric, Godric no longer found amusements as easy to find.

Before changing Eric, he had been alone and wild for centuries, but since regaining himself, he did not long for the singular life of a feral predator. Those long years were a blur of instinct, just the drive to survive. He’d been little better than an animal. Whenever he thought of that time, Godric would miss his Childe, but Eric had needed to strike off on his own for a while.

Tucking away his thoughts, Godric turned his attention back to the here and now. The street lights glowed in the crisp winter night, illuminating the street for those exiting the theater. A new show had come to the theater, and people were filtering out at a leisurely pace now it had finished. He stopped to lean against a building and observe the bustle but couldn’t stay long after inadvertently catching the eye of a young woman who smiled at him. Catching attention ran directly counter to his plans for that evening, and the woman appeared to be heading toward him. So Godric pushed off the wall, straightened his coat, and took off perhaps a bit briskly but still at a passably human pace.

Once he was clear of the theater, Godric decided to go to Clarisse.

The Sheriff’s nest was located in the downtown area near the brewing district in a nice but not overly flashy townhome. Stylish, but not over the top, just as Godric expected from her. He couldn’t help the slight smile that appeared on his face as he took the steps up to the front door. Inside would be a different matter, he was sure. Clarisse would find it inconceivable to relocate to the Americas without her many belongings. And sure enough, after knocking and being let in, Godric spotted more than a few items of decoration which didn’t quite fit the time but were arranged amongst the modern fixtures as if they belonged.

One of the underlings, an olive-skinned man with black hair, led Godric towards the main sitting room, which functioned as Clarisse’s audience chamber. She sat reclined on a chaise and delicately stroking the arm of a red haired human who sat beside her on his decidedly less comfortable looking chair. Clarisse was a petite woman in every sense with strawberry blonde hair, which was pinned up, and pixie like features. She tapped a thin white finger on the arm of her chaise as she observed Godric’s entrance. He bowed respectfully to her and waited.

“Godric, how nice to see you. I see you are without your Childe.”

Her tone was expectant. Clarisse had immensely enjoyed Eric’s company in France.

“I released him not long ago,” Godric replied. “It was time. You know.”

Clarisse hummed noncommittally. Her eyes flicked to a blonde haired girl, a few years younger than his human age, who leaned against the far wall watching. Godric arched his eyebrow.

“My progeny, Delphine. Delphine, this is Godric.”

“Del is fine.” Her voice was clear, and her English was not at all accented.

Clarisse rolled her eyes at the comment but moved on without noting it. “So, old friend, you’ve been in my Area…how many nights?” She glanced to the underling who had led him in. The vampire provided the number promptly though Godric doubted she didn’t already know. “And you’ve only just decided to present yourself to me? What am I to take this as?”

“Well,” Godric began reasonably. “If you knew I was here and did not summon me, then I presume you also know that I have not fed in your territory. So I have broken no laws .”

Clarisse pursed her lips in faux insult. “ True . It is still an insult.”

Godric couldn’t help the corner of his lip twitching up for a fraction of a moment. “Grievous, I’m sure.”

Suddenly, Clarisse let out a short laugh. “Well, I’ll just have to order you to stay in the Area for some time to make up for it!”

As if that hadn’t been her plan -or his- all along.

“A gracious punishment.”

They shared a quick smile.

“I am known for these things, you know.” Swiftly, Clarisse got to her feet. Holding out her hand to the ginger gentleman beside her, she continued. “Now that’s through. Are you hungry? Edward wouldn’t mind. I know you’re old , but how long has it been? I can send my procurer if you wish for something more particular?”

Godric glanced at the man before giving a polite shake of his head. “I am satisfied at the moment, though I will hunt in your Area at some time in the future.”

“Yes, of course. So long as I am Sheriff, you may do as you please within my Area. I would also extend the courtesy to dear Eric as well, should he wish to visit.”

Perhaps she had enjoyed Eric more even than he had thought, Godric noted. “I will be sure to inform him when next I see him.”

Clarisse kept him occupied the rest of the evening. She introduced him to her nest mates as well as other notable vampires in her Area. There were a significant number of newcomers to the Area as many were still fleeing from the ruin of the Southern States. A few, Godric noted, Delphine seemed to eye with distrust as they stepped forward. Then upon dismissing Edward from her side, she invited him to sit beside her as she held court and took petitions from Area residents. They discussed various topics and shared a few laughs before the night was through and it was time to go to ground.

“I would invite you to stay at my residence, but?” Clarisse trailed off.

Godric offered a closed lip smile. “I already have accommodations, thank you.”

“Ah, as I thought. No matter. When shall we see each other again? I hear some ball will be held in the coming weeks, but we mustn’t wait so long to visit again.”

As was her way, Clarisse spoke as though it was already assured that he would accompany her to the ball simply because it was her wish that he do so.

“Perhaps in a night or two, if that’s amiable,” Godric responded readily.

“I would very much like that. I am greatly interested in all that you have seen.” Delphine interjected.

He had learned she was still a relatively young vampire at hardly a hundred years of age. Clarisse had turned her not long after she had settled in the city some thirty or so years after its founding. So Delphine had still not seen much of the world.

“Of course,” Godric inclined his head toward her. “I will return in a few days.”

----

Conall sighed and set his book down on the coffee table with a thud as he turned his full attention to his step-sister with concern. The notable sound of his book on the table hadn’t even jarred her from her thoughts. He observed that her embroidery lay untouched on her lap, despite her supposed desire to work on it having been her excuse for sending Walter away when he’d stopped by a half hour ago. A frown creased Conall’s brow.

“Hazel?”

She only hummed disinterestedly in way of reply.

Concerned frown turning to disapproval at her brush-off, Conall spoke a tad more sharply. “Hazle.”

Hazel exhaled a sigh and turned to face him, giving him an arch look. “Yes?”

“Is that tone necessary?” He quipped.

“Was yours?” She shot back.

Sighing, Conall raised a hand in surrender. “Fine, but you’ve been staring blankly at that window for the last half an hour. Would your time not be better spent with Walter if that’s all you wished to do?”

Hazel’s lip curled slightly. “He’s a bore.”

Conall pressed his lips into a fine line. If he were honest, he found Walter to be a bit of a bore as well. The man had little in the way of imagination, but he was very book-smart and kept up on the latest goings on in the city. However, in Conall’s opinion, Walter’s adoration of Hazel could not recommend him more highly as a match for her because, despite her physical charm, Hazle was an unmarried woman at twenty years with fewer prospects than she ought to have due to her abnormality.

As long as Conall could remember, Hazel had seen things. It had gotten worse, though, since that Florance got her involved in the occult. Her strange way of knowing things and the instances of visions had notably increased over the past few years.

“You can not remain single forever.”

Hazel fixed her brother with an imperturbable look. “And why is that?”

Conall frowned again. “Do you wish to be a spinster?”

“Would you not look after me?” She fired back.

“That isn’t the question at hand.”

A slight smile appeared on Hazel’s lips. “Of course you would.”

He sighed heavily, running a hand over his face. No matter what he might argue, it was true. They both knew it.

“That isn’t the point...”

Hazel shrugged. Casting another oddly absent glance at the window, she proceeded to get to her feet and head for the door. Conall watched her go with a worried expression. He had little doubt where she would be off to and wished he could do more to put a stop to it.

In their family carriage, Hazel felt at ease again. She hadn’t meant to drift away while she’d been sitting with Conall in the parlor. It just happened sometimes. A particular sight or sound would trigger the visions, or she would be so relaxed that her mind just drifted away. When she first started learning about the occult, it had worsened for a time, but Hazel was sure she was beginning to gain more control over it. She very seldom slipped into visions without meaning to anymore.

Sometimes it was only daydreams of past visions she was dwelling upon. Certain ones seemed so important they occupied much of her thoughts, but their meaning wasn’t clear. And it was so difficult to tell which ones were for her and which came from the others .

A shiver ran down her spine at the thought of them. They still scared her, no matter what Florance said. Well, with the exception of one, he had been with her most of her life -her father. Douglas Evans had died at the Battle of Wilson’s Creek near Springfield a few months before she was born. So, she had never met him, but she just knew it was he who had watched over her all her life. He protected her from the bad ones.

The carriage jolted slightly when it came to a stop outside the Cooper residence. As she exited, Hazel saw Florance standing on the front stoop as though she had been waiting for her.

“You’re early.” said Florance jovially.

“Early?” asked Hazel. “Did we have an appointment today?”

Florance chuckled. “No, the sticks told me to expect you.”

She brushed it off with a smile. “Of course.”

Though magic, as Florance casually called it, did cause Hazel some worry. It seemed much more serious than examining or even compelling her visions.

“How is your family?” asked Florance.

Florance led the way into the house as she spoke. Hazel’s more flippant nature almost compelled her to ask why Florance didn’t already know, but she knew it was just pleasantries to ask.

“Oh, Conall has just been pestering me to take Walter more seriously again.” Said, Hazel.

Her friend gave a soft snort of derision which Hazel wholeheartedly seconded as they entered the front parlor. Tea and coffee were already set out, along with a few little bits for a late luncheon. Just as she’d said, Florance truly had been expecting her. It made gave Hazel a slight feeling of unease to see the evidence.

“Walter Crawford,” Florance said contemplatively. “No, he is not the one for you.”

Hazel’s eyebrow shot up questioningly at the statement, and she paused in the act of seating herself across from Florance.

“Oh don’t act surprised,” Florance snorted in amusement. “Do you expect me to believe you want to marry that man?”

In truth, Hazel had hardly mentioned her association with Walter in more than passing to Florance, which was, if nothing else, a testament to how little interest she had in the man.

“He isn’t awful.” Admitted, Hazel.

“But,” Florance interjected. “He’s not for you. You’ve seen your fated.”

She had. Hazel’s soul mate was a topic to which the friends returned often. For some reason, it seemed to interest Florance greatly, but perhaps that was because she was already married. Married women, it appeared, were often interested in the romances of their friends.

“I have.”

Hazle’s voice was just a ghost of a whisper. She wasn’t actually sure she’d spoken for a moment, but Florance’s puzzled look assured her she had.

“You have?” The questioning note in Florance’s tone revealed the whole meaning of her question. In-person?

To give herself time to consider answering, Hazel busied herself with making up her coffee. First, she added a generous splash of cream to the cup, then two spoons of sugar, and lastly, she poured the steaming coffee over the top. Having used up her excuse not to speak, she ran her tongue over the inside of her teeth in an attempt to procrastinate further, but the expectant look on Florance’s face hadn’t budged.

Even if she decided to keep it to herself, Florance would know she was keeping something from her, and that just wasn’t what friends did.

“I can’t be sure. It was just a glance. He was gone so quickly.”

Florance busied herself then with making her tea as Hazel quietly sipped her coffee. To her credit, Florance didn’t push for more information though Hazel could tell she was obviously curious. They sat silently for a few minutes, as Hazel considered.

She had described the recurring mystery man of her visions so many times -with his brilliant green eyes, pale complexion, full lips, and auburn hair. Florance had assured her just as often that he was important, her soul mate most likely, so she always thought of him as such. Though, without spells, it was impossible to know for sure (and in truth, part of her had never thought she would meet him).

“It was the other night after the theater.” Hazel began, staring thoughtfully into her coffee as she spoke, brow furrowed. “After the show, we were waiting for the carriage when I saw him. I remember thinking how ordinary the night was for such an important meeting.” She looked up to Florance, a self-deprecating smile on her lips. “He was standing there leaning against the wall as relaxed as you like, but when I caught his eye-”

Hazel broke off the smile falling from her lips. She brought the cup to her mouth and sipped.

“And?” Florance prompted gently.

“He left. He saw me and he might as well have run away.”

Florance’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. It took her a moment to respond as she was clearly weighing possible responses in her head. Perhaps, she was even consulting the others, Hazel thought wryly, but she knew the magic Florance used was very different than the gift she possessed.

“Perhaps it was a mistake? He might not have seen you or it wasn’t time for him to yet and something compelled him away?”

Hazle snorted.

That sounded to her like a polite way of saying, ‘ Well maybe Walter will be your fate after all .’

---

A fine snow was falling when Godric rose from his day rest a few hours before sunset. He could smell it before he even exited his hiding spot in the cellar of a recently vacated, well-to-do home he was renting. It was the sort of place he and Eric chose when they wanted to stay in a place for a while. He supposed he’d chosen it without thought that it would only be him unless he had guests or developed some new acquaintances. At least he had the cellar, though, instead of lying in a coffin or compacted under dirt while he waited for sunset.

When he was finally able to emerge from the cellar, Godric strode to the window to take in the night. Dark had only just fallen, and if not for the buildings, he might have been able to see the trace of light sink below the horizon in the distance. He couldn’t let himself dwell on that, though. Turning his back to the window, he entered the main sitting room to find his day maid straightening up.

Her name was Trudy Jones. She was twenty-five and married with two children by her husband Joseph, a dock worker. All of which he had learned when she’d shown up at the ‘ peculiarly late ’ interview during which he had immediately hired her -and glamoured her to forget anything she might deem strange about him or his habits.

“Good evening , Sir. Is there anything I can get you for dinner?”

She always forgot he didn’t have a cook and that he didn’t eat.

“No, I think I’ll be dining out this evening Mrs. Jones. Thank you all the same.”

“Oh, of course, Mister Godric. You just give me a shout if there’s anything you need. I have a few more things to do before I pop off for the evening, if you don’t mind.”

“I will do that.” He glanced briefly at her as she fluffed a cushion. “And Mrs. Jones, it’s just Godric.”

The same as every other time, Trudy nodded in understanding, but he could see the interaction slip away from her almost instantly. He supposed she must think that strange as well, considering that even though he had corrected her every day, she still used some title for him. Perhaps next time, he would be more careful with his wording. Suspicious would be a more precise word than strange.

“Was there something you needed, sir?” Trudy asked.

Godric sighed. “No. Have a good night. Please be safe on your way home Mrs. Jones.”

She nodded, a bit unsure, as Godric exited the door.

Upstairs in the main bedroom, he rifled through his small collection of clothing until he found a jacket suitable for the weather. It didn’t do to draw unnecessary attention by dressing inappropriately when mingling openly with humans -a detail like being the only one without a coat on a snowy night stuck in people’s memories. So he shrugged it on and made his way back downstairs to find Trudy had gone.

In the mirror beside the front door, Godric checked himself. His outfit was easily ambiguous. The clothing was well-made but not elegant, and the shades were muted. He could easily fit into any crowd.

You look like one of those damned Quakers; he could almost hear Eric sneer.

Out in the cool air, Godric closed his eyes to take a long and unnecessary breath. Some people were milling about in the street, going about their own business. Nobody was paying any attention to the private stranger in their neighborhood. After a cursory glance around, Godric took off at vampire speed, racing past oblivious humans, toward the theater. He ducked into the same alley he’d dropped into a few days ago so that it didn’t appear as though he’d come from nowhere, then turned again toward the theater.

Why he felt compelled to return to the theater? Godric wasn’t sure. It was as good a place as any to find some easy prey for the evening, though, so he didn’t question the notion. The Fox theater’s lights cast a significant glow on the street, which tended to make humans less wary of being approached by a stranger. That, combined with the several restaurants and a dance hall on the same street, led to a comfortable atmosphere. He would not struggle to find a meal.

#trueblood fic #true blood #true blood fic #godric #godric the gaul #godric fic #fanfic

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